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Religion Is Inevitable

Today I have a new essay up at National Review discussing why American progressives can no longer refer to themselves as “the party of science.” If the last few years have revealed anything, it’s that our ideological battles are inescapably religious.

Here’s an excerpt:

The inconvenient truth is that there is no “party of science,” just as there is no “right side of history.” All ideological tribes use scientific research when the result supports their priors and downplay it when it doesn’t.

There is a meaningful difference, though, between cultural conservatives and progressives. Conservatives, at least historically, have been willing to take their ideas above the rim of materialism, to argue against scientism and emphasize the transcendent and spiritual. For almost a century, arguably dating back to the Scopes trial, progressives have taken the opposite approach, forming an unwritten alliance with irreligious partisans of higher ed and instinctively deferring to science when it collides with faith or tradition. It’s not that one party believes in science and one party disbelieves it. It’s that only one party claims that’s the case.

Read the entire piece here. Thanks to the kind folks at National Review for the opportunity.

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Christianity

Doctrines We Lost in the Fire

The following is a guest essay by my friend Caleb Wait.

What does one do when their house is on fire?

Californians, such as myself, have to think about this question more often than most Americans. While there may not be one correct answer, one generally is inclined to salvage the essentials, whatever is priceless, and let the rest go up in flames. Easier said than done. In the recent Kincade fire in Sonoma, CA, 180,000 residents were forced to pack up their belongings and say goodbye to their homes. After getting to safety, some residents realized that what they salvaged in their panic was far from the essentials: folks have been recorded grabbing cucumbers, cleaning supplies, and bike helmets.

Panic is a strange and disorienting phenomenon. Per Mariam-Webster, panic is “a sudden unreasoning terror often accompanied by mass flight.” This seems to make sense of the residents of Sonoma. Likewise, it might make sense of those in the church’s history when faced with new cultural and philosophical fires, as it were: the East and West had different reactions during the Great Persecution in the 4th-century, Roman Catholics and Protestants reacted to Humanism and Voluntarist philosophy differently, and Christians today continue to react to the Enlightenment and modernism in their own ways. Some more successful than others.

Perhaps when Hume awoke Kant from his “dogmatic slumbers,” it was an awakening full of panic and violence, s0 much so that Kant salvaged the wrong pieces of furniture from the perceived fire of Hume’s project. The empiricist project that said we cannot reason our way to God or know anything about him, rather, we can only trust our sense experience and passions. Either way, Kant wanted to hang on to morality, a priori. And he knew you needed God for that. But do we need orthodox doctrine? While Kant left dogma on the kitchen counter to await the flames of modernity, we might not want to be so hasty.

Right Belief vs Right Behavior

While modernity is now old hat, it is no less easy to buy into the same dichotomy Kant did; that doctrine and moral obligation are irreconcilable forces. Conservatives and progressives both do this. For many, orthodox doctrine encumbers the ability to ‘just love’ one another. It gets in the way of caring for hurt people and it doesn’t do enough to combat injustice and oppression. For others, doctrine is used abstractly as a means to remove one’s moral responsibility. For the former group, what we believe and why is not as important as loving your neighbor; for the latter, doctrines are merely tools for demarcating who you can associate with and who you must make highly edited videos of, placating them as dangerous liberals.

However, what if orthodox doctrine is a primary way we love our neighbors? What if the implication of our confessions propel is toward our moral responsibility? In Linguistics & Biblical Interpretation, Peter Cotterell & Max Turner give the following summary about implicatures:

Language is interesting in that what is implied may be as informative as what is said…. The notion of implicature is of importance in the interpretation of utterances in general and of conversations in particular…conversations are governed by certain principles, amongst context-appropriateness. The actual words used in conversation might appear to run contrary to those principles. My wife asked me: ‘Are the girls in yet?’, and I replied, ‘The porch light is still on.’ Taken out of context the two utterances appear to be unrelated, and my response would appear to disregard both principles. However my response required an implicature which did not require to be expressed: ‘The porch light is still on, the girls would have switched it off had they come in, and so I can say that they are not yet in.’ The conversation principle that I should not include unnecessary information is observed and so are the two earlier principles (p. 47-48).

In light of Cottrell and Turner’s principles, we can see the connection between orthodoxy and orthopraxy laid out in several biblical texts.

Paul’s Theology of Love

In 1 Corinthians, Paul speaks to the kinds of issues an immature and multicultural church might face. One such issue is the matter of idol-food. Those who partake in eating idol-food without a troubled conscience do so because they assent to the truth of the Shema:

Therefore, as to the eating of food offered to idols, we know that “an idol has no real existence,” and that “there is no God but one.” For although there may be so-called gods in heaven or on earth—as indeed there are many “gods” and many “lords”— yet for us there is one God, the Father, from whom are all things and for whom we exist, and one Lord, Jesus Christ, through whom are all things and through whom we exist (1 Cor. 8:4-6).

