Good Friday

My favourite section of the Church Dogmatics is IV.1 section 59.2. ‘The Judge Judged in Our Place’. I was reading it again this morning. Barth has this wonderful way of being able to read the biblical text and the traditions in such a way that he’s not enslaved to an established orthodoxy, but rather is able to allow these texts to speak again. Anyway, the Judge judged is Barth’s reflection on the work of Christ and he offers this wonderful little reading of post-enlightenment philosophy through the biblical text. Within this, what the crucifixion and resurrection free us from is self-judgement. I want to talk about this a little.

Jesus Christ was and is “for us” in that He took our place as our Judge. We have seen that in its root and origin sin is the arrogance in which man wants to be his own and his neighbour’s judge. According to Gen. 3:5  the temptation which involves man’s disobedience to God’s commandment is the evil desire to know what is good and evil. He ought to leave this knowledge to God, to see his freedom in his ability to adhere to God’s decisions in his own decisions. He becomes a sinner in trying to be as God: himself a judge.

Sin, for Barth, is this self-determination in judgement. We decide for ourselves what is ‘good’ and ‘evil’. So, just as we choose to free Barrabas rather than Christ, our vision of the good is clouded by our alienation of ourselves from God in the desire to know good and evil. Jesus takes our place here though. Jesus embraces sinful, death-bound, human flesh and takes our place as Judge. “The Son of God has sought and found His glory in accepting the dishonour of our state.” He offers an alternative judgement, a refusal to determine for himself good and evil, he embraces trust. Barth uses the word obedience, but I prefer trust. Jesus trusts his Father’s judgement, and it is this that is his freedom and life.

His mission: it is the Judge who in this passion takes the place of those who ought to be judged, who in this passion allows Himself to be judged in their place. It is not, therefore, merely that God rules in and over this human occurrence simply as Creator and Lord. He does this, but He does more. He gives Himself to be the humanly acting and suffering person in this occurrence. He Himself is the Subject who in His own freedom becomes in this event the object acting or acted upon in it. It is not simply the humiliation and dishonouring of a creature, of a noble and relatively innocent man that we find here. The problem posed is not that of a theodicy: How can God will this or permit this in the world which He has created good? It is a matter of the humiliation and dishonouring of God Himself, of the question which makes any question of a theodicy a complete anticlimax; the question whether in willing to let this happen to Him He has not renounced and lost Himself as God, whether in capitulating to the folly and wickedness of His creature He has not abdicated from His deity (as did the Japanese Emperor in 1945), whether He can really die and be dead? And it is a matter of the answer to this question: that in this humiliation God is supremely God, that in this death He is supremely alive, that He has maintained and revealed His deity in the passion of this man as His eternal Son.

Good Friday is not then simply a matter of a transaction between God and humanity in which sins are somehow paid for like we pay the balance on a credit card. Good Friday is God’s incarnation into the very stuff of our existence, his inhabitation of our messed up world, and the reorientation of human being toward the source of it’s life. The Judge becomes the one judged in our place, and precisely in being judged he judges. Our self-judgement is exposed as a sham at the moment we crucify the very source of our life.

Naming God in our Ethics?

The last few weeks I have found myself in several conversations that have deeply troubled me. It seems that in popular Christian discourse, regardless of some of the great work being done in the academy, there is still this suggestion that acting well, is simply a matter of figuring out what Jesus would do, and then doing that. Now, aside from the impossibility of determining any answer to this question, what is it that I find problematic about this? Ultimately I think it reveals something deeply problematic in the way we are speaking of, and thinking about, God. I offer a few reflections more than anything out of frustration with these conversations, also because a friend asked me to write something intelligible to those not initiated into academic theological discourse. Nothing groundbreaking I’m sure for those of you who are ethicists, but anyway…

First, it seems to me that this kind of thinking is in a very real sense a craving for some kind of security in ethical action. We want to know that what we are doing is the ‘right thing’, so that regardless of consequence we know we have acted in accordance with some notion of the good. What troubles me most about this is the simple fact that we do not know the right way to act in any given circumstance. We cannot know exactly how God wants us to act, because we don’t serve that kind of God. We don’t serve a God who tells us what to do, we serve a God who gives us the freedom to act.

