In my more pessimistic moments, I think our immediate political future in this country boils down to a war between vices. Which will prove stronger: wrath or sloth?
Right now wrath feels like it's winning. I was talking to my partner today about Joe Biden's recent angry challenge to a voter in Iowa. The voter, an unnamed 83-year-old farmer, said Biden's son Hunter had been up to no good in Ukraine. Biden called the man a "damn liar." The heated exchange continued, with the farmer claiming Biden was too old to run. Biden responded by challenging the man to a push-up contest and an IQ test.
My partner thought this was a good look for Biden. Biden has to beat a bully, he reasoned, so he has to become more bullish.
House Speaker Nancy Pelosi likewise had a testy exchange with a reporter from Sinclair news asking if she hated the President. She forcefully refuted that thought, attesting that she prays for the President every night. She had no patience, she said, for the insinuation that she operates from animosity. "Don't mess with me," she told the reporter.
This, too, my partner says, is a good step for Democrats. "It's time Democrats stopped being the nice pushovers."
"No Republican," I responded, "not a single one that I read, believes that Democrats are too nice." Quite the opposite. The rude, judgmental liberal is a staple of media discourse on the right. Indeed, if you hid the names and affiliations of players in most political news stories, folk on the right and the left would likely automatically attribute tales of rude remarks or angry outbursts to the other side. Both sides, at least online enclaves, seem certain that the other team operates in bad faith. Each loathes the other.
Beneath this wrath lies quite a lot of fear and no small amount of despair. It's gospel in most parts of the online right that a President Hillary Clinton would have ended the Republic, declaring martial law and extending her totalitarian powers into a permanent police state. Obviously progressives think we're seeing the start of just such a devolution in the Trump presidency.
I used to worry, in my naivete pre-November 2016, about what Trump's base of support would do the day after he loses the election. Would Trump respect the results? Would he cede the election? Would his followers declare civil war? Now I wonder about whether some on my own side won't panic in similar ways should Trump be re-elected in 2020 (I consider this a likely outcome).
The specter of civil war sometimes doesn't seem that far away.
But the kryptonite of wrath is sloth. Inertia, to paraphrase Rick James, is a hell of a drug. Aside from being an awful humanitarian catastrophe, civil war is just so energy intensive. It takes so much work. The pacification measures laced into our lifestyles and media are quite powerful. Barely half the eligible populace even votes. Of course, such widespread lassitude can make coups d'état much easier to accomplish. But even that level of effort and organization seems unlikely in the USA absent some significant changes.
It bears remembering, though, that sloth isn't necessarily better than wrath. Sloth, after all, doesn't mean laziness. The old term acedia names more a kind of depressed inaction brought about by a lack of hope. It's more like despondency. It is the sin that, alongside pride, I am most vulnerable to. It describes my personal gravitational pull away from God.
I hardly want civil war or fear-based rage to rule the day. But a hopeless, despondent inaction, a suicide without death, is surely not much better.
Showing posts with label hate. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hate. Show all posts
Sunday, December 8, 2019
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Reprobation and the Hatred of God
It's odd to think of fundamentalist pastors like Fred Phelps (of "God Hates Fags" fame) and Steven Anderson (of "Why I Hate Barack Obama" fame) as stabilizing influences, but that has been their effect on me as I study conservative evangelicalism. To explore why, I'll need to pinpoint where Phelps and Anderson (and others like them) depart from most other evangelicals.
Of course, as many scholars have noted (D. G. Hart most effectively), evangelicalism lacks a clear nucleus and a clear outer boundary. Setting up hard-and-fast lines between evangelicals and fundamentalists is practically impossible and theoretically ill-advised. Nevertheless, conservative evangelicals often use Phelps (and, I predict, Anderson to a lesser extent) as foils against which they portray their beliefs as sensible, loving, and mainstream. I want today to locate where and how evangelicals themselves tend to discriminate between themselves and fundamentalism.
