When it comes downt to it, there are two ways to get people to do things: by word or by deed. Or, to put it another way, I can ask you to do something or I can make you do something. This lesson is particularly a good one to learn as a child (I have no particular age in mind here, but the sooner the better, for both parent and child). The first time this truth arose in our home was when one of my sons had been ignoring the verbal pleas of my other son to "please stop" whatever it was that he was doing. After an exasperating few minutes, the offended son approached me to settle the dispute. When I confronted the offending son, our conversation quickly turned to what this kind of foolish negligence on his part will lead. Today, his brother; tomorrow, his friend; the next day, someone not so friendly who won't ask you twice. And there's the rub.
To be sure, this is only one side of the equation: other people ought neither to ask nor compell us to do things that are either wrong or against our conscience. However, that's for another post (well, series of posts really). Scripture says, "As far as it depend on you, be at peace with all men." Part of what this means is, "Don't ignore people when they speak to you," particularly if it's neither illegal nor immoral. Of course, it goes without saying (or does it?) that we are always free to turn down a request, to acquiesce, to decline, etc. But the point is, "Don't ignore people."
Now, merely acknowledging people doesn't guarantee peace; the other person might not like the way you choose to acknowledge them. But what will ensure hostility is prolonged negligence: nothing infuriates people more than being ignored when it's clear to everyone, especially them, that they are being ignored.
And this brings us to my point to my son. My efforts to train him to acknowledge his brother at the age of 8 (whether 'yea' or 'nay') is to prevent him from being beaten to a pulp someday by someone he's chosen to ignore, whether by fear, indifference, malice, or ignorance. This is not necessarily the same as cowering through life in fear of offending people. It is, on the other hand, at the heart of giving respect to other human beings made in the image of God. Whether we use speech and language rightly (as in, "Please pass the salt") or wrongly (as in, "Give me the salt, you blockhead!"), we are speaking; we are exercising part of our divine image-bearing essence. To communicate is to be like God. Whether we do it rightly or not is a function of our soul's relation to God: if we are born again, our speech may be holy speech; if we are not, it is fallen speech. Either way, though, we are imaging forth what God does: communicate himself to others.
In the end, I want my son to be trained in the habits of respect and dignity: answer people when they speak to you. Decline their offers or requests if you like and if it's right, but do not ignore them.
Showing posts with label image of God. Show all posts
Showing posts with label image of God. Show all posts
09 July 2008
A Christian Humanism
In my limited but earnest adventures into the history of philosophy, I've learned that the term humanism hasn't always (or even primarily) carried the secular and negative connotations it so often does today. For most Christians, humanism means "man-centered" and the climax of rational arrogance; for many non-Christians, it means the discovery and pursuit of everything in life that is within the human grasp. Historically for many thinkers, though, to be a humanist was to believe that there exists some answer to the question, "What is the essence of Humanity?" (this is very similar to what Christians rightly ask). How one answered the question, of course, varied from one philosopher or theologian to another; but that an answer existed was axiomatic.
Descartes proposed that "to think" was humanity's defining quality and by using one's reason and methodical doubt, all knowledge and meaning could be derived (how one arrives at certainty by way of systemic doubt didn't seem to bother him or his followers). Pascal began from a similar point, but rather than assume reason's sufficiency as an instrument by which we arrive at all knowledge, he used his reason to examine the nature and limitations of reason itself. Thus, due to reason's 'reasonable' limitations and fallibility, humanity was dependent upon revelation for a fuller, more reliable, knowledge of itself, and in the Bible's revelation, said Pascal, we find the "glory and refuse of man" explained in both the dignified image of God ("glory") that he bears, and the ignominious ruin of Adam's fall ("refuse"). And so, Pascal saw our essence as being made in God's image that is presently distorted but will one day be restored.
Since these two thinkers, many have come and gone, but the most remarkable thing to mention of most of them is that they have rejected the claim that humanity has any essence. Instead, they have proposed variants on what I'll call non-essential or non-idealistic philosophies: 1) that there is no essence or purpose to which we are beholden and we are thus free to will our own existence in our pursuit of the passions and accompanying expressions that we desire most (Friedrich Nietzsche in Twilight of the Idols), or 2) that man has created God in man's own image, a God who then 'makes' man in his own (humanistic) image that then leads to man thinking of himself as the object of God's love, which is a love not unlike man's since everything of God is merely man's projection of himself onto God ( Ludwig Feuerbach in The Essence of Christianity), or 3) that man creates his essence by virtue of his choices, but that what he chooses does, in fact, result in some human essence that did not previously exist (Jean Paul Sartre in Existentialism is a Humanism), or 4) the quest to either answer the question of humanity's existence or to justify not having to ask it are both non-sensical, and the sooner we get over asking the question, answering it, or even explaining why we don't have to, the better of we'll all be (Richard Rorty in Trotsky and the Wild Orchids).
