…a Christian Pacifist? 2: The Church and the New Politic

by Daniel S. Trout

This second installment of “What does it mean to be a Christian Pacifist?” could also be titled “Hating the World but Loving the world.” This distinction is crucial because it is precisely the posture one must take if due regard is given to the ethics of the New Testament. While those that discern a radical counter-cultural ethos within the Gospels (particularly) are frequently dismissed as apolitical, world-denying, and so on, I would suggest that such accusations are premature–in great need of reconsideration.

The heart of NT ethics is the presupposition that Jesus Christ is the embodiment of the eschatological initiation of the kingdom. His words, his actions and general lifestyle model true reconciled living for those that are called to be his disciples. Jesus fulfills the Law and transforms in his own person the nature, dictums, and application of the Law, thus laying the foundation of virtuous conduct for a mature Israel–his holy Church. While much could be said about these mentioned points, the thrust I must highlight here is the overarching motif that the new community is not of the world, and for that reason will earn its hatred (Jn. 15:18ff). This hatred is motivated by (what should be) the luminously obvious (think light of the world) character of the Church–she is the sacramental image of Christ’s new creation–and therefore lives on a different plane of reality. Within her lives the fulfillment of the prophet’s expectations: forgiveness, peace, and a certain hope founded on better promises. To a watching world, the Church must look like madness. Here is a community that revolves around its members commitment to love, reconciliation and sacrifice that esteems service and renounces the offerings of Babylon: lust, greed and war in the service of power and control–political, financial and sexual.

The Church rejects the will of the Whore because, as Jesus has demonstrated for her, the will of the Father is infinitely more important and binding. And the directives of this holy will is that the Church, like Christ, show the world what it means to be the People of the Holy Trinity. This is precisely why the politics of the Church are inherently different from the world. The politics Jesus gave to her reflect the revelation of Trinity as a communion of persons distinguished by love, deference, self-giving and a unity of mind and will that yields eternal peace. For Christians, the Triune communion is the archetype of politics. Thus, as we become more immersed in the life of the Trinity through the work of the Holy Spirit–both personally and corporately–we begin to intuitively conduct ourselves as models of this new political order: the meek, the poor in spirit and the peacemakers. The life of Jesus, a life that abandons the temptations of desire, prestige and power, becomes our own as we imbibe his words, strengthened always by his Body and Blood.

Living according to this nature, therefore, it is simply unthinkable that the Church have anything to do with the politics of this world’s kingdom’s; doing so would be nothing less than attempting a mix of light and darkness–those of the Spirit and those not. The world’s politics accept everything that Satan offers, and though they be under God’s control, they are intrinsically evil and destined to pass away. As people of a new order, it is senseless to engage in politics foreign to the commands of Christ, to commit ourselves to preserving, yes even fighting for regimes pledged to policies and raison d’etres utterly strange to the new Triune life we have been given. As a result, Christian politics grounded in the Gospel record can only be pacifist because we never have a reason to do battle for so-called “just causes”, “honor” or whatever, in the name of any nation, under any banner. If we can only take one thing from the Calvary, it is that it is more glorifying to God to be crucified under their wrath than to stand with them for any corrupt ideology. The Cross is the banner of our politics–the symbol of death metamorphosed into life, victory and the defeat of all the powers that do politics according to Satan’s way of arrogance, rebellion and war-mongering.

It should now be obvious that, for the Church, living these politics doesn’t mean that she is apolitical; rather, she is the Queen of politics because her’s are restored in her reconciliation with the Holy Trinity, and with the baptized persons that comprise her. Thus, though she transcend the order of this world’s false kingdoms, she is compelled to live within them; that is why she is commanded to be salt and light. The Church is the decisive critic of all other politics because only she can show the nations the folly and violence of their ways and the verity and peace that is hers. But if she compromises, then the witness is tainted, the fruits of kingdom corrupted, the light shrouded. The tension of owning the kingdom of heaven means bathing in it and displaying its glory while surrounded by the muck of the old order, still scratching for an existence. The Church will only change the Devil’s politics, yes even destroy them, when she purely proclaims her own. This is cultural transformation in a counter-cultural strategy–through love in the midst of hate, through forgiveness in the face of revenge, through peace under the threat of violence. I pray we will all know no other way.

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Gagging Imus: Another Episode of the Chandala

by Daniel S. Trout

By now, most people a probably aware of the most recent episode involving Don Imus, the shock jock who most recently called the black women of the Rutgers lady b-ball team “nappy-headed hos” in an off-hand comment, then the following day referred to Al Sharpton and a black congresswoman as “you people.” I rarely listen to (or watch) Imus, so I really have no desire to defend him or his work, but the surrounding raucous created by these (probably thoughtless) statements reveal, I think, a much larger cultural crisis in America than simply the routine PC rubbish.

