23 Oct

IN THE GRIP OF MODERNITY: THE VALUE OF HISTORY

Historian in-coming, as they say on social media reels:

There never was a normal.

That’s not what we want to hear, because we want to think there’s stasis, or at least some sort of benchmark. Almost always, when we talk about things not being how they used to be, or not being “normal,” what we mean is “things aren’t like they were when I was young.”

Since the beginning of the modern era, by which we mean the mid-eighteenth century or so, humans have had to face what they feel to be radical change each generation. This is quite different from the pre-modern period, in which change occurred, albeit much more slowly. Occasionally, there would be massive shifting disasters like earthquakes, fires, or plagues that would shift society in dramatic ways. Or there might be a big invasion or cultural change, such as the Muslim conquests, or the Aztec movement into Central America. But these were rare, and, once they happened, things settled into slow change again.

But we live in “Modernity”—the “Age of the Institutionalization of Technical Specialization,” as the twentieth-century scholar Marshall Hodgson termed it. And even though it has been going on for 250 years, our brains and DNA are not wired for it. So, we experience it as trauma. And make no mistake, we still aren’t totally Modern, and we are reacting to it all the time, but the conflict with the experience is what forms our attempts at creating community, worship, and political organizations.

Let’s describe the values and attributes of the Modern, and then explain how that is shaping us in the church.

Modernity’s primary commitment is to Progress. This is radically different from what had gone before, where most societies are interested in recovering some sort of past or looking to the past as a model for how to be. On its own, this is a huge shift. But because modernity was based on the economic and technical changes from integrating the Americas and the intellectual shifts of the Scientific Revolution, it also included another massive shift that is profound break with the past: We have new ways of knowing.

In the pre-modern, we “knew” something was True because authorities told us it was—mostly authorities in the past. Sometimes Truth was discerned through philosophical speculation and reasoning, but, even in these cases, it was done by using the rules and definitions laid out by the wise ones of the past. Or it might be received by accepted supernatural means such as visions or the results of rituals provided through a spiritual mediary. There was no universal way of deciding what was true, no one way of knowing. Each culture and geographical region had its own methods of discerning truth or identifying the authorities

The modern era developed new ways of knowing, ones that they determined had universal applications. There was now one way to know something was Truth: measurability, verifiability, definability, explicability. This was radically different from the past. But it went along with the other values of Modernity: a focus on productivity
and efficiency. The inventions and practices of the Scientific Revolution and Industrial Revolution privileged homogeneity and uniformity—it was easier to mass produce when all the products were the same. When the same laws and legal system applied to all citizens the same, or when everyone received the same education, it also contributed to individualism. But this wasn’t an individualism that focused on uniqueness; instead, people were cogs in the great machine of society rather than standing out as quirky characters.

The pre-modern world had valued the personal, the beautiful, the mysterious. But with modernity, the focus on technical specialization in all areas of life meant increasing commitments to homogeneity in education, politics, and industry. And then increasing bureaucracy to measure and manage the productivity with greater efficiency. Technical specialization occurred in all areas of life—greater specificity about citizenship, borders, academic disciplines, religious ideology, capitalism, and the dependence on paperwork and administrative organization that went with it.

The commitment to progress and greater productivity created a constant expectation of change; in fact, to fail to change or to assess greater efficiencies, profits, or growth was seen as “backward” or inefficient or even corrupt. To focus on the personal or the beautiful at the expense of the productive would even be considered immoral in the era of the modern. And yet, as humans, we rebelled against this. And we still do. We know that the personal and the beautiful and the mysterious matter. We “know” things that aren’t verifiable using data. I like to tell my students that I “know” my sister is angry with me just as surely as I “know 2 + 2 = 4.” We don’t want to treat everyone exactly the same, even though the values of modernity say we need to. We know that sometimes some people (especially those we love) need different treatment. And we love the inefficiencies of beauty and mystery. We know life is more than productivity.

But it was in the height of the Modern, the era of technical specialization, that the Adventist church was formed. Against our founders’ strongest ideals, we formed an official organization, developed the thick bureaucracy and secretariat that the Victorians were so good at, created a brand, kept membership lists and ever-accumulating records, and tracked our growth and efficiency in giving Bible studies and collecting offerings.

