Postman Quotes

I’m currently in the process of writing an academic paper on classical education as a subversive entity in our postmodern world. It was originally going to be a paper on David Hicks’ Norms and Nobility, and that book is certainly still a huge influence, but I naturally tied that book with Neil Postman’s work on the detriment of technology to our culture, Amusing Ourselves to Death. But since that book is not really focused on education, I decided I would get Postman’s book The End of Education: Redefining the Value of School. I’m about half way through today, and I love it. I should probably read Postman’s Teaching as a Subversive Activity and any of his other books on the subject before fully being satisfied with the paper.

For the purpose of this blog, however, I want to comment on a few of my thoughts on Postman. He certainly defeats the myth that all smart people are Christians. That’s probably a stupid thing to say, but it has amazed me to no end that Postman rejects the Christian story even though he has so much truth in his writing, and he uses Christian language a lot, for instance, regarding the story of America, he says the first chapter opens, “In the beginning, there was a revolution.” Unlike many people who use Christian language, his does not seem to do a disservice to it. And in fact, reading just the prologue and the first chapter of The End of Education, I was struck with the similarity of Postman to Stanley Hauerwas. For instance, this quote:

“With some reservations but mostly with conviction, I use the word narrative as a synonym for god, with a small g. I know it is risky to do so, not only because the word god, having an aura of sacredness, is not to be used lightly, but also because it calls to mind a fixed figure or image. But it is the purpose of such figures or images to direct one’s mind to an idea and, more to my point, to a story– not any kind of story, but one that tells of orgins and envisions a future, a story that constructs ideals, prescribes rules of conduct, provides a source of authority, and, above all, gives a sense of continuity and purpose.” pp. 5-6, bold emphasis mine.

His first chapter is titled, “The Necessity of Gods,” and as he explained in that quote, he uses the word god synonymously with the word narrative. His whole first chapter is about different myths. He thinks that it is dangerous to just embrace one myth, however, which will promote fanaticism, and so is arguing that the public schools embrace a variety of good myths. What makes a myth “good,” on a technical level is if it survives, or works, and on a metaphysical level if it has a transcendence to it that instills purpose.

The need for a transcendent force in education (including a sense of morals and ethics) is the central theme of my paper, in light of the scientific model of education that is only concerned with efficiently making mass amounts of facts accessible, and has a lot to do with accumulating skills for a life of economic success. In Postman’s words,

“The faith is that despite some of the more debilitating teachings of culture itself, something can be done in school that will alter the lenses through which one sees the world… What this means is that at its best, schooling can be about how to make a life, which is quite different from how to make a living.” (p. x) bold emphasis mine.

This is very similar to Hicks’ view that we have been so concerned with what can be done that we have neglected whether it ought to be done. Postman says that the story of science gave us both understanding and power… and now the story of technology has just given us power.

Having been educated in a classical school (albeit flawed), I think the hope can be in this model of education, especially Hicks’ version, known as moral classicism. Pushing forward a story that provides a purpose for students is the biggest subversion that can be offered in a culture of hopelessness and despair. Here is one last quote from Postman:

“What is relentless is our education, which, for good or ill, gives us no rest. That is why poverty is a great educator. Having no boundaries and refusing to be ignored, it mostly teaches hopelessness. But not always. Politics is also a great educator. Mostly it teaches, I am afraid, cynicism. But not always. Television is a great educator as well. Mostly it teaches consumerism. But not always. It is the ‘not always’ that keeps the romantic spirit alive in those who write about schooling.” pp. ix, x. bold emphasis mine.

