The objectivity of Theology

Shored Fragments blog

This post passed largely unremarked for some while, then Shiva added a comment suggesting that if the claim that theology was necessarily built on a discipline of prayer, and submissive to exegesis, it was ‘not very objective’. This struck me as interesting enough to warrant some reflection, not least because it captures something that is a persistent worry for most of us who study theology in a university, a worry that expresses itself in two distinct directions. On the one hand, we worry that, because of its nature, theology is not a ‘proper’ university subject – not adequately wissenschaftlich. On the other, we worry that we compromise something of the true nature of theology if we conform to broader standards of what it is to be academic that are present within the university. Somehow, the word ‘objective’ captures all this quite nicely.

We all recognise the notion of ‘objectivity’ implied: the scholar checks his (the idea dates from a time when the scholar was almost certainly male) own particular views at the door, presenting to the students a carefully-reasoned and unbiased account of all the differing positions on this or that subject, with a dispassionate evaluation of the strengths and weaknesses of each. I have several problems with such an account, but even if it holds, I am not sure that theology that is based on prayer and submitted to exegesis falls foul of it.

My problems first. The first – and for me, most telling, which says something about what I care about, no doubt – is that such presentations are almost inevitably boring. I have never met a good teacher who was not profoundly passionate and opinionated, deeply invested in what she was teaching. The best teachers start to make you entertain the possibility that Mozart or Milton or Maimonides matters because, from sentence one of the class, it is vibrantly clear that they are convinced of this. I know this in my own teaching. Three times now, in three different academic contexts, I have found myself having to teach a class on ‘Modern Christology’. Two times out of three I prepared assiduously (the third was at a time of fairly major personal crisis, and I relied on the fact of the earlier preparations). I know that each class was rather poor, and I know the reason. I think modern Christology is unbearably tedious. I offered the classes in each case a wealth of knowledge – I had an interpretation of Kant’s Religion… that I believe to be both original and convincing – but no excitement. Result? They were as bored as I was. Inevitably. The good classes, and the good lectures and seminars within those classes, come from shared excitement, a conviction that this or that is worth arguing about. And that has to start with the instructor.

But, let us assume some bizarre parallel universe where good teaching and interested students are not relevant considerations for a university. Should we, in this world, expect university instructors to offer a dispassionate presentation of all views with a fair consideration of the evidence for each? No. Let me, for once in my life, invoke Kant: I cannot be required to do that which is impossible to me. This old notion of ‘objectivity’ presupposed the existence of some hypothetical neutral stance, from which a privileged account of the actual value of all possible evidence may be offered. It does not, however, exist – for each of us, the evaluation of evidence and arguments is profoundly, if not entirely, determined by our own convictions and experiences. So in my own teaching I routinely disclose to my students my own convictions and assumptions, inviting them to challenge them, and assuring them that there will be no bias whatsoever in the assessment of their work (my observation is that, if anything, I routinely err on the side of generosity to those I disagree with in summative assessment, but I aim to err on no side, but to apply the written criteria scrupulously). I invite the students, armed with the necessary knowledge, to spot and discount the inevitable biases and blindspots that my own location introduces into my teaching, and rest content that, as a member of a diverse and passionate faculty, they will be exposed to other positions elsewhere.

Third, and this is probably a result of the first two points, I observe that this criterion of ‘objectivity’ is not applied in university life generally. I was speaking to someone before Christmas who commented, reflecting on teaching in a university system overseas, ‘why shouldn’t I preach my lectures? The feminist literary critics and the marxist historians preach theirs.’ Commitment to ideological positions is now normative in the academy (including, I assume it does not need saying, in the physical sciences); why should theologians be excluded?

So, I submit, a practice of teaching based on an attempt to be ‘objective’ is not a desirable aim, not a possible aim, and not a professional aim for the present-day university scholar. Let us, however, put that to one side; does a submission to Biblical exegesis and a commitment to a personal practice of prayer prevent the discipline of theology being ‘objective’?

We need now to pause and define ‘objective’ rather more carefully. The word has a long and interesting semantic history (in the C17th and C18th it was used in opposition to ‘real’ to denote that which existed only in thought and not in fact!), but the relevant meaning is §8a in the OED: ‘Of a person or his or her judgement: not influenced by personal feelings or opinions in considering and representing facts; impartial, detached.’ So stated, of course, my second objection above comes into play: I cannot consider and represent facts in a way that is not influenced by my personal opinions. For instance, I am of the opinion that measurements I, and others, take of inanimate objects – their velocity, mass, electrical charge, and so on – have some interesting relation to reality as it exists beyond my mind. Because of this opinion, I studied natural science to degree level, and still take seriously the discoveries of science, when they appear to be well-founded experimentally. Historically, this is actually a rather unusual belief, coming to some prominence in Europe around 1500-1600AD, and largely unknown before last century outside of the West. Should I, in any discussion where scientific discoveries might be relevant, preface all my comments with ‘If it should happen that a certain currently-popular coalescence of metaphysics and epistemology broadly holds, then we might think …?’ Is that the requirement of objectivity?

Assuming it isn’t – which it seems to me necessary to assume – we have to either redefine ‘objectivity’, which I am not keen to do (words mean what they mean; that is simply vital…) or find a happier way of expressing the real concern expressed. I don’t like descending into German, but wissenschaftlich is the best word I know. It describes a well-formed academic subject, a phrase usually glossed in terms of a discourse that is self-conscious, and self-critical, about its methods and foundations.

