Month: May 2020 (page 1 of 2)

Building Fences on Roofs

When you build a new house, make a parapet around your roof so that you may not bring the guilt of bloodshed on your house if someone falls from the roof.
(Deuteronomy 22:8)

On Friday, November 21, 1980 a deadly fire erupted in the MGM Grand Hotel and Casino killing eighty-five people. The fire was tragic not only because of the number of people that died in it, but because their deaths were needless––the MGM Grand had no water sprinklers. A few days later I was sitting in a graduate course on the Pentateuch (the first five books of the Bible), and the professor began class that morning by speaking rather casually about a strange law found in Deuteronomy 28:2. “Do you know, or remember from your reading,” he asked, “that the Deuteronomic law required that a parapet (a kind of fence or wall) be built around the roof of a house?” As he talked he caught us up in what a strange law that was. Then he pointed out that in ancient Palestine people often used their roofs as living space, and if your good friends with three children between the ages of two and six came over you wouldn’t want one of the kids toppling over the edge of your roof; nor, of course would you want one of the parents after a couple of drinks to moon-walk over the unguarded side and break their neck. You wouldn’t want that he suggested because you care about your friends and their kids; and, the truth is, even if they are sometimes annoying, you love them. Well, actually, even if you are yourself sometimes critical and rather cynical about your fellow human beings, you care enough about people in general that you don’t want anyone falling off your roof and getting hurt––or killed. So you build that little fence or wall to protect visitors. If you don’t it says something about the sort of uncaring person you are––and you ought to be held responsible for that. “Now,” asked the professor, “how might you apply this obscure law from Deuteronomy if you were building a big hotel today?” What he was eliciting, of course, was the understanding that because we love others we act in their best interest though doing so may, in our personal judgment, seem rather small, unnecessary, or inconvenient, in the moment.

So, why should we wear face masks, forgo the joy of meeting for worship with Christian friends until it is safe to do so, or practice social distancing? It is for the same reason the people of Israel built that parapet, or why a hotel/casino owner should know to install sprinkler systems and fire exits––even though it might be a lot of trouble or cost more to do so?

Saturday night I listened to the rant of Arthur Hodges, the pastor of a large Pentecostal Church in Chula Vista. Hodges is unhappy with the limits that have been placed on church gatherings. He thinks them unfair and more onerous than those imposed on other businesses. In fact, he says, such limitations are unconstitutional. What is interesting, is that he was being interviewed because he and his church, South Bay United Pentecostal Church, has just lost its case before the U.S. Supreme Court challenging the attendance restrictions placed on churches. The Supreme Court in a five to four decision rejected the challenge of Pastor Hodges and his church. I say “interesting” because now that the United States Supreme Court has decided the case the limitations imposed on churches during the pandemic are by definition “constitutional” despite Pastor Hodges repeated assertions to the contrary. However, whether such limitations are constitutional and whether or not they are unfair when compare to those imposed on other enterprises is not the question.

The question is not what is legal, or constitutional, or beneficial to the church as a business enterprise––and lets be honest many churches today are nothing more than, as Eugene Peterson pointed out, “shops.” They are businesses, shops, run by shop keepers. Some of them, like South Bay United Pentecostal Church, are highly successful shops run by shrewd managers, and they would howl like wounded wolves if the tax advantages granted them by the state (tax advantages many consider unfair) were taken away. But I digress. Something about self-serving churches and ego centric clergy triggers some usually dormant Kierkegaardian madness in me (See: “My Descent Into Kierkegaardian Madness,” October 11, 2015).

The question for every individual and every church wishing to be genuinely Christian, longing for “God’s will to be manifested on earth as it is in heaven,” is not what is constitutional, or convenient, or what is in the best interest of their “shop.” But what does it mean, especially in times such as this, to act lovingly, to act responsibly, cheerfully and with good will in the legitimate best interest of everyone around us––our family, our friends, our church, and the larger community?

Process Thought and the Eclipse of God

This post is of an article  originally submitted to “Philotheos: International Journal of Philosophy and Theology.” The published version appeared in the 19:2 edition of “Philotheos.”

