I've been thinking some more about my exchange with Peter Rollins regarding his book Insurrection and what I've been doing in The Slavery of Death series, ways our projects are similar and how they are different. (BTW, I hate the word "project." I really don't have "projects." All I have are "things I'm currently thinking about." But no projects.) However, before I get into these additional thoughts about Insurrection a couple of programming notes.Programming Notes:
First, I don't intend for this post to be a critique or criticism of Insurrection in any way. My thoughts are simply rolling forward and this is the place where I collect my thoughts. So all I'm doing is simply sharing my thoughts. I'm not trying to debate or rebut Insurrection. I'm just clarifying, in my own mind, locations of contrast. I'm feeling around the edges. Intellectually, this is something I need to do. So if you don't want to witness this please stop reading!
Second, don't tweet any of this at Peter. I'm not trying to engage Peter in any sort of discussion or debate. He's a busy guy and I can spill thousands of words a day on this topic. (Regular readers know this.) Of course, if Peter wants to weigh in that would be great, but I don't want him to think he needs to respond or keep responding in any way. It's as simple as this: Peter make me think so here I am thinking. The more words I write about Insurrection the greater the complement to Peter and the more books he might sell. Win/win.
Finally, I'm going to call Peter by his first name. We've never met but I hate the academic distance created by the use of the last name. I'd much rather write "Peter" than "Rollins." I hope the use of Peter's first name signals that we're all friends here.
Recap and Review:
Okay, let's review and get everyone up to speed. I first used Insurrection in this post from The Slavery of Death series. In that post I noted connections between what I'd been arguing in the series (based largely upon the work of Ernest Becker) and Peter's argument that love can only emerge after the death of the deus ex machina.
I followed that post up with a critique of Insurrection. In that critique I said that one of the problems I saw in Insurrection was that it did not specify the necessary connection between the death of the deus ex machina and the life of love. Peter responded that the connection will become more clear in his forthcoming book. One area we cleared up in the comments of his post was that Peter had initially read me as saying that I didn't think the death of the deus ex machina was necessary. I noted that I did think such a "death of god" was necessary and that my "critique" had to do with a lack of specificity as to why it was necessary. That is, I wanted Insurrection to be less descriptive and more explanatory.
That's a subtle distinction but I think it's a big deal and it highlights some of the distinctions between what Peter is doing and what I'm doing. In light of that, I'd like to use the rest of this post to make those distinctions more clear. For myself at least.
Fitting Insurrection into The Slavery of Death series:
One way to make these distinctions is to show how I would incorporate Insurrection and the death of the deus ex machina into the Slavery of Death series. You can follow along in the figure above (click on it to open it in a new, larger window if you can't see the small font). For those who have been following the series our walk through the figure above will be a nice visual summary. For those new to The Slavery to Death series you can think of it as a psychological meditation on Hebrews 2.14-15, 1 John 3.8, and 1 John 3.14.
Hebrews 2.14-15In the figure above we start in Panel 1 with the reality of death. As you'll note, this reality sits behind all the other panels in the figure, Panels #1-#6. This represents the fact that death is the "last enemy" of Christ, the power behind the principalities and powers. Or, in the words of William Stringfellow, death is the Idol behind all idols.
Since the children have flesh and blood, he too shared in their humanity so that by his death he might break the power of him who holds the power of death—that is, the devil—and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by their fear of death.
1 John 3.8b
The reason the Son of God appeared was to destroy the devil’s work.
1 John 3.14
We know that we have passed from death to life, because we love each other. Anyone who does not love remains in death.
For humans death creates a burden of existential anxiety. This is Panel 2.
Following Ernest Becker in his book The Denial of Death, humans create a cultural worldview that provides a route to significance and meaning in the face this anxiety. This is Panel 3. This worldview provides us with seemingly transcendent and durable "goods" to which we can attach our life stories. We serve these "greater" and "higher" goods and this service gives us a sense of meaning, security, self-esteem, and immortality. Becker calls this cultural heroics, finding self-esteem by participating within and supporting the cultural worldview.
Now, the key thing to note here is how death is still in the background in Panel 3. The entire pursuit of meaning and self-esteem is being driven by an underlying denial of death which is largely unconscious and, thus, neurotic in nature.