Physics is wissenschaftlich insofar as it is aware that it relies on assumptions about the reliability of our observations of the natural world, and about the appropriateness of assuming that mathematics will (more-or-less?) accurately model all observed phenomena. (In my experience – and physics is the only science I studied beyond second year undergraduate level, so the only one of which I claim any real understanding at all – physics is much more self-conscious about these matters than other sciences; there is a famous, and much repeated, quotation from Paul Dirac, suggesting that the aesthetic value of a theory proposed in physics is vital; even a mathematical klutz like me, whose appreciation of beauty in these realms is akin to someone tone-deaf discoursing on Bach’s solo ‘cello works, can see the role that mathematical elegance actually plays in the discourse of theoretical physics.) Sociology is wissenschaftlich insofar as it is acutely conscious of the limitations of empirical data, and the possible biases introduced by surveying inevitably local and partial populations…

…what of theology? Can theology be wissenschaftlich? On the definition above, yes, if it is acutely self-conscious and self-critical concerning its own methods and foundations. Theology, in the old medieval formulation, is the study of living well before God. Of course, this statement already presupposes that some things are true; so what? So does a basic definition of physics as the study of material reality through mathematical models based on disciplined observation, or of sociology as the study of humanity through statistical analysis of quantitative data. What makes a discipline wissenschaftlich is not the indubitability of that discipline’s foundations, but its awareness of their dubitability, and openness to addressing those foundational and methodological questions.

(But this might rule any study in – well, yes. It happens that I know enough about (Western, 12-house) astrology (an obscure, or perhaps esoteric, way of misspending a youth…) to know that it has not been patient of questioning of its methods and foundations, but suppose it was, and gave answers that could be judged by other observers to be credible within its own terms of reference – then it is in principle a possible subject of study.)

My own analysis of Christian theology stresses the foundational place of the Scriptures in the discipline. This is perhaps slightly old-fashioned these days, but hardly eccentric, given the history and scope of the discipline; what of a personal discipline of prayer? Again, I could point to the history (Nazianzen’s third theological oration, to take only one central text…), but let me defend it differently. Many academic subjects (actually, I suspect all academic subjects if one interrogates them with insight and honesty) rely for their day-to-day practice and development on a fundamentally aesthetic apprehension of what ‘feels’ like a plausible insight or claim – I’ve cited Dirac on physics already. For each discipline, the question comes, whence this aesthetic taste?

The answer, of course, varies according to the subject under consideration, but it would seem to necessarily rely on some measure of appreciation of the phenomena being studied. A sociologist could, in principle, explore the correlation between any two variables; what makes a good sociologist is a nose, a hunch, for which explorations might be interesting.

So the theologian, the good theologian, needs to develop a nose for an interesting issue. How to do this? By being deeply immersed in the phenomena theology purports to explain. Hanging back for a moment from the truth question, that means either by walking closely with God, or at least by engaging in those practices which provide people with the conviction that they have experienced God. Which means immersion in the life of a local church fellowship, a regular practice of worship, and, most of all, a commitment to personal prayer.

I’ve said it before on this blog, but I’m happy to say it again. A theologian who does not pray has not even begun to understand the discipline. She is being less than objective, falling short of the academic ideal, in her practice.

Myths of the Ivory Tower

By Jay Schalin
The John William Pope Center

Here’s a list of ten commonly-held beliefs in academia that don’t square with what the rest of the country thinks.

For the past eleven years, I have been involved in higher education, one way or another. And for the last three years, since I started working at the Pope Center, I’ve been a paid observer of academia.

In that time, one thing has become increasingly apparent to me—academics think differently (for the most part). They tend to live in a theoretical universe, while the rest of America deals with real things with real consequences. If the carpenter doesn’t nail the boards down, the roof flies off. If the financial planner doesn’t invest Farmer Brown’s life insurance payout wisely when he passes on, Widow Brown loses the farm.

But if a history professor’s theory about the Panic of 1893 is all wet, or if a psychology professor’s theory about the difference between cat lovers and dog lovers doesn’t pass the smell test, then…nothing. Nobody suffers, and nobody loses his or her job. So it’s no surprise that the thinking in such an atmosphere occasionally spins off its axis. As a higher education critic, I am assaulted daily by the academy’s extremes—from the silly to the sublime. A lot of times, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. And in that spirit, I offer a list—a little bit lighthearted, but deadly serious—of ten of the biggest misconceptions held by academics that might not make it outside of the Ivory Tower.

1. There is no liberal bias in academia.

Lilliputians don’t consider themselves short. Brobdingnagians don’t see themselves as particularly large. And academics don’t seem themselves as left-leaning. Of course, why would any ordinary hard-core liberal consider himself as such when surrounded by so many people further to the left than he is? Surveys of voter registrations consistently show that college faculty members tend to register as Democrats between 70 to 90 percent of the time. Even that extreme imbalance doesn’t tell the real story. Republicans tend to be clustered in a few disciplines such as business or engineering, and entire humanities departments at major universities register Democratic. And at many schools, there are more committed communists than conservatives.

Of course, then there’s this guy. He admits that there is a prevailing bias in academia, but that’s only because liberals are so much smarter than everybody else.

2. Everybody should go to college.

Academics give lots of reasons for this. The biggest reason, which they don’t like to state publicly, is that it promotes employment for academics. But, despite claims to the contrary, college is not for everybody. Continued schooling can be a waste of time for people who don’t have the inclination to actually study. Graduation rates are only 53 percent, and many students leave with no degree and lots of debt. Many graduates wind up working in fields in which a college degree is unnecessary. And even if everyone were to get a doctorate, the employment picture after graduation would hardly change one bit—society would still need roughly the same mix of waitresses, convenience store clerks, doctors, truck drivers, elementary school teachers, and so on.

3. Academia is more noble than the business community.

This is because academics don’t sully themselves with motives of profit and greed, but instead think lofty thoughts and pursue knowledge for knowledge’s sake, and for the betterment of humanity.

That’s the perspective some academics have of themselves. The overall picture tells a different story. The business world produces all of the basic goods and services we need to live. By creating surpluses of wealth through private enterprise, a modern society can educate its young for many years, instead of making them gather edibles from they moment they can walk. This bounty raises humanity above the “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short “ lives of our distant and not-so-distant ancestors.

Much of the work in the private sector is tedious, stressful, requires long hours, or is physically punishing—many workers literally sacrifice their health to earn their keep and to provide for their families.

Academic jobs, on the other hand, permit faculty to pursue their own interests, do not wear the body down over the years, and are not particularly stressful (and offer large amounts of vacation time). Tenured professors make very good livings and have ample opportunities to earn extra money through research and consulting. And there is probably much more mental effort exerted on grant proposals, department appointments, and meeting tenure requirements than on lofty ideas.