Now maybe this post's title begins to make sense. If the biblical account of man is to be heard, we must begin to speak of A Christian Humanism - that is to say, a Christian account of humanity's essence. Clearly, this is to use the term humanism in a very different manner than in the phrase 'secular humanism'.
The main reason, I would argue (as have others more learned than myself), that so many un-biblical accounts of humanity have gotten a hearing throughout history is because such fallen accounts of human experience have been able to make sense of so much of human experience to fallen ears, and (and this is key!) in ways that do not depend on the Bible's account. Do not misunderstand me: I am not saying that the human heart is neutral, just waiting for the most reasonable explanation of itself to come along. However, wrong ways of looking at situations appear more plausible as more and more facts and experiences can be explained by them. This is what false philosophies have done well: they give false accounts of reality in ways that sound compelling but that also do not require the Bible's input to make sense. It's actually very similar to good lying.
What we need is to find compelling ways, that accord with Scripture, to account for people's experience. This is no small task. Flannery O'Connor, Walker Percy, and David Wells have each, in their own unique ways, expressed that our main difficulty in doing this is (and will continue to be) the fact that in our Western, Rational, Industrial age, the gospel of Jesus Christ appears more and more preposterous. We have created a modern world in which reality no longer looks or sounds real, and in which fancy and distraction are only too welcome.
Descartes proposed that "to think" was humanity's defining quality and by using one's reason and methodical doubt, all knowledge and meaning could be derived (how one arrives at certainty by way of systemic doubt didn't seem to bother him or his followers). Pascal began from a similar point, but rather than assume reason's sufficiency as an instrument by which we arrive at all knowledge, he used his reason to examine the nature and limitations of reason itself. Thus, due to reason's 'reasonable' limitations and fallibility, humanity was dependent upon revelation for a fuller, more reliable, knowledge of itself, and in the Bible's revelation, said Pascal, we find the "glory and refuse of man" explained in both the dignified image of God ("glory") that he bears, and the ignominious ruin of Adam's fall ("refuse"). And so, Pascal saw our essence as being made in God's image that is presently distorted but will one day be restored.
Since these two thinkers, many have come and gone, but the most remarkable thing to mention of most of them is that they have rejected the claim that humanity has any essence. Instead, they have proposed variants on what I'll call non-essential or non-idealistic philosophies: 1) that there is no essence or purpose to which we are beholden and we are thus free to will our own existence in our pursuit of the passions and accompanying expressions that we desire most (Friedrich Nietzsche in Twilight of the Idols), or 2) that man has created God in man's own image, a God who then 'makes' man in his own (humanistic) image that then leads to man thinking of himself as the object of God's love, which is a love not unlike man's since everything of God is merely man's projection of himself onto God ( Ludwig Feuerbach in The Essence of Christianity), or 3) that man creates his essence by virtue of his choices, but that what he chooses does, in fact, result in some human essence that did not previously exist (Jean Paul Sartre in Existentialism is a Humanism), or 4) the quest to either answer the question of humanity's existence or to justify not having to ask it are both non-sensical, and the sooner we get over asking the question, answering it, or even explaining why we don't have to, the better of we'll all be (Richard Rorty in Trotsky and the Wild Orchids).
Now maybe this post's title begins to make sense. If the biblical account of man is to be heard, we must begin to speak of A Christian Humanism - that is to say, a Christian account of humanity's essence. Clearly, this is to use the term humanism in a very different manner than in the phrase 'secular humanism'.
The main reason, I would argue (as have others more learned than myself), that so many un-biblical accounts of humanity have gotten a hearing throughout history is because such fallen accounts of human experience have been able to make sense of so much of human experience to fallen ears, and (and this is key!) in ways that do not depend on the Bible's account. Do not misunderstand me: I am not saying that the human heart is neutral, just waiting for the most reasonable explanation of itself to come along. However, wrong ways of looking at situations appear more plausible as more and more facts and experiences can be explained by them. This is what false philosophies have done well: they give false accounts of reality in ways that sound compelling but that also do not require the Bible's input to make sense. It's actually very similar to good lying.
What we need is to find compelling ways, that accord with Scripture, to account for people's experience. This is no small task. Flannery O'Connor, Walker Percy, and David Wells have each, in their own unique ways, expressed that our main difficulty in doing this is (and will continue to be) the fact that in our Western, Rational, Industrial age, the gospel of Jesus Christ appears more and more preposterous. We have created a modern world in which reality no longer looks or sounds real, and in which fancy and distraction are only too welcome.
