Recently, while discussing topics in the philosophy of religion during my introductory course in philosophy, a student claimed that Jesus was “a rebel.” Although this judgment of hers is not without some truth, it is decidedly false in the sense in which I am sure she intended for it to be taken.
The idea that Jesus was a rebel or radical is certainly an improvement over the “meek and mild” Jesus of the popular imagination. The latter is a neutered Jesus, a Jesus that functions as a blank screen upon which anyone and everyone can project his theological, moral, and political idiosyncrasies. The former, in contrast, is a being with passion and conviction. Also, this reading of Jesus at least has some grounding in the Biblical text.
Still, in the sense in which it is commonly used, the sense in which my student used it, the image of Jesus as rebel is as much of a fiction as is that of Jesus meek and mild.
Many contemporary New Testament scholars have labored hard to promote this depiction of Jesus as a radical or rebel. While I lack their professional expertise, as a Christian, I can confidently reject their reading of the Scriptures.
The problem with the words “rebel” and “radical” lies in their connotations. More often than not, they are explicitly political. And even when they aren’t explicitly political, they are implicitly as much, for they suggest a figure whose critical eye is forever set upon a culture.
Those scholars and laypersons who are fond of referring to Jesus as “a rebel” or “radical” know this. This is why they do it.
By casting Jesus as a “radical,” those students of the Bible whose sympathies lie with the politics of the left—i.e. most of those who characterize Jesus as a “radical”—hope to link Him with their own ideological causes and commitments. For example, Jesus, they say, was a champion of “social justice.” Those who do not consciously subscribe to leftist politics, on the other hand, have their own reasons for seeing Jesus as a “radical”: they want their Christianity—and, thus, their Christ—to have political relevance.
In any case, if we insist on viewing Jesus as a rebel, then we must be clear as to what He was and was not rebelling against.
Jesus was not an “anti-imperialist” rebelling against imperial Rome. Nor was He an “egalitarian” interested in “deconstructing” those “social structures” designed to perpetuate “asymmetries” of “power” between “the haves” and “the have nots.” Jesus was not in the least concerned with dismantling “patriarchy” or “classism.”
If Jesus was a rebel, it was against sin or evil that he railed.
To put this point another way, any portrait of Jesus that isn’t theological is not a portrait of Jesus.
Only in light of Jesus’ cosmic vocation do both the Gospels as well as the rise of Christianity become intelligible.
Jesus did indeed want to change the world—but one heart at a time. For utopian political schemes of the sort that were all too common during His day—and ours—Jesus had no use. Not only did He repudiate those who envisioned the Messiah as a figure who would wrest all power away from Rome and restore Israel to some idyllic condition. Jesus said remarkably little about Rome at all, and what He did say wasn’t remotely subversive, or even angry.
Recall that when Jesus healed the centurion’s servant, He did not first demand of Him that the soldier relinquish his duties. He praised the centurion for his faith. He criticized neither the centurion nor the Roman Empire of which he was an agent.
In fact, unlike—radically unlike—those contemporary leftist activists who style themselves inheritors of a prophetic tradition of advocating on behalf of the oppressed and subjugated, Jesus was not infrequently as harsh with His most devoted disciples as He was His enemies within the Jewish ruling class. But I suppose that this is the point: Jesus had disciples; today’s activists have constituents.
Jesus never would have permitted—never did permit—His disciples to invoke their poverty or their condition of living under Roman occupation (or the occupation of any foreign power) as justification for impiety—much less the sorts of egregious conduct that many of today’s “poor” engage in and for which they are excused by their self-appointed champions.
No, Jesus was no radical or rebel. He was not a visionary or champion of “social justice.” He wasn’t interested in dissolving all class distinctions and ushering in a property-less Eden on Earth.
Jesus was the Son of God. He was interested first and foremost in prevailing over sin and evil, through violence, yes, but the violence that He would permit to be inflicted upon Himself.
