Saturday, October 15, 2005
(8:55 AM) | Adam Kotsko:
Theological Method
At CTS, the MDiv students who entered with me are now working on the dreaded "constructive paper." In this paper, they have to identify a particular context, method, and dialogue partner from the tradition, and then construct a theology out of that. Reportedly, most of the students chose either Calvin or Tillich (the UCC is still officially Calvinist after all these years, and a Tillich seminar is being offered this semester); I know of one person who picked Augustine, one who picked Barth (truly, a man after my own heart), and one particularly brave soul who picked Origen.Since this is a big project, they have to turn in drafts of each section over the course of the semester -- first the context, and most recently the method. The question of method was an occasion of much self-mockery on my part: "My theological method is -- to read French philosophers!" "My theological method is -- not to do theology!" &c. Discussing that thorny question, I was glad that I was not an MDiv student, and not only for that reason.
If one had to characterize my theological method in one hyphenated phrase, it would have to be "God-avoidance." That is, I quite systematically avoid the question of God. If pressed, I will sign the dotted line beneath the Nicene Creed, but even that might be a way of putting the question aside -- and perhaps when I reject out of hand any question about really "believing" in a God other than the God of orthodoxy, I am doing it for my own benefit, for the sake of not having to think about God. "Orthodoxy works; let's move on to other questions." It doesn't carry much of a charge in itself -- I really could give a fuck whether all of these church fathers from before the "orthodox revolution" were incipiently orthodox or not. I enjoy their cultural critiques, the "strategies" that I anachronistically read into the actions they recommend, the creative readings of Scripture that would not be allowed under the present regime of biblical exegesis.
I think this "method" is at least interesting. It has potential. I'm not sure what the real-world applications would be of my attempt to read the underbelly of the Christian tradition, but I've been jumping too quickly to real-world applications, particularly applications sanctified by the word "political." I think of Deleuze, claiming that all those students out on the street could help the revolution more by finishing their dissertations.
This is what I'm doing for the revolution, or for the Kingdom. Or in any case, this is what I'm doing. I apologize that it doesn't live up to particular moral standards for "engagement." I apologize that I come off as arrogant due to the pleasure I derive from thought and from language. I don't intend it as a personal insult against you when I read Nietzsche in German.
And here the bitterness comes in: I don't want to be judged, because I always believe the judge. Even on trivial issues, the effect is the same -- after reading Jonathan's comment yesterday in the confessional about not defacing books, I went through a real, though minor, moral struggle about whether I should continue underlining in the book I was reading.
I've been thinking lately -- a lot lately -- that I just want to be left alone, by everyone, and I'm coming to understand that that's why. I don't want anyone to see me do anything, because then I'll open myself up to judgment. Writing about it is perhaps different, because I have more control over the presentation, unlike with someone randomly walking by -- but even there, I feel like I have become more reticent, less confessional. At the very least -- and perhaps I'm wrong here -- my emotions are not as much on display. And that's partly because I'm trying not to allow myself to experience such strong emotions, trying to keep everything on a more even keel.
Ultimately, this strategy would have me living in a cave, throwing rocks at the squirrels who were insistently watching me, mocking me.
But you can understand how bracketing the question of God really cuts down the possibilities of being under surveillance. I also figured that bracketing the question of Santa Claus was a good gamble, because all I ever want for Christmas anymore is underwear and sweaters anyway -- and then there's the emotional terrorism of the "true spirit of Christmas." Or "true love." Or "being on fire for God." I don't want my emotions to be judged anymore, tested for their purity and authenticity and moral worth. They're pretty damn pure already -- that's the problem.
