"God promises peace peace (literal translation of the Hebrew) to those whose minds are stayed on him, as they trust in him (Isaiah 26:3). And a peace from him that passes our understanding, as we entrust ourselves to him in prayer and thanksgiving (Philippians 4:6-7).
Peace in scripture fundamentally has to do with the well being of all creation occurring through the new creation in Jesus. It begins in this old creation, groaning as it is impacted by the fall. Beginning in and through us in Jesus. But in this already/not yet present, this peace will ebb and flow, it will come and go. But the deeper and truer we give ourselves to God by faith through Jesus, the richer this experience of peace as in well being, and inward tranquility, will become."
The above is from my cyber-friend Ted Gossard's blog at http://communityofjesus.wordpress.com. I love the idea of peace in Isaiah actually being "peace peace," a doubling or deepening of the concept of peace, not just a superficial peace, but that deep peace which permeates the soul. I also agree strongly with Ted that peace in scripture has to do with well-being of all creation ...
Showing posts with label peace. Show all posts
Showing posts with label peace. Show all posts
Monday, August 2, 2010
Monday, March 1, 2010
Bonhoeffer and Peace
Kevin writes: Diane, Dietrich Bonhoeffer was executed by the Nazis for attempting to bring peace through treachery and murder. In my opinion, the lesson he has to teach us is that even compassionate and deeply sensitive people can be led astray when they decide they know better than God what it is he wants from us.
Kevin,
I agree and am grieved that Bonhoeffer chose the path of violence in responding to Hitler, in essence becoming the mirror of the thing he hated.
I don't think Bonhoeffer ever truly became clear on pacifism. He was strongly influenced in that direction while at Union Theological Seminary, but when the crisis came, I don't think the small plant of peace growing in him was big enough to withstand his need to "do" something.
He makes a strong argument for "exceptionalism"--Hitler was an exception to the normal rules--but pacficism lives or dies on our ability to love all our enemies, even in exceptional circumstances (And aren't "our" circumstances always exceptional?) On the other hand, I believe the mature Bonhoeffer was groping away from blanket, universalist laws, maxims and principles in favor of a lived particularity centered on the reality of the suffering of Jesus. How this turned into killing Hitler--which I believe is not what Jesus would have done--is an interesting set of arguments. He wanted to stand with the suffering people--with Christ--which was right, but he couldn't quite bring himself to stand with the suffering in weakness and powerlessness--he felt compelled to try to act from a position of worldly power.
Bonhoeffer knew he was participating in activities that were less than pristine. He accepted that he would possibly be disowned by the church after the war when his role in the various plots and subterfuges were uncovered. He ultimately justified himself as willing to get his hands dirty --to look bad--to do the right thing. How much of this was self-deceptive romantic posturing? I don't know. Bonhoeffer had a strong sense of his own importance--but he WAS important. He was a privileged person from a privileged family with options unavailable to many desperate souls. If we had wanted to stay in the U.S., he was welcome with open arms and had several job options at a time when many U.S. citizens would have been thrilled beyond measure to have even one job offer. One doesn't even need to imagine how many German Jews would have given anything for the visa he was handed to come the U.S. Further, his sister, who married a man with some Jewish ancestry, was able to ride out the war with her husband and their children in England. Again, how many German Jews would have given anything--their right arms- to change places with his sister? Finally, in Germany, it seems fairly clear that the Nazis were, to some extent, trying to avoid entanglements with families like the Bonhoeffers, those upper and upper-middle class Aryans who were, after all, the people they courted. He was treated relatively gently, even in prison.
I think, however, all this privilege did weigh on Bonhoeffer, and that he believed "to whom much has been given, much is expected." A case can be made that his sense of Self and Destiny led him to know better than God what the answers were. On the other hand, he was aware of--and fought--his own self-aggrandizing tendencies as far as he could. Perhaps his mistake, if it was one, was his tortured desire to "do" something rather than "just" "be" something?
I can't help but think that if he had sidestepped the plot to assassinate Hitler and other overheated machinations to unseat the Nazis--which were actually not welcomed with open arms by Allied governments--he could have survived the war. Yet on the other hand, I am acutely aware of whom am I to judge--would I even had done an iota of what he did?
Thanks, Kevin ... I'm taking this opportunity to think aloud. Bonhoeffer is compelling and frustrating, a fully human person who was trying to live in obedience to Christ. Bonhoeffer's life makes us think. I can't help but be awed at him and yet wish he had followed a different path ... but I wasn't, thank goodness, in his shoes. As a Quaker, I'm impressed that he tried to enact his faith--that it wasn't divorced from his everyday life, that he took a stand.
I wonder, is it better to take the somewhat wrong stand, with passion, or no stand?
Kevin,
I agree and am grieved that Bonhoeffer chose the path of violence in responding to Hitler, in essence becoming the mirror of the thing he hated.
I don't think Bonhoeffer ever truly became clear on pacifism. He was strongly influenced in that direction while at Union Theological Seminary, but when the crisis came, I don't think the small plant of peace growing in him was big enough to withstand his need to "do" something.
He makes a strong argument for "exceptionalism"--Hitler was an exception to the normal rules--but pacficism lives or dies on our ability to love all our enemies, even in exceptional circumstances (And aren't "our" circumstances always exceptional?) On the other hand, I believe the mature Bonhoeffer was groping away from blanket, universalist laws, maxims and principles in favor of a lived particularity centered on the reality of the suffering of Jesus. How this turned into killing Hitler--which I believe is not what Jesus would have done--is an interesting set of arguments. He wanted to stand with the suffering people--with Christ--which was right, but he couldn't quite bring himself to stand with the suffering in weakness and powerlessness--he felt compelled to try to act from a position of worldly power.
Bonhoeffer knew he was participating in activities that were less than pristine. He accepted that he would possibly be disowned by the church after the war when his role in the various plots and subterfuges were uncovered. He ultimately justified himself as willing to get his hands dirty --to look bad--to do the right thing. How much of this was self-deceptive romantic posturing? I don't know. Bonhoeffer had a strong sense of his own importance--but he WAS important. He was a privileged person from a privileged family with options unavailable to many desperate souls. If we had wanted to stay in the U.S., he was welcome with open arms and had several job options at a time when many U.S. citizens would have been thrilled beyond measure to have even one job offer. One doesn't even need to imagine how many German Jews would have given anything for the visa he was handed to come the U.S. Further, his sister, who married a man with some Jewish ancestry, was able to ride out the war with her husband and their children in England. Again, how many German Jews would have given anything--their right arms- to change places with his sister? Finally, in Germany, it seems fairly clear that the Nazis were, to some extent, trying to avoid entanglements with families like the Bonhoeffers, those upper and upper-middle class Aryans who were, after all, the people they courted. He was treated relatively gently, even in prison.
I think, however, all this privilege did weigh on Bonhoeffer, and that he believed "to whom much has been given, much is expected." A case can be made that his sense of Self and Destiny led him to know better than God what the answers were. On the other hand, he was aware of--and fought--his own self-aggrandizing tendencies as far as he could. Perhaps his mistake, if it was one, was his tortured desire to "do" something rather than "just" "be" something?
I can't help but think that if he had sidestepped the plot to assassinate Hitler and other overheated machinations to unseat the Nazis--which were actually not welcomed with open arms by Allied governments--he could have survived the war. Yet on the other hand, I am acutely aware of whom am I to judge--would I even had done an iota of what he did?
Thanks, Kevin ... I'm taking this opportunity to think aloud. Bonhoeffer is compelling and frustrating, a fully human person who was trying to live in obedience to Christ. Bonhoeffer's life makes us think. I can't help but be awed at him and yet wish he had followed a different path ... but I wasn't, thank goodness, in his shoes. As a Quaker, I'm impressed that he tried to enact his faith--that it wasn't divorced from his everyday life, that he took a stand.
I wonder, is it better to take the somewhat wrong stand, with passion, or no stand?
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Abigail: Peace and security
"Peace is confused with safety. There is no way to peace along the way to safety. For peace must be dared. It can never be safe. Peace is the opposite of security.” Dietrich Bonhoeffer
I've been thinking about this Bonhoeffer quote and how true it seems to me. Why do we so often confuse security with peace? If we could understand that security and peace were two different things, would that change everything? Would we become less fixated on "security?" (Of course, Bonhoeffer is talking about worldly security, not religious security.)
On the largest level, we believe that if our borders are "secure" no "enemies" can get through and we will have peace.
