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The Girlfriend’s proof of the existence of God

One day, The Girlfriend mentioned to me an article she had read that claimed that couples are happier when they discuss serious issues. In that spirit, I asked her if she believed in God. Her response was that she thinks that nature tends to seek some form of equilibrium or the path of least resistence. With that in mind, the only way things could’ve gotten so screwed up is if some kind of outside agent interfered — therefore, God must exist.

I find this to be a remarkable contribution to the theodicy debate. As I explain it to my students, the problem of theodicy is to find some way of reconciling the following three statements:

  1. God is good.
  2. God is all-powerful.
  3. Evil exists.

The orthodox tradition has tended to solve the problem by seriously qualifying point #3 through its theory of evil as privation, whereas major strains in 20th century theology have rejected or significantly questioned point #2. The Girlfriend’s innovative contribution is to reject the almost universally unquestioned point #1. In addition, it provides a major advance in the attempt to prove the existence of God, insofar as it turns the most powerful argument against God’s existence (the problem of evil) into the key argument for God’s existence.

In conclusion, I recommend that all theologians and philosophers date someone outside their field, and preferably outside of academia altogether.

Come to think of it, I’ve not read much of City of God either

Today Adam & I found ourselves talking about David Lodge’s semi-classic Changing Places, particularly the parlor game found therein, called Humiliation, in which participants confess classic pieces of literature they’ve never read. The winner, of course, is the one with the most cringe-worthy confession. The winner in Lodge’s novel is a professor of English literature who admits he has never read Hamlet. In the process of winning the game, he loses his job.

Thinking about this compelled me scandalously to confess seminal, absolutely vital works of theology that I’ve neither owned nor checked out of the library — not once even opened in a bookstore. (I will not so openly publish here my worst offense, but I will own up to the fact that I’ve read far more of Bultmann’s commentary on the Gospel of John than I have Barth’s commentary on Romans.) You should feel free, if you dare, to reciprocate.

More likely, though, you will be inclined (& are thus invited) to tell us what philosophy/theology’s Hamlet would be? Which work would win you the game, but lose you your livelihood?

‘And so I tell myself to myself’: A Dissertation!!

This [PDF warning], as it turns out, is an unpublishable book. Oh, I suppose I could keep shopping it around until something just short of a vanity press accepts it and churns out fifty hardcover editions to “sell” (in theory) at an ungodly price. Or, I could just keep sending it to more-or-less legitimate publishers, and probably drive myself batty in the process. I think most of us can agree that the end result of neither alternative is particularly attractive. Thankfully, there are are other options. (Thanks, Scribd!) Read the rest of this entry »

On the Identity of Philosophy and Theology

There have been a number of interesting responses to the Editors’ Introduction of After the Postsecular and the Postmodern: New Essays in Continental Philosophy of Religion (Amazon: US, UKBERJAYA). Quite a few have responded to the polemical nature of the piece feeling and that tone seems to have suggested a kind of hard boundary between theology and philosophy. Thomas Altizer, for example, wrote with his congratulations and the rhetorical question, “do you recognize how profoundly theological our greatest philosophy has always been? It is our weaker philosophy that is non-theological, including the great body of academic philosophy which perhaps primarily struggles to establish its own autonomous turf.” My response to him was, “absolutely agree that our greatest philosophy has been profoundly theological!” We should have laid out more explicitly our understanding of the relationship between philosophy and theology more in the introduction, one that remained true to the debate (really a minimal difference) between my co-editor, Daniel Whistler, and myself; the difference between the liberation of philosophy of religion from theology and its own auto-mutation via religious and theological material. Read the rest of this entry »

“Hope is not the precondition of action”

Jacques Rancière is talking about the role of the philosopher here, but I cannot help but think that his comments extend further than even he might otherwise imagine. Indeed, while even I concluded a recent essay by distinguishing the task of the theologian from that of the philosopher — i.e. where the former “names,” the latter is concerned with “the conditions of naming itself” — suffice it to say, I’m not convinced that the disciplinary/discursive identities borne from the differentiation need be iron-clad and definitive. With that in mind, I think that the theologian in particular might find a peculiar value in reflecting on this particular exchange. In fact, I think doing so may well have a penetrating and creative effect on the valuation and task of theology:

OLIVER: We’ve talked a lot thus far about temptation—the temptation of fusion, immediacy, collective soul, enfleshment. The word signals the necessity of distinguishing the essential and the extraneous, the real and the fake, the short term and the long term, and implies an optimal path, an expectation or hope; and, of course, in religious traditions, the word signals the idea of destiny if not fate, the presence of something like the prophetic mode. What is the role of the philosopher or the cultural critic?