What I would like to contend is that the tiresome tit-for-tat of PC, particularly in racial situations such as this one, is a phenomenon of the moral divide that continues to define–and widen–the gap between the classes historically identified and respected for (not simply possessing) material and political power and the ones that are not typically recognized for having such resources and muscle (or are deficient altogether). Put more simply, this is a skirmish between the caste of moral strength and the caste of moral weakness that live in a society where might (financial, political, rhetorical) makes right. The strong simply live in their state of power (often gloating) like Thrasymachus of Plato’s Republic while the weak bellow in a perpetual state of envy. To put this in Nietzschean language, the weak of America are the Chandala (see Twilight of the Idols). They are the disrespected, the outcast and the incompetent–those of the slave morality that spend their days whining about their state because, according to Nietzsche, they are weak; they don’t possess the constitution to rise above the rest as an ubermensch and attain the level of moral superiority.

The difficult thing for people like Don Imus is that he doesn’t live in Prussian Germany or Classic Attica, but in 21st century America where the master’s have been betrayed by members of their own class. In America, the Chandala do possess power, according to the willingness of certain representatives of the masters to bow to their complaining. Thus, the big-mouthed Imus’s of this world can’t strut because they’ve got traitorous watchdogs that curb their intuitive desire to speak and act within what should be an understood sphere of moral advantage; but this is an upside-down society in the public arena thanks to the liberal crusade of social elites living with a self-contrived guilt complex for years of so-called oppression, racist naughtiness and (gasp!) gross fossil-fuel consumption (which curiously they hesitate to personally release–note John Travolta and his airplanes).

The sad truth that nobody wants to face is that being PC and suspending Don Imus won’t cure this deeper problem. America remains a racist country built on personal success and exploitation, it’s just that we’ve reached the point of moral awareness where we know it’s wrong but don’t (from a secular perspective) know how to fix the past ills other than living a life of hand-outs and apologies. On the Sharpton side, he really has no more power than his slave ancestors did because everything he gets is only by condescension. Sharpton and everyone else like him is just a cry-baby because he wants what he can never really acquire–much less inherit–and that is the power and respect of man. So, he just whines to get his way; he whines because he is weak–Chandala. All he can do is whine because he has believed the lie that somehow gaining the money and power of the master caste will make the black man a player in a Caucasian/Asian-controlled world.

Sharpton is some kind of “Reverend”, but I’m sorry to say that he doesn’t have a clue what the Christian faith, that he claims to represent, gives to the poor and oppressed. Al Sharpton, Jesse Jackson, etc. are nothing more than the spokespersons of a secular liberation movement that advocates control–control wrestled from others and the control of PC labeling and humiliation–as the means to freedom.  As Christians, we know true freedom is only found by imitating Christ, by living according to his meekness, knowing that true strength is given by his first-fruits of new creation, not by forcing the respect of those perceived in power. If Sharpton and “his people” really want to have lives of peace and prosperity, then they must let go of this campaign that fundamentally uses coercion to achieve this ideology of so-called “equality”. Although they hide behind a democratic “discussion” tactic, theirs is essentially following the inclination to repay, even the most trivial of slights, with what basically amounts to revenge. They must learn to ignore, to forgive, to live with the expectation of greater future reward, because trying to win the war of physical competition in a losing battle only makes them look more pathetic, inept, foolish Chandala.

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Is there a Christian Economic Strategy?

by Daniel S. Trout

It’s rather easy to rail (especially from one’s computer) against the modern Church’s cooperation with our decadent culture, but I wonder, particularly in regard to economics, if there is a system of trade/monetary exchange that is more authentically Christian.  Both capitalism and communism fall grossly short because they presuppose a neutral arena of exchange where men can equally interact.  This is capitalism’s greatest weakness due to its inextricable bond with the optimism of 18th century rationalism and all the “self-evident truth” nonsense that completely ignores the problem of sin, and reduces life to a materialistic quest.  Communism is, of course, no better since it simply replaces one materialism with another.  Although it attempts to eliminate greed and self-interest, it’s method is essentially violent and, like capitalism, misses the foundational point that mankind is born morally bankrupt and cannot negotiate on fair and truly competitive terms, nor create a peace through bloody revolution.  But, as long as people think money makes the world go round, then the theories will continue to abound, be tweaked and used and abused to give people a false sense of meaning, security, and above all, unity.

This is why Christians have to give up this contemporary delusion.  To the world, we should be a strange, pilgrim people who have no business pretending that we can have economic fellowship with the world that is just and moral.  I mean this, of course, in the long-term.  Naturally, on the every-day level, I can superficially buy my groceries, sell stuff on e-Bay or whatever, but this is not true fellowship; this is just a slide along the surface of a larger theory that has, at its center, a principal of material and fiscal domination.   For all its exterior claims, capitalism is ultimately the same old story of resource control.  Like every other economic theory, capitalism wields an ethic of power: what I can control is just, and any infringement upon my control is unjust (consider America’s current Iraq crusade).