Another Pilgrimage

I discovered this morning another project that invites the reader to go on a pilgrimage with a famous writer.  George Orwell. But, instead of reading his story in a book, the reader gets to hear Orwell from his own mouth– through his diaries, posted on a blog every day, in real time exactly seventy years after they were originally written. Here is the link:

http://orwelldiaries.wordpress.com/

And a further more personal note on pilgrimages. I have often wondered if the order of books that one reads is in itself a type of pilgrimage. For instance, how differently would a certain book impact me if I had (or had not) read an entirely separate book before hand?  Once such book I’m reading currently is Colossians Remixed. Many of the discussions on Postmodernism I have already read multiple times, in some cases, often in books that are referencing it. What if I had read this book first, or what if I hadn’t read any of the others? Not to mention, my particular setting from which I am reading greatly affects how I encounter the book.

This is the same for writing as well… I began writing a paper in May, after just reading What Would Jesus Deconstruct? and Solomon Among the Postmoderns, and so my paper was heavily influenced by Derrida’s deconstruction. However I abandoned the paper for multiple reasons, and now, after starting from scratch, the books most heavily influencing the paper are Neil Postman’s Amusing Ourselves to Death and Being Consumed by William Cavanaugh. Very different outcomes, that’s for sure, especially since the paper is about education. And none of the books listed would be categorized as books about education.

“The Life You Save May Be Your Own: An American Pilgrimage”: Book Review

The language of journey is not one unfamiliar to the postmodern sojourner. Globalization has made travel accessible to the average man like never before. Our late-capitalist culture is in fact structured by an emphasis on mobility, often accompanied by a detachment from people and places in one’s individual dream of success.

Paul Elie’s use of the word is quite different however in his book, The Life You Save May Be Your Own: An American Pilgrimage. Instead of viewing an individual’s story of success due to his profound detachment from everything except himself, Elie weaves four individual stories of contemporary Catholic writers together: Dorothy Day, Walker Percy, Flannery O’Connor, and Thomas Merton. One might not see much that these four have in common except the era in which they wrote, the fact that they wrote, and their Catholic faith; they each came from very unique backgrounds and wrote in a very unique way. Yet Elie uses both their similarities and dissimilarities to form an overarching story, recognizing particular themes that characterized their lives at certain stages and writing those lives together thematically.

He uses the notion of “pilgrimage” to recognize the fluidity of the events of their stories, and does not summarize their lives in such a way that makes them seem larger than life, thus buying into the Hollywood idea of “fame,” but instead displays the unique blend of life that is both ordinary and extraordinary at the same time.

These events are told in such a way that it brings to mind a journey, a procession, a pilgrimage. This pilgrimage, unlike the language of the postmodern sojourn, is one of commitment, of sacrifice of self, of love of neighbor. And by recognizing the communal nature of each individual in the story, the reader is not wholly separate from the story, and is invited to become a sojourner too, aligning herself with the struggles and triumphs of those in the book that are both particular to the place and time in which the subjects experienced them, but are also proverbial enough that one can see herself in each event as well.

The role of reading/ writing contributes to this, partly because the four people discussed are authors themselves and were extremely well-read, which links the reader simply because she is reading the book. It is even a greater point of interest if the reader finds writing an enjoyment as well, for it is well known that the best writers are also very well read. Also the author is fully present (albeit invisible) throughout the book as an author/reader himself.

This book is a work that is a unique blend of history and autobiography yet is queerly lacking any sense of theological agenda while not shrinking from discussing the religious, spiritual, Catholic identities of the authors.

One review that I particularly appreciated was written by Andrew Moore, who summarizes the book and gives specific key points about each author.

http://www.h-net.org/reviews/showrev.cgi?path=41871088455808

I agree with him that Elie did not take advantage of the Catholic faith of his subjects to explain what exactly it means to be Catholic, especially since the title is supposed to suggest this book is not just for Catholics, but non-Catholics and any American in general.

The beauty of story, and a well-written story at that, is that it attracts the heart of all who read it, and encourages them to step out and live such a story themselves.

The Shack: A Book Review

I have always had an instant, gut reaction against the word “Papa.” So when I received a copy of The Shack for my birthday, and the note on the inside said, “Spend much time with Papa,” I had to mentally coach myself to accept the frame of mind behind the statement, even if I disliked the word for “God” my friend had used. I figured it was just a pet name that the giver of the gift used, and chose to share with me. Well, no thank you, I thought, I’ll call God something else, thanks.