Second, and this will expand on what I have already said in the first, it seems to me a way of shirking away from real relational encounter. If we know the right course of action prior to any particular situation in which we are required to act we need not bother actually dealing with the person. We abstract our action from the particular circumstances in which we act and we do what is ‘good’ in spite of particulars. What is problematic here is again the question: do we serve that kind of God? Do we serve a God who prescribes action independent of our particularity? I am suggesting this is an avoidance of Jesus. Jesus becomes incarnate. God encounters us in a finite, particular, human person, and engages us in our finite, particular, fragile circumstance. Does he offer us solutions to a set of ethical problems? No, he walks with us. Coming back to what I said first, perhaps it is in this encounter that we are free to act. Perhaps God clears a space for human ethical agency free from the burden of knowing the answers in advance, and free to walk with the Other in spite of consequence. Maybe this is what we are offered, the freedom to love.

Finally, coming back to where I started, it troubles me that so many of us still think that to be a christian is to act within the bounds of a certain moral code. I think this says alot about how we are thinking God. To me it says we are avoiding incarnation. We have forgotten somewhere along the line that the God Christianity confesses is the God who sweats blood in a garden knowing the path of freedom and love is the path, not to successful ethical action, but to the cross.  I’ll leave you with one of my favorite quotations from Barth:

“We begin with the insight that God is “not a God of confusion, but of peace” ( 1 Cor. 1433). In Him there is no paradox, no antinomy, no division, no inconsistency, not even the possibility of it. He is the Father of lights with whom there is no variableness nor interplay of light and darkness ( Jas. 117). What He is and does He is and does in full unity with Himself. It is in full unity with Himself that He is also-and especially and above all-in Christ, that He becomes a creature, man, flesh, that He enters into our being in contradiction, that He takes upon Himself its consequences. If we think that this is impossible it is because our concept of God is too narrow, too arbitrary, too human-far too human. Who God is and what it is to be divine is something we have to learn where God has revealed Himself and His nature, the essence of the divine. And if He has revealed Himself in Jesus Christ as the God who does this, it is not for us to be wiser than He and to say that it is in contradiction with the divine essence. We have to be ready to be taught by Him that we have been too small and perverted in our thinking about Him within the framework of a false idea of God. It is not for us to speak of a contradiction and rift in the being of God, but to learn to correct our notions of the being of God, to reconstitute them in the light of the fact that He does this. We may believe that God can and must only be absolute in contrast to all that is relative, exalted in contrast to all that is lowly, active in contrast to all suffering, inviolable in contrast to all temptation, transcendent in contrast to all immanence, and therefore divine in contrast to everything human, in short that He can and must be only the “Wholly Other.” But such beliefs are shown to be quite untenable, and corrupt and pagan, by the fact that God does in fact be and do this in Jesus Christ. We cannot make them the standard by which to measure what God can or cannot do, or the basis of the judgment that in doing this He brings Himself into self-contradiction. By doing this God proves to us that He can do it, that to do it is within His nature. And He shows Himself to be more great and rich and sovereign than we had ever imagined. And our ideas of His nature must be guided by this, and not vice versa.

We have to think something after the following fashion. As God was in Christ, far from being against Himself, or at disunity with Himself, He has put into effect the freedom of His divine love, the love in which He is divinely free.” CD IV.1, 186-187

Kierkegaard and Prayer

This is a little paper I gave a few months back. In the interests of keeping people back home etc., in touch with some of what I have been working on I have decided to put it up here. It’s still very rusty (as it was just an oral paper), and only in it’s very early stages. I don’t foresee my doing too much with it really. With all the time pressures of doctoral work, little projects like this seem to fade into the background, and when you finally do get a chance to come back inevitably you cringe to read your own writing, and decide it is best left in the dark recesses of the hard drive (or at least that is the case for me)! Anyway: Kierkegaard, prayer and the reforming of desire (or thereabouts!).

