Davis on Political Theology
Creston Davis highlights the new issue of Political Theology, which considers our transition from a theopolitics built on the friend-enemy distinction of Carl Schmitt to one which is open to charity, belonging, and risk.
Creston Davis highlights the new issue of Political Theology, which considers our transition from a theopolitics built on the friend-enemy distinction of Carl Schmitt to one which is open to charity, belonging, and risk.
It’s late notice, but make sure to read Peter Augustine Lawler’s New Atlantis article, “Nations, Liberalism, and Science.” While there are paradigmatic distinctions I’d like to make, Lawler (alongside others like Eric Gregory, John von Heyking, and Charles Mathewes) asks some excellent questions about modernity, human wholeness, and the future of liberalism.
In the middle of the pre-modern vs. post-modern conservative cage fight, James Poulos raises the following question (seconded by Samuel Goldman):
On what basis are we to judge whether our arrangements, compromises, and efforts are part of Larger Problems (the ubiquity of consumerism and a la carte-ism, the commodification of experience, the inauthenticity of performance, etc.)? And then what is to be done as a result?
Mr. Poulos, the master of the rhetorical walk-around (qui tacet consentit?), leaves his own bases uncovered. My own sense is that he is legitimately wary of any ultimate critique of our Whopper world. Any such critique, we might argue, would itself be a systemic fiction. To restate Poulos’ proposition: if we all live in Whopper world, can we live on the Front Porch and still be neighborly toward the vast majority of our fellow men. Does the Front Porch effectively alienate those who enjoy an occasional French Fried Latte? And can we systemically attack “modernity” without trafficking in another heinous meta-narrative which exists only in the abstract?
For my own part, I believe that the discussions which have swilled about at FPR over the past several months are at their finest when they are the most constructive. Ralph Hancock pointed out the arch-agrarian temptation to romanticize smallness, homegrown watermelon, and blood-orange Alabama sunsets. As a cubicle-dwelling son of suburbia, I am often drawn toward this ideal. And as Deneen himself has written, when you have no true place to call home, anything looks good (cf. O’Connor: better someplace than no place).
But granting all this, the desire to subvert modernity can blossom into its own over-realized, i.e. apocalyptic, substitute. This is the main danger to the Front Porch.
I have to acknowledge at this point that my critique here is not really an honest one. In the debate between the pomocons and the front porchers, I tend to associate myself with the latter. And so my charge of apocalypticism should really be viewed as a self-critique, since I doubt that Stegall, Deneen & Co. are as guilty as I am.
That said, I do think that “we” (if I may) are prone to apocalyptic critiques of modernity. We oppose capitalism, consumerism, and the colonies of suburbia — as I believe we ought — and we do so with definite answers pulled from other contexts (perhaps from history, or perhaps from Port Royal, Kentucky). But I believe that “community” can exist in some pretty inhospitable climates. Charity can survive within a repulsively capitalistic culture. Cul-de-sac communities can still throw block parties and Saturday afternoon BBQs. You can petition for mixed-use zoning in your own ex-urban township. I don’t think you can buy a good espresso at Starbucks, but I believe the paradigm holds nonetheless.
To sum up my rambling, I believe that both the pomocons and the FPR crowd are really standing on the same eschatological spot; but perhaps it’s easier to imagine the apocalypse from your front porch. Maybe we need to beware the temptatation to demand the final answers to Poulos’ Larger Problems any time soon (I imagine the diverse folks at FPR know that already). If we believe in smallness, we can believe in small changes, after all.
While I was eating buckets of bug-eyed shrimp in Louisiana this weekend, the folks at Front Porch Republic and Postmodern Conservative got into a gentleman’s quarrel over their distinctive brands of conservatism. I’ve spent the morning sorting through the discussion, and had to pass this along as a must-read. Considering the more typical unreasoned level of debate in conservative cirlces, the discussion between luminaries like Deneen, Lawler, Poulos, Stegall, and others, is wonderfully refreshing. High octane pre-modern vs. postmodern conservatism.
For PoMoCons of Lawlerian variety, this is a source of optimism – our human condition of alienation and misery will not be “cured” by any amount of technological manipulation, and so the misery and glory of being human will endure, and because of the inescapability of this condition we will all be stuck with virtue more than ever. That said, while the human condition will not be overcome by technological mastery, much of the natural world will be, and that’s ok, so long as we understand that we won’t cease being restless and alienated. So, no amount of McDonalds or living in suburbs will make us truly happy, but it’s ok to be stuffed and comfortable even amid our glory and our misery. Some fast food and poorly-built McMansions won’t make us any more or less miserable. For Lawler, everything is always getting better and worse, so a certain easy-going quiescence should be our default position most of the time. A basic Lawlerian dictum: don’t worry, be unhappy.