As I wrote yesterday, Phelps and Anderson themselves differ markedly from each other on several points of theology and practice. Phelps is hyper-Calvinist and disinterested in winning converts; his church's colorful and offensive protests are meant to condemn, not to convert. Anderson, on the other hand, refuses to align with formal theological traditions, be they Calvinist, Arminian, or dispensational. And while his sermons often feature fire-breathing rhetoric (like the aforementioned "Why I Hate..." that made national headlines), Anderson is a devoted evangelist who values soul-winning as a central component of any legitimate church.
What they share, however, is the utter certainty that they have a deadlock on the Words of God literally and plainly presented in the Bible. Moreover, their readings of scripture lead them to the unpopular conclusion that God is in fact not (or not primarily) a God of love but a God of hate. Where other preachers or scholars will contextualize verses like the imprecatory Psalms (e.g., Psalm 58: "Break their teeth, oh God, in their mouths..."), Phelps and Anderson build whole theologies upon instances of God's wrath, God's violence, God's delight in the sufferings of others, and so on.
To be sure, both men define God's hatred not as a human pettiness or prejudice (both in different ways distance themselves from racist fundamentalist organizations like the KKK) but as a natural and rational consequence of God's righteous perfection. Being God, being the very definition and essence of Good, God will of course be intolerant of--hate--evil. All humans are by virtue of their being human, imperfect. Yet God in God's mercy (Anderson is more apt to say love than Phelps) sent Christ as sacrifice to atone for the sins of imperfect humanity. Humans--at least the elect of those humans--can by that grace believe in Christ and avoid God's wrath. Those who die without so believing are hopelessly subject to the holy, righteous fire of God's anger.
So far, so orthodox, as far as most conservative evangelicals are concerned. God hates sin but loves humanity enough to die on the cross. No disagreement there. Anderson and Phelps diverge from the majority of evangelicals, however, in their words about those humans who while still alive stray irrevocably beyond the ambit of God's grace: the reprobate. John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, wrote about "going on to perfection," suggesting that Christians can in this mortal life achieve a kind of heavenly state of holiness. Phelps's and Anderson's reprobation functions as a kind of a perfection in reverse, a going-on-to-perdition. Those who proudly reject God or commit blasphemy against the Holy Spirit by declaring the works of God as evil or sinful--God in essence gives up on these people, withdrawing from them all hope of salvation, all sense of right and wrong, hardening their hearts and condemning them to their sinful, violent lusts. Such people are not only unsaved but permanently unsaved.
Here Phelps and Anderson leave much of mainstream evangelicalism. Most evangelicals would be uneasy with the suggestion that any human is beyond saving. Stories of the redemptive power of God for even the worst, vilest offender filled the messages I heard as a Southern Baptist. These and other stories relied on the idea that Christ died "while we were yet sinners"--while we were shaking our fists in the face of God. Our human rebellion did not, could not, overpower the saving grace of Christ. My Baptist tradition in particular affirmed the legitimacy of "deathbed conversions," where even the foulest man or woman could be saved if they truly believed in the last moments of their mortal lives (look, for instance, at the thief on the cross next to Jesus to whom Christ said "Truly you will be with me in Paradise").
If pressed, some evangelicals (particularly those in Calvinist traditions, where reprobation is a well-established doctrine) will admit that perhaps God does sometimes "harden the heart" of people. But even they would urge caution about thinking we can know for sure just who such reprobates were, holding out the hope that even those we think are reprobates may yet turn to Christ. Whether any particular person is an actual reprobate is beyond human knowledge. In other words, regardless of our impressions, we as Christians are to love others by reaching out to them, urging them to turn to Christ (and perhaps to repent).
Phelps and Anderson would not disagree. Phelps and his church maintain that their "Thank God for AIDS" or "Matt Shepard Burning in Hell" displays are acts of love, presenting people with the hard truth about how life really is. Anderson would maintain the same: if he didn't love people, he asks rhetorically, why would he spend hours going door-to-door winning souls in the hot Phoenix sun?
