Originally Posted by
Mr. Andy Crouch
Indeed, nearly every time Gottlieb touches on Christian belief and practice, he strikes a false note—or rather, frames Christian belief in a way that would only be recognizable to a liberal Protestant. In a book that makes a real effort to account for evangelical Christians (including an interview with Cal De Witt, the closest thing evangelicals have today to a Johnny Appleseed), he is still capable of tossing off phrases like "fundamentalist evangelical Christians" (apparently unaware that the two terms describe distinctly different groups) and "believers who still cling to the absolute truth of their faith" (the patronizing phrase "still cling" is, as Richard John Neuhaus would say, a nice touch). More substantively, Gottlieb's claim that Christians celebrate Easter "as the rebirth not only of Jesus but of all life as well" may describe the cutting edge of "Christian ecotheology" but is hardly representative of orthodox Christian thought.
...
Why is it so hard for Gottlieb to affirm that there is something precisely better, higher, and worthier about our ability to deliberate morally and to take a responsibility for the redwood and the beaver that they assuredly do not take for us? What would be lost with that affirmation? How much, in terms of motivation to serious environmental stewardship, is gained when we name what is evidently true: that in the whole known universe we are the only species that takes responsibility for the others; the only species that demonstrates the slightest interest in naming, tending, and conserving the others; that indeed is accountable for the stewardship of the others; and the only species that feels guilt (however fitfully and hypocritically) when its stewardship fails?
The only possible reason for entering into the twisting and tortuous attempt to simultaneously charge human beings with moral responsibility while also demurring that we are, after all, merely "different" is, in a word, theological. It is the belief that god is in the redwood and the beaver, and that our refusal to set aside our own sense of being uniquely made in the image of God is at the root of our environmental foolishness. This is a perfectly recognizable position. But it is not compatible with the religious traditions that collectively claim the allegiance of several billion human beings. Why someone interested, even excited, about the prospect of religious engagement with environmental concerns would not recognize how many barriers this erects to any genuine partnership is puzzling at best. A philosopher who cannot recognize that he is in this instance making a contested religious claim, who fails conspicuously both to acknowledge and to defend that claim rather than merely assert it as presumed common ground, is deceiving himself. ...
What is signally missing from Gottlieb's account of religion is history—the possibility that our faith hinges not on subjective (or even shared) experience of a numinous, interior sort, but on the intervention of God in a particular place at a particular time. History, of course, is itself a form of human experience, but it is unlike the experience so prized by Gottlieb in that it is anything but universal. The claim that God has been definitively revealed here, and not there, creates the "scandal of particularity." It may well not be true—orthodox Christians do not believe it is true in the case of Islam's particular claims, and many fair-minded Westerners do not believe it is true of Christianity's particular claims. But such particularity is of the essence of orthodox faith.
It may seem that an environmental crisis which is universal by definition requires a religiosity that is freed of the scandal of particularity. But the stubborn truth is that in the United States at least, the traditions that "still cling to the absolute truth of their faith"—for "absolute" I would much prefer the term "historical"—are the ones that are thriving. Furthermore, as Gottlieb has the clarity to note at one point, the liberal religious traditions that seem so hospitable to environmentalism bear an uncomfortable resemblance to the very consumerism that environmentalism must overcome, affirming as they are of an endless search for the sacralized self set free from the constraints of tradition—which is another way to say, from history.
...
There is another way.
There is an environmentalism that is rooted in historical faith—that indeed is modeled on the life of an historical human being who modeled both feasting and fasting, abundance that offended the ascetic and simplicity that challenged the affluent. This environmentalism is agnostic about our market economies, recognizing that on past form they are likely to foster innovation, relieve poverty, and solve many of our worst problems, while not expecting them to deliver us a life without suffering and sacrifice, nor granting them impunity from their consequences for our descendants. This environmentalism affirms the dignity, uniqueness, and accountability of humanity and thus can motivate serious stewardship without the circularity and contortions of ecotheology's self-defeating pantheism.