The PomoCons are revised versions of first wave liberals (according to Strauss, inaugurated by the thought of Hobbes and Locke), strenuously urging the expansion of human control of the natural world while believing that human nature remains untouched and untouchable by such efforts. Lawler is himself much more ambivalent about Locke, but accepts the Natural rights regime under the pretense that the Founders built better than they knew. He views the pre-modern inheritance as sufficiently vital to withstand the corrosiveness of Lockeanism, although there are times he’s not as confident about its staying power.
Tomorrow, I’ll be making my first trip to the deep South for a friend’s wedding. If this Yankee survives the record heat wave down on the bayou, posting should resume early next week.
Cheers.
Matthew Schmitz’s post on bookstores and mediocrity reminded me just how much I’ve missed having a good supply of small independent bookstores nearby. Back when I lived in Chicagoland, my favorite trips downtown always involved bookstore-hopping,
usually culminating with a prolonged stay at the northside Powell’s (miniscule compared to the Portland store, but charming for that same reason). Life in northern Idaho forced me to give up on that habit, but I’m looking forward to taking it back up again in South Bend. The ninety minute drive to the Loop puts me within striking distance. I’m also hoping that South Bend has its own small bookstore gems. I’ve heard rumor that Erasmus Books is a must-see. Anyone able to offer other suggestions?
True education is directed toward good. It is not grasping, nor sanctimonious, nor even concerned primarily with self-improvement; rather, it is used to convey something good and useful to others—within a mutually-governed society. The value of teaching is therefore not primarily in freeing individual minds, but in handing-down the narratives and traditions that are necessary to the health of a society.
Through education, the student, whether he is aware of it or not, inherits certain traditions and accompanying cultural tensions. He is not the recipient of independent facts which necessarily serve to make him a freer individual; he is instead made a partaker of the narratives of his society and mentors. Perhaps one problem with modern education is the assumption that its liberality justifies its own existence, prima facie. The objectivity of the thing is supposedly the telos of education. Stanley Hauerwas counters:
Part of our problem is that the idea of objectivity, which is mistakenly assumed to be exemplified in the sciences and an elusive goal for the humanities, is a deeply flawed notion. In the name of objectivity the assumption has been underwritten that knowledge is only good insofar as that which is known is freed from any tradition of inquiry. Yet the sciences work well exactly because they exemplify a traditioned mode of inquiry which, moreover, requires the student to be capable of participating in such a tradition. If the students are to become good scientists they must be willing to have their lives transformed through that activity; they must be transformed, moreover, not simply because of the current social power of science but because of the elegance and beauty of what is discovered.
When Hauerwas refers to the “elegance and beauty” of discoveries through education, he introduces a subtle shift in the educational paradigm. First, if we redefine the power of education as its potential for beauty and discovery, we place ourselves in a much more humble position. While modern education is often typified by language of self-empowerment and freedom, both Hauerwas and Kirk suggest that education is better described as the process of learning just how small our place is in this world. Rather than viewing an individual’s education as a gradual liberation from ignorance, we can instead see education as a pilgrimage. Kirk, in contrasting true conservatism with those who idolize abstract liberty, writes: “the libertarian thinks that this world is chiefly a stage for the swaggering ego; the conservative finds himself instead a pilgrim in a realm of mystery and wonder, where duty, discipline, and sacrifice are required—and where the reward is that love which passeth all understanding.”
The Skype debate between Conor Friedersdorf and Dan Riehl over the future of conservatism is still making waves in the conservative blogosphere. The debate itself developed into a no-holds-barred prize match between the old Reaganite conservatism and the emerging young conservatism (of the Brooks/Douthat/AmConMag wing). I only wish Friedersdorf had pushed back harder concerning the historical legitimacy of the emerging conservatism, which actually has a much better pedigree than Reaganism. Frankly, Riehl’s assertions about the universally-accepted tenets of conservatism were historically myopic. Conor could have pointed out the log in Riehl’s eye even while Riehl complained about the speck in Conor’s.
Follow up posts from Conor and RS McCain reminded me of just how confused contemporary conservatism is about its own roots. McCain, for one, invoked F.A. Hayek and von Mises, alleging that Conor and his ilk were ignorant of basic free market teaching (to which Conor responded by revealing his Austrian creds). But the truly ironic thing about all this is that Hayek and von Mises were not conservatives. They said so themselves in no uncertain terms.
