Each to their own, or how to disrespect the other

Taken from: http://peterrollins.net/blog/?p=46

Is it not the case that amidst all our contemporary liberal celebration of otherness there is a distinct whiff of fear concerning those who are different from us? We may say that we want to live in a society of difference and that we are enriched by this wealth of diversity. Indeed we may even spend our time fighting for such a society. However, so much of this seems to spring from a deep horror and fear of the other. Is it not the case that we can celebrate others only so long as they occupy a public space with us within which they do not air their potentially exclusive, racist and sexist attitudes?

I celebrate the fact that you are not like me, do not think like me, or see the world like me, only to the extent that I never have to encounter that side of you. I can only accept your otherness so long as I never have to be polluted by it, so long as I never have to see or hear it in the workplace, pub or street corner. So we end up showing our ‘respect’ of the otherness of the other by demanding that it remain behind closed doors (where they can engage in their cultural, religious activities in peace). In short, we all must publicly act as modern, liberal, Western Capitalists and leave our ethnic and religious ideas at home.

The reason why I mention this is because I want to apply this logic (which I have admittedly skimmed over) to the issue of how we really show respect to other religious expressions of faith (particularly ones we find dangerous). So often I hear my friends, who have moved out of what they experienced as a constrictive religious setting, saying, ‘this is my journey, I don’t want to impose it on anyone else’. This can often be wrapped up in the idea of respecting difference. However, is it really respectful of the other? For does this position not end up either advocating some kind of crude relativism or treating the other as an infant not worthy of engagement?

In terms of the first we must remember that the celebration of doubt, ambiguity and complexity in life (virtues I have spent a great deal of time defending) do not in any way lead to some kind of ‘all narratives are equally valid’ position. While we may wish to avoid the absolute claims of ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ with regards to different expressions of faith, that does not mean that we are unable use the best evidence available to ascertain whether a certain expression of faith is ‘healthy’ or ‘unhealthy’, ‘damaging’ or ‘healing’, ‘beneficial’ or ‘detrimental’. Take the example of the scientific method. By applying this scientists avoid the closed idea of a true description of phenomenon in favour of a theory that provides the best description. These theories can range from fragile (e.g. String theory) to almost irrefutable (e.g. gravity), but they are never totally closed. In the same way we can, for example, argue that the faith expressed in documentaries such as ‘Jesus Camp’ and ‘Audience of One’ are deeply unhealthy, not through reference to religious dogma, but through reference to critical reflection.

Secondly, and much more common, is the claim that not by not critically engaging with different expressions of faith (such as the ones we have left) we show respect for other peoples religious expressions. However what this really means is that we distance ourselves from the activity that we dislike. Ignoring it as best we can. For example, if we meet someone we know in the shopping centre who is part of the church we left we attempt to talk to them about something insignificant (like the weather) or something that unites us (like our families). In other words, we engage in the ‘other’ only in so much as they resemble us (and thus, only to the extent that they are not really other).

We must not then fool ourselves into thinking that this is a sign of respect. To respect them we must be prepared to treat them as one with the ability to think rationally and be able to discuss controversial issues. Of course, a shopping centre is unlikely to be the best place to do this! Instead we often treat them as one would treat a child who believes in Santa. If we want to show respect for another we do it by treating them and their views as worthy of critical reflection: as worthy of disagreement rather than mere dismissal. Of course, when entering the debate I would argue that we must be open to being wrong, be prepared to be self-critical and ready to learn from the one we are in discussion with.

I guess what I am wanting to open up in this post is the idea that, far from being exclusive, arrogant and disrespectful, it is in engaging in rational argument with those we disagree with that we (1) avoid exclusivity (2) mitigate against arrogance and (3) respect the other. It is by encouraging a meaty, passionate discussion with those we disagree with that we can hope to avoid new dogmatisms and, in addition to perhaps helping the other, allow them to aid us in our own further development.

Not knowing what ought to be done is to already know what ought to be done

Taken from: http://peterrollins.net/blog/?p=45

It has been great that there have been so many responses to the last post. I hope that this means there is an energy behind exploring this issue. Sadly most of the posts deserve a proper response and yet that would take a long time to do (with each answer generating more questions). So instead I will pick up on one issue that Jason asked me to expand on. Namely, what I meant by saying that some people within the church ‘know what ought to be done yet don’t do it’. So what do I mean? Do I mean that the people I am speaking of have an idea of what an alternative faith community might look like and yet are refusing to create it? No.

Firstly, before saying what I mean I need to clarify what, to any sensitive reader, is already obvious (I shouldn’t even mention it as getting caught up in these silly matters takes away from the real issues). Namely, that my last post is not speaking of people who wish to betray their church because they find it falling short of its ideals, not to their personal taste, or for any other reason related to some consumerist self-interested desire. We all know the simple fact, hardly worth repeating, that churches will be broken because they are filled with broken people like me. I am of course speaking below of people who betray their church in order to show their fidelity to the message housed there, in order to more fully delve into its radical kernal.

