Monday, August 29, 2005

Ken Myers: "Worshipping ourselves"


(If you haven't yet discovered Ken Myers and his Mars Hill audiotapes, you need to! Myers interviews some of today's most significant Christian thinkers, artists, writers and theologians in a continuing conversation about the relationship of faith and culture. However, Myers himself is an articulate observer. Here's one of my favorite of his articles.)

Self-Obsession and the Denial of God

By Ken Myers

As I write this, the Popular Culture Vulgarism of the Year Award is likely to be granted to the ad campaign for a new fragrance from Yves Saint Laurent. The ad, which appeared in several fashion magazines around the world in late October 2002, features a nude male model in a posture of all-revealing repose. One can only suppose that the designers of the X-rated ad could imagine no new way to be sexually suggestive, so they decided instead to produce something sexually explicit.

The trend in advertising that has been dubbed “ Porn chic ” is both new and sadly familiar. It is not, of course, a novelty to use sex to sell products. But in the past, with the exception of girlie calendars selling automotive supplies or beer, most such marketing relied on clever double-entendres and attractive but discreet models. Like movies of the 1930s and 1940s, advertisers could have it both ways by draping the sexual come-ons with some fabric of respectability. But there is indeed something new about “porn chic” advertising, in the willingness of advertisers to associate their products with raw and explicit images usually encountered only in the sleaziest and most obviously exploitative forms of sexual expression.

Those of us who are offended at the very idea of this Yves Saint Laurent ad (most of us will be spared actually having to look at it unless we work within the ranks of haute couture) might well ask, “Where will it stop?” But we should pause and ask a related question: “Why should it stop?” It would only make sense to be surprised at new levels of offensiveness in public life or in mass media if there were an agreed upon source of moral authority that guided our shared social experience.

But the essence of modern culture is the denial of any authority beyond the self and its desires . That theme is explicit in many influential philosophical writings that shape what we now think of as modern societies. For centuries, the idea that societies should be organized in order to reflect the laws of nature or of God has been on the wane, being replaced by a new ultimate goal: the promotion of individual self-fulfillment. Daniel Bell , professor emeritus of the social sciences at Harvard University, once described this as the enthroning of the self at the center of the moral universe.

I AM THE SUN

In his famous book The Abolition of Man, C. S. Lewis described the elevation of self-fulfillment in similar terms. Lewis observed that for both Christian and classical culture, the principle moral task was “how to subdue the soul to reality”—that is, how do we train our souls to fit in with the order of things in the universe. Social and cultural institutions in traditional societies were generally organized around this task. But the modern project, Lewis warns, turns that older and wiser goal on its head. The chief end of modern society is “how to subdue reality to the wishes of men.” Similarly, social and cultural institutions in modern societies have tended to follow the logic of this goal. The idea that divine or natural law should restrain or direct social activity was still widely plausible at the beginning of the twentieth century. But by century’s end, almost all social institutions were committed to encouraging the liberation and fulfillment of desires rather than their restraint.

For most of the modern period (the beginning of which has been recognized somewhere between the Renaissance and the Industrial Revolution), the idea of a self-centered universe was kept at bay by traditional institutions in Western societies. But the commitment of those institutions to divinely established moral boundaries for social life became more and more tenuous. Moral conservatives tend to blame that decay on a succession of prophets of liberation, from foul-mouthed disk jockeys to publishers of pornography to progressive activists and lawyers and judges. But the loss of certainty about the existence of moral absolutes and the reduction in recognition of moral authority has more to do with technical, social, and economic changes in American culture than in the deliberate crusades of libertines.

Consider the sheer pace of change in American society. Daniel Bell has observed that “The United States was probably the first large-scale society in history to build cultural change into the society.” Such accommodation to change was necessary in a young nation composed of an ever-shifting population of immigrants, energized more by the future (as symbolized by rapid technological developments) than the past (the presence of which, in the Old World, was felt through ancient institutions and their buildings, rituals, and relics). America was a place of new beginnings, and so Americans soon came to love change. But as Bell notes, this had serious consequences for the social commitment to eternal moral truths. “Though at first the changes were primarily in manners, dress, taste, and food habits, sooner or later they begin to affect more basic patterns: the structure of authority in the family, the role of children and young adults as independent consumers in the society, the pattern of morals, and the different meanings of achievement in the society.”

Bell reminds us how changes in the structures and institutions of society often pave the way for changes in the underlying beliefs. Sometimes, ideas or convictions come first and effect a change in social structures (e.g., the abolition of slavery followed certain convictions about human dignity). But in many other instances, changes in social institutions that come about because of technical or economic forces will lead to changes in patterns of personal behavior, and in turn to changes in how one feels and thinks about the world.

