Thursday, January 19, 2006
Dehumanizing the Enemy: The Cross-Fire of the Culture War
I could say that this friend - one of my oldest and dearest friends - is a conservative pastor. And that would be a true statement, since he is theologically conservative, and is an ordained Elder in the United Methodist Church. But my friend cannot be reduced to that label, conservative, which we liberals so often use to discredit others, as they use liberal against us.
If I read the paper my friend sent out yesterday without knowing who wrote it, I would probably post here some kind of rhetoric against it. I could go through it piece by piece and draw out each reach, each stretch, each logical fallacy or historical misrepresentation. If I read it without knowing who wrote it, or without being so close to the author, I could use what one reader has called my "philosophy major tricks" to make the piece look like the work of a total moron.
But this paper, which powerfully attacks and condemns the method of scriptural interpretation which I use, was written by one of my closest friends in the world. So, what should I do?
A few years ago a good friend of mine went off to fight in the war in Iraq. While he was on ship he wrote this, in a letter to me:
[T]he guys all talk about killing ragheads. To them its like a game, just another training exercise, except the targets are shooting back. The targets don't have names or faces or families or friends who love them and want them to come home. They're just part of that "evil regime" that must be overthrown.
My Marine friend was concerned that part of fighting a war necessarily involves dehumanizing the enemy. This is true whether or not the cause or conduct of the war is just. This is true because, in order to kill another human being without hesitation, you must be able to look at them as only a target, rather than a person with rights and attachments just like you.
We say that we are now involved in a Culture War, in which we fight (generally) with words rather than rounds of ammunition, with rhetoric rather than mortars. But do we not here too experience the same temptation to dehumanize our enemy in the name of efficiently advancing our own "just" cause?
My friend's paper bothered me, not because I couldn't handle his arguments (I could), but because of the way in which I wanted to handle his arguments. I wanted to use logic and rhetoric to discredit his position, without mercy or hesitation.
Should we, in this war, lay waste to our own friends, to our own family? And, if the answer is "no" (and I suspect that it is), then are we justified in laying waste to anyone at all? Are not all of us God's children? Are not all of us who claim the name Christian united by the redeeming blood of Christ, which is washing away our sinful natures?
I am concerned about the level of rhetoric in this Culture War. And I am more concerned about my participation in it. I do not repudiate either my positions or my methods, but perhaps I do repudiate the spirit with which I fight this "good" fight.
Quick Update
I've updated the layout and format of this blog. Please note the newly redesigned (Cyber)Places to Go sidebar, which has conveniently been subdivided into several different categories. I've also added a new sidebar, Theology In/Of the Culture War, which contains links to my more theological/controversial posts. That way, if you're only interested in the theological, philosophical, ethical and historical arguments on hot button issues, you can skip straight to that stuff and ignore all the fluff.
On the subject of "I Still Need an Editor," or maybe "Proof That I've Always Needed an Editor":
While I was re-doing the (Cyber)Places to Go sidebar I decided to include links to the official websites of some of my favorite musicians. I've always loved the bizarre jazz pianist Chick Corea (note the spelling, as I didn't), so I wanted to include a link to his site. So, to see if he had a site, I decided to Google his name. I typed "Chick Correa," and got very excited (unduly excited!) to see that the very first hit was a paper which I wrote on Miles Davis for a History of African American Music course in college.
Why, you might ask, would the number one hit on Google for "Chick Correa" produce an obscure paper by yours truly? Simple. I evidently can't spell, but at least I'm consistent in my misspelling. Both in my paper and in my query to Google I spelled Chick Corea's name with two r's instead of one.
My favorite college professor used to say (I'm sure she still does, but I don't have to hear it anymore), "Sloppy editing looks like sloppy thinking." I hope that isn't true, because I am perpetually in need of a good editor. Any takers?
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Father God, Creator God
I was sitting on the couch reading my book when my son Adam (the first man, the archetypical man) crawled up to me and tugged on my sweater. "Dog," he said, or perhaps asked. "Dog, dog, dog, dog... dog.""Dog" is one of the few words that he knows. To him it applies not to all dogs or to the Platonic form "dog," but rather to our dog, whom we call "Pepper" and he calls "dog."
"Dog," Pepper is one of his favorite friends. As he quizzically repeated "dog" his eyes, after catching mine, scanned the living room from corner to corner, looking for the dog. Finding no dog, he looked up at me, as though I were supposed to do something about this.
Now might be a good time to get into the psychology and mythology of childhood. I could here tell you that little children idealize their parents, building them up into near deities who can accomplish would-be-impossible things and do no wrong. If I were feeling particularly Freudian I could even speculate that we don't really lose our desire to have someone above us to whom we can turn like we turned to our parents until they proved to us beyond all possibility of doubt that they too are human, they too are mortal, they too are imperfect and impermanent.
But you know all of that already, and you know that it is all speculative nonsense.
Adam turned to me to produce a dog, and so I did. I called out "Pepper," in a warm, welcoming, affirming voice (and the dog knows my voice is not always like that when I call out his name) and then whistled. Magically, the dog appeared.
I wonder what that moment was like for my son. I wonder if he thought that I, like God, called the dog into being, creating him ex nihlo. Or perhaps he saw me call the dog in from the Void, the Abyss. Perhaps while he was gone the dog had fallen into Sheol, and I raised him.
Or perhaps I simply solved my son's small problem, and he thought no more of it than that.
RENT
A critic, ideally, actually knows what they're talking about. And when it comes to music or movies I don't, no matter how much I try to bluff or mask. Like Charlie, the Catherine Zeta Jones character in High Fidelity, I'm always talking but never really saying anything, masking ignorance with boldness.
Yesterday we saw the movie RENT. I know, it's about time. We meant to see it when it first came out, but since our son was born we haven't gone out much. But yesterday we were staying with my parents in my hometown, Lexington, KY, so we had free babysitting. In fact, I think Mom and Dad (Ma and Pops, as they are now known) would have begged us to leave the house so they could have their youngest grandchild for a while without his parents (to whom he clings desperately) around to get in the way of their villainous plan to spoil him rotten.
A few years ago, when the musical RENT was on a national tour, it stopped by Lexington. My parents have season tickets to the Opera House, so they invited us to come stay with them and see the play. Watching the movie reminded me of how much I've changed in the last couple of years. The movie isn't much different than the musical, but the eyes that watched it were.
When I saw the musical I was still recovering from a bad bout of fundamentalism. I was no longer a "fundie" (what a lovely and condescending word), but I was still operating within that paradigm, having not yet discovered a new (old) way of being Christian. This paradigm, which was at the very least conservative and evangelical, colored my viewing of RENT.