But as I began reading the book, I realized the use of the word “Papa” was not an arbitrary matter of opinion. The word is intrinsic to the narrative of the story. Because my reaction to the word was very similar to the main character, Mack’s reaction, and he too had a close friend, his wife, who used the word regularly.

So I was forced to interact with my disdain for the word. I have no problems viewing God as “Father,” and even “Abba” is foreign enough that even though people have translated it as “Papa,” I can appreciate the ancientness of it and the intimacy of it. However, the word Papa brings to mind too many Laura Ingalls Wilder books, books that pictured a perfect family atmosphere, with loving parents and adoring brothers and sisters (despite the hardships of the setting around them). That picture always brings to head bitterness and envy that I direct at anyone who ever had the gift of calling their father “Papa.”

But as I read the book, my friend’s exhortation rang true for me. Spend time with Papa. Because, despite the logical inconsistencies of the situation, that is exactly what Mackanzie Allen Phillips sets out to do. Putting aside his anger and frustration at the unimaginable pain he was experiencing, pain that he projected on the God he knew to be all-powerful, he relinquishes control of his pride and enters a place of deep sorrow, guilt, anger, and hate, a place where his lack of control is epitomized. And he is met by God there. His leap of faith is definitely rewarded in totally unexpected ways. My traditional Christian language that I’m using to describe the situation seems inadequate in the face of how surreal the situation described was.

And as the narrative progresses, the distinction between Mack and myself slowly disappeared. Even though I was surrounded by noise and distractions as I read it, I could put all my surroundings aside and find myself in the shack with God, a God I didn’t want to imagine, a God who wasn’t safe, who didn’t fit into my preconceived notions and who didn’t let me control our interactions so I didn’t get hurt. This God invited me to let go of everything and seek relationship and love with him, the triune God who modeled love so completely in the persons of God the Father, the Son, and the Spirit.

This book might not be something I intellectually grasp my head around, or even agree with, but that’s not the point. The point is that God is there, always, waiting for me to seek relationship with him, to model my life after his, and to love him and his children. And even if situations like the ones described by Mack are at the least few and far between, an act of humility would be for us to realize that we can not see everything. There is a real that exists to be seen, but it can only be glimpsed the closer we get to Christ.

You Are What You Consume: “Being Consumed”: A Review

I’ve heard a few rumors that Wal-Mart is moving into an area near where I live.

Discussing with an acquaintance of mine who had brought it up, I immediately (probably parroting something I had heard from someone else) said with selfish conviction, “Oh, yeah, that’s going to be just awful for traffic.”

To which they responded, “Well, maybe, but think of how necessary it is. Wal-Mart’s prices are great, and it’s going to help a lot of people out having one this close.”

This is a vague recollection of how the actual conversation went, since it wasn’t very important to me at the time. I remember thinking a little about the selfishness of my comment in light of my companion’s comment, and how it had caused me to feel a slight twinge of guilt, since my companion obviously was not thinking of just herself, as I was. But now, after spending the day reading William T. Cavanaugh’s new book, “Being Consumed: Economics and Christian Desire,” I realize we were both untruthful in our statements, for very different reasons.

Mine, was quite obviously a selfish comment. It is ridiculous that I would judge an event’s worth by how much inconvenience it would cause me through excessive amounts of traffic. My statement was not even concerned with environmental issues or safety issues that more traffic would cause… traffic was simply a negative entity because it would cost me an extra five minutes to get to where I wanted to go, as if the time was mine in the first place and that the new Wal-Mart’s traffic would unjustly rob me of that time.

My acquaintance’s comment, although seemingly more thoughtful, was unfortunately just as erroneous. Just as traffic is inherently a negative, something that’s going to save money is a positive, and Wal-Mart does this well, both by offering low product prices, and with the recent gas rates, being close in proximity for convenience. But even if the items are cheaper at Wal-Mart, one has to wonder, in this free market economy with other competing stores that charge a much higher price, how are those price reductions possible for a competitive business? How is the company dealing with the money that’s being lost?