The ‘strong’ in the church feel justified in their consumption of idol-food since the so-called gods represented by idols don’t really exist, unlike the one true God. The ‘strong’ read an implication into the Shema which Paul grants; nevertheless, that is not the only implicature Paul reads into this orthodox claim.

In 8:6, Paul sets out to qualify some of the assertions represented in v. 4-5a. His goal is to help the Corinthians form a full-orbed understanding when they confess “there is no God but one.” To know God constitutes a love for God and a love that overflows in building up the brethren (8:1b). I am indebted to Chris Tilling’s helpful work on 1 Corinthians here. He summarizes that Paul reworks the Shema subtext from Deuteronomy in terms of Christ, and does so, “in light of the contrast between the Corinthian ‘knowledge’ and true ‘love for God’ in 8:1-3.” (Paul’s Divine Christology, p. 91).

Now concerning food offered to idols: we know that “all of us possess knowledge.” This “knowledge” puffs up, but love builds up. If anyone imagines that he knows something, he does not yet know as he ought to know. But if anyone loves God, he is known by God (1 Cor. 8:1-3).

Paul then utilizes the Lord/Christ in the Shema (v. 4-6) to contrast its covenantal implications between God and his people against the rational Corinthian gnosis. The context in which the contrast plays out, of course, is in the case of eating idol-food. If one truly loves the one God and one Lord, one will build up those whose conscience is weak, instead of using their “knowledge” to destroy the other (v. 11).

1 Cor. 8:6 introduces Paul’s use of Deuteronomic imagery, which he continues to use as a parallel with the church, adding that “these things happened to them as an example, but they were written down for our instruction” (10:11a). Thus, from 10:1-22, Paul moves back and forth between the current issues the church is facing and the issues Israel faced in the wilderness. After consideration of Israel’s circumstances long ago, Paul says, “Therefore, my beloved, flee from idolatry” (10:14). How does one flee from idolatry? Paul answers by harkening back to the contrast of the Corinthian “knowledge” and true knowledge: “‘All things are lawful,’ but not all things are helpful. ‘All things are lawful,’ but not all things build up. Let no one seek his own good, but the good of his neighbor” (10:23). To sin against a brother, then, is parallel to the idolatry of Israel in the wilderness.

Paul’s scriptural allusions, starting with God’s knowing of his people in 8:3, shows his work to weave the themes involved in the experience of Israel’s relation to YHWH with the experience of the church in Corinth. Tilling summarizes:

Just as Deuteronomy 6’s monotheism was susceptible to the destructive power of sin, by ‘following other gods’ (6:14), by testing YHWH (6:16), just as loyalty to YHWH was always threatened by rebellion, so, Paul’s argument shows, is loyalty to Christ, the one Lord of the Shema. By sinning against your brothers, you sin against Christ (p. 92).

Knowing Jesus Leads to Orthopraxy

While Tilling goes on to extrapolate the vertical as well as horizontal dimensions of sinning against your brothers and sinning against Christ (8:12) in the Supper, the point at hand is that there is a connection of right belief and behavior and devotion and understanding of who Jesus is. In 1 Cor. 8 Paul sees the driving force leading to proper love of the brethren as a true understanding of Christ as the Lord of the Shema. Which is quite striking, really. When you confess who God is, the obvious conclusion for Paul is that we must love our brothers and sisters. And if you mishandle the base facts of orthodoxy, you are prone to the same idolatry the wilderness generation was prone to. Those in Corinth know orthodoxy as lip-service, but they do not know orthodoxy for what it is: a way to know and love God and neighbor.

These themes are especially pertinent to those of us in the malaise of evangelical and modern culture. As Molly Worthen pithily summarizes, “Winning the war against modernism became more important [for the later fundamentalists] than illuminating orthodoxy.” We all know there is a fire of sorts, but we are busy debating what needs salvaging and what needs leaving behind. Some wish to leave doctrine behind, others wish to lock the doors of the burning building and leave the brethren behind.

This clarion call of orthodoxy is not a ploy for us all to just get along. Much more than that, we must take our confession and its implications even more seriously; so much so that when those of us who are tempted to use orthodoxy as a tool for demarcation in the culture wars, we must tell them to “flee from idolatry.” Perhaps then we can stand in the midst of our fiery furnace, demonstrating to the world that its fire has no power over our devotion to God and love for one another (Dan. 3:27).

