Post-Age Due

No individual who lived at the end of the nineteenth century had a choice about whether or not he would enter the twentieth on January 1, 1901. Every mortal entered the new century on the same day, like it or not. Things are far different when one speaks of epochs of civilization; there we have a choice. I am told that we are entering the postmodern age, but I am also given to know that I might remain a modern instead of becoming a postmodern. Perhaps my choices are even more vast. I might decide to become a Medieval like Martin Luther, or maybe an Ancient, like Aristotle. I have met some who could be classified as honorary citizens of the Mesozoic era. In any age, there will be those who choose to be conscientious objectors to the prevailing values.

The decisive question is not "By era are we entering?", but "By what philosophy shall we live?" At the beginning of a new era, especially, it is impossible to know what the next era will bring. We seem to be facing the large-scale abandonment of the values of modernity, but we cannot say with any conviction what will replace them. Those who claim to know what is replacing them are really attempting to create a self-fulfilling prophecy. If you claim to know what the values of the postmodern era will be, and call people to affirm those values to keep up with the times, then you might just succeed in defining the times yourself. (1)

In politics this is known as the bandwagon approach. You say "Vote for Hal. He's a winner!" Some people are swayed by this and instead of voting their conscience will cast their votes for Hal.

By attaching the name "Postmodern" to a popular academic philosophy, some academics gain adherents for this philosophy by projecting it as the winner. One problem with this approach (not a pragmatic problem, but a problem with truth) is that the votes are not counted until the end of an era.

Perhaps sometime in the twenty-third century historians will say that the 1990's saw the rise of a short-lived philosophy (then called post-modernism, but now not called anything) which was replaced a decade later by a new Platonism (the satellite discovery of four lost dialogues of Plato coincided with the marketing of an audio-animatronic Plato, captivating the media addicts of the Millennial generation), allowing the modern age to stretch to the middle of the twenty-first century. The epoch to follow the modern era was the Short Ages, though no one could agree as to whether they were named for the fact that nanotechnologies made everything small, or for the fact that they included several brief periods of time when a given philosophy would reign unchallenged, or for the fact that there were lots of shortages.

My point is that when we try to decide our philosophy by adjusting to the spirit of the age, we will not only miss out on truth, but we might miss out on relevance as well. Contrary to popular opinion, it is much easier to identify whether a position is true than it is to predict whether a position will be relevant in the long term.

In Our Time But Not of It

St. Paul's encouragement to be "in the world but not of it" is relevant to a discussion of the Christian's stance toward the spirit of the age. There is more than one danger to avoid. There is, of course, the danger of becoming so enmeshed in the spirit of the age that we become indistinguishable from it, but there is also the danger that having identified the spirit of the age we become uncritically reactive against it, shunning not only its weaknesses, but its strengths. As we move from one era into another, I fear that the form this reaction will take for some Christians is that they will reject the postmodern (for Christian reasons of course!), and yet themselves be slaves of both unchristian and outmoded modern values.

The way out of this mess is to see that no age has a monopoly on virtue or vice. Fallen man is not capable of righteousness, yet he cannot suppress all truth and survive. The reigning intellectual system of any age will be a mixture of falsehoods, which leads to death, and truth, which makes some measure of life possible. A fundamental change in the spirit of the age will often involve both the adoption of new falsehoods, but it can also be the occasion for the recovery of forgotten truths. Christian minds ought to be unprejudiced in their use of scripture to determine what in each era ought to be adopted or left behind.

Many books on postmodernism, both by secularists and Christians, offer little worth adopting. In reading postmodern books it surely comes as no surprise to find that secularists espouse relativism. What is troubling is that in so-called Christian postmodern books, professing Christians do the same. There are some brilliant exceptions, but if you want a good synthesis of Christianity and the more solid insights of postmodernism, you may have to do the work yourself.

One of the most promising postmodern books I have read comes not from the Christian world, but the secular. Stephen Toulmin's book Cosmopolis offers intriguing insights on the shift away from modern values. In several cases, the shift involves returning to medieval and pre-enlightenment (read "Reformation") values. I would like to examine four areas where considering the values of postmodernism will be a worthy endeavor.

