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Books by Frederick Herzog
Theology from the Belly of the Whale /
Liberation Theology /
God-Walk: Liberation Shaping Dogmatics
European Pietism Reviewed /
Justice Church /
Theology and Corporate Conscience
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The Liberation of White Theology
By Frederick Herzog
Protestant theology in the U.S. has entered
1974 in a strange new mood. There is on the one hand
breastbeating and cynicism: nothing important in store for '74;
on the other an inexplicable resolution: we shall not be moved
-- in the status quo. The word is that theologians don't trust
themselves anymore and have abdicated leadership in society.
"A foreigner," said Martin E.
Marty, "could visit America and, unless he moved in the
culture of Sunday morning or entered the enclaves of the
revivalists, he would not recognize that a way of life was being
challenged or even addressed."
Journalists have lately been writing about
the Watergate syndrome in almost apocalyptic terms: as not
merely the worst political disaster in U.S. history but also the
nemesis of U.S. world power and effective leadership in
government at home. Some have voiced surprise that church and
theology have not been more loudly critical. But it is not so
surprising Only he can be truly critical of others who first is
critical of himself. That stance is not very common in
present-day Protestantism. If it were, we might be more wary as
to where we are going in church and society.
We are dealing with more than the Watergate
crisis. the last quarter of the century, futurists say, will be
a time of much turbulence. There will be recessions, possibly
even a depression -- worldwide; government will become more
centralized; today's energy czar might be the forerunner of
tomorrow's federal economic czar. in any case, 1984 is only ten
years away.
There is frighteningly little
understanding of what is really at stake. Why? because of a
hardening of the heart or a blinding of the eyes? That explains
only a minor part of our obtuseness. In theology we need not
weep and wail or do penance in sackcloth and ashes, but anguish
would well behoove us. At least it is in a mood of anguish that
I shall try to pint to a few failures of nerve -- some of them
my own -- in the crisis of our day. I shall point to nemesis, to
inevitable destruction. On its present course some of the
Protestant theology might just self-destruct. Not in five
seconds. But who cannot see destruction looming on the horizon
-- unless there be change?
The Self-Critique Blind Spot
In the New York Times Book Review of
October 14, 1973, Harvey Cox discusses Hannah Tillich's
recollection of her late husband (From Time to Time
[Stein & Day, 1973]), and Rollo May's account of his
friendship with the theologian (Paulus
[Harper & Row,
1973]), Cox's piece is -- what can one say but
"panegyric"? And why shouldn't it be that De
mortuis nihil nisis bonum -- Of the dead let only good be
said. But do these two books contain only good? Is it altogether
faithful to say, as Cox does that they "conjure the figure
of a huge man, in presence is not in stature, who lived his life
devotedly, even compulsively at times, on all the frightening
boundaries of modern life"? Could Tillich himself have been
happy with this eulogy?
Some things in the books explain to me my
inability to use Tillich's theology fruitfully in the clash
between black and white in the South. Tillich began his work as
a religious socialist early in his life. He withstood oppression
in Hitler's Germany. He himself became a victim of oppression.
This needs to be acknowledged; it tells of greatness. But for a
goodly while now I have been wondering why a segment of American
Protestantism -- partly informed by Tillich -- cannot grasp the
anger of blacks at being used as objects.
Now I find some pieces of the puzzle falling
into place, thanks to Hannah Tillich. She writes that she and
Paul, not thinking at all "in economic, political, or
social terms," once "dared to go to a show" in a
Harlem basement. "A nude Negress painted gold, having
danced with a Negro twice her size, leaned her body against a
post and masturbated . . . while her former partner and another
girl unmistakably performed the acts of intimate sex." The
performance "did not seem vulgar . . . it was filled with
the natural vivacity of these beautiful people."
Harvey Cox would have us genuflect before
this sort of thing. He experiences these two books as "a
benediction." My concern here is not Hannah Tillich; she
belongs to a generation almost past. And I, like her, am in the
hands of Him who bids us not judge lest we be judged. My concern
is Harvey Cox in our generation. Why cannot he exercise his
self-critical lights? If he says that it's all a matter of
honesty, the answer is: Fine; but it's also a question of what
your ultimate passion is. Does not the New Testament make us
mindful of our body as temple of the Holy Spirit?
Is there not a difference between coveting
the Spirit's benediction and the benediction of these two books?