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books evangelicalism

The 4 Books You Probably Shouldn’t Write

One of the hardest pills to swallow in this life is humility. Note that wanting to be humble is not a hard pill to swallow, nor is agreeing that humility is a positive trait. It’s actual humility that’s difficult, because actual humility is what puts me and you in so many situations of sacrifice, honesty, wounded pride, and generally looking very small compared to how we want to appear. And one of the truest things that can be said of humility as it relates to the kingdom of God is this: If you belong to Christ, you will be humble. The question is, are you going to humble yourself, or be humbled?

For Christian writers this couldn’t be more salient. The most common temptation away from humility in Christian writing and publishing is the temptation to write on topics that you are objectively not qualified to write on, but that you know would make money/look good/present you as a guru. Within Christian publishing there are a few “money topics” that are always selling well or going viral and, thus, always alluring to ambitious Christian writers to put two cents that they really haven’t earned. When writing comes from a place of literary thoughtfulness AND lived experience, it has a certain potency that writing that is merely thoughtful and theoretical doesn’t have. Writers, though, are often not the best judges of their own expertise, especially in an online writing economy that prioritizes speed and volume.

In the spirit of offering us all a dose of preventative humility, I’d like to offer four books that you probably shouldn’t write. Note three important words in that sentence: “You,” “Probably,” and “shouldn’t.” You probably shouldn’t write them. That doesn’t mean nobody else should. That’s the biting part of humility in the writing life: recognizing our limitations relative to others. You probably shouldn’t do it, although it’s possible you are indeed at the right place to do so helpfully. If that’s you, go for it. You probably shouldn’t write these books, not: you probably can’t write these books. If you have an ego like mine, you hear a statement like “you probably shouldn’t write this” as a dare or a motivational reverse psychology. But no, this is about should, not can’t. What a writer refrains from doing is not a criticism of them. What a writer agrees to do but does poorly is a criticism.

So, here are the four books you probably shouldn’t write:

1) Parenting

Parenting is hard. Really hard. It’s hard to do in the abstract, i.e., coming up with principles and strategies that make sense to a broad spectrum of people. It’s way harder to do in reality. The fruits of parenting take a lifetime to see. What seems like it’s working in one season will look imploded in another. This is simply one of the most intense, spiritually fraught, and difficult topics to be a reliable guide on, because the vast majority of us are still figuring so much out. You probably shouldn’t write this book. Who should? Someone who is on the far end of this journey, whose children rise up and call them blessed, and who demonstrates an ability to confess what didn’t work for them and where they needed help.

2) Why Group XYZ Is The Way They Are

This is a very popular genre of writing that addresses a particular group of people and does a deep dive into their psychology, motivations, beliefs, etc. Recently I was sent (unsolicited) a book like this by a publisher. The book compares conservative evangelicals to John Wayne and attributes their political and theological views to toxic masculinity, American nationalism, and fear and loathing of minorities. Sounds great, right? Literally the first time I skimmed the book I found multiple sweeping claims that were unverified, assertions offered without evidence, and, predictably, almost no member of this group interviewed or meaningfully interacted with. That’s par for the course with this genre. It exists to make non-members of group XYZ feel better about themselves. Don’t write this book. Who should? Proabably nobody, but if you’re a PhD in group XYZ-ology, have spent years listening to these people and trying to understand them, and can write dispassionately….actually, forget it. Don’t write it.

3) Marriage & Sex

You probably shouldn’t write a book on marriage and/or sex. First, see the above entry on “Parenting.” Second, what’s probably going to happen is that you’ll write with the assumption that your readers need exactly what you need(ed). You’ll be tempted to normalize your experiences in such a way that the book will be great for people just like you and basically no one else. Third, in order to compensate for your limited vantage point, you’ll be tempted turn this into a book of ideology. You’ll lean into the Facebook fights and Twitter outrage machines and forget to actually talk about these topics, because you’ll be so busy talking about talking about them. Who should write this book? Someone with a seasoned marriage and seasoned ministry, who’s talked to hundreds of couples and counseled in hundreds of different situations. And someone who is reasonably removed from the social media drama.

4) What’s Wrong with the Church Today

First, a caveat. There is some sense in which every Christian book worth reading is about something that’s wrong in church culture today. To the degree that a book is able to name its target and speak with expertise and care into a specific issue, that’s great. The book you probably shouldn’t write is a book that makes really broad claims from a really narrow perspective. What I’ve found is that Christian writers want to make their pet topics feel meaningful to everyone else, so they pepper their writing with grandiose claims. The problem with this type of book is precisely its appeal: It can be written by literally anyone and addressed to literally everyone. It is a toothless kind of writing. It takes years to discern whether what you think is “the problem with church today” is in fact “the” problem, or whether it’s a problem you’ve experienced in a particular way. Some of the most valuable books are also the least sweeping. Who should write this book? Somebody with a rich combination of letters following their name, and somebody with an ability to think specifically.

