Showing posts with label deconstruction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label deconstruction. Show all posts

29 January 2026

Once again, baby and bathwater

Source.  

Several times over the past twenty-plus years of this blog, I've referred favorably to the expression "Don't throw the baby out with the bathwater."

For example (April 2006):

Friends began, not as a relativization of Christianity, but as an intensification of Christianity. We did not throw away the Baby with the bathwater, but (sorry if you've heard this rant before!), the new scented bathwater in use among some seems to be so fine that the Baby can be left in the cold, and this is somehow called Quakerism!

More recently, in July 2024 I mentioned where I first saw this expression used among Friends:

As an old London Yearly Meeting poster once proclaimed, as nearly as I can remember, "Tired of organized religion? Don't throw out the baby with the bathwater." Let's just watch out for that exceptionalist temptation, whatever our corner of the Quaker world—to replace the Baby with our own bathwater, whether that be the subtle rose-scented water of liberal Quakerism or the soggy cliches of imported evangelicalism.

Just in passing ... my memory is that London Yearly Meeting published a number of other clever posters in the 1970's. My favorite was something like this: Don't just do something. Sit there.

My own personal interpretation of the baby/bathwater warning in the Quaker context: those early Friends no longer trusted the religion industry to interpret either faith or practice adequately, but, contrary to the angry charges of their Christian opponents, they did trust Jesus.

("Angry charges"? Read the accusations and responses in William Penn's tract, "A Key, Opening the Way to Every Capacity; How to Distinguish the Religion Professed by the People Called Quakers, from the Perversions and Misrepresentations of Their Adversaries.")

Today I was following up some Internet rabbit trails on deconstructing faith, and I found Jim Palmer's comments on the usefulness and limitations of the baby/bathwater expression. The responsibility is always upon us (individually and as a community) to define who/what the "baby" is that we are being advised not to throw out.

Palmer points out that, honestly, nobody actually advocates throwing out a baby with its bathwater, so the expression is sometimes used manipulatively. Yes, your deconstruction can go so far, but no farther. Palmer challenges us to decide for ourselves Who or what the baby is.

So ... should we Quakers still be using this expression in addressing prospective seekers? We're promising that, by giving up the structures, doctrines, and ceremonies of their previous affiliations (or the choices they dislike in the religious marketplace), they'll still be able to keep that which is essential. But will they really do so? Take that story of the (alleged) Philadelphia Quaker culture that the late Gordon Browne told (according to my imperfect memory):

A recent convert went into a Friends meeting in Philadelphia and burst into enthusiastic testimony: "Friends, I have to tell you—I've met Jesus! I've found religion!" Not content with one outburst, he got up again and said, "I can't hold it in! I'm reading the Bible—I've found religion!" After a third such exclamation, an elder stood up and addressed him directly: "Friend, you may have 'found religion' but you didn't find it here."

I want to say, gently (because this can certainly be overstated!), that the fastidious reserve of particular Quaker cultures has become a sort of bathwater that obscures the Baby and deserves to be drained, or at least diluted! After those cultures have molded several generations of Quakers, the centrality of Jesus has, at times, faded, to our loss and our potential irrelevance.

How would we know whether Jesus is still at the center? We could dutifully answer, "By gathering in his presence and prayerfully seeking his guidance in our decisionmaking," but that requires

  • persistence in discernment, not falling for convenient shortcuts—formulas, ideologies, rhetorics of shame, and persuasive personalities that can distract us from listening deeply to each other as we wait for clarity;
  • knowing and loving ourselves and each other to such a degree that we learn what helps and hinders each of us in our own hearts in seeking (or avoiding) clarity, and we discover who among us has shown this capacity to speak God's guidance clearly.

To quote Thomas S. Brown ("When Friends attend to business"): 

We are called to love those present enough to listen to what they have to say and to speak what is worth their hearing.

If Jesus is not relevant to a seeker's condition, there are certainly many other options in the religious marketplace, including the deceptive anti-baby of Christian nationalism. But we Friends who have experienced the liberating power of Jesus, can continue to offer (or ought to offer) a thoughtful and passionate devotion to the Lamb's War combined with a radical skepticism concerning the religion industry and its claims and priorities.


That skepticism is not a license to indulge in Quaker exceptionalism. It ought not to stand in the way of our cheering the Anglican communion for having chosen Sarah Mullally as Archbishop of Canterbury, the first woman to serve in that office.


From the Daily Quaker Message: Primitive Quakerism Revived.