Jesus was the Christ, the Son of the Living God, as Peter said. He became one of us so that He could redeem humanity and transform us into the adopted sons and daughters of God the Father.
No other understanding of Jesus is adequate.
On June 10, I will be 40 years old.
Much has changed since 1972, both in my own life as well as in the world.
Forty years ago, President Richard Nixon presided over America.
We were still engaged in the Vietnam War.
The median price of a home was $27, 600. The average car cost $3,853 and the average income was $11,859.
In the world of popular entertainment, The Godfather won the Oscar Award for Best Picture and All in the Family was the top rated television show. The latter, though, had some competition: Sanford and Son, Mash, and The Waltons were just some of the iconic programs that premiered in 1972. In fact, up until this juncture TV Guide would insert a “C” after those listings that aired in color. This was the first year that it dropped the “C” and instead began identifying those shows that were still in black and white (yes, there were still programs that were filmed in black and white!).
There may have been more color television programs than black and white by the time I was born, but it wouldn’t be for another few years that I would know this. We had a single television, a floor contraption with four wooden legs—and it was a black-and-white model. We moved out of the apartment in which I was born when I was three years-old. It wasn’t too much longer after this, I believe, when my parents purchased a color set.
Our TV, like the sets in the homes of everyone who we would visit, had “rabbit ears”; no one had cable. For that matter, no one that I can recall even had a remote control. There were two dials on the set that you had no option but to manipulate by hand—the one was for “VHF,” the other for “UHF.”
The former consisted of the three networks—ABC, CBC, and NBC—as well as some other stations.Trenton,New Jersey, where I was born and raised, is in between the metropolises of Philadelphia, to the south, and New York City, to the north. This meant that in addition to channels 6 (ABC Philadelphia) and 7 (ABC New York City), 2 (CBS New York City) and 10 (CBS Philadelphia), and 3 and 4 (NBC, Philadelphia and New York City, respectively), we had available to us channels 5 (WNEW New York, now Fox); 9 (WOR New York, now MyNetwork TV); 11 (WPIX, now the CW) and 12 and 13 (both PBS).
On UHF, there were channels 17, 29, 48, and 52 (Philadelphia stations all of them).
When I was about seven or so, my father borrowed from a co-worker Pong, the first home video system. It offered two games, if I am not mistaken: “Squash” and “Tennis.” What a surreal experience I remember it being to watch on our television screen these bars and blips whose movement my family and I were able to control. By today’s standards, the graphics were abysmally poor. I haven’t a doubt that this, coupled with the sluggish rate at which the games unfolded, would bore to tears my three year-old son, to say nothing of an adolescent “gamer” of today.
When I was a child, I was an avid consumer of superhero comics. I bought these magazines whenever I could. I have comics with 30 cent covers. I don’t remember buying them when they were that price (my father must’ve bought them for me). I do, however, recollect, and clearly, purchasing them when they were 50 cents each.
Today, the standard comic book is between three and four dollars.
Also, it was possible when I was a child to find my genre of choice at your average convenience store. This has long since been the case. The majority of people in 2012 who buy comics don’t just buy them; they collect them. And the majority of these are not children. They are adults. Thus, comics—or “graphic novels,” as they are now called—are sold by and large at either comic book stores or at chain bookstores (like Barnes and Nobles).
Superhero comics and Pong weren’t the only forms of entertainment. We would also “play records.” We had an old record player that my sister and I would not infrequently dust off and use. Around Christmas it would come in handy when we wanted to hear the old classic carols, yes, but it was really a blast when my two cousins would spend the night and they would bring along their Star Wars album! One morning in particular I can vividly recall my mother serving us pancakes as we sat around the table listening to it. This was a treat, for although Star Wars was first released in 1977, I didn’t first see it until it was rereleased the following year. My cousins had seen it by the time we listened to this album, but I had not.
This is another regard in which things have changed. During the days when no one I knew had cable or VCR’s, and phenomena like the home computer with its option to “download,” DVD players, and the like weren’t even heard of, it was not uncommon for movies, at least the successful films, to be re-released—usually on multiple occasions.