As such I saw RENT (at the Opera House as a musical) as principally a moral argument. This involved two assumptions:
1. That RENT, like every work of art (as I saw it at the time) was principally a kind of argument, a propaganda piece. This is a common mistake made by those who think they understand religion and who certainly don't understand art. Azar Nafisi's wonderful Reading Lolita in Tehran makes this clear as she details the Iranian theocracy's approach to art. Art, in this mentality, is judged not as a creative expression but as a tool through which one communicates ideals in a subtle (or not so subtle) way. This is why "Christian" works of art are so often so bad. Rather than being creative expressions they are evangelical tools.
I saw RENT as a kind of inverse evangelical tool, a subversive piece designed primarily to undermine the values I still held.
2. The second assumption dealt with the nature of the argument presented; that it was primarily moral in nature. Like Mame, a musical which advocates that one tolerate anything but moral absolutes, I saw RENT as promoting a set of values which intentionally ran contrary to my own.
Because I brought these assumptions to my viewing of the musical, I never really understood the attraction. Sure the music was catchy, and sure the performance of it was both charismatic and inspired. But for me it could ultimately be reduced to an argument for an obviously destructive lifestyle. The final straw came just before Intermission, with the great tribute to/ funeral for Bohemia, La Vie Bohem. Couldn't these people see that they were advocating rebellion for the sake of rebellion, which would ultimately lead to anarchy and destruction? Sure I had rebelled against authority from time to time, and sure some of those rebellions were less ideological and more anarchical. But I wasn't proud of it. I didn't think I was right.
Seeing RENT again, this time in the form of Chris Columbus' magnificent film, reminded me of how much I had missed the point the first time. When I first saw RENT I thought that art needed some kind of explanation, some kind of rational account. I was even working on a comprehensive philosophy of art as "creative expression" with both a cognitive and non-cognitive content. But now I see art as something which humans do because we have no other choice.
In the movie RENT one of the characters (I think it was the film maker) says, "The opposite of war is not peace, it is creation." To the extent that art can be explained, this is a much better explanation. Art, if it is anything, is an affirmation of creation over destruction.
But more than that, art simply is. It is creativity for its own sake rather than for the sake of some noble cause. It may communicate, but it is not communication.
I once saw RENT as an ode to destructive living. But as a saw the movie I realized that perhaps it is instead an affirmation of life in the face of death, an affirmation of love in the face of judgment, an affirmation of creation in the midst of destruction. While there is a moral component to this (creation is obviously better than destruction, love is obviously better than judgment) it is not primarily either moral or an argument. It is simply an act of creation.
Most interesting to me was the relationship between these three pairs of opposites:
1. Life and death
2. Love and judgment
3. Creation and destruction
As RENT tells the story of people living with and around AIDS in New York City, death looms large. Some of the most moving scenes in the movie involve death. These scenes include the funeral of Angel (and if any character represents the affirmation of life, love and creativity it is Angel) and apparent death of Mimi, and the vanishing of several members of the AIDS support group.
But, in these scenes death does not win out over life. This is, of course, most obvious in the stunning resurrection of Mimi, brought back by a song, and the love of a dead friend. But even in cases where, on a literal level, death does win, it still doesn't win. This is because death is used by the living as motivation to live more fully, to love more deeply, and to create more urgently.
I could go through the movie scene by scene and bring out these themes within the context of my argument, but I am not a critic, and my purpose here is not as much critical as it is autobiographical. When I saw RENT the first time, as a stage musical in Lexington's Opera House, I saw it through a particular lens. When I saw it the second time (oddly enough also in Lexington) in the form of Chris Columbus' movie I also saw it through a lens, though it was a new lens of a different color.
We see everything through a particular lens or glass or mirror. The apostle Paul speaks to this when he says, in I Corinthians 13:12
For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we shall see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known.
In this dim (if not outright dark) time between "now" and "then," colored as our vision is by the lens of our own bias, dirty as the mirror is in which we see an image distorted by our own ignorance; what are we to make of our limited, biased, ignorant nature? How are we to live if we cannot affirm and impose absolutes?
These are questions which bothered me the first time I saw RENT. It demanded that I see homosexuals and drug addicts and transgendered persons as first and foremost persons rather than labels. And it demanded that I accept and affirm their basic personhood. To me this called me to deny the moral absolutes which were imposed on me by the church, and I couldn't do that.
My vales have changed, as has my approach to viewing art. As such, I can now accept the personhood of everyone without reducing them to labels. I can now love individuals without judging them based on their lifestyle decisions. And, I can- understanding that RENT is more a story set to music than it is a moral argument - have a fuller understanding of what it is that RENT communicates while also understanding that it is not principally communication, but art.
I am not a critic, and so I won't give RENT "two thumbs up" or "four stars" or any other such nonsense, as though we could quantify the value of art. But I can say that I liked it very much. And my wife liked it very much. It kept us under its spell for however long it lasted (time meant little while we were in the theater), and sent us home challenged with our changing but still limited and biased lenses.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Bookends
In memory of Alvine Adams Clausen, October 16, 1915 - January 9, 2006. She is shown here with her great-grandson, my son, Adam Christopher Baker. We named him Adam after her maiden name, which she kept as her middle name. (Though she always said that if we were going to name him after that we should just call him "Adams" rather than shortening it to Adam. Right before her death she pulled my wife aside and admitted that, OK, maybe "Adams" would have sounded funny!)Alvine was almost 89 when my wife and I announced that we were going to have a baby. Because of her advanced age and some recent health problems we were just hoping and praying that she would live to see his birth. But, stubborn and vibrant as she was, she not only lived to see his birth, but was his favorite playmate for most of his first year.
The first time Alvine saw her great-grandson Adam she asked him, "Brother" (she called everyone either "Brother" or "Sister", and was in turn called "Sister" by almost everyone who spoke to her or of her) "Brother, where are your teeth?"
Adam, of course, did not say anything in response, so his mother explained that his teeth hadn't come in yet. Alvine looked him over, smile gently, and said, "That's OK. I don't have any teeth either."
Adam and Alvine got along spendidly, perhaps because they were on about the same level. Whenever anyone saw them playing together they would make some comment about how life is a cycle, and how we are the same coming in as we are going out.
Every Thursday I would take Adam to Oldham County to stay with his Me Me and his Great Grandma. He is a very shy kid, and doesn't like many people not named Mama or Daddy. But every time he saw his Great Grandma he would squeal with delight. If we tried to hand him to anyone else, he would scream and refuse to go, but if he saw Alvine he would try to jump into her arms, even though, of course, she couldn't catch him.
