My First Foray in Integralism

Below is my running commentary of an article written by Pater Edmund Waldenstein. It’s my first real attempt to learn and understand the integralist position in the debate surrounding liberalism. Waldenstein’s article is a response to another article by Timothy Troutner who offers a critique of the post-liberal Christian/integralist assessment of liberalism.

(H/T to Jake Meador who brought these articles to my attention through his email newsletter, Notes from a Small Place. I´ll also mention that Waldenstein has a great blog that documents some of his life as a monk at the monastery Stift Heiligenkreuz.)

My General Assessment:

I lean towards Waldenstein’s view, but with a few caveats:

  1. Waldenstein’s vocabulary is very specific, and if we’re going to understand and/or disagree with him, we’ll need to make sure we mean the same thing, for example, by “hierarchy” and “nature.”
  2. I’m concerned he downplays the abuses of hierarchy and power too much in this article. I recognize that his goal isn’t to discuss the abuses of hierarchy per se, and that he’s ultimately making a case for it despite it’s abuses. Still, I think we can’t ignore abuses, especially as it concerns the practical consequences it has on an empirical/social level. At it’s best, I think integralism is an attempt to work with the grain of human nature and the order of the cosmos. But it seems that integralism runs the risk of trying to impose an abstract philosophical/theological ideal onto human relationships and social structures.

Commentary

1. Christ self-emptying in the Incarnation and the Crucifixion is meant to restore and elevate the hierarchy of creation wounded by sin, not to replace it with egalitarianism. Nor was the Church’s juridical understanding of herself in Christendom an imitation of worldly power, unaffected by Christ’s kenosis. In fact, the very opposite is the case: the form of temporal politics in Christendom was a conscious imitation of the hierarchy of the Church and the rules of the monastic orders. And the ruler was always understood as an image of Christ, bound to give himself for the common good of his commonwealth just as Christ offered himself for the Church.
  • This, to me, is an important component of the integralist argument. Growing up in a non-denominational church, one of the arguments I heard from pastors about why  protestant/evangelical churches eschew the traditional church hierarchy of bishop-priest-deacon is rooted in the kenotic argument that Jesus came down to earth and turned hierarchies upside down. Waldenstein’s point, however, goes deeper and sees Christ’s incarnation, death, and resurrection as restorative of the natural hierarchy embedded in the cosmos. Sin, at it’s core, is a rebellion against authority. Satan, at the bottom of Dante’s hell, won’t stop flapping his wings out of pride–as if to say, “I will rise of my own power!” Christ reminds us that we are under authority. We are under the authority of God and of the people (e.g., the apostles) who God invests with authority.
2. Waldenstein’s argument/description of hierarchy I think is important to our understanding of integralism. He’s not arguing (…at least, I don’t think he’d say he is…) for a totalitarian structure. Rather his argument is an attempt to argue for a “natural” hierarchy in creation (and in heaven) that worldly power structures would do well to imitate.
3. Robin’s book is a strident defense of the same program of liberation in the form of an attack on the reactionary conservatism that has always opposed it. “Since the modern era began,” Robin writes, “men and women in subordinate positions have marched against their superiors in the state, church, workplace, and other hierarchical institutions.” Robin sees this series of rebellions of subjects against their rulers—the bourgeoisie against the nobles, peasants against land owners, workers against industrialists, wives against husbands, and so on—as fully just.
  • If I understand him correctly, I think Waldenstein is mainly taking aim at the liberal push for “egalitarianism-at-all-costs.” In which case, this seems like a straw-man argument that would cut both ways. Rebellion against a particular power structure isn’t an inherently good thing, nor is it an inherently bad thing. Rebellion against injustice, on the other hand, is always good (maybe…).
4. As rational beings, men are capable of understanding their good and pursuing it by their own will: true freedom.
  • I like this: there’s a distinction to be made between liberty and license. True liberty is enjoyed when we understand what the good is and then pursue it. License leads to the slavery of sin.
5. I admit, of course, that in human affairs the good of hierarchy has often been abused. Rulers have often exploited their subjects for selfish advantage rather than aiding them to attain to the common good. And, indeed, the world has seen many false hierarchies—such as chattel slavery—founded on unjust principles. But the abuse of something does not take away its proper use.
  • Two thoughts here: 1) This would’ve been an opportune moment for Waldenstein to mention the sex-abuse scandal that plagues the RC church; not doing so feels a little disingenuous. 2) Nevertheless, his last sentence rings true: abuse does not mean no use.
6. The Hierē Archē, the Holy Beginning of all.
  • I did not know the etymology of hierarchy prior to reading Waldenstein’s article, and now I’m a BIG FAN.
7. Here again there is a kind of equality, for each angel enjoys the same common good, but it is an equality that depends on the inequality of their hierarchical order. The spiritual symphony whereby the angels proclaim the Divine Silence is entirely determined in all its acts and motions, and yet this is a completely voluntary and personal determination—in a sense, it is freedom.
  • I’m loving this section on angels. And this idea (quoted above) is something I talked with my students about while reading Dante. Inequality as a good is hard to digest in our liberal order. God, however, is not an egalitarian, and it’s this emphasis that I appreciate about the integralist position. It’s a reminder that heaven won’t be a democratic republic, much less a democracy. God’s will will be done, and it will set us free.
  • I also like this section on angels because it sets him up well for the macro – micro image he argues for later.
8. Lucifer’s sin was therefore a proto-liberal rebellion against hierarchy and obedience.
  • Not to put to fine a point on it, but….LIBERALISM = SATAN
9. Since original sin was rebellion against hierarchy, our Lord’s work of salvation is the exact opposite.
  • His discussion of Satan and the fall is a clever way of turning Troutner’s libido dominandi argument on its head. Hierarchy has never been the problem (even if it’s been abused); it is rebellion that’s the problem, not hierarchy.
10. As long as he is a tyrant who exploits the poor and weak, Herod should indeed fear Christ who comes to save the poor and oppressed. But as a tyrant Herod is himself a rebel. If he were to start ruling for the common good, his power would be legitimate, and he would receive his authority from God.
  • This is also an interesting idea given what I see Waldenstein doing with Troutner’s argument (see point 9 above). He concedes that it’s possible for rebellion to exist within worldly hierarchies–both ecclesiastical and “secular” (for lack of a better word). I’d like for him to flesh this point out more. Is there any redemptive value to rebellion? I’m wondering specifically if we may conceive of Christ’s ministry and the establishment of the kingdom of God as a form of rebellion in this world. Or is “rebellion” the wrong word to describe the work of Christianity in this world? I’m tempted to think it’s the latter–especially if we want to keep our vocabulary clear and consistent.
11. It is certainly true that Christendom did not always live up to such ideals. There were many abuses. But Troutner makes no distinction between abusive and legitimate uses of temporal power. It would be wearisome to go through the examples of the uses of power that Troutner mentions, and distinguish abuses from proper uses (Thomas Pink and others can be consulted on most of them). The point that I want to make here is a more fundamental one: power has good uses.
  • Again, this feels like a deflection regarding the real and horrible abuses that have occurred within the hierarchy of the church catholic (not just RC). But I take his point.