 

Abstract
Martin Buber in his famous critique of modern philosophy and psychology, described the philosophical hour through which the world is now passing as a spiritual eclipse––a historical obscuring of “the light of heaven.” This essay explores process thought as first formulated by the mathematician/philosopher Alfred North Whitehead, and then expounded by Charles Hartshorne, John Cobb, and other theologians as paradigmatic of Buber’s concern. Accordingly, it proposes, that when consciousness shifts in such a way that God becomes recognizable as immediately present, as the aura in which the person of faith lives, the eclipse is over.

Key Words
eclipse, God, philosophy, process, thought,  theodicy, theology, spirituality, impassibility, metaphysics

Process Thought
Alfred North Whitehead’s thought and writing is so complex and so dense, that one is hard put to think of anyone who has been able to convey the gist of it in only a paragraph or two; as, for example, might be done by nearly any university student with the existentialism of Jean Paul Sarte or Albert Camus. Nevertheless, here is an attempt, definitely foolhardy, to do just that for those unacquainted with Whitehead’s thought.

For Whitehead everything is in motion, everything is evolving, everything is changing, everything, including God, is in process. Molecules, algae and whales, dogs and fleas, human beings and whatever you consider as ultimate is in process. Nothing is in a static state. God is still becoming. In so far as process theology can be said to be theistic it is a naturalistic theism, not in the sense of identifying God with nature, but rather in denying the concept of a divine being who can intervene and alter the normal causal principles of the universe. God is enmeshed in time, and is neither omnipotent nor omniscient. God knows only the present with its potentialities. There is a sense in which God can inspire and persuade, but God cannot make things happen. Neither can God prevent anything from happening. Everything that exists has its own level of creativity; and, therefore, possesses the power of freedom, of self-determination and of causal influence. God, it can be said, is as affected by the world as much as the world is affected by God.

This resolves the philosophical problem of evil and suffering by arguing that while God is good, God does not intervene to end the misery of the world because God, enmeshed in temporality, is unable to do so. Indeed, it is debated whether God is a superfluous notion in process thought. “Actual entity” is the term Whitehead coined to refer to entities that actually exist, and that relate to other actual entities. The question that then arises is whether God is an actual entity. Whitehead’s method of metaphysical discovery begins with the careful observation of immediate experience, then moves to the free play of imagination, and finally engages in rational analysis. He believed that by employing this methodology he could encompass all of metaphysics in one philosophical system. This is obviously an over simplification of process thought, but hopefully will be sufficient to unfold it as illustrative of Buber’s criticism.

The Eclipse of God
What the Jewish scholar and mystic Martin Buber called the “eclipse of God” speaks to the way in which modern philosophy, theology, and psychology work to destroy the possibility for intimacy with an eternal, ever-present, Mystery, Thou, or God. This essay sees process philosophy as formulated by the mathematician/philosopher Alfred North Whitehead, and expounded by Charles Hartshorne, John Cobb, and other theologians as paradigmatic of Buber’s concern. Technically there is a distinction between process philosophy and process theology; however, the two are formally joined under the rubric of process thought. Understanding, much less critiquing, process thought is a rather daunting task. To begin with, in spite of its efforts to be coherent, it is not a highly linear or systematic philosophy or theology. It is rather a complex and inventive metaphysical “system” employing a number of interlocking arcane concepts. This paper, then, explores how the general orientation and core concepts of process thought are a template of the sort of philosophy Buber felt constituted an “eclipse of the light of heaven, an eclipse of the light of God.”

Direction Determines Destination
Process philosophy has its origins in the mathematical mind; and, in this rationalistic orientation has remained constant. Alfred North Whitehead worked most of his life teaching mathematics, first as a professor at Trinity College, Cambridge (1884 to 1910), and then at The Imperial College of Science and Technology. In 1898 his A Treatise on Universal Algebra was published. In spite of the title, this book was more about the foundations of geometry than algebra. It attempted to draw together the divergent ideas of research mathematicians in a systematic form. Although this effort established Whitehead’s reputation as a scholar, it had little impact on mathematical research. Whitehead’s early work included two other books, Axioms of Projective Geometry (1906) and Axioms of Descriptive Geometry (1907).