RANCIÈRE: There are many ways of understanding the role of the philosopher—in general or in the current situation. Most people seem to identify it today with some kind of prophecy about the disaster threatening culture, civilization, the symbolic order, and so on. All the elements of social criticism and the critique of culture have been recycled in order to sustain those prophecies about the impending disaster produced by individualism, democracy, consumption, the spectacle, and so on. From my point of view, the true philosophical or critical task is to do away with that so-called critical trend, which has become nothing more than the discourse of a police order. It is to do away with the prophetic tone and with the plot of decadence that is only the reversal of the former trust in the sense of history and to focus on the existing forms of intellectual, artistic, and political invention. Hope is not the precondition of action. On the contrary, it is the product of the openings and expectations brought about by the dynamic of those inventions.

John Milbank, the Theological Blogosphere & You: A Pathology

Adam originally encouraged me to begin this post “You all should be ashamed of yourself.” In a way, I guess I have, but in a mediated kind of way, where the brunt of the blow is deflected by benevolent narrative forces unseen.

Because, really, is it your fault, you theological bloggers, linkers, clickers, and occasional commenters, that you’ve succumbed to the pathological curiosity in all things John Milbank? A part of me — the part that is a much better blog administrator than blogger — wants to say “Yes, you are all to blame.” But another part — the part that is more curious about blogging than frustrated by it — realizes that you (well, let’s just say it, we) are doing what comes naturally. By and large, for better or worse, we tend to associate ourselves with, in mind, body & spirit, those who are, in ways that correspond to that trifecta of Being (m/b/s), people who look like us — or, barring that, who we want to look like — or, barring that, who we want others to mistake us for looking like. Are you to be blamed, then, when you eagerly pounce on every post bearing Milbank’s name in the title or subtitle, when Milbank is, in fact, the quintessential theological blogger?

For starters, like most theological bloggers, he is male. Very male, let’s say. (Apologies to the females who find his work interesting and/or clicked this or other links because of the presence of his name, but I trust you know by now that his world is peopled primarily by very white, pastey even, very manly men. They may pay respect you in the morning, I mean, footnotes, provide a blurb or two on your forthcoming book, or, if you’re especially lucky, link to your blog, but never for a moment forget that you’re in their world.) Second, there is also the hallmark of Milbank’s style, his abrasive rhetoric,  style & attitude. In fact, this is what so many people return to, when called upon to explain their undying interest in him. (E.g., “I don’t agree with what he says, but I love how he handles himself!”) They positively love how feisty he is.  He, in short, makes for good blog copy — again, not unlike a fellow blogger, in his case, an A-list theology blogger — you link to immediately, maybe even block quote. (After all, was not your blogroll practically made for abrasive, overblown, unsubstantiated assertions?) Oh, and let’s not forget his occasional deployment of online pseudonymity. No blogger is innocent of that from time to time.

In short, fellow participants in the theological blogosphere, John Milbank is one of us! He even has a group-blog, called Radical Orthodoxy; and a blogging platform, called Routledge. So, hell, feel shame if you want, but only do so because you’re reading a theology blog this very moment! This, I’ve concluded, is the true sickness. Milbank is just the oozing sore, Radical Orthodoxy the pus, that this sickness brings on from time to time.

Milbank’s Seal of Approval

Adam will surely have more to say about this in a post, but I just came across the following quote from Milbank which I could not help but cite here:

[T]he posturing of someone like Kotsko can only produce a wry smile in someone of my generation. This is exactly the sort of pusillanimous theology of some in the 1960s that we have long sought to escape from. Why? Because it is bad faith. If you are going to be an atheist and nihilist, then be one. Only second-raters repeat secular nostrums in a pious guise. Such theology can never possibly make any difference, by definition. It’s a kind of sad, grey, seasonal echo of last year’s genuine black. All real Christian theology, by contrast, emerges from the Church, which alone mediates the presence of the God-Man, who is the presupposition of all Christian thinking. Kotsko fears that the Church is an institution, but of course it isn’t—or isn’t primarily—as Graham Ward has well pointed out. It’s rather the continued event of the ingestion of the body of Christ. This fact provides a critical self-correction, well in excess of any outsider criticism of all the Church’s shortcomings and abuses, which I would hope to be among the first to recognize and denounce.  (Via a blogger named Thomas, who apparently believes people like our dear Adam to be confused.)

[UPDATE: If you're interested in the full context of Milbank's comments, the interview in its entirety can be found here.]

Note the delightful argument from authority — the “but of course it isn’t — as Graham Ward has well pointed out.” That, truly, is my favorite part of the quote. Followed very closely by “Only second-raters repeat secular nostrums in a pious guise.”  Come now, second-rate?  I will be friends only with people third-rate and under!  As to the criticisms: it’s funny, because it seems that, considering he is hardly a credible theologian in the conventional sense, most of Milbank’s work is ultimately committed to pious nostroms in a secular guise (note, not a “disguise,” as the role-play is all quite intentionally obvious). But when the authority to which one appeals is not to be questioned, that’s quite alright, it seems. I suppose we should expect nothing less from a person who thinks that the most radical thing one can do is submit.