Introduction

The increasing commodification and commercialization of spiritualties and religious discourses in late-capitalist societies seems to have re-oriented the way the benefits of spirituality have been construed in rather crass material terms. The consistent interruption of space and time with advertisements, signs of material wealth, and simple aesthetic pleasure, offer us a form of the good life devoid of the transformation of our subjectivities, but rather a form of life grounded in simple gratification of desire. In many ways this environment is what Kierkegaard would identify as an enacted form of despair – ‘aesthetic existence’. The continual need for stimulation, aesthetic gratification and consumption, constitutes the relation of the subject to the transcendent – that aesthetic nihilism in which consumption and pleasure continually constitute our subjectivity. As soon as one ceases to consume – to get the new iPhone, to try the latest coffee machine, to have the latest fashion – one ceases to be a subject participating in the transcendent, which has, of course, been dissolved in the immediate.

These political and social spaces have little room for prayer, for the patient, agonizing and often disconcerting modes of prayer offered to the believer in the scriptural. Historical and ecclesiological witness. The aim of this paper is to enter into a conversation with Kierkegaard over the nature of prayerful contemplation and action. Kierkegaard’s sensitivity to the aesthetic form of existence, that grounded in a form of pure, immanent gratification, provides an interesting dialogue partner in considering the relation of the gratification of desire, and therefore our formulation of petition, to the form of our prayerful discourse. Kierkegaard’s Lutheran and anti-modern insistence upon the life lived as significant in the face of apparent failure, will allow us to consider the ways petition might be formed, not as request for situational change or simple material gratification, but, as that moment of self-abandonment in which divine presence is most really seen, that is in seeming absence.

Subjectivity and Suffering

 

This first section will explore the way prayer, formation and cruciform existence intersect around the Kierkegaardian consideration of the way the subject is freed from determination of the good. This will allow us to set the stage for a discussion of the way Kierkegaard’s Christology forms the ground of his theology of prayer.

Kierkegaard’s philosophical and theological concern throughout his work is the loss of a genuine sense of human subjectivity and particularity. His work stands largely in response to Hegel, by whom individual subjects were subsumed in the movement of absolute spirit, or gesit, in it’s road to actualisation. Kierkegaard resists this simple identification of divine action with immanent historical process, constantly defying the Hegelians with his emphasis upon the absolute difference of God, both metaphysically and epistemologically. Any identification of the divine with historical process as such would allow for a thinking of God, a knowledge of the divine being which rested not on the priority of faith, but rather on a simple observation of historical process, thus creating an idol.

The constitution of human subjectivity was then of paramount concern for Kierkegaard. Profoundly aware of the limitations of the knowing human subject, Kierkegaard is at pains to locate the truth of things not in an abstract system, comprehending the entirety of historical process, rather truth was located in subjectivity. The subject knew the truth insofar as the subject was given to become the truth by virtue of divine encounter and transformation. In this becoming the subject participates in, and cooperates with divine action. The subject is given to be differently, and so to act differently.

Central to this concern is the formation of subjectivity in the activity of prayer. It is in the moment of prayer that the subject finds him or herself naked before the disruptive grace of God. Kierkegaard prays, “God in heaven, let me really feel my nothingness, not in order to despair over it, but in order to feel the more powerfully the greatness of thy goodness.” All pretention to independent goodness is lost before the recognition of human inadequacy – the infinite qualitative distinction between God and humanity. This places the subject in a posture of pure-receptivity. The very formation and constitution of his/her subjectivity is contingent upon the divine self-gift. Prayer is a moment in which the subject is both given and given to the divine. In this moment of disruption, the subject is made nothing. Kierkegaard understands prayer as the abandonment of self, the kenosis of desire. So:

“The immediate person thinks and imagines that when he prays, the important thing, the thing he must concentrate upon, is that God should hear what he is praying for. And yet in the true and eternal sense it is just the reverse: the true relation in prayer is not when God hears what is prayed for, but when the person praying continues to pray until he is the one who hears, who hears what god wills. The immediate person, therefore, uses many words and, therefore, makes many demands in his prayer; the true man of prayer only attends.”