We believe--some of us--that if we have a big enough arsenal of weapons, we will be secure from the mayhem of a "home invasion."
In our private lives, perhaps we think if we have enough financial security--enough money in the bank--we will have peace of mind. We won't have to worry in case something "happens". But the lesson of history is that you can never have enough.
These "securities" separate us from our fellow humans. Instead of making us more secure, they make us more fearful of the people who might want what we have.
Achieving peace means allowing ourselves to be vulnerable to other people. It means sacrificing some of our security.
One of my favorite Bible stories is the tale of Abigail, a peacemaker.
David--later to become Israel's king-- was fleeing Saul, who was trying to kill him. David sends some of his men to ask Nabal, a wealthy landowner, for a present, presumably food, because David and his men have been guarding Nabal's vast flocks. Nabal dismisses David's men empty handed, referring to David as a "slave." David tells his men to buckle on their swords and vows to slaughter Nabal and everyone associated with him.
Since Nabal is more or less worthless, Abigail, his wife, acts without consulting him. She has raisins and bread, figs and wine, loaded on donkeys and with these gifts and some sheep goes out to greet David. She falls down in front of him and begs him not to slaughter her people, appealing to his peace of mind. When he is a great king, he won't want to have innocent blood on his hands.
David calms down, accepts her gift and blesses her for preventing him from shedding blood out of anger. He vows not to harm anyone and he doesn't. Shortly thereafter, when Nabal, who appears to be an alcoholic, dies of a seizure, David marries Abigail.
What do we learn from this story?
First, a conflict can be resolved without killing. Nobody dies through violence in this episode. This is somewhat remarkable for the Old Testament, in which violence is the normal way to solve conflicts. Abigail does not feel any inclination to, for example, hammer a tent peg through her husband’s skull—and David doesn’t ask her to.
Second, no treachery is involved. Abigail approaches David without consulting Nabal but she does it to save Nabal, not betray him. Further, David doesn’t ask her to betray him or her people.
Third, to attempt peace, Abigail has to act courageously. She has to become vulnerable. She has no guarantee that David won’t murder her and her party, and good reason to think he will. She also has no guarantee that David won’t kidnap and rape her or sell her into slavery. Peace making means risk taking.
Fourth, here the patriarchal male is not the savior of the people. In a crisis, a “young man” turns to Abigail. Her earned de facto leadership rights trump Nabal’s gender and de jure headship, undercutting the notions of “anointed” leadership emphasized in the previous story, in which David protects Saul--even though Saul wants to kill him-- because he’s a king. This dovetails with the Quaker notion that anybody can be chosen by God to be a leader, messenger or peace maker.
Fifth, Abigail appeals to David’s honor and imagination, telling him he won’t want to wake up one morning as king with a massacre on his conscience. She talks him down from his anger—and he’s grateful. He even admits the slaughter would have been wrong. From this, we learn of a yearning to be released from the endless cycle of violence. Thus, this story undercuts the heroic narrative of David as warrior king, at least raising the question: Is military leadership the right model of kingship or has it been forced on David? And how many people wish an Abigail would step forward at the right moment and prevent a bloodbath that seems inevitable?
Finally, we learn that vows can be broken. Minds can change. David, like Jesus in the story of the Syro-Phoenician women, listens and learns. This shows that we have the ability to break cycles of violence through empathy. We’re not required to be rigid.
I love Abigail. While the men are posturing, she's peacemaking. I love her story, because it shows we don't have to resort to violence.
Is there anything you'd like to add?
I've been thinking about this Bonhoeffer quote and how true it seems to me. Why do we so often confuse security with peace? If we could understand that security and peace were two different things, would that change everything? Would we become less fixated on "security?" (Of course, Bonhoeffer is talking about worldly security, not religious security.)
On the largest level, we believe that if our borders are "secure" no "enemies" can get through and we will have peace.
We believe--some of us--that if we have a big enough arsenal of weapons, we will be secure from the mayhem of a "home invasion."
In our private lives, perhaps we think if we have enough financial security--enough money in the bank--we will have peace of mind. We won't have to worry in case something "happens". But the lesson of history is that you can never have enough.
These "securities" separate us from our fellow humans. Instead of making us more secure, they make us more fearful of the people who might want what we have.
Achieving peace means allowing ourselves to be vulnerable to other people. It means sacrificing some of our security.
One of my favorite Bible stories is the tale of Abigail, a peacemaker.
David--later to become Israel's king-- was fleeing Saul, who was trying to kill him. David sends some of his men to ask Nabal, a wealthy landowner, for a present, presumably food, because David and his men have been guarding Nabal's vast flocks. Nabal dismisses David's men empty handed, referring to David as a "slave." David tells his men to buckle on their swords and vows to slaughter Nabal and everyone associated with him.
Since Nabal is more or less worthless, Abigail, his wife, acts without consulting him. She has raisins and bread, figs and wine, loaded on donkeys and with these gifts and some sheep goes out to greet David. She falls down in front of him and begs him not to slaughter her people, appealing to his peace of mind. When he is a great king, he won't want to have innocent blood on his hands.
David calms down, accepts her gift and blesses her for preventing him from shedding blood out of anger. He vows not to harm anyone and he doesn't. Shortly thereafter, when Nabal, who appears to be an alcoholic, dies of a seizure, David marries Abigail.
What do we learn from this story?
First, a conflict can be resolved without killing. Nobody dies through violence in this episode. This is somewhat remarkable for the Old Testament, in which violence is the normal way to solve conflicts. Abigail does not feel any inclination to, for example, hammer a tent peg through her husband’s skull—and David doesn’t ask her to.
Second, no treachery is involved. Abigail approaches David without consulting Nabal but she does it to save Nabal, not betray him. Further, David doesn’t ask her to betray him or her people.
Third, to attempt peace, Abigail has to act courageously. She has to become vulnerable. She has no guarantee that David won’t murder her and her party, and good reason to think he will. She also has no guarantee that David won’t kidnap and rape her or sell her into slavery. Peace making means risk taking.
Fourth, here the patriarchal male is not the savior of the people. In a crisis, a “young man” turns to Abigail. Her earned de facto leadership rights trump Nabal’s gender and de jure headship, undercutting the notions of “anointed” leadership emphasized in the previous story, in which David protects Saul--even though Saul wants to kill him-- because he’s a king. This dovetails with the Quaker notion that anybody can be chosen by God to be a leader, messenger or peace maker.
Fifth, Abigail appeals to David’s honor and imagination, telling him he won’t want to wake up one morning as king with a massacre on his conscience. She talks him down from his anger—and he’s grateful. He even admits the slaughter would have been wrong. From this, we learn of a yearning to be released from the endless cycle of violence. Thus, this story undercuts the heroic narrative of David as warrior king, at least raising the question: Is military leadership the right model of kingship or has it been forced on David? And how many people wish an Abigail would step forward at the right moment and prevent a bloodbath that seems inevitable?
Finally, we learn that vows can be broken. Minds can change. David, like Jesus in the story of the Syro-Phoenician women, listens and learns. This shows that we have the ability to break cycles of violence through empathy. We’re not required to be rigid.
I love Abigail. While the men are posturing, she's peacemaking. I love her story, because it shows we don't have to resort to violence.
Is there anything you'd like to add?
Monday, August 31, 2009
Dorothy Day: Simple Truths
I am finishing the 600-page diaries of Dorothy Day, which span 45 years, and I am struck by the consistency of Day's beliefs. Once she became a Roman Catholic--or by 1934 -- her beliefs never wavered. She reminds herself of them often in her journals, so much so that they become ingrained in the reader as well. Here are a few, in no particular order except as they occur to me:
1. We must build a society in which it is "easier to be good."
2. The world will be saved by beauty. Late in the diaries, she speaks of a group who would go into the slums, as she calls them, clean and paint and repair, then furnish the rooms with the utmost simplicity, hanging icons and crosses on the walls, which glowed with beauty.
3. Christ calls us to find his face in the "least:" the unreformed alcoholic, the poor, the mentally ill. We are to embrace them as brothers and sisters. It is not easy.
4. We are called to stand for peace. Christ was the Prince of Peace. Day never wavered in this conviction: not during the Spanish Civil War, when the Catholic church largely supported the fascists, not during World War II, not in the face of Hitler and the holocaust, not during the Cold War of the 1950s, not during Viet Nam.
5. "Christian" people who live well are not living the gospel. Day had a lifelong distaste for fat, comfortable priests and such like.
6. Silence is important. She is constantly reminding herself to talk less and listen more. She had great affinity for the Quakers.
