Tag Archives: philosophy

Postmodernism, Morality…and Eschatology?

Recently I’ve been reading McIntyre (and if you haven’t, read After Virtue as it should be on a very short list of must reads) and discussing it at Geek Squad each week.  (As an aside, Geek Squad is exactly what it sounds like–a group of self-admitted geeks sitting around talking about things we realize make most others roll their eyes and/or yawn.  It’s our space to debate the small print as loudly and for as long as we want.)  It’s been a while since I’ve kicked philosophy around in my head, so I’m processing slowly and trying to remove the cobwebs off of all those names and books I used to remember.  What I do remember is that I felt After Virtue was a great conversation partner in the work of  ecclesiology, though McIntyre certainly didn’t intend to write a book about the purpose of the church.  As it turns out, the content and conversation is just as applicable and timely now as it was years ago.   A friend of mine referenced this New York Times op-ed piece by David Brooks about relativism and extreme individualism, and Brooks may as well have been recording part of our discussion last Thursday at the pub.

Basically, we were discussing our growing inability to think ethically or morally about issues.  I’m not even asking for us to agree on the issues, although that would be a welcome relief from time to time.  I’m just asking for the ability to discuss the concept of morality as a thing itself.  The notion of the virtuous life, however defined, is simply not something people talk about much anymore–at least not well.  I should clarify:  People talk plenty about “values” but in such a way that values are nothing more than commodities, like cans you pick off the shelf, with everyone’s basket looking a little different.  Values are not items.  They are not individually chosen.  They are not self-selected a la carte menu items you put together on a whim.  To stretch the metaphor, to attempt a virtuous life with such an approach is like trying to eat food without a plate.  Something has to hold those values, and they have to be held in concert with other values so as to create an actual meal that will sustain you and help you grow.  I find myself nodding my head vigorously (again) with McIntyre’s assessment that virtue is impossible to create when a society is based solely or even primarily upon the feeling of the individual.

On a slightly tangential note, I feel the need to argue, for the record, that the kind of flippant “Who am I to judge?” attitude evidenced by the young people in Brooks’ article is the laziest and sloppiest form of postmodern philosophy one could ever attempt to create.  I’m sure people will read that article and say, “See, that’s what we’ve been saying all along, that postmodernism will lead us to this kind of wishy-washy culture where no one knows right from wrong.”  Whether it does that or not is moot; Enlightenment rationality shattered the dinner plate of virtue way before Derrida came along.  So please don’t equate sloppy thinking with the postmodern critique.  ”Who am I to judge?” has as much to do with stress and overload in a rapidly diversifying culture without sufficient tools to help us cope with this new world as it does an adherence to moral relativism.

McIntyre’s argument is that societies based on extreme individualism and emotivism are severely broken. They are incapable of virtue, because they hold no framework.  Without a recognized and shared end-goal, virtue becomes canned values, stale and without nutrients.  And nobody cares whether they stick around or go, because they do absolutely nothing for the palate, or for the meal itself.

This is how a discussion of virtue ended up in my reaffirmation of the importance of eschatology.  When moral inquiry lacks an end-goal, there is no food but limp green beans…splattered on the floor, plate-less, no less.  What kind of eschatology is another matter for another day, but without a recognition of who-I-am-now contrasted with who-I-ought-to-be, without a shared and cohesive sense of where we all should be headed and where we all are trying to go, virtue is sure to wind up on the endangered species list.

I can only imagine this teleological discussion will come up often this year, as it seems the tensions  between those who want to make theology and those who want to keep dismantling it continues to rise.

So here are the questions I’m pondering these days:  what do we do to enliven an American framework of virtue?  (CAN we? The task itself is quite problematic…which virtue???  But the alternative–not having a framework of virtue, even civil virtue–will likely be our end.)  In what ways is the C/church called to embody a virtuous framework of shared life? CAN we?