From "Discrediting" the Military to High Treason and Terrorism: Sergei Davidis on the evolution of political repression in Russia since the start of the current war. It's a disastrous and discouraging progression for those who yearn for "the beautiful Russia of the future."

In summary, political repression in recent years has clearly intensified: sentences have lengthened, convictions under the gravest articles (treason, terrorism) have reached record highs, and the victim count continues to grow. At the same time, measured as a proportion of the population directly subjected to politically motivated criminal prosecution, the scale remains comparatively moderate—especially relative to Belarus (where the per capita rate of political imprisonment is significantly higher) and, even more so, the Stalinist period of the 1930s-1950s.

This scale likely reflects the «functional» nature of current repression: it provides the regime with adequate control at minimal cost. Several thousand imprisoned for political reasons (plus thousands facing criminal charges without incarceration and tens of thousands prosecuted administratively) suffice under present conditions. Several factors facilitate this efficiency. First, the modern information environment vastly amplifies the deterrent effect of even targeted repression. The variety, unpredictability, and broad social and geographic reach of charges foster a widespread mindset of keeping one’s head down. Second, society has been conditioned over 25 years of deepening authoritarianism to accept the status quo as inevitable and without alternative.

Tom Gates connects Rene Girard's mimetic theory and Quakers as "scapegoat caste."

Becky Ankeny on prayer as the most important act of resistance to evil.

A Tornado through our Republic: A message by Doug Bennett at Durham Friends Meeting, Maine, USA.


As promised, another back is scratched. Curtis Salgado, Igor Prado Trio, Ivan Márcio, Roger Guttierrez. São Paulo, Brazil.

12 December 2024

More on deconstruction and curiosity

"The Secret of England's Greatness," Thomas Jones Barker, National Portrait Gallery, London (my photo—I wanted to include the frame).

In my series of blog posts, almost six years ago, on building trustworthy churches, one of the posts was centered on Gordon Aeschliman's book Cages of Pain: Healing for Disillusioned Christians, published in 1991. I read that book in preparation for my service at Friends United Meeting (1993-2000), which began during a period of theological and cultural conflict at FUM. That all happened before I'd heard of deconstructing one's faith.

By the time I wrote the post "Choose curiosity, part two," the reality of deconstruction was more familiar to me, particularly through the actual experiences of people I trusted. As I say in that post, I thought about the factors that helped explain why I hadn't had some of the disillusioning experiences that had caused them to question their earlier understandings of faith.

As I continue to wonder how I can support Friends who care about building a trustworthy church, I've thought about those factors. How have I been sheltered from pain and disillusionment?

One very jarring moment happened a couple of months ago at the National Portrait Gallery in London, when I stood in horrified fascination in front of T. Jones Barker's painting, "The Secret of England's Greatness." This painting may have been inspired by an anecdote, one version of which is recounted in the gallery's description of the painting, in which Queen Victoria supposedly explained to her colonial visitors that the Bible, rather than England's wealth or military might, explained her nation's greatness.

"Black History Walks" on the "Greatness" painting.
Screenshot from this video.

I was stunned by the painting's blatant colonialist condescension, an observation that I'm hardly the first to make! The original intention was surely to elevate piety and charity as noble characteristics of the Empire and its self-attributed civilizing mission. And if it were possible to neutralize the imperial agendas from Christian missionaries' work in the golden age of Western missions (some would say not possible!!), there were cumulative blessings in many places. (See Robert Woodberry's "The Missionary Roots of Liberal Democracy.")

But it's equally true, as historian Michael Ohajuru quotes in the "Black History Walks" Youtube video on that painting, "When England came to Africa, they had the Bible, we had the land. They said, 'Let us pray.' We closed our eyes. When we opened them, we had the Bible and they had the land."

Part of what shook me at the gallery was the realization that, had I been around in 1863, when this painting was first exhibited, I probably would not have been shocked. I would have been sheltered from the Empire's coercive cannons. From what am I now being sheltered?


Scot McKnight's blog recently featured a guest post by Aimee Byrd, "Her Aversion to Christian Language." After commenting on a number of words and phrases dear to most evangelicals I know, she says,

I’m not tossing out the whole Christian vernacular. I’m not saying, let’s get rid of the language. Or that the language is bad. But I don’t put my trust in the words. And I see how they can catch a virus, or how bacteria multiplies on them, and they can make you sick. It’s a tricky sickness because it disguises itself and masks as sanctification, another tainted word.

I am having to dig deeper, read wider, listen stronger, ask more questions, and be more descriptive about what is meaningful, beautiful, agonizing, disintegrating, real, and good. This is more difficult and much richer.