Many Happy Returns

Professor Toulmin has called the recent shift in thinking "a return to practical philosophy." The modern world was dominated by overarching philosophical systems. Each system tried to offer an explanation for the world as a whole, and then show where the various disciplines fit in underneath. If you have seen the film series "How Shall We Then Live?," you might remember Francis Shaeffer illustrating this by walking along a beach drawing a circle in the sand to represent a philosophy (say that of Thomas Aquinas). The next philosopher, Rene Descartes, crossed out that circle and made his own. That is, he toppled the previous philosophy and offered his own account of the world. This went on for some time. Dr. Shaeffer left quite a trail of circles for the waves to erase. In recent modern philosophy, especially European existentialism, Dr. Shaeffer saw the end of systems, illustrating this by crossing out a circle without drawing a new one to replace it. Modern philosophy, as he saw it, despaired of the existence of truth. It made no attempt to explain the world as a whole, for there was no reason for the world.

Stephen Toulmin offers a different account of the present age. What may have been true of existentialism is not true of postmodernism. Instead of crossing out the big circle and leaving it there, the postmodern philosopher divides the circle into wedges and chooses one to work on. This was how philosophers before the modern era often did their work, even in some Christian ages.

This still leaves open the important question of whether or not there is an answer to the big question. But I think that a Christian can decide that there is an answer, and still show interest in what is being done in the wedges. We will be more effective in dealing with our culture if we approach it as it really is. If we think that all modern philosophers are huddled in an anxious corner waiting for God, we are mistaken. Worse yet, we will be unprepared to deal with them when they arrive at the hospital to quote to us our old theologians on the probable morality of pulling the plug on grandma.

This work in the wedges is called "practical philosophy" because it deals with everyday issues. The return to practical philosophy entails four returns to older ways of looking at the world. (2) They are:

1. A return to the Oral
2. A return to the Particular
3. A return to the Local
4. A return to the Timely

These are not just areas where philosophers do their work; they are a value-system. These four categories are set in contrast against the modern values of the written, the universal, the timeless, and the general. These competing sets of values are not so mutually exclusive that the acceptance of one involves the total rejection of the other. We can, for example, value what happens both in time and eternity. But it is important to recognize that they have opposite tendencies. When we channel our energy in one direction or another it should be by conscious choice.

Have Ye Not Heard?

Professor Toulmin says that a return to practical philosophy involves a return to the oral. Given our written revelation, the Bible, how could a Christian case be made that modern man should return to the oral?

I do not propose the abandonment of the written. In fact, in a past Modern Reformation article, I noted that people of the Book are people of books. Christians ought to be readers. But having said this, I think that the oral has been neglected, and there are historical and even biblical arguments to be made for the value of the spoken word.

Toulmin has said that the renewed interest in rhetoric is a sign of our renewed interest in the oral. Rhetoric is the persuasive use of language. In studying rhetoric, it is not uncommon for speeches to be analyzed, both as written texts and as live events. In the political realm, the oral has distinct advantages over the written. When President Reagan stood in front of the Berlin Wall and made the challenge, "Mr. Gorbachev, take this wall down!," he was relying on these advantages. He could have sent Mr. Gorbachev a telegram and relayed copies to the newspapers, but that would not have been as effective. As a speech, there was immediacy to the statement. Both men knew that millions of people were witnessing the event. The public nature of the event gave it power.

For the same reason, the oral has a place in the church. I am sure that at the birth of printing it was feared that laymen would vacate the church since they could read better sermons than their pastors could deliver. But most continued to attend. How come? What happens in church that cannot happen in one's den?

For one thing, a sermon is a public event. People can hold each other accountable to knowledge that they know they hold in common. With print, a degree of precision in understanding becomes possible that is not possible with speech, but it remains a private matter. We can easily ignore it. A fair sermon preached may do more for a congregation than several excellent ones read, for the good points live on in conversation long afterward.

Martin Luther noted one aspect of the oral which is often overlooked. It is received more passively. When we read, we control our intake. We can scan or peruse a book as we see fit. We study this and skip that. We can even speak of discovering something while reading, for we found it with our eyes. But not so with what is heard. The ears are passive. The message comes to them; they do not seek the message. They are the more appropriate organs of faith. As Luther said, paraphrasing St. Paul, "faith comes from listening, not from looking." (3) This is quite a statement for such a prolific writer.