24 June 2008
Nietzsche: Getting More Than He Bargained For
As part of the requirements for a class I just completed, I've been reading Nietzsche's Twilight of the Idols and C.S. Lewis' The Weight of Glory (the sermon within the book by the same title), and was struck by how much they both resonate with me, though for very different reasons. Nietzsche, of course, provokes a lot of well-deserved criticism from Christians, but some also not-so-well-deserved criticism from the same lot. He did, after all, seek to live life as consistently as possible as though God were really dead - this is no credit to him (not least because it's self-destructive). However, what many Christians have not appreciated is the value he assigned to the glories of aesthetic experience. In his usually ellusive manner, he describes it as having the "precondition of intoxication" that leads to the greatest of aesthetic experiences. Words like euphoric, enthralling, ravishing, intoxicating, exhilarating, passionate, and glorious all get at what he, and all people, find gratifying in life. Granted, he says that anything from bravery in conflict to cruelty to narcotics to sexual experience is a legitimate means by which one may pursue such intoxication that then leads to euphoria. What we miss, however, is how insightfully he has described our own experiences of pleasure and virtue: in a word, they are intoxicating, even at times addictive.
It is certainly true that my most gratifying experiences actually do follow from a kind of being "taken up into" or "intoxicated by" the moment. For instance, there's a kind of giddy thrill that can and often does come in meeting the need of another person, particularly when you both know that it's beyond repayment: and often such deeds of mercy carry more affection and emotion (for both parties) than any verbal statement could. And this is what Nietzsche is after in life: to get as much of these experiences as possible. What Christians disagree with in Nietzsche is not the pursuit of experiences of wonder and exhilaration per se, but in pursuing them at all costs and without regard for others. In fact, the Christian virtue Love is, in itself, the pursuit of such joys in such a way as to bring others into one's own experience of joy, not being indifferent toward or exclusive of the joy of others.
Enter Lewis. "If we consider the unblushing promises of reward and the staggering nature of the rewards promised in the Gospels, it would seem that Our Lord finds our desires, not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us. We are far too easily pleased." With Nietzsche, the pleasures of this life are all that there are and we do well to maximize our experience of them. With Lewis, the pleasures of this life are not ends in themselves, though good; they are pointers to the Greatest Pleasure, God. Elsewhere Lewis says (almost as if he was thinking of Nietzsche), "Aim at heaven, and you'll get the earth 'thrown in'; aim at earth and you'll lose them both."
Nietzsche might have been wrong in big ways, and he may have been crazy, but he was not stupid, nor was he completely out of touch with reality. He knew what it was, on some level, to be human. After all, he (like every other human being) carried the image of God in his being, and we should therefore not be surprised when thate image finds expression, even though marred and distorted (as it is in all of us). As those who bear the image of God, we were made for God and for each other, and this expereince of fellowship will (and ought to be) intoxicatingly delightful. Nietzsche's problem was not that he sought experiences of passion and exhilaration, but that he sought them as ends in themselves. He was, as Lewis says, "like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea." He was far too easliy pleased.
It is certainly true that my most gratifying experiences actually do follow from a kind of being "taken up into" or "intoxicated by" the moment. For instance, there's a kind of giddy thrill that can and often does come in meeting the need of another person, particularly when you both know that it's beyond repayment: and often such deeds of mercy carry more affection and emotion (for both parties) than any verbal statement could. And this is what Nietzsche is after in life: to get as much of these experiences as possible. What Christians disagree with in Nietzsche is not the pursuit of experiences of wonder and exhilaration per se, but in pursuing them at all costs and without regard for others. In fact, the Christian virtue Love is, in itself, the pursuit of such joys in such a way as to bring others into one's own experience of joy, not being indifferent toward or exclusive of the joy of others.
Enter Lewis. "If we consider the unblushing promises of reward and the staggering nature of the rewards promised in the Gospels, it would seem that Our Lord finds our desires, not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us. We are far too easily pleased." With Nietzsche, the pleasures of this life are all that there are and we do well to maximize our experience of them. With Lewis, the pleasures of this life are not ends in themselves, though good; they are pointers to the Greatest Pleasure, God. Elsewhere Lewis says (almost as if he was thinking of Nietzsche), "Aim at heaven, and you'll get the earth 'thrown in'; aim at earth and you'll lose them both."
Nietzsche might have been wrong in big ways, and he may have been crazy, but he was not stupid, nor was he completely out of touch with reality. He knew what it was, on some level, to be human. After all, he (like every other human being) carried the image of God in his being, and we should therefore not be surprised when thate image finds expression, even though marred and distorted (as it is in all of us). As those who bear the image of God, we were made for God and for each other, and this expereince of fellowship will (and ought to be) intoxicatingly delightful. Nietzsche's problem was not that he sought experiences of passion and exhilaration, but that he sought them as ends in themselves. He was, as Lewis says, "like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea." He was far too easliy pleased.
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