4. Diversity makes everything better.

This is why universities try to make sure students hear all sides of an argument so that they can conceive intelligent, well-informed opinions…

Okay, that’s ridiculous. In fact, one of the first things I learned in reporting on universities is that academia has little use for a diversity of ideas. The diversity that really matters to the academic establishment is based on characteristics of identity—race, ethnicity, and gender. It is an idea that has become so pervasive that considerations about quality often are pushed to the side. In fact, just the opposite might be true—when every policy, endeavor or experience must be measured by demographic bean-counters rather than focusing on the best practices or performances, this obsession with diversity detracts rather than enhances.

5. All faculty research is necessary and/or important.

Choose the best answer: Sam is an English professor who teaches Shakespeare. What is the most productive way for him to spend his time?

1. Closely rereading the major plays of Shakespeare and their most important critiques, reading about Elizabethan history, preparing for lectures, and correcting written grammar when grading papers.
2. Writing the one-millionth academic article on Shakespeare, with an emphasis on cross-dressing, food, or some other obscure topic.

Let’s face it, if you had an infinite number of monkeys typing randomly, many of them would eventually come up with peer-reviewed academic research papers—and it often appears that they have. Can you guess which of the two following titles of a so-called scholarly article was produced by a random generator intended to mock academia, and which one is an actual “work in progress” by a UNC-Chapel Hill English professor:

a. “Disciplining Transspecies Intimacy: Cow Blowing, the Zenana, and the Policing of Animal Cruelty in Late-Colonial Bengal.”

or

b. “The Economy of Narrative: Libertarianism, Structuralist Theory and Baudrillardist Simulacra”

Hint for the real article: Moo!

6. Academic freedom means anything goes.

Professors say the darndest things. Whether it is Holocaust denial, describing financial professionals who lost their lives in the 9-11 World Trade Center terrorist attack as “little Eichmans,” or calling for “a million Mogadishus” (where 19 U.S. serviceman lost their lives), if an idea is hateful, perverse, or irrational, some professor somewhere has probably spouted it. And in many cases, such professors are indeed protected by the academy’s self-enforced guidelines.

However, it is possible to go too far. When a student signs up for a class in physics, he or she has ever reason to expect that the course will be about…attacking the capitalist “system?” One Canadian physics professor openly declared that it was more important to teach about the evils of capitalism than the scientific material that the class was supposed to be about, so he did. He even had a term for his behavior: “squatting.”

Fortunately, officials at the University of Ottawa had a term for their response: dismissal. And nowadays, conservative activists and free speech advocates are quick to react when professors cross the line and use their classrooms to indoctrinate or downgrade students for holding contrary beliefs to their own.

7. Higher Education drives the economy.

Michigan governor Jennifer Granholm once said "our higher education system is the jet fuel that propels our economy." Of course, if that’s the case, perhaps we should lay off the accelerator, put on the brakes, and focus on the driver instead of the fuel, because Michigan’s economy has been going in the wrong direction during her term in office—fast. The state’s unemployment rate has been hovering around 15 percent lately, and would be much higher if residents seeking work weren’t putting the pedal to the metal to flee for saner, more prosperous pastures.

Still, citing higher education as the driving force for economic development has become a mantra for college administrators and researchers seeking more funding from state and federal governments. And in a way they’re right—higher education drives their own personal economies. The more money that goes to higher education, the more they make. But the U.S. economy is much more complex than they suggest. It is driven not by any single factor but by the interplay among innovation, natural resources, government policies, growing economies of scale, human capital, and mankind’s innate and incessant desire for more of everything.

8. Natural aptitude doesn’t matter.

If only we were all rocket scientists (figuratively, not literally). But we all know that’s not the case. And when some student bites off more than he can digest, nobody wants to be the bad guy and say, “sorry kid, you just ain’t got it.” But a lot of times, the kid just ain’t got it. Some kids are going to be below average, Lake Wobegon notwithstanding. Albert Einstein wasn’t just some average Joe who studied real hard and got lucky—he was born with some extra gears between the ears. On the other hand, the only Theory of Relativity Forrest Gump is ever going to discover will deal with family reunions—no matter how many classes Forrest takes or how much tutoring he gets.

One recent trend that illustrates the dismissal of natural aptitude is the fact that a number of schools are dropping or de-emphasizing standardized testing for admission. This eliminates the best single measure of aptitude currently in use for admissions, and also prevents any sensible comparison of grades from different high schools. Which intentionally tends to make college admissions more arbitrary and less objective.

9. Morality is relative.

Life is a gas if you don’t hold to objective standards of truth and morality. That way you can find justification for anything you want to do, even if it makes other people just a bit squeamish. And your side can always be right, and the other side can always be wrong. Moral relativity is also the first cousin to situational ethics—a real handy set of beliefs should you have a tough time with temptation.

But there a few problems with relativity. It lends itself equally well to tyranny and anarchy, conditions most of us would rather avoid.

Not to mention that the finest minds (and perhaps the purest souls) have generally found ways to define morality based on solid unchanging foundations (Natural Law, for instance). And that moral systems worldwide are surprisingly and consistently universal (Golden Rule, anyone?)

10. All cultures are equally good.

Forgive me for being a buzzkill here, but perhaps cultures that promote liberty, enable near-universal prosperity, and voluntarily devote enormous sums of money to charity at home and abroad are just a wee bit better than cultures that seem to concentrate mainly on cutting off each others’ heads (and the heads of infidels).

A Bully in Nanny’s Clothing

By John Mark Reynolds
Scriptorium Daily

It is bad enough if bad information costs you the value of your 401-K, but worse if it costs your soul. Being told you are wrong is important at any time, but hearing that you might be wrong about critical areas is vital.

Who wants to be wrong about the big questions of life?

No friend would see such a major mistake being made without expressing his opinion. This is especially true in the area of religion. The highest compliment a person can pay is to share what he thinks is true about the very nature of reality and to show the courage to risk offense by confronting a friend with an error.

