Friday, September 18, 2015

Defining phenomenology and radicalizing (a)theism | Best quote ever | Jean-Luc Marion

How do we define a phenomenon? It seems reasonable her to privilege the answers, convergent in the essentials, advanced by Kant and Husserl, since they almost single-handedly established the only positive concept of the phenomenon ever formulated in modern philosophy. According to this understanding, a phenomenon is defined by the adequacy in it of an intuition (giving and fulfilling) to a concept or a signification (empty and to be validated). Consequently, a thing can appear to me in two ways. Either I determine the intuition received by fixing it (identifying it, subsuming it) with an imposed concept, so that I am no longer dealing with a simple lived experience of consciousness (or a manifold of intuition) but instead precisely with a lived experience assigned to the case of a particular object or being, which then becomes describable; or the concept that I could form on my initiative (through spontaneous understanding or conscious intentionality) ends up finding empirical validation in an intuition, which comes subsequently to fill it and to qualify it as a particular object or being. It matters little from which of these two end points the adequacy is accomplished, since in every case the phenomenon only appears by synthesizing in itself the intuition and the concept.

How does this work when I say 'God'? From the outset it seems clear that in this case I have neither an intuition or a concept at my disposal. -- I have not intuition at my disposal, at least if by intuition I mean that which can be experienced according the forms of space and time. For, by 'God' I mean by definition and first of all the eternal, that which endures unceasingly because it never even begins to endure. I also mean by definition what is non spatial: hat which is situated nowhere, occupies no extension, admits of no limit (that the center of which, no less than the circumference, is found nowhere), escapes all measure (the immense, the incommensurable), and thus is not divisible, or capable of increase. Let us note that this twofold impossibility of entering into intuition implies no avoidable requirements of the mere possibility of something like God. The most speculative theology, which itself maintains that "no one has ever seen God" (John 1:18), agrees here with the most unilateral atheism to postulate that, in the case in which one wishes to say 'God,' what is involved is the transgression of the formal conditions of intuition: if intuition implies space and time, then there cannot be intuition of God. Or, more radically, there must not be any such intuition, if God is ever to be considered. Thus, God is distinguished by the impossibility, for us, of ever receiving the least intuition of him.

But there is more (or less). Let us suppose that it so happens that I have a rather exception intuition, such that I consider assigning it to something called 'God'; in spite of this, I would not know 'God,' since, without any corresponding concept, I would not recognize this intuition as (that of) God. I could recognize it as such only by assigning it a concept that identifies it as the intuition of something as divine, a god or even 'God,' or, what amounts to the same thing, a concept that it fills and that in return confers on it a form and signification. Here, let us note, the fundamental inanity of the nation of 'natural mysticism' stands out: it can mean, in the best of cases, only a perfectly undifferentiated intuition (more blind than any other) of a divine, of god, or of "God" that is completely indistinct. -- Ad what about this concept? Here too, by definition, I can legitimately assign no concept to God, for every concept implies the delimitation of that the comprehension of which it assures; it thus contradicts the only acceptable definition of God--namely, that he passes beyond all delimitation, and thus every possible definition supplied by a finite mind. Incomprehensibility, which in every other case attests to a weakness of my knowledge or an insufficiency of the thing to be known, here and here alone ranks as an epistemological demand imposed precisely by what must be thought--the infinite, the unconditioned, and thus the inconceivable. 'Incomprehensibility is contained in the formal definition of infinity' (Descartes).

But it will be objected, if no concept that I use to designate God can, by definition, reach him, all of them nonetheless retain a certain pertinence: it is enough to overturn them, to transform their illegitimate affirmations into just so many legitimate negations. For lack of saying of God what he is, the concepts at least say what he is not. In this case, the principle is upheld that the negations always go further than the affirmations. Perhaps. But this gesture, as legitimate as it may be, does not restore any of these concepts' theoretical validity for aiming at 'God,' even in a solely negative mode.

