I am a critic by nature. I readily admit to you that there is little I enjoy more than sitting back, pipe in hand, glass of wine in the other, and discussing, internally or in company what I see around me. Whether it be one's faith, the school which employs me, or the next NBA champion (Dallas, by the way), it is cathartic and an instrument for sharpening the mind to take what is given to my senses and to comment upon these sensations so as to break them down into either their most basic, fundamental elements (philosophy) or skew them according to my own preferences (narcissism, I suppose), whichever way that I am leaning at that time. This has been tiresome to many throughout the years, most of my combatants seem to have taken their toys and gone home, and honestly I do not begrudge them for it; my lack of blog activity as of late can be directly attributed to the fact that I too have neither the energy nor inclination to exert myself into these thinking exercises. Last night, though, I was truly inspired in an as of late less than inspirational place.
One of my recent posts concerned the conservative-wackos (technical term, look it up) that constantly derail every conversation not explicitly Protestant in my Recent World class. These same individuals have been on this bent for several semesters in these classes I am required to attend, and so, absent those rare occasions that we are reading Luther or Calvin, and it is on these days that attendance is up and everyone waves their "scholarship" banners proudly, I generally dread Wednesday nights, because inevitably they will find a way to besmirch the evening in the name of piety (their-piety, that is).
Last night, though, saw the return of Dr. Hella Hennessee for a one-time lecture. If I have never mentioned her, she is an amazing professor with a wonderfully thick German accent who was recently run-out-of-town by the good people of UD (s0 the rumor goes). She resurfaced to discuss with us Franz Kafka's Metamorphosis. (Let me pause here a moment: if you have never read this book, it is fabulous. Drop whatever you are reading, come borrow one of my copies and experience the brilliance of German literature. It is strange, but so rich and only 40 pages long - you could even stomach a book you turn out hating for 40 pages, right?)
I was reminded from her opening words of the privilege of studying literature. Teaching high school this past year has soured me in many ways, burning the sweet taste off of my tongue like so much salt, so it was good to be reminded of how refreshing good books/poems can be. I know embarrassing little about painting and sculpture, but for a few moments as I walked towards my car after the lecture, I paralleled the feeling it must be to notice an abnormality in a single brushstroke of a Picasso painting that you one has stared at a hundred times previously, to speculate on the meaning behind such a movement of the hand, to uncovering a subtle change in the narrative-voice or a clever use of a double-entendre that never struck you on your previous readings. To enjoy the manipulation of language, whether poetic or narrative is beautiful, and to spend my time studying it is a phenomenal way to muddle through this life.
Tell me, what are we so afraid of? I realize even before I begin that this may once again reek of offensiveness, and so let me emphasize the use of “we” in my premise. OUR behaviour should seem to us offensive, though. I have stood upon this soapbox more than a few times, but I shall mount it again, because it physically and psychologically pains me to continually encounter what I encountered last night.
Last night was a banner-evening in The Recent World (My final Humanities requirement for my MA), because we got the opportunity in a usually historical, literary or political intensive course to read “The Genealogy of Morals”, a philosophy text by Friedrich Nietzsche. I was thrilled with this selection for several reasons, not the least of which was the fact that I had read the book three times in the last five years or so, and so I would not have to reread it last week. Mainly, I wanted to get Dr. Sullivan’s take on it, because he is mainly a historical-political scholar, and I had only discussed the book in strict philosophical circles up to this point.
What a mess last night turned out to be. We were not five minutes into the lecture, Sullivan giving strictly biographical data about the man, Nietzsche, when snide remarks about his madness begin buzzing about the room and gross generalizations in the questions and comments of the students are all but begged to replace the complexity of the truth of his life. I get it, it is much easier to categorize his “death of God” into a side-effect of syphilitic-madness than to delve into it fully, meeting Nietzsche on his terms and divorcing ourselves from preconceived notions of Judeo-Christian morality, but are we not then acting the role of bigot and dogmatist that we accuse Nietzsche of being himself?