One can only infer that, through globalizing and paying minuscule wages to workers in foreign countries, Wal-Mart saves money and can “afford” to keep their prices so low. But that is perhaps a hasty assumption. They may very well pay their workers a decent amount. But that’s an even larger issue– although, as my companion’s comment said, Wal-Mart might be convenient for the community in which it resides, that community will have no idea exactly where those products came from. Nor will they care. So in fact, although Wal-Mart offers decent prices, it cultivates a detachment from the products, and from the production process.

Through the unlimited amount of commodities they offer, they are encouraging an endless amount of desire for stuff. Cavanaugh makes a magnificent point saying that the problem of consumerism isn’t that people are too greedy, and hoarding away as much wealth as they can… the problem is that people are addicted to wanting for the sake of wanting. Instead of being overly attached to items, they are in fact quite detached from them, never being fully satiated and always returning to shop again and again. This detachment ends up not being just directed at the products, but at the method of production as well. Put simply, our want for a nice pair of jeans competes against our desire to have justice reign in the world. So although the jeans might have been made by a Chinese woman who had been working a 16 hour shift for the 30th day in a row, we feel like there is nothing we can do. We have no way of finding out whether or not the worker who made them made them with dignity. And even if we could find that information out, what would the alternative be? Our addiction to the idea of capital is often too strong for us to gauge how worthwhile it really is to pay more money for a product for the cause of justice, or healthfulness. We want a healthy world… but often the price seems to high.

Cavanaugh does not offer an easy answers for this. But what he does suggest, since the question should not be whether or not we consume but rather how or what we consume, that we allow our lives to be transformed through consuming the Eucharist. Cavanaugh’s Catholicism comes into place quite nicely here.

The Eucharist joins the body of Christ in a common telos, an end desire that is what directs our consumption. Any desire that does not have a goal, desire sought for desire’s sake, is nothingness, according to Augustine. The Eucharist is a sacrament in which a community of virtue learns to desire truthfully, and in that experiences true freedom.

Cavanaugh explains, when we consume the Eucharist, although the body of Christ is being consumed, it is mysteriously consuming us. We are the body of Christ. We, like Christ, are identified with the poor and the weak. By consuming the Eucharist, we are subscribing to a reality more real than capitalism. We are allowing our lives to be transformed by this consumption by living “eucharistically”, giving and pouring ourselves out to be consumed by others.The Eucharist shows us a different sort of globalization, a universalism that is made real by embracing particularity, not by shunning it, replacing the abstraction of capitalism not with other abstractions but recognizing the concrete particulars of our community, and recognizing in that particularity of each person, a universalism that makes clear the universal nature of the Gospel.

Trade turns everything into a commodity, according to Cavanaugh– objects, people, ideas, feelings, etc. This is done with a mindset that assumes scarcity. To trade something implies a giving up of something for the sake of something else. It implies ownership of one object that is transfered to be owned by someone else. The Eucharist works with a very different mindset. By allowing oneself to be consumed, instead of just consuming, it gives up the illusion of being in control and offers one up to the vulnerability of a sovereign God, a God who invites us on a difficult journey of discipleship that will not always make sense, and will require us to lose everything, claiming that (illogically- loosening our grip on what makes sense) we will gain Christ. The Eucharist invites us to participate in a heart-wrenching event of loss, of death, claiming that in that very event lies true life, and hope for redemption. But that hope cannot be gained unless one lays down the desire to simply consume and allows oneself to be consumed.

Norms and Nobility: A Review

Norms and Nobility is a book I read during my time as a teacher’s assistant. It was a difficult book for me to begin, honestly. The cover was a simple maroon that didn’t entice me much, and then when I began the language was just antiquated enough that I didn’t want to have to discipline my mind enough to put in the extra effort to understand it. But, finally, I was on the train back from Michigan and the two and a half day journey with nothing to do but read gave me the environment i needed to go ahead and read it. And once I did, I loved it! Here are some comments on it.