7. Judge not. She lived with people it would be easy to judge: prostitutes, drug addicts, drunks, people she opened her room to who stole her things and left her lice in trade. Yet she constantly admonishes herself not to judge, not to speak harshly, to praise God for these people as the face of Christ in her life. She constantly sought to live humbly.
8. We can learn from great literature.
9. Manual labor is very important. It is part of the balanced life. It is where we meet God.
10. God and religion are both spiritual and material. People need spirit, but also need things. Poverty is an evil.
Day was a truly awesome person, and I use the word "awesome" in the sense of awe-inspiring. She lived her beliefs every day. What do you think of them? She would also read the biographies of saints for inspiration. I am inspired by her. Could you suggest books about people who inspire you?
1. We must build a society in which it is "easier to be good."
2. The world will be saved by beauty. Late in the diaries, she speaks of a group who would go into the slums, as she calls them, clean and paint and repair, then furnish the rooms with the utmost simplicity, hanging icons and crosses on the walls, which glowed with beauty.
3. Christ calls us to find his face in the "least:" the unreformed alcoholic, the poor, the mentally ill. We are to embrace them as brothers and sisters. It is not easy.
4. We are called to stand for peace. Christ was the Prince of Peace. Day never wavered in this conviction: not during the Spanish Civil War, when the Catholic church largely supported the fascists, not during World War II, not in the face of Hitler and the holocaust, not during the Cold War of the 1950s, not during Viet Nam.
5. "Christian" people who live well are not living the gospel. Day had a lifelong distaste for fat, comfortable priests and such like.
6. Silence is important. She is constantly reminding herself to talk less and listen more. She had great affinity for the Quakers.
7. Judge not. She lived with people it would be easy to judge: prostitutes, drug addicts, drunks, people she opened her room to who stole her things and left her lice in trade. Yet she constantly admonishes herself not to judge, not to speak harshly, to praise God for these people as the face of Christ in her life. She constantly sought to live humbly.
8. We can learn from great literature.
9. Manual labor is very important. It is part of the balanced life. It is where we meet God.
10. God and religion are both spiritual and material. People need spirit, but also need things. Poverty is an evil.
Day was a truly awesome person, and I use the word "awesome" in the sense of awe-inspiring. She lived her beliefs every day. What do you think of them? She would also read the biographies of saints for inspiration. I am inspired by her. Could you suggest books about people who inspire you?
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Fourth of July
Bill Samuel published a link to an article questioning the need for the American Revolution--not the need for independence but the need to pursue it violently-- at www.progressive.orgzinn070309.html.
I think the article was pretty good, although I would argue that the author may have overstated the class issue: Common causes can allow people to transcend class, and there is absolutely no way the American class system was or is as rigid as the British. But that point aside, the larger question of whether a violent revolution, ie, a war, was needed to achieve independence from England is a good one to ask.
A few years ago, our family vacationed in Concord, Massachusetts. While we went there because of interest in Louisa May Alcott and Thoreau, we also visited the monuments and the museum dedicated to the battles of Lexington and Concord which kicked off the American Revolution in 1775.
What struck me most as I followed the events leading up to the battles was how primed for fighting the Americans were. The British, in contrast, seemed to be trying hard to avoid a violent conflict. My memory of the history in the museum is fuzzy, but apparently the Americans were so ready to go battle that they misinterpreted an explosion they heard as a British attack, and massed for battle, then shot at British troops, killing four soldiers before the British, in exasperation, returned fire.
I came away thinking, wait a minute, none of this ever had to happen and who exactly was the aggressor, at least in the micro-events on the eve of these battles? The Americans. They may have had legitimate grievances but they (we) are the actors who forced the bloodshed. And I took this away from a museum exhibit that could not have been more patriotic and sympathetic to the American side. The facts seemed to glaringly contradict the glowing narrative they were embedded in.
I am glad the United States became independent from England, but I wish we would examine more the idea that there might have been alternative routes to that independence. Does it threaten our patriotism to examine whether we could have achieved our goals peacefully?
I think the article was pretty good, although I would argue that the author may have overstated the class issue: Common causes can allow people to transcend class, and there is absolutely no way the American class system was or is as rigid as the British. But that point aside, the larger question of whether a violent revolution, ie, a war, was needed to achieve independence from England is a good one to ask.
A few years ago, our family vacationed in Concord, Massachusetts. While we went there because of interest in Louisa May Alcott and Thoreau, we also visited the monuments and the museum dedicated to the battles of Lexington and Concord which kicked off the American Revolution in 1775.
What struck me most as I followed the events leading up to the battles was how primed for fighting the Americans were. The British, in contrast, seemed to be trying hard to avoid a violent conflict. My memory of the history in the museum is fuzzy, but apparently the Americans were so ready to go battle that they misinterpreted an explosion they heard as a British attack, and massed for battle, then shot at British troops, killing four soldiers before the British, in exasperation, returned fire.
I came away thinking, wait a minute, none of this ever had to happen and who exactly was the aggressor, at least in the micro-events on the eve of these battles? The Americans. They may have had legitimate grievances but they (we) are the actors who forced the bloodshed. And I took this away from a museum exhibit that could not have been more patriotic and sympathetic to the American side. The facts seemed to glaringly contradict the glowing narrative they were embedded in.
I am glad the United States became independent from England, but I wish we would examine more the idea that there might have been alternative routes to that independence. Does it threaten our patriotism to examine whether we could have achieved our goals peacefully?
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Peace and Goring
Here is the quote from Göring:
"'Why, of course, people don’t want war. Why would some poor slob on a farm want to risk his life in a war when the best that he can get out of it is to come back to his farm in one piece? Naturally, the common people don’t want war… That is understood. But it is the leaders of the country who determine policy and it is always a simple matter to drag the people along… The people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. That is easy. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to danger. It works the same way in any country.'
There are endless debates about whether leaders “drag the people along” or whether they are puppets of forces which exist outside of themselves. This is the substance of Tolstoy’s theory of history outlined in “War and Peace” — the general’s delusion (it could be Göring’s or Napoleon’s) that he is in control of history when he is but a pawn. [31] History, when all is said and done, is enacted by all of us, not by a select few, and it is to the story of the collective to which I now turn."
From Errol Morrs's series the NYTImes, "Bamboozling Ourselves," part 5. http://morris.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/06/02/bamboozling-ourselves-part-5/?scp=3&sq=morris&st=cse
Are we "dragged along" or is history "enacted by all of us?" Well, of course it's, by definition, enacted by all of us, but to what extent is the common person initiator rather than responder?
"'Why, of course, people don’t want war. Why would some poor slob on a farm want to risk his life in a war when the best that he can get out of it is to come back to his farm in one piece? Naturally, the common people don’t want war… That is understood. But it is the leaders of the country who determine policy and it is always a simple matter to drag the people along… The people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. That is easy. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to danger. It works the same way in any country.'
There are endless debates about whether leaders “drag the people along” or whether they are puppets of forces which exist outside of themselves. This is the substance of Tolstoy’s theory of history outlined in “War and Peace” — the general’s delusion (it could be Göring’s or Napoleon’s) that he is in control of history when he is but a pawn. [31] History, when all is said and done, is enacted by all of us, not by a select few, and it is to the story of the collective to which I now turn."
From Errol Morrs's series the NYTImes, "Bamboozling Ourselves," part 5. http://morris.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/06/02/bamboozling-ourselves-part-5/?scp=3&sq=morris&st=cse
Are we "dragged along" or is history "enacted by all of us?" Well, of course it's, by definition, enacted by all of us, but to what extent is the common person initiator rather than responder?
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Peace
Here is the quote from Göring:
"Why, of course, people don’t want war. Why would some poor slob on a farm want to risk his life in a war when the best that he can get out of it is to come back to his farm in one piece? Naturally, the common people don’t want war… That is understood. But it is the leaders of the country who determine policy and it is always a simple matter to drag the people along… The people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. That is easy. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to danger. It works the same way in any country.
There are endless debates about whether leaders “drag the people along” or whether they are puppets of forces which exist outside of themselves. This is the substance of Tolstoy’s theory of history outlined in “War and Peace” — the general’s delusion (it could be Göring’s or Napoleon’s) that he is in control of history when he is but a pawn. [31] History, when all is said and done, is enacted by all of us, not by a select few, and it is to the story of the collective to which I now turn."