Secondly, I was not referring to all concretely existing communities that call themselves ‘church’. Indeed I am open to the idea that the word ‘church’ can be redeemed to refer to various types of gatherings in which people meet together in the aftermath of a life transforming event, listen to the stories of the past, share their lives and attempt to encourage one another in living the way of Christ. However I am not wed to the word ‘church’ either because of what it has come to mean through the predominance of evangelical Christianity on the religious landscape. For instance I personally like words such as ‘cohorts’, and ‘collectives’. Words that not only have less baggage, but which have arisen in the midst of rethinking the nature and role of faith groups. In short, while I do not mean all churches, if you think I am talking about yours: I probably am.

Anyway, to get back to the point, when I speak of the potential revolutionaries within the structure ‘knowing what ought to be done’ I am not meaning that they have a positive understanding of a viable alternative. Indeed I think that this would be pretty much impossible. Rather they need to leave in order to be able to begin to explore alternatives. They need to leave, not only (and perhaps not necessarily) their dogmatic church, but rather they must free themselves from the linguistic system that sustains that church.

By this I mean that when one is within a particular linguistic system that is the system within which one will understand the world. Any choice made within that system will be a choice understood by the language of that system and thus will be held under its gravitational pull.

For instance, when people leave an evangelical church or engage in a lifestyle not endorsed by that group they will often be labelled ‘backslider’ (a word that refers to someone who has wilfully and knowingly turned away from the truth). This, in itself, is not my main problem (and, more often than not, this term may be an insightful description of the individual). Rather my concern is when someone in a faith community who makes a positive step forward (psychologically, spiritually, intellectually) is labelled in this way because the community does not posses the words to appreciate it. Indeed, this does not really bother me that much in comparison to such people who label themselves as ‘backsliders’. Here the individual, whether they have left the church or not, are still under the sway of that evangelical worldview and thus any positive step forward is still thought of negatively.

The choice to leave is made within the confines of the evangelical system itself and is thus understood within that system. In this way the explicit rejection of it is implicitly an affirmation of it (I reject it not because it is wrong but because I am wrong). The result is that the majority of people who see themselves as ‘backsliders’ will either return to the group they left or continue to define themselves in opposition to it.

The real choice to be made is thus not between staying or going from a particular church. Rather it is a meta-choice concerning whether I continue to interact with the linguistic system that sustains the church or step into an unknown space outside that linguistic system.

Because one is immersed in the system this meta-choice has no positive alternative. It does not have something currently visible on the other side that one can weigh up against what one is currently immersed in (listing off the pro’s and con’s on a spreadsheet). The wager is that, by stepping into the unknown and having the courage to start something that one does not really have any idea about, something truly emancipatory may take place.

For instance, when I began ikon I only had a name, a pub and three weeks before it started. I couldn’t have legitimated what I was doing at the time because I was engaged in a meta-choice – a choice not between two positive alternatives but rather between one linguistic system and a step into the unknown.

So what am I saying? I am saying that not knowing what ought to be done is to already know what ought to be done. In other words, ‘I do not know what I should do and I must step out and do it’! This is not then some commitment to do ‘church’ better by either improving it or starting a new one. For this will reconfiguring will take place in the waters that sustains it. It is not a saying ‘no’ to one known in favour of another known, rather it involves saying ‘no to one known in favour of the unknown.

And when the dust finally settles and the new is reified into a dominant dogmatic system, what then? Well let’s get up, draw breath and start the process again – always privileging the weakness of the outside over the powers of the inside.

Treating church as a fetish

Taken from: http://peterrollins.net/blog/?p=44

I have, over the last few years, had numerous conversations with intelligent, thoughtful individuals who continue to attend dogmatic churches that they no longer feel subjectively connected to. Indeed sometimes I speak to so many people in this position that I wonder if some churches are made up predominately of members who do not subjectively agree with what is being said, how it is being said, and the structures within which it is being said. And what is even more perturbing is that many of these people are not just pew fillers but actively involved in worship, speaking and leading.

One of the problems I have with this is that, whatever a person says to me about not really believing in what their church is saying or doing, their very presence within the structure sustains it and supports it. It was Hegel who wrote about how the State can flourish even if no one really believes in it, simply because the majority continue to act as though they believe in it. People involved at various levels of the State apparatus can say what they like behind closed doors, but if they are engaging in the rituals that sustain the State, then they are sustaining the State.