In this book, Hicks argues for the implementation of classical education because of its effectiveness in making the lives of students meaningful in a world inundated with meaninglessness, a world that Solomon might have described as “vaporous.” In the prologue, Hicks explains that classical education’s chief aim is to educate the young to 1) Know what is good, 2) Serve it above self, and 3) Reproduce it.

Drawing from the musings of Aristotle, he claims that while Aristotle’s theories of democracy made “the good life” possible for every one, classical education puts that theory into practice by teaching man that ultimately “the good life” is a life of virtue, or a life of serving a “self-transcending ideal.” Classical education will also secondarily benefit the state by giving individuals the role to “preserve and develop culture [paideia],” articulating society’s purposes and values.

Although teaching virtue in the classroom has become unnecessary to modern educators who are simply concerned with teaching in a utilitarian manner that is only concerned with teaching the student how to live, teaching a life of virtue makes that existence worthwhile by asking the question “how.” This is done by teaching the student to question not just whether something can be done, but if something ought to be done.

At the center of Classical Education is “the word,” which Hicks describes as a crossroads between the mythos (man’s imaginative and spiritual effort to make the world intelligible) and the logos (man’s rational attempt to make the world intelligible). Implemented in the classroom, the beauty of the mythos is experienced through studying literature and history, “eventually fill[ing] the young person’s head with the sound of voices: the impassioned debate of the many great figures of myth and history concerning what is good, beautiful and excellent in man.” The logos is served through ushering students into a dialectic maturity, wrestling with what Hicks refers to as “dogma.” It is the teacher’s role to embody “dogma” and allow students to wrestle with the embodied dogma, rejecting unimportant aspects and affirming what they ascribe to be true. The teacher is to “teach himself,” as opposed to the modern method of teaching objectively and analytically.

At its core, the classical education that Hicks describes is very truthful in light of the Christian story. In a world that is hauntingly “not right,” Christians can courageously have faith because of the story that teaches us to hope in redemption. Part of living that redemption is to live a meaningful existence. Classical education teaches students to lead a meaningful existence by asking, “What is the good life?” and perhaps in fact proving that part of “the good life” is asking that very question.

The Road vs. Gilead

I have been thinking for a while that I should write something about The Road since it is a really good book and had a lot to do with why I enjoyed the last two weeks of my time in high school. But, I put it off, and then felt inadequate to properly blog about it since it wasn’t completely fresh in my mind… and so, it almost slipped through the cracks into the realm of “what might have been.” However! My recent friendship with the book, Gilead is about to change that.

Gilead struck me immediately in its similarity to The Road: It also depicts the relationship between a father and son, mainly from the father’s point of view, and although it is not about the end of the world, it is about nature, and life and death. It reminded me of Annie Dillard, some of the ways the father describes the world around him. It emphasizes the importance of remembrance and history, and most of all, beauty, truth, and goodness.

While on first glance it does not wrestle with the nature of evil, or nothingness, as much as The Road does, it does put it in terms that are very understandable to the reader, the evil of the human heart. This becomes especially clear to me in the letter the father is writing about the covetous nature of his own heart regarding the son of his best friend, a man named after him: John Ames. It is about life and what that should look like. It really does not end up dealing with death as something unnatural, as The Road tends to do… but it is a beautiful treatise on what it looks like when the ordinary is redeemed to the extraordinary through the intentional meaningfulness of saints.

“The Gospel According to the Beatles”: A Review

I figure if these two guys can talk about a book they’ve never read, so can I.

I really enjoyed “Across the Universe.” I’ve never really listened to the Beatles, nor do I care to now, really, but their music was brought to life for me through that movie in a beautiful way. This blog is more to laugh at reviewers who have no idea what they’re doing then an actual review on my part.

