The Taser's Edge

The Moral Theology of the Devil

Thomas Merton, in his Seeds of Contemplation (the contents of which much more easily found in a greatly expanded version as New Seeds of Contemplation), has a fascinating chapter from which this post took its title. The main body of the barely two-page chapter is a harsh condemnation, without ever using the specific theological terms, of TULIP– and Puritan-style Calvinist (which are NOT, as that Wikipedia link fails to make clear, the only Calvinisms out there) soteriology.

(To make one comment on that, while I appreciate Merton for never pulling his punches in naming evil “evil,” his view toward these folks is uncharacteristically uncharitable, attributing evil intentions rather than just good ol’ being-really-wrong-about-some-things-ness to them.)

What struck me most personally in the chapter, however, is how it ends. While I would have tended to think of the following as the cardinal sin of evangelicals (like me), Merton helps me to acknowledge that it’s more widespread than just in my tribe.

I don’t need to try to name it, as Merton already has: “The Moral Theology of the Devil”:

The devil is not afraid to preach the will of God provided he can preach it in his own way.

The argument goes something like this: “God wills you to do what is right. But you have an interior attraction which tells you, by a nice warm glow of satisfaction, what is right. Therefore, if your Superiors try to interfere and make you do something that does not produce this comfortable sense of interior satisfaction, quote Scripture, tell them that you ought to obey God rather than men, and then go ahead and do your own will, do the thing that gives you that nice, warm glow.”

Christ, have mercy on your followers.

Tuesday Reading Roundup

by John Cassian

This will become clearer below (as I talk about Bruteau), but I think I read Cassian in a different way than I once would have.  This week, in one section he began talking about God’s abandonment.  His conception is that God is always for our growth.  Sometimes that means God is incredibly, tangibly present, and sometimes God is absent.

I’m thinking through this even as I write this, as I once would have instantly accepted it.  And yet, now I think more in terms of God being open to us and God being hidden.  That is, we feel God’s absence, yes, but it doesn’t mean that God has left us.  My question–does God draw back in reality or in tangibility?  For me, Jesus going to the grave and Hell for us says that God doesn’t draw back in reality (not to mention Psalm 139).

My spiritual director has helped me find useful the Ignatian (whether the man‘s or his followers’, I do not know) language of consolation and desolation to describe the two realities of being ‘abandoned’ and of being swept into God’s arms.  I would think that Ignatius knows Cassian, knows the experience of ‘abandonment’, and then perhaps is describing the same experience with the word ‘desolation,’ which to me is a more useful and accurate word.

Clear as dirt?  Moving on…

Radical Optimism: Practical Spirituality in an Uncertain World
by Beatrice Bruteau

Last week, I wrote the word ‘froofy’ several times while writing about my apprehensions about this book.  This week, Bruteau’s thoughts are all through my thoughts (including at least two blog posts).  While she and I have many differences in our understanding of the world (theology, metaphysics, the nature of evil, for three), I find that I can learn a lot from her if I hold those things at arm’s length for a bit.  Here’s one wonderful nugget (from p. 54):

Meditation is not a duty to be performed; it is not just a learning device whereby we get ideas; it is not a soothing routine whereby we put ourselves into an altered state of consciousness, or a way of eliciting material from the subconscious so that we can know our empirical personality better.  Meditation is a way of meeting God.  It is not a matter of thinking about someone who is absent.  It is engaging someone who is present, indeed supremely present.  It is the realization of this presence that is the main point of meditation.

Although I like and have found personally helpful the school of mindfulness meditation put forth by Kabat-Zinn and others, and while I got a lot out of David Lynch’s (yes, that one) book on Transcendental Meditation, Catching the Big Fish, Bruteau is right, and they are wrong.

For this reason, when I did a scant handful of worship services at Duke Hospital, we always started with the heading “Becoming Present to God’s Presence.”

But to mention one thing that gets under my skin, Bruteau is concerned with people finding out who they truly are, without all the external descriptors.  Yet here is a problem within Christianity, as opposed to much of Buddhism and Hinduism: in Christianity, we are not ultimately defined by those external factors, and yet our true reality is also as individuals, not as collective or oneness.  How you find the right balance in describing what that means is beyond me, but Bruteau (to me) punts on the whole issue of what individuality means.

Zen and the Birds of Appetite
by Thomas Merton

Merton is one of my favorite authors.  He apparently personally came to dislike his still-bestselling spiritual autobiography, Seven Storey Mountain, but when I first read it, it was the best book I’d read for about two years (and I’ll give you a copy if you know me).  In the early 1960s Merton became well-known for his support for peace activism and the civil rights movement, and for his opposition to the Vietnam War.  And in the final years of his life, he began connecting with Asian contemplatives such as Thich Nhat Hanh and the Dalai Lama.  Zen and the Birds of Appetite comes out of those connections, and was one of the final things he wrote, published in 1968, the year of his death.

Thus far, Merton is looking at Zen as something beyond Buddhism or Christianity, as the direct experience beyond words (or comprehension), and he is particularly drawing on the Christian mystic Meister Eckhart.

I will say that it’s very helpful to read Merton and Bruteau side-by-side.  Merton tends to be one of those who (like Bonhoeffer, Lewis, and much longer ago, Augustine, as well as Jesus, too) is claimed by certain spiritual/theological/religious/moral camps to the exclusion of others.  On the one hand, Merton is not an American evangelical Protestant.  And on the other hand, he is not a non-particular spiritual seeker.  (To a great extent, this is to say that he is neither a conservative Protestant nor a liberal Protestant, which makes sense because he was not a Protestant at all.)  I am certain Bruteau has read more Merton than I, yet it is still helpful to read Merton in Merton’s own words while reading another spiritual teacher who stands in Merton’s shadow.