In addition to the social ferment in this young nation, the technological developments that allowed for the advent of mass-produced consumer goods meant that large numbers of people suddenly had the ability to change the material condition of their lives. The possibility of economic betterment was a major incentive for most immigrants who arrived here from Europe. Changing the material conditions of one’s life is often associated with the desire to change one’s identity. As a person acquires new wealth, they also have access to new possibilities of behavior once denied them. New circles of friends and acquaintances are entered, sometimes (but not always) replacing the old. The experience of this social mobility or fluidity often encourages doubt about old certainties and suspicion of old structures of authority. Once again, this was dangerous for the survival of traditional values. For, in Daniel Bell’s words, “mass consumption meant the acceptance, in the crucial area of lifestyle, of the idea of social change and personal transformation, and it gave legitimacy to those who would innovate and lead the way, in culture as well as in production.”

CULT OF THE NEW

Cultural innovators, people who push the boundaries back, seem to be in sync with the dynamic qualities of a society committed to newness and the corresponding abandonment of the past. Cultural conservators seem unnatural and out of place in such a society. And, as Bell notes, there is a link between the central ideal of self-fulfillment in modern culture and the celebration of the new (at the expense of what is old or what is eternal and permanent). “By turning one’s back on the past,” Bell observes, one “shreds the ties which compel continuity; one makes the new and the novel the source of interest, and the curiosity of the self the touchstone of judgment.”

We use the term “popular culture” to describe both those cultural forms disseminated through mass media (music, television programs, radio, popular publishing, etc.) and the values and sensibilities associated with those forms. Popular culture played a large role in promoting the acceptance of perpetual cultural change. The producers and distributors of popular culture are our most influential cultural innovators. In traditional societies, leaders of cultural institutions were custodians of permanence. But the only permanent thing in the matrix of a society dominated by popular culture is the necessity to do something new.

What happens to moral authority in such a setting? Popular culture places a high premium on novelty; in other terms, novelty is highly valued. Those people who violate old standards of behavior, paving the way for innovative behavior, are the ones who are most energetically acting out our commitment to novelty. In a paradoxical way, those who challenge values of morality are doing so in the name of the value we place on freedom, innovation, and self-expression.
Encouraging a deep commitment to novelty is only one of the ways popular culture undermines systems of authority.
Moral authority is usually strongest in the context of moral communities . Healthy communities have the power, poet and novelist Wendell Berry reminds us, “to enforce decency without litigation.” But it can do so only if “it lives and acts by the common virtues of trust, goodwill, forbearance, self-restraint, compassion, and forgiveness.” These virtues require that a community sustain a sense of membership and obligation within the community, which is often undermined by popular culture, not because of its content but because of its form.

REGARD FOR STRANGERS

Most popular culture comes to us from strangers, not from those within our community. When people give a higher regard to the cultural influence of strangers than those in their own community, moral authority is difficult to sustain. Communities are vulnerable to disruption from without; as Berryreminds us, “A community cannot be made or preserved apart from the loyalty and affection of its members and the respect and goodwill of the people outside it.” In the past century, largely due to the invasive character of mass media, “communities have been more and more victimized by opportunists outside themselves. And as the salesmen, saleswomen, advertisers, and propagandists of the industrial economy have become more ubiquitous and more adept at seduction, communities have lost the loyalty and affection of their members.” And so, they have lost the essential role in God’s ordering of human society of shaping behavior by informing the conscience.

Modern culture destroys confidence in eternal ethical norms by first separating the individual from the sustaining and restraining institutions of family and community that are, in God’s providence, the normal mechanism of moral instruction and authority. Popular culture, by detaching individuals from family and community, has a tendency to encourage an attitude of moral autonomy. Not all popular culture is explicitly rebellious in its content, but the overall dynamic of popular culture, when it is not recognized as subservient to the specific moral demands of one’s family and community, tends to encourage personalities committed to preserving independence above all. As long as our most valued cultural experiences are delivered to us by strangers whose only interest in us is as sources of revenue, we should not be surprised that standards sink lower and lower and behavior becomes more and more depraved.

It is imperative that Christians pay greater attention to the way the forms of popular culture undercut efforts of families and churches to sustain moral conviction and build character. All too often, parents turn their children over to the moral impresarios of mass media, hoping that by leavening the mixture with some Christian popular culture that their children will not depart from the faith. But if the priority of family and community (especially the local church) is not sustained, we will lose a greater percentage of our children over time. We will also fail to display for the benefit of our neighbors those structures that are in keeping with the demands of building character.