Thus it is just inexplicable how American Christians try to wed their faith with the world’s business.  There is (at least, there should be) a deep moral conflict between us and them.  Christianity knows no neutral sphere where one may suspend personal conviction for the sake of unity; that’s just outdated modernist bologna.  Our faith maintains a servant morality (yep, Nietzsche was right) of love and sacrifice.  Absent from the vision of NT ethics is any notion of fellowship underscored by competition, control and a personal achivement/esteem.  Jesus says that this is how the Gentile kings lord over their subjects, but he shows them a different way: not sitting at the table but serving.  In our current situation, Jesus’ example is simply folly.  An economic of this sort would be crushed under the ruthless character of the capitalist spirit.

As Christians, we have no economic theory.  Our progressivist modern world deals with theories of all kinds because it is always trying to find a better way to do everything.  Christians have something better than a theory: we have a personal discipleship program that’s better than any big idea.  In the Church, we are all part of a corporate reconciliation process wherein every member has, as his primary concern, the needs of others, whatever they may be.  Christians simply should not have the time for the struggle, the frustration, and the alienation caused by our so-called “rights” of wealth, property and the like.  Christian economics means selling everything we have and living like Jesus.  This is the Church’s mission, because, on earth, the Church is Jesus.  If more Christians actually had an ecclesiology with a christological center, then maybe our Lord’s radical demands might not seem so uncomfortable.  As it stands, most don’t, but the call “follow me” endures.

So, to bring this together, let’s just say this: (1) There is no Christian economic strategy; we are not defined by what we own, earn, or dominate, but by what we have given up for the One “who for our sakes, became poor.” (2) We cannot have economic fellowship with the world because they have an opposed concept of morality and justice. (3) All secular economic theory is divisive, authoritarian…violent.

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America’s Culture War: Who’s Drawing the Order of Battle?

by Daniel S. Trout

On page 50 of his book Culture Wars, James Davison Hunter lays out the basic thrust of his analysis: “we come to see that the contemporary culture war is ultimately a struggle over national identity–over the meaning of America, who we have been in the past, who we are now, and perhaps most important, who we, as a nation will aspire to become in the future.”  As an opinion from a modern pluralist perspective, I believe Hunter’s thesis expresses this view in an accurate, if not expected way.  By this, I mean that for a person like Hunter, national crisis is the apogee of all conflict because the modern nation-state is nothing less than the goddess of human civilization–a contemporary Athena for the liberal democratic masses, cunningly recast as Lady Liberty.  This phenomenon Hunter plainly admits; not that it’s necessarily the ideal order of society, but that it is the order of history, and without it, our modern sense of community would lose all sense of identity.  Thus, in Hunter’s mind, the fight for its preservation must be the defining endeavor of our lives.

Hunter’s argument is so tempting because it is so brilliantly compelling.  How great is this conflict, that even our most firmly-held philosophical and theological commitments are but the smoldering coals that serve to ignite such an epic blaze?!  Here, our knowledge, our beliefs and our daily living play only as servants to a larger dispute.  In many ways, I think Hunter is right, and his historical trace from the conflicts of 16th century, largely based in religious, imperial, and racial tension, to the present day shift toward one of “moral domination,” has substantial merit.  In a country where civil rights define our elan vitale, where morality is legality and the federal government is, above all, the mother of truth, beauty and the common welfare, one cannot but find it inevitable that our other presuppositions inevitably become subservient to the desire for recognition, freedom and, most importantly, power in the social arena.

The danger here, for Christians, is the socialogical deception that the ephemeralities of social order represent the cosmic struggle of true meaning and fellowship, in which the commitment of everyone is an obligation.  While I am not suggesting that Hunter’s thesis is dishonest, or his motivations sinister, his presentation is finally one that the people of God–despite being so deeply entrenched in this conflict already–must seriously consider reevaluating.  The reason is that the conflict in America is little different from social upheaval of the past: the turmoil within Athens circa the Peloponessean War era, Rome in the waning days of republic, and I could go on.  The difference, of course, is that the present strife is occurring on the popular level over the most basic choices of life in manner not previously possible or even considered.  Yet, the tie that binds our present situation with the past is that all of these struggles represent man’s carnal desire to define himself, especially through his control over others.  America is yet another manifestation of the City of Man, the place where the godless build their towers of Babel to try to make some organized sense of their sinful idolatry.  It’s not that human culture is of itself a lost cause, or that even America is beyond hope, but that Christians cannot embrace what is by nature contrary to God’s kingdom.  Never in the NT can we infer that Christians should build edifices based on Utopian dreams to unite people’s affections into a protective bubble of legislation and political manipulation.  If Hunter is right, and moral domination is the key to the future, then Christians cannot stoop to playing by the rules of American morality.  Our morality is not based on coercion, but on a conversion to imitating the life of Jesus, to the carrying of the cross and living together in peace through love and self-sacrifice.  Being moral in the Christian sense means living a life transformed by the Holy Spirit.  The very notion of trying to force the ungodly to live under “Christian morality” or “God’s law” is absurd in light of the joint requirements of repentance and obedience.

