On Hoodies

Hoodies have been in the news recently. The hoodie has always been one of my favourite articles of clothing. When I was a kid it was the zip up hoodie that seemed to always complete my wardrobe. As I've aged, the pullover hoodie takes the day. Of course, it's probably pretty obvious that this post isn't about fashion. To wear a hoodie, to not wear a hoodie, it makes little difference in the grand scheme of things. The hoodie hasn't been in the news because Ralph Lauren has introduced a new world changing garment. The hoodie has been in the news because it was the clothing of choice for a young man who was tragically killed.

Regardless of one's political leanings, regardless of one's thoughts on the legal verdict of George Zimmerman's trial, there should be no argument that the death of Trayvon Martin is a tragedy. A young man is dead who should be alive. In the past few days and months much has been written regarding the outcome of the Zimmerman trial. I, of course, have opinions, but they are irrelevant here. Regardless of whether or not George Zimmerman had been found guilty of murder or manslaughter, a young man would still remain dead.

The American judicial system is inarguably imperfect- probably broken (even if not entirely so). The brokenness of the system is made manifest in the verdicts of certain trials (depending on one's own point of view), but it is actually much deeper: simultaneously more subtle and more egregious. The brokenness of the judicial system is evident in the fact that it claims to be a system of justice. Justice is purported to be blind, to be absent objectivity, to have a "God's-Eye View." Justice, it is claimed, is based on facts, on rationality, and stands transcendent over the much of the world. Of course, nobody actually believes that this is so, but it is an open secret, never to be spoken of. In practice, this "justice" is primarily retributive. Justice is a system of prescriptive punishment. Justice is bound by sentencing guidelines, even if enacted very differently at the discretion (or the whim) of a judge (who herself may well be an elected official with employment contingent upon the approval of the majority). "Justice" fixes nothing. "Justice" solves nothing. "Justice" heals nothing.

The travesty of the George Zimmerman trial is that, regardless of the outcome, nothing could have changed. Whether or not an individual, the immediate cause of the death of another person, spent part of his life in prison, more people would continue to be killed senselessly. Retributive justice does nothing to break up a cycle of violence. Rather, retributive justice is foundational to a system in which might makes right, to a seemingly inescapable pattern of violence. Moreover, there can be no doubt that the legal system, the arbiter of justice, is itself anything but just. "Justice" isn't blind, and justice certainly doesn't have a "God's-Eye View." To the contrary, the justice system is comprised by individuals who are far from objective (if objectivity can even be said to exist in any sort of profound way). The justice system is comprised by individuals who are bigoted, who are opinionated, and whose thoughts are profoundly subjective. There is no such thing as a "fair" trial because they're is no fairness.

Life is intensely unfair. The situations in which we find ourselves always already thrown into are fairly rigid. We're really not nearly as free as we'd like to believe. All people are not created equal, for the creation of a person is as much the act of the imagination of an other as it is any sort of ontological or empirical reality. Persons are in always in an inescapable cycle of creation- both attempting to (re-) create themselves and being created by others. This is a fact that cannot be comprehended by a justice system which pretends rationality and impartiality. In the face of an unfair world, justice cannot be implemented by either the conviction or acquittal of George Zimmerman.

The good news is that, regardless of one's thoughts on the outcome of Zimmerman's trial, justice is yet possible. Justice does not exist, but can be made manifest. Justice requires us to work to create a world in which justice could exist. While the Trayvon Martin story may not be entirely a story of race, it is at least that. Did George Zimmerman racially profile Trayvon Martin? Of course he did. However, who among us would not have, at least to a degree, done the same? Justice requires honesty, and the honest reality is that, even if we are rightly ashamed of it, we all have gut reactions to our encounters with people based solely on the colour of their skin.