At the halfway point of the three hours we took our customary break, and apparently many took this as their cue to break with decorum and, at the very least, academic integrity, which basically compromised any idea of having civilized discussion for the rest of the evening. Until class ended, the professor continued to be lambasted on all sides by a vocal group of pious individuals who would not concede the most basic points to Nietzsche. The arguments were a specimen in absurdity, from accusing Nietzsche as philologist (person who studies the history and origin of language/words) of not defining his terms correctly, and even extending to the argument against a basic understanding of history and the development of something like the social contract. Nietzsche is thorough in his retelling of history, and he undoubtedly has an agenda in mind in “Genealogy”, but you must approach him with a semblance of rationale, as a philosopher on his terms, otherwise you sound more like an angry child who has been deprived a toy than a scholar.
I will not bore you with a recounting of “Genealogy” and its value for humanity and Christianity; rather, I will repeat: what are we so afraid of?
If we put aside our lexicon of “grace”, “sanctification”, “sin”...etc, and we dialogue with philosophers on their own terms, will we cease to be Christian? Does the reading of dirty-secular-texts absolve us of our faith? Is that what is in fact meant by blasphemy?
Or might we be so bold as to “get a little dirty” and join in actual conversation with those who have gone before us and are still proclaiming their gospels loudly today? One cannot go to a Protestant church without hearing about “servant-evangelism” or “meeting people where they are”, but it appears that this only applies to the homeless of the abused, to the neglected or the poor, not the scholar, not the artist. We will serve meals to the homeless on Thanksgiving as a sign of Christ’s love for ALL people, but we will not be approachable when it comes to matters that question our faith. It is as if we showed up to the T-giving Day meal, but only served those who could show their proof of employment and homeowner’s insurance.
If we believe God’s truth to be truth, if we hold that nothing can separate us from His love, and if we agree that there is an imperative to proclaim the gospel to ALL people, we must be not afraid to engage the culture we live in. We might have to concede a few points here and there, we can certainly “claim back [truth] as if from its unjust possessors”, but you will have to get your hands a bit dirty. I am not advocating that we all read Nietzsche, far from it, but I am asking that we approach our various disciplines with a measure (large-measure) of grace and liberality.
I have not the time nor energy to write a full, detailed account of anything that I have been wanting to for the last few weeks, and so I will have to settle for an abbreviated version of various musings (this might be more palatable for you).
• School has begun – it is one of the greatest oddities known to man, or at least me; twice a year I begin a new semester, and twice a year I am surprised at the busyness of it. I have heard, though I know not from whom, that the body blocks out trauma as a defense mechanism. I heard this in the context of people birthing multiple babies. The logic was something to the extent that if women’s bodies remembered the pain of labor they would never do it more than once. I have applied that same strangeness to the phenomena of semesters; let me use this last one for example.
When I last left the corridors of the University of Dallas in mid-December I was sick with what can only be described as a precursor to the plague, I was stressfully agitated to the point of snapping at friends, family and most assuredly my students, and I would have welcomed death as a sweet relief from enduring any more of anything. (disclaimer: yes, I realize the overuse of hyperbole in most of my statements, and, no, I do not think I would have actually welcomed death, nor do I believe I contracted any mediaeval disease, but you get the general idea) Most certainly, I decided with 100 percent resolve that I could not, nay, I would not take 9 hours again while trying to teach and coach; physically, I did not count myself capable of such a feat again. Sometime in the next month all of those firmly entrenched feelings and memories faded, being replaced by false memories of semi-enjoyment with only slight irritations and tiredness along the way. Fueled by these pseudo-memories, I once again signed up for a full-load, and 1 week in, this sucks, and I hate my body for convincing me otherwise.
• Darwin’s Origin of Species – part of the so eloquently enunciated “this sucks” is that my first reading assignment for one of my classes was to read Darwin’s tome. I have griped in jest for the last week, but, truth be told, I was thrilled for the opportunity to finally read this seldom any longer examined book. It is well written despite its scientific nature, and, though I was forced to read very, very quickly, I quite enjoyed it.
A professor of mine last semester made several statements to the effect of, “If you are a Christian who does not believe in Evolution (or Darwinism, I cannot remember), you are an idiot (he was a fun guy).” I will not claim to understand it on the basis of one reading, and I honestly have no interest in the scientific per se, but I can at least get a glimpse of what he was talking about. For the entirety of my life Darwin has been rated as such a villain and God-hater that I would never have thought that Christianity could coexist with Darwinian Evolution, but I less steadfast in such a belief now. I fear that too many generations of those who have sermonized against him have not even read him. There are, believe or not, some very pious statements made by Darwin in the book. He acknowledges God and his creative abilities, but he makes the fundamental error of many philosophers: he made God too rational.