Reflecting on the quote above, I would say Hunter is basically correct: the American situation is about telling the national story.  But what Christians must bear in mind is that this is NOT our story.  Theirs is of a war, deceit and corruption, all in the name of patriotism to a Utopian lie.  For those of a different citizenship, our story is a covenant tale of sin, redemption and restoration into a new community of the reconciled under the banner of King Jesus.  The only way we will save America is by bringing the lost into the life of the Church, by making them part of our story.  The Kingdom of God is not about voting, picketing and getting elected; the politics of the kingdom is about living the Sermon on the Mount, doing the liturgical work of worship and world-wide restoration to lift the earth up to God as a sacrifice of praise.  Hunter’s “culture war” is not our battle.  We have a different mission, and that does not involve capitulating to any secular system that wants us to bow to any image of gold when the music plays……”Oh say can you see?”….

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Christianity and Economics

by Daniel S. Trout

Since the end of the 19th century, a lively controversy has grown within the “Christian” world over the economic system that best represents the mission of God’s Kingdom and/or best conforms to biblical norms and laws regarding trade and industry. This has come to a head in more recent decades with publications representing a variety of interpretations, although the demarcations have generally remained the same: those on the liberal maineline side advocating some form of socialism and those on the conservative/”evangelical” side maintaining a version of capitalism. Both preferences, of course, represent the underlying theologies (esp anthropology and soteriology) of each side; the details hardly needly to be rehashed here.

The point of this little post is a recommendation that Christians abandon taking sides with either, since the epicenter of this controversy is probably based on the wrong question anyway. The choice between capitalism and communism is really a false dilemma because each system is just a differently-nuanced expression of a foundational opinion: Ben Franklin captured it best when he remarked, “Time is money.” Advocates of capitalism, of course, laud their economic theory’s emphasis on fair bargaining and private responsibility, because they think it encourages good stewardship; additionally, capitalism seems prima facie to practically be a heavenly mandate since it originated within the Puritan worldview of material blessing as a reward for priestly labor. The sad error with this hagiographic capitalism nostalgia is that it ignores the truth that, like the Marxism that would challenge it, the thrust of economics onto center stage was just symptomatic of a degenerating age. The triumph of rationalism that plagued 18th century Protestantism and ushered in Enlightenment secularism set a new course for Western Civilization, one in which philosophies like Marxism should only be expected. Marx’s radical materialism was hardly novel, since he basically just corrected the materialism of his predecessors. Marx simply realized that a healthy exchange of interests between rational creatures was a doomed thesis: fairness is impossible because capitalism leaves the door wide open to exploitation and the creation of class hierarchy. Of course, Marx’s only challenge to this problem was more coercion in an attempt to unite humanity.

Modern economics is a dangerous trap for Christianity because at its heart–the particular thesis doesn’t matter–is the vision of a secular utopia. On the one hand is the delusion of fair competition between noble minds, on the other is the delusion of absolute equality with the expulsion of economic friction; both of these idealistic spheres orbit the same sun of reductionism–everything comes down to finance. No matter how one might try to see these choices in the light of Scripture, neither theory can be anything more than baptized mammon. As Christians, we are under no mandate to make the pursuit of wealth or its management the ethos of our culture. Capitalism and Marxism are religions and a quick glance at the landscape of our society surely unveils the reality of this pagan worship. Is it cathedral spires that dominate our city skylines? No, but the temples of banks and other financial centers, the clearest aesthetic revelations of what drives us. From an Augustinian perspective, Christians should be able to see all this for what it is–the City of Man. In the City of God, we are not called to make money, but make disciples. Of course, we cannot escape the use of money, since the rhythm of work and wages is a natural phenomenon that even the NT recognizes; but finances and its material rewards must never become our central obsession. The call of the Gospel is to baptize the nations and lift them up into the worship of the Creator. If we have any vision for the future, it can be found in the book of Revelation: a liturgical world, united in the fellowship of adoration for her Savior and Lord. As Christians in a worldly age, we must cease affirming the offerings of the City of Man and return to the holy mission we were saved for. We are the builders of true culture; we transcend the petty offerings of false systems because our treasure is in heaven.