The praying person does not come before God with requests for fulfillment of selfish-desire. Rather, prayer is an abandonment of self in the face of the divine in order to see desire refigured by attendance to the divine voice. Not wanting to see the human and divine wills in opposition, Kierkegaard understands that the human is human insofar as the human submits to and obeys the divine will. The inevitable consequence of which is the embrace of a cruciform existence. So, Kierkegaard notes in his Journals:

 

“There was a time – it came so naturally, it was childlike – when I believed that God’s love also expressed itself by sending earthly “good gifts,” happiness, prosperity… Now it is otherwise. How did that happen? Quite simply, but little by little. Little by little, I noticed increasingly that all those whom God really loved, the examples, etc., had all had to suffer in this world. Furthermore, that it is the teaching of Christianity: to be loved by God and to love God is to suffer. But if that were so I dared not pray for good fortune and success because it were as though I were to beg at the same time: Will you not, O God, cease loving me and allow me to stop loving you… On the other hand, to pray directly for suffering appeared to me too exalted, and it also seemed to me that it might easily be presumptuous, and that God might grow angry at my perhaps wishing to defy him.

Again, we see that the refiguring of desire is the ceasing to determine for oneself what is good. Kierkegaard’s reticence in his consideration of petition is not due to God somehow holding back good things from the creature, but rather due to the theological reality that the creature cannot determine for him/herself what is good. So, it is ‘your kingdom come, your will be done.’ In this way prayer is an embrace of suffering, a crucifying of desire, of one’s own determination of the good. Kierkegaard insists that it is not “good things”, as we determine them, that are signs of divine favour, but rather, all things are given by God for the formation of our person. God is unchanging in his love and faithfulness, and so in that moment of suffering our person is formed by divine grace.

Kierkegaard notes again and again that to move closer to the divine is to move closer to suffering. As we saw in the quote above “to love God is to suffer”. It is illuminating here to draw some sense of continuity between Luther and Kierkegaard.  Luther’s famous theologia crucis in many ways lies behind Kierkegaard’s consideration of prayer in that there is a common theological impulse. Luther’s famous statement reads:

 

“That person does not deserve to be called a theologian who looks upon the invisible things of God as though they were clearly perceptible in those things that have actually happened.

He deserves to be called a theologian, however, who comprehends the visible and manifest things of God seen through suffering and the cross.

A theologian of glory calls evil good and good evil. A theologian of the cross calls the things what it actually is.”

As we have already seen, for Kierkegaard the temptation for the prayer is always to determine for oneself good and evil. This self-determination, however, is broken on the cross, where we see how things really are. For both Kierkegaard and Luther, to pray is to come to comprehend the God who is displayed to us “through suffering and the cross.” In this coming to see things anew is an embrace of a different way of being. The person is formed in coming to see that Christianity costs, that the way of the Christian is the via dolorosa – “the way is the truth, that is, that the truth is only in the becoming, in the process of appropriation.” So, in involving herself in prayer, the Christian is opened to the special treatment of suffering: “… the Christian’s good fortune is distinguished by suffering… this is so difficult to understand that for anyone else but the elect it must be something to despair over.”

 

The great irony of prayer for Kierkegaard is that it is only in complete kenotic self-abandonment that the self is really and truly actualized. Freedom is found, not in the satisfaction of desire, but the embrace of the way of suffering, of a sharing in Christ. It is this that we shall now turn to.