She had a dry erase board in her bedroom to help her remember what day it was, and what was going on that day. Every Thursday Dana, her personal caregiver, would put a picture of Adam on the board, along with a sign that said "Adam is coming today. WATCH OUT FOR BABY KISSES!" He loved her so much he would just slobber all over her.
Every time he kissed her she would say, "Brother, you don't want to kiss me, my face is dirty." But you could see in her eyes how much she enjoyed the attention.
At the end of last week she fell into a coma, from which she never emerged. At that point we were making it a point to visit her almost every day. When we went out to her house Adam would leap to the ground and crawl as fast as he could (faster than I can run!) to her room to see her. The first time we visited her after she had fallen into the coma he did the same thing, but when he got to her room he could tell something was wrong. He squealed out his usual greeting, but she didn't respond. He tugged on her bed, but she didn't respond. He crawled up into bed with her, but she still didn't respond.
He started crying, and reached out his arms for his mother to pick him up. He knew, he just knew, that something was terribly wrong. At that moment, though she had not yet died, Adam lost his favorite playmate.
Alvine Clausen died yesterday while we were in the car on the way to visit her. By the time we reached her house several other family members had arrived, and were congregating in the living room, reminiscing about the life of this precious saint. Adam can only say a couple of words, and somehow I doubt "Dada" or "dog" could capture the depths of his emotions, or do justice to his memories of his first and favorite playmate.
But yesterday Adam honored the memory of his great grandmother, not by saying anything profound, but simply by looking at those who had gathered to mourn, and smiling. His smile was contagious, and reminded us of her love.
Adam and Alvine were, when they knew each other, bookends, marking the beginning and the end of life. Their love for each other helped me to see just how joyous life is, in the middle no less than in the beginning or the end.
Monday, January 09, 2006
Goodnight, Dear Saint

In memory of Alvine Adams Clausen, October 16, 1915 - January 9, 2006. She is pictured here with her granddaughter, my wife, Sami Baker.
My wife was born in Arlington, Virginia, to a single mother working many temp jobs trying to provide for her new, unexpected bundle of joy. When she was about three years old she moved from that suburb of our nation's capital to live with her grandmother in a small farm house in Goshen, Kentucky. The house she was raised in did not have central air or heat. It was instead heated by two giant stoves. She tells stories of her grandmother warming blankets on these stoves before she went to bed. It was a great treat for her to be "snuggled" (as she says) in those freshly warmed blankets.
My wife also tells stories of this spry, saintly woman racing between buildings on the family farm with her young granddaughter. I like to picture Alvine chasing Sami, perhaps with a stick in her hand, pressing her to move faster and to do better.
Because she was raised by her grandmother (along with her mother, who moved back home to join her daughter about a year after they were separated) my wife is in many ways the last of a dying generation. Not only did she grow up without central heat, but she used to go out into the yard with her grandmother to hang the wash on a clothesline to dry. And, even though plumbing had been added to the house, her grandmother used to put a "pot" (like a bedpan) under each bed in case you had to go to the bathroom. [note: because of this I finally know what is meant when you say that someone "doesn't have a pot to piss in"]
Alvine truly was a saintly woman. She was the kindest, gentlest soul that I have ever met. But every life must come to an end, and just before 5 o' clock this afternoon she breathed her last, and peacefully passed away.
I would love to list my favorite memories of her here. I would love to write something profound on the significance of her life. I would love to honor her. But right now grief and exhaustion have robbed me of my words. I met her well past her prime, but I could still catch an occasional glimpse of the saintly woman who was such a legend in her family, her church and her community.
I ate many, many meals at her table. In fact, while my wife and I were dating I must have gained twenty pounds, mostly due to her country cooking. I never got to sleep in the house with the stoves, as it was replaced by the "new" house in 1986. I never got to pee (she wouldn't approve of my vulgar use of the word "piss") in any pots, and I never got to hang laundry. But I was blessed with the chance to know the woman who - along with her daughter - raised my wife to be the wonderful woman she is today.
When I look at my wife I see Alvine's legacy to me. I loved her, and she loved me. Of course, the great thing about her is that she loved everybody. But she loved each of us uniquely. You couldn't help but feel special and loved when you were around her.
My words cannot convey what a blessing she was. She was our light, reflecting the light and love of God. She lived a good life, and died a brave death. She will be missed.
Goodnight, dear saint.
Sleep tight, dear saint.
Friday, January 06, 2006
Email to Heather
This morning I sat down to write her a brief email. Two hours later, exhausted, I finally finished it. I was planning to write something for this blog today, on a similar subject, but now I don't have the time or the energy. So instead I am placing a copy of that email on this blog.
Much of the historical content in it comes from Hans Kueng's ("ue" = u umlaut, since the program I write this in doesn't have umlauts) mammoth Christianity: Essence, History and Future, though some of it comes from David Chidester's Christianity: A Global History. [note: some also came from lectures by Bob Urekew and Roy Fuller at Indiana University Southeast, and by Kathryn Johnson at Louisville Presbyterian Seminary. Sorry I forgot to mention that earlier. Scholars do not get paid nearly enough to have their work appear uncredited in some hack's blog!]
Heather,
First off, while you should be getting a formal invitation in the mail later on, you and yours (Dave and especially Noah) are hereby invited to Adam's first birthday party. The party will be at our house in Louisville on Saturday, January 28. You'll get more information when your invitation arrives, as we don't yet know what time the party will be or what (if anything) you should bring.
If you insist on bringing a gift for my spoiled brat, please bring him a book. He is, after all, my son, so that should be exactly what he wants, right? You are certainly not required to bring a gift, and it is not in any way expected that you will.
Now, on to business:
To be able to fully answer your brother's question (or is more of a concern?) I have to know specifically what bothers him. I'm guessing that it is a lack of historical evidence to back up the extraordinary claims which Christians make about Jesus (particularly miracles stories and especially the resurrection). You said that he is bothered about a lack of references to Christ outside of Christianity, though I hope he doesn't doubt, at the very least, that a man named Jesus lived in Palestine in the first century and was at the center of a reform movement within Judaism which eventually became its own religion. That, at the very least, is not questioned by any reputable scholars of history or religion in antiquity.
So I assume that when he says that he wants someone who is not a Christian to, in the earliest days of Christianity, make some reference to it; that what he really wants is some kind of outside confirmation of the extraordinary claims made by Christians of their Christ. Is that a safe assumption?
His concern - if I have it correctly - is not an uncommon one. The feeling is that you can't trust the people who were part of a movement to accurately report on their own movement, because they are biased and have an agenda. If, for instance, I was leading a new religious group which made incredible claims, you wouldn't buy my claims just because I was making them. You wouldn't buy them just because my brothers or my friends, or potentially brainwashed members of my movement were confirming them. You would want some kind of outside authority to verify my claims. And, the more ridiculous my claims, the more authoritative (and objective) you would want that outside verifier to be.