Each generation found a way to integrate spiritual practices into the current technical specialization. New institutions such as publishing houses, medical establishments, food industry, and eventually media empires grew. Programs developed, administrators hired to oversee all the programs, and a professional educated class inserted to be the middle managers of conferences, schools, and industries. There was a constant need to update, improve, and provide numbers demonstrating growth. This is just what the values of Modernity require. Homogeneity and reliance on data impacted the Church as well as political structures and educational institutions.

But within our structures were embedded the values and assumptions of the pre-modern. The historical Church is based on the ancient truths that beauty and personal relationships and mystery are at the heart of our practice and belief. This remains true even in the modern era. Each week when we worship, each day when we read our ancient text, we are brought back to a historical way of being human. And the way we express truth is best done in the ancient way. Because there are different ways of knowing. Spiritual things are spiritually discerned. Our belief in the Incarnation is not double-blind-study verifiable.

So, when things in the modern world fall start changing, it is just part of what has been happening for 250 years. And perhaps it is a rejection of what has happened in the last 250 years and a recovery of a better way of being human. There’s never a “normal” in the modern world, just a constant chasing of the elusive thing called “progress” and our human attempt to extract some sort of embodied value out of it that is based on the sublime and the loving rather than the productive.

And yet, we don’t like change, and each of us can only explain the present in the light of the previous decades of our own life. And we decide what to use as a benchmark for productivity. If some of the assumptions of modernity continue to prove to be less than universal, or the practices of modernity are less valued, it can make us fearful. We worry that there might not be a way to demonstrate universal Truth or that we aren’t keeping our children as members, or our schools are getting smaller. By modernity’s standards, this might feel like failure.

If we are losing our commitment to bureaucracy and expansion as a church, if we begin to think we may not be homogeneous or unified globally as an institution in the modern way, if we aren’t sure we can rely on definitions and measurability as a test of what is True, then we can rest assured that others who have gone before us have done this as well.

Maybe we will become more like the pre-moderns. Maybe the postnormal is going to be more like the pre-modern. Christians found ways to flourish in that world, and we will find ways to flourish in ours. We have nothing to be afraid of. It is always a good time to be the Body of Christ, to find ways to love and create beauty and justice, and it may not look like measurable growth in numbers and there may be fewer institutions, but there will be the Holy Spirit, love, confession, and forgiveness.

Lisa Clark Diller, PhD, is chair of the History and Political Studies Department at Southern Adventist University. Email her at: [email protected]

29 Sep

APOCALYPTIC HOPE, IMPROVISATION, AND HUMILITY

By Lisa Diller — The country had just had a political revolution. The government was unsettled and constantly changing, and the most powerful person was a military dictator. It seemed clear that the Apocalypse, the end of the world and the return of Jesus, was at hand. It was the 1650s, in what we now call the United Kingdom, and the Protestant communities who were most dedicated to achieving a godly nation were in profound disagreement about how this best should happen. But what was clear to them was that the enemies of God (as they understood them), especially in the form of powerful Roman Catholic states, were gaining in power and influence and oppressing Protestant groups.

The response in seventeenth century England to this apocalyptic moment was a rich outburst of radical religious practice. The wild experimentation and, ultimately, a fragmentation of Protestant churches that resulted has profoundly shaped Christianity to this day—with Quakers and Baptists, prophets and judges, free love and a kind of Christian political radicalism that looked like communism and anarchism providing possible models for the modern era of how to be the Church. It was a time of confusion, fear, and fantastic imagination for these English-speaking Christians.

A razor-sharp conviction that the world is ending can cause us (even Christians) to be coercive and violent in achieving our goals. But the formation of restrictive communities forcing adherence to their ideals isn’t always, nor is it even primarily, the way a prophetic view for the End of Times shapes convicted people. Certainly, Adventists in our prophetic outlook have almost as often been as creative and experimental as we have been fear-driven and conservative. Our view of the book of Revelation and our belief in the Advent can encourage us to live into the future we want to see. But we desperately need humility alongside this vision—humility and imagination.

Imagination is crucial for living into the future. We tell stories about what we hope for, a kind of holy creative thinking, a Spirit-drenched not-strictly-true view. As we invest in the not-yet-true, we are also embracing the Mystery of God. We have hope and faith and a prophetic articulation—but we also have a sort-of mystical tradition that says we are speaking of what we cannot speak. Mystics, in the past, often told stories, wrote songs, made art, danced, and provoked a word-less imagination within their bodies. When we are apocalyptic people who have a strong faith in the world we want, the kind of humility that is required can be provided by the kinds of disciplines we associate with the mystics—a profound sense that the sweetness of God is more than we could ever digest with our minds (As Ephesians has it, we must “know the love of God which is past knowing”), the kind of truth that is provided by art.