Categories
culture evangelicalism Links

Jeering the Devil

I have a new piece up at The Gospel Coalition today on the power of sanctified laughter. With the help of Peter Hitchens and a very bad novel, I make the case that some sin deserves mockery rather than hand-wringing solemnity.

Here’s an excerpt:

I get why the suggestion that sometimes we ought to laugh at sin sounds errant, perhaps even mildly heretical. Shouldn’t we be killing sin? Isn’t laughing at sin what millions of Americans do during primetime TV sitcom hours? There is, however, a tradition in Christian thought that goes like this: all sin is ultimately absurd, and there are occasions when the absurdity of sin is disguised as seriousness, and on these occasions one of the best things steadfast believers can do is rip off the disguise.

Elijah mocked the prophets of Baal as they uselessly called out to their false god. Commenting on this passage, Matthew Henry writes, “The worship of idols is a most ridiculous thing, and it is but justice to represent it so and expose it to scorn.” The only biblical reference to God’s laughter occurs in Psalm 2, in which rebellion against the Lord and his anointed is met with a ridiculing mirth. Solemnity is occasionally an insufficient response to what is sinful and destructive. Sometimes the best response is to point out sin’s ridiculousness.

Read the whole thing here.

Categories
Christianity culture

Kobe, Worship, and Us

It didn’t take long in the aftermath of Kobe Bryant’s death, and the outpouring of eulogies and sorrow that quickly followed, for me to hear what has become a popular refrain among conservative evangelical Christians. “Can you believe this amount of sadness for an athlete? This just goes to show what an idolatrous culture we live in. People worship Kobe. They should be worshiping God!”

Yes, it’s all true. The level of society-wide grief for the death of an athlete does point in some degree to how sports is its own quasi-religion. We’ve seen already how the floodgates of disordered love can obscure a person’s full, fallen humanity, and result in hagiography that may or may not punish those this person sinned against. And yes, what you’re seeing is indeed a form of worship. There is only One who’s worthy of it, and we ought never be embarrassed to say so.

Yes. But…

Listening to some evangelicals respond this way makes me wonder whether we fully appreciate our cultural moment, and whether we understand what’s really happening in a public spectacle such as Kobe’s death. As overwhelming as the media coverage and hashtags were, I came away not primarily irked at American idolatry of sports heroes but instead conscious of something I think is important. Our era of Western life is an era in which not just worship of the true God is scarce, but the idea of worship is implicitly and explicitly ridiculed. The mechanisms of life in our modern, mobile, digitized, secular age work against the very elements of worship, including admiration. Just as Lewis wrote that nature did not teach him that God was glorious but instead gave the word “glory” meaning for him, admiration—of created things, including fallen people—trains human beings to be able to respond in worship to what is actually worthy of it.

Admiration, the emotional response hardwired into the soul when it encounters something that moves it, is undermined often nowadays. Consider the transformation the smartphone has brought to the art gallery, as visitors stand in the presence of true greatness, snap a quick pic or selfie, and then quickly move on to the next exceptional piece. Anyone who has visited a national landmark in the last 10 years can attest to how modern people now “consume” awe-inspiring landscapes or architecture via their phones, rather than sit in silent admiration of them.

Admiration is the seed of worship because it teaches a responsive attention. To admire a sheer, deluging waterfall is to stand in its presence and know that not only is it beautiful, but that its beauty is good for me. Is the modern culture we see before us one that helps us to admire in this way? Or is it one that rapidly evaluates how well a particular beauty can help us get Likes, or make us “cultured,” or affirms our own self-esteem?

It’s often said that Americans worship celebrities. That’s undoubtedly true. But as cancel culture now demonstrates, even the most dazzling stars now fit in the palms of our hands or laptop screens. Admiration for actors, artists, performers, and even politicians is subject to how well they remain in the public favor, how well they say the right things at the right times and never run afoul of the “rules.” Besides, human admiration fades parallel to memory. Records are broken. Beautiful people get old. This too is the conditional admiration, the worship that ultimately depends on how much the worshipers can get out of the ceremony.