(Of course, I realize that in daring to disagree with Milbank, as has been the case in basically every instance of any such disagreement with Milbank, I simply do not understand his work. Again … we should expect nothing less.)

The Post-Christ and the Ascension

The following is part of an essay I am proposing for some conferences, titled “The Passing of the Peace: The Ascension after the Death of God.”  Here I am working through a notion of the Post-Christ, which is the reality of Christ between the resurrection and the ascension.  The bottom line here is questioning the absolute exigency of the resurrection in most radical theologies, that it seems to me that the “Christ-event” is more than the resurrection.  Is the resurrection the main act?  Or is there something radical to be disclosed if we do not stop reading at the resurrection, and on to the ascension (and later, Pentecost)?


With the arrival of the first fruits of the Post-Christ and the New Creation with the event of the resurrection, old thinking about the divine must transfigure, as the Christ-event has fundamentally changed any conception of God in such a cataclysmic way that a new post-Temple epoch may be conceived.  After all, “death” is an “impossible” concept for the Post-Christ, according to the Pentecost narrative in Acts 2:24.  We should recall that in the apocalypse of 2 Baruch, after the destruction of the first temple, the angels inhabited the real, spiritual temple.  Given Luke’s nostalgia for the recently-destroyed Temple, could it be possible that the ascension is a ritual exercise recalling the post-Temple apocalypse of 2 Baruch?[1] Even though the ascension is an upward movement, it is an ascension into a temporally destroyed temple, an apocalyptic ascension in a post-resurrection world that is a final symbolic movement of an actual dissolution of Godhead into flesh.

Turning to the Deutero-Pauline epistle to the Ephesians, the Post-Christ is described as having “put all things under his feet” and been “made…the head over all things for the church, which is his body, the fullness of him who fills all in all” (Ephesians 1:22-23).  Although “Paul” speaks of these in “the age to come” (1:21), the Gospel and apocalyptic narratives place this authority in the present.  Returning to the authentic Pauline epistles, again we find that Christ is “all in all” (1 Cor. 15:28) a total presence, remaining fully divine as entangled enfleshment.[2]

Read the rest of this entry »

Models of Theological Discourse

As part of a project I’m currently working on, I’ve been thinking through the various presently-existing models for thinking about theological (or more ambiguously religious) discourse.  Specifically, what I have in mind here are ways in which theological discourse is positioned with regard to philosophy.  There are, as far as I can imagine, four models:

(1) Philosophy as condition of possibility for theology.  Here I have in mind the approaches of figures such as Heidegger (especially in his “Phenomenology and Theology” essay) or Bergson.  Theological or religious discourse is admitted, but only when it is understood that that such discourse is a specific borrowing or deployment of a more fundamental and generic mode of thought that is properly philosophical.

(2) The cultural-linguistic model.  The common assumption, following in a Wittgensteinian vein, would be that there is a basic incommensurability between various cultures and their respective discourses.  Theology, in its particularity, is thus granted a specific autonomy that does not need to pass through more generic conditions of possibility or thinkability.  Exemplars would include Lindbeck, Hauerwas, and Barth (and his followers).

(3) Postmodern Thomism.  Shares with (1) the desire to speak generically—i.e. at the level of the ontological or whatever, but also shares with (2) the desire to make theological discourse primary.  This is accomplished, of course, by claiming that it is only (or it is preeminently) with theology that one finds the proper means of thinking being.  Milbank, of course, is the one who has pursued this project most extensively.

(4) Theology as unthought remainder.  This model is distinctive in its unwillingness to position theological discourse at the level of the generic or the particular (or some combination thereof).  It might be best to say that theology functions as a coefficient that enables a paraphilosophical discourse.  Only by encountering theological discourse more seriously does it become possible for philosophy to fulfill its innovative tasks, which have been hampered by a premature jettisoning or overcoming of such discourse.  While their operations are singular, this model is common to Agamben, Žižek, and Derrida.

What do you think?

A Prophet, the better Cool Hand Luke

There is a story told, if you are in the right circles, of an eccentric academic who, though himself a Christian theologian, once described Lenin as “the better Jesus”. Now, heretic that I am, I’m inclined to agree with the spirit of this proclamation even if I don’t quite understand what our eccentric academic meant. That spirit works for the French film A Prophet, recent winner of the Grand Prix at the Cannes Film Festival. For A Prophet is a better Cool Hand Luke. I intend for that statement to resonate with the Christo-political statement of our eccentric academic. [Warning: Spoilers below the fold!] Read the rest of this entry »