Over the next two years I will be working on a book project with the current working title The End of Sexual Virtue. Shared here is a small portion. I welcome dialogue:
The care and cultivation of virtue is fundamentally about living as a people who desire to be excellent as creatures who, as rational creatures, have the power to shape and reshape our lives. Unlike animals, many of which simply follow instincts and appetites, we have the power to reflect on our capacities and powers, as well as our beliefs and appetites. Indeed, we can consider how we might (where it is in the control of reason) make ourselves better. Appetites and desires of hunger and thirst, fight and flight, all can be refined and disposed towards fine (or excellent) ends that actually contribute to our happiness and flourishing as human beings. Sexual desire, activity, and relationships also come under the perfecting power of virtue. what we need, therefore, is a justifiable and defensible 'end' of sexual sexual virtue, towards which we practice and encourage other moral agents in virtue as well.
The sexual dimesnions of human life are individual, relational, and communal. Whether they intersect or collide, the sexual dimensions of human existence elicit a wide variety of strong reactions from each one of us: excitment and embarassment, joy and anger, liberation and oppression, acceptance and suspciion; confidence and shame. Sex and sexuality are deeply personal, and thus rightly regarded by many persons as aspects of human life to be carefully cultivated. For too many, however, a "careful" approcation to sex and sexuality defaults into lack of conversation and education on the sexual dimeniosns of human life. Such deficiency resutls in some people fearing any discussion of sex or sexuality whatsoever. In others, there is a different kind of deficiency, one that defaults into thoughtless hedonism restuling in sexual relationships without care. still more, there are a whole host of people who simply feel ill-prepared to talk about sexuality--whether single or coupled, gay or straight, celibate or sexually active.
If sexual virtue concerns the proper enjoyment of sexual pleasure and the cultivation of excellence in our sexual desires, relationships, and activities, then to engage in sexual ethics via an ethic of virtua is one that invites all persons to consider sex and sexuality in terms of what these mean to us as human persons. The invitation to pursue right ends of sexual virtue is to shine light on human sexuality and our concepts of sexual morality so as to encourage all people to be excellent and unashamed of this awesome human capacity. Where we disagree on the proper ends of sexual desire and activity, and thus the proper cultivation of sexual virtue, the emphasis on virtue itself ought to remind us that where we disagree we nevertheless respect and care for human sexuality as a conduit by which moral character is expressed and known.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Alone in Eden
Admittedly, I do not take the ancient Hebrew story of the Garden of Eden literally (Genesis 2-3). In fact, I am largely persuaded that it was never meant to be received as an historical account of humanity's beginnings. Returning to the story now and again, the narrative reads more like a parable or a cautionary tale than a chronicle of events. Sometimes when reading the story, I imagine that it was an ancient Hebrew mother or grandmother who gathered her family around a fire or hearth millennia ago and told this story for the first time--perhaps in an effort to communicate deep, sacred, and universal truths about humankind that would help her family make sense of the world and of their very lives. The simplicity of the story allows a wide variety of people to identify with it: from communion to alienation, to command and temptation, as well as friendlessness and companionship, the parable of Eden is a mirror in which the details of our own lives often look similar to life in (and outside of) that mythical garden.
Lately, I have been both facinated and haunted by a particular aspect of the parable of Eden. After bringing "Adam" to life, the storyteller says that: "...the Lord God said, 'it is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper as his partner'" (Genesis 2:18). God proceeds to bring (or create) every kind of animal to Adam to be named and known. None of these, however, is found as a suitable partner for Adam. Like the animals, Adam is a sensory body with instincts and appetites, but unlike the animals, it would seem that Adam has a distinct capacity for reason. Adam's rational capacity not only distinguishes him as an intellectual creature, but it also gives him accute awareness of himself as a self--a self who is capable of assigning meaning and value to the life that he is living. Adam's gift is also the source of a kind of pain: his aloneness. There is no companionship for Adam. The animals can give Adam a certain kind of companionship, but not something to his equal. They can perhaps show signs of basic bonding to him, but Adam's capacity for mutual companionship is much greater than that of the animals. Every act of the human can be intentional and communicative of meaning and value. And while Adam can (and perhaps does) act this intentionally to the animals, they in turn cannot give Adam back what Adam is capable of receiving: intelligent, intentional mutual regard and care.
A lot of people know how at least this part of the story plays out. God brings Adam a fellow human as his partner and they live happily ever after...until chapter three that is, and the arrival of that crafty snake from stage right. But it is Adam's "alone-ness" that has grounded my reading of this text lately. I suppose that there are a number of us who often feel like we are alone in Eden. Yes, we have various fellow creatures that we have met along the way, all good, and each unique, but none having what we need to fully explore and experience the depths of our capacity to relate to another sentient and intelligent being.