Nevertheless, Anderson and Phelps strongly affirm that reprobates exist and that they can be identified as such. Rebrobates, note, are not merely vile people; Saul was a vile person prior to the road to Damascus. Reprobates are a particular kind of vile defined by an arrogant rejection of God. Once such reprobates are so identified, Phelps and Anderson claim it is wrong for Christians to love them as one loves other unsaved people.
For both pastors, homosexuals clearly represent a case of reprobation. They are people--no, not people, but less-than-humans-- who despise God and for whom (quid pro quo) God has nothing but hatred. The people of God can therefore have no other attitude towards GLBT people than utter animosity. Phelps and Anderson do not advocate personal violence toward gays (again, unlike militant white supremacist groups), but they would certainly support harsh sanctions against homosexuals, up to and including the death penalty. For to them, gays and lesbians (and bisexuals and the transgendered) are not merely non-heterosexual; GLBT people are vicious enemies, consciously dedicated to the corruption and destruction of all that is Godly and wholesome, particularly children.
It's in this sure identification of reprobates and in the endorsement of attitudes of hatred toward them ("Thank God for AIDS," "Break his teeth") that Anderson and Phelps depart from mainstream evangelicalism. Evangelicals themselves typically use examples like Phelps to qualify their own stances against gays (or pro-choice forces, feminists, liberals, etc.). We resist, they say, but do not hate. We hate the sin, they say, but love the sinner. Phelps and Anderson both declare such a nuanced view as unBiblical and unChristian.
And on their own terms, Phelps and Anderson make a better, more coherent case than many of the conservative evangelicals who would be embarrassed by them.
More tomorrow,
JF
Of course, as many scholars have noted (D. G. Hart most effectively), evangelicalism lacks a clear nucleus and a clear outer boundary. Setting up hard-and-fast lines between evangelicals and fundamentalists is practically impossible and theoretically ill-advised. Nevertheless, conservative evangelicals often use Phelps (and, I predict, Anderson to a lesser extent) as foils against which they portray their beliefs as sensible, loving, and mainstream. I want today to locate where and how evangelicals themselves tend to discriminate between themselves and fundamentalism.
As I wrote yesterday, Phelps and Anderson themselves differ markedly from each other on several points of theology and practice. Phelps is hyper-Calvinist and disinterested in winning converts; his church's colorful and offensive protests are meant to condemn, not to convert. Anderson, on the other hand, refuses to align with formal theological traditions, be they Calvinist, Arminian, or dispensational. And while his sermons often feature fire-breathing rhetoric (like the aforementioned "Why I Hate..." that made national headlines), Anderson is a devoted evangelist who values soul-winning as a central component of any legitimate church.
What they share, however, is the utter certainty that they have a deadlock on the Words of God literally and plainly presented in the Bible. Moreover, their readings of scripture lead them to the unpopular conclusion that God is in fact not (or not primarily) a God of love but a God of hate. Where other preachers or scholars will contextualize verses like the imprecatory Psalms (e.g., Psalm 58: "Break their teeth, oh God, in their mouths..."), Phelps and Anderson build whole theologies upon instances of God's wrath, God's violence, God's delight in the sufferings of others, and so on.
To be sure, both men define God's hatred not as a human pettiness or prejudice (both in different ways distance themselves from racist fundamentalist organizations like the KKK) but as a natural and rational consequence of God's righteous perfection. Being God, being the very definition and essence of Good, God will of course be intolerant of--hate--evil. All humans are by virtue of their being human, imperfect. Yet God in God's mercy (Anderson is more apt to say love than Phelps) sent Christ as sacrifice to atone for the sins of imperfect humanity. Humans--at least the elect of those humans--can by that grace believe in Christ and avoid God's wrath. Those who die without so believing are hopelessly subject to the holy, righteous fire of God's anger.