My child, like virtually every child in the year 2012, has it made. With our DVR, we can record all of his shows and he can watch them as often as he likes—commercial free. He also has a ton of DVD’s. Still, there is a ritual from yesteryear of which today’s kids are deprived, a ritual for which those of us who grew up practicing it each week would have gladly sacrificed our lives: Saturday morning cartoons.
The three main networks—ABC, CBS, and NBC—began showing cartoons at 8:00 A.M. If you wanted to see them—and you most definitely did—then you had no alternative but to make sure that you were up bright and early with the set on by 8:00. After all, as I said, there were no recorders. My parents would sleep, so my sister and I would pour ourselves several bowls of cereal and get comfortable in front of the TV. Between 8:00 and 12 noon we would alternate between networks, every so often arguing over whose turn it was to change the channel.
Just last night I took my son over to our neighborhood park. It bears few similarities to the neighborhood park of my youth. The playground on which my son runs around is covered with mulch and grass, and its sliding boards are made of plastic. In contrast, the playground in which I spent countless hours as a child consisted of cast iron “monkey bars” and a three-story high metal sliding board. The ground itself was all asphalt. During the summer months, children—myself included—would situate themselves in milk crates and slide down the sliding board and onto the asphalt. What a rush!
I used to ride my bike all over our neighborhood—and not infrequently beyond it. Yet unlike the children of today who look as if they load up with every piece of protective gear except a bullet proof vest before they hop on their bicycles, helmets or knee pads designed for this purpose were nonexistent. Nor did anyone think to suggest them when kids suspended their riding in favor of “jumping” some makeshift ramp or other.
Contemporary agents of child protective services would be apoplectic if they knew that neither my parents nor any other adults, that I can remember, would require us kids to wear seatbelts. My maternal grandfather always had a Cadillac, Buick, or Lincoln—i.e. a monstrous-sized vehicle (and these were the largest of cars in the era of large cars). These automobiles contained bench seats with armrests in the center. On our trips fromTrenton to New York to visit his mother and siblings, my sister and I would fight over who would sit on the armrest in the front seat between my grandparents.
On top of all of this, my grandfather smoked cigars in the car!
I never thought a thing of this, for my father would regularly smoke cigarettes around us in both the car as well as in our home. In fact, I doubt that few people would have thought much of this, for smoking was commonplace. The malls had ashtrays, and people routinely smoked as they did their grocery shopping.
My wife is a kindergarten teacher at a public elementary school. To hear her (as well as legions of others) tell it, the state of public school education has changed profoundly in the nearly 30 years since I attended. At her school, teachers are not permitted to so much as mark a student’s work in red ink; the ink must be lavender. As for disciplining unruly pupils, forget it. Teachers can’t put their hands on students, whether to pull them out of line, place them in the corner, etc.
When I was a student, all papers were indeed marked in red ink, and the teacher would routinely call out our scores. Disobedient students would be forced to stand in the corner, and sometimes they would be made to spend time in a dark coatroom. Some teachers wouldn’t hesitate to grab the disorderly by their arms and yank them into shape.
Another significant difference between my wife’s public school and the one that I attended is that the latter would annually hold Christmas—not, as is the case with the former, Winter—concerts. Not only would we call this much anticipated event a “Christmas” concert; we would as well sing explicitly religious songs, like “Angels We Have Heard On High.” No Jewish “carols,” much less “Kwanza” hymns, were on the roster.
So many changes have I witnessed over my forty years on this Earth. Forty years from now it will be 2052. If I am still alive, I will be an old man of 80. Lord only knows what changes will befall my life, and the country, over this span. But if they are anything at all in magnitude like those that have transpired between 1972 and the present, they promise to be dramatic—and, from our point in time, probably even inconceivable.
originally published at The New American
Believe it or not, some of the most impassioned and vocal champions of liberty are implicated in the crimes that have been committed against her. Unlike those for whom government can never be large enough, these disciples of liberty are well meaning. However, their failure to come to terms with liberty in all of its concrete details, to resist indulging their love for abstraction, in short, to understand the nature of liberty, has been detrimental to their cause.