Can we no longer appeal to St. Paul, for whom discipline of the
body was courageous refusal to let others and oneself become
objects? Why adopt the Kleenex mentality that casually discards
the sex object after its use? The games people play . . . why
must we so frantically try to play along?
The Book Obsession
Of course there are those who realize that
things cannot go on in this way. the pundits allow as to how a
new book might save us from our dilemma -- some day (cf. The
Christian Century, January 2-9, 1974, p. 15). There you have
the genius of Protestantism, it's a book-religion. We're not
saved by works, but by words-in-print. The most recent salvation
by words-in-print comes in the flights into the Third World --
as though there weren't enough and too much "benign
neglect" of the pressing communal needs at home.
Not one of the social problems the 60s posed
for theology has been solved. Our life was never holistically
shaped, with the personal and the corporate as one. Hugo Assman
pleads: "Don't turn us [of the Third World] into consumer
goods to make good some deficiency of your own! Don't become
spectators of the little we are able to accomplish and don't
impose some compensatory image on [us] . . . let each of us
commit himself resolutely in his own situation to the common
struggle!"
Our theological difficulties are as great as
those of the Third World -- or greater. But we don't seem to
mind. We keep on writing as though the old book-model were still
in power. The center of power has shifted, though:
words-in-print still have to communicate, and effective
theologically communication demands a praxiology. The book alone
has lost its power. Not: the text is the message; rather:
the context is the message.
It's not the book as manuscript that counts,
but the book as praxis. And that book will take
hard research. The integrity of research will not be
surrendered. Only we need to ask to which subject theological
research will be given.. The greatest theologian the church ever
had, Jesus of Nazareth, never published a book, and yet what a
book he wrote in praxis!
It takes an artist's mind to grasp the point.
Vincent van Gogh puts it well when he calls Christ "the
great artist . . . whose spoken words, which . . . he did not
even deign to write down, are one of the highest peaks, the
highest in fact ever reached by art." As we seek the spirit
of the divine artist we may hope to communicate again a little
of theology. But it will take theology as praxiology --
that is, the praxiology of solidarity with human need -- to make
theology come alive once more. Unless theology begins also with
the sharecropper and benefits also the sharecropper, not just
the shopper, it's nothing but a heap of words. The games people
play . . . It is the Spirit that makes us alive; the letter killeth.
The Apostasy Kick
My caveat against salvation-by-the-book is
mostly caused by the widespread attempts to engineer consent to
"benign neglect" of liberation. The off-color story,
for example, becomes more important than the substantive issue.
We generally approach one another in theology as though
everything were O.K. in this respect. Don't we notice that we
have reached the status confessionis? A lot is being sold
under the label Christianity that is actually the desertion
of the Christian faith, nothing less than apostasy. Insofar as
it still appears under the label Christian, it has to be
understood as counterfeit Christianity.
Much of counterfeit Christianity banks on the
fact that heresy-hunting has fallen into disrepute. No one wants
to accuse others of bad faith. Part of the problem is that there
is no longer any serious unfaith around for someone to take
seriously. And who today would want to do battle over homoousion?
The reality tricky thing is that, now that
the very idea of heresy is improper, radical desertions of the
Christian faith are taking place and we don't seem to notice.
The tricky dimension is rendered even trickier by seemingly
innocent off-color verbiage, which tries to sell the surrogate
for the real thing. Let me illustrate with a quotation from
Robert E. Neale (The Theology of Play, by Jürgen
Moltmann et al. [Harper & Row, 1972]):
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A contemporary cartoon
pictures Jesus on the cross. Tortured, ridiculed,
abandoned. A broken human being. A broken God. . . .
Mary Magdalene steps forward to comfort him with
caresses. She succeeds and a foretaste of the
resurrection occurs. Jesus the Christ has a visible
erection. . . . What sign of God's presence would we
prefer to experience at the point of death -- laughter,
singing or an erection? And which do you think he would
be most inclined to offer? Maybe we should ask him. he
would answer us seriously and playfully [pp.85ff]. |
The enthronement of sex dethrones Christus
Rex. How can Neale's Christ rule as King? Is not Christ on
the cross suffering the dark night of the soul because of
oppression? And does he not also seek there to overcome
oppression in suffering? Nothing else counts -- except that the
night of suffering is turned from death to life.
The Staying Power Failure
What with the self-critique blind spot, the
book obsession and the apostasy kick, it stands to reason that
there is little perseverance in the things of the standing and
falling of the church, stantis et cadentis ecclesiae.