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Symbols in Turmoil

by Daniel S. Trout

The removal of the bronze cross from the chapel on the William and Mary campus–justified in the name of political correctness to make the sanctuary more “religiously neutral”–broaches the alarming abuse of symbols in our contemporary culture. What is so interesting about the situation with the cross is the way it exemplifies just how contextually-determined is the human appreciation of a symbol. In-and-of-itself, this is not a morally wrong or unnatural occurrence; symbols very often possess their phenomenological power specifically because of the associations we make with them (a person, a place, a story, etc.).

But what is so fascinating about this particular situation is the control factor, which we can contrast between the W&M cross and the way a cross is used in popular culture (jewelry, decoration, and whatever else). In the latter circumstance, the human element possesses the upper hand. Our secular culture has ingeniusly taken a sacred object and successfully reified its meaning to the point that it can signify whatever the person chooses, ultimately with his/her self-gratification in mind. The cross (or any symbol for that matter) is the servant of the bearer, and it is forced to communicate, not so much something about its historical–or even transcendental–significance, but about the bearer almost entirely. Within our society, no one really criticizes this use of symbolic power because it is self-serving, safe and rapidly becoming void of religious connotations.

The former situation is radically different-and earned such an opposite response–because, in this case, the control relationship is reversed. In the chapel, the cross now owns the power over any observer because it is itself the phenomenological revelation of a whole religious system with its own story, especially about God and man, and specifically the communion between the two that was actually defined by that torture apparatus. Because of this unavoidable association, the chapel cross impresses itself upon the hearts of people: it presents, it convicts, it demands contrition and awe. The human side is, existentially-speaking, penetrated by a concrete aesthetic manifestation (as Balthasar might contend) of a spiritual power beyond his/her ability to approach unaffected. The only recourse is to do exactly what Jesus’ murderers did: try to put him away, out of existence, and (hopefully) out of memory. The foolishness of this move is that one cannot simply kill the Gospel by removing its tokens; its power is of a supernatural character, infinitely beyond human control. The actions of William and Mary’s president is merely indicative of man’s most ancient problem: loving the darkness that he thinks covers his sin instead of the light that exposes it and demands his responsibility.

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Imagination vs. Ideology: The Tragedy of Pan’s Labyrinth

by Daniel S. Trout

********WARNING: SPOILERS TO FOLLOW********

For those who have seen the recent Guilleme del Toro film Pan’s Labyrinth, I am presupposing that Ofelia’s fantasy world is just that–a fantasy–the whimsy of a dreamy and undisciplined girl who spends much of her time under the spell of the flights she reads in her treasured books. At the moment, I find no reason to doubt this interpretation, since–from the film’s start–del Toro seems to clearly communicate this presentation of Ofelia and her bizarre world. Granted, this interpretation cannot immediately explain every plot element (and there are some difficult ones), but I think that was the director’s intention anyway–an objective he creatively realizes.

There is so much for which one could commend Pan–the acting, the character development, the excellent script and plot and, of course, the amazing animation and makeup–but I think what ultimately makes Pan so compelling is the tragedy embodied by a young girl bereft of the life and the love necessary to make her vivid imagination blossom into something wonderful and glorifying. I believe it is Jeremy Begbie (perhaps drawing from Pascal) who once commented that it is in the imagination that we best learn about our humanity and the God who created it. Imagination is not limitless (or amoral), but within its ontological and ethical boundaries, human creativity makes possible our keeping and perfecting of the created order that God made us to accomplish, and–concurrently–our fellowship with the Spirit of God and his glory that illuminates our intentions with the world and humanity. It is precisely the absence of this quality in the environment and collective consciousness of Ofelia and her fellow characters that the delicate joy of dreams suffers its initial breakdown. Sadly, Ofelia’s context is a violent and confusing one riddled with loss: of a father in war, of a mother (naively seduced by the self-serving captain) of a country torn by both civil and global conflict and a Christian faith corrupted by modernist philosophy and national interests. In this milieu, Ofelia’s imagination first becomes something that imagination should never be–escape–from the surrounding hostilities, from the captain’s sadism and her mother’s painful pregnancy. This may strike a modern audience obsessed with amuseument a strange criticism, but escapism is deadly because it inherently condemns reality; it refuses the goodness that the world yet possesses in God’s grace and instead contrives a matrix that is both self-centered and utopian.  Ideologies frequently begin in this manner (e.g., take the early Lenin), but (now follow the Bolshevik Revolution further), then worsen into coercive dogma enforced by the Stalin-types.  Secondly, what makes Ofelia’s case even more heartbreaking is that she goes beyond escapism because she can no longer separate the violence of her situation from her dreams. Even in her princess fancy (the delight of most little girls), Ofelia fails in her self-made quests and fills her nightmare with bloody horror comparable to the outside troubles. Here we find the necessary reciprocity (even unity) between whim and world: reality affects fantasy as much as the other way around. Health and peace in each dimension is necessary for mutual cultivation. Ofelia never gets to enjoy this normal and happy state; she is robbed by a world possessed by a different ethos, a perverse perspective on life that chokes girlish innocence.