Fear and the BenOp

Wise words from Leah Libresco this week in First Things:

Christians taking up the BenOp project need to be ready to recognize this kind of fear and to seek deliverance from it. Seeking the perfect love that casts out fear might involve praying the St. Michael prayer for deliverance from temptations. It might involve reading authors outside the pattern of your present concerns (that’s why two friends and I had a Baldwin bookclub). It might involve setting up a prayer schedule to pray for whomever you feel frightened or threatened by. In order to pray for the people the Devil wants us to see as enemies, we need to see them as people.

Tech Utopia

Finally got around to reading this piece from The New Atlantis. It’s a disconcerting read, especially if, like me, you’re also reading 1984 with a group of high school students. Needless to say, I’m a little concerned about the parallels between what Jon Askonas identifies as the unintended but unavoidable consequences of Big Tech/Social Media, and Orwell’s description of Oceania’s Ministry of Truth.

We can see the shift from “access to tools” to algorithmic utopianism in the unheralded, inexorable replacement of the “page” by the “feed.” The web in its earliest days was “surfed.” Users actively explored what was interesting to them, shifting from page to page via links and URLs. While certain homepages — such as AOL or Yahoo! — were important, they were curated by actual people and communities. Most devoted “webizens” spent comparatively little time on them, instead exploring the web based on memory, bookmarks, and interests. Each blog, news source, store, and forum had its own site. Where life on the Internet didn’t follow traditional editorial curation, it was mostly a do-it-yourself affair: Creating tools that might show you what your friends were up to, gathering all the information you cared about in one place, or finding new sites were rudimentary and tedious activities.

The feed was the solution to the tedium of surfing the web, of always having to decide for yourself what to do next. Information would now come to you. Gradually, the number of sites involved in one’s life online dwindled, and the “platform” emerged, characterized by an infinite display of relevant information — the feed. The first feeds used fairly simple algorithms, but the algorithms have grown vastly more complex and personalized over time. These satisfaction-fulfillment machines are designed to bring you the most “relevant” content, where relevancy is ultimately based on an elaborate and opaque model of who you are and what you want. But the opacity of these models, indeed the very personalization of them, means that a strong element of faith is required. By consuming what the algorithm says I want, I trust the algorithm to make me ever more who it thinks I already am.

In this process, users have gone from active surfers to sheep feeding at the algorithmic trough. Over time, platforms have come up with ever more sophisticated means of inducing behavior, both online and in real life, using AI-fueled notifications, messages, and default choices to nudge you in the right direction, ostensibly toward your own maximum satisfaction. Yet now, in order to rein in the bad behaviors the feeds themselves have encouraged — fake news, trolling, and so on — these algorithms have increasingly become the sites of stealthy intervention, using tweaks like “shadowbanning,” “down-ranking,” and simple erasure or blocking of users to help determine what information people do and don’t access, and thereby to subtly shape their minds.