The notion that liberty is something that precedes civilization is appealing. Still, it is a fiction. But it is a fiction that dies hard, even—especially—among those who should know better. In fact, the latter have encouraged this idea. Take John Locke, for instance.
The political philosophy of Locke, not unlike that of many of his contemporaries, relies upon the concept of “a state of nature.” The state of nature refers to a pre-political condition—life prior to the creation of government. In this state of nature, according to Locke, all human beings are in possession of rights to life, liberty, and property. Our liberty, that is, consists of these rights that all persons possess simply by virtue of being persons.
Locke exerted an immeasurable influence over America’s founding generation. We see this in the Declaration of Independence, the most widely referenced political document in existence. There is a reason why most people, particularly those who are fond of quoting the Declaration, appear to know nothing about it other than its affirmation of those “natural rights” that Locke previously invoked.
Given both their universality and high level of abstraction, “natural” or “human rights,” as we now call them, can be enlisted in the service of any grand crusade. They are the stuff of which utopian dreams are made.
This is one problem with the doctrine of “natural” or “human rights.” Another is that it suggests that liberty is an all or nothing thing.
It is not.
The kind of liberty that is supposed to have been present in Locke’s state of nature has never existed. There has never been a state of nature, neither of the sort described by Locke nor that suggested by anyone else. And even if there had been, so what? As the inhabitants of a complex political association—a state or country—we are far, far removed from anything as neat and simple as the pre-political situation of Locke’s imaginings.
The doctrine of “natural” or “human rights” to which Locke and his disciples gave expression is in reality the distillation of a centuries-old English tradition. The institutional arrangements that Locke recommends for safeguarding these rights are just as culturally-specific, just as rooted in the contingencies of place and time, as the rights themselves.
Liberty is as “natural” and “artificial” as language—and about as intricate as well. It has never existed in a state of perfection, but only ever exists in varying degrees. It is a concrete phenomenon, bearing within itself a particular, and particularly dramatic, history of a people’s choices regarding their institutional arrangements.
More importantly, what we call liberty is really an open-ended system of liberties. Since this system is nothing above the totality of its parts, its preservation requires that we attend to its details. And since each part co-exists in a delicate economy with all of the others, we must consider how our treatment of any one liberty will impact the others.
This approach to liberty, it should be clear, emphatically fails to accommodate the designs of the utopian dreamers among us. The utopian is a perfectionist who, as such, desires rapid, abrupt, and revolutionary—indeed, destructive—change. He sorely lacks just those classical virtues of temperance and prudence in the absence of which liberty promises to perish from the Earth.
Mitt Romney is now the Republican Party’s presidential nominee.
Ok, technically he isn’t. At 1,024 delegates, he is twenty short of the number needed in order to formally secure the nomination.
Like I said, Romney is the GOP nominee.
No other candidate comes close, and even though my candidate, Ron Paul, hasn’t officially withdrawn from the race as of yet, at a mere 143 delegates, it is axiomatic that he most assuredly will not be our next president.
Romney is a Massachusetts center-left politician. No two ways about it. He is anything but the conservative that he is now styling himself to be. Not by any stretch could he ever credibly be confused with a friend of liberty.
Still, he is preferable to Barack Obama.
Anybody is preferable to Barack Obama. And because Romney is somebody, he would make a less damaging president than our current “transformer-in-chief.”
This is the thesis for which I have argued recently. As a consequence, I have been excoriated by my fellow Ron Paul supporters.
For the most part, I have been on the receiving end of two criticisms. First: not only isn’t there the proverbial dime’s worth of difference between Romney and Obama, the former may actually be worst than the latter. After all, Romney is more militaristic than Obama. Second: even if Romney is “the lesser of two evils,” evil is still evil and a vote for Romney, then, is a vote for evil.