 

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Spinoza, Deleuze and zombies

So Journey is doing a series on zombies, and I wanted to expand some ideas I mentioned on last Sunday’s first conversation. (If you’re completely baffled about why in the world we’re talking about zombies, read my post about it at Patheos.)

It’s quite surprising how many philosophical books, articles and papers have been written in relation to the zombie genre. I found this fantastic little quote from Zombies, Vampires and Philosophy most intriguing:

Whereas the vampire embodies a form of Nietzchean super-humanity, beyond good and evil, the zombie goes even further beyond…The zombie is sub-Nietzchean, sub-animal, really: as K. Silem Mohammad suggests it is a Spinozan force of decomposition, a completely non-moral and completely liberated interaction of matter with other matter.”

This made a whole host of things clear to me in one fell swoop.  First, about vampires:  In the vampire genre, you are almost always dealing with questions and issues of sex. (Does this now explain why vampires are so popular with teens?!) Whether certain sources deal with those issues with any sense of aplomb, I’ll leave to your own judgment and withhold my own. But vampires are enticing because they are superhuman. They are fast, and strong, and immortal, and extremely intelligent. I was having coffee with one of my favorite teenagers and he was telling me about his latest girl troubles. He said something like, “It was all going fine until she started comparing me to Edward Cullen. Then I thought, ‘I can’t take this kind of pressure!’ and I broke it off.”  Poor teen guys of today- they have to compete with Nietzchean superhumans.

Anyway, onto zombies.  In the zombie genre, you are almost always dealing with questions and issues of death. And inside death, of course, there are a host of other questions- identity, purpose, etc.- which is why there seem to be endless philosophical angles at which to approach it.

I was specifically struck by the phrase “a Spinozan force of decomposition.” The 17th century Dutch Jewish philosopher Baruch Spinoza has a theory called composition vs. decomposition in which he posits that when someone or something encounters another someone or something, there are two basic outcomes. Either they come together to form a more powerful whole (composition), or one of the elements dominates the interaction and decomposes the other, destroying the cohesion of its parts. When seen in zombie theology terms, this makes absolute sense. (And it also, as an added bonus, gives you a great mental picture to understand Spinoza’s theory.)

Zombies are the purest possible example of Spinozan decomposition. You touch a zombie, you begin to erode. The resurrected Christ, on the other hand,  is the purest example of Spinozan composition. You encounter him, and you begin to live.

To put it even more plainly, despair is an act of decomposition, while hope is an act of composition (and recomposition, and recomposition).

When we set up the “spectrum” of humanity for the purposes of our conversation Sunday, we put zombie-hood at one end, “normal” humanity in the middle, and resurrected humanity at the other end. This is of course just to help us talk through the idea, but what I meant to communicate is that whatever zombies are, they are human minus. They are missing something- call it spirit, or soul, or life, or rational thinking. Whatever it is, they are disembodied bodies.  They are isolated matter. In the same way, the resurrected Christ is human plus. The stories of post-resurrection sightings tell us things like “He ate a piece of fish!” and “I touched his scars!” and “He just walked through the wall!” and “He just rose up into the air.” Whatever else these stories mean to tell us, they are trying to say that he is both as he was (physical, with a working stomach) and yet more than what he was (whatever it is you call that other crazy stuff).

To put this theologically, at Easter, what came together in the person of Jesus was a more powerful whole; not simply a human made alive again, but a human who became something entirely new: a resurrected human. Resurrection is the most robust composition possible, the most powerful whole. Easter is the event in which we witness the best and most extreme example of Spinozan composition: when the life of Christ came together with the force of death, what arose was not decomposition but resurrection, an entity that makes both death and life something more than it was previously.

 

*a brief note about the photograph above: it came from an Austin, TX news article about some pranksters who figured out how to hack into electronic road signs and change the messages. Since Austin/UT is where Zombieland’s Columbus hails, I think the prank is only fitting.

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