I suppose many think it makes God less fun to strip him of the ever-miraculous. It is not sexy enough to have a finite number of creations that mutate over time and form other species ad infinitum; we need our God to, with hammer and chisel, construct anew each and every variation of every animal in existence through all of eternity. That is a very romantic view of God, but what is wrong with a hybrid of the two? Is God’s creativity so constrained when he builds the clocks, sets it in motion and then allows it to run?
Julie and I heard a sermon/study on this last Sunday night from our pastor that spoke in part to this same thing. His argument was that if one believes in anything approaching Naturalism we lose a personal God. I agree that Darwinists, Rationalists, Naturalists, Calvinists, and ____________-ists of your choosing, have perverted and exaggerated the beliefs upon which they were founded, but we are not therefore constrained to throw out the baby with the bathwater (score!, cliché). Is God really so personal as such a statement alludes to? As I walked to my car at lunch, the wind blew my hair into a greater mess than it even was previously. Should I believe that God grabbed each individual strand atop my head and moved it from one spot to another, and if so, to what purpose does the wind blow, or is it okay to assume that God did indeed create hair, he likewise created wind, and that the one in interaction with the other caused the lunchtime incident? Perhaps I am sacrilegious, but the absurdity of the former belief over the latter is more than I can handle.
• Teaching? – I am a glorified hall-monitor at this point. If I spent nearly as much time preparing, grading or teaching my allotted subjects as I do having to take people’s hoodies force them to the bathroom to comply with dress code, I would be Mr. Holland. Yes, Mom, I know that he is the dream-teacher, but it is about as realistic a depiction of education as Batman is of law enforcement. Let us see how well he would have inspired those young minds had he spent half his time taking away cell phones and ipods and having to literally chase kids through the hallways to get them to even go to the principal’s office, which you have sent them to each day. America is doomed.
• Derek Webb – yes, boys and girls, the white-t-shirted-wonder has done it again. While I usually bristle at the idea of re-releasing previously recorded music in new packaging “One-Zero” is something I can get wholly behind. There are no new songs exactly, but he took his most controversial songs and did acoustic reinterpretations of them a la Alanis Morisette’s remake of “Jagged Little Pill” (also very good, by the way). I really love this guy, and if you have never given him a listen, this might be a good place to start; he is thoughtful and poetic, and I believe at the very least these songs allow for the opening of dialogue concerning the gospels’ role in politics and society within the life of the believer.
• Jane Austen – I attended my first class this last Monday, and I must say, I really enjoyed it. Dr. Kenney is truly a great professor, and she opened up, even in the first 3 hours, a depth to Austen that I would not have ever guessed. The best part, though, is that she brought in a bottle of rum and scones. Apparently this is a weekly occurrence, and so I greatly look forward to 13 weeks more of eating, drinking and Austen. Sipping rum makes any novel, even if they turn out bad, pretty readable.
• School has begun – it is one of the greatest oddities known to man, or at least me; twice a year I begin a new semester, and twice a year I am surprised at the busyness of it. I have heard, though I know not from whom, that the body blocks out trauma as a defense mechanism. I heard this in the context of people birthing multiple babies. The logic was something to the extent that if women’s bodies remembered the pain of labor they would never do it more than once. I have applied that same strangeness to the phenomena of semesters; let me use this last one for example.
When I last left the corridors of the University of Dallas in mid-December I was sick with what can only be described as a precursor to the plague, I was stressfully agitated to the point of snapping at friends, family and most assuredly my students, and I would have welcomed death as a sweet relief from enduring any more of anything. (disclaimer: yes, I realize the overuse of hyperbole in most of my statements, and, no, I do not think I would have actually welcomed death, nor do I believe I contracted any mediaeval disease, but you get the general idea) Most certainly, I decided with 100 percent resolve that I could not, nay, I would not take 9 hours again while trying to teach and coach; physically, I did not count myself capable of such a feat again. Sometime in the next month all of those firmly entrenched feelings and memories faded, being replaced by false memories of semi-enjoyment with only slight irritations and tiredness along the way. Fueled by these pseudo-memories, I once again signed up for a full-load, and 1 week in, this sucks, and I hate my body for convincing me otherwise.