The first proposition is false. I have already explained why, given Obama’s aspirations to “fundamentally transform”America into a bastion of “Social Justice,” he is significantly worst forAmerica in both the short and long terms than either Romney or anyone else who may have been his opponent.
However, for argument’s sake, let’s just say that the charge is accurate and Obama really is not as bad as Romney. If so, then perhaps prudence would suggest that we vote for Obama. We must crawl before we can run. If the objective is to restore constitutional government (liberty), then we must do what we can to decelerate the rate at which America is hemorrhaging liberties.
The second charge is just as problematic as the first. “A choice for the lesser of two evils is still a choice for evil.” This is a logically sound statement. But so what? So is “All green unicorns are colored objects.” Is this choice under these constraints a choice for evil? This is the question that my critics must address.
Certainly, from their perspective and mine, to vote for Romney is make a choice that is, at a minimum, far from ideal. It is indeed to “settle,” as one Facebook friend put it. To vote for Romney is to compromise. But compromise what?
As far as my fellow Paul supporters are concerned, the answer is obvious: in voting for Romney, I am guilty of compromising my “principles.”
Not so fast. “Principles” is a word mired in ambiguity. We wouldn’t know this given the ease—the thoughtlessness—with which we toss it around. But it is true just the same. Without getting into all of this, it seems clear enough that Paul supporters allege that if I vote for Romney, I will sacrifice my convictions, those things in which I have always claimed to really believe. This, in turn, is but another way of saying that I will expose myself to have been a fake all along, a man without any real conviction.
But nothing could be further from the truth.
I believe today what I have always believed. I believe that a country with more liberty is better than a country with less liberty. I believe that of the contestants that have been in this race from the beginning, Ron Paul is liberty’s greatest advocate. This is why I will vote for him in the New Jersey primary come this week. But Paul is not going to be a viable alternative to Obama come November because he is no longer going to be in the race then. Romney will be that alternative and Romney is less an enemy to liberty than is Obama (see above).
Circumstances have changed; my beliefs haven’t. So, in order to advance my beliefs, I must make radically non-ideal choices between severely constrained options.
This is called compromise. It is what the mature and wise apostle of liberty has always recognized as a function of the virtues of temperance and prudence. “Principles” aren’t what’s being compromised, however. The prudential person forgoes all of he wants at a given moment so that rather than get none of it, he gets some of it.
Neither is it correct that the person who votes for Romney “chooses evil.” Even if it is true that Romney is an evil, my choice is not primarily for Romney as it is against Obama. This is a morally relevant distinction.
Not long ago, my dear grandmother passed away. She had a surgery from which she never regained consciousness. While unconscious, the vast majority of her breathing was sustained by a ventilator. The doctors informed us that she was dying, but slowly, uncomfortably. If we took her off the ventilator, she would die, but more quickly. To prevent her from suffering, they would administer a morphine drip. My family and I opted for this latter plan.
Did we choose for my grandmother to die? We wanted for her to live! The choice we made was a choice to end her suffering. We knew, though, that her death would be a foreseen, if unintended, consequence of our decision.
Did those of America’s Founders who opposed slavery choose slavery when they “compromised” on the question of slavery in order to forge a new nation “conceived in liberty?” Did they choose evil?
Rand Paul, clearly a big fan of his father’s, had already announced that he will support the GOP nominee, regardless of who he is. Is he guilty of compromising his principles or choosing evil? Or what if his father decides to endorse Romney? What we will we say then? By becoming Republican Party office holders, both Pauls have already endorsed this party. Have they chosen evil or foregone principle?
Finally, to my fellow Ron Paul supporters, Fb friends, and critics, ask yourselves this: in not voting for either presidential nominee, are you not forsaking your “principles,” are you not “choosing evil?” A choice to refrain from voting is still a choice. Refusing to vote, or insisting on voting for third party candidates whose percentage of the popular vote promises to be negligible will not only fail abysmally to mitigate the erosion of liberty.
It could very well hasten its demise.