That’s why I found the cultural lament for Kobe Bryant somewhat hopeful. Where some evangelicals see idolatry, I see a flickering ember of something that looks like true admiration, the responsive attention to greatness that must exist in every heart that would feel this toward its Maker. That even people who never wore his jersey or cheered his team would feel sadness and a sense of “there’s-something-wrong-with-this-world” at his death is a sign that our technology and our politics have not fully extinguished our souls’ ability to stand in the presence of something and say, “This is good.” I suppose my thinking is that even love that is misdirected is better than love that is never directed anywhere at all. A room with a poor view still reminds us that there’s such a thing as outside; a hall of mirrors cannot do that.

It’s been reported that the morning of the crash, Bryant and his daughter Gianna went to Mass. I very much hope that’s the case, and I very much hope that they were at Mass for this very reason: to sit in the presence of who is truly worthy of worship, to receive his beauty and grace and truth, and to say, “Yes, this is good, and good for me.” We should all pray that the morning of our deaths would find us like that—and our lives, too.

Categories
culture journalism

A Cancel Culture Nightmare

While the vast majority of social media was lamenting the shocking death of Kobe Bryant, something very different was happening to Washington Post reported Felicia Sonmez. I’m writing about it only because how it illustrates the radical effect that online culture has on our perception of everything, even an untimely death of an athlete.

A couple hours after Bryant and his daughter Gianna were confirmed dead in a helicopter crash in California, Sonmez posted an article, not written by her, about the 2003 sexual assault allegations against Bryant. This appears to be the first thing Sonmez posted on Twitter related to Bryant’s death (an important point that I’ll explain in a moment). Within minutes of having posted the link to the article—titled “Kobe Bryant’s Disturbing Rape Case: the DNA Evidence, the Accuser’s Story, and the Half-Confession”—Sonmez was besieged with hundreds of angry replies, criticizing her for bringing the allegations up while everyone was reeling from the news. The replies kept coming and escalated in tone and viciousness, and Sonmez was quickly at the bottom of a social media pile-on. Clearly taken aback by the reaction, Sonmez doubled down, explaining why it was legitimate to talk about the rape accusation, and shaming her online critics by sharing a screenshot of her email inbox, which was filled with some pretty vile sentiments.

The next morning news broke that the Post had suspended Sonmez. Reputedly the suspension is due to her posting a screenshot of her inbox, which revealed the full names of some of her critics. I’ve got no idea if that’s really why she was suspended. It seems more likely to me that the Post did what a lot of employers have done in the social media age: Panic in response to a mob.

But here’s what I’ve taken from all this. This episode is one of the most thorough and illuminating examples I’ve ever seen of just how dysfunctional discourse is when it’s conditioned by technology like Twitter. Every single player in this story looks bad.

First, there’s Sonmez. Of course Sonmez has every right to link to a piece about Bryant’s rape allegations. And those allegations are important and remain important even in the aftermath of tragedy. But Sonmez knew exactly what she was doing by posting the article when she did. Everyone who knows the culture of social media at all knows why someone who had been absolutely silent about a celebrity’s stunning death to that point would post an article like that: in order to reshape the narrative. In the world of Twitter, not even news of someone’s death exists as an objective, actual thing. In the world of Twitter, something only matters to the degree that it participates in the story you want to tell. You know that this is a conditioning effect of social media by imagining someone marching to the middle of a vigil for Kobe Bryant, standing on a soapbox, and yelling about his rape allegations. Such an action would be considered unspeakably crude and unfeeling, not to mention stunningly foolish. Yet this kind of thing is common on social media (not to mention applauded). That’s how disorienting the digital timeline is.

Second, there’s the mob that came after her. Sonmez was unquestionably the target of horrific attacks. These sorts of shame storms tend to only get worse as time goes on and the angry crowd pivots from expressing outrage to trying to accomplish something with it (a firing, a doxxing, etc). How ironic is it that the vox populi of the internet sends death threats and slurs in defense of a celebrity’s reputation? But that’s the moral logic of the online jungle. It’s the same for conservatives and liberals alike, men and women alike, articulate and otherwise. There’s a gravitational pull to online nastiness that seems to cut through every kind of inhibition we have. It’s not enough to disagree. We must destroy. This sure sounds like the recipe for some kind of civilization collapse.

Finally, there’s the Washington Post. The decision to suspend Sonmez is ridiculous. Sonmez was insensitive and unwise, but at the end of the day the only transgression the Post really cared about was her being the target of an outrage campaign. Her suspension, like many other online-reactive disciplinary actions before it, does two lamentable things. First, and most importantly, it sends encouragement and affirmation to online bullies, especially ones that know how to effectively troll. Second, it now gives Sonmez a credible victim narrative and distorts the extent to which her ordeal was merely a twist of fate for someone who in a moment of volatile emotions tried to cancel and ended up getting canceled herself. Nothing excuses the harassment that Sonmez experienced. Nonetheless, there’s a valuable parable in the spectacle of a journalist miscalculating her ability to reshape a public narrative. But that lesson is lost in the aftermath of another bad decision to threaten someone’s livelihood over an unwise social media moment.