Criticism vs. Grace

“Whenever you feel like criticizing any one… just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages
that you’ve had.”

~”The Great Gatsby,” by F. Scott Fizgerald.

This is how The Great Gatsby begins, setting the tone for the whole book. The book is quite fascinating, and I may follow up with a more appropriate review of it. But for now, this line is of personal importance to me.

This seems to be a truthful statement to me, in light of my identity as a Christian. Christian language might call it grace; and giving someone grace is usually what we are called to do instead of judging them. We are often called to give them grace in such a personally sacrificial way, too… and usually without much (or any) reward. But on the other side of things, Truth is important. Living within the advantages (and lack there-of; and the lack of advantages could be seen as an advantage, in some ways) that I have, I try to live my life as truthfully as possible (always trying to re-discern what that looks like), and my first reaction is to expect the same level of truthfulness in the lives of others. But should I? Should I excuse their lack of growth for their circumstances, and should I instead just give of myself, feeding into the lack of growth, instead of expecting better of them?

Personal example; my mother has been promising to come back to Oregon for years. Finally, my paternal grandmother and I decided to give her an incentive, to make it more realistic for her, and offer to pay $500 of the cost of the trip. Whether that was a temporarily trip or a permanent move back here, there was no distinction… it was just up to her to pay the difference (meaning her cost would differ depending on what she decided). The last few months have been in preparation of a temporarily trip, specifically for my graduation. But, my mother has chosen to spend her money on other things the last couple days; she spent $700 on a car. Upon first hearing this I was so upset. She valued a car more than being there for me at one of the most important times of my life? She had survived before without a car… why did she need one now all of a sudden? But, I refrained from criticizing, with this quote in mind. Instead I didn’t know anything positive to say either, so I just didn’t say anything for a long time. My silence gave her the opportunity to talk as much as she wanted, and she explained how, after divorcing her abusive husband, her daughter from that marriage lives with him, and now she sees her only a few times a month, if that. A car would make it more possible for her to take the initiative and see her, instead of relying on him to bring her whenever he wanted to. She also explained how she was unsure if she would ever be in the same circumstances and able to buy a car, and that she was incredibly weary of walking to and from work in the intense cold and intense heat of Kentucky.

All these different factors that I really didn’t consider, or at least didn’t deem as important, coming from my own context of having a car that I drive every day, and although I also am separated from my family, it cannot be fixed with something as simple as buying a car. If buying a car has fixed that alienation for her, who am I to hold her to keeping the commitment to come here? If she had saved that money for the trip, she would have sacrificed part of her relationship with that daughter. And she does not really know me… I am just an idea, or a voice to her. She knows my sister. That is her true reality. It is hard to act in a reality one does not live in.

Same with my father. He lives only a little over an hour away, if that, but his reality is completely different from mine. I was irate to learn that he did not want to come to my graduation. For the last six years I’ve expected nothing of him. Why was he not willing to even come and be there for me, getting outside of his own wants for once? But the world I inhabit is different than the world he is in. He is in a world that is barely stable, and any change in action might topple it. Any interaction with something strange or alien to his habitual way of life has the potential to send him into a depressed state of mind that could potentially end in a drunken suicide. Would I be selfish enough to criticize his choice to stay away when I cannot even imagine the hell that is his mind?

Perhaps I’m wrong. Perhaps Fitzgerald was wrong too. Perhaps there is a sense of morality that transcends context, or the advantages that a person has had and that everyone is expected to have some sort of pre-existent knowledge of right and wrong imprinted on their heart. If that is so, my anger toward them could be constituted as righteous, and I should expect them to act the way I would. But I think it would be more helpful if the contexts they are in could somehow change if I expect them to act like me. What Fitzgerald deems as “advantages” I am translating as just the context one finds himself in. I find myself in a context surrounded by Christians who have a unique story that gives a different set of objectives for our lives. I have aligned myself to that story. I value faithfulness and truthfulness, and selflessness. The reality and the story that my mother and father have aligned themselves with is a story of alcoholism; self-sustainability is the only thing they can see.