I must admit to getting increasingly frustrated with these conversations, particularly when I am speaking with confident, aware, independent people who are continuing to attend, not because they could not function without it, but rather because it would be too much hassle to make the break (perhaps because their wage depends on it, or their social networks are too intertwined with it).

This problem has a lot of resonance with Marx’ writings on money as a fetish. It is all too common to chat with someone about how money is not some magical property that brings happiness, that working all the hours God sends to increase capital will damage the most precious relationships we have and that having a better car is not what life is about. Only to realise that, as soon as they turn from the conversation, they act as though they did believe all those things. This is fetishism at it heart, ‘I know this thing before me is not magical but I act as though it is anyway’.

Those who stand in my position have all too often been sympathetic to these people who attend the church while saying, ‘I don’t really believe or endorse what is said’ because they are intellectually closer to us than those who attend such churches ‘naively’ (i.e. those who attend without questioning). However, we must resist such a seductive temptation and avoid getting drawn into sympathy for our friends in this position (and many of these people are my friends). For these people are the ones we should be critiquing most rigorously: for knowing what ought to be done and yet refusing to do it.

Overcoming both the world and faith?

Taken from: http://peterrollins.net/blog/?p=43

Recently I came across this verse in the bible (1 John 5:4),

For everyone born of God overcomes the world. This is the victory that has overcome the world, even our faith.

What I find fascinating in this verse is the undecidablity at work. For does it mean that our faith overcomes the world (as some translations suggest) or that being born of God overcomes both the world and faith? I chatted to a biblical scholar about this verse and he quickly pointed out that while there seems to be a little bit of grammatical uncertainty in the source documents the wider context (i.e. 1 John’s high Christology) allows for only one legitimate reading (the first one).

Yet, when reading 1 John I see a complex interplay at work between a high Christology and a line of thinking which would seem to undermine it; causing us to rethink what we mean by believing in Christ. For instance we find an argument that informs us that all those who live a life of love dwell in God and that if we say we love God yet hate our neighbors we are liars (1 John 4:16-19). Yet this is set right beside an argument that tells us in no uncertain terms that everyone who believes that Jesus is the Messiah is born of God (1 John 5:1).

The problem here arises because of a certain tension between the idea that only those who love are born of God alongside the idea that only those who believe that Jesus is the Messiah are born of God. We can imagine plenty of situations where these would overlap but also many where they would seem not to (imagine a basic Venn diagram here). So what is being said? While asking this question it is also useful to recall that 1 Corinthians 12:3 tells us that no-one can say “Jesus is Lord” without the spirit of God.

It is only honest here to admit that the idea that believing Jesus is Messiah or (even more crazily) merely affirming that Jesus is Lord somehow brings one into relation with God initially appears rather strange. Personally I know people who believe Jesus is the Messiah with more conviction than they believe the sun will rise tomorrow and I receive emails every week from people proclaiming “Jesus is Lord” (and then asking that I give them my bank details so that they can deposit millions: for a nominal fee of course).

So what are we to do if we cannot read these verses as claiming that intellectual belief in Jesus as Messiah (or, more radical still, mere affirmation of this without even the need of belief) is proof of being born of God?

It would seem that 1 John is making a different claim, the author seems to be suggesting, not that those who believe in Jesus as Messiah will naturally love but rather those who love believe in Jesus as Messiah. This reading requires a different understanding of belief. Here the author of 1 John seems to be suggesting, in the very midst of its high Christology, that belief is embodied, that it is incarnated. In short that it is affirmed in the transformed life of the believer.

The radical, heretical, claim here is that one is not called to believe in the death and resurrection of Christ but rather to be the site where that death and resurrection is made manifest, not to believe in the miracles of Jesus but to be the place where a miracle takes place. In short belief in the Messiah is one that is affirmed only in the life that emanates love, sacrifice, forgiveness, mercy and joy.

What we have in 1 John then is simultaneously a high Christology mixed with the idea that this high Christology is never said, but only lived.

Thus no-one can say Jesus is Lord without the Spirit or believe that Jesus is the Messiah with loving. Why? Because one does not say “Jesus is Lord” with ones lips but with ones loving touch. And one does not believe that Jesus is Messiah with ones mind but with the offering of water to the thirsty and coats to the cold.

Now I am no biblical scholar so these are only some fractured thoughts on the text. But it does seem to me to make sense, not only of 1 John in general but also of the verse I mentioned at the beginning of this post. A verse that seems to hint that if one is born of God then the world and even faith are overcome (i.e. those without even a mustard seeds worth of faith can be part of this upside down, radical kingdom).

To be an atheist you need God’s help

Taken from: http://peterrollins.net/blog/?p=40

Here is a parable I have been working on called ‘The agnostic who became an atheist”. I will print the parable below and hold off on giving a commentary until my next post. I recently gave a talk entitled ‘On the Supreme difficulty of atheism and why only the Priest can attain it’, which may help contextualize this parable. This talk is available online somewhere.