The claims about Jesus which were made by the earliest Christians (though they are not entirely the same claims which are made by Christians today, since our Christology - our understanding of what it means to say that Jesus is the Christ of God - has changed over time) are ridiculous claims; extraordinary claims. So your brother feels, I'm guessing, that it is only reasonable to demand that they be verified by some kind of outside authority, like perhaps an ancient historian or a Roman official.
There are, however, a few problems with this. First, our concept of "history" as a (semi)objective social science is a very modern one which 1.) did not exist in the time of Christ, and 2.) is coming to be challenged by post modernity. I'll flesh those out more:
1.) I can't say exactly when it is that history became a social science, but I can say that our approach to it was greatly changed by the so-called Enlightenment which started in the 17th century. It was only then that objectivity became the goal of those reporting history.
Josephus is hailed as a great historian of the first century, but he was not a historian as we understand the term. He was a general in the Jewish army during the Jewish revolt of 67-73 CE (the most significant moment was the destruction of the Temple, and as such the destruction of ancient Judaism, which was replaced with rabbinical Judaism) who was defeated and captured by the imperial Roman army. In captivity he turned on his own people, divulging secrets which helped the Roman army put down the rebellion. He must have comforted himself with the undeniable fact that the Romans were going to win anyway.
For his betrayal of his own people we was rewarded by the Romans with leniency, some money, and merely house arrest. He did his "historical" writings while under Roman supervision, in the employ of the Romans. He had at least two aims:
i.) To help the Roman empire understand his own people.
ii.) To please his Roman captors by glossing over their extraordinarily rough treatment of the Jews.
I mention this not to discredit Josephus, whose writings have given us a glimpse of life in Palestine under Roman occupation; but rather to discredit the notion that he is a "historian" in the sense that we understand the term. He was not objective in any sense, nor did he value objectivity. Like the Gospel writers and in fact all other writers in antiquity, he had an agenda, and if you know his agenda you can see how his agenda colored his work.
2.) The post-modern critique of the modern concept of "objective" history is a simple one: that objectivity is totally impossible when you are dealing with humans. You can achieve a sort of relative objectivity, but even that is only possible when you acknowledge up front your potential biases and account for them. When you look at post-Enlightenment "modern" work you see many different biases which go unacknowledged by the "objective" scholar. I could outline them here, but at a certain point that sort of thing gets tedious. This isn't a thesis, but just an email to a friend, so I'm sure you'll grant the obvious bias which creeps into academia under the noses of the academics who see themselves as objective.
So the first problem with getting an entirely objective account of Jesus from anywhere near the time in which he lived and died is simple: objectivity is impossible, and wasn't even valued at the time.
But, your brother is not just troubled by the lack of an objective account; he is troubled by the lack of almost any account outside the early Christian movement. But, of course, that no one outside the Jesus movement was writing about Jesus should not be too surprising. Jesus was, in his lifetime, a rather insignificant figure. At the absolute longest he taught for only about three years, and some good scholars (even within Christianity) argue that he may have taught for less than a year.
In his lifetime he drew relatively few followers. He lived in a time of great religious and apocalyptic fervor in the Jewish community. Messiahs were popping up, leading small revolts, and getting executed every few years. There were, in fact, within 100 years of Jesus countless Messianic movements in the Jewish community under Roman occupation. There are really only two things which, initially, separate Jesus from the other so-called Messiahs of his time.
1.) He did not lead a violent uprising against Rome. Much has been made of the way in which Jesus contradicted the Messiah model. Christian triumphalists which proclaim that while the Jews were awaiting their militant Messiah God sent the real thing in the form of a man of peace (though Christians ought not get too haughty on the subject of violence in the name of God since, in the Crusades they perfected it!). Historically we can say that Messianic movements were in fact violent in nature. This was mostly due to the Jewish chafing under Roman occupation. When people are oppressed they want to throw off their oppressor, and they see violence as the way in which this is accomplished.
Jesus, however, was the model on which Gandhi based his non-violent resistance, and we saw how effective that was both in India and, as it was appropriated by MLK, in the American Civil Rights Movement. In this respect Jesus was very different from the other Messiah figures of his day. He, like them, however, met a very violent end. This brings us to the other initial thing which distinguishes Jesus from the other Messiah figures around the Jewish community in first century Palestine.
2.) Despite being crucified like all of the other Messianic threats perceived by the Roman empire, Jesus has in a sense survived. I am not yet talking about the resurrection, that ridiculous claim which certainly causes your brother great difficulty. Rather I am talking about the fact that, though we know that there were many other Messiah figures in the time of Christ, we do not know anything about them. In most cases we don't even know their names. There are no records of what, if anything, they taught. None of their movements survived their death. But the Jesus movement, though it has of course changed a great deal in the past two millennia, survives.
But it almost did not, which brings us to another reason why it is not surprising that there are no early records of Jesus or the movement which grew up around him outside the movement itself. Within the Roman empire Christianity began as a small reform movement within a rebellious minority religion. Jesus had very few followers in his lifetime, and all of them were Jews. The earliest Christians remained connected to the Jewish community and worshipped every Sabbath at the Temple. They eventually began to celebrate the resurrection on Sunday, but even then the first generation added that to their Sabbath rather than replacing the Sabbath with it.
The first Christian were a collection of Jews who, in some way or another, identified Jesus as the Messiah (Hebrew), the Christ (Greek). I could here get into early Christology (the study of what it means to say that Jesus is the Christ) but again that seems tedious for our purposes. If you'd like to know how the view of Jesus as the Christ changed from the earliest Jewish Christians to Hellenistic Christians to the Medieval Catholics to the Reformation, etc., then we'll talk about it sometime. In the meantime just understand that many people have historically meant many things when they said that Jesus is the Christ, and that there is no entirely uniform view which represents all of Christianity, no matter what your pastor says. The earliest Christians, the disciples and the apostles that he so reveres, did not see the role of Christ in the same way that he does.
But we're losing focus. The point is that Christianity began as a small sect of a minority religion, with very few members, all of whom would have identified themselves first and foremost as Jews. It is no wonder that the Roman empire could not at first distinguish them from the Jewish community in which they lived and worshipped. But, for at least two reasons they began to be distinguished from the Jews.
1.) People like the apostle Paul began reaching out to Gentiles, which created a real problem. With Christianity as a Jewish sect, to become a Christian was to become a Jew. For women this was not all that difficult, but for men it was. This is because Jewish men are to be circumcised This is bad enough for small children, as I'm sure you remember from Noah's circumcision. But for adults it was nearly impossible. This was a tremendous obstacle, and it kept Judaism from being effective in their evangelical efforts.