The damaging nature of Ofelia’s context in 1940s Spain is that it is Schopenhauerian one of will and idea dominated by competing ideologies. The brutal captain of course, is the degenerate epitome of ideology, but the fact is that there is no holy presence in the midst. It would seem that del Toro portrays the communists as the “good guys”, but in reality, no one person or idea is more right than another. Fascist or communist, everyone–even the brave and good-hearted Mercedes–is possessed by a godless conviction that pretends to explain what the world is and the rhythm that life must follow. Yes, in the end it is the captain that physically kills Ofelia, but, in final judgment, every person is her murderer. No one can recognize the madness of his or her choices and allegiances–Mercedes, too, spills blood with her own hands: ideology always breeds desperation and the lust for control; it is intrinsically violent. Ofelia’s ideology-soaked situation is, for the lack of a better description, a world that has forgotten how to imagine.  All of the film’s major plot-shapers have goals and ambitions, but everyone is basically resigned to a ruthless existence where a barbaric struggle for supremacy rules the future.  Ofelia’s imagination is so lost and inconvenient here because the warring ideologies represent the antithesis of everything magical she wishes for.  Ideology of any kind is so oppressive because it must assert its power as absolute and comprehensive; an ideology simply cannot thrive and capture the mind unless it makes divine pretenses. Imagination, meanwhile, derives its power from the acknowledgement of its createdness; imagination revels in its obedience to authority because its delight is found in serving the higher creative power that makes its own existence possible. That is why ideology cannot stand imagination: it cannot tolerate its humility–it’s deference; ideology corrupts and kills Ofelia, for she is the only character in the film with enough faith to presume that a world free from the cruel control (that even her mother finally accepts) of the tyrannical will is believable. Even when she “makes mistakes” in her fantasy and it seems to turn against her, she refuses to make the outcome acceptable according to her terms. Yes, Ofelia becomes a princess (in her dream), but not before sacrificing herself (and her control) for the sake of her baby brother. The ultimate tragedy, of course, is that her wish can never be any more than just that, and even in death her young mind struggles to harmonize reality and fantasy. As inconceivable as it may seem to a modern world that neatly divides the real and the unreal into exclusive planes, Ofelia–in her child-like way–expresses the hope (specifically, the Christian one) that the seen and the unseen (though believed) can and do integrate.  Perhaps this is why del Toro feels so free to blend Ofelia’s fantasy with the reality of her struggle: he recognizes that the line between the two is simply too nebulous to be rigidly enforced (another will-to-power?).

Ultimately, however, Pan is not an optimistic tale of imagination’s triumph over the harsh modern reality of wille and vorstellung. Despite her best efforts, Ofelia dies at the hand of her adversary; even her brother is only finally rescued by more death.  And yet, even in her loss, Ofelia remains true to her namesake (remember Hamlet)–she is the lady of the flowers. As the rotten old tree blooms before the screen fades (truly one of finest directorial touches in the movie), del Toro reminds the viewer that Ofelia’s shattered life remains a vestige of beauty amidst the ugliness of the depraved human will. The imaginative Ofelia (warped though she is by the violence around her) is a gift–a gift to people trapped in the hubris of their own idolatry. Again, drawing from the Bard, del Toro shows that the hopeless survivors can only mourn the little blossom that they could never take the time to understand, that they destroyed by rejecting her plea for the enchanting things only those who come as children can hope for.

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Addressing Needs: Being the Compassionate Church

by Daniel S. Trout

Particularly since the beginning of the last century, the matter of attending to human neediness within the larger culture has caused considerable befuddlement and division within the American Church. Two basic approaches emerged: the first, following the so-called “social gospel” of Walter Rauschenbusch went so far as to define the Church’s mission as a salvific healing of want, hurt and injustice in society. The second, usually identified with “fundamentalist” Christianity, was essentially a response to the former’s “liberal” campaign of almost myopic social awareness; they tended to minimize social activism and maximize doctrinal fidelity. I believe I can reasonably say that, since the 1950s, the even larger “evangelical” movement has attempted to bridge the polar liberal/fundamentalist gap with an ever-increasing cultural sensitivity while still seeking to preserve a hold on orthodoxy that ranges from nominal to firm, depending on the denomination or even the congregation. But as evangelicals continue to feel pressure to become even more viable social participants, the same nagging problem grows ever more weighty as to how they should demonstrate their social compassion in a culture increasingly coming under the care of the federal government and its bureaucracies.