"If my potential concepts designating 'God' in principle say nothing about God, they at best say something about me, insofar as I am confronting the incomprehensible. They say what it is that I am able to consider, at least at a given moment, as an admissible representation of God; they thus articulate the conception of the divine that I make for myself--a conception that occurs to me as the best because it defines precisely the maximal and the optimal conceivable for me. In short, the concepts that I assign to God, like so many invisible mirrors, send back to me the image that I make up for myself of the perfection of the divine, and therefore are images of myself. My concepts of God end up as idols--that is, as always, as idols of myself. Consequently, not only can I not aspire to attain the least concept of of God (for in the final analysis such a concept must claim to comprehend and seize the essence of God, which would contradict that essence), but above all I must not do so, for in this way I would only reflect (on) myself, me alone.

This unavoidable weakness of the concept in general concerning God leads to a double consequence. -- First of all: because the 'death of God,' in order to identify this 'death' as that of a particular 'god' or even of 'God,' must necessarily assume a particular concept of his essence (the 'moral God,' the 'final cause,' causa sui, summum ens, etc.), it thus disqualifies in each case only that which corresponds to this sole concept, leaving all the others (undefined, but just as inadequate as the first) still to be reviewed and critiqued. In other words, every conceptual atheism remains regional, and thus provisional: it progresses at the slow pace of justice, which investigates, examines, and challenges the ever-repeating concepts that claim, always just as illegitimately, the master of the essence of 'God,' precisely in order to challenge it. But each refutation refutes itself, since it only ever refutes one definition that is by definition inadequate of the essence of 'God,' opening at the same time the path for every new possible definition; which, in turn, will be able to claim to be adequate only for as long as the tribunal of reason leaves it unchallenged. And so on, for atheism refutes itself by having to repeat itself, following the rhythm  of the concepts that it assumes and then challenges.

A second consequence results: the difficulty of a concept of 'God' applies just as well to every form of theism or deism, for "They imagine that it [the Christian religion] simply consists in worshipping a God considered to be great and mighty and eternal, which is properly speaking deism, almost as remote from the Christian religion as atheism, its complete opposite.... in particular, in each case, we presupposed that 'being' or 'existing' still mean something when we apply them to 'God.' But nothing is less certain, or betrays more clearly a second idolatry. The impossibility of assigning a concept to God, then, lies in God's very definition--which is that he admits of none.

Confronted with this double impossibility, it becomes inevitable to conclude from the common determination of phenomenally the impossibility of any phenomenon of God. And here again, which is to say with the rational theology of metaphysics, theism accepts this result, just as much as atheism.

Excerpted from Negative Certainties (Religion and Postmodernism)

Wednesday, September 16, 2015

Update on Syrian Refugees

TOGETHER WE CAN WELCOME 100,000 SYRIAN REFUGEES
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The Syrian refugee crisis has now captured the attention of the entire international community. Over four million refugees have fled war-torn Syria with no permanent safety in sight. Due to the overwhelming refugee numbers, insufficient international support and political reticence, many refugees will encounter closed doors rather than the protection they so desperately seek. As a world leader in humanitarian relief and a nation of immigrants, the United States should open our doors and stand for welcome.

On September 10th, the White House indicated plans to resettle 10,000 Syrian refugees in the U.S. during fiscal year 2016, which begins October 1st. This is simply not enough. In coordination with Refugee Council USA (RCUSA), LIRS is urging the United States government to increase the number of Syrian refugees resettled next fiscal year to 100,000. The United States has the capacity and our communities and congregations have the will to welcome Syrian refugees on this scale. With your support, America can open its arms to our Syrian brothers and sisters who cannot wait any longer for a new home and a new life.

We call upon you to urge President Obama to rise to the pressing need and offer the necessary humanitarian relief. Here are two simple ways you can stand in support:
Speaking together, we can convince President Obama that Americans are ready to provide welcome and ease the suffering of our brothers and sisters from Syria. The United States has a proud tradition of leading the world in the number of refugees resettled each year, and during this time of crisis, we should not fall short. Raise your voice today in the spirit of welcome and compassion for refugees.

In peace,

Brittney Nystrom
Director for Advocacy

Tuesday, September 15, 2015

ELCA Reaches Its $15 Million Malaria Campaign Goal

I have incredible news! The ELCA Malaria Campaign just reached its fundraising goal of $15 million! Thank you for being a part of this monumental milestone and helping us protect countless lives from this preventable, treatable disease. We couldn’t have done it without you!

Five years ago ELCA members, congregations and synods came together, dreamed big with our Lutheran companion churches and partners, and set out to raise $15 million for malaria programming. Today we celebrate all that we have accomplished together.