Obviously, religious belief is often a large part of any cultural worldview. The cultural god--Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, Jewish, etc.--tends to support and affirm the values of the culture imbuing the cultural values with eternity. But in truth the cultural worldview is really driving the show. "God" is just the metaphysical rubber stamp. At root, our "way of life" is the real god. Power in its various manifestations is our true god, our true religion. This is why political discourse is so heated. There's a reason why many people think President Obama is the literal Anti-Christ. Politics--the grasping at power--is our religion.
So God is a part of all this, a part of the cultural worldview developed to handle our anxiety in the face of death. This is seen in Panel 4 where I've added the deus ex machina to the cultural worldview.
Now, one of the consequences of using the cultural worldview as a means to repress death anxiety is that the worldview must be believed absolutely for it to perform this function. This is key. If you have doubts that your value system is true then that value system isn't going to infuse your life projects with a feeling of transcendence, ultimacy and eternity. And it's this aspect of the worldview--that it has to be believed absolutely to "work" as a defense mechanism--that leads to the great tragedy of human existence: rivalry and violence. Our pursuit of meaning, identity, and self-esteem within a cultural worldview brings us, inexorably and tragically, into conflict with Others. Within the worldview we find ourselves embroiled in rivalries, pushing to secure the cultural goods that give us self-esteem in comparison with others. When we encounter outgroup members we engage in worldview defense, denigrating and acting aggressively toward Others. This dynamic is found in Panel 5 where two ideological Others encounter each other.
If we translate all this into biblical language we have something like Panel 6. The biblical writers didn't use language like cultural worldview, neuroses, deus ex machina, self-esteem, existential, meaning, or worldview defense. The biblical authors speak of death, sin, the works of the devil, idolatry, and the principalities and powers. Mapping our modern descriptions onto the biblical descriptions we can say that the principalities and powers stand for the cultural worldview and idolatry as the way we serve these powers to gain a sense of self-esteem and meaning. This idolatry produces "the works of the devil"--selfishness, rivalry, violence.
Having incorporated the deus ex machina into the scheme we are working with in The Slavery of Death series we can now turn to points of contrast between this model and what we find in Insurrection.
1. Connecting the Deus ex Machina with Sin
Recall that my critique of Insurrection was that it didn't describe why there was a necessary link between the deus ex machina and failures of love. The model above provides the link I was looking for. Insofar as the deus ex machina participates in the cultural worldview it functions as a defense mechanism to handle/repress existential anxiety in the face of death/finitude. Consequently, the deus ex machina supports cultural heroics that bring us into rivalry with ingroup members and promotes violence toward outgroup members (via worldview defense). Thus, we must "die" to the deus ex machina if we are going to be open and loving toward others, ingroup and outgroup. Here we see the necessary connection between the "death of god" and a life of love.
I can't find an equivalent connection in Insurrection. In Insurrection Peter asks us to squarely face the anxiety involved in the death of the deus ex machina as this will enable us to love our neighbor. But why? That's the question at the root of my critique. Why does facing anxiety make us more loving?
Peter is right in noting that the deus ex machina is intimately involved in providing us with existential comfort. On this we agree. But what I don't find in Insurrection is a connection between this need for existential comfort and sin. And without that connection the association with love isn't at all clear. This is why I've said Insurrection needs a more robust theology of sin and the satanic.
In the model above, thanks to Ernest Becker, we've observed the missing link: Existential comfort can only be produced by the worldview (of which the deus ex machina is a small part) when it is believed absolutely. And it's this fear-driven dogmatism that produces the sin. This is the connection, the connection made by Ernest Becker, that completes the picture of Insurrection.
2. A Focus on the Principalities and Powers Rather than the Death of God
Another point of contrast between the model above and Insurrection is how we understand the crucifixion event. For Peter the crucifixion is primarily about the death of god as captured in Christ's cry from the cross "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" For me the crucifixion is "taking up the cross," renouncing the principalities and powers (think John Howard Yoder and Rene Girard here).
To be sure, there is some overlap. The deus ex machina is an idol. In this the deus ex machina is just another, albeit religious, manifestation of the principalities and powers. The same religious power that was attacked by both the prophets and Jesus. Following their example we should resist the principalities and powers whenever they manifest in religious garb, calling out the satanic aspects of much that is now ascendant in Christianity.