Of course, we are meeting potential partners all of the time, and we are fortunate to have the power to be constantly making new frienships of different kinds, some for a season and some for life. The various kinds of intimate relationships that we have in life should be celebrated and not taken lightly, because in them we find a certain kind of satisfaction of that need for mutuality and companionship. And yet, in many of us (even if not all of us) there is a deep desire to announce as Adam did that we have at last found "bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh!" I understand that declaration to mean that in his partner Adam looked and saw another self. Adam saw not only the beautiful creature that stood in front of him, but he saw what was within: Another "I", another "self" that had the full range of capacities that he himself did. Here was a creature like himself that not only could complement his physicality, but also his intellect. Here was a creature like himself who also had the rational power to know meaning and value to life. The potential of life together opened up new levels of meaning and value perhaps unattainable without such a partner to explore and engage life together.
In a world having a great number of friends, lovers, and chance encounters with wonderful strangers, the parable of Eden has often come to mind. In a crowded room full of friends or family, I sometimes feel a distinct "alone-ness." I have seen new lovers holding hands and looking deeply into one another's eyes. I have seen an elderly couple take to a dance floor and whirl and twirl like newlyweds. I have seen partners look into each other's eyes and cry as they take their vows. I have seen parents hold their newborn babies. As I have celebrated these moments in the lives of friends and family, each of these experiences have been like mirrors to my own life, in which I see myself, Adam, standing alone in Eden. In these moments when it seems inappropriate to vocalize such alone-ness in the face of other people's happiness, I hear a whisper in some deep sacred place of my being, and it says: "It is not good that the man should be alone." The repetition of that phrase is difficult. Is the wisdom of the parable of Eden that your partner will in fact come and that you must only have faith? Or is the repetition of that phrase the voice of wisdom commanding me to leave alone-ness and create that which I do not currently have?
Perhaps the answer is a little of both. The question then becomes: do I know what to look for? Eden is full of many wonderful and delightful creatures. But the truth is, the creature with whom I can experience actual happiness is one who has the power to be another "I" and another "self," and who wants to be an already complete human being in relation to me. It requires me to appreciate, and yet, see beyond the sensory body in order to look for one who appreciates himself as a body/mind composite, not merely as one who lives by appetites and instincts alone. That of course, is a tried and true lesson. Upon careful inspection, the lesson of Eden also requires me to not only seek out one who is a total self, but to respect and value myself as one as well. It requires me to remember that all of the other Adams in this world are in need of another total self too. And perhaps when we begin looking for that, we will finally be able to see each other...and in that seeing we will find each other and at last say: "bone of my bone, and flesh of my flesh!"
Lately, I have been both facinated and haunted by a particular aspect of the parable of Eden. After bringing "Adam" to life, the storyteller says that: "...the Lord God said, 'it is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper as his partner'" (Genesis 2:18). God proceeds to bring (or create) every kind of animal to Adam to be named and known. None of these, however, is found as a suitable partner for Adam. Like the animals, Adam is a sensory body with instincts and appetites, but unlike the animals, it would seem that Adam has a distinct capacity for reason. Adam's rational capacity not only distinguishes him as an intellectual creature, but it also gives him accute awareness of himself as a self--a self who is capable of assigning meaning and value to the life that he is living. Adam's gift is also the source of a kind of pain: his aloneness. There is no companionship for Adam. The animals can give Adam a certain kind of companionship, but not something to his equal. They can perhaps show signs of basic bonding to him, but Adam's capacity for mutual companionship is much greater than that of the animals. Every act of the human can be intentional and communicative of meaning and value. And while Adam can (and perhaps does) act this intentionally to the animals, they in turn cannot give Adam back what Adam is capable of receiving: intelligent, intentional mutual regard and care.
A lot of people know how at least this part of the story plays out. God brings Adam a fellow human as his partner and they live happily ever after...until chapter three that is, and the arrival of that crafty snake from stage right. But it is Adam's "alone-ness" that has grounded my reading of this text lately. I suppose that there are a number of us who often feel like we are alone in Eden. Yes, we have various fellow creatures that we have met along the way, all good, and each unique, but none having what we need to fully explore and experience the depths of our capacity to relate to another sentient and intelligent being.
Of course, we are meeting potential partners all of the time, and we are fortunate to have the power to be constantly making new frienships of different kinds, some for a season and some for life. The various kinds of intimate relationships that we have in life should be celebrated and not taken lightly, because in them we find a certain kind of satisfaction of that need for mutuality and companionship. And yet, in many of us (even if not all of us) there is a deep desire to announce as Adam did that we have at last found "bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh!" I understand that declaration to mean that in his partner Adam looked and saw another self. Adam saw not only the beautiful creature that stood in front of him, but he saw what was within: Another "I", another "self" that had the full range of capacities that he himself did. Here was a creature like himself that not only could complement his physicality, but also his intellect. Here was a creature like himself who also had the rational power to know meaning and value to life. The potential of life together opened up new levels of meaning and value perhaps unattainable without such a partner to explore and engage life together.