From Errol Morrs's series the NYTImes, "Bamboozling Ourselves," part 5. http://morris.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/06/02/bamboozling-ourselves-part-5/?scp=3&sq=morris&st=cse
Are we "dragged along" or is history "enacted by all of us?" Well, of course it's, by definition, enacted by all of us, but to what extent is the common person initiator rather than responder?
"Why, of course, people don’t want war. Why would some poor slob on a farm want to risk his life in a war when the best that he can get out of it is to come back to his farm in one piece? Naturally, the common people don’t want war… That is understood. But it is the leaders of the country who determine policy and it is always a simple matter to drag the people along… The people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. That is easy. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to danger. It works the same way in any country.
There are endless debates about whether leaders “drag the people along” or whether they are puppets of forces which exist outside of themselves. This is the substance of Tolstoy’s theory of history outlined in “War and Peace” — the general’s delusion (it could be Göring’s or Napoleon’s) that he is in control of history when he is but a pawn. [31] History, when all is said and done, is enacted by all of us, not by a select few, and it is to the story of the collective to which I now turn."
From Errol Morrs's series the NYTImes, "Bamboozling Ourselves," part 5. http://morris.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/06/02/bamboozling-ourselves-part-5/?scp=3&sq=morris&st=cse
Are we "dragged along" or is history "enacted by all of us?" Well, of course it's, by definition, enacted by all of us, but to what extent is the common person initiator rather than responder?
Monday, April 27, 2009
Paul Mills on Peace: II
In his pamplet, The Bible and War, published, apparently, in the mid-1940s, Mills argues that the "social gospel" of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries justified war. What he calls a new theology, "was destined to minimize if not eliminate the miraculous from the Gospel, adopt the moral influence theory of atonement, and consider the value in Jesus' teaching to be principally in their ethical content." The central purpose of the church was to build the kingdom of God on earth. Democracy was the best form of government for building this kingdom, Thus, Mills writes, most of the Christian churches supported World War I because they thought it would make the world safe of democracy (this sounds very similar to the Roman Christians fighting for the Roman Empire in order to "protect" Christianity) and be the war to end all wars.
It was neither, as Mills is quick to note. And by de-emphasizing the possibility of depravity in mankind, MIlls writes, the new theology essentially let Hitler slip under the wire.
Mills points out that many turned against pacifism because of Hitler. He quotes one former pacifist, Mr. Milne, writing in the Christian Century in 1941 saying, "I would rather go to hell for fighting than have my son brought up to think it was funny to kick a Jew in the stomach." He says that after Pearl Harbor, many theologians revised their pacifism as they witnessed atrocities perpetrated by the Japanese on the Chinese or because of German actions. Mills calls this sort of pacifism 'relativism."
The answer, he says, is not to model our actions on " a refined and cultured paganism" that says peace is ideal but rejects it as soon as some group violates our notions of civilized behavior. This leads to shifting standards and confusion, Mills says. However, "if we look to Jesus Christ, he is the same yesterday, today and forever."
Mills continues: "...war is economic folly and suicidal to civilization, but this conviction is not Christian pacifism. The pacifism of the "social gospel" ... is a light that will fail at the darkest hour. ... A conviction that is rooted in the Bible and quickened by the Spirit of God to a Christian conscience will be necessary in hours of crisis."
Do you agree that the pacifism of the social gospel is a light that will fail at the darkest hour? How do we get beyond a social gospel articulation of the peace testimony?
It was neither, as Mills is quick to note. And by de-emphasizing the possibility of depravity in mankind, MIlls writes, the new theology essentially let Hitler slip under the wire.
Mills points out that many turned against pacifism because of Hitler. He quotes one former pacifist, Mr. Milne, writing in the Christian Century in 1941 saying, "I would rather go to hell for fighting than have my son brought up to think it was funny to kick a Jew in the stomach." He says that after Pearl Harbor, many theologians revised their pacifism as they witnessed atrocities perpetrated by the Japanese on the Chinese or because of German actions. Mills calls this sort of pacifism 'relativism."
The answer, he says, is not to model our actions on " a refined and cultured paganism" that says peace is ideal but rejects it as soon as some group violates our notions of civilized behavior. This leads to shifting standards and confusion, Mills says. However, "if we look to Jesus Christ, he is the same yesterday, today and forever."
Mills continues: "...war is economic folly and suicidal to civilization, but this conviction is not Christian pacifism. The pacifism of the "social gospel" ... is a light that will fail at the darkest hour. ... A conviction that is rooted in the Bible and quickened by the Spirit of God to a Christian conscience will be necessary in hours of crisis."
Do you agree that the pacifism of the social gospel is a light that will fail at the darkest hour? How do we get beyond a social gospel articulation of the peace testimony?
Friday, April 24, 2009
Reading the Bible in 20 months: cowardice and peace ..
When I was reading the Bible straight through a hierarchy I had never seen before emerged. By this I mean that some forms of social organization worked better than others. I never "got" this big picture context when I jumped in and out of stories.
Every so often during the last decade an e-mail has circulated ( now that mass e-mails seem to be out of favor, maybe not anymore) in which a person, with feigned naivete, asks if he can enact various elements of the Mosaic law, along the lines of, do I really have to kill my neighbor for wearing clothes woven of two different fabrics, do I have to stone my neighbor for planting on a field that should have lain fallow or can I just kill him another way, and since I need to sell my daughter to raise money into slavery, what would be a fair price to ask? These e-mails are obviously meant to ridicule people who claim to be Bible literalists. They also carry the subtext of who would ever want to follow this faith other than an irrational nut?
Context is everything. Taken out of context, these laws do seem irrational and barbaric. And while I was reading the Bible straight through, the strictness of the law in the early days and the severity of punishment caused a few shocks to my system. ("my nerves, my nerves" as Aunt Pittypat would say.)
As I continued reading, however, my view began to shift. After the early days, Israel rises to greatness under David, an ascent that probably reaches its pinnacle under Solomon, who is both wealthy and wise. (At least this is impression you I get from the Bible itself; the scholarship may disagree.) Solomon constructs the costly temple in Jerusalem, and the Jewish people seem to enjoy prosperity and peace.
At the same time, however, that Solomon is building the temple, he is sowing seeds of Israel's destruction by marrying a multitude of wives, apparently to solidify relationships with neighboring tribes. These wives lead Solomon in the direction of moral relativism, and introduce other forms of worship--including hill shrines to Baal--into the nation.
After Solomon dies, the country is ruled by a succession of weak kings and begins its slow, sad decline into dissolution. It loses its moral center as people move away from strict adherence to the Mosaic law and into more and more desperate attempts to appease the gods as their political situation increasingly unravels. More hill shrines spring up, child sacrifice appears, wooden idols are worshipped and a statue/pole (?) dedicated to Baal is actually erected in the temple. This is a depressing section (mostly Chronicles if I remember correctly), and not the stuff of standard Sunday School fare. In fact, although I have spent a great deal of time reading the Bible, there were sections here in Chronicles I had never read. And as I read, I found myself wishing God would appear in the middle of all this with a miracle. (He doesn't.)
Clearly, Israel is doomed. It's surrounded by increasingly powerful enemies and seems to have lost, along with its faith (of course, a few do keep the faith) its basic common sense, cohesion and courage. I found myself saying, no, no, no, what on earth can you be thinking? when the Israelites melt down the gold and silver implements in the temple and strip the gold and copper from the walls and send these to more powerful rivals to the buy them off from invading the country. Of course, once Israel has made itself poor and helpless, what's to prevent the invasion?
Anyway, the point is, I found myself, as I was reading, looking back with nostalgic longing to the days of the strict interpretation of the law. My view of those early days changed. Yes, at that early point the group might have been stoning people and casting them out for seemingly minor infractions, but they were a cohesive community with a moral center and a strong sense of purpose. Their acts of aggression against their enemies were hair-raising, but somehow not as bad as the slothful child sacrifice practices (victimizing the innocent) of the later years. At least, in the early years, a group that felt beleagured and threatened on all sides hung together and did what it believed it needed to do to survive, not just for the day but into future generations. The later Israelites seem a more contemptible lot, willing to sell off the fate of their descendants for a few years of immediate comfort. And this sounds uncomfortably like elements of our current society.