I think my story constitutes that I give them grace and through that try to transform their story; but I can’t expect their actions to match mine. Or if I do, I can’t get angry when I am vulnerably disappointed. Perhaps my story even calls me to place myself willingly into that vulnerability knowing that I will be exploited. Isn’t that what Christ did on the cross?

Can You See the Matrix?

“While the voices of blockbuster movies and pop culture cry out for a life outside the matrix of numb efficiency… thankfully there is a movement of ordinary radicals sweeping the land, and ordinary people are choosing to live in radical new ways.”

A friend of mine wrote a blog about Shane Claiborne’s book “Irresistible Revolution.” I started to leave a comment, but it was getting to be just as long as the post itself, so I decided to write a blog in response to his.

http://reverenceofthemysterious.blogspot.com/
2008/04/first-century-christianity-brought-to.html

Shane Claiborne is definitely someone who backs up his writing with actions. He’s not just promoting this sort of life-style; he’s living it. As a pseudo-Portlander, I was interested to note that an emerging church here in Portland, Imago Dei, was supported by the proceeds of his book.

One of the (many) definitions of Postmodernism is “Late-capitalism.” Everything is infiltrated with the capitalist mindset. I went to the Portland Art Museum today with some 9th graders, and I couldn’t tell you how many times they suggested to one another that they should become an artist, because they could make millions! Especially attractive to them was the ease with which they could do it. Work is not valued, in and of itself; only as a means of making capital.

Seeing how money is really only illusionary and symbolic, it seems like a shaky ground to base one’s potential happiness on. However, the real troubling aspect is that we not only judge inanimate objects within the capitalistic mindset, our fellow human beings. When we meet someone, one of the first questions we ask is “What do you do?” which is secretly the question, “How much money do you make?” Depending on their answer we know how much society values them based on the sort of work they do, a.k.a we’ll have much more respect for a doctor than a janitor, since they make more money. Even our houses and cars are structured around appearances, trying to make them look as expensive as possible to get people to think that we are well-valued in society. From what little I know of Foucault, he would see that as a power struggle; the more societal value we have, the more power. Having just read Karl Marx’s, “The Communist Manifesto,” his criticisms are particularly notable in light of this conversation.

And perhaps that is one thing Christianity can take from Marx. Not just his criticism of capitalism, but perhaps even his alternative lifestyle. As Victor alluded to in his blog, politically communism has failed miserably and it would be foolish to say that it is flawless. But in the context of the Church, should our communities be somewhat communistic? The Anabaptists seemed to think so, abolishing private property and private capital, etc.

The New Monastics, which Claiborne and some of his fellow brothers are sometimes being called, seem to value this sort of counter-cultural lifestyle as well. One could argue that we need to realize that we live by a different paradigm of reality; what the world tells us is “real” is really an allusion; a matrix we are stuck in. However, it is possible to recognize the matrix and have a rebirth (not unlike Neo’s– full of lots of pain) and to see the world as it really is. Rodney Clapp wrote a book called “A Peculiar People: The Church as Culture in a Post-Christian World.” While Neibuhr’s renowned “Christ and Culture” was profoundly important, Clapp’s criticism of it is that he addresses “culture” as this monolithic thing; Clapp recognizes that we live in a multi-cultural society, and that the church itself should be one of those cultures. And as its own culture, Christianity has a lot of practices (liturgy) that operates under a different way of thinking that reveals itself differently, and perhaps even counter-cultural (or, my favorite word, subversive). The New Monastics practice this liturgy in a profound way; but that is not to diminish the subversiveness of the “normal” Christian practices. Even getting up and going to church is itself a counter-cultural act; “time is money” capitalism says, and as such we should spend every minute we can trying to increase our capital. There is no way to “make money” at church (unless you’re the pastor?), but more than that, it is saying there is something much more valuable than money.