Freedom of religion includes the ability to argue for the truth and even necessity of your beliefs. If you are right, it is a moral necessity to tell your friends they are ruining their chances at true happiness. If you are wrong, then expressing your beliefs is a good way to test them.

When a friend shares his faith with me, it is a splendid opportunity for me to learn and grow even if I do not end up thinking he is correct. A good Mormon shared his beliefs with me and this led me to the fascinating study of those books Mormons hold to be scripture. A Catholic mentor suggested that I should join his church and this led to serious thought about the nature of religious authority and the structure of the church. While I did not end up agreeing with either of my friends, it deepened my own faith to dialog with them.

These conversations continue and run both ways!

Shutting up your critics is a great way to strengthen them. When pagan Rome started losing the intellectual argument with Christians, they tried to kill them. That never works. If Rome wanted to stop Christian ideas from spreading, they need better answers for their Christian critics. Refuting a Christian philosopher like Justin would have been more effective than making him: Justin Martyr.

No culture that suppresses the ability to share contrary faiths has confidence in its own values. It is a sign of Catholic confidence that one can openly advocate atheism in Rome and a sign of Islamic weakness that one cannot be openly Christian in Arabia.

Should there be limits to this expression of faith?

Public space should be open to the expression of faith and no faith. Government should not decide what views are “reasonable” and what views can be heard. If secular ideas can be expressed, religious people have the right to respond. If one group promotes religion, then the non-religious have the right to disagree.

“Manners police” are odious and a threat to free speech. The power to decide who is being mean is the power to become the bully in nanny’s clothing. Adults don’t need the government to protect them from the power of words.

While I must tolerate your practice of religion, and even its public expression, government should never force me to participate. I might have to wait while you pray, but I don’t have to pray to your god.

European governments are getting many of these decisions exactly wrong. They forbid individuals from public expressions of faith, such as wearing religious articles of clothing, but then bow to demands that “offensive” cartoons not be published.

We should tolerate our neighbor wearing a cross, but he must tolerate his neighbor who wears a Darwin-fish t-shirt.

Of course, just because behavior should be legal does not mean it is ethical or effective. It isn’t right to “hard sell” atheism or religion with false promises that it will solve all your problems, but people should be able to do so. The man who stands on a public street in front of our local theater has a right to shout his sermons at us, but he is still being a bit of a boor.

Thank goodness in a country with limited government not all space is public. Private groups should be able to limit what happens in their midst. It is absurd when religious groups are forced to admit people they don’t want as members. While argument and disagreement is good, it is not the only good.

Private companies should have the right to present the image they wish. While you can wear your religious t-shirt in the public square, a private company should be able to tell you to take it off.

In fact, private companies have the blessed American right to be stupid. It might be stupid to offend the Christian majority by insisting that none of your employees say, “Merry Christmas,” but a company should be able to do so. It might look foolish to many for a company to start the day with prayer, but if the owner wishes it, then he can do so.

Private space is a chance for every man to fully try out his ideas of how to live and let his neighbors see how it goes. From his business to his home, a Southern Baptist should be able to try out his point of view for the rest of us. Every home, every private business, is a laboratory of what might work and what does not work for the broader culture.

Such liberty is grand!

Private space also gives each man rest. I find riding the public subway, with all that noise and excitement, invigorating, but I would not want to vacation there. Private space allows my soul peace.

My home is my castle and I have a right to keep it, if I wish, a safe haven from other points of view. In fact, Socratic discourse of all kinds happens in my living room, but that is my choice. Obviously the right to private space is not absolute. There are some actions no community can tolerate, but government should be very slow to interfere in what happens in a man’s home.

Public behavior is one thing, private another.

It is easy enough to find fault with the United States, but it mostly gets this tension right. At times our civil religion goes too far and at other times secularists pretend that they are the “neutral” or “merely reasonable” point of view. However, for the most part Americans are free to practice their beliefs and to express those beliefs in public.

My friends will keep praying that I find the truth of their faith traditions. My secular friends will keep arguing with me. I will keep telling them Jesus is Lord and that traditional Christianity is true using my best reason and personal experiences. Meanwhile, we should all unite in hoping that the American model, freedom of religion, spreads globally.

Let’s Argue the Truth of Our Ideas

By John Mark Reynolds
Scriptorium Daily

The problem with American foreign policy is that it never considers that a particular religious belief might be true or that some beliefs might be false. We don’t argue with religious folk, we attempt to placate them. There is a weird American notion that people can be persuaded to abandon their religious point of view if we only send them enough CNN, MTV, and uplifting Obama speeches.

We forget they might reject our ideas and so honestly wish us to fail.

Since any belief system can respect an honest adversary, but loathes the condescending bully who assumes his superiority, our style of negotiating is not successful.

American foreign policy treats religion as if it were a matter of opinion, the equivalent of rooting for the Packers or Manchester United. That is not how religious believers think of religion.

Of course, arguing against a bad religious idea requires knowing something about it, and American schools are shy about mentioning any religious ideas. We assume religion is a matter of mere “belief” and are casually taught that “faith” believes despite the evidence.

Centuries of philosophy of religion and thought in a given religious tradition are ignored with this bluff. We think we are being kind to religions to ignore them in the market-place-of-ideas, but the reality is that it too often allows people’s real concerns and reasons for their opinions to go unaddressed.

They believe their religion is true and that it makes sense of reality. Sadly, too many American diplomats assume religious beliefs are not true and try to negotiate with the benighted natives who still cling to falsehoods.

Too often, whatever their private religious beliefs, our diplomats act the role of the condescending adult sent to adjudicate between squabbling infants. We irritate with our condescension as we suggest that the other cultures keep their beliefs to themselves and simply adopt secular ones. Too often American diplomats don’t consider that other peoples look at America and don’t like some of what they see.

We might get further arguing for liberty if took a page from the Founders and argued that it was given by a Creator-God. We might get further with the majority of the population of the world if we conceded that republican ethics did not have to be tolerant of Vegas values.