So the story as a whole left me pondering the hierarchy of social organization. While a peaceable kindgom ruled by God through his priestly emmisaries (or today, through the direction of the Holy Spirit written onto hearts without need of priests) might be the ideal, and a military king something that brings its own heartache and sorrow to the people, the story as a whole tells us that a strong warrior state centered around serving God (even if the people are misinterpreting how best to serve him) is preferable to a state whose center has collapsed into cowardice and moral confusion. This the hierarchy I came away with: Best: Peaceable kingdom centered on faith in God, not carnal weapons. People willing to die courageously rather than kill others. Not too bad: a strict military regime creating a cohesive community centered around following God's law and fighting to preserve themselves as a people of God, Questionable: a military state led by a warrior king who is partially following God's will and partially following the leader's (or the world's) own will and passions, Poor: a cowardly, slothful, uncohesive, morally relativistic nation state narrowly focused on preserving it's own comforts. Cowardice parading as peace.
As a pacifist myself, I was able to modify my views a bit to see militarism as not all bad. This helps me with things such as the totalizing debate over World War II. Going to war with Hitler might not have been the best thing, but it wasn't the worst thing. However, the challenge becomes how to develop past the warrior state to aim for the peaceable kingdom. And of course, we can't do it on our own.
Also, I am open to my "hierarchy" being amended. It's the result of a raw read of the Bible and a stab at seeing the world through God's eyes. What do others think?
Every so often during the last decade an e-mail has circulated ( now that mass e-mails seem to be out of favor, maybe not anymore) in which a person, with feigned naivete, asks if he can enact various elements of the Mosaic law, along the lines of, do I really have to kill my neighbor for wearing clothes woven of two different fabrics, do I have to stone my neighbor for planting on a field that should have lain fallow or can I just kill him another way, and since I need to sell my daughter to raise money into slavery, what would be a fair price to ask? These e-mails are obviously meant to ridicule people who claim to be Bible literalists. They also carry the subtext of who would ever want to follow this faith other than an irrational nut?
Context is everything. Taken out of context, these laws do seem irrational and barbaric. And while I was reading the Bible straight through, the strictness of the law in the early days and the severity of punishment caused a few shocks to my system. ("my nerves, my nerves" as Aunt Pittypat would say.)
As I continued reading, however, my view began to shift. After the early days, Israel rises to greatness under David, an ascent that probably reaches its pinnacle under Solomon, who is both wealthy and wise. (At least this is impression you I get from the Bible itself; the scholarship may disagree.) Solomon constructs the costly temple in Jerusalem, and the Jewish people seem to enjoy prosperity and peace.
At the same time, however, that Solomon is building the temple, he is sowing seeds of Israel's destruction by marrying a multitude of wives, apparently to solidify relationships with neighboring tribes. These wives lead Solomon in the direction of moral relativism, and introduce other forms of worship--including hill shrines to Baal--into the nation.
After Solomon dies, the country is ruled by a succession of weak kings and begins its slow, sad decline into dissolution. It loses its moral center as people move away from strict adherence to the Mosaic law and into more and more desperate attempts to appease the gods as their political situation increasingly unravels. More hill shrines spring up, child sacrifice appears, wooden idols are worshipped and a statue/pole (?) dedicated to Baal is actually erected in the temple. This is a depressing section (mostly Chronicles if I remember correctly), and not the stuff of standard Sunday School fare. In fact, although I have spent a great deal of time reading the Bible, there were sections here in Chronicles I had never read. And as I read, I found myself wishing God would appear in the middle of all this with a miracle. (He doesn't.)
Clearly, Israel is doomed. It's surrounded by increasingly powerful enemies and seems to have lost, along with its faith (of course, a few do keep the faith) its basic common sense, cohesion and courage. I found myself saying, no, no, no, what on earth can you be thinking? when the Israelites melt down the gold and silver implements in the temple and strip the gold and copper from the walls and send these to more powerful rivals to the buy them off from invading the country. Of course, once Israel has made itself poor and helpless, what's to prevent the invasion?
Anyway, the point is, I found myself, as I was reading, looking back with nostalgic longing to the days of the strict interpretation of the law. My view of those early days changed. Yes, at that early point the group might have been stoning people and casting them out for seemingly minor infractions, but they were a cohesive community with a moral center and a strong sense of purpose. Their acts of aggression against their enemies were hair-raising, but somehow not as bad as the slothful child sacrifice practices (victimizing the innocent) of the later years. At least, in the early years, a group that felt beleagured and threatened on all sides hung together and did what it believed it needed to do to survive, not just for the day but into future generations. The later Israelites seem a more contemptible lot, willing to sell off the fate of their descendants for a few years of immediate comfort. And this sounds uncomfortably like elements of our current society.
So the story as a whole left me pondering the hierarchy of social organization. While a peaceable kindgom ruled by God through his priestly emmisaries (or today, through the direction of the Holy Spirit written onto hearts without need of priests) might be the ideal, and a military king something that brings its own heartache and sorrow to the people, the story as a whole tells us that a strong warrior state centered around serving God (even if the people are misinterpreting how best to serve him) is preferable to a state whose center has collapsed into cowardice and moral confusion. This the hierarchy I came away with: Best: Peaceable kingdom centered on faith in God, not carnal weapons. People willing to die courageously rather than kill others. Not too bad: a strict military regime creating a cohesive community centered around following God's law and fighting to preserve themselves as a people of God, Questionable: a military state led by a warrior king who is partially following God's will and partially following the leader's (or the world's) own will and passions, Poor: a cowardly, slothful, uncohesive, morally relativistic nation state narrowly focused on preserving it's own comforts. Cowardice parading as peace.
As a pacifist myself, I was able to modify my views a bit to see militarism as not all bad. This helps me with things such as the totalizing debate over World War II. Going to war with Hitler might not have been the best thing, but it wasn't the worst thing. However, the challenge becomes how to develop past the warrior state to aim for the peaceable kingdom. And of course, we can't do it on our own.
Also, I am open to my "hierarchy" being amended. It's the result of a raw read of the Bible and a stab at seeing the world through God's eyes. What do others think?
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Paul Mills on Peace
I found a box on a shelf in the Olney school library containing pamphlets about peace.
One was called "The Bible and War" by Paul M. Mills.
Mills makes an eloquent argument against war. I wonder that pamphlets such as these moulder away on the back shelves of libraries and aren't everywhere. Does anyone know of a link to this pamphlet on the web?
This pamphlet has no copyright date, but the latest citation dates from 1945. It was issued by Oregon Yearly meeting.
Some points Mills makes:
--The moral damage of war is worse than the physical. Do you agree? This counters the kind of liberal anti-war arguments that make me uneasy: In the liberal mindset, war is an evil because it costs money that could be spent on medicines and food and housing for the poor. War is too expensive. But then I wonder: if war were cheap or economically beneficial to the poor, would that make it OK?
--Mills notes that for the first 300 years after Jesus, the church considered war and revenge as unChristian. He cites Origen: "We no longer take up sword against nation, nor do we learn war anymore, having become children of peace, for the sake of Jesus who is our leader ... And none fight better for the king than we do. ... we fight on his behalf, forming a special army--an army of piety--by offering our prayers to God."
Mills also quotes Hippolytus to the effect that no Christian should kill or become a soldier and that "weaponlessness" is "becoming to the Gospel."
-- In the mid fourth century, the peace stance changed. Mills attributes this to the Christian response to the pagans invading the Roman Empire. Augustine, who relied on the Roman Empire to protect the church, believed that if Rome fell, Christianity would be finished. Christians needed to fight alongside the Romans to preserve the faith. Out of this sprung "just war" theory.
About just war theory, Mill writes: "Sixteen centuries with their wars should be sufficient to disillusion us regarding Augustine's dream of wars conducted in a good, kind, Christian way. It cannot be done."
--Mill writes that Augustine's "great mistake" was in trying to adjust the Bible to circumstances and not circumstances to the Bible. War was a way out, but it "was not the Christian way out. Now we can see that his way did not work."
As Mills highlights, Christians joining the Roman army did not prevent Rome falling to the pagans. Rome fell. However, the power of the Gospel did not fall, but spread, despite the dissolution of the Roman Empire. Scattered Christians converted the pagans to Christianity through peaceful means. They didn't need the military might of the Romans.
I had never considered that the lack of a strong, coherent empire did nothing to impede the expansion of a different kind of kingdom. Although the pagan tribes of the north became more powerful than the Romans, the pagans became Christian and not vice versa.
What do you think of Mills's assertions? And do you agree that the moral damage of war is worse than the physical?
One was called "The Bible and War" by Paul M. Mills.
Mills makes an eloquent argument against war. I wonder that pamphlets such as these moulder away on the back shelves of libraries and aren't everywhere. Does anyone know of a link to this pamphlet on the web?