This trust in the ears had ramifications for the nature of the church. Luther said, "The church is not a pen-house but a mouth-house." (4) A pastor's job is not to write but to preach. And laymen are to repeat the good news that they have heard to each other. If pastor and laymen fail to do this, the results are serious. Luther said "[Where the Gospel] is not proclaimed, there Christ is not present." (5)

A postmodern focus on the oral could be a healthy thing for the church. In a sense, we have never left the oral, but we often forget what makes it a unique tool.

The oral and the written should not be pitted against each other, for each has its place. Scripture speaks as though we are to be both reading and hearing the Word. In some places, the ignorant are chastised with the rebuke "Have ye not read…?" (Mt 12:3), at others with the rebuke "Have ye not heard?" (Is 40:28). Literacy in Old Testament times was fostered by the synagogue, where the Scriptures were publicly read, an event where the written becomes the oral. This dynamic is vividly pictured in those places where a prophet is commanded to eat a scroll (e.g. Ez 3:1, Rv 10:9). The prophet speaks what is written. In the ages when communication is at its best, our speech is formed by print and our print by speech.

A Return to the Particular

At the time of the Reformation, case-ethics or casuistry was the common method for arriving at ethical truth. While an objective moral code was recognized, it was not always obvious how to apply that code to a given case. In casuistry, these borderline cases were solved by references to similar cases where there was a consensus as to the right answer. It was hoped that familiarity with many cases would equip those caught in ethical dilemmas to find solutions to their ethical problems.

Some thinkers found fault with this system. It had been misused to make clear violations of known moral principles look ethical by comparison with ill-suited borderline cases. At the beginning of the modern age, philosopher Blaise Pascal lampooned this procedure and helped to bring it into disrepute. Not a parallel test case, but an appropriate principle would be the answer to each dilemma.

Casuistry made a comeback in our century, however, as medical and other technological advances made it more difficult to decide how to apply known moral laws to new situations. Even where we can agree on principles, application of those principles remains difficult. Situations which would have been undreamed of even a half century ago require us to ponder ethics anew. The Just War Theory was created (I ought to say discovered) by Aristotle. But how is it to be applied in a nuclear age? The Hippocratic Oath is ancient. But how do we relate its injunctions to heroic technologies? How far must doctors go in keeping the sick alive? If a technology is possible, does that make it necessary?

Christians must be ready for this new situation. We cannot reject the postmodern system of ethics just because it can be twisted. The modern system had its own drawbacks. Moderns could often be very scrupulous where their code was explicit but throw caution to the wind in a moral gray area. We need to understand the legitimate use of casuistry however, so that we are not left out of the moral discourse of the present day.

The Bible again shows how modern and postmodern values are not polar opposites. An objective code and case ethics are both found in Scripture. As an example of an objective code, the Ten Commandments will serve. To varying degrees, case ethics can be found in the book of Deuteronomy, the book of Proverbs, and Jesus's parables. These methods of arriving at ethical truth are complimentary.

A Return to the Local

A return to the local entails the ability to use anthropology and history to understand the settings for particular ideas. If we do not know the context of a statement, we may fail to grasp its true significance.

There are cases in church history for example, where a local condition gave rise to a judgment which some have since been universalized. One early church father, Ignatius, told his followers to settle doctrinal questions by asking their bishop. It is alleged that since Ignatius lived near the time of the apostles, this was an apostolic tradition. What can we make of this?

Putting the statement in its context allows us to relativize it. No doubt, Ignatius believed the bishops of his time more competent than laymen to handle doctrinal squabbles. He was probably right. We could even say that the apostles might have commended his judgment. That does not make it valid to universalize this principle. In our own day it would be foolhardy to follow such a principle in every case. With Episcopal bishops like John Spong or James Pike, or Catholic bishops like Pope Honorius, given the choice, I would rather accept the judgments of an untutored layman who respects the Scriptures.

This type of reasoning can be, and often has been, put into the service of a sloppy relativism, but it need not be. The statements of the time-bound humans of Church history are much more amenable to this practice than the statements of Scripture. There the words of eternity are spoken in time. There is a context to be understood, but when God speaks he can figure out how to make himself relevant to the ages. We must expect that instances where counsel is "merely cultural" will be rare.