The late German psychologist Alexander Mitscherlich wisely observed that modern cultures long for a “society without fathers,” by which he means a society that has rejected any pre-existing structures of authority. Popular culture has played a key role in that rejection. While there are many delightful opportunities for innocent entertainment and pleasure within popular culture, as a cultural system, it poses a threat to moral order. Societies have always had persons who provided amusement and entertainment, but rarely were court jesters given the throne. Only in our own society has the place of having fun become so central that we risk amusing ourselves to death.

Ken Myers , a fellow of the Wilberforce Forum , is the president of Mars Hill Audio , which produces a bimonthly audio journal with notable guests addressing a variety of topics. He is the author of All God’s Children and Blue Suede Shoes: Christians and Popular Culture (Crossway, 1989).
This article first appeared in the December 2002 issue of BreakPoint WorldView.

A Taize Meditation


I found this on the Taize website this morning. What comforting words--that my weakness and sin are not obstacles to Christ's love. May He help me to say with Peter, "you! you!"

Brother Roger's Meditation for August, 2005

John 21:15-17

Peter was depressed after he disowned Jesus three times on the eve of the Passion. When the risen Jesus meets Peter again, however, he questions him not about what he has done but about what is deepest and truest in him, about his love. He knows that this has not disappeared in Peter, in spite of everything.


After each question, Jesus entrusts Peter with a responsibility. Precisely this weak and sinful person is loved and is called to respond. Anyone who takes on responsibilities in the communion of the Church has to discover this. To accept responsibility never means to play a role, or to show that we are strong and holy. Whoever accepts responsibility does not pretend to be better than others. The question they have to answer is not: "Are you strong; will you be capable?" But: "Do you love me? Can you love?"

Three times Peter answers: "You know…" What would we have answered? Peter must have realised how imperfectly he had behaved. Yet he does not say: "Yes, I do love you a little", or: "I will try to love you more." Had he done so, Peter would have been himself the measure of love. Instead, he leaves behind all measuring and analyzing himself, just as earlier he jumped out of the boat (v. 7). He entrusts himself to Jesus, as to a real friend.

From now on, Jesus’ friendship and love carries him. Peter does not say: "I can", or: "I will…" But: "You, you!" Then it is no longer our ability to love, or mere feelings, which are at the centre. Instead, a living person becomes the source of our love; he comes to complete our imperfect love and acts. Our weakness, even our sin, is not an obstacle for his love. From now on I can leave my weakness to Jesus. He can transform it into something I cannot imagine. And he can make me a witness of his love to others, without my knowing how.

Jesus questions us about love. Where do I see most clearly that love is at the heart of my responsibilities?

What experiences have shown me that love is more than a feeling, that we can even love without feelings of love?

Friday, August 12, 2005

"There's Nothing My God Cannot Do"


In a recent blog, Jay wrote, "this is gonna happen because God says so, and He is true to His word." I'm not entirely sure how Jay intends this assertion to be understood, but behind statements of this kind lie a long and heated theological/philosophical debate. The question is:

1) do things happen SIMPLY because God says so, so that tomorrow if God says "The ten commandments are out. From now on, adultery and coveting are what's good," then from that point on, "that's what's gonna happen?"

This is what Calvinists/Reformed folk say, because they have a voluntaristic understanding of who God is. That is, they emphasize God's will --in Latin, voluntas-- in order to assert His total sovereignty over all creation. Two centuries ago Jonathan Edwards rhapsodized about God's arbitrary will, and people like Van Til and Dooyeweerd do it today.

These are the people who like to sing "My God is so great, so strong and so mighty there's NOTHING my God cannot do." Presumably, then, God could lie, and cease being holy, if he wanted/willed to. It's just that he hasn't chosen to. But there's nothing to prevent him from doing so; otherwise He wouldn't be sovereign.

These folk would agree that God is "true to his word" insofar as his word is completely an expression of his will (voluntas.) If and when His will changes, then that word will be what is true, good, real. Who are we, mere creatures, to limit God, muchless to question His will?

2) or does God say things should happen out of more than just His will; that is, because they will be expressions of Who He is in his entirety? This would open up a place for "Logos," which (or better, Who!) is not merely God's will, but reflects a deeper Order, a reflection of His Mind. (cf. John 1)

Thus, things happen because of who God is, and what He says/wills is in perfect congruence with His entire being. God could never say "From this point on, I am suspending the Ten Commandments" because to do so would violate Who He is. Our Reformed brothers and sisters see this as a limitation of God's freedom and sovereignty; but folks like C.S. Lewis, Alvin Plantinga and Ronald Nash do not.