This is the state of journalism and of public discourse in 2020. This is the state of our culture’s ability to grieve the loss of life. God help us.

Categories
culture

Label Me!

Everyone who knows anything at all knows you must never attribute someone’s character or behavior to their identity. It is universally agreed in polite society that no person is ever good or bad at something because of their gender, or their race, their family, sexuality, etc. To indulge in this reasoning is at best a crude stereotype, at worst an expression of flagrant bigotry. A president of Harvard University was once forced to resign simply for observing that male students displayed more consistent interest in and aptitude for mathematics and science than female students (an observation which was backed up by all the relevant data, and still is). The unwritten law is clear: A person’s ethnic, genetic, or sexual identity must never explain anything about them.

This makes the cultural fascination with personality profiling all the more intriguing to me. To listen to people talk to one another about their Enneagram numbers is to listen to urbane, educated, and socially conscious people insist on being labeled. It’s not simply that the Enneagram is fun in the same way that all self-knowledge tools are fun. There will always be a market for figuring out the “secrets” about oneself. But the Enneagram fandom I’ve seen takes it quite a bit further. Your Enneagram number is not simply descriptive, it is explanatory and authoritative. Listen closely to enthusiasts talk about their experience with the test, and you will hear explicit appeals to one’s profile as an explanation for even the most trivial facts or behaviors. Their conversation is peppered with phrases like, “I’m such a 7,” or, “Yeah, that’s a very 4 thing to say.”

The same thing happens with in introvert/extrovert conversation. Depending on which you are, certain kinds of habits or tendencies can be expected from you, and it’s a matter of social decorum for others to recognize this. Introverts get nervous at invitations to gatherings; they’d rather watch Netflix at home. Thus, relating well to the introvert in your life means (among other things) not taking offense when they don’t show up. You should also learn how to work with introverts, date them, and recognize the dozens of signs you’re probably one of them.

It took me a long time to realize just how odd this kind of pathological self-categorization really is. For one thing, I’ve always believed myself to be an introvert, and I’ve claimed the label throughout most of my adult life whenever I was uncomfortable or wanted to protect my time. For me, introversion has often been permission: permission to not be like those around me, to make choices others didn’t understand, and to be my own person.

But then I started realizing that it no other aspect of life was I as ready to sort myself into a prefabricated category. Why did I so readily accept the logic of personality profiling when that same logic, if applied to my skin color, my childhood, or anything else about me, would likely deeply offend? More to the point, why did so many people around me — people who rejected all species of stereotypes and determinism — make an exception for their personality?

Here’s one guess: Personality profiling is the last politically-acceptable way of receiving an identity, rather than crafting one. And many people today are weary of crafting their own custom identity and would very much like to belong to something instead.

It’s not been that long since the most fundamental fact about you was considered to be your family. For most of human history an individual’s life was conditioned by their parents. You lived where your parents lived (likely until death). You worked at what your parents worked. Your marriage was in large part downstream from your parents’ relationships and community. You were born into a religion, you were born into a value system, and you would born into a social fabric.

When most of us hear this description of the past we drop down on our knees and thank God that unlike our pre-liberal ancestors, we are not consigned to a pre-written fate. Every Disney film ever made is at some point a story about a person remaking themselves into their own image, getting out from under the restrictive and unfeeling expectations of their family. That’s the kind of story that resonates with Western people who feel their individuality keenly.

You won’t find me arguing that upward mobility is a bad thing, or that people should have no option to improve their life. But something is definitely lost to our humanity when the only identity available to us is one we have to tirelessly craft. There’s something in most of us that tells us that to belong and to be received is better than self-determination. It’s not an accident that The Rise of Skywalker, in its pursuit of fan satisfaction, essentially re-wrote the story of Rey to give her a family name after all. After spending two films arguing that Rey’s anonymity was immaterial and that she could build her own identity through her actions, the filmmakers end the ill-fated trilogy with a scene in which Rey assumes the last name Skywalker. To belong is better than to self-determine.

I wonder then if personality profiling is a kind of refuge for those of us who’ve been catechized in hyper-individuality. A finite amount of Enneagram numbers means that you really can belong to a group. Who you are is not opaque, it is discoverable. Maybe there’s something deep within Western people that craves the kind of self-knowledge that comes from outside rather than inside. Weary of curating our own sense of self, sometimes we just need to be assigned a number and know who we are.