Before the completion of these two Axioms books, Whitehead was at work on Principia Mathematica––a ten-year collaborative project with Bertrand Russell. The intention of Principia Mathematica was to work out a set of axioms and inference rules from which all mathematical truths could be proven. However, in 1931, Gödel’s Incompleteness Theorem proved for any set of axioms and inference rules proposed to encapsulate mathematics, either the system must be inconsistent, or there must in fact be some truths of mathematics which could not be deduced from them.

Understandably, during the carnage of WW I Whitehead’s writing began to take a more philosophical turn––his papers on relational space, while anchored in geometric thought, are explicitly philosophical. In 1919 his Enquiry into the Principles of Natural Knowledge appeared, then in 1920 his The Concept of Nature. In 1925, facing mandatory retirement at The Imperial College of Science and Technology, Whitehead accepted a position teaching philosophy at Harvard University. A year after arriving at Harvard, he delivered the prestigious Lowell Lectures. These lectures formed the basis for his book Science and the Modern World (1925). Following the Lowell Lectures, he presented the 1927/28 Gifford Lectures at the University of Edinburgh resulting in his Process and Reality (1929). Later, Hartshorne, Cobb, and Griffin sought to “theologize” Process and Reality; however, Whitehead’s metaphysical system is determinative for the legitimacy of all process thought. It began and it ends, as a highly academic and esoteric enterprise.

Decoding the terminology of Whitehead’s metaphysics is a major challenge. Whitehead not only used common and philosophical language in idiosyncratic ways, but also invented a series of neologisms, including: appetition, concresence, conformal, formaliter, ingression, prehension, regnant society, and superject. While Whitehead aspired to a literal general description of reality, his obtuse style has proven frustrating for both trained philosophers, and inexperienced graduate students; and, is seen as somewhat useless by more literally minded scientists.

And so, we are left with Pascal’s passionate declaration: “God of Abraham, God of Isaac, God of Jacob––not of the philosophers and scholars.” This saying, as Buber notes, represents Pascal’s, metanoia, his repentance, the turning of his consciousness from the God of the philosophers to the God Abraham and Sarah know and trust––to that sort of intimacy with which a couple may know one another when their making love is truly love making.

Process philosophy was spawned in the sea of mathematical reason and nurtured to adulthood in the swirling speculations of academic philosophy. Indeed, the nineteenth century’s misplaced confidence in the power of science and reason was the very matrix for process philosophy. And whatever its original “spiritual intentions,” process thought has continued to follow the highly rationalistic and naturalistic trajectory plotted at its beginning. However, it is not the intention, but the direction in which one proceeds that determines final destination. If the goal, the intention, is to explore the North Pole, then traveling east along the Prime Meridian will not lead to the desired destination. If one’s desire is to experience the beatific vision, the path of esoteric intellectual concepts, will, in the end, either stop short of that destination, or miss it entirely.
Knowledge of the Second Kind

C. Robert Mesle in Process Theology and John B. Cobb, Jr. in Jesus’ Abba, both attempt to present a more unobscured and Christian friendly version of process thought. Yet, such portrayals by process theologians are, more than anything else, like ghostly images of Christianity––they are like wispy resemblances of someone who was once greatly loved but is now only vaguely recalled. Mesle asserts:

Even if the God of process theism should turn out not to exist, or even if there is no divine being at all, even if we find it more helpful to think of the entire venture as the creation of myths and models, I am convinced that process theology deserves our most serious attention. The ethical model that process thought shows us can transform our whole way of thinking about religion, life and values.

A problem with Mesle’s argument, is that the ethical and moral values he endorses are derived from Judeo-Christian Scripture. More than that, historic and ecumenical Christianity believes that these values grow, so to speak, organically out of, and express the very nature, of Divine Reality. The question then becomes: “If severed from their roots can these values of love, compassion and justice continue to flourish, or will they wilt and wither like cut flowers in a vase?” Mesle strangely asserts that even if there is no God, or if what we thought were eternal verities and universal spiritual principles turn out merely to be helpful “models,” process thought still has the power to transform our thinking, life and values. In the end this is akin to a baker of apple pies saying: “Even if all the recipe books are wrong, or it turns out there are no apples or apple trees, my apple pie will still be delicious.”