Strangely enough, conservatism has been one of capitalism’s most uneasy co-belligerents, often working to slow down the “mechanistic” progress that Hayek promotes (perhaps conservatism has been more of a hand brake than an emergency brake, but still…). And while conservatism has been equally critical of socialism and communism, it has often employed the same critiques of absolute capitalism that were used by Marx and Christian socialists.
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I continue to believe that historic conservatism falls within the Augustinian tradition, whatever its imperfections. Contemporary conservatism, on the other hand, is foundationally disordered, holding to the idea of freedom as the end of society. F.A. Hayek’s critique of conservatism is therefore also a critique of Augustine. The conservative, he argues, is not a true believer in freedom, because he cares more about the direction of freedom than for freedom itself.
That the conservative opposition to too much government control is not a matter of principle but is concerned with the particular aims of government is clearly shown in the economic sphere. Conservatives usually oppose collectivist and directivist measures in the industrial field, and here the liberals will often find allies in them. But at the same time conservatives are usually protectionists and have frequently supported socialist measures in agriculture. Indeed, though the restrictions which exist today in industry and commerce are mainly the result of socialist views, the equally important restrictions in agriculture were usually introduced by conservatives at an even earlier date. And in their efforts to discredit free enterprise many conservative leaders have vied with the socialists. [*]
Freedom is only free for the conservative if it is well-ordered toward love, as Kirk argued. Hayek disagrees and, in doing so, reveals just how un-conservative the contemporary conservative movement actually is. Today’s conservative is in reality a liberal, primarily influenced by the Lockean Enlightenment. And regardless of how one feels about reactionary anti-liberals like Burke, De Maistre, Eliot, Kirk, etc., it is intellectually irresponsible to group them with the modern right-wing of Palin, Limbaugh, The Weekly Standard, and so on. Even when the two groups share common political ground, they arrive at that ground by different paths. I’m by no means a patsy for Burke or the Continental reactionaries, but we still need to play fair with our historical definitions. Our confusion about what the “liberal” and “conservative” labels actually mean often grants a false legitimacy to the revolutionary right-wing of the 21st century.
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[*] For Hayek, the tenets of classical liberalism, contra conservatism, include:
Rusty Reno has done the unthinkable: he’s called Marilynne Robinson’s Home a disappointment. Few recent novels have found such universal acclaim, especially among youngish theologians and pomo fiends, who adore anything that spills from Robinson’s pen. I’m one of them, so I should know.
In his First Things piece, Reno artfully summarizes the shared narrative of Home and Robinson’s preceding companion novel, Gilead, set in mid-century, small-town Iowa. Strangely enough, although Reno confesses his disappointment in Home at the start,
he spends a large portion of his piece drawing out the fascinating Jacob and Esau theme that Robinson weaves throughout her latest novel (which he says is Robinson “at her best”). The novel observes the prodigal Jack Boughton’s relationship with both his father, the Presbyterian pastor, Robert Boughton, and his namesake, the Congregational minister, John Ames (this relationship is more central in the preceding Gilead). Growing up as the son of a devout pastor, Jack lived under the shadowy expectations of grace, but never felt at rest. Although he bore the demeanor of a minister, often being mistaken for one, Jack was always wandering away, figuratively and literally. While details are never brought into sharp relief, the reader gradually finds out Jack had a shady past — wandering alone without a home, thieving in his indolence, abandoning his own lover and child (whom his father and sister cared for in his absence). Jack’s ministerial father has trouble understanding, let alone accepting, the reasons for his son’s rebellion.
Various conservatives (of the pomo variety) have been discussing how best to view the inevitable legalization of gay marriage. David Schaengold summarizes:
The argument about gay marriage really is about whether we think homosexual sexual unions as a class should be recognized as [a political] good. This is a question we are not competent to decide as a polity. For one thing, gay couples would be offended that we are talking about the worth of their relationships. For another, as MacIntyre would say, we don’t have the right set of concepts even to start talking about worthy or unworthy sexual relationships. So, given the thrust of public opinion, either we’ll get private marriage, or gay marriage. The latter seems much preferable, even to a reactionary like me. Gay marriage might lead to the destruction of the institution of marriage, but privatizing marriage would be the destruction of the institution.
A related question: how much of my Protestant heritage would I have to give up in order to call marriage sacramental? The whole matter is more complicated historically than I realized. (See Puritan Richard Baxter get messy with the definition of “sacrament.”)