This pamphlet has no copyright date, but the latest citation dates from 1945. It was issued by Oregon Yearly meeting.
Some points Mills makes:
--The moral damage of war is worse than the physical. Do you agree? This counters the kind of liberal anti-war arguments that make me uneasy: In the liberal mindset, war is an evil because it costs money that could be spent on medicines and food and housing for the poor. War is too expensive. But then I wonder: if war were cheap or economically beneficial to the poor, would that make it OK?
--Mills notes that for the first 300 years after Jesus, the church considered war and revenge as unChristian. He cites Origen: "We no longer take up sword against nation, nor do we learn war anymore, having become children of peace, for the sake of Jesus who is our leader ... And none fight better for the king than we do. ... we fight on his behalf, forming a special army--an army of piety--by offering our prayers to God."
Mills also quotes Hippolytus to the effect that no Christian should kill or become a soldier and that "weaponlessness" is "becoming to the Gospel."
-- In the mid fourth century, the peace stance changed. Mills attributes this to the Christian response to the pagans invading the Roman Empire. Augustine, who relied on the Roman Empire to protect the church, believed that if Rome fell, Christianity would be finished. Christians needed to fight alongside the Romans to preserve the faith. Out of this sprung "just war" theory.
About just war theory, Mill writes: "Sixteen centuries with their wars should be sufficient to disillusion us regarding Augustine's dream of wars conducted in a good, kind, Christian way. It cannot be done."
--Mill writes that Augustine's "great mistake" was in trying to adjust the Bible to circumstances and not circumstances to the Bible. War was a way out, but it "was not the Christian way out. Now we can see that his way did not work."
As Mills highlights, Christians joining the Roman army did not prevent Rome falling to the pagans. Rome fell. However, the power of the Gospel did not fall, but spread, despite the dissolution of the Roman Empire. Scattered Christians converted the pagans to Christianity through peaceful means. They didn't need the military might of the Romans.
I had never considered that the lack of a strong, coherent empire did nothing to impede the expansion of a different kind of kingdom. Although the pagan tribes of the north became more powerful than the Romans, the pagans became Christian and not vice versa.
What do you think of Mills's assertions? And do you agree that the moral damage of war is worse than the physical?
Friday, April 17, 2009
Reading the Bible in 20 months: cowardice and peace
One of the things that can clear to me while I was reading the Bible straight through was the hierarchy that emerged. By this I mean that some forms of social organization worked better than others. I never "got" this big picture context when I jumped in and out of stories.
Every so often during the last decade an e-mail has circulated ( now that mass e-mails seem to be out of favor, maybe not anymore) in which a person, with feigned naivete, asks if he can enact various elements of the Mosaic law, along the lines of, do I really have to kill my neighbor for wearing clothes woven of two different fabrics, do I have to stone my neighbor for planting on a field that should have lain fallow or can I just kill him another way, and since I need to sell my daughter to raise money into slavery, what would be a fair price to ask? These e-mails are obviously meant to ridicule people who claim to be Bible literalists. They also carry the subtext of who would ever want to follow this faith other than an irrational nut?
Context is everything. Taken out of context, these laws do seem irrational and barbaric. And while I was reading the Bible straight through, the strictness of the law in the early days and the severity of punishment caused a few shocks to my system. ("my nerves, my nerves" as Aunt PittyPat would say.)
As I continued reading, however, my view began to shift. After the early days, Israel rises to greatness under David, an ascent that probably reaches its pinnacle under Solomon, who is both wealthy and wise. (At least this is impression you get from the Bible itself; the scholarship may disagree.) Solomon constructs the costly temple in Jerusalem and the Jewish people seem to enjoy prosperity and peace.
At the same time, however, that Solomon is building the temple, he is sowing seeds of Israel's destruction by marrying a multitude of wives, apparently to solidify relationships with neighboring tribes. These wives lead Solomon in the direction of moral relativism, and introduce other forms of worship--including hill shrines to Baal--into the nation.
After Solomon dies, the country is ruled by a succession of weak kings and begins its slow, sad decline into dissolution. It loses it's moral center as people move away from strict adherence to the Mosaic law and into more and more desperate attempts to appease the gods as their political situation increasingly unravels. More hill shrines spring up, child sacrifice appears, wooden idols are worshipped and a statue/pole (?) dedicated to Baal is actually erected in the temple. This is a depressing section (mostly Chronicles if I remember correctly), and not the stuff of standard Sunday School fare. In fact, although I have spent a great deal of time reading the Bible, there were sections here in Chronicles I had never read. And as I read, I found myself wishing God would appear in the middle of all this with a miracle.
Because clearly, Israel is doomed. It's surrounded by increasingly powerful enemies and seems to have lost, along with its faith (of course, a few do keep the faith) its basic common sense, cohesion and courage. I found myself saying, no, no, no, what on earth can you be thinking? when the Israelites melt down the gold and silver implements in the temple and strip the gold and copper from the walls and send these to more powerful rivals to the buy them off from invading the country. Of course, once Israel has made itself poor and helpless, what's to prevent the invasion?
Anyway, the point is, I found myself, as I was reading, looking back with nostalgic longing to the days of the strict interpretation of the law. My view of those early days changed. Yes, at that early point the group might have been stoning people and casting them out for seemingly minor infractions, but they were a cohesive community with a moral center and a strong sense of purpose. Their acts of aggression against their enemies were hair-raising, but somehow not as bad as the slothful child sacrifice practices (victimizing the innocent) of the later years. At least, in the early years, a group that felt beleagured and threatened on all sides hung together and did what it believed it needed to do to survive, not just for the day but into the future generations. The later Israelites seem a more contemptible lot, willing to sell off the fate of their descendants for a few years of immediate comfort. And this sounds uncomfortably like elements of our current society.
So the story as a whole left me pondering the hierarchy of social organization. While a peaceable kindgom ruled by God through his priestly emmisaries (or today, through the direction of the Holy Spirit written onto hearts without need of priests) might be the ideal, and a military king something that brings its own heartache and sorrow to the people, the story as a whole tells us that a strong warrior state centered around serving God (even if the people are misinterpreting how best to serve him) is preferable to a state whose center has collapsed into cowardice and moral confusion. This the hierarchy I came away with: Best: Peaceable kingdom centered on faith in God, not carnal weapons. People willing to die courageously rather than kill others. Not too bad: a strict military regime creating a cohesive community centered around following God's law and fighting to preserve themselves as a people of God, Questionable: a military state led by a warrior king who is partially following God's will and partially following the leader's (or the world's) own will and passions, Poor: a cowardly, slothful, uncohesive, morally relativistic nation state narrowly focused on preserving it's own comforts. Cowardice parading as peace.
As a pacifist myself, I was able to modify my views a bit to see militarism as not all bad. This helps me with things such as the totalizing debate over World War II. Going to war with Hitler might not have been the best thing, but it was hardly the worst thing. However, the challenge becomes how to develop past the warrior state to aim for the peaceable kingdom. And of course, we can't do it on our own.
Also, I am open to my "hierarchy" being amended. It's the result of a raw read of the Bible and a stab at seeing the world through God's eyes. What do others think?
Every so often during the last decade an e-mail has circulated ( now that mass e-mails seem to be out of favor, maybe not anymore) in which a person, with feigned naivete, asks if he can enact various elements of the Mosaic law, along the lines of, do I really have to kill my neighbor for wearing clothes woven of two different fabrics, do I have to stone my neighbor for planting on a field that should have lain fallow or can I just kill him another way, and since I need to sell my daughter to raise money into slavery, what would be a fair price to ask? These e-mails are obviously meant to ridicule people who claim to be Bible literalists. They also carry the subtext of who would ever want to follow this faith other than an irrational nut?
Context is everything. Taken out of context, these laws do seem irrational and barbaric. And while I was reading the Bible straight through, the strictness of the law in the early days and the severity of punishment caused a few shocks to my system. ("my nerves, my nerves" as Aunt PittyPat would say.)
As I continued reading, however, my view began to shift. After the early days, Israel rises to greatness under David, an ascent that probably reaches its pinnacle under Solomon, who is both wealthy and wise. (At least this is impression you get from the Bible itself; the scholarship may disagree.) Solomon constructs the costly temple in Jerusalem and the Jewish people seem to enjoy prosperity and peace.
At the same time, however, that Solomon is building the temple, he is sowing seeds of Israel's destruction by marrying a multitude of wives, apparently to solidify relationships with neighboring tribes. These wives lead Solomon in the direction of moral relativism, and introduce other forms of worship--including hill shrines to Baal--into the nation.