It does not help our cause when those that argue against a particular religious point of view also argue against all religious points of view. Whatever the merits of a serious secularism, buffoonish Internet atheists who sweep away arguments with rhetoric that only persuades the already unconverted do serious damage to the cause of an intelligent discussion of religion. Secular Americans often act as if a rational argument about religious belief must lead to bloodshed and cannot make progress. They should go pick a journal in philosophy of religion and see that arguments can be made forcefully, but need not be made violently. Arguments evolve under criticism and become stronger. Old opinions are modified by evidence. For example, today’s arguments for the existence of God are stronger than they were a century ago, because of the need to respond to critics.

Traditionally, Americans have believed that there should be no established church. Most Americans could believe this because it was compatible with their religious views, since most Americans were Christian.

Not all Christians, and not all religious systems, share the view that church, state, society, and family each have designated but separate roles. Some religions and some secularist accept ideas contrary to the notion that are rights come from God and cannot be taken away by the state. They dispute the American consensus, mostly an American
Christian consensus, which allows religion to inform the decisions of members of government without becoming an official part of the government.

We accept that religion may constitute the reasons for a vote, but deny that it should be the constitution that governs how that vote must be taken.

American diplomats must learn why some forms of Islam, though not all, deny that consensus and make arguments against these bad ideas. We must do so in a form that will be persuasive to an Islamic audience. That means knowing Islam, respecting it, but also being willing to disagree with forms of it or ideas held by some Islamic scholars. This can be done respectfully.

We must oppose any group, religious (as in Iran) or secular (as in North Korea), that wants to settle these arguments by an atomic bomb.

An effective negotiator will begin by learning what his opposite believes, why he believes it, and consider whether his foe might be right. Having decided he is wrong, he must attempt to persuade and negotiate so that two groups that disagree may still live in peace.

Religious people do this all the time. My own school has taught me a great deal about such dialogue by modeling religious discussions that are pointed, but polite. I am pleased when my Mormon friends invite my to the beautiful Salt Lake area and we discuss our serious disagreements. They think I am wrong and I think they are wrong. We argue forcefully, but then negotiate the boundaries of our friendship so that we can agree to disagree. I learn from them, get to enjoy their splendid literature, and I hope they learn something from me.

American government must learn that religion, and secular philosophies, are not mere affectations of bewildered masses yearning to be American. At their best, they are the considered judgments of mature civilizations.

Until we have the knowledge to deal with them in such ways, we will have all the effectiveness of a street preacher shouting facile slogans on a corner or an Internet atheist hurling abuse anonymously in a comment box.

Evangelicalism vs. Ecumenism: Truth or Unity?

By Allen Yeh
Scriptorium Daily

It’s ironic that the words “evangelicalism” and “ecumenism” are seen as diametrically opposed, because Christians really need both. The former camp majors on truth, while the latter on unity. Why is this?

Evangelicals hold to the evangel, i.e. the Gospel, which is often interpreted as doctrine (though I would argue that those are slightly different despite there being tremendous overlap). The problem is, “truth” is often seen as one’s own interpretation of Truth. There is a difference. So evangelicals will even argue with one another, for example infant baptism vs. believers’ baptism, and they will bash each other as “heretics” and “sinners” (even over nonessential issues), forsaking unity and fellowship for the sake of “truth.” The irony is, despite their avowed claim on absolute truth, it really becomes each person’s own relativistic version of the Truth. I think that on the things that the Bible is absolutely clear on (e.g. the Trinity, the exclusivity of Christ, the authority of Scripture, the necessity of the death & resurrection of Jesus), we also need to be absolutely clear. On things the Bible is unclear about (e.g. mode of baptism, view of eschatology, role of women, God’s sovereignty and human responsibility), we need to have an educated opinion but also be open and willing to hear the other side as possibly viable, lest we become dogmatic and presume we know for sure, when really it’s just one’s own interpretation of Scripture.

On the other side, Ecumenists hold so strongly to unity, but often that unity is put at such a primary importance that doctrine is secondary. It really doesn’t matter what you believe, as long as we are all in harmony. So when the World Council of Churches, the ultimate ecumenical organization, tries to unite all Christian denominations in the world, they sweep all differences under the rug and the only thing that everyone can agree on is “Jesus is Lord”! And I’m not even sure what that even means to them. It seems nonsensical to unite when there’s no basis for unity. Unity implies commonality, and when it is relegated to the lowest common denominator, then the next logical step seems to be universalism, where all we believe in is “God,” and not even in Christ. Another detrimental side effect to this is that “mission” becomes solely social justice instead of involving any kind of faith or evangelism. What happens when theological differences become relegated to the periphery is that everyone can only agree that we ought to love our neighbor (but even non-Christians can affirm that to some degree, so I don’t know what makes that distinctively Christian)! So it just becomes love of neighbor without love of God; or, if there is any sense of love of God, it is a vague universalist god.

The Bible, though, is pretty clear that truth and unity must go hand-in-hand. In Jesus’ high priestly prayer in John 17, he says: “that they may all be one, just as you, Father, are in me, and I in you, that they also may be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me…. I in them and you in me, that they may become perfectly one, so that the world may know that you sent me and loved them even as you loved me.” Unity is for the sake of witness to the exclusivity of Christ! Rather than being diametrically opposed, they must go together. We must be both evangelical and ecumenical.

I was encouraged to hear that Olav Fykse Tveit of Norway, the new General Secretary of the World Council of Churches (as of January 1, 2010), yesterday made a pronouncement:

To be one, the Church must go back to its common basis. Nothing except Jesus Christ, and him crucified… Seen in the perspective of the resurrection, the cross becomes the sign of God’s victory over sin and evil and of God’s unconditional love to all human beings. We are one as Christians because we receive the same gift of God’s being with us and for us… It doesn’t sound like very diplomatic language, [but the cross is] the symbol of what the churches have to give to the world… nothing except Jesus Christ, and him crucified… [The cross offers] substance and direction to the ecumenical movement… How shall we, then, best give shape to the ecumenical movement of the cross in our time? And how can the ecumenical movement be a movement of the cross – the tree of life?