But Paul (and others like him) began to understand Jesus as not just the Messiah or Christ of Israel, but as a more universally redemptive figure. As such Paul saw no reason for Gentiles to convert to Judaism in order to become Christians. (This set up the biggest conflict in the early church, but I don't have the time or energy to deal with that here.) Gentiles started converting to Christianity without converting to Judaism, creating for the first time a group of Christians who were not Jews. This, along with tensions between Jews who were Christians and Jews who were not Christians, led to the eventual expulsion of Christian Jews from the Jewish community. (This, in turn led to the nasty and inexcusable anti-Semitism which was so prevalent in Christendom after Christians came to power.)
2.) Christians, at the same time, had a great excuse to distance themselves from Jews. This excuse was the great Jewish Revolt, which lasted from 67-73 CE. This revolt was doomed to fail from the beginning, but the first few years were not entirely bad. However, by 70 CE the war was turning nasty. Rome, sick of the persistent Jewish problem (Jews notoriously refused to assimilate into Roman society and adopt Roman values) destroyed the Jewish Temple, the very center of the religion and their identity as a distinct people. Christians seeing this did not want to meet the same fate, and began a campaign to be seen as distinct from Jews in the eyes of Rome. It is only after this campaign that it is possible for the Roman Empire to see Christianity as anything other than a small, insignificant Jewish movement.
The first reference to Christianity in any written report from an official in the Roman Empire (for this purpose the work of Josephus doesn't count since a.) he treated Christianity as a part of Judaism, and b.) he was not part of the Roman power structure) is found in the letter from Pliny the Younger to the Emperor Trajan in 112 CE. Romans did have some dealings with Christians prior to this, though there is no written record of their opinions of Christianity until this letter. (Nero, for instance, famously had Christians burned as scapegoats for a fire he started in 64 CE, and Domitian is said to have persecuted Christians from 81-96 CE for refusing to take an oath to him.) In other words, your brother is right that there are no early records of Christianity from within the Roman Empire near the time of Christ, though I think that he is wrong to be troubled by this as the Jesus movement was so small at that time that you couldn't expect the over-extended Roman officials to notice.
So the only early record we have of Jesus or the movement which followed him comes from that movement itself. And, of course what they wrote about him is biased. The Gospels, for instance, are not treated by scholars as historical records, but rather as evangelical tools. And one should be a little bit suspicious of the content of evangelical tools. It is quite possible that they do not entirely accurately present history. But, they do reflect history. They are, in fact, the only early written record of the man who has come to be seen as the most significant figure in Western history.
The most troubling claim in them is the claim that God raised Jesus from the dead, and it is this claim that I think is perhaps most difficult for your brother to accept. What are we to make of obviously biased documents claiming that physically impossible things have happened? If a new religious group claimed, without any external verification, that their founder had been raised from the dead we would probably be a little bit more than just suspicious. We would find the whole thing to be ridiculous, belonging in the Weekly World News rather than the New York Times (though the Times is evidently not immune to the scandal of fiction masquerading as solid reporting!).
But we can, at the very least, say that the early Christian movement survived only because they had some kind of experience of the resurrection of Christ from the dead. It is this Easter encounter which, whatever it ways, redeemed the scandal of the cross and paved the way for Christianity to survive what every other Messianic movement could not: the crucifixion of their leader. The resurrection, however it is understood, is the foundation of Christianity, and to treat accounts of it merely as historical forgeries crafted by religious con artists out to trick the general public is to overlook how real the resurrection experience was for those who were part of the earliest Christian movement.
We cannot use history to say that Christ was bodily raised from the dead. We cannot use science to say it either. But we can use, at the very least, the power of religious experience to proclaim the resurrection. It was the resurrection which revived a failed movement and made it arguably the most powerful religion on the earth. It was the resurrection, and my experience of it, which revived and transformed me. You too, as you claim the name of our risen Lord and Savior, have experienced the resurrection. So, on this point, do not argue with your brother on historical grounds. In fact, do not argue with him at all. Rather model the power of the resurrection for him.
The arguments for and against the existence of God are a wash, no matter what people like Josh McDowell say. We believe in God first and foremost not because we are rationally convinced of God's existence, but because our experience of God provides our lives with meaning. The same is true for the resurrection of Christ. If we grant the assumptions of modernity (and in general we must) then it is impossible for the man Jesus to be raised from the dead. But given the power of the resurrection experience in the lives of those how have had it, we might want to grant that even the most irreversible laws of physics must have some sort of exception. But our willingness to grant this exception depends purely on the meaning which our faith brings to our lives.
Here then, whether or not the resurrection happened, it must be treated as a non-literal event. It must be treated as a myth which provides meaning, even if it is also history.
More later, I'm sure; preferably in person or over the phone instead of via email. I'm sure I'll need to explain some of this, but I had to get it down first.
Chris
Thursday, January 05, 2006
Bumper Sticker Watch
Today while I was driving my son out to visit with his "Me Me" (my mother-in-law got that name because every time she leaves a message on our answering machine, she starts with "Yeah, it's me...") I saw a bumper sticker that was so good, and so appropriate, that it merited some kind of mention. It read:
I'm in Favor of the Separation of Church and Hate
Conservative Christians love to say that they "love the sinner, but hate the sin." And, perhaps they really think that they do, but you'd have a hard time convincing anyone that they identify as sinners of that. While I was being railroaded by the conservative congregation that a pastored, for instance, they certainly did not communicate (by and large, though there were some wonderful exceptions who I will treasure forever) the love that they professed to have for me. They identified me a sinner not because of any moral or immoral actions on my part, but because I preached a vision of God with which they disagreed. They could not reconcile their religious views to the messages they received from the pulpit, so they decided that I had to represent some kind of demonic conspiracy to get them to abandon the one true faith.
But the phrase "love the sinner, hate the sin" is most often used on the subject of homosexuality. Conservative Christians for some reason have identified sexual orientation (as opposed to, say, war mongering) as the most pressing moral issue of our day. Because of this they have made it the centerpiece of their Culture War. Perceiving some sort of liberal conspiracy to undermine their moral values conservatives have launched a campaign against homosexuality, and in doing so they have in effect launched a campaign against homosexuals.
When homosexuals, as a group, are denied equal protection under the law; when they are beaten and killed for their sexual orientation; when they are discriminated against in almost every level of our society; when their most formative relationships are denied legal recognition and when the law allows for the families which disowned them to have precedence over the life partner who loves them unconditionally; and when the church not only supports but demands this, it is no wonder they do not feel loved by us.