After Solomon dies, the country is ruled by a succession of weak kings and begins its slow, sad decline into dissolution. It loses it's moral center as people move away from strict adherence to the Mosaic law and into more and more desperate attempts to appease the gods as their political situation increasingly unravels. More hill shrines spring up, child sacrifice appears, wooden idols are worshipped and a statue/pole (?) dedicated to Baal is actually erected in the temple. This is a depressing section (mostly Chronicles if I remember correctly), and not the stuff of standard Sunday School fare. In fact, although I have spent a great deal of time reading the Bible, there were sections here in Chronicles I had never read. And as I read, I found myself wishing God would appear in the middle of all this with a miracle.
Because clearly, Israel is doomed. It's surrounded by increasingly powerful enemies and seems to have lost, along with its faith (of course, a few do keep the faith) its basic common sense, cohesion and courage. I found myself saying, no, no, no, what on earth can you be thinking? when the Israelites melt down the gold and silver implements in the temple and strip the gold and copper from the walls and send these to more powerful rivals to the buy them off from invading the country. Of course, once Israel has made itself poor and helpless, what's to prevent the invasion?
Anyway, the point is, I found myself, as I was reading, looking back with nostalgic longing to the days of the strict interpretation of the law. My view of those early days changed. Yes, at that early point the group might have been stoning people and casting them out for seemingly minor infractions, but they were a cohesive community with a moral center and a strong sense of purpose. Their acts of aggression against their enemies were hair-raising, but somehow not as bad as the slothful child sacrifice practices (victimizing the innocent) of the later years. At least, in the early years, a group that felt beleagured and threatened on all sides hung together and did what it believed it needed to do to survive, not just for the day but into the future generations. The later Israelites seem a more contemptible lot, willing to sell off the fate of their descendants for a few years of immediate comfort. And this sounds uncomfortably like elements of our current society.
So the story as a whole left me pondering the hierarchy of social organization. While a peaceable kindgom ruled by God through his priestly emmisaries (or today, through the direction of the Holy Spirit written onto hearts without need of priests) might be the ideal, and a military king something that brings its own heartache and sorrow to the people, the story as a whole tells us that a strong warrior state centered around serving God (even if the people are misinterpreting how best to serve him) is preferable to a state whose center has collapsed into cowardice and moral confusion. This the hierarchy I came away with: Best: Peaceable kingdom centered on faith in God, not carnal weapons. People willing to die courageously rather than kill others. Not too bad: a strict military regime creating a cohesive community centered around following God's law and fighting to preserve themselves as a people of God, Questionable: a military state led by a warrior king who is partially following God's will and partially following the leader's (or the world's) own will and passions, Poor: a cowardly, slothful, uncohesive, morally relativistic nation state narrowly focused on preserving it's own comforts. Cowardice parading as peace.
As a pacifist myself, I was able to modify my views a bit to see militarism as not all bad. This helps me with things such as the totalizing debate over World War II. Going to war with Hitler might not have been the best thing, but it was hardly the worst thing. However, the challenge becomes how to develop past the warrior state to aim for the peaceable kingdom. And of course, we can't do it on our own.
Also, I am open to my "hierarchy" being amended. It's the result of a raw read of the Bible and a stab at seeing the world through God's eyes. What do others think?
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Reading the Bible in 20 months: OT peace, part 2
As I alluded in my last post, I have long wanted to place the grid of a peace document over the Old Testament and at times I can almost do it, but not quite. I can explain away much of the Old Testament violence--or fit it into my peace frame--but not all of it. For example, I can understand the Samson stories. In one initially horrifying tale, Samson kills 30 non-Israelites because he needs their 30 suits of clothes to pay off a bet he lost. He murders them without blinking an eye--and in fact, the story seems to approve his resourcefulness in getting himself out of a jam. The mind reels, but then realization strikes: this is a folk narrative, a classic trickster tale, a Paul Bunyan tall tale. It's meant to be read in a nonliteral context. In another case, there's the psalm often used to clinch the case that Christian are psycopaths (even though it's a Jewish text. (These same critics would never, ever use this text to attack Jews.)). In this psalm, the writer prays for the dashing out of the brains of his enemies' babies. Not pleasant stuff, but we can see it as a cry of anguish and anger against oppressors. And as many have pointed out, stating emotions and acting on them are two different things.
Other acts of violence are harder to explain away. Why would God tell Saul to kill all the Amalekites, a case of ethnic cleansing if there ever was one? I'm tempted to think the Bible writers got the feed wrong, that they misinterpreted God's words. This may be, but isn't it self serving to decide that episodes I don't like are mistakes? What if God really did mean for Saul to wipe out the Amalekites? (The whole tenor of the Bible works against this interpretation but still ....) I've also heard the Amalekite story interpreted as a metaphor: in this reading, the Amalekites become the stand-in for evil. In that case, the story illustrates that we can't compromise and wink at evil when it is comfortable to do so, but need to get rid of it enitrely. Saying we're doing the self-serving thing for God, as Saul does (and haven't there been evangelists flying around in private planes "for God?"), doesn't wash. I can agree with that reading, but a residue lingers: why is the story then put into this confusingly literalistic guise? Have I missed a bunch of cues? Why not make it explicitly metaphoric, ala Aesops' Fables? Why does Elijah kill (or to use the term in the New English Bible, "slaughter") the 450 prophets of Baal? Why do we Quakers gloss over that "detail" when we talk about Elijah hearing "the small, still voice of God?" And what about the verse that exorts the Israelites to prepare for war and beat their ploughshares into swords? I've heard this explained as more derivative and less authoritative than the evocation to beat swords into ploughshares. But the point is: it's there.
Like many people, I'd like the Old Testament to be something other than it is. I would like it to be gentle book full of stories of lovingkindness and wise sayings about attaining peace and serenity, a sort of Zen prelude to usher in Christ. I would like it to be a beautiful book. What I'm really saying, however, is that I'd like the human race to be different than it is. I wish those Isrealites had been more civilized. Yet when I look around, I see that violence is still here. Beyond the private realm of violence, there are the wars with Iraq and Afghanistan, violence in Pakistan, the periodic outbreaks of horrific violence in Africa, the series of genocides attempted in the supposedly rational and enlightened 20th century that ran from Germany to Cambodia to Bosnia to Rwanda, etc. etc., stories-we've-all-heard-why-repeat-them. So I have to conclude that the Old Testament reflects how the world still lives. And for that reason, the stories still have relevance. I admire the honesty of the writers. They didn't, apparently, whitewash their story. They let it all hang out. And their story is our story.
To be continued.
Other acts of violence are harder to explain away. Why would God tell Saul to kill all the Amalekites, a case of ethnic cleansing if there ever was one? I'm tempted to think the Bible writers got the feed wrong, that they misinterpreted God's words. This may be, but isn't it self serving to decide that episodes I don't like are mistakes? What if God really did mean for Saul to wipe out the Amalekites? (The whole tenor of the Bible works against this interpretation but still ....) I've also heard the Amalekite story interpreted as a metaphor: in this reading, the Amalekites become the stand-in for evil. In that case, the story illustrates that we can't compromise and wink at evil when it is comfortable to do so, but need to get rid of it enitrely. Saying we're doing the self-serving thing for God, as Saul does (and haven't there been evangelists flying around in private planes "for God?"), doesn't wash. I can agree with that reading, but a residue lingers: why is the story then put into this confusingly literalistic guise? Have I missed a bunch of cues? Why not make it explicitly metaphoric, ala Aesops' Fables? Why does Elijah kill (or to use the term in the New English Bible, "slaughter") the 450 prophets of Baal? Why do we Quakers gloss over that "detail" when we talk about Elijah hearing "the small, still voice of God?" And what about the verse that exorts the Israelites to prepare for war and beat their ploughshares into swords? I've heard this explained as more derivative and less authoritative than the evocation to beat swords into ploughshares. But the point is: it's there.
Like many people, I'd like the Old Testament to be something other than it is. I would like it to be gentle book full of stories of lovingkindness and wise sayings about attaining peace and serenity, a sort of Zen prelude to usher in Christ. I would like it to be a beautiful book. What I'm really saying, however, is that I'd like the human race to be different than it is. I wish those Isrealites had been more civilized. Yet when I look around, I see that violence is still here. Beyond the private realm of violence, there are the wars with Iraq and Afghanistan, violence in Pakistan, the periodic outbreaks of horrific violence in Africa, the series of genocides attempted in the supposedly rational and enlightened 20th century that ran from Germany to Cambodia to Bosnia to Rwanda, etc. etc., stories-we've-all-heard-why-repeat-them. So I have to conclude that the Old Testament reflects how the world still lives. And for that reason, the stories still have relevance. I admire the honesty of the writers. They didn't, apparently, whitewash their story. They let it all hang out. And their story is our story.