There was once a world-renowned philosopher who, from an early age, set himself the task of proving once and for all the non-existence of God. Of course such a task was immense for the various arguments for and against the existence of God had done battle over the ages without either being able to claim victory.

He was however a genus without equal and possessed a singular vision which drove him to work each day and long into every night so as to understand the intricacies of every debate, every discussion and every significant work on the subject.

The philosophers project began to earn him respect among his fellow professors when, as a young man, he published the first volume of what would turn out to be a finely honed, painstakingly researched, encyclopaedic masterpiece on the subject of God. The first volume of this work argued persuasively that the various ideas of God that had been expressed throughout antiquity where philosophically incoherent and logically flawed. As each new volume appeared he offered, time and again, devastating critiques of the theological ideas of God that had been propagated in different periods of history. In his early forties he completed the last volume, which brought him up to the present day. Yet the completion of this phenomenal work did not satisfy him. For he still had not found a convincing argument that would demonstrate once and for all the non-existence of God.

And so he spent a further sixteen years researching arguments and interrogating them with a highly nuanced logical analysis. But by now he was in his late fifties and had slowly begun to despair of ever completing his life project.

Then, late one evening while he was locked away in his study, bent wearily over his old oak desk surrounded by a vast sea of books; he felt a deep stillness descend upon the room. As he sat there motionless everything around him seemed to radiate an inexpressible light and warmth. Then, deep in his heart he heard the voice of God address him,

“Dear friend, the task you have set yourself is a futile one. I have watched on all these years as you pour your being into this endless task. Yet you fail to understand that your project can only be finished with my help. Your dedication and single mindedness has not gone unnoticed and it has won my respect. As such I will tell you a sacred secret meant only for a few… dear friend, I do not exist”

Then, all of a sudden, everything appeared as it was before and the philosopher was left sitting at his desk with a deep smile breaking across his face. He put his pen away and left his study never to return. Instead he joined a monastery where he saw out the last of his days in gratitude to God for helping him complete his lifelong project.

More reflections

Taken from: http://peterrollins.net/blog/?p=39

Nicholas’ latest reflection on my new book can be found here.

Critical reflections on The Fidelity of Betrayal

Taken from: http://peterrollins.net/blog/?p=36

Just want to bring your attention to the work of a guy called Norman Jeune III who is working through my new book and engaging critically with it. His work is noteworthy because, although he is coming from a different place from myself and would be critical of my position he is taking great care to read my work carefully, understand it, and engage meaningfully with it. Sadly this type of careful hermeneutic is all too often eclipsed in the midst of name calling and reducing others to straw men. So the work of Norman is to be commended as exhibiting what might be the most important point of theological engagement (namely the ‘engagement’).

Check out his comments and my response here and here

More things please!

Taken from: http://peterrollins.net/blog/?p=33

Check out the following image created by Nadia Pleasner as part of her Simple Living campaign, a campaign designed to raise awareness of the Genocide in Darfur. The image is currently under attack by the design house Louis Vuitton. Thanks to Luke’s Commonplace Book for bringing my attention to it,

Carrying the Cross

Taken from: http://peterrollins.net/blog/?p=31

Just thought I would offer a small excerpt from my forthcoming book The Fidelity of Betrayal: Towards a Church Beyond Belief (release date 19th June - but this seems to change on a daily basis). This quote is from chapter one and encompasses the primary question that I address within the book,

There are countless people who betray Christianity, individuals who turn their backs on its message because they no longer believe in it or because it asks too much of them. But there are a few who betray Christianity, not because they no longer believe in it, but because they believe in it so deeply, because they understand that unless the seed of our Christianity falls to the ground and dies it will remain a single seed, but if it is allowed to die it will produce many seeds.

With this in mind we may wonder whether the deepest cost entailed in embracing the radical message of Christ—that we lay down our life and pick up our cross and follow him—may not simply be the call to sacrifice our own life (something we are asked to do before we pick up the cross), but the call to sacrifice what we love more than our life.

The cost of Christianity, for so many, is thought to lie in the demand that we die to ourselves for the sake of our Christianity. The cross we are called to carry is thus one upon which we are to be put to death. But what if this cross we bear had another meaning? What if the cross that we are called to carry is not for us at all but rather, like the cross that Simon of Cyrene labored beneath, is really for another—a cross for us to crucify what we love? Is it possible that the cross we labor beneath must be used to crucify our Christianity? How many of us can truly understand this question? How many of us can really know what it is like to destroy what we love for the sake of what we love—to be the most faithful of betrayers? Yet perhaps it is precisely this that we are being called to: engaging in that most difficult task of putting our religion to death so that a religion without religion can spring forth.