Not only matters of practice, but broad motifs of thought are affected by historical setting. A more democratic understanding of the relations between God and man is more plausible in an American setting than in a feudal European setting. This ought to make us ask whether we have been unduly influenced by our environment in deciding doctrine. We must appeal to something objective to answer this, however. It is still possible that relations between God and man are, in fact, democratic, and that the American environment allowed hierarchically-inclined Europeans to see something new. Only after we have searched the scriptures can we decide if this is so. Studying our own setting, however, can alert us to which cherished teachings we had better not take for granted.

A Return to the Timely

What makes E.R. different from Marcus Welby? Even if Marcus Welby had an MRI scanner and a couple of AIDS patients, he would be a character in a very different show. How so? E.R. moves in rapid segments. People come in on gurneys. There is crisis. No overall plot, but a lot happens.

Marcus Welby, in contrast, is slowly developed. There are usually a couple of well-defined stories in the show. There is often an overall message. Dr. Welby is a well-integrated character whose Father-knows-best demeanor brings comfort to his beleaguered patients. In E.R. the doctors don't have it together. Glimpses of some compelling value are caught. Doctors comfort patients in spite of their own angst.

St. Augustine would not have liked E.R. It was too "all-over-the-place." Given a choice, he would have been a Marcus Welby watcher. According to Colin Gunton, though he doesn't say it in so many words, St. Irenaeus would have been an E.R. watcher. Whereas St. Augustine preferred the eternal to the temporal, and so would have preferred a show with an overall meaning to one with a lot of disconnected incidents, in Irenaeus no major contrast is drawn between the perfection of the timeless eternal and the imperfection of the temporal. That would have been to concede too much to gnosticism. (6) All the little things that happen in E.R. are no less important for happening quickly and being soon forgotten by the viewer.

I use E.R. as an illustration of the question of the timely because that is when the question strikes me. It is easy for me to want to discover inside myself a feeling of balance, of homeostasis, of having arrived. E.R. upsets this. I would like to know how an individual who insists on being in the "perfect will of God" at all times would cope when life crises came in two minute segments. The life of an emergency room doctor may be well-prepared, but it is not well-planned. Perhaps when we try to create for ourselves Marcus Welby lives, we believe this is more Christian, because wrapping our lives into a plot gives them an air of eternality. But if we trust God, he can provide meaning even if our lives are a blur.

This Age & the Age to Come

As responsible Christians, we ought to give careful consideration to both the pitfalls and the opportunities that a new era presents. From a Christian perspective, I believe that both modernity and postmodernity tend to emphasize some truth at the expense of other truth. Consider the Parable of the Talents. There we find a written account of an oral presentation where actions in time affect eternity. Is this modern or postmodern? Neither and both. Scripture offers us a model for integrating the best values of both times. We do not, however, go to Scripture primarily to find out how to react to a recent change in the spirit of the age. It has something to say to this, but it exists for its own sake. Beyond the conflict of modern and postmodern values are greater questions. All of human history since the fall has been united in philosophy against the age to come. Only through Scripture will we be able to discover those places where we need to stand against all history and the combined spirits of the ages to be true. And only by grace will we find ourselves citizens of the age to come.

I would like to conclude by means of a parable. It is not meant to specifically address all of the points addressed in this essay, but it does address the danger of being so enamored by the present surroundings that we forget where we are headed.

The Parable of the Three Kingdoms

Long ago a certain king summoned his three sons to travel for him on a diplomatic mission. "Your travel to the far countries will be easy, for you will start out in spring. It is your return which will be difficult," he said to them. "You cannot return by the way you went, for it will be winter. On your way home you must therefore travel through dangerous territories. You may enjoy the sights along the way. You may converse with the people. I ask each of you to bring back something for me. But I charge you to return. If you stay too long without remembering me you will forget that all the great things you see came from me. You will find yourselves as slaves. But fear not. These are my territories. I overcame them long ago."

The three sons set out as their father wished and had a pleasant trip to the far countries. Some of the foreign princes received them; some did not.