…………

While the Mark Zuckerbergs and Sergey Brins of the world claim to be shocked by the “abuse” of their platforms, the softly progressive ambitions of Silicon Valley and the more expansive visions of would-be dictators exist on the same spectrum of invasiveness and manipulation. There’s a sense in which the authoritarians have a better idea of what this technology is for.

Disenchanting Disenchantment

Clare Coffey has a book review published in The New Atlantis about notions of enchantment/disenchantment in a secular age. She discusses the idea in relation to the history and phenomenon of mesmerism–which I learned has its origins in the work of an 18th century German physician Franz Mesmer (hence, “mesmerism”). The history of mesmerism is fascinating: as a method of medical research, it began as an accepted scientific practice and then transformed into a fringe belief akin to a belief in magic.

I wonder if most forms of scientific research can’t be traced along the same trajectory. And if so, how much of our currently accepted scientific knowledge will slip into the ever widening category of “belief in magic.” One of the things Coffey points out is that distinguishing between an enchanted past and a disenchanted present is like trying to chart two different countries without borders.

She never mentions Charles Taylor, but she does mention Talal Asad’s book Formations of the Secular, which I’ve not read. I’ll be adding it to my list of “Someday-I’ll-read-that-because-I-know-it’s-good-but-God-only-knows-when-I’ll-get-around-to-it.”

Here is a sampling of some of the passages I’m still thinking about:

“Ogden describes the process by which the debunking of mesmerism produced successor generations in terms of the “idol function” played by false beliefs. The destruction of an idol, the thinking goes, is not a closed and final process. When you destroy an idol, you must supply some account of the undeniable effect the idol had on the lives of its followers.”

“For the second generation of mesmerists, what was important about credulity was not simply that it, unlike animal magnetism, was real. Rather, credulity was both a resource to be exploited and a problem to be dealt with. On both counts, mesmerists styled themselves, quite literally, as an epistemic-managerial class.”

“Ogden adopts Talal Asad’s definition of secular agency, from his Formations of the Secular (2003), as the idea of a person “having both the capacity and the desire to move in a singular historical direction: that of increasing self-empowerment and decreasing pain.” The final goal of those who aim at secularity is total autonomy and self-realization, not simply freedom from taboo and magic. “This agent’s fundamental question,” Ogden writes, “is ‘what should human beings do to realize their freedom, empower themselves, and choose pleasure?’”

“But secular agency does not correspond well to a world in which we are often sick, ignorant, poor, or incapable in ways large and small; in which we can neither bring about our own births nor choose the hour of our deaths. It is more of an asymptote than a lived condition, an always imperfectly grasped ideal to which some come closer than others. Because, on this reading, secular agency is always an aim rather than an established fact, narratives of one’s own disenchantment are aspirations rather than triumphal hymns. Inevitable anxiety about whether you have been sufficiently disenchanted is especially urgent when the dividing line between the modern and the unenlightened is credulity. Since credulity, by nature, is not a trait easily self-diagnosed, its threat engenders a constant search for more credulous rubes against which to measure yourself. Secularism proves to be a pyramid scheme.”

“Ogden’s work suggests that the enchanted and disenchanted are two countries that lack a border, ­forever one dissolving into and reconstituting the other. And insofar as this binary reflects an opposition between mystical awe and technical power, this is nothing new. Spiritual forces can be both objects and tools of management: A canny huckster may hug himself to think of all the indulgences by which he has cheated God out of purgatory; workers can be kept in line by sermons on the Almighty’s pleasure in ­working-class thrift and industry, or by a self-help guru preaching myopic focus on individual wellbeing (after all, look at how well it’s worked for the guru). Everyone now, on some level, acknowledges a world beyond what the average Joe can immediately perceive, whether it’s quantum physics or celestial order or merely the limitless possibilities of human potential. There is no periodizing movement, forward or back, which will settle for us the question of which account of the invisible is most true — nor, equally important, what it demands of us.”

Dryads and Trees

It turns out that I’ve been wrongly attributing a quotation to C. S. Lewis for the past few years. I was reading G. K. Chesteron’s book Orthodoxy with my senior high school students when I ran across this sentence:

Old nurses do not tell children about the grass, but about the fairies that dance on the grass; and the old Greeks could not see the trees for the dryads. (“Ethics of Elfland”)

In my defense, I’m sure Lewis has said something like this somewhere. I originally thought it came from The Discarded Image where he addresses the changing human experience of the cosmos over the course of history. It’s a fascinating idea, one that’s received a fair amount of attention from people like Lewis’ good friend Owen Barfield to the contemporary philosopher Charles Taylor. I hope to write more about it in the future. But for now, I’m happy to correct an error and to bookmark the Chesterton quotation for later use.