Like them, I cringe everytime I hear the children's chorus, because in scripture God Himself tells us that there are some things He CANNOT do: he can't lie ( Numbers 23:19; 1 Samuel 15:29 and Titus 1:2); he can't not exist (Exodus 3:13-14) he can't not be holy (Lev. 11:4-45; Ps.99:3,5; Is. 45:11, etc; 1 Peter 1:15-16etc. ). If this diminishes his sovereignty, then so be it. Why would we want a God who could contradict himself? (cf. James 1:17; Malachi 3:6)

Yet for many people, in a postmodern world, where Will trumps Mind and where there are many Eastern influences, contradiction is taken to be a sign of great spiritual depth. These are the heirs of Tertullian and Kierkegaard, who cry "I believe because it is absurd." They aren't talking about paradoxes--where things seem contradictory, but way down actually aren't. They are talking about real contradictions: where A is not A; where, for the same thing, in the same place at the same time, it both has and doesn't have some property.

Here's a paradox: "Jesus is fully God and fully Human."
Here's a contradiction: "Jesus is the Son of God and He is not the Son of God."

The bottom line here is that just as the Enlightenment erred in overemphasizing God's Mind, the Reformed/Calvinists err in overemphasizing God's Will. In the Lord, both His Mind and Will are perfectly integrated--so perfectly aligned that when He speaks, things come into being. He is true to his Word because He Himself is Truth. He doesn't choose what will be true, or good, or real: He is the Truth. (John 14:6). He is Good. (Luke 18:19). He is the ultimate source, ground and goal of reality: (Acts 17:28; Rev. 1:8, 21:6, and 22:13). That, to me, is what real sovereignty looks like.

Tuesday, August 09, 2005

CQOD: from Johannes Tauler


Christian Quotation of the Day, August 8, 2005

Verily, if thou desirest to have the Creator of all
creatures, thou must renounce all creatures; for it cannot be
otherwise, but only insomuch as thy soul is emptied and bared;
the less of the creature, the more of God: this is but a fair
bargain.
... Johannes Tauler (ca. 1300-1361),
The Inner Way


CQOD Compilation Copyright 2005, Robert McAnally Adams, Curator
CQOD Home Page: http://www.cqod.com/

I find it interesting that this quote comes from the 14th century. It clearly represents the breakdown of the medieval synthesis, which taught that goods must be RIGHTLY ORDERED, rather than renounced. I've always found it frustrating when Christians think that in order to know and love the Lord, they must reject what God has himself called "good."

This quote mocks the very idea of the Incarnation, which tells us that in Christ, God empted HIMSELF and entered into His creation. It also seems to deny the power of His sacraments, water and wine, to be means of His grace. All in all, this quote has the sulferous smell of gnosticism to me.

Wednesday, August 03, 2005

Tolkien and the Sacramental Imagination


(This summer I've been cleaning out my computer files. In the process I've come across some favorite articles. I've already posted some of them, such as the ones by Kaylor, Webber, Sayer and Colson. Here's another.

I find Howard's discussion of narrative and sacramentalism especially compelling, and wonder if they aren't what many young people are missing in current "contemporary" worship. Non-Reformed Evangelicals have a long history of exclusive emphasis on narrative, calling it "the gospel." Emergents/postmoderns have taken to calling it "the story." However, they sense that it cannot be so neatly detached from sacraments, and so find themselves yearning for sacramentals. They seem to think they can invent them for themselves, or have them "cafeteria style," without buying "the whole package." Is that really possible? Is there some sort of necessary connection between narrative and sacrament? It's a question that has haunted me now for over 30 years.)

Sacramental Imagination

Catholicism anchored Tolkien's life and suffused his writings.
by Thomas Howard
http://www.ctlibrary.com/7817

Tolkien claimed that all of his work was massively influenced—nay determined—by his Catholicism. Questions crowd in straightaway: "I've read the trilogy and The Silmarillion ten times, and I never saw anything Catholic in it." Or, "How can he say that? The characters have to get along in their quest without a bit of 'divine' help."

True, the hobbits and the men of Aragorn's ilk don't seem to have any "god" to invoke, though there are some talisman-like cries for help from above—most notably "O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!" But unless one has read The Silmarillion, one has only the sketchiest notions of the immense theological backdrop to the trilogy's "fragment" (see p. 28).