• Darwin’s Origin of Species – part of the so eloquently enunciated “this sucks” is that my first reading assignment for one of my classes was to read Darwin’s tome. I have griped in jest for the last week, but, truth be told, I was thrilled for the opportunity to finally read this seldom any longer examined book. It is well written despite its scientific nature, and, though I was forced to read very, very quickly, I quite enjoyed it.
A professor of mine last semester made several statements to the effect of, “If you are a Christian who does not believe in Evolution (or Darwinism, I cannot remember), you are an idiot (he was a fun guy).” I will not claim to understand it on the basis of one reading, and I honestly have no interest in the scientific per se, but I can at least get a glimpse of what he was talking about. For the entirety of my life Darwin has been rated as such a villain and God-hater that I would never have thought that Christianity could coexist with Darwinian Evolution, but I less steadfast in such a belief now. I fear that too many generations of those who have sermonized against him have not even read him. There are, believe or not, some very pious statements made by Darwin in the book. He acknowledges God and his creative abilities, but he makes the fundamental error of many philosophers: he made God too rational.
I suppose many think it makes God less fun to strip him of the ever-miraculous. It is not sexy enough to have a finite number of creations that mutate over time and form other species ad infinitum; we need our God to, with hammer and chisel, construct anew each and every variation of every animal in existence through all of eternity. That is a very romantic view of God, but what is wrong with a hybrid of the two? Is God’s creativity so constrained when he builds the clocks, sets it in motion and then allows it to run?
Julie and I heard a sermon/study on this last Sunday night from our pastor that spoke in part to this same thing. His argument was that if one believes in anything approaching Naturalism we lose a personal God. I agree that Darwinists, Rationalists, Naturalists, Calvinists, and ____________-ists of your choosing, have perverted and exaggerated the beliefs upon which they were founded, but we are not therefore constrained to throw out the baby with the bathwater (score!, cliché). Is God really so personal as such a statement alludes to? As I walked to my car at lunch, the wind blew my hair into a greater mess than it even was previously. Should I believe that God grabbed each individual strand atop my head and moved it from one spot to another, and if so, to what purpose does the wind blow, or is it okay to assume that God did indeed create hair, he likewise created wind, and that the one in interaction with the other caused the lunchtime incident? Perhaps I am sacrilegious, but the absurdity of the former belief over the latter is more than I can handle.
• Teaching? – I am a glorified hall-monitor at this point. If I spent nearly as much time preparing, grading or teaching my allotted subjects as I do having to take people’s hoodies force them to the bathroom to comply with dress code, I would be Mr. Holland. Yes, Mom, I know that he is the dream-teacher, but it is about as realistic a depiction of education as Batman is of law enforcement. Let us see how well he would have inspired those young minds had he spent half his time taking away cell phones and ipods and having to literally chase kids through the hallways to get them to even go to the principal’s office, which you have sent them to each day. America is doomed.
• Derek Webb – yes, boys and girls, the white-t-shirted-wonder has done it again. While I usually bristle at the idea of re-releasing previously recorded music in new packaging “One-Zero” is something I can get wholly behind. There are no new songs exactly, but he took his most controversial songs and did acoustic reinterpretations of them a la Alanis Morisette’s remake of “Jagged Little Pill” (also very good, by the way). I really love this guy, and if you have never given him a listen, this might be a good place to start; he is thoughtful and poetic, and I believe at the very least these songs allow for the opening of dialogue concerning the gospels’ role in politics and society within the life of the believer.
• Jane Austen – I attended my first class this last Monday, and I must say, I really enjoyed it. Dr. Kenney is truly a great professor, and she opened up, even in the first 3 hours, a depth to Austen that I would not have ever guessed. The best part, though, is that she brought in a bottle of rum and scones. Apparently this is a weekly occurrence, and so I greatly look forward to 13 weeks more of eating, drinking and Austen. Sipping rum makes any novel, even if they turn out bad, pretty readable.