 

Vicarious Humanity

Having considered first, the way Kierkegaard understands prayer as a formation in personhood, not fulfillment of desire, and second, the way suffering and freedom from self determination shape how he construes the way of becoming human in prayer. I will now move to improvise on several strands within Kierkegaard’s thinking in order to provide something of an exposition of the particular way he is construing the relation between the human and the divine in prayer.

Kierkegaard’s consideration of the relation of God to humanity more broadly is grounded in his deep consideration of the incarnational embrace of flesh. It is in Christ’s embrace of both sides of the covenantal relation that our new humanity is found. There is a deep sense in which Christ’s humanity stands in our stead before the Father and so, without the incarnation, prayer will inevitably be without appropriate orientation. (It would be helpful here to examine the way Johannes Climacus expounds the relation of savior and teacher to disciple, but time doesn’t permit).

In considering what it means to pray in the name of Jesus, Kierkegaard writes:

“[it is] to pray in such a way that it is in conformity with the will of Jesus. I cannot pray in the name of Jesus and have my own will; the name of Jesus is… the significant factor; the fact that Jesus’ name comes at the beginning is not prayer in the name of Jesus; but it means to pray in such a way that I dare name Jesus in it… Jesus assumes the responsibility and all the consequences, he steps forward for us, steps into the place of the person praying.”

The surrendering of self-determination in prayer is then grounded in the representative humanity of Christ in whom we participate as the one who “steps into the place of the person praying.” This is the mode of both surrender of desire and it’s reorientation. As we participate in that divine discourse, the prayer of Christ to the Father, we become fully and truly human. The idolatries of our own will are relinquished as we are given to become human in the face of Christ. So, Kierkegaard prays,

“Lord! Make our heart Your temple in which You live. Grant that every impure thought, every earthly desire might be like the idol Dagon – each morning broken at the feet of the Ark of the Covenant. Teach us to master flesh and blood and let this mastery of ourselves be our bloody sacrifice in order that we might be able to say with the Apostle: “I die every day.””

Conclusion

As prayer transforms desire and therefore human agency, it functions as a kind of resistance to the established order. I opened with a brief consideration of the way selfhood has been constructed popularly in late capitalist societies. The cult of consumption, the seeming endlessness of want and desire that surround us everyday, is resisted in prayer. As a participation in the humanity of Christ, we are given to reorient our desire toward the good of God, not the self-determined good of the world. It is this political oddness that Kierkegaard himself embodied in his struggle with a church and nation that had identified divine action with historical process. Prayer, as the road to self-abandonment, is the way to a different mode of being human in the world.

“To be sacrificed is…as long as the world remains the world, a far greater achievement than to conquer; for the world is not so perfect that to be victorious in the world by adaptation to the world does not involve a dubious mixture of the world’s paltriness.

To be victorious in the world is like becoming something great in the world; ordinarily to become something great in the world is a dubious matter, because the world is not so excellent that its judgement of greatness unequivocally has great significance – except as unconscious sarcasm.”

The Tree of Life: A Reflection

It was by chance that I saw the 40 year old cinema a 10 minute walk down the road was showing The Tree of Life starting this week. So, my wife and I wandered down to check it out. Interestingly throughout the film about half of the audience left, and I somehow doubt their reasons were the existential tension was simply too much to bare. The film requires patience, thought and attention, something modern Hollywood cinema has not conditioned audiences well for. Nevertheless we stayed, enthralled by both the sheer beauty of the cinematography and the philosophically probing questions being asked of the viewer. Now, I should mention, I have not read a lot of the literature surrounding the film, so I apologize for any glaring errors, but this is what I thought.