In a world having a great number of friends, lovers, and chance encounters with wonderful strangers, the parable of Eden has often come to mind. In a crowded room full of friends or family, I sometimes feel a distinct "alone-ness." I have seen new lovers holding hands and looking deeply into one another's eyes. I have seen an elderly couple take to a dance floor and whirl and twirl like newlyweds. I have seen partners look into each other's eyes and cry as they take their vows. I have seen parents hold their newborn babies. As I have celebrated these moments in the lives of friends and family, each of these experiences have been like mirrors to my own life, in which I see myself, Adam, standing alone in Eden. In these moments when it seems inappropriate to vocalize such alone-ness in the face of other people's happiness, I hear a whisper in some deep sacred place of my being, and it says: "It is not good that the man should be alone." The repetition of that phrase is difficult. Is the wisdom of the parable of Eden that your partner will in fact come and that you must only have faith? Or is the repetition of that phrase the voice of wisdom commanding me to leave alone-ness and create that which I do not currently have?
Perhaps the answer is a little of both. The question then becomes: do I know what to look for? Eden is full of many wonderful and delightful creatures. But the truth is, the creature with whom I can experience actual happiness is one who has the power to be another "I" and another "self," and who wants to be an already complete human being in relation to me. It requires me to appreciate, and yet, see beyond the sensory body in order to look for one who appreciates himself as a body/mind composite, not merely as one who lives by appetites and instincts alone. That of course, is a tried and true lesson. Upon careful inspection, the lesson of Eden also requires me to not only seek out one who is a total self, but to respect and value myself as one as well. It requires me to remember that all of the other Adams in this world are in need of another total self too. And perhaps when we begin looking for that, we will finally be able to see each other...and in that seeing we will find each other and at last say: "bone of my bone, and flesh of my flesh!"
Monday, August 25, 2008
What is your faith?
Today a fellow new faculty member unexpectedly pulled me aside and inquired: "If I may ask, what is your faith?" I was surprised at how quickly a formulaic answer slipped from my lips: 1. Raised Catholic, 2. Ordained in the Reformed Church in America, 3. Transferring my ordination to the United Church of Christ, and 4. A follower of Jesus often disappointed in Christianity in its organized institutional forms. As my new colleague recounted his story of converting from Reform Judaism to Christianity via his wife's Korean Presbyterian Church affiliation, I was struck how my answer said nothing about my faith in any meaningful detail. He, on the other hand, anxiously spoke about his faith in the guilt of humanity, and the necessity of Christ, and his belief that the gospel was in fact "good news" that all humans needed to hear. I couldn't help but feel disappointed that my own articulation of "faith" was nothing more than a laundry list of history, credentials, and suspicion towards hierarchy, or perhaps the shadowy history of the institutional growth of the Christian religion.
So what is my faith? If faith is a certain belief in the unseen, then with my life I believe:
1. God is infinite spirit, not Zeus sitting "above" or "high" on a "heavenly mountain," but that within which both the cosmos and heaven have their being.
2. God is infinitely beyond human comprehension, yet makes God's Self known to us through media we can digest.
3. God, although beyond us, is personal. I don't know how. Neither do you.
4. God is love. And I believe that true love, regardless between whom, is always a sacred window through which God can be "seen" or "known."
5. The Love of God is eternal. Love is the motivation out of which all the cosmos was borne in goodness; it is the motivation out of which God improves us when we fail or make wrong choices; and it is the grounding in which we are reconciled when we face brokenness of heart or relationships -- whether those relationships be with others, God, or the world in which we live.
6. People give up and assign people to hell. God, however, does not give up. Ever. Like the human physician who endures the screaming and kicking of patients ill with disease and disorder, God sees beyond our wrongs and our misgivings and brings us to wholeness.
7. Jesus is the human face of God; the manifestation of God in human form; the Wisdom of God made manifest in a body that could touch ours and ours God's. I believe this because I have experienced Christ mystically, not simply because someone told me it was true.
8. I don't understand all of Jesus's teachings. Neither do you.
9. Jesus's death on the cross was not economic for either the sins of those whom God predestined to be "saved," nor for those who choose to believe that Christ's death offers forgiveness of sins. Christ's death on the cross is nothing less than God's breaking heart showing us that the world can literally molest, abuse, torture, and slay God, and God's response is still utterance upon utterance and declaration upon declaration of forgiveness and love. It is an utterance on me. It is an utterance on you. It is an utterance of forgiveness on the entire cosmos. You can choose to believe you are forgiven, but it is already true.