This is the essence of original sin. Our society has propagated the notion that one's skin colour or familial background is itself a meaningful descriptor of one's character. This is not even unique to a white majority. Jesse Jackson famously admitted that, while walking alone at night, upon hearing footsteps behind him, and worrying about being robbed, he is relieved to see a white face behind him. The 'originality' of this sin is found in the fact that it is, at best, unconscious. This original sin is manifest in the "Justice" system as countless stories and sets of data have shown. True justice, then, cannot come from this system. Justice could never have occurred in the Zimmerman trial, regardless of the outcome. True justice can only come with the acknowledgement of our own complicity in the propagation of unconscious racism. By admitting this, and by naming it for what it is, we can begin to reject its power. True justice is not that somebody might be held culpable for the death of Trayvon Martin, but that a world is imagined (and enacted) in which future Trayvon Martins (whether legally "justifiable" or not) are not killed. Did George Zimmerman racially profile Trayvon Martin? Of course he did, but I might have done the same. "Justice" is not blind, but rather she sees black and white very clearly. 

Desiring Gatsby

I've always been enamored with The Great Gatsby. Even in high school, when I was supposed to hate it because it was being forced upon me, I found myself drawn to the novel. After having read it numerous times, I still find myself excited about it. Not altogether surprisingly, then, I was also tremendously excited when I heard that a new Gatsby film was being made. I was fortunate enough to get a free pass to an advanced screening of the film. I don't want to write a film review here, but, for what its worth, I actually thought the film was quite well done (even if a bit too long), and, demonstrated a profoundly interesting interpretation of the book.

In many ways, I've never really believed that Gatsby is primarily a critique of an American culture of consumerism (which does need critique), or of the destructive nature of excess. To the contrary, I see in Gatsby a commentary on the pervasive nihilism of desire. It is often missed that this is a story as much, if not more, about Nick Carraway as it is a story about Jay Gatsby. The story of Gatsby's longing for Daisy is paralleled by Nick's own infatuation with Gatsby. Both men, Nick and Gatsby, are primarily characters of desire. They are both profoundly tragic characters who cannot even recognize the extent of their own brokenness. The overarching narrative of the text revolves around Gatsby's pursuit of Daisy, a woman who he remembers with fondness because of a past fling. Yet, it would be a great misunderstanding to consider Gatsby a love story. For, ultimately, it is demonstrated that it is not Daisy for whom Gatsby longs, but a memory. Gatsby longs for the past. Even though Gatsby's past is one of relative poverty, the story makes clear that Gatsby's wealth brings him little joy. His great estate, his fine clothes, his many toys- they are all for the Daisy of his past. Gatsby would give up all of these possessions if it meant the opportunity for a mulligan on his life. Gatsby simply needs to return. 

Nick's desire, on the other hand, is not a desire for the past, but a desire born out of insecurity and misunderstanding. Nick sees in Gatsby the appearance of happiness. Nick's tragedy is that he foregoes the happiness in which he already lives, to seek after a happiness which has never actually existed. This is the nature of desire: it serves to pervert the already in favour of a future which can never be. Whereas Gatsby's desire perverted the present in longing for the past, Nick's desire perverted the present in longing for a  false future. While it is important to be forward looking (hence the name of this blog), this looking-forward becomes nihilistic desire when it rejects the importance of the present. Nick saw in Gatsby not somebody who made himself into what he was, but a man who mysteriously appeared, fully formed and perfect (one might even say "Great"), into Nick's life. Nick's desire rejects present contentment. Yet, at no time does Nick take any sort of steps to transform his life into that which he desires. He puts forth no effort, and embodies no change. He simply allows himself to fall into the Gatsbian rabbit hole, dragged along indifferently by what he desires to be. 

Both Gatsby and Nick are men who cannot embrace the present. One looks backward, the other wishes forward. The desire of each man is profoundly nihilistic insofar as neither man can ever find a home in the present. The final scene of Gatsby offers one of the most beautiful, and perhaps haunting, conclusions in all of literature. "Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter—tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. . . . And then one fine morning—So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."  For Gatsby, this magical green light contains all of the lost promise of the past. This green light 'recedes' before us; it goes back. Year by year, time incessantly progresses, and refuses to let us find either the future or the past. All that is left is a memory: Gatsby's memory of Daisy, and Nick's memory of Gatsby. Nick, the narrator, in this conclusion finally seems to begin understanding the nature of Gatsby's tragedy (even if not explicitly his own). 'It eluded us then, but that's no matter." We see here the beginning of hope overcoming desire. 'So we beat on, boats against the current...' Isn't this the nature of life? We beat on. In the face of adversity, and life itself is adversity, we beat on. Yet, it is important to remember that it matters little whether we run faster or stretch out our arms further. Despite what both Gatsby and Nick seemed to believe, the green light can never be reached, because the green light is not external to us. The green light is the point at which our past and future come together- a hopeful present. The green light is not that for which we desire, but that which inspires hope within us. So we beat on...