To be continued.
Reading the Bible in 20 months: OT peace, part 3
For all the Old Testament violence, a strong strand of peace testimony threads through the Bible. The Garden of Eden is a peaceful place. Samuel, dismayed that the Israelites want a military, warrior king like the other nations, is inspired by God to tell them in some detail of the woes that will fall on them when they appoint a military king. And God seems to be willing to let the Israelites discover for themselves the evils of over-reliance on force and violence. Here is 1st Samuel 8:5 (I use the New English Bible translation because it has a paragraph structure): "the elders of Israel.. said '... appoint us a king to govern us, like other nations.'" God tells Samuel in verse 8/9: "They are now doing to you what just what they have done to me since I brought them up from Egypt: They have forsaken me and worshipped other gods." He instructs Samuel to warn the people about military kings: "...you yourselves will become his slaves. When that day comes, you will cry out against the king you have chosen, but it will be too late; the Lord will not answer you." (v.18/19). I think it's notable that, at least in this translation and the NIV, following a military leader is seen by God as idol-worship.
Abigail offers us an alternative to violence. When her husband Nabal (which apparently means "churl") rejects David's polite request for food after David has protected his flocks, David vows to destroy Nabal and his household. Nabal, from his perspective, sees himself as being blackmailed by David and digs his heels in. Abigail, "beautiful and intelligent," decides to load asses with food as a gift for David. She does it, at what we must assume is risk to herself, and humbly begs David to reconsider his attack. He blesses her for turning him from violence: "A blessing on your good sense, a blessing on you because you have saved me today from the guilt of bloodshed and from giving way to my anger." (1 Samuel 25:34). A little later, when Nabal dies of a seizure, David says: "Blessed be the Lord, who has himself punished Nabal for his insult and kept me his servant from doing wrong." (1 Samuel: 25:39) Much could be said about this story but three things stand out: David understands that killing Nabal and his people would have been wrong, Abigail is not a coward, but brave and wise, and both Nabal and David both have "sides" to their stories.
I don't want to go on too long, but certainly the prophecies of Isaiah speak compellingly to us of a peaceable kingdom, and the psalms refer often of a God of mercy and lovingkindness. Even stories that horrify modern sensibilites, such as Abraham's willingness to sacrifice Isaac, point to a more loving, peaceful God than the false tribal gods surrounding the Israelites. As we find out in Chronicles, as Israel is spiraling out of control and adopting foreign religions, child sacrifice was a regular part of other faith group's strategy of appeasing angry gods. That the Jehovah God should so early and forcefully reject child sacrifice is a significant rejection of violence. And even the Elijah story, at least to me, seems to question Elijah's violence. He gets very frightened after the murders, which he apparently committed in a frenzy. He hides under a broom tree and, once Jezebel puts a price on his head for killing her priests, hides in the cave. He reminds me of Adam in the garden, hiding from God. When he does hear the voice of God, asking him what he's doing, he doesn't answer the question (perhaps knowing God won't be happy), instead calling himself God's zealous servant. What I take from the story is less tacit approval of the murders than a vivid portrait of the terror and dissonance Elijah experiences once he enters the world of violence.
And overall, doesn't much of the Biblical bloodbath critique itself? All of Israel's military conquests and adventures seem to get it nowhere in the end. It's vanquished by the Babylonians. It lives in almost perpetual fear of its neighbors. At the end of the OT, Israel appears to be at an impasse. What it's tried hasn't worked in terms of building a secure, independent nation state with Jehovah at the center. Conventional warfare, even under a king like David, doesn't seem to have built the Kingdom of God. Hhhhmmm ....
Soon I will blog about a pamplet I read recently on the Bible and peace, written in the 1940s, that makes a case much stronger than any I am making. In the meantime, I am interested in other peace stories in the Old Testament that might pop into people's minds.
Abigail offers us an alternative to violence. When her husband Nabal (which apparently means "churl") rejects David's polite request for food after David has protected his flocks, David vows to destroy Nabal and his household. Nabal, from his perspective, sees himself as being blackmailed by David and digs his heels in. Abigail, "beautiful and intelligent," decides to load asses with food as a gift for David. She does it, at what we must assume is risk to herself, and humbly begs David to reconsider his attack. He blesses her for turning him from violence: "A blessing on your good sense, a blessing on you because you have saved me today from the guilt of bloodshed and from giving way to my anger." (1 Samuel 25:34). A little later, when Nabal dies of a seizure, David says: "Blessed be the Lord, who has himself punished Nabal for his insult and kept me his servant from doing wrong." (1 Samuel: 25:39) Much could be said about this story but three things stand out: David understands that killing Nabal and his people would have been wrong, Abigail is not a coward, but brave and wise, and both Nabal and David both have "sides" to their stories.
I don't want to go on too long, but certainly the prophecies of Isaiah speak compellingly to us of a peaceable kingdom, and the psalms refer often of a God of mercy and lovingkindness. Even stories that horrify modern sensibilites, such as Abraham's willingness to sacrifice Isaac, point to a more loving, peaceful God than the false tribal gods surrounding the Israelites. As we find out in Chronicles, as Israel is spiraling out of control and adopting foreign religions, child sacrifice was a regular part of other faith group's strategy of appeasing angry gods. That the Jehovah God should so early and forcefully reject child sacrifice is a significant rejection of violence. And even the Elijah story, at least to me, seems to question Elijah's violence. He gets very frightened after the murders, which he apparently committed in a frenzy. He hides under a broom tree and, once Jezebel puts a price on his head for killing her priests, hides in the cave. He reminds me of Adam in the garden, hiding from God. When he does hear the voice of God, asking him what he's doing, he doesn't answer the question (perhaps knowing God won't be happy), instead calling himself God's zealous servant. What I take from the story is less tacit approval of the murders than a vivid portrait of the terror and dissonance Elijah experiences once he enters the world of violence.
And overall, doesn't much of the Biblical bloodbath critique itself? All of Israel's military conquests and adventures seem to get it nowhere in the end. It's vanquished by the Babylonians. It lives in almost perpetual fear of its neighbors. At the end of the OT, Israel appears to be at an impasse. What it's tried hasn't worked in terms of building a secure, independent nation state with Jehovah at the center. Conventional warfare, even under a king like David, doesn't seem to have built the Kingdom of God. Hhhhmmm ....
Soon I will blog about a pamplet I read recently on the Bible and peace, written in the 1940s, that makes a case much stronger than any I am making. In the meantime, I am interested in other peace stories in the Old Testament that might pop into people's minds.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Nobel peace prize?
I dreamed last night that my friend Bill Samuel--you can link to his blog from my blog -- won the Nobel peace prize. It made so much sense I wasn't surprised at all. Bill has worked for peace for, what, almost his whole life?
So how about a grassroots movement? Bill for the peace prize.
So how about a grassroots movement? Bill for the peace prize.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Peace
Twenty-eight of us, including my friends Sherri Morgan, Doris Rausch and Ruth Alice White, participated in the peace vigil in Columbia last night. Vigilers held signs calling for an end to the war in Iraq. Others held candles. One car stopped and left us coffee and hot chocolate, which was much appreciated given the rainy weather. Another car stopped and offered us money. Many people honked, apparently in support of our stand.
I continue to pray that peace will come quickly to Iraq. The cost of war alarms me, but even were the war to be cheap, no financial price is low enough to offset the human costs of the conflict. Perhaps it is good that war is so expensive, so that people who don't calculate the spiritual cost of combat will at least realize the extent to which it diverts resources from humanitarian efforts. What do you think? Is there any price point at which war becomes reasonable? Should people of faith evaluate war in terms of monetary costs?
I continue to pray that peace will come quickly to Iraq. The cost of war alarms me, but even were the war to be cheap, no financial price is low enough to offset the human costs of the conflict. Perhaps it is good that war is so expensive, so that people who don't calculate the spiritual cost of combat will at least realize the extent to which it diverts resources from humanitarian efforts. What do you think? Is there any price point at which war becomes reasonable? Should people of faith evaluate war in terms of monetary costs?
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