10. Jesus could not tolerate (and can not tolerate) hypocrites or self-righteous, logo wearing, list-checking, finger pointing "religious people." But he loved them in his day, and I'm pretty sure he still loves them now. I have a hard time loving them. But the hard truth is, I am "them" too. You might be as well.
11. Jesus exquisitely and fiercely loves all those people who get fingers pointed at them. Their/our love impresses Jesus. But people on the "inside," or the "greatest among us" also love, and Jesus loves that too. It's not about being on the right or left. But it is about love and love's implications.
12. The presence of God is here. I call that the Holy Spirit. Holy Spirit does pretty amazing things. It's too bad we try and make Spirit do magic tricks.
13. Scripture is inspired as a living text. Therefore its holiness and message is far too alive and probing to be reduced to literal words on a page. Fundamentalists short change themselves. So do intellectuals who want it to be mere literature, or who think it can be mastered by critical analysis.
14. I'm pretty sure there are living texts of scripture, which Spirit has inspired that are not currently bound by Bible publishing houses.
15. Believing that God is in the mix of time and space, my faith tells me that we ought to honor our history and heritage, but not at the expense of discarding the truth of our experiences of God today.
16. Theology is fine, but none of us should be so boxed in that we can draw lines around God's truth. The truth of the Infinite One cannot be contained.
17. God is love. You are loved. I am loved. The love of God is God's justice, even when we go wrong. I'm pretty sure that's the message Christ created out of the absolute horror and shame of the cross. It is the living message we can be, each of us as occasions for love and touch-points of God's Spirit.
18. Our theology might really suck, but we are loved. We should probably try and act like that more often.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
The Strength of Truth
Recently, while reading essays by Abraham Heschel in the edited collection Moral Grandeur and Spiritual Audacity, I came across a statement of his that has commanded my attention. Heschel says:
"Yet the strength of truth lies not in refuting others but in understanding itself, in being consistent with itself."
The claim is elegant, yet provocative. It is a declaration of certainty, yet one that invites thorough inspection of one's deepest convictions. In an era that is dominated by the sin of idolizing our own thoughts and world-views as unquestionably divine while we utterly demonize those with whom we disagree, Heschel's illumination of "the strength of truth" demands that we lay bare our own claims and concepts of truth in order to see if they are worth holding whatsoever. I interpret Heschel's statement as an invitation to investigate whether or not our claims and concepts of truth are in fact true.
Making such an investigation of truth is no simple matter. It includes attention to the many dimensions of human life, including (but not limited to) the moral, political, spiritual, theological, psychological, biological, individual, familial, and interpersonal aspects of life, all of which contribute to a life well lived. Recognizing that human persons are multi-dimensional, it is stating the obvious to acknowledge that knowing and living the truth requires intelligent attention to all the constituent dimensions of human life, both for the individual as well as for the whole human community. This is not a new idea. Our most revered philosophers and theologians have agreed that the good life is one that requires the practice of the virtue of prudence: the habit of knowing the right thing to be done, at the right time, and for the right reason, with respect to oneself, as well as other persons.
If virtues are habits, and prudence is the habit of knowing the right reason of things to be done, then the acquisition of prudence requires careful inspection of all of our claims to truth. That is to say, the strength of our own truth claims is grounded in our acquisition and exercise of prudence.
Very few people strike me as having acquired the virtue of prudence. I certainly have not. I think it is fair to say that most of us are on the path towards the acquisition of prudence. Being on the path towards prudence requires the admission that most of us still make mistakes and that we are in need of growing in the strength of truth. If growing in the strength of truth requires, as Heschel implicates, laying bare our truth claims, then we must investigate our own claims and concepts of truth through the criticisms and insights of others. Acquiring prudence and growing in the strength of truth requires, then, that we also exercise humility of conviction.
Humility of conviction does not consist of a radical abdication of our most trusted or sacred principles. What it does require is that we daily remind ourselves that our minds are neither divinely inerrant, nor certainly perfected by our own rational capacity. I may trust that God is all wise, but that does not mean that this mortal mind fully understands every divine precept, law, or liberty. I may trust that experience or education brings about better understanding of the world and our place in it, but that does not mean that I can ever see the whole picture or rely solely on what my rational faculties can digest. I agree with Gene Outka, the respected scholar of religion and ethics, who encourages us to recognize the limitations of our own finitude.
There is wisdom in honoring the limits of reason. It saves us from the idolatry of self-righteousness so often present in religious fundamentalism, and it keeps us from the ruinous pride of esteeming human reason as infallible. Somewhere in-between are the building blocks of prudence and the sure grounding for the strength of truth.
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