So far, so orthodox, as far as most conservative evangelicals are concerned. God hates sin but loves humanity enough to die on the cross. No disagreement there. Anderson and Phelps diverge from the majority of evangelicals, however, in their words about those humans who while still alive stray irrevocably beyond the ambit of God's grace: the reprobate. John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, wrote about "going on to perfection," suggesting that Christians can in this mortal life achieve a kind of heavenly state of holiness. Phelps's and Anderson's reprobation functions as a kind of a perfection in reverse, a going-on-to-perdition. Those who proudly reject God or commit blasphemy against the Holy Spirit by declaring the works of God as evil or sinful--God in essence gives up on these people, withdrawing from them all hope of salvation, all sense of right and wrong, hardening their hearts and condemning them to their sinful, violent lusts. Such people are not only unsaved but permanently unsaved.
Here Phelps and Anderson leave much of mainstream evangelicalism. Most evangelicals would be uneasy with the suggestion that any human is beyond saving. Stories of the redemptive power of God for even the worst, vilest offender filled the messages I heard as a Southern Baptist. These and other stories relied on the idea that Christ died "while we were yet sinners"--while we were shaking our fists in the face of God. Our human rebellion did not, could not, overpower the saving grace of Christ. My Baptist tradition in particular affirmed the legitimacy of "deathbed conversions," where even the foulest man or woman could be saved if they truly believed in the last moments of their mortal lives (look, for instance, at the thief on the cross next to Jesus to whom Christ said "Truly you will be with me in Paradise").
If pressed, some evangelicals (particularly those in Calvinist traditions, where reprobation is a well-established doctrine) will admit that perhaps God does sometimes "harden the heart" of people. But even they would urge caution about thinking we can know for sure just who such reprobates were, holding out the hope that even those we think are reprobates may yet turn to Christ. Whether any particular person is an actual reprobate is beyond human knowledge. In other words, regardless of our impressions, we as Christians are to love others by reaching out to them, urging them to turn to Christ (and perhaps to repent).
Phelps and Anderson would not disagree. Phelps and his church maintain that their "Thank God for AIDS" or "Matt Shepard Burning in Hell" displays are acts of love, presenting people with the hard truth about how life really is. Anderson would maintain the same: if he didn't love people, he asks rhetorically, why would he spend hours going door-to-door winning souls in the hot Phoenix sun?
Nevertheless, Anderson and Phelps strongly affirm that reprobates exist and that they can be identified as such. Rebrobates, note, are not merely vile people; Saul was a vile person prior to the road to Damascus. Reprobates are a particular kind of vile defined by an arrogant rejection of God. Once such reprobates are so identified, Phelps and Anderson claim it is wrong for Christians to love them as one loves other unsaved people.
For both pastors, homosexuals clearly represent a case of reprobation. They are people--no, not people, but less-than-humans-- who despise God and for whom (quid pro quo) God has nothing but hatred. The people of God can therefore have no other attitude towards GLBT people than utter animosity. Phelps and Anderson do not advocate personal violence toward gays (again, unlike militant white supremacist groups), but they would certainly support harsh sanctions against homosexuals, up to and including the death penalty. For to them, gays and lesbians (and bisexuals and the transgendered) are not merely non-heterosexual; GLBT people are vicious enemies, consciously dedicated to the corruption and destruction of all that is Godly and wholesome, particularly children.
It's in this sure identification of reprobates and in the endorsement of attitudes of hatred toward them ("Thank God for AIDS," "Break his teeth") that Anderson and Phelps depart from mainstream evangelicalism. Evangelicals themselves typically use examples like Phelps to qualify their own stances against gays (or pro-choice forces, feminists, liberals, etc.). We resist, they say, but do not hate. We hate the sin, they say, but love the sinner. Phelps and Anderson both declare such a nuanced view as unBiblical and unChristian.
And on their own terms, Phelps and Anderson make a better, more coherent case than many of the conservative evangelicals who would be embarrassed by them.
More tomorrow,
JF
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