Part one may be found here.
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There are, roughly, three ways of using language: charged language, conversational, and bullshit. Conversational and bullshit have obvious overlap, not all of which is bad.
Regardless, I submit to you, as my professional opinion as a liquor store clerk, that 98% of all philosophical and theological discourse falls under the bullshit category: it’s complete unprofound tripe (whether this piece resides in the third category falls to the readers discretion). This includes the Big Names in both disciplines (Kant especially) with the exception of few stray sentences here or there. I only pay attention to them because other people pay attention to them and name dropping can be a useful, time-saving idea marker.
This is because most of these men think that a carefully worded essay can solve a problem (theologians can be particularly bad about this). Alas, words have only ever caused problems, e.g. Socrates’ apparent affinity to hemlock or that strange Galilean Jew’s fascination with nails and wood. Both the response to and utterance of words are guide by a fundamental human problem: we are phobosophic ((Philosophy comes from the roots philo + sophia which literally means ‘love of wisdom’. Phobosophic comes from phobo + sophia meaning ‘fear of wisdom’)). Experience as well as biblical texts confirm this. This is why Caputo and Kearny, two philosophers, do not speak of sin: it annihilates the very grammar of Western philosophy (of which they are reluctantly but self-admittedly moored to, perhaps more than they realize) and its “systems.”
This does not mean that we should not write or respect language. Quite the contrary! Instead, we should see language as an arrow pointing towards things already experienced, seen, and/or understood. Language vivifies, it is robust, ‘Great literature is simply language charged with meaning to the utmost possible degree ((E. Pound in the ABC of Reading))’ This is why recently I have greater trust in professional writers and poets than I do in philosophers, theologians, and scholars. Great writers describe the human condition, they don’t try to solve it. Take, for example, Wendell Berry who is a poet/writer/farmer ((This is an excerpt from Standing By Words. It is, by my reckoning, one of the most important collections of essay in the 20th century for a theologian or philosopher to read. The book is largely about poetry and should be read as a reasonable and clear Derrida without the extremism or vacuity. There are probably a dozens of books like this.)):
So far as I can tell, it is unlikely that one could speak at all, in even the most casual conversation, without some informing sense of what would be best to say–that is, without some sort of standard. And I do not believe that it is possible to act on the basis of a “tentative” or “provisional” conclusion. We may know that we are forming a conclusion on the basis of provisional or insufficient knowledge–that is part of what we understand as the tragedy of our condition. But we must act, nevertheless, on the basis of final conclusions, because we know that actions, occurring in time, are irrevocable. That is another part of our tragedy. People who make a conventional agreement that all conclusions are provisional–a convention almost invariably implied by academic uses of the word “objectivity”–characteristically talk but do not act. Or they do not act deliberately, though time and materiality carry them into action of a sort, willy-nilly.
Brilliant, and at the very pulse of the postmodern whine.
The Emergent Church felt this pressure, I think, and has been slowly coming out of the woodwork to call for a more substantive theology. A theology of action, one in which its grammer and language impels and compels us to do something. This is what I like about these folks. Unfortunately, most of them are caught in the same trap and simply continue to “talk seriously about the issues.” When I was at the conference I kept meeting people who said, “I originally thought the Emergent movement was about contemporary worship, but now I realize its about so much more.”
This “so much more,” however, lacks teeth since nobody seems to ever say what this “so much more is,” instead you get head nods, smiles, and grunts of approval. This is the heart the movement’s disquiet and the Evangelicals’ rejection. The movement is so ecumenically minded that, in order to make all feel welcome (I won’t mention how subtly unwelcomed I felt at the conference), they flatten out the heart of the biblical message: that Jesus is the only way. You don’t have to like the idea, you also don’t have to believe it, but respect the blasted text. The reason I trust good writers and poets more than academics is because they have a greater appreciation for narrative/story (despite all the hipster, academic chatter to the contrary) which is the backbone of any language. It is the sort of thing which would give the “so much more” bite.
Let me be clear: the Emergent Church lacks teeth because they are uncomfortable with exclusivity and, consequently, fear creeds and final conclusions since they want to emphasize “”love of neighbor” or, more specifically, “enemy” (the least of these). This, in turn, makes many of them uncomfortable with the biblical narrative, sin, and the unique work of Christ which puts a strain on the word “Church” in their moniker. Until they resolve that, they will be unable to act in any substantive way.
I think that the answer to their tension is being wrestled by the Federal Vision/New Perspective folks. I do not endorse a particular view on the subject, nor do I have the knowledge to do so, but nevertheless, I do find the PCA’s official perspective recent study on it a bit myopic. They seem to completely miss the point, but that is another conversation.
So, I guess what I am saying is that in order for the Emergent Church to do anything they need to define what they are which means solving a problem with language. I suppose this may place this post under our illustrious “third category” since it seems to contradict itself.