As the Jesuit, priest, scholar and mystic, William Johnston noted, there are two kinds of knowledge. The first is the sort of discursive reasoning common to the academic enterprise. We cannot, of course, entirely escape using this sort of conceptual thinking, however, there is a supra conceptual, mystical, knowledge, a knowledge “of” rather than “about” God, which fills one who is emptied of images and concepts––a loving light that penetrates the shadow of the eclipse. It is this knowledge of the second kind that process theology tends to obscure.

Equation of Suffering
The horrors of World War I were for Whitehead and his wife Evelyn immediate and personal. Their youngest son, Eric Alfred, was killed in action with the Royal Flying Corps in 1918. Whitehead was driven by his personal pain to seek a resolution of the equation of human suffering and evil. His answer, more intellectual than spiritual, was that suffering exists because God is powerless to prevent it. This has continued as a foundational axiom for process theologians who are fond of the old cliché like syllogism:

1)  A god that is all-powerful, all-knowing, and all-loving would prevent evil and suffering.
2)  Evil and suffering happen.
3 ) Since evil and suffering happen, an all-powerful, all-knowing and all-loving god cannot exist.

Process thought seeks to resolve the dilemma by accepting that God is neither omnipotent nor omniscient. It is not, however, willing to relinquish the notion that God is good. However, the syllogism is, within itself, a somewhat obscurantist statement. That is to say, the premise obscures in that it asserts more than is or can be known. Michael E. Rea, for example, challenges in his The Hiddenness of God the notion that divine love can be equated with idealized human love.

One Who Proves Too Much
It is curious that Whitehead failed to grasp the implications of Gödel’s Incompleteness Theorem for his own metaphysical work, for just as surely as it ended the quest of Principia Mathematica, so it spells the impossibility of encapsulating all of metaphysics into one philosophical system. Qui nimium probat nihil probat.

What if process thought has it wrong? What if God is all-powerful and all-knowing, but indifferent? What if Stephen Crane’s poem is true?

A man said to the universe:
“Sir, I exist!”
“However,” replied the universe,
“The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation.”

Or, perhaps God is pitiless. It is not unusual for psychotherapists to encounter people who believe that an all-powerful and all-knowing God exists, but that God, far from being good and kind, is heartless. They are no more likely to worship an impotent God of process theology than a loveless one.

All the great Christian philosophers, St. Bernard of Clairvaux, St. Anselm, and St. Thomas Aquinas, to name three of the classicists, have wrestled with the philosophical problem of God’s impassibility––the logical dilemma of how to make sense of God as both compassionate and unchanging. Hartshorne resolved the problem by arguing, in agreement with Whitehead, that God is not “impassable.” Process thought therefore argues that while the world is affected by God, God is also affected by the world. But as William Wainwright correctly notes, “The controversy of God’s impassibility is, rooted in a clash of value intuitions, a deep disagreement over what properties God must have to be unqualifiedly admirable and worthy of worship.” For the Christian contemplative such questions are fascinating brain teasers, but in the end, to paraphrase Thomas à Kempis, one must choose whether it is best to discuss theories of impassibility learnedly, or to experience the faithfulness of God. Process thought seeks to explain everything, but changes nothing; whereas, biblical and spiritual theology explains little, but changes everything.

There are, of course, multiple philosophical possibilities in accounting for the problem of suffering: (1) there is no God, (2) God is ineffectual, (3) God is cruel, (4) or the solution is less philosophical, and more spiritual. C. S. Lewis, echoing both Psalms 73 and The Book of Job, wrote in Till We Have Faces, “I know now, Lord, why you utter no answer. You are yourself the answer. Before your face the questions die away. What other answer would suffice?” However, with its highly academic orientation, it is precisely this last answer that is no longer visible in process thought.