Given that her situation, and her aversions, are shared by many in our Quaker yearly meeting, and by countless others who are clearly not sheltered, I need to pay careful attention.


Speaking of Scot McKnight, I've just finished reading a book that he wrote with co-author Tommy Preson Phillips, Invisible Jesus: A Book about Leaving the Church and Looking for Christ. The authors use their own experiences of deconstructing former certainties, as well as many quotations and case histories of others with similar experiences, and statistical data about developments in North American institutional Christianity, to open up the major crisis represented by today's exodus from established churches.

McKnight and Phillips believe, and try to document, that most of those exiles still feel attracted to Jesus—just not to those who claim to be his official representatives and spokespeople, and the structures, methods, and toxic propaganda that those who hold power in the church are using to try to keep the rest in line. The authors describe how that power and propaganda are used, and the painful results for so many.

Invisible Jesus is not an apologetic aimed at those exiles and refugees to try to lure them back, nor a handbook of strategies for church leaders to use for that purpose. It's more a book for people like me, who are trying to understand what's going on. In today's Christian establishment, why is Jesus so invisible!? For that analysis, I think the book is an effective resource. It is eloquent on the beauty and centrality of Jesus (and on the importance of identifying anything that gets in the way of authentic relationship with him). It doesn't deal directly with the situation of those who have even given up on the reality of Jesus himself, although there's a lot of value in their careful distinction between the Jesus who never gives up on us, and the figurehead presented by toxic theologies. I recommend the book.


Related:

William Barr, Max Boot, and "the vapor trails of Christianity"

Jamie Wright's challenge

The dilemma of the uninvited missionary


The "theology of disillusionment" in the Russian Orthodox context.

On Russia and Syria, diagnoses and prognoses. (However, on the Russian bases in Syria....)

Whose Simone Weil? A survey by Jack Hanson.

It’s telling that Weil has risen to new prominence in the same moment as Arendt: both are safely dead, safely female (and so, it is assumed, feminist); perhaps above all, both are so safely historical in their antifascism that readers can pick and choose what to apply and what to allegorize, what to take as eternal truth and what to dismiss as being simply of their time, or their unique, unreproducible personality.

Friends Peace Teams' work in Chechnya.


Blues from Dnipro, Ukraine. "Help Me."

12 January 2023

Choose curiosity, part two

 
Image Design: Erica Stupfel. Photo of columbine w/mountain: Matt Boswell. Source.

The first time I wrote on the theme of curiosity, I had a specific agenda: "From now on, I'm going to try to replace peevishness with curiosity. I'm going to try replacing an incredulous 'What??!' (and its many colorful variants) with an honest 'Why?'"

Now this word "curiosity" has been chosen as the "Word of the Year" at our Camas Friends Church, and I'm glad to be given the chance to look at this theme again. This time I have a slightly different angle.

Or, rather, two angles.

First of all, I link curiosity with another important theme at our church: deconstruction. For various important reasons, there are significant numbers of people in our church, and in our Sierra-Cascades Yearly Meeting of Friends, who are rethinking aspects of their faith that they had previously accepted or made peace with. Sometimes their new questions seem to have no satisfactory answers, or those supposedly in charge of answering them have proven to be untrustworthy.

What is "deconstruction" in the context of faith and theology? From within the evangelical family, Roger E. Olson outlines his understanding of deconstruction in this helpful essay: "Deconstructing evangelicalism." He cites the "great German pietist Count Nicholas Ludwig von Zinzendorf [who] often said that whoever puts Christianity into a system kills it." Olson looks at this "system" that needs to be deconstructed, both in terms of presumptuous and illegitimate boundaries and in terms of self-proclaimed authorities who should be treated with suspicion.

Olson himself is a Christian theologian, so it may seem that his understanding of deconstruction would have limits. I'm sure he would hope that, at the end of our re-examination, we would still be in the same Christian family together. Nevertheless, I think his principles and tools of deconstruction have integrity, however near or far they might lead us.

I am incredibly grateful that people engaged in this re-examination of their faith find our Quaker community to be congenial and safe. I may or may not share the doubts that they express, but would our fellowship have any integrity at all if they were not free to express them? As I listen to them, my usual reaction is not fear or defensiveness (well, not usually!), but curiosity.

For example: I'm curious about why my experience has been different. I know that in some perverse way, I've led a sheltered life—I became a Christian at age 21, after growing up in an anti-religious family. By my coming to faith as an adult, through Bible-reading and a conversion experience, I may have missed a lot of the good aspects of formation in a lifelong church and family faith culture, but, judging by what I've heard from my friends, I've also dodged a number of bullets. 