"Religion in America seems to be a game played by
innings," says Martin E. Marty. And the ball park changes
from inning to inning. The setting is never the same.
We are often told that in the 60s the church
learned a social lesson it won't forget in the 70s. I hope that
is true. But take almost any neighborhood church. There are
small groups, prayer cells, ecclesiolae in ecclesia; but
real passion to make the streams of social justice roll? Is it
not back to God and Adam Smith? What was really at stake in the
60s was a new vision of human selfhood as corporate selfhood as
corporate selfhood -- not identification with success but
solidarity with the poor. Yet, as Martin Marty asks, "how
many movement people knew well even one black, one ghetto
resident, one member of the Appalachian poor?"
Marty nails down the core theological issue:
that you are not just the advocate of the poor, but their
friend; and more, that they are your life, and that their cause
is your cause. this simple insight loomed on the horizon in the
60s, but the idealism and enthusiasm of the church's New
frontiersmen soon waned. Where have all the clergy gone?
There are exceptions, but few and far
between. To get to know one black, one ghetto dweller, one
American Indian, one Chicano, one member of the Appalachian
poor, and also one prisoner, one exploited woman, one inmate of
a mental hospital -- that is still a top priority on the agenda
of theology. Only in this way will it grasp its responsibility
for the aged and hospitalized and thus also for the healthy and
wealthy, the high and the mighty.
Theology can no longer be done apart from
the oppressed. Apart from the oppressed it is belletristic.
I believe it was Adolf Harnack who shelved theology books among
the novels in his library. Among the novels is where so many of
today's theology books belong. the context is missing.
the invisible poor are still all around us, and worse off than
in the 60s when inflation and energy shortages were less
threatening. The rise in the cost of living is likely to force
more families toward the poverty level.
In
The Pursuit of Loneliness
(Beacon,
1971), Philip Slater speaks of "a compulsive American
tendency to avoid confrontation of chronic social
problems." He might have said the same of much recent
theology. Only that now the stakes are even higher. Do we want
to continue Social Darwinism forever, always competing with one
another, tied to each other mainly through the cash nexus? Or do
we see the chance of radical metanoia?
The nemesis of American Protestantism is not
the churches per se nor theology as such: it is the theologian.
He is afraid of change; I am too. But change there will be.
Liberation of White Theology
Where can change begin? A first step might be
the realization that over the centuries, Protestant theology has
largely stood aside from peoples outcast, downtrodden,
humiliated. It has served the rich, the successful, the property
owners. So people who could not afford an enterprise called
theology see it as "white theology" standing against
them.
Where lies the core of our misapprehensions?
Let us see. Reacting against a few theologians of previous
generations, many of us have become fascinated with ourselves as
centers of authenticity. As Tom F. Driver writes (Christianity
and Crisis, January 7, 1974): "We have all been driven
to find our theological identities not in the Other but in
refractions of our experience. . . . We do not, cannot, identify
ourselves by what we oppose. The world has stormed us, and we
have had to look not to our lines of defense but to our centers
of authenticity."
Abstract talk about the Other is of course
dehumanizing. But could we not come to wrestle more fully with
the core of the Christian faith? Is God in Christ merely an
abstract Other? What does incarnation mean? Is it not solidarity
with the sinner, the outcast, the poor? And is not this
solidarity radically different from our usual solidarity with
the high and the mighty, the successful, the famous? What if
this solidarity were not sheer Otherness, but Sacredness -- the
quality of life we moderns have lost?
"O Sacred Head, now wounded, with
grief and shame weighed down . . ." Could we not begin here
to find truth again? Might it not be that we were made to bow
before Sacredness as it manifests itself in suffering for the
survival of humankind -- on the cross? Who expects us to be our
own centers of authenticity? Why could not the infinite
qualitative solidarity of Sacredness on the cross be our center
of authenticity?
The infinite qualitative solidarity of
Sacredness might not be a trifling matter in the view of, say,
the 38 Americans in "death row" cells right now. Human
life is sacred because of Ultimate Sacredness. Anyone who has
been in the prisons of this country knows that it is there that
immeasurable suffering -- denial of Sacredness -- takes place,
"deserved" and undeserved. it is hard to see why such
situations as these could not be centers of our theological
authenticity.
In a lecture I gave last march at Eden
Theological Seminary, in St. Louis, I explained why I had to
break with Tillich's theology. That was several months before
the publication of
From Time to Time.