Freedom
Coupled with the primacy of suffering in process thought is the theme of freedom. God is not all powerful, and knows only what is, including the potentialities of the present, and not what will be; consequently, God, who is enmeshed in temporality, can actualize potentiality but has no “coercive” power. God can invite, persuade, and entice but cannot make things happen. “God,” says Mesle, “is the unique Subject, whose love is the foundation of all reality.” But Mesle leaves process theology open to the same problems he posits in his caricatures of Judeo-Christian tradition. To say to someone: “God feels really terrible that you have been brutally raped, that your three-year-old has been run over by a drunken driver, that you have terminal cancer, that there is yet another famine, lethal epidemic, or genocide in the world, but unfortunately, while God feels your pain, God is impotent and cannot help,” is not particularly consoling. Process thought seems especially vulnerable to Nietzsche’s harsh accusation: “Only a God who is imperfect, or something of a sadist could delight in (actualize) a world of such immense misery, violence, pain and suffering.” Process philosophy, as we have seen, agrees with Nietzsche. God is imperfect in that God’s knowledge and power are both limited.

The question, however, is not even whether God is all-powerful, but whether God’s power, even if limited, makes any difference at all? Couldn’t the god of process thought, if loving, use a little more influence in raising up wise, competent, and compassionate world leaders rather than so many malevolent sociopaths? Couldn’t a god who actualized quantum physics, do more persuading or revealing, or whatever, to produce some exponential breakthroughs in fighting cancer, hunger, or birth defects? Process theology not only answers “no,” but explicitly states there is no certainty that good will ultimately overcome evil.

It is not that process philosophy blocks out all light, any more than a solar eclipse blots out the entire sun. The movie O’ God, starring George Burns, is perhaps as simple and as appealing a presentation of process theology that a lay person can find––an entirely affable, but ineffectual god who wants us to do better than we are doing when it comes to treating each other with greater kindness and showing more concern for the environment. Indeed, process thought appears to be a product of modern Western culture in that it seeks a way of finding solace in a world mad with fear and suffering, but in a way that guarantees individual autonomy without accountability or personal spiritual transformation––the sort of willingness that is the essence of all spiritual progress. This then is the eclipse of which Buber wrote––the sheer “wilfulness” of philosophy and theology.

Cognitive Cloud
Whitehead himself was an agnostic and it is not easy to grasp what he meant by “God.” Many, perhaps most, process philosophers speculate that God is an actual entity, although there is disagreement as to whether God is a series of momentary actual occasions, or a single everlasting and constantly developing actual entity. God is a kind of storehouse of both “envisaged potentialities” and of every “puff” of experience at every level. God as a kind of storage mechanism for knowledge, might remind one of that illustration from quantum physics which says in explaining black holes, that if one’s wallet fell into a black hole the wallet would be lost, but the wallet and all it contained would remain as a kind of smear of mathematical information on the edge of the black hole. On the other hand, more than a few process philosophers maintain God is not a necessary element of the process metaphysical system, and may be deleted without diminishment to the model.

Donald Sherburne maintained in his 1971 article, “Whitehead without God,” that a non-theistic or “naturalistic” version of process philosophy is more useful and coherent. Whitehead believed, noted Sherburne, that God is metaphysically necessary because God (a) preserves the past; (b) is the ontological ground, or “somewhere” of the eternal objects; and (c) is the source of order, novelty, and limitation in worldly occasions. But, said Sherburne, these roles for God are inconsistent with the metaphysical principles of Whitehead’s system and are superfluous.

Whitehead himself argued that ultimate reality is best described in terms of the principle of creativity. Creativity is the universal of universals, and is sometimes compared to Aristotle’s “being qua being,” or Heidegger’s “Being itself”––that is “Becoming itself.” All actual entities, even God, are in a sense “creatures” of creativity. Zeus was subject to the principle of destiny––the thread measured and cut by the three Fates, so one may ask: “Is God subject to Creativity?” And, this raises the next obvious question: “Is God, God?” Or, “Is the principle of Creativity God?” Or, “Is the Process itself God?”

As noted, process thought uses a good deal of ink in denying God is omnipotent. Both John A. T. Robinson and Paul Tillich disliked all talk of God’s omnipotence. They thought such talk tended to make an object of God. So, whether omnipotence is affirmed or denied God is objectified either way. And, quite soon it is no longer God being discussed. Once a symbol, or a concept, is taken for the thing itself objectification has taken place––God as God has been eclipsed.