I would say that the cross is the most inclusive thing in the world because it shows that: 1) everyone is sinful and is in need of a Savior; and 2) that anyone who comes to faith in Christ can be saved, it is not a matter of our own works or our own righteousness.

I do hope that Olav Tveit is signaling the start of a new era for the WCC. Vague universalism doesn’t appeal to the majority of people in this world. Churches who believe that are dying empty churches. People want a foundation to stand on. I’d rather deal with a Muslim who believes in absolute truth (though it be a different “absolute truth” than what I believe), because at least we can dialogue. It is near impossible to dialogue with someone who thinks that all ways lead to God and there is no need to articulate what you believe. But it is also nigh impossible to dialogue with someone who has drawn their boundaries so tightly that they have no room for ideas outside of their own, that arrogant dogmatism is the only mode they know how to operate in.

May we have both truth and unity in proper proportion to each other!

Music and Morality

By Roger Scruton
The American Spectator

“The ways of poetry and music are not changed anywhere without change in the most important laws of the city.” So wrote Plato in the Republic (4.424c). Music, for Plato, was not a neutral amusement. It could express and encourage virtue— nobility, dignity, temperance, chastity. But it could also express and encourage vice—sensuality, belligerence, indiscipline.

Plato’s concern was not so very different from that of a modern person worrying about the moral character, and moral effect, of Death Metal, say, or musical kitsch of the Andrew Lloyd Webber kind. “Should our children be listening to this stuff?” is the question in the mind of modern adults, just as “should the city permit this stuff?” was the question in the mind of Plato. Of course, we have long since given up on the idea that you can forbid certain kinds of music by law. Nevertheless, it is still common to believe that music has—or can have—a moral character, and that the character of a work or style of music can “rub off” in some way on its devotees.

We don’t forbid musical idioms by law, but we should remember that our laws are made by people who have musical tastes; Plato may be right, even in relation to a modern democracy, that changes in musical culture go hand in hand with changes in the laws, since changes in the laws so often reflect pressures from the culture. There is no doubt that popular music today enjoys a status higher than any other cultural product. Pop stars are first among celebrities, idolized by the young, taken as role models, courted by politicians, and in general endowed with a magic aura that gives them power over crowds. It is surely likely, therefore, that something of their message will rub off on the laws passed by the politicians who admire them. If the message is sensual, self-centered, and materialistic (which it generally is), then we should not expect to find that our laws address us from any higher realm than that implies.

However, ours is a “nonjudgmental” culture. To criticize another’s taste, whether in music, entertainment, or lifestyle, is to assume that some tastes are superior to others. And this, for many people, is offensive. Who are you, they respond, to judge another’s taste? Young people in particular feel this, and since it is young people who are the principal devotees of pop music, this places a formidable obstacle in the path of anyone who undertakes to criticize pop in a university. This is especially so if the criticism is phrased in Plato’s idiom, as an analysis and condemnation of the moral vices exemplified by a musical style. In the face of this a teacher might be tempted to give up on the question of judgment, and assume that anything goes, that all tastes are equally valid, and that, insofar as music is an object of academic study, it is not criticism, but technical analysis and know-how that should be imparted. Indeed this is the line that seems to be followed in academic departments of musicology, at least in the Anglophone world.

THE QUESTION OF THE MORAL CHARACTER of music is also complicated by the fact that music is appreciated in many different ways: people dance to music, they work and converse over a background of music, they perform music, and they listen to music. People happily dance to music that they cannot bear to listen to—a fairly normal experience these days. You can talk over Mozart, but not over Schoenberg; you can work to Chopin, but not to Wagner. And it is sometimes argued that the melodic and rhythmic contour of pop music both fits it for being overheard, rather than listened to, and also encourages a need for it in the background. Some psychologists wonder whether this need follows the pattern of addictions; more philosophical critics like Theodor Adorno raise questions of a deep kind as to whether the human ear has not changed entirely under the impact of jazz and its musical successors, and whether music can ever be for us what it was for Bach or Mozart.

Adorno attacked something that he called the “regression of listening,” which he believed had infected the entire culture of modern America. He saw the culture of listening as a deep spiritual resource of Western civilization. For Adorno the habit of listening to long-range musical thought, in which themes are subjected to extended melodic, harmonic, and rhythmic development, is connected to the ability to live beyond the moment, to transcend the search for instant gratification, to set aside the routines of the consumer society, with its constant pursuit of the “fetish,” and to put real values in the place of fleeting desires. And there is something persuasive here that needs to be rescued from Adorno’s intemperate and over-politicized critique of just about everything he found in America. But Adorno reminds us that it is very hard to criticize a musical idiom without standing in judgment on the culture to which it belongs. Musical idioms don’t come in sealed packets, with no relation to the rest of human life. And when a particular kind of music surrounds us in public spaces, when it invades every café, bar, and restaurant, when it blares at us from passing motor cars and dribbles from the open taps of radios and iPods all over the planet, the critic may seem to stand like the apocryphal King Canute before an irresistible tide, uttering useless cries of indignation.

Do we then give up on pop music, regard it as beyond criticism, and the culture expressed in it as a fact of life? That seems to be the received view among musicologists. Pop, they tell us, is music to be danced to, and those who judge it by the standards of the concert hall, which is a place of silent listening, have simply lost the plot. The essence of pop is not form, structure, or abstract musical relationships. It is rhythm, and rhythm is something to which you move, not something to which you listen.

That is certainly a fair response to the more curmudgeonly forms of criticism, but it raises a question of profound importance in the study of music, which is that of the nature of rhythm. Many of the most successful types of pop today (DJ music, for example, or synthetic products like Crystal Castles’ “Alice Practice”) are computer generated. In such pieces you do not hear rhythm, but rather a slicing of time by an electric cheese-wire. Rhythm is not the same thing as measure. It is not simply a matter of dividing time into repeatable units. It is a matter of organizing sound into movement, so that one note invites the next into the space that it has vacated. This is exactly what goes on in dancing—real dancing, I mean. And the complaints that might be made against the worst form of pop apply also to the lame attempts at dancing that generally are produced by it—attempts that involve no control of the body, no attempt to dance with another person, but at best only the attempt to dance at him or her, by making movements that are sliced up and atomized like the sounds that provoke them.