But this is much bigger than religion. For two reasons. First, atheists are just as enslaved to the fear of death as Christians are beholden to the deus ex machina. Atheists as much as Christians are striving after cultural heroics, a source of self-esteem and meaning. Consequently, atheists are caught in the same demonic trap. How, then, to explain their conversion? As a "death of god"? As the death of a deus of machina they don't even believe in? To be sure it could be described that way if we use "god" as shorthand for "worldview," even an atheistic worldview. But that's unnecessarily confusing. No doubt "god" is a good beginning place for Christians, the people most likely to read Insurrection. But if we want a more comprehensive treatment we should start with a model that transcends religion in describing the idolatrous captivity of the entire world, theist, atheist, and a/theist alike. This is why I think focusing on "worldview," "culture," and the principalities and powers is better than focusing upon something religiously narrow like the deus ex machina.
A second reason for not focusing too tightly on the deus ex machina has to do with religious populations themselves. Specifically, while the vast majority of Christians likely do believe in a deus ex machina (beliefs sociologists have characterized as moralistic therapeutic deism), at the end of the day these beliefs are pretty irrelevant. Most Christians are pursuing self-esteem and meaning in exactly the same way as everyone else within the culture. Which is to say, so what if Christians think there is a God out there taking care of them now and after death? What really matters, spiritually speaking, is how American Christians just look like Americans in how they live. As I noted above in my discussion of politics and power, culture trumps religion. We must not think that the tail is wagging the dog. Christians care more about power, their bank account, and their weight than they do about a halo and a harp in heaven, as consoling as those beliefs might be. Yes, thinking that God will help you find good parking spaces is comforting, existentially speaking. But the real idolatry is found elsewhere.
In sum, there are two reasons why I think a focus on a "death of god" is too narrow. First, it excludes atheists from the conversation about idolatry. Second, it fails to target the root source of idolatry among Christians themselves. On its own belief in the deus ex machina, while infantile, is innocuous. The real poison comes when "God" is used to support "a way of life" that creates selfishness, rivalry and violence. This focus on worldviews and worldview defense allows us to cast a broader net and to place our finger more directly on the pulse of the demonic.
One response that I think Peter could offer at this point is that he's not trying to present a robust and comprehensive theology of idolatry in Insurrection. Rather, he's just speaking to a specific form of religious idolatry. If that's the case I have no problems and simply offer up the model above as a more comprehensive analysis that can capture the idolatry described in Insurrection and anywhere else we might find it, religious or otherwise.
3. How about Dorothy Day and Saint Francis?
In my critique of Insurrection I brought up the example of Dorothy Day. Here was someone radically committed to a life of love who attended Mass everyday, said the Rosary, and engaged in all sorts of religious rituals to sustain her life of service. I had asked, how does someone like Dorothy Day fit into the scheme described in Insurrection? No doubt Day struggled with doubts, but she didn't go to Mass or pray the Rosary to deconstruct her faith over and over again as Peter recommends in Insurrection. In fact, Day did the exact opposite. As did Dietrich Bonhoeffer. In light of that, could we not pursue faith like Day and Bonhoeffer? Would Peter point to Bonhoeffer and Day as exemplary Christians worthy of emulation? My hunch is that he would. If so, the paths toward love might be more diverse than Insurrection suggests.
Why might that be? As I noted above, Insurrection is more descriptive than explanatory. And as a description it's extraordinarily powerful and deep. The path Peter describes in Insurrection is one that many of us have taken. We grew up with an immature and infantile view of God. A Sunday School version of God. And when this God collapsed it was extraordinarily painful. Our ground of being had given way. More, we've never really been able to put the pieces back together again. Consequently, the only way we've been able to use the word "God" is to connect it to love. "God is love," we say. This is the path traced in Insurrection.
As a description this fits many of us. But it's not a comprehensive explanation. Thus, when Insurrection fits we feel it is right. And it is right for many of us. But is it right for everyone? It's sort of like Hume's dictum: You can't get an ought from an is. Just because Insurrection describes the way it is for many of us can we conclude that it ought to be this way for everyone?
What are we to do with the stories of saints who have walked a different sort of path toward love? How do their stories fit in the scheme? I've already talked about Dorothy Day so let me float another example, St. Francis.
