As I walked through the wilderness of this world, I lighted on a certain place where was a Den , and I laid me down in that place to sleep: and, as I slept, I dreamed a Dream. I dreamed, and behold, I saw a man clothed with rags, standing in a certain place, with his face from his own house, a Book in his hand, and a great Burden upon his back. I looked, and saw him open the Book, and read therein; and, as he read, he wept, and trembled; and, not being able longer to contain, he brake out with a lamentable cry, saying, “What shall I do?”
Bunyan begins by explaining, by means of some choice shorthand, that this is a “Dream,” an allegory and not a real story. Fiction had not before now been seen in English – Pilgrim’s Progress was essentially the first novel in our language.1
The “rags” and the burden are not, as you might suppose, symbolic of a drug problem, or a lack of money, or of “hard circumstances.” They do not symbolize what we call “depression” or mental illness (though that was a common misdiagnosis of spiritual awakening even then, as we shall see.) Bunyan meant them to represent the best parts of the man’s heart and actions. – “All our righteousnesses are as filthy rags.”2 Even the good things this man had to offer weighed down on him like a burden.
Clearly he expects that he needs to do something to solve his problem but for some he doesn’t know what that is. Nowadays we would tell him to say the Sinner’s Prayer and thus be magically assured of his salvation. “Tell the Devil to stop bothering you with doubts!”. (Many who call themselves Christians would not even do this much.)
1 Dreamy allegories had been done before, of course: Dante’s Divine Comedy (Italian) and the Hypnerotomachia Poliphili (“Latinate Italian”) being two famous examples of the time; but Bunyan is unlikely to have been acquainted with them since he spoke and read only English.
There is this line of thought gathering steam out there that really needs to be euthanized.
It essentially says that Jesus’ teachings, such as those in the Sermon on the Mount, represent the ideal Christian approach to government. Implicit in this idea is the accusation that conservatives have turned their backs on Christ’s call to help the poor, the environment, to turn the other cheek, etc.
This is a subtle but very real error, probably started by religious people who ought to have known better, and propagated by well-meaning people to whom it smells nice. There are two aspects to this error. First it, makes Christ’s teaching nonsensical by twisting it away from its intended object. Second it deceives our consciences by appealing to our spirituality and piety while speaking from a selfish, materialist position.
The best recent example I have found of this thinking is found in a book by Rev. Ballmer called God in the White House, which I heard the author read on the radio a few weeks ago:
What would have happened, for example, if there had been a series of thoughtful follow-up questions to George W. Bush’s declaration back in Des Moines, Iowa, that Jesus was his favorite philosopher? “Mr. Bush, Jesus demands in the Sermon on the Mount that his followers ‘turn the other cheek’? How will that teaching guide your conduct of American foreign policy, especially in the event of, say, an attack on the United States?” Or: “Jesus, your favorite philosopher, says that we should care for ‘the least of these.’ How does that inform your understanding of welfare or Social Security or civil rights or the graduated income tax?” …“Mr. President, Jesus expressed concern for the well-being of the tiniest sparrow. Do you see any relationship between that sentiment and your administration’s environmental policies? “ Or: “Mr. President, Jesus, the man you invoked on the campaign trail as your favorite philosopher, invited his followers to love their enemies. How does that teaching square with the invasion of Iraq or with your administration’s policies on torture?”
I am not interested in defending President Bush from even one of his critics, but rather in highlighting the silliness of this line of questioning.
Rev. Ballmer and his companions in rhetoric make themselves nonsensical when they take Christ’s specific, personal teachings and abstract them onto the government apparatus. They might as well ask how the government should change its approach to planning and budgeting given Christ’s admonition to “take no thought for the things of tomorrow,” and to “seek first the kingdom of God, and all these things will be added unto you.” They might as well ask how the government should form its judicial system in light of Christ’s admonition to “judge not that ye be not judged.”
The important distiction is that Jesus spoke to individuals as private people, not to the government or about government policy.
Rulers, government leaders, and civil servants are under no less obligation to follow Christ’s teachings in their personal attitudes and actions, but when sitting in office they hold a different set of responsibilities than when they sit at the dinner table.
On justice and civil protection
Rulers are commanded in the Bible to fulfill certain additional responsibilities that you and I are not given: punishing evildoers, rewarding those who do well, administering justice and defending against foreign enemies.
A judge who unilaterally “forgives” a murderer on behalf of society is condemned, and not approved, by God. This is called “perverting justice.” Even though the judge is called upon by God to forgive from the heart the man who murders his family, he is also called upon by God to administer the law impartially when sitting in his office as judge.