Working with our Lutheran companions and partners in 13 African countries, we have brought about lasting change. But our work is not over. While the ELCA Malaria Campaign will officially come to an end on Jan. 31, 2016, our commitment to ending deaths from this disease will not. In the coming years, support to our companions and partners to address malaria will come through gifts to ELCA World Hunger, which has a long history of supporting health-related work.

Without you, none of this would have been possible. Thank you for your prayers, your partnership and your generosity.

Together in Christ’s service,
Christina Jackson-Skelton
Executive Director, Mission Advancement
Evangelical Lutheran Church in America

Monday, September 14, 2015

Is my dog Christian?

Sometimes I'm not quite sure what to do with animals. Let me explain.

A few years back we began hosting a blessing of the animals event at Good Shepherd. This year it will be at noon on October 4th.

Doing so is by no means innovative. Many faith communities have been doing this for decades, often in conjunction with theFeast of St. Francis, the saint famous for preaching to the animals.

We typically host the blessing outside, on the church grounds. Brief prayer. Read a psalm. Then go around and bless each of the pets, and pray with families.

This is when things get interesting. Not all pets handle corporate worship as well as others (this is actually also true of humans, something I'll get back to in a bit). Some love it. Some are territorial. Some can't even attend, and have to send photos of themselves as proxy for the blessing.

It's also hard to know how to mix different kinds of pets. Should there be a separate blessing for the cats and the dogs? What about snakes, or beasts of the field?

Or should we welcome pets into the actual worship service some Sundays? It could be complicated, but then again, why not? What's a convincing theological reason not to welcome animals into worship (as opposed to a practical one, like they might bark, or make a mess, which are both things that, again, humans might do also)?

This is where I start to think, "Animals are perplexing in light of Christian theology."

Here are some examples. First of all, although in the creation account of Genesis 1 animals are created good, it remains a truth that humans are singled out as the very good creatures. Humans are the creatures made in the imago dei, the image of God.

This theologema rides right at the center of almost all Christian theology. Animals share one thing with us--we are all creatures, created. Yet animals are different, inasmuch as the economy of salvation functions differently for them than us.

They are not, for example, baptized. Nor do they participate in any of the sacraments of the church.

And with the wild and beautiful exception of St. Francis, they are not much preached to or considered in the mission of the Christian church.

Animals are around in the Scriptures, but almost never as pets. Can you think of anyone in Scripture with a pet? It's likely they lived with animals. Husbandry in that era often included shacking up with the animals one kept as a livelihood. But it is significant that no animal plays a significant narrative role in Scripture (with the enigmatic exception (!!!) of Balaam's donkey, Numbers 22:30).

This puzzles me. By comparison, think of Odysseus' faithful dog Argos, or the cat's of ancient Egypt.

In other words, Scripture itself, and as a result a considerable portion of Christian theological reflection ever since, has given us less than a robust set of resources to consider the place of animals theologically.



Returning to the concrete, we have a dog. His name is Charlie. I must confess, it is taking me some time to learn to love having a dog. I'm getting there, but I'm learning my love for Charlie through the love lavished on him by my family. I don't have an instinctual love of dogs. I'm not even sure why. Perhaps no dog can ever replace my childhood pet, Streak. Or perhaps it is a theological thing, I don't know.

Yet I know so many people who think of their pets as additional people, part of the family. They love their pets, profoundly. It's no surprise that sometimes people show up at church and want their pet baptized.

Now, I'm going to go traditional here and say I cannot find a compelling reason to baptize pets. First, I think pets have their own economy of grace they live out as God's beloved creatures, and the sacraments aren't really a part of that. I think Charlie's sacrament, for example, is the sun shining through the sliding glass door mid-day, or the snuggles he gets from our kids.

Yet I also think that animals have not gotten as much attention for their proper place within a Christian worldview as they could or should. This may explain why Christianities track record in its relation to the created order is so abysmal. We have not invested energy and attention in a theological consideration of God's relationship with the animals. Concomitantly, we have not considered the gospel of things in themselves, all things.

It may very well be the case that in order for me to love my neighbor, and so love God, I'll need to revisit my love of Charlie. Perhaps rightly ordered care of neighbor in an economy of grace relies on rightly ordered care of all ecology in an economy of creatureliness.