Most of you know the story of St. Francis. He was a rich, spoiled kid. As he began to follow God's calling he began to have conflict with his rich and powerful father. One day the conflict came to a head when Francis sold some of his father's stuff to assist a priest in the rebuilding of a church he and Francis were undertaking. Francis's father drug him before the secular and religious authorities of the town hoping they could help straighten Francis out. At the high point of the trial Francis stripped naked and gave his clothing back to his father, publicly renouncing anything his father had given him. Even the clothes on his back. Then Francis walked out of town. Naked. And singing.
How does the joy of St. Francis, along with the religiosity of Dorothy Day, fit into Insurrection? Again, Peter says that the crucifixion event is one of "utter desolation." But why can't it be a matter of utter joy?
This is another place where I think the focus on the principalities and powers pays some dividends. True, when an infantile belief in God crashes and burns it can be painful. Giving up a false notion of God can bring us to the bottom, to utter desolation. But true conversion, as I see it, isn't about the "death of god" per se. It's about renouncing "the world." This is why St. Paul felt so liberated and joyous when he counted all his accomplishments, most of them religious accomplishments, as "rubbish" (or, more strongly translated, "crap" or "shit"). This is why Francis was singing even though he was naked. It's not so much that God died for Francis as much as it was Francis who died to the cultural hero system, to the principalities and powers. Francis was free. Liberated. To his father and to the world Francis was "dead." Crucified. Francis had lost his life in order to find it.
Again, this is not to contradict what I said earlier. If we hold to a view of God that is idolatrous then that view of God has to die if we are to love others. But the deeper trick is in renouncing the way the death-denying culture insists that I construct my identity and self-esteem. God might be deeply involved in all this or not. Both Day and St. Francis were irreligious before they found God. There wasn't much of a Sunday School God to "die" when they experienced their conversion, no deep religious aspect of their identity. Again, this is why the death of God is not necessarily connected to a life of love. God or not, the key is to get at the root dynamic, how the cultural worldview and the self-esteem and identity it supports is driven by a slavery to the fear of death.
Peter's response here and to contrast #2 above, I would guess, would be similar to the one he gave in his response to my critique. Specifically, Peter says "I am not so interested in what you or I believe as in what role that belief is playing in our lives." What sort of role might that be? Peter elaborates: "many people think that I am arguing about the type of belief we hold when I am actually concerned with exploring the power that various beliefs hold for us. A fetish object is an object that we know is not magic but treat as if it is. An object that protects us from encountering our own impotence in a direct way even though we may acknowledge it intellectually." Obviously, Christians aren't the only people with "fetish objects." This frame (fetish objects over "death of god") would allow Peter to create a more comprehensive definition of idolatry and address some of my concerns in contrast #2 above. But it would, however, mean that Insurrection is simply retracing the steps of Ernest Becker in The Denial of Death and Escape from Evil with one of the most important pieces missing (i.e., worldview defense). See my point #1 above.
Back to Day and St. Francis, in light of all this my guess would be that Peter would argue that Day and St. Francis gave up a "fetish object" in their conversions. But if that fetish object wasn't God, and it doesn't seem that it was, what was it? And why characterize it as a "death of god"? And why insist that the response to the loss be one of "utter desolation"?
For my part I'd argue, for both Day and St. Francis, that the fetish object wasn't God but the cultural self-esteem project, a project they joyfully jettisoned, along with St. Paul, counting it all as "loss" and "rubbish."
Summary and Conclusion
Obviously, there are lot of areas of overlap between Insurrection and what I've done in this Slavery of Death series, a series linking Christus Victor theology (along with other theologians like William Stringfellow) with the work of existential psychologists like Ernest Becker. But I do think there are some differences. Feel free to disagree, but I think I'm working with a broader, more explanatory framework. More explanatory in that the causal links between existential consolation and sin are specified in a way that I can't find in Insurrection. Broader in that by focusing on worldviews, self-esteem, and cultural heroics we can describe enslavement to the principalities and powers for both the religious and irreligious. God doesn't always die. But in every case we die to the cultural hero system, to the idols of selfishness, rivalry and violence. And by focusing on a renunciation of the principalities and powers as the key to conversion (rather than upon a "death of god" which is merely a subspecies of this renunciation), we can embrace the spiritual journeys of saints like Dorothy Day and St. Francis.
For some of us experience utter desolation in moving toward a life of love, engaging in a/theistic worship to deconstruct our faith (see Insurrection).
Some of us, by contrast, attend Mass every day and pray the Rosary.
And some of us hit the road naked and singing.
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