Anyone who has not
loved in this regard does not know my agony. Occasionally I
think we need to defend the "young Tillich" against
the "old Tillich." But I'm not sure. Only time will
tell. In any case, now I know even more clearly why the break
was inevitable.
The poor, the outcast, do not appear at the
laying of the hermeneutical foundations of the
Systematic
Theology. In formulating the ground rules of his system,
Tillich took his cues from Schelling, not from any
poverty-stricken black or Indian. So Tillich the theologian asks
of the educated modern man the questions to which his system is
supposed to give the answers. He does not begin with the pain
and the hurt of suffering humans on the borders of life. Tillich
here lived on the boundary of contemporaneity, not on the borders
of human life.
And it is precisely on the borders that the
cause of contemporary theology's paralysis lies. The great shift
from "the large group of educated people" (Systematic
Theology, III, p. 40) to the oppressed as the starting point
of theology, though only in its very first stages, is already
being strongly resisted. Will the liberation of white theology
ever be possible? Source: The Christian Century (20 March
1974) * * * *
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Frederick
Herzog, born November 29, 1925 in Ashley, North Dakota, as a
son of German parents, studied theology in Bonn, Germany and
later in Basel, Switzerland, where he was an assistant to
professor Karl Barth. Herzog earned his doctorate from Princeton
University. In 1958 he married Kristin Herzog, who was a teacher
from Osnabruck, Germany, and in 1960 they moved to Durham, North
Carolina, where he joined the faculty of the Duke University.
During the 1960s the struggle for Civil Rights in the South
black population, Herzog participated in "sit-ins" and
other protests and developed his own liberation theology which
later was joined with Latin American liberation theology and
with Black theology in the U.S.
Herzog remained a teacher at Duke University
until his sudden death during a faculty meeting October 9, 1995.
During
the last ten years of his life, his work was strongly determined
by his relationship to Latin America. Countless students
remember him as a charismatic teacher. He is the author of
numerous books and articles both in German and U.S. journals.
Herzog was also active in scholarly societies. Above all, he was
a warm human being with a great sense of humor and a true friend
to many. |
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The Heart of Whiteness
By Robert Jensen
The first,
and perhaps most crucial, fear is that of facing the fact
that some of what we white people have is unearned. It's a
truism that we don't really make it on our own; we all have
plenty of help to achieve whatever we achieve. That means
that some of what we have is the product of the work of
others, distributed unevenly across society, over which we
may have little or no control individually. No matter how
hard we work or how smart we are, we all know — when we are
honest with ourselves — that we did not get where we are by
merit alone. And many white people are afraid of that fact.
A second fear is crasser: White people's fear of losing what
we have — literally the fear of losing things we own if at
some point the economic, political, and social systems in
which we live become more just and equitable.—Robert
Jensen
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1493: Uncovering the New World Columbus
Created
By Charles C. Mann
I’m
a big fan of Charles Mann’s previous
book
1491:
New Revelations of the Americas Before
Columbus, in which he
provides a sweeping and provocative
examination of North and South America
prior to the arrival of Christopher
Columbus. It’s exhaustively researched
but so wonderfully written that it’s
anything but exhausting to read. With
his follow-up,
1493, Mann has taken it to a
new, truly global level. Building on the
groundbreaking work of Alfred Crosby
(author of
The Columbian Exchange and, I’m
proud to say, a fellow Nantucketer),
Mann has written nothing less than the
story of our world: how a planet of what
were once several autonomous continents
is quickly becoming a single,
“globalized” entity.
Mann not only talked to countless
scientists and researchers; he visited
the places he writes about, and as a
consequence, the book has a marvelously
wide-ranging yet personal feel as we
follow Mann from one far-flung corner of
the world to the next. And always, the
prose is masterful. In telling the
improbable story of how Spanish and
Chinese cultures collided in the
Philippines in the sixteenth century, he
takes us to the island of Mindoro whose
“southern coast consists of a number of
small bays, one next to another like
tooth marks in an apple.” We learn how
the spread of malaria, the potato,
tobacco, guano, rubber plants, and sugar
cane have disrupted and convulsed the
planet and will continue to do so until
we are finally living on one integrated
or at least close-to-integrated Earth.
Whether or not the human instigators of
all this remarkable change will survive
the process they helped to initiate more
than five hundred years ago remains,
Mann suggests in this monumental and
revelatory book, an open question. |
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ChickenBones Store
(Books, DVDs, Music)
update
7 February 2012
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