The very structure of our society has bound the gay community together against a common oppressive enemy in such a way that homosexuality is no longer a matter of sexual behavior, it is a matter of ontology, of being. You cannot, in the issue of homosexuality, separate the sin from the sinner (and not just because I don't believe that homosexuality is inherently sinful). You cannot separate the actions from the actor. This is because the actions - as they stand over and against mainstream society - have come to identify the actor.
This is the greatest ill done by our society to homosexuals. Too often they are, because of our obsession with sexual orientation, defined by their sexuality. They are not individuals who happen to be attracted to members of the same sex. They are now gays; they are now lesbians. As such one aspect of their lives takes precedence over all of the others. When you attack the moral value of that aspect you attack their very being, their identity in the world. You cannot attack someone's self-identified fundamental nature and claim that you love them, if you expect the word "love" to hold any meaning.
This is why, morally speaking, it is so important for mainstream society to recognize homosexual relationships. As those relationships (whose moral value I addressed here) are legitimized in our eyes the people who are in those relationships will no longer have to constantly fight for our (as a society) recognition of their love. Then they can worry about other things, and no longer have that one aspect of their being so completely dominate.
It is, in this case, impossible to "love the sinner" and "hate the sin" and like the bumper sticker says:
I'm in Favor of the Separation of Church and Hate
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
How Theology Affects Ethics: A Post 9-11 Look at Kierkegaard After Watching a Depressing Movie About Wal-Mart
According to the film, Wal-Mart workers - who can hardly be called affluent - have given over $5 million from their paychecks to the Critical Need Fund, a program designed to help Wal-Mart employees who are experiencing some sort of crisis. The Walton family, by contrast, has given just $6,000. Bill Gates, who does not claim to be a religious person, has given 58% of his income to charities. The Walton family, who have made their fortune in part because a certain segment of our population sees them as righteous, gave less than 1% of their income to charities in that same time period. As an Episcopal priest interviewed for the documentary said, I'm sure that the Walton family considers themselves to be good Christians, but their apparent faith seems to have little impact on their ethics, if the way in which they build and handle their wealth is any indication.
Thinking of the distance between faith and ethics I am reminded of the treatment that the existentialist Soren Kierkegaard gave to faith and ethics. As an undergraduate philosophy student I wrote a paper on a passage from his great Fear and Trembling, which - as I used to be an existentialist and an admirer of Kierkegaard - used to speak to me. Here is a slightly edited version of that paper. You can thank the current gubenatorial administration in Kentucky, cold weather, sheer boredom, a chillingly good documentary and a severe case of missing academia for my decision to revisit it here.
On Kierkegaard's Teleological Suspension of the Ethical
Problema I of Soren Kierkegaard's Fear and Trembling, titled Is there a teleological suspension of the ethical? contains two main ideas, which complement each other and come together to form the way that Kierkegaard approaches the relationship between religion and ethics. The first is Kierkegaard's concept of faith, and the second is the teleological suspension of the ethical.
Kierkegaard holds Abraham up as an example of faith, particularly for the event recorded in Genesis 22, in which Abraham demonstrates that, at the command of God, he is willing to sacrifice, in a very literal way, his only son Isaac. Earlier God had promised to make Abraham into a "great nation," and it is through Isaac that Abraham believed that God intended to keep his promise. After all, even when Isaac was born Abraham and his wife Sarah were long past their child bearing years. Surely they could not have another child. One miracle child ought to be enough. But, God asks Abraham to take his son to the mountains in the land of Moriah, and offer him as a burnt sacrifice, and Abraham agrees to do this. This willingness to follow the commands of God is central to Kierkegaard's concept of faith.
But, his concept of faith is not limited to one's willingness to follow the ridiculous commands of God. In addition to being willing to do what God has asked him to do, according to Kierkegaard, Abraham had another kind of faith. Abraham "had faith that God would not demand Isaac of him... He had faith by the virtue of the absurd, for human calculation was out of the question, and it was certainly absurd that God, who required it [the sacrifice of Isaac] of him, should, in the next moment rescind the requirement." And so Abraham, knowing what God required of him, yet, according to Kierkegaard, believing that God would not really require it of him, went up to the mountain prepared to slit the throat of his own son, yet also prepared for God to not require this of him. And so, Kierkegaard says, "Abraham had faith. He did not have faith that he would be blessed in a future life but that he would be blessed here in the world. God could give him a new Isaac, could restore to life the one sacrificed. He had faith by the virtue of the absurd, for all human calculation ceased long ago."
Abraham had "faith by the virtue of the absurd." What a strange statement. What does it mean? Does it, perhaps, mean that Abraham believed in impossible things? Perhaps, but faith here seems to mean far more than belief; even impossible belief. Perhaps it means that, when "all human calculation ceased," Abraham stopped thinking, and living, for himself. Perhaps faith here means that the one who has faith trusts that God is God, and that he/she is not God. Perhaps faith means acknowledging that God knows best, is in charge of the universe, and holds all the cards. As such, whatever God wants is what should get done, what must get done, and, in fact, in the end, what will get done.
Faith, then, is far more than belief, though it entails belief, and, in fact, makes belief possible. Faith is more like trust; trust which manifests itself in action. Trust which undergirds itself with a belief in the impossible. Faith is, by human standards, "absurd," because it removes all human values from the equation. Faith is about God, not about humans and what they can and cannot believe, what they can and cannot justify. Faith is being willing to do whatever it is that God requires, because God requires it. Faith is totally trusting in, depending on, and acting for God.
But, Abraham's situation is not only described in terms of faith, and the description of his situation matters. Kierkegaard points out that "the ethical expression for what Abraham did is that he meant to murder Isaac; the religious expression is that he meant to sacrifice Isaac." There is a tension between these two expressions; between these two descriptions of the same event. If the killing of Isaac can reasonably be described as murder, and if it has been commanded by God, has God commanded Abraham to do something immoral? Is God capable of such an act? Can a man, acting out of faith, by following the command of God, sin?
Is there, in other words, a tension between faith and ethics? And, if there is, which side should win? Answering this question, in light of the escalating level of religious-inspired violence around the world, is very important. Kierkegaard's approach to this is found in his idea of the teleological suspension of the ethical.
To understand this phrase, first we must understand what is meant by "the ethical." According to Kierkegaard, "the ethical... is the universal, and as the universal it applies to everyone, which from another angle means that it applies at all times." This is a very Kantian understanding of "the ethical," and the problems that arise from that may be dealt with later. Here it is sufficient to understand that this is what Kierkegaard means by "the ethical." It is a moral imperative that applies to all people at all times in all situations.