This kind of hope and imagination is shaped by a compassion for human frailty. If we don’t take humanity seriously, we are intolerant when things don’t shape up to our great ideals. We condescend to those who don’t just get on the train of our great prophetic goals. Hope is communal and creating a humane vision with other people is hard. Perhaps this is why so many of the 20th century political utopias in Germany, Japan, the Soviet Union, and North Korea, have resulted in violent and repressive regimes.

Kevin Hughes in The Future of Hope articulated it this way: Modernity has a way of “transforming vision into supervision.” This is why our prophetic hope needs the arts and humility and a strong dose of the spiritual gifts that push us to abide in the mystery of the Spirit. As a church planter and elder, when it comes to the future of my local Adventist church, I sometimes have something I hope for and want for this local body of Christ. I work for it—maybe I’m even part of a team that creates a vision, systematizes it, puts out the communication, shows up for it—and then no one else seems to want it. What allows me to stay hopeful and loving of others and to continue weaving my stories and creativity? I have found it vital to lean into the ineffable belief and unutterable understanding of who God is and rest in God’s love. I must retain humility regarding myself while telling stories that emphasize compassion for the humanity of others—and for myself.

A holy imagination allows me to have the eye of someone else. When I read a novel or memoir from the perspective of those who are different from me, when I submit to the perspective of an artist or a song that makes me feel and look different from how I want to look—I’m coming closer to having the eye of God. If I create God in my own image and assume God sees things the way I do, the limitations are troubling, and our collective vision is stunted. Art helps my own eye to not be the center—to try to see and listen as another and even be the subject of a vision that is not mine—this brings me closer to the wider vision held by God and helps me to not center myself as the arbiter of the Kingdom of God.

The clearer we are that we don’t know everything, and yet that we still have hope and work for the New Earth, the more we can handle the ups and downs of humanity. Samuel Wells, Dean of Duke Divinity School for some years, has a great meditation on the importance of “improvisation” for living into the Kingdom. I like how he words it: “Improv allows the church to remain faithful to Scripture without assuming the Bible provides a script to dictate appropriate conduct in every eventuality.”

Improv is apocalyptic, in a sense. In an improv performance, the end must come, or it is too painful and nonsense. But along the way there is fun because there is trust. I think those of us who are more prophetically than artistically gifted might need to learn from and engage in mutual submission with those who are more playful. Mystics and poets and musicians help us play. They aren’t the only leaders (poets don’t make great administrators necessarily), but a vision that isn’t informed by their flexibility is problematic. Improv cultivates humility—and integrates others. Instead of me being the center, there’s a holy vision of how others can come along and contribute to the story.

Prophecy and the apocalypse combined with improv—this allows me to Hope, to look out for the vision as I see it in Scripture, but also to deal with the unexpected bumps—and maybe to do so with a sense of humor and a wider view for who gets to be included.

The tolerance, democracy, flexibility, and apocalyptic experimentation of the 1650s didn’t last in the British Isles. In the end, the Church of England was re-established because folks wanted a strong sense of what was right, and to make sure that people actually attended church and were exposed to biblical truths through regular teaching. It was too hard to hold a view of the End of Time alongside creative spiritual formation and alternative communities. Coercion was deemed necessary for Truth to triumph. I would like to imagine a different way.

When I read Scripture, listen to the Spirit, and exercise my spiritual gifts, I often come to strong, prophetically informed views of how my community should go into the future. I work for this, and I cast vision (maybe creatively and artistically) for the community/family I lead. But what happens when humanity is weak, when things don’t go the way how I want? When that happens (and it will!), I must have a strong enough view of who God is and a value for the people who are made in His image, to improvise and be flexible about His ability to bring the kingdom of God anyway.

And the same with our church—we have a vision, we work for it, we include others in it, we adapt to new information, new visions, we retain our sense of humor, and we celebrate the way God is working at creating the beloved community on the way to the New Earth, as we live out the Kingdom here, among us.

–Lisa Clark Diller, PhD, is chair of history and political studies department at Southern Adventist University. Email her at: [email protected]

Resources

Kevin Hughes: The Future of Hope

Robert Paul Doede & Paul Edward Hughes: Future of Hope

Samuel Wells: Liturgy, Time, and the Politics of Redemption