My contention in this article, as one might expect, is that, while the Church can and should empathize with human need, it cannot accept the social agenda of any secular authority or interest group. Call oneself a “compassionate conservative,” “principled liberal” or “libertarian” and ally oneself with any possible political party–the danger remains the same–the Church’s notion of social compassion is too unlike any secular ideology to associate with it. The problem is that (almost) every modern attempt at social justice is based on some form of casuistry, that is, an ethical philosophy based on some kind of moral obligation. I think two general notions remain in force today. The first is the mutated form of the old Enlightenment (esp Kantian) doctrine of ethical “oughtness” which advocates rational man’s responsibility to act according to our obligation to the innate laws of human responsibility. Today, particularly in America, this manifests itself in the federal government’s mandate that it and everyone living under its power owes everyone his right to be treated without discrimination and be allowed to live in any way he chooses. To be frank, it is an insistence on making everyone, even the lowest and deviant of persons, as happy as possible under the system. The other ethical notion follows the ethics of Emmanuel Levinas that, again, human beings have obligation to meet the needs of what Levinas called the “Other,” the faceless every-thing/one that presents itself to us. Unique to Levinas is the sense of guilt that people (particularly in the traditionally elite classes/countries) should feel towards the oppressed and less-fortunate. What is alike in both is this persistent dictum that we must pay people what we owe to them; every person has basic rights and needs that must be recognized and met, and even Christians are obligated to respect these rights and needs in a manner consistent with the secular power’s vision for humanity, supposedly under the direction of the U.S. Constitution.

What I cannot stress enough is that the Church shares no such sense of obligation. While secular philosophies and authorities might appeal to some natural philosophy, conscience or law, Christians must first remember the nature of their own salvation if they are to follow any ethic of social awareness with biblical integrity. The main lesson to recall is that the only thing anyone deserves is damnation before the God he disobeyed in Adam and continues to sin against in his own pride and selfishness. The only measure that rescues man from this certainty is God’s own act of grace and mercy in the form of the incarnate Son of God, Jesus Christ, who suffered the covenantal penalty under God’s law that the whole human race was supposed to endure. What Christ demonstrates to us, both in his death and his life is that true compassion is entirely an act of grace that only God himself can initiate. Consider the earthly ministry of Christ. He would have nothing to do with either secular authorities or the ruling Jewish leaders because he knew then about them what the Church must recognize today: that every supposed act of compassion and generosity from a reprobate heart proceeds from selfish ambition. The contemporary response to “oughtness” or guilt is carried out to fulfill the aspirations of some godless ideology, whether it be the personal satisfaction of a baseless “goodness” or the submission to the political objectives of a secular utopia. In these there is no concept of sin or grace, only duty. For the Church, her every action has to be seen as redemptive because she is the presence of Christ in the world; his mission is her mission. Therefore, the Church cannot be interested in just giving people better lives, second chances or “justice” because all these ideas merely buttress the aims of the liberal project to give, in their minds, basically good people the fair treatment they deserve. By giving in, the Church would simply be surrendering people to the clutches of the great American lie. There is no right to “life, libery and the pursuit of happiness”; to truly be healed and cared for, one has to come under the wings of our Mother, Christ’s one holy, catholic and apostolic Church. The only way for a Christian to show compassion is to bring people into the fold of God, needs and all. If they will accept our gospel, then we will disciple them and meet their physical needs as well. This is real, godly compassion, because we aren’t just trying to make people more contented members of society, rather, we are inviting them to be part of our communion in the most intimate way: we are giving our very lives to them because we are imitating the hospitality of the Savior who gave his life for us. By bringing the needy into the Church, we are not claiming to have all the answers; instead, we are offering membership with other people who are just as imperfect and wanting. The liberal society around us does not show hospitality, it placates people with stuff and empty promises because it tries to be the universal know-it-all. That is why I say the Church’s compassion is an extension of God’s mercy, while everything else is ultimately just the deception of an unconcerned juggernaut.

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Not-So-Liberated: A Critique of Mary Daly

by Daniel S. Trout 

Numerous problems plague Mary Daly’s cry for women’s liberation in Beyond God the Father, but the reader’s initial criticism must note Daly’s own self-undermined credibility on page 48.  She writes that women trapped in this chauvinist society suffer from a divided consciousness because they struggle between desiring authentic existence and acquiescing to the patriarchal oppression that has invaded their psyche.  The difficulty with this statement is Daly’s erroneous presumption that she no longer suffers from this duality herself.  The fact is that she cannot function outside of the patriarchal categories because Daly—assuming the role of ex-slave—can only attempt to escape but cannot enjoy true freedom, as she claims; only one in the position of power has the capacity to liberate the oppressed, the archetype of this movement being the God who governs our slavery to sin and freedom in his Son’s righteousness.  Daly is therefore functioning in a self-contrived escapist mode, but not freedom mode and cannot justifiably assert to have attained true liberation.  This means, of course, that on page 49, Daly has no right to suggest a first “salvific moment,” since to be a slave is to be trapped within a closed system.  Despite her revolution rhetoric, Daly’s attempt is nothing more than a delusional effort to cope, just as personal-merit-based salvation is simply a vain attempt to autonomously deal with depravity.