But, Kierkegaard's concept of faith causes problems for this view of "the ethical." "Faith is... the paradox that the single individual is higher than the universal, is justified before it, not as inferior to it but as superior"; and, later, "...the single individual stands in an absolute relation to the absolute." In other words, the man of faith stands above such universal concepts as "the ethical," and this causes a teleological suspension of the ethical. The story of Abraham is a good example of this suspension. Abraham, as a man of faith, is, by virtue of acting on the command of God, superior to the universal imperative to not murder, as well as the universal notion that "the father shall love the son more than himself." In "suspending the ethical obligation to [his] son," Abraham "transgressed the ethical altogether and had a higher telos [end, purpose] outside it."
In other words, the claims of faith, the claims of God, are superior to ethical claims, because God and faith are superior to ethics. They exist outside ethics. Someone acting out of faith in God, then, is justified in doing something which is unethical. This creates some problems, both morally and religiously, as well as problems of description.
The first problem dealt with here should be the problem of description, because it is the simplest problem and the easiest one to deal with. At the beginning of this passage Kierkegaard says that events can be described with two different expressions, the "ethical expression" and the "religious expression." The ethical is "universal," but the religious is superior to the ethical. Why, then, are there two expressions? And, if the religious expression is superior to the ethical expression, can the ethical really be universal?
This seems to me to be a problem of description. Kierkegaard has an important idea that he wants to communicate, but the way in which he has communicated it clouds the meaning and creates some unnecessary problems. Perhaps Kierkegaard could have said that God, as the creator of the universe, is the author of all that is ethical, the determiner of right and wrong. As such, whatever descriptions there are of "the ethical," it is best described as "what God has willed." If this is the case, then the revealed word of God could be added to the ethical description of any event. And so, the simple ethical expression of Abraham's situation is that he intended to murder Isaac, but, since God told him to do it, the better ethical expression is that Abraham intended to sacrifice Isaac to God, at God's request, and even command. Then, because murder is not merely the killing of a human, but, rather the unjustified killing of a human, and because the request of God would justify the killing of a human; that Abraham intended to murder Isaac would be an inaccurate ethical expression of that event. There would then be no tension between the ethical expression and the religious expression, because the ethical expression would take religion into account.
I do not think that this is inconsistent with what Kierkegaard meant, though it goes against the specific language of this passage. But, this description does point out the religious and moral problems with Kierkegaard's idea, and it demonstrates why the 22nd chapter of Genesis causes so many problems for people. In both Kierkegaard's concept of the teleological suspension of the ethical and in the 22nd chapter of Genesis, what appears to be a heinous action is justified. God asks Abraham to slaughter his only son, and it is OK for God to do so, because God is God, and not bound to human morals. Fortunately for Abraham, Isaac, and Soren Kierkegaard, God, who caused the problem in the first place, comes to the rescue and provides another sacrifice. And so, at least here, no real harm is done, unless you consider the kind of psychological damage that must have been done to both Abraham and Isaac, as well as poor Sarah. In other parts of the Torah, people are not so lucky.
In the 31st chapter of Numbers, for instance, God demands that the Israelites "take vengeance on the Midianites." And so the Israelites form an army of twelve thousand men, and kill every Midianite man, only to be reprimanded by God for not killing all of the women and children, too. In the end, they do not have to kill all of the women. They only have to kill all of the women who have "slept with a man." The virgins they can take home as sex slaves. This is another teleological suspension of the ethical. The Israelites are justified in their actions because they are acting under direct orders from God.
This concept, though, has real moral and religious problems. After all, how can we know that the orders really came from God? Every time a bomb explodes in the streets of Israel; every time a car bomb blows apart a crowd of people in Iraq, Egypt, Saudi Arabia, or some other Middle Eastern country, someone claims that it was ordained and commanded by God. When the hijacked planes flew into the Twin Towers and the Pentagon on September 11, 2001, many people claimed that the will of God had been done. If one religion justifies suspending the ethical, how can that religion deny that claim to another religion? On what grounds can a Christian or a Jew or a Muslim claim that someone else is unjustified in suspending the ethical on orders from God?
These questions are important questions to answer in a time that is marred by the threat of global, religious-inspired terrorism. They are questions that should have been answered earlier as well, during the Inquisition or the Crusades. They are questions that ought to be answered any time someone kills in the name of God. And they are questions which Kierkegaard's theory, whatever its internal merits, cannot answer.
Sunday, January 01, 2006
Jeremiah and Abortion: Morality in a Plural Society
This debate over abortion illustrates the problem with discussing moral issues in a plural society. If everyone (and I do mean absolutely everyone, down to the last person) in a community agrees on a particular moral issue then it is easy to make that position normative for the whole community without any sort of critical discussion. But abortion is not such an issue. There is no uniform consensus, even in the community of faith which claims that the Judeo-Christian scriptures are authoritative, on the moral value of abortion - no matter what the bumper stickers say.
Additionally, our community of faith - even if it could reach a consensus on abortion - does not exist in isolation, and does not have the authority to impose its position on any issue onto the broader secular community in which it finds itself. In America, as in any plural society, there are a great many communities which are attempting to come together to form a common moral and legal code. For any one of those communities to seek to impose its will on the others without serious collective discussions would be to violate the mutual cooperation which keeps the peace in any plural society.
Yet this violation, this imposition, is exactly what the culture war is about. The culture war is an attempt by evangelicals to impose their morality on all of the other communities within our plural society. This attempted imposition is not made through rational argument which focuses on some common ground, but rather through political force.
So, within the evangelical community, while I personally do not like the practice of abortion in most cases, I defend abortion. This is because I understand that just because I find something distasteful that does not give me the right to make a moral norm which prevents anyone from doing it. When we try to make moral norms for a plural society we have to bring the voice of every community into the discussion. That is the price we pay for living in peace.
But, even given the assumptions of evangelicals - particularly the authority of the scriptures - there is still no obvious reason to hold that abortion is in all cases morally wrong. The argument has been advanced that Jeremiah 1:4-5 demonstrates that in abortion a person with a soul is killed, and it is assumed that all such killing is wrong because were it not then any one of us may at any moment be killed without recourse.
But, I have to ask, what (if anything) does that passage from Jeremiah say about abortion? Let's look at it. Jeremiah 1:4-5, in the Jewish Study Bible, reads
The word of the Lord came to me [Jeremiah]:
Before I created you in the womb, I selected you;
Before you were born, I consecrated you;
I appointed you a prophet concerning the
nations.
I chose the Jewish Study Bible because, personally, I think that it is the best translation of the Hebrew Bible (though I am no expert). I also chose it because I thought that perhaps looking at an unfamiliar translation might help us see some of the main points of this passage, apart from the way in which it has been highjacked by the culture warriors.