Categories
life

Not Magic, But Not Nothing

The sophisticated critic looks at Western people, coming up with their New Years resolutions and commitments and “fresh starts,” and decries it as arbitrary. “There is nothing about a calendar that makes personal change more likely or more desirable,” he might say. The fetishizing of New Years, he observes, merely fills gyms in the winter and empties them in May. Genuine personal transformation doesn’t wait for a date. It comes out of a deeper need or realization and is authentically now, awake to the realities of the moment, not tethered to vague ideas of yearly progress.

To which I would say: Yes, but also no.

A secular age is also a rhythm-less age. In the absence of spiritual practices deeply embedded into cultural fabric, we are left only with raw motivation. This is generation burnout, an era where the people most immersed in the language of self-care are the same ones likely to working 60 hour weeks, binging Netflix alone in the downtime. The tell is how the word “work” has been displaced by the word “hustle.” It’s not enough to work at something; now one must have a lifestyle of frenetic motion.

Smartphone technology has destroyed our sense of seasonality and place. Selfies at Holocaust memorials don’t indicate disrespect as much as they signal the blurring of life into overlapping lines. You’re supposed to be following up on email the same time you’re having dinner. Keep up the social media clout as you vacation with the kids. Take the artsy photo of the pastor preaching while you reflect and pray. Everything is an occasion for everything else. There is no rhythm, no seasons, and certainly no sabbath. For a people allegedly domineered by the tyranny of the clock, we increasingly have absolutely no sense of time.

This is why I would push back against the New Years critic. One can agree that genuine transformation and improvement has nothing to do with the Julian calendar, while at the same time giving thanks for the persistence of one of our final truly cultural seasons. That people look to the New Year as an opportunity is a testimony to how wired the human soul is for seasons. There is something about coinciding the rising of the sun to the turning of the page that resonates deep within us. A Christian would suggest this is the resonance of an image-bearer being in tune with the physical realm he was created to help subdue and fill with glory. New Years Day is not magic, but it very well might be spiritual.

Looking to a New Year as a chance to walk more confidently in those good works we were created for is good. Slavish devotion to self-help mantras don’t usually stick, for the same reason that New Years discounts on gym memberships look less alluring in May than they did in January. Without continual awareness of the season Giver, we will almost always blur the seasons into a morass, trying with finite, self-oriented strength to once again do everything at once, be our own savior, and receive validation from the idols that broke our hearts last year. One of the great realizations of walking with Christ is that as we keep closer and closer to him, we get rest, we get order, and we get strength. He knows what the human soul needs, and he gives it freely. It’s a mistake if we think we can only receive it once a year. It’s also a mistake if we miss an annual chance to remind ourselves of it.

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culture politics

Yeah, But What if the ‘Elites’ Are Right?

Mark Galli and the editorial leadership of Christianity Today believe that Donald Trump should be removed from office. Carl Trueman writes that this is a perfectly defensible position, but takes serious issue with Galli’s notion that Christian faithfulness entails it. I too worry that Galli’s editorial took the wrong angle, emphasizing the constitutional case against Trump and implying that consistent, Bible-believing Christians can come to consensus on that issue. That seems to me to be a category error, as if we can know from Scripture whether the president of Ukraine was pressured into a political favor. If that’s genuinely what Galli meant, it’s a bad take.

Yet is it what he meant? I doubt it. The last sentence of Trueman’s response bothers me: “Lambasting populist evangelicals as hypocrites or dimwits will simply perpetuate the divide.” I certainly agree. But why does Donald Trump somehow stand-in for all Christian populism? Must the demerits against his character, his behavior, and his qualifications trickle down and apply to any and all who are disaffected by America’s two-party administration?  I can’t see any reason why they should.

Galli writes: “That [the President] should be removed, we believe, is not a matter of partisan loyalties but loyalty to the Creator of the Ten Commandments.” This isn’t how I would have worded it. But Trueman’s complaint that this line accuses “every Trump voter of heinous sin, however reluctant or conflicted he may be,” both misses and undersells the point. It misses the context of this line, which is Galli’s citation of CT’s editorializing against Bill Clinton in the 1990s, at which time the magazine also declared the elected president of the US as morally unfit for his office. This is a strange track record of consistency if Galli and CT are simply intellectual elites, unmoved by the plights of the Christian working class (more on that in a minute).