Nearly all academic philosophy and theology done in the mode of modern scientism and materialism becomes stuck in the ditch of the fallacy of “misplaced concreteness”––Whitehead’s term for treating an abstraction as a concrete reality. The organization of knowledge, as Herman Daly and John Cobb note, requires a high degree of abstraction; consequently, the more successful and established an academic discipline in its development, and the more its practitioners are socialized to think in these abstractions, the more elaborate the abstractions themselves become. In time conclusions are confidently applied to the real world without realizing the degree of abstraction involved. This treatment of abstractions as if they were concrete and possessed functions they cannot have leads to both scientific and metaphysical confusion. As soon as we speak philosophically of the omniscience, omnipresence, or omnipotence of God, or employ and proceed to elaborate upon any of the concepts of process thought, we have smudged the lens through which we hope to glimpse the divine mystery.

Conclusion
What has been posited in this paper is not that one may not be both a process theologian and Christian, but that process philosophy easily leads to that objectification and fallacy of misplaced concreteness Buber believed constituted an eclipse of God. The Quaker philosopher Elton Trueblood wrote, “Once large sections of the clergy were the standard examples of obscurantism, but today their places have been taken by the academic philosophers.” Charles Chestnut furnishes an appropriate conclusion:

Moses asked God what his name was, because he wanted a logical and rational theory about God. What God told him instead was simply, ‘I am what I am.’ What will save us is not a theory about God, but meeting God and recognizing that he-whom, we-confront “right in front of us” (so to speak) is the one we call God. Or, in other words, learning what the word God means, refers to learning how to recognize those events and circumstances where we can see and feel and hear God immediately present and acting in our lives.

When we grasp, with both heart and mind, what Chestnut is saying, the eclipse is over, and philosophy no longer blots out the beatific vision.

 

Bibliography
1) Brown, Delwin, Ralph E. James Jr., and Gene Reeves. Process Philosophy and Christian
Thought. Indianapolis and New York: The Bobbs-Merrill Company, Inc., 1971.
2) Buber, Martin. Eclipse of God: Studies in the Relation Between Religion and Philosophy.
Amherst, New York: Humanity Books, 1996.
3) Chestnut, Glenn F. God and Spirituality: Philosophical Essays. New York and Bloomington:
iUniverse, 2010.
4) Dally, Herman and John Cobb. For the Common God: Redirecting the Economy Toward
Community, the Environment and a Sustainable Future, 2nd ed. Boston: Beacon Press,
1994.
5) Diller, Jeannie and Ada Kasher, eds. Models of God and Alternative Realities. Dordrecht,
Heidelberg, New York, London: Springer Press, 2013.
6) Gilkey, Langdon. Maker of Heaven and Earth. Garden City, New York: Doubleday & Company,
1959.
7) Grassie, William. “Resources and Problems in Whitehead’s Metaphysics.” April 9, 2011.
Metanexus.net/essay/resources and problems-whitehead’s-metaphysics (accessed April
16, 2019).
8) Griffith and Donald W. Sherburne, New York: Free Press, Corrected ed,1978.
9) Hart, Larry. The Annunciation: A New Evangelization and Apologetic for Mainline Protestants
and Progressive Catholics in Postmodern North America. Eugene, Oregon: Wipf &
Stock, 2017.
10) Johnston, William. The Mysticism of the Cloud of Unknowing. Trabuco Canyon, California and
Wheathampstead, Hertfordshire: Source Books, Anthony Clarke, 1992.
11) Jones, E. Stanley. The Way. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1946. 16
12) Lewis, C. S. Till We Have Faces. San Diego, New York, London: Harcourt, Inc., 1984.
13) Mesle, C. Robert. Process Theology: A Basic Introduction. St. Louis, Missouri: Chalice Press,
1993.
14) Nietzsche, Frederick. Thus Spoke Zarathustra (1883). Translated by R. J. Hollingdale. New
York: Penguin Books, 1969.
15) Rea, Michael C. The Hiddenness of God, Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2018.
16)Sherburne, Donald W. “Whitehead Without God.” Revised from The Christian Scholar, L, 3
(Fall 1967). anthonyflood.com/sherburnewhiteheadwithoutgod.htm (accessed April 16,
2019).
17) Tillich, Paul. Systematic Theology, Volume I: Reason and Revelation, Being and God. Chicago:
University of Chicago Press, 1951.
18) Trueblood, D. Elton. A Place to Stand. New York: Harper & Row, 1969.
19) Wainwright, William. “Concepts of God.” December 21, 2006. Revised December 19, 2012.
Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. plato.standford.edu. (accessed April 16, 2019).
20) Whitehead, Alfred North. Process and Reality: An Essay in Cosmology. Edited by David Ray