This passage, understood in its cultural, textual and historical context (or even, properly speaking, understood literally) has nothing at all to say about abortion, as far as I can tell.
To make this passage speak to abortion you have to yank it out of its context and interpret it per some modern assumptions. You first have to assume that, rather than speaking merely to Jeremiah as the text indicates, the Lord is actually addressing the metaphysical nature of all humans. Because the Lord "selected" or "knew" (as in the more familiar translations) Jeremiah "before" he was in the womb, the soul must precede birth. If this is the case then killing a fetus is killing an ensouled being.
But, first, the passage is addressed only to Jeremiah, and we will get to the reasons for this later. Also, there is here no mention of soul for the obvious reason that there is no concept of soul in Judaism before it came into contact with Hellenism. The idea that we are principally souls trapped in corruptible bodies is a Greek idea, not a Hebrew idea. Jeremiah would have held, like any other Jew, that human beings are physical bodies, not eternal souls.
This emphasis on the body carries on into early Christianity. The apostle Paul was so concerned with the doctrine of the resurrection of the body because for him that was the only hope for eternal life. To Paul the notion that we are souls which are freed at death from our bodies was neither Christian nor Jewish, though it might be heresy.
Of course this does not mean that we don't have souls, or even that I don't believe that we have souls. Watching my wife's ninety-year-old grandmother's body slowly betray her reinforces in me how comforting the notion of a soul is. Surely the essence of this saintly woman is not limited to her quickly deteriorating frame. I certainly hope that in that frame there is an eternal soul which will leap for joy to be freed from its mortal coil. But soul is a theologically bothersome concept, as it leads us to de-value the body. It is also a concept which is not essential to Christianity, and would be foreign to Christ or Paul, much less Jeremiah, who surely had never been exposed to Greek philosophy.
So, whether or not we are, in fact, accurately described as ensouled bodies, Jeremiah certainly had no concept of soul. Therefore the passage from Jeremiah which has been used to argue that abortion destroys an ensouled body cannot possibly really say that. The meaning of Jeremiah 1:4-5 has nothing to do with abortion or souls.
So, what does this passage mean, and why is it such a shame that it has been (like so many other passages of scripture) highjacked by culture warriors and made to speak to issues which it was never intended to address? To answer that question we have to understand what it is that the passage is saying, so that we can then understand its significance.
The passage is at the very beginning of the long book of Jeremiah. The purpose of this introduction is to give the rest of the book some kind of legitimacy. Verses 1-3, which immediately precede the passage that we are considering, tell us a little bit about who Jeremiah was, what stock he comes from, and roughly when he lived. These verse also tell us that the words which follow are Jeremiah's own words, a statement designed to give the text itself as much authority as the prophet.
Verses 4-5, which we are considering, are the beginning of a kind of dialogue between the Lord and Jeremiah. This dialogue can be seen as the calling and commissioning of Jeremiah as a prophet.
"Prophet" is a word which is often misunderstood. Nostradamus, for instance, is often hailed by the secular world as a "prophet" because it is claimed by some that he could see into and predict the future. Because of this view of prophets as seers who predict the future, and prophesy as a kind of foretelling people often look to the Biblical books of prophesy as divine premonitions of "end time" events. But, understood Biblically, prophets are those who speak for God. In this passage Jeremiah is called by God to be the voice of God in the world, which is why so much effort is put at the beginning of this book into legitimizing Jeremiah as a prophet. This passage, and the context around it, is designed to convince us that Jeremiah is a messenger from God, and that this, his book, speaks for God to us.
This dialogue between the Lord and Jeremiah doesn't just speak to our doubts, it also speaks of Jeremiah's doubts. Verse 6, immediately after the verses we are considering, says:
I replied:
Ah, Lord!
I don't know how to speak,
For I am still a boy.
Jeremiah feels neither worthy nor able to carry the Word of God to the nations. The Lord then puts Jeremiah in his place, ordering him to do as he is told and to live up to his calling. Verse 9 then cements the character of prophesy:
The Lord put out His hand and touched my mouth, and the Lord said to me: Herewith I put my words into your mouth.
Thus, understood in its textual context, Jeremiah 1:4-5 immediately speaks to two things:
1. The majesty and sovereignty of the God who knew Jeremiah even before there was a Jeremiah to be known.
2. The unique and special calling of Jeremiah, who has been appointed and anointed by God to carry the Word of God to all the nations.
Jeremiah 1:4-5 tells us, then, that there is a God whose awesome majesty extends beyond even the wildest powers of our imagination. This God knows beings, such as Jeremiah, who have not yet even been made. This divine foreknowledge speaks to God's eternal plan for creation, a plan in which Jeremiah, by virtue of his divine calling as a foreknown prophet, has the privledge to take part. These two verses also tell us that this God chooses to speak to us through us. Jeremiah is a human, yet he has been called by God to carry the Word of God to the nations. God respects humanity enough to use humans for divine purposes. This is (as I taught for my entire ministerial career) not because God needs us, but because God desires to bless us by making us feel useful.
This Word of God is so much more spiritually vital than the way in which it is misused to speak to a contemporary moral debate. The Bible ought not be taken captive by those who would use it to out "proof-text" those who disagree with them. Passages from it ought not be taken out of their context and robbed of their riches so that spiritual bullies can claim that God agrees with them. The Bible - and all of the stories, songs, poems, sermons and collected sayings in it - ought to be respected as one of the ways in which God speaks to our spiritual community and many of the spiritual communities which came before us.
Abortion is a serious and complicated moral issue. There are no verses in the Bible which speak directly to it, though it is possible that some insights from the Bible can be used to help us treat abortion properly. But for the Bible to speak to abortion it must be allowed to speak as the living Word of God, understood properly in context rather than as a collection of fragments which can be yanked around to support what we already believe.
Abortion is also a problem not just for our spiritual community but for our entire plural society. We who hold the Bible to be the Word of God must respect those around us who do not see the Bible the same way. Therefore, even if it were possible (which it isn't) to pick a single verse out of the Bible and say that it demonstrates that abortion is in all cases morally impermissible, we would still not be justified in imposing that view on others in our society who do not hold the same assumptions we do.
For Christians to be able to live in peace with our neighbors we must stop trying to impose a Christian ethic (if there is such a thing) on a plural society which contains many non-Christians.
If you really wish to stop abortion, don't try to change the law without the consent of those governed by it. Instead try to change the hearts, minds and circumstances of those who might be tempted to have abortions. And, when you do, remember, as the character from the movie Saved so famously put it, "This [the Bible] is not a weapon!"