But I think this response (which has come from many more people) also undersells something Galli’s editorial understands. It’s not enough to say that there are understandable reasons to vote for Trump, and so no one can dogmatically claim that doing so is a sin. Trueman points out that many evangelical Trump voters despise infidelity and coarseness, yet felt as if their political alternative was worse. But is this reasoning not also subject to moral evaluation? Is the existence of Planned Parenthood and GLAAD really a biblically and ethically sufficient justification for endorsing—hesitantly or not, joyfully or not—this president? Galli has an answer to this question: No. Perhaps that’s the wrong answer, but it is an answer.

What’s not an answer is to double back on #NeverTrump evangelicals, label them elites, and declare the conversation pointless. I wish so much that evangelicals would fully resist the allure of identity politics, especially the versions that seem to be popular in our conservative theological circles. Substitute the word “white” for “elite” in much evangelical political discourse, and you would end up with lengthy essays that would be logically indistinguishable from those of the wokest SJWs.

Whether Galli and the staff at CT are elites has absolutely no bearing on whether they’re right about this president and the morality of supporting him. The argument fails for the same reason the common pro-choice canard about pro-life’s being “out of touch” with the physical and social trauma of unplanned pregnancy fails. I completely accept the fact that I, a white, middle-class, nuclear-family raised male, cannot sufficiently empathize with a poor, disadvantaged, unwed mother, just as I accept that the editor in chief of a large Christian magazine cannot sufficiently empathize with my rural, pastoring, Trump-supporting relatives. A failure to empathize is not synonymous with a failure to speak truth. Babies are still babies, and low character is still low character—regardless who’s elite and who’s not.

And in any case, are we so sure there’s not something to be said for being at least a little out of touch with populist conservatism? Just last night I was visiting my grandmother. The television was muted but tuned into Fox News, where the chyron read, “SOME ON THE LEFT SAY LITTLE WOMEN IS TOO WHITE.” From what I could gather host Mark Levin had rounded up a couple of obnoxious Tweets from “the Left” and, wham, a segment was born. I found myself wondering what it would be like to consume this kind of “news” hour after hour, day after day. I think I’d be a rather angry person, though I suspect I’d be unable to name the people I was mad at. If you ask me, that’s the kind of thing that can perpetuate a divide, too.

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Uncategorized

The Rise of Skywalker

The ghost of inevitability has always haunted the Star Wars films. That’s true in the stories, where the word “destiny” comes early and often from the lips of the most important characters. But it’s also true in the structure and production of the movies themselves. Return of the Jedi ended the original trilogy’s story arc on a proverbial “good guys win.” Twenty years later George Lucas produced the prequel trilogy, three films that told a story to which everyone already knew the ending. And now, twenty years after The Phantom Menace, J.J. Abrams turns off the ventilator to a franchise whose fate has been sealed for a while. The Rise of Skywalker acquits itself well as an individual piece of Disney’s sequel trilogy, but even its strengths highlight just what a mistake these three films were from the beginning.

The Rise of Skywalker is an entertaining movie and offers genuine treats for Star Wars fans. In other words, it’s pretty much the opposite of its predecessor, Rian Johnson’s The Last Jedi, a film that held its audience in contempt and seemed to be vying instead for the affection of the New Yorker‘s circulation list. Abrams has brought the series back to the fan-servicing, nostalgic mood of The Force Awakens. That’s both good and bad. It’s good because viewers who really like the non-Disney Star Wars films feel at home. It’s bad because it reminds us it was a bad idea to leave home in the first place.

The “Skywalker Saga,” as Disney has rebranded Episodes I-IX, was truly concluded at the end of 2005’s Revenge of the Sith. To justify its continuation, Disney has had to invent one more Skywalker, walk back older plot points for no apparent reason, and supply a “surprise twist” that feels almost as contrived and ad hoc as something the last person in an improv group would cook up to finish off a skit.

So why should anyone bother with the Rise of Skywalker? Well, it’s a lot of fun. Abrams opts for a breakneck pace, literally zooming his characters from one world and mission to another. More ground gets covered in The Rise of Skywalker than perhaps all the other Star Wars films combined. And why not? The environments are dazzling, the action is exciting and well edited, and the movie builds up nicely to a climax that’s a lot better than it had any business being. The three leads, Daisy Ridley, John Boyega, and Oscar Isaacs are in fine form. There’s a lightsaber fight atop a Death Star submerged in water. If you’ve got something better than that to do with 2 hours and 11 bucks, good for you.

But these three movies all serve one ultimate purpose. They highlight just how remarkable George Lucas is as a world-builder and myth-maker. His wooden dialogue and cringe-inducing love scenes are failures of execution, not failures of imagination. The Disney era Star Wars is a failure of imagination. People will laugh at Anakin’s dialogue in Attack of the Clones for years to come, but they’re going to watch it anyway. I can’t say I think the same of these movies.