A Biblical Song of the Oppressed

Scripture is subversive in that it has within it the power to undermine, to topple and overthrow the existing world order –– its values, its thinking, its way of life. This subversive quality is frequently apparent in the Psalms where the poets have discovered something utterly amazing about God. What they have discovered, as the Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann observes, is this: “Yahweh’s peculiar inclinations are with the broken-hearted and the ones with crushed spirits. That is, Yahweh’s solidarity is not with the ones who go from success to success, but the ones denied success.” In the Psalms the poor, the marginalized, the oppressed and the humble look only to God–– have no one but God for their help. The Psalms are subversive, then, because God is subversive. I thought you might appreciate the following version of Psalm 10. Well, actually, I hope it will feed your own subversive passions––your feelings of compassion and justice in an age of exploitation, corruption, greed, violence, mendacity and arrogance.

Psalm 10: A Song of the Oppressed

1Why do you stand so far from me, O God?
Why are you hiding, Lord, in all this crisis?
2 In arrogance the selfish and greedy chase down the poor.
May they be caught in their own cruel traps
set for the innocent!
3 Having departed from the path
they have no knowledge of what is sacred,
and no compassion
for the suffering of humanity.
They boast of their power to take whatever they want,
they curse the Lord and reject God as weak.
4 With smug and condescending faces
they disdain God and deny the divine power.
In their self-centered importance they are always saying,
“There is no God.”
5 They are rich, powerful, and entirely self-satisfied.
The wisdom of your Way, O God,
is far beyond their comprehension.
As for any who would challenge them,
they laugh in derision.
6 They say to themselves,
“Nothing can touch me!
No one can bring me down!
No one is as clever as I am!
Nothing bad is ever going to happen to me!”
7 Their mouths are full of rotting lies,
violence, and oppression;
Under their tongues are plots to hurt
and destroy all that is good, beautiful, or true.
8 Courts, markets, and positions of leadership
are their lurking places;
they spring from hidden blinds
to kill the innocent and vulnerable.
Their stealthy eyes are always watching for victims.
9 Like predator lions
they stalk those alone and helpless;
They lurk in the dark shadows
ready to catch those already afflicted;
They catch the injured and the poor
and draw them into their net.
10 In their speech they camouflage their true motives
with high principles and ideals,
but they are always crouching in readiness
to spring on the innocent.
11 They confidently reassure themselves saying,
“God has forgotten;
God has hidden His face; God will never see it.”
12 Arise!, O Lord, Arise; lift up Your hand.
Do not forget the hurting, troubled and afraid.
13 Why have the wicked despised You O’ God?
Because they do not believe
You will require accountability.
14 But You have seen it,
You have carefully noted the harm they do
how they devour the poor and vulnerable as prey.
The defenseless commit themselves to You;
You have been the helper of those
who have no other help.
15 Break the power of the unjust,
the indifferent and the cruel;
seek out all their ways of wickedness,
until by your goodness they are overcome;
and no injustice or oppression or unkindness is to be found.
16 You are the Lord, You are our good and strong King;
You are our Help and Comforter.
17 O Lord, You have heard the cries of the oppressed
and know the longing hearts of the humble.
Strengthen their hearts, listen to their desperate pleas.
18 Vindicate the vulnerable, the helpless, and the oppressed;
So that those who have become their own god
will no longer cause terror.
(trans. larry hart)

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