Heidegger and Holiness

This past week I spent several days in Seattle for both the Wesleyan Philosophical Society and Wesleyan Theological Society annual conferences. I had the pleasure of seeing some old friends, learning from a lot of great thinkers, and presenting some ideas of my own at each conference. I grew up in the Church of the Nazarene. If you're not likewise a Nazarene, you've probably never really heard of the denomination. However, from its inception, the Church of the Nazarene has believed that the purpose of its existence is to proclaim 'holiness'. Unfortunately, many people from this denomination have thought and continue to think that 'holiness' (we also love the phrase 'entire sanctification') is something that happens to an individual. It is something that God does to/for me.

At the WTS, I presented a paper which challenged the conception that whatever it is that we mean by this term 'holiness' is an individualistic phenomenon. Most non-philosophers probably don't know the name Heidegger (and perhaps rightly so), and those who do at least know his name probably know him mostly as 'that Nazi philosopher'. You see, Martin Heidegger, a great German philosopher, joined the Nazi party as a way to further his career. His thought, in some ways, proved useful to the Nazis. So, it might seem weird that I would choose him as a dialogue partner to explore a theological doctrine of holiness. I don't really have anything to say except that, yes, it is a little bit weird. However, despite his personal history, Heidegger is considered one of the most important Western thinkers of the 20th century, and it is pretty clear that he hardly intended his thought to be a legitimation of Nazism. It seems fair to me to at least consider the possibility that, despite his personal selling-out, his thought can still be useful without being entirely cast aside because of his personal failings. Some people disagree- c'est la vie.

The point of my WTS paper, and the point that I hope to make much more clearly and concisely here, is that entire sanctification, Christian holiness, cannot make sense as simply individual. Sanctification is not something that happens to me, but a gift that is given to us. A doctrine of holiness needs to be grounded in a doctrine of creation, because the first and (arguably) most important title given to God is 'Creator'. It is important to remember, however, that we never say (or should never say), "God was Creator." Rather, the church proclaims that God is Creator. That is, God is not the watchmaker of the deists who set everything in motion and then stepped away. Rather, God continues to exert a creative influence on the world. Likewise, when Christian theology talks about 'the end', it speaks not of a temporal end, but of a new creation. Sanctification is a gift of grace, and so too is creation. Indeed, I would argue that the possibility of sanctification is implanted in creation itself. God's creation is a gracious creation. And here's where (an admittedly heterodox) reading of Heidegger's philosophy comes in. Heidegger argues that the telos (the goal/ that toward which is striven) of the human life is 'authenticity'. Authenticity, says Heidegger, is found in one's being truly oneself, and doing that which nobody can do better than oneself. Heidegger's authenticity is true Being.

Obviously (at least if you've ever read Heidegger), this can get really confusing. Without getting into all of the details of Heidegger's thought (although they are out there - read them), here's what seems important to me. An understanding of the world as creation seems to allow, or perhaps require, an understanding of God as the source of being. A creature's being truly itself, then, would seem to imply a particular relationship with this ground of being. It is an openness, a freedom to be utilized in creative ways. Holiness is not the absence of sin, but the presence of creativity and redemption. Heidegger says that we can know a hammer when we see it because there is nothing that it could possibly do better than hammer. Likewise, one is most truly oneself when one's actions most clearly demonstrate that which one is, a creature enacting the continuation of God's creation. This cannot, however, be strictly individual, because it is the community of faith which is primarily tasked with this duty. Sanctification, then, cannot occur individually, for a Christian person is most truly her/himself in community (Although I won't do so now, this would be a good place to make an argument about divine trinitarian interrelatedness as evidence of the importance of community). Sanctification is an act of cooperative grace: it is the working out of God's redemption for the world. Holiness is as much ethical (probably more so) as it is ontological. Sanctification is practical, not metaphysical. Holiness is a demonstration of performative grace, or, dare I say, a practice of imaginary eschatology...