One of the most striking features of the form of the film was the eschewing of traditional narrative in favor of something trapped between meta and micro-narrative. There is the obvious story of the young lad who’s family was torn apart by the death of his brother in Vietnam and so the sense of deep loss and the tragic pervades the film. Yet, the narrative is only given significance by the questions asked throughout the film. Opening with a quote from Job: ‘Were you there when I laid the foundations of the earth, when the morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy?’ and the voiceover from, I presume, the mother,  ’The nuns taught us there were two ways through life, the way of nature and the way of grace. You have to choose which one you will follow. Nature only wants to please itself, get others to please it too, likes to lord it over them, to have its own way. It finds reasons to be unhappy when all the world is shining around it and love is smiling through all things. Grace doesn’t try to please itself. Accepts being slighted, forgotten, disliked. Accepts insults and injuries. The nuns taught us that no one who loves the way of grace ever comes to a bad end.’ There is a lot in this, so forgive me for only highlighting a few things which struck me.

The viewer is lead, at least initially, to think that the two ways of nature and grace are personified in the two parental figures: the paternal instinct to survive, fight, lie, cheat and steal to get ahead, and the maternal, the way of love, patience and grace. Now, on one level, as much is true. Yet, as the film progresses one begins to see the reason for Job being present. Neither the way of nature nor the way of grace can allow one to avoid death. Death remains that great enemy which casts a shadow over all things. So, we are given these wonderful images of the beauty and the goodness of creation and yet the voiceover, almost whispering in the ear of the viewer, questions God – ‘where are you?’ ‘why have you abandoned me?’ We are constantly oscillating between beauty and tragedy, one intimately tied to the other – the more beauty, the more potential for the devastation of the tragic. This is made real in the interaction between the two brothers. The one who says to his father ‘I am more like you’, throughout the film becomes increasingly terse, increasingly violent, climaxing in his shooting his younger brother who had just said ‘I trust you’ and placed his finger over the end of the air-rifle. The younger brother is then the one who meets his fate in Vietnam – the one who embraces grace, who embodies love, is sent to die in the most unforgiving of circumstances.

This deep sense of the potential for the tragic highlights, I think, the way the film is wanting us to come to wrestle with the presence of evil in the world. Interestingly, as far as I can remember, divine agency is never spoken of in negative terms. God is never blamed for death, yet God is somehow absent in that moment. The images of the beauty of the created are suffused with questions, so as to ask: ‘how is it you can make this with the potential for such distortion?’ Evil is then seen as a privation of the good, it is unwelcome, yet curiously uncondemned. The only moment of divine speech is that initial question to Job ‘where were you when…?’ There is an existential tension then between the captivity of the human to his/her own subjectivity and the universality of both beauty and death. Divine silence is then the ultimate moment of crisis, but only as it takes place within the inescapability of the creativity of divine speech. One could then see the whole film as an echo of Job’s narrative – the inescapability of evil and the problem of divine silence.

I’m cautious to say much more. I know I have missed some huge themes running through the film and have ignored some crucial moments even within what I have spoken about – the Catholicism of the father seemingly in contradiction with his way of being contrasted with the lack of religious observance in the mother yet her character is suffused with life, goodness and beauty; the almost eschatological scene on the beach at the end where the family is reunited and the almost Augustinian way in which memory is understood as that which constitutes and shapes the human. There are all manner of images which I have not commented on and the ones I have, I have in an inarticulate manner doing little justice to the depth of the film.

After the film my wife and I, instead of wandering straight home, went to a little pizzeria on the corner, got a big bottle of coke and a large pizza and walked to the beach. We sat there, rugged up in scarves, coats and jumpers watching the stars, the waves, and the Bats while scoffing down a pizza. There is beauty in this world and the Tree of Life returns us to embrace it, all the while remembering we live in the shadow of death.

Philosophy and the Burden of Theological Honesty

Last year my supervisor introduced me to Donald MacKinnon. This was the beginning of a revolution in my theological imagination. Over the course of the year I was employed as research assistant to lend a hand on the production of an edited collection of some of MacKinnon’s most excellent, and hard to track down, papers. This is now being published by T&T Clark and being released very soon. We received complementary copies just the other day and they are very handsome indeed. So, spread the word – MacKinnon is a fantastic read!

P.S. Check out the inside cover on amazon’s look inside.

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