A SIMPLE CONTRAST IS PROVIDED by the eightsome reel. Nothing could be more metrically regular than this, but there is an audible sense of transition between sections as the gestures change— sometimes the hands are in the air, sometimes around the middle of the body; sometimes the legs are freely crossing, at other times more inclined to stamp. The melody is slightly varied with each change of partner, and the excitement builds with every closure of the melodic line.

The rhythm in Heavy Metal, or in the DJ music, is shot at you; the rhythm in the reel invites you to move with it. The difference between “at” and “with” is one of the deepest differences we know, and is exemplified in all our encounters with other people— notably in conversation and in sexual gambits. And the “withness” of the eightsome reel reflects the fact that this is a social dance, in which people move consciously with others. The human need for this kind of dancing is still with us, and explains the current craze for salsa as well as the periodic revivals of ballroom dancing.

Metal is shouted at its devotees, and the loss of melody from the vocal line emphasizes this. Not that melody is entirely absent, of course; it is allowed in with the guitar solo, which is often a poignant reflection on its own loneliness—the ghost of the community that has vanished from this harshly enameled world. The world of this music is one in which people talk, shout, dance, and feel at each other, without ever doing those things with them. You dance to Heavy Metal by head-banging, slam-dancing, or “moshing” (pushing people around in the crowd). Such dancing is not really open to people of all ages, but confined to the young and the sexually available. Of course, there is nothing to forbid the old and the shriveled from joining in, but the sight of their doing so is an embarrassment, all the greater when they themselves seem unaware of this.

In other words, what seems like rhythm, and the foregrounding of rhythm, is often in fact an absence of rhythm, a drowning out of rhythm by the beat. Rhythm divorced from melodic organization becomes inert; it loses its quality as gesture and hence loses the plasticity of gesture. Mechanical and computer-synthesized beats collapse into sound effects and cease to wear the human smile that can be heard in all true dance music, from the steel bands of the Caribbean to the waltzes of Johann Strauss.

Melody has been the fundamental principle of the traditional popular song; it is what makes it possible to memorize the words and to join in the singing. All folk traditions contain a repertoire of song-melodies, built from repeatable elements. The American songbook is similar, though using the new melodic and harmonic language that arose out of jazz, and many of its tunes have endured to become known all over the world. By contrast, there is very little emerging from contemporary pop that shows either melodic invention or even an awareness of why melody matters—that is to say, an awareness of its social meaning and its ability to give musical substance to a strophic song. Countless pop songs give us permutations of the same stock phrases, diatonic or pentatonic, but kept together not by any intrinsic power of adhesion but only by a plodding measure in the background and a banal sequence of chords.

THIS RETURNS ME TO ADORNO’S attack on the “regression of listening.” This surely accurately describes the way in which contemporary pop—from Crystal Castles to Lady Gaga—is received by its devotees. I am not talking of the words. I am talking about the musical experience. It is surely right to speak of a new kind of listening, maybe a kind of listening that is not listening at all, when there is no melody to speak of, when the rhythm is machine made, and when the only invitation to dance is an invitation to dance with oneself. And it is easier to imagine a kind of pop that is not like that: pop that is with the listener and not at him. There is no need to go back to Elvis or the Beatles to find examples.

Faced with youth culture we are encouraged to be nonjudgmental. But to be nonjudgmental is already to make a kind of judgment: it is to suggest that it really doesn’t matter what you listen to or dance to, and that there is no moral distinction between the various listening habits that have emerged in our time. That is a morally charged position, and one that flies in the face of common sense. To suggest that people who live with a metric pulse as a constant background to their thoughts and movements are living in the same way, with the same kind of attention and the same pattern of challenges and rewards, as others who know music only from sitting down to listen to it, clearing their minds, meanwhile, of all other thoughts—such a suggestion is surely implausible.

Likewise, to suggest that those who dance in the solipsistic way encouraged by metal or indie music share a form of life with those who dance, when they dance, in disciplined formation, is to say something equally implausible. The difference is not merely in the kind of movements made; it is a difference in social valency, and in the relative value placed on being with your neighbor rather than over and against him. The externalized beat of pop is shoved at us. You cannot easily move with it, but you can submit to it. When music organized by this kind of external movement is played at a dance it automatically atomizes the people on the dance floor. They may dance at each other, but only painfully with each other. And the dance is not something that you do, but something that happens to you—a pulse on which you are suspended.

When you are in the grip of an external and mechanized rhythm your freedom is overridden, and it is hard then to move in a way that suggests a personal relation to a partner. The I-Thou relation on which human society is built has no place on the disco dance floor. Plato was surely right, therefore, to think that when we move in time to music we are educating our characters. For we are learning an aspect of our embodiment as free beings.

And he was right to imply that embodiment can have virtuous and vicious forms. To take just one example, there is a deep distinction, in the matter of sexual presentation, between modesty and lewd- ness. Modesty addresses the other as someone whom you are with. Lewdness is pointed at the other, but is certainly not with him or her, since it is an attempt to impede the other’s freedom to withdraw. And it is very clear that these traits of character are displayed in music and dancing. Plato’s thought was that if you display lewdness in the dances that you most enjoy, then you are that much nearer to acquiring the habit.

There is plenty of tuneful popular music, and plenty of popular music with which one can sing along and to which one can dance in sociable ways. All this is obvious. Yet there is growing, within pop, another kind of practice altogether, one in which the movement is no longer contained in the musical line but exported to a place outside it, to a center of pulsation that demands not that you listen but that you submit. If you do submit, the moral qualities of the music vanish behind the excitement; if you listen, however, and listen critically as I have been suggesting, you will discern those moral qualities, which are as vivid as the nobility in Elgar’s Second Symphony or the horror in Schoenberg’s Erwartung. And then you might be tempted to agree with Plato that if this music is permitted, then the laws that govern us will change.