In the same way a ruler who does not act to remove a proven threat to those under his care is no better than a tyrant. It does not matter whether the threat is domestic or foreign. He would not be “turning the other cheek” in this case; he would be sacrificing the lives of innocent people under his care, while soothing his own aching conscience at no personal cost to himself, just as much as he would by engaging his people in an unjust war.
Again, the assumption at issue here is the idea that Christ gave government leaders straightforward direction towards a policy of pacifism, when he clearly was not speaking of government policy but of individual conduct. To say otherwise is to oversimplify the issue to an embarrassing extent.
On caring for the poor
Jesus was not speaking to government positions when he said to “care for the least of these.” He was speaking to us as individuals. Whether or not the government provides some additional assistance to poor people, or how much assistance, is a question that is up to each society to decide. But it is silly of the Mount Leftists to talk as if we were threatening the world’s sole arm of Christian charity by opening the graduated income tax, for example, to examination and revision.
This kind of thinking on the poor abstracts the obligation of charity away from the individual and onto the whole society.
In practice, conservatives are far better at following Christ’s command to “care for the least of these” than those who prefer to meet this need by taxing it out of other people. If you believe the poor man’s first recourse is to the government, then you may feel you are doing your part as long as you pay your taxes; you may even allow yourself to think that you are doing your duty by the poor man in campaigning for more tax money from other people. The measured effect of this thinking on those that hold it has been a reduction, not an increase, in the charity that Christ taught.
On the use of Christ’s teachings in politics
In many ways it is encouraging that Christ’s teachings have suddenly become suitable for use in American political discussion. It gives us a chance to deflate populist myths about his teachings, and to spread awareness of his message about our individual responsibility to God. The only danger is that we miss the opportunity by failing to state the obvious.
I just finished a Letterpress course at the Minnesota Center for Book Arts, and enjoyed it very much. It would have been better if I hadn’t been sent out of town on business for the last two weeks of it but I was able to catch up to some extent.
In and out again:
as the bird turns, so the whole
flock hits the window.
It was surely glass,
but were they getting out? in?
when they hit, and whose?
You can say the glass
should go, though it must be said:
birds are not that bright.
Being a fan of continuous, small changes, I don’t do New Years’ resolutions; besides, the dead of winter is a terrible time to try switching behaviours (Fall is the best time for that, when you have a change in the weather at your back). But in order to keep the goal hunter at bay, here are some things I will achieve this year, God willing.
Get involved with a local ministry, with a focus on meeting people’s practical needs
Joy, health, love and peace
Be all here in this place
By your leave we will sing
Concerning our king
Our king is well dressed
In the silks of the best
In ribbons so rare
No king can compare
We have travelled many miles
Over hedges and stiles
In search of our king
Unto you we bring
We have powder and shot
To conquer the lot
We have cannon and ball
To conquer them all
Old Christmas is past
Twelve tide is the last
And we bid you adieu
Great joy to the new
I saw a portrait of myself the other day: it showed me sitting on a half high brick wall with my head turned, my great mouth lolling open in a goofy smile as I appeared to be talking to someone to the viewer’s left. I winced – it was not a good picture of me.
This particular portrait of me had added interest because of where it was placed. It had been blown up to great proportions and been painted on the side of a large brick building downtown, next to a parking lot, for anyone to look at who walked by. Many people were walking by. Hence the wince.
I stopped to look at myself in mild horror and mild fascination, and Edwin Nathaniel Dowdley, who was walking with me, stopped too, and came back for me. “Coming?” he asked. “How long has that been there?” I asked him. “Oh, that? A couple of weeks now. What’s the matter?” “What’s the matter, it’s awful, that’s all.” “Why awful? That’s what you look like,” he joked, but of course he was right, that was the problem.
“You’re right,” I said, “no good taking it down – I’ll still be walking around acting like that.”
“I wouldn’t bother about it. Everyone’s used to you. And they still like you – pretty well, anyways, eh?”
I took a copy of it and framed it, and hung it in my living room. Everyone else could look at it whenever they saw me, but I knew I probably needed to see it more often. It was me saying, “This man with the funny mouth and all that extra real estate on the side of his head, that is me, I guess. And I can be happy with that.” It’s just a little jarring the first time you see it. It has made me a kinder person.
I saw a portrait of myself the other day: it showed me sitting on a half high brick wall with my head turned, my great mouth lolling open in a goofy smile as I appeared to be talking to someone to the viewer’s left. I winced – it was not a good picture of me.