Magnetic north

The saga of The Ring most certainly draws upon Norse and Icelandic saga for its ethos and not, apparently, on Catholic categories. Tolkien, like his friend Lewis, was intoxicated by "northernness." When they came upon the Nordic tales, each found himself pierced with the dart of sehnsucht.

This is a sweet desire; an insupportable nostalgia for—for what? It is an inconsolable yearning that finds itself not only not satisfied, but intensified, by any small taste of beauty available to us mortals. Dante's Beatrice, the Alps at sunset, T. S. Eliot's "moment in the draughty church at smokefall"—such glimpses serve only to drive the knife deeper into the wound.

Midgard, or "middle earth," was the name given to our world in Nordic saga. And the world of which Tolkien writes is our world, only the events occur in a "time" not locatable in our calendars. The Age of Men is about to come forth in Tolkien's trilogy. Titanic events mark the waning of the elder world. The elves and their kind are "passing, passing," throughout the whole drama, and finally disappear through a gray screen of rain just before the final scene, when we return to the meat-and-potatoes world of Mr. Samwise Gamgee, his wife Rosie, and their baby Elanor.

Buying the package

All of this seems distant from Catholicism, unless we wish to suppose Tolkien's religion was a mere fancy that found a lodging in the immense mystery of the Church of Rome. Certainly many people suppose that conversion to Catholicism entails a large dollop of romanticism.

But first, Tolkien never converted to Catholicism: he was born into it. And second, no convert to Catholicism finds anything like the Pre-Raphaelite magic that he might, in his non-Catholic days, have fancied lay in the region across the Tiber River.

Tolkien's Catholicism was, if anything, at a polar extreme from the romantic or the nostalgic. It was utterly and unsentimentally matter-of-fact. We would never have found Tolkien rhapsodizing about The Faith. He got himself to Mass regularly, and he said his prayers, and he counted on the Sacraments and banked on the Magisterium of the Church as the authoritative teacher of Sacred Scripture—and that was that.

Tolkien's Catholicism was as intractable and given as the stones of the old buildings at Merton College. Odd as it may seem, there isn't much to say about Tolkien's faith unless one wants to embark on a log of Catholic dogma. He simply bought the whole package. And that is archetypically "Catholic." His "faith" was of one, seamless fabric with his body, his teaching, his daily routine, his writing, and his family.

So. What about this flinty Catholicism of Tolkien's and its effect on his work?

First, Catholics are profoundly narrative. Where Protestants gravitate towards the immense abstractions of sovereignty, election, depravity, atonement, and grace, Catholics characteristically come to rest on events: Creation; Annunciation; Gestation; Parturition; the Agony in the Garden; the Passion, Resurrection, and Ascension. The Mass is an enactment, as opposed to the Protestant service, with its center of gravity in the sermon.

Stoups, relics, and lembas

Second, Catholicism is sacramentalist. The point where the Divine touches our humanity is a physical one. Creation; pelts for Adam and Eve; the Ark; the Tabernacle; the Womb of the Virgin; the flesh of the Incarnate One; splinters, nails, whips, and torn flesh. The entire Gospel is enacted—physically, in the Catholic liturgy. Hence the ease with which the Catholic mind reaches for narrative. Tolkien believed he could not have written the saga if he had not been a Catholic. He trusted in his imagination in a way sadly rare among Protestants.

Tolkien's saga is also sprinkled with "sacramentals": the lembas, the athelas (a healing plant), mithril (finely woven magical armor), Bilbo's sword "Sting": these aren't magic, much less omnipotent. But they do have virtu—spiritual character, excellence. Tolkien was used to holy water stoups, crucifixes, relics, the Rosary, and so forth, which stand on the cusp between the seen and the Unseen.

Third, good and evil in Middle-earth are indistinguishable from Christian notions of good and evil in our own story. To be sure, we do not find Gollum about today, but what does a soul en route to damnation look like? Whereas good and evil are usually veiled in our world (is that man a lecher or a good preacher?), in the stark air of myth, the murk is blown away and we get to see. Goodness, too, takes a shape (Tom Bombadil, Treebeard, Galadriel, Aragorn); and the matter need not be burdened with a homily.

Ultimately, the hobbits and the rest must struggle on in faith—substance of things hoped for, evidence of things not seen. But Tolkien, being a Catholic, would never smuggle in a paragraph to that effect. We must find it in the narrative, as Catholics do in the whole treasury of Catholicism.

Thomas Howard is Chairman (ret.) of the Department of English at St. John's Seminary, Boston.
Copyright © 2003 by the author or Christianity Today International/Christian History magazine.