Roger Scruton, the writer and philosopher, is most recently the author of Gentle Regrets: Thoughts From a Life (Continuum).

Falling on Deaf Ears? — Why So Many Churches Hear So Little of the Bible

By Albert Mohler
AlbertMohler.com

"It is well and good for the preacher to base his sermon on the Bible, but he better get to something relevant pretty quickly, or we start mentally to check out." That stunningly clear sentence reflects one of the most amazing, tragic, and lamentable characteristics of contemporary Christianity -- an impatience with the Word of God.

The sentence above comes from Mark Galli, senior managing editor of Christianity Today in an essay entitled "Yawning at the Word." In just a few hundred words, he captures the tragedy of a church increasingly impatient with and resistant to the reading and preaching of the Bible. We may wince when we read him relate his recent experiences, but we also recognize the ring of truth.

Galli was told to cut down on the biblical references in his sermon. "You'll lose people," the staff member warned. In a Bible study session on creation, the teacher was requested to come back the next Sunday prepared to take questions at the expense of reading the relevant scriptural texts on the doctrine. Cutting down on the number of Bible verses "would save time and, it was strongly implied, would better hold people's interest."

As Galli reflected, "Anyone who's been in the preaching and teaching business knows these are not isolated examples but represent the larger reality."

Indeed, in many churches there is very little reading of the Bible in worship, and sermons are marked by attention to the congregation's concerns - not by an adequate attention to the biblical text. The exposition of the Bible has given way to the concerns, real or perceived, of the listeners. The authority of the Bible is swallowed up in the imposed authority of congregational concerns.

As Mark Galli notes:

It has been said to the point of boredom that we live in a narcissistic age, where we are wont to fixate on our needs, our wants, our wishes, and our hopes—at the expense of others and certainly at the expense of God. We do not like it when a teacher uses up the whole class time presenting her material, even if it is material from the Word of God. We want to be able to ask our questions about our concerns, otherwise we feel talked down to, or we feel the class is not relevant to our lives.

It is well and good for the preacher to base his sermon on the Bible, but he better get to something relevant pretty quickly, or we start mentally to check out. Don't spend a lot of time in the Bible, we tell our preachers, but be sure to get to personal illustrations, examples from daily life, and most importantly, an application that we can use.

The fixation on our own sense of need and interest looms as the most significant factor in this marginalization and silencing of the Word. Individually, each human being in the room is an amalgam of wants, needs, intuitions, interests, and distractions. Corporately, the congregation is a mass of expectations, desperate hopes, consuming fears, and impatient urges. All of this adds up, unless countered by the authentic reading and preaching of the Word of God, to a form of group therapy, entertainment, and wasted time -- if not worse.

Galli has this situation clearly in his sights when he asserts that many congregations expect the preacher to start from some text in the Bible, but then quickly move on "to things that really interest us." Like . . . ourselves?

One of the earliest examples of what we would call the preaching of the Bible may well be found in Nehemiah 8:1-8:

And all the people gathered as one man into the square before the Water Gate. And they told Ezra the scribe to bring the Book of the Law of Moses that the Lord had commanded Israel. So Ezra the priest brought the Law before the assembly, both men and women and all who could understand what they heard, on the first day of the seventh month. And he read from it facing the square before the Water Gate from early morning until midday, in the presence of the men and the women and those who could understand. And the ears of all the people were attentive to the Book of the Law. And Ezra the scribe stood on a wooden platform that they had made for the purpose. And beside him stood Mattithiah, Shema, Anaiah, Uriah, Hilkiah, and Maaseiah on his right hand, and Pedaiah, Mishael, Malchijah, Hashum, Hashbaddanah, Zechariah, and Meshullam on his left hand. And Ezra opened the book in the sight of all the people, for he was above all the people, and as he opened it all the people stood. And Ezra blessed the Lord, the great God, and all the people answered, “Amen, Amen,” lifting up their hands. And they bowed their heads and worshiped the Lord. Also Jeshua, Bani, Sherebiah, Jamin, Akkub, Shabbethai, Hodiah, Maaseiah, Kelita, Azariah, Jozabad, Hanan, Pelaiah, the Levites, helped the people to understand the Law, while the people remained in their places. They read from the book, from the Law of God, clearly, and they gave the sense, so that the people understood the reading with their faces to the ground. [English Standard Version]

Ezra and his companions stood on a platform before the congregation. They read the scriptural text clearly, and then explained the meaning of the Scripture to the people. The congregation received the Word humbly, while standing. The pattern is profoundly easy to understand -- the Bible was read and explained and received.

As Hughes Oliphant Old comments, "This account of the reading of the Law indicates that already at the time of the writing of this text there was a considerable amount of ceremonial framing of the public reading of Scripture. This ceremonial framing is a witness to the authority of the Bible." The reading and exposition took place in a context of worship as the people listened to the Word of God. The point of the sermon was simple -- "to make clear the reading of the Scriptures."

In many churches, there is almost no public reading of the Word of God. Worship is filled with music, but congregations seem disinterested in listening to the reading of the Bible. We are called to sing in worship, but the congregation cannot live only on the portions of Scripture that are woven into songs and hymns. Christians need the ministry of the Word as the Bible is read before the congregation and God's people -- young and old, rich and poor, married and unmarried, sick and well -- hear it together. The sermon is to consist of the exposition of the Word of God, powerfully and faithfully read, explained, and applied. It is not enough that the sermon take a biblical text as its starting point.

How can so many of today's churches demonstrate what can only be described as an impatience with the Word of God? The biblical formula is clear -- the neglect of the Word can only lead to disaster, disobedience, and death. God rescues his church from error, preserves his church in truth, and propels his church in witness only by his Word -- not by congregational self-study.

In the end, an impatience with the Word of God can be explained only by an impatience with God. We -- both individually and congregationally -- neglect God's Word to our own ruin.

As Jesus himself declared, "He who has ears to hear, let him hear."