Another major problem is Daly’s one-sided view of gender evaluation.  She accuses the masculine subject of always reducing the feminine self to an object, but she refuses to recognize that men find themselves in a similar situation.  Men are always trying to find ways (albeit differently) to make themselves appear desirable to women, and are plagued by the same insecurity and struggle with success and failure.  Consequently, her sisterhood suggestion is foolish because it isolates half the interlocutors from the conversation.  At heart, both women and men are seeking each other’s approval, so a true community effort is incomplete without both sexes present to dialogue.

A third major weakness is Daly’s pronouncement that original sin is the sexual caste.  If so, then sin is reduced an entirely horizontal problem and there is no reason for either male or female to feel responsible to God or any other absolute objective standard.  Scripture communicates that sin is principally an offense to God’s holy character, so it is difficult accept the theology of Mary Daly, a fallible and mortal women who manufactures her own arbitrary theology.

Positively, Daly mercilessly exposes the Church’s disgraceful association of the feminine with concupiscence and its consequential persecution of innocent women as witches, plus the toleration of prostitution as an unbelievable lesser evil.  But Daly must understand that these heinous activities are the result of corrupt men—not a corrupt medium (Scripture)—which she fails to accept.  The recognition of Scriptural inerrancy and a traditional anthropology that affirms sinful man’s dependence on God’s grace are necessary for Daly to reevaluate the (admittedly) troubled world in which we all find ourselves.

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A Contrast of Brian McLaren and Blaise Pascal

by Daniel Trout

The following comparison is based upon Brian McLaren’s A New Kind of Christian and Blaise Pascal’s Pensees. McLaren is a representative of the fast-growing, youth-oriented emergent church movement within contemporary American evangelicalism. The 17th century philosopher/apologist Pascal was a Roman Catholic with Jansenist inclinations who’s keen scientific mind and vigorous (though unfinished) defense of the Christian faith is appreciated by Romans and Protestants alike. Let us consider three points that distinguish the true orthodox thinker from the imposter.

The first noteworthy difference between McLaren and Pascal concerns their approach to apologetics. For McLaren, in his so-called “postmodern” age, Christianity’s defense should not focus on theological claims, but upon its actions in society (not rightness, but goodness.) Therefore, evangelism is best depicted not as a conquering soldier with a series of coercive arguments, but as a hip poet sporting good deeds and a seeker-sensitive witness of “what makes sense to me.” In contrast, the whole purpose of Pascal’s Pensees is to convince the skeptic that Christianity is worth believing for its persuasive truth statements alone. Pascal’s “Wager” and various other texts indicate that he considers “doing” to be as integral as “believing,” but even a casual reading of Pascal’s ideas reveal that it is the integrity of Scripture, the fulfillment of prophecy and the veritable teachings of Christ which must take priority in our argument.

This leads into the second difference. If exclusive truth claims aren’t that important for McLaren, then why treat Christianity with special reverence? In fact, he does not. He proceeds to remark that Christianity is a mixed bag, often the enemy of true faith, that it doesn’t “own God” and that one could serve another god and still be worshipping Yahweh. Pascal (who would be appalled), states fiercely and frequently that other religions are categorically false because they lack the authority and the witness to truth, the understanding of man’s wickedness and God’s holiness, and therefore, the necessity of a redeemer. Additionally, Pascal comments that if the contemporary Church is wrong, then the ancient one was also. McLaren, on the other hand, is all too-willing to discard the whole system with the mistakes. But how can we have Christ without Christianity? McLaren’s indifference should be called what it is—heresy.

All of this culminates in what might be the core of the disagreement: anthropological evaluation. McLaren never deals with the problem of sin even once. Instead, he appears to treat all people as basically faith-oriented searchers that just need a little love to point them in the right direction. In his exuberance to break down Enlightenment comfort barriers, he announces that “we’re all connected!” But this is only partly true. Scripture teaches that the wicked and the righteous are very antithetical to one another. Pascal writes accordingly, stressing in the Pensees man’s utter wretchedness without the love of the true God. In his fallen condition, man is unhappy, prideful, bored, hateful and, ultimately, damned, according to God’s sovereign decision. Pascal notes that man is at his cognitive and moral best when he recognizes his wretchedness and need of salvation.

The wit and genius of Blaise Pascal has endured for 350 years and we can only hope that future generations will continue to tap his wisdom. Brian McLaren is an embarassment and little short of being a false teacher: his ideas are often unorthodox and incoherent, and his suggestions frequently misleading and ambiguous. All of his errors are founded on the mistaken assumption that Christianity (or whatever religion he’s looking for) must be hip with the trends of a fluctuating society. All he wants is do-gooder spirituality that loves everyone and stands for nothing.

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