On their way home, the first kingdom they traveled through was Modernity. For a while, all three sons were repulsed by the natives. After some time, however, the eldest son, who wished one day to be a general, noticed that some of the habits of Modernity were sensible and would enhance his father's kingdom. "I will buy father a typewriter. Perhaps I will even return home in an automobile!," he exclaimed. The middle son, who wished one day to be a sage, was appalled.

"Nothing good comes from this country," he sneered. "The forests are disappearing, and the people do not sing. I fear that you will soon forget our father."

The eldest son was not convinced, and hailed the first taxi that passed.

"You're leaving without us?," asked the middle son.

"No, I'm just taking it to a room in town. You are welcome to join."

The youngest son hopped in the back behind his oldest brother, and they sped into the city in search of room service and cable television, leaving the middle brother to ponder the forest.

After a while, the eldest son became convinced that Modernity was not enemy territory. After all, Father believed in the eternal, and in Modernity they say that the laws are unchanging. Father had promised one day to put everything right, and here they claim that good government will eventually right all wrongs. Father was right. This was his kingdom.

In time, however, the oldest son forgot the father and took a job as a tax-gatherer for the city. The youngest and middle sons tried to persuade him to return with them, but he would not.

The next land on the journey home was Post-Modernity. As in a journey from Mexico to New Mexico, though the name change was small, they had crossed a definite border.

This new land pleased the middle brother. It was not really a kingdom, but a loose confederation of villages and tribes that kept on getting looser.

"This place is wonderful," enthused the middle brother. "I will bring home a laptop computer for Father."

This sounded ominously familiar to the younger brother.

"And how will you return? By jet plane? Our other brother was going to bring Father a typewriter, so you want to bring him a laptop?"

"Would you stop it with your enlightenment attitude? Your thinking is so linear. As if I would be confined to your Western either/or thinking. Just why does the solution have to be technological? I might just return home by astral projection."

The two brothers decided to settle for the night with a clan that had just burnt the tax office in the next village. (They kept silent about their third brother.)

During the cold winter nights, they were told that the clan stayed up late and told stories. The middle brother was excited about this because they might be open to hearing about their father.

Night-time rolled around and the younger brother was apprehensive about the upcoming campfire. "Do you think maybe we should be on our way?," he asked furtively.

"What's the rush? These are Dad's type of people. Or do you miss the worldliness of Modernity?"

"You don't see worldliness here?," the younger son asked. "How come the clan chief is surrounded by public opinion pollsters? And why does he wear an ancient tribal headdress when he comes from a town in Modernity? And why are they videotaping the campfire if it is a spontaneous occurrence of everyday life? Does that seem genuine to you?"

"You just don't recognize a mission opportunity when you see one do you?," sniffed the middle brother.

The younger brother decided to attend the campfire with his brother. He allowed himself to be dabbed with war paint, and suffered through the chief's testimony about how he lost his integrity and got it back. He was silent through the singing of "Pass It On." Then story time came, and the village sage started talking about stories. He didn't really tell any stories, but gave a long lecture on "storying" in words which were familiar, but used in ways which were not. Many nouns verbed.

The middle brother got his chance to speak, and talked about his father. The younger brother now felt like perhaps he had been too hasty to want to leave.

"Yes, I hear you," said one of the men in the tribe. "But the word 'father' is so limiting. I relate to him better as my sensitive force. I feel the force right here," he said pointing to his left nipple. "Or was it here?"

That did it. The youngest brother got up and left, with the middle brother grabbing at his arm.

"Why are you so quick to leave?," he demanded. "It was just getting good."

"No it wasn't. They didn't hear a word you said."

"But didn't you see that last man opening up?," he asked. "More will follow, but I need to find out more about this 'storying' they spoke of. I don't really know how to communicate. I'm going to sign up for classes at the local Diversity."

"You mean University?"

"That's too narrow a term for it. Such a modern concept. Besides, they told me I qualify for financial aid."

The two brothers parted, and the younger one started back to the father's house alone, on foot, and empty-handed. He would tell his father that there were many wonders to be seen in his distant territories, but none compared to the father's house.

As he came to the border of his father's land, father's old driver picked him up in the Rolls Royce, and sped him toward the mansion. "We need to get you back quickly," he said. "Your father is telling stories tonight."