I haven't been challenged personally by certain kinds of searing questions ... "How could a Jesus-centered faith community treat people like that? How could it punish people for asking the wrong questions? How could it do all those things described in Gordon Aeschliman's book Cages of Pain??" It seemed a safe choice for me to put all my eggs in the Jesus basket, so I'm not in a position to judge those for whom that basket turned out to have holes. Instead, I'm curious.

To be even more specific: The Bible was a central factor in my conversion, but I took it at face value, if that makes any sense. I read the words and was impressed by them—in fact, my life was utterly changed by them—but I never felt under any obligation to treat this book as magic or "inerrant," to ignore apparent contradictions, to explain away the collateral damage of people who were apparently disposable in the biblical narrative, to accept parables and stories as journalism, or to bow to authorities who thundered into their microphones or Twitter about what was or wasn't "biblical."

See also: Is the Bible nice?

I may represent myself as not being engaged in deconstruction, but my curiosity does lead me into questions for which I've got no clues at all. If you're a fan of the science fiction series The Expanse, you may remember the third season's unveiling of the Ring, created by the mysterious protomolecule as an apparent portal into a realm of space unexplored by humans, where even the laws of physics operate differently. 

There's a Methodist pastor on the space ship sent from Earth to explore the Ring. While I was intrigued by Protestants still being around when the Solar System is colonized, I couldn't help wondering if the planets beyond the Ring would recognize a Savior whose origin story (for us) involves a tiny region on planet Earth, held captive at the time by an empire that in a few centuries would fall apart. If my theology says that God is never without a witness to God's own beloved creatures, what exactly does that mean across the galaxies? More importantly, what requirements of humility and curiosity does that cosmic scale imply for my own attitudes to other faiths and other interpretations of my own faith?


The second angle from which I view the theme of curiosity is its important function, for me, as an antidote to cynicism. I've written several times about cynicism, an occupational hazard for political scientists ... for example:

Cynicism and truth.

Benefit of the doubt, part one.

I'll just summarize my point by saying that skepticism is often valid, but cynicism is lazy and spiritually poisonous. When something feels unjust, misleading, or just plain wrong, instead of resting on cynical assumptions, let's actually be curious; let's do the work of finding out where the trail leads.


Curiosity, this year's "Word of the Year" for Camas Friends Church, comes with these queries. Which queries seem especially attractive—or especially unsettling—to you?

How do others experience God and how does that experience shape and sustain them? 

How am I cultivating a sense of wonder and appreciation for what is good and beautiful? 

How do I remain receptive and hospitable to new possibilities, ideas, and directions? 

How am I proactively opening myself to finding God in others? 

What presumptions and rash judgments are keeping me from encountering goodness in others? 

Where am I practicing gentle persistence in seeking truth? 

What does it mean to ask good questions? 

What questions should I be asking? 

When I pay closer attention to the nuances and particularities of who I am, what do I notice? 

What could I intentionally learn more about and who might benefit from this learning? 

How might vigilant attentiveness and playful inquisitiveness serve me well in this season? 

Where do I see unhealthy forms of stubbornness, bias, or rigidity in myself? 

How could practicing curiosity be an expression of bravery for me? 

How might curiosity facilitate the coming of peace and justice in our world? 

How might practicing curiosity help me better love God, others, or myself?


Costica Bradatan on Simone Weil, slavery, capitalism, and Christ. (Thanks to Faith on View for the link.)

"Nothing is more paralyzing to thought," she would write in 1936, than "the sense of inferiority which is necessarily induced by the daily assault of poverty, subordination, and dependence."

Jeremy Morris: A startling and undervalued revelation from a Levada poll ... a third of Russians feel they bear moral responsibility for aggression against Ukraine.

Helena Cobban: Britain's National Health Service was once "the envy of the world." What happened?

What political economist Michael R. Strain learned from Pope Benedict. (Thanks to Bill Smith for the link.)

I'm glad that ChatGPT wasn't around when I was grading high-school-level homework assignments in Elektrostal, Russia. (It was hard enough to deal with online essay banks with texts exactly matching our homework assignments!) Here are two reflections on this technology: Panic now, but mundane soon ... and AI and the future of scholarship and education. For the fun of it, I asked ChatGPT what Stephen Grellet was doing in Russia, and at first it complained that I hadn't given enough context, but when I said "I'm referring to Étienne de Grellet du Mabillier," then I got a reasonably complete answer in a believably conversational text.


Imelda May and the late Jeff Beck...