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Emerging Environmental Theology
Immanent Critique, Eschatology, and the Kingdom of God
The Îeschatological message1, to which Metz referred above, is the explicit complexity of Christian eschatology. Approaching eschatology may appear to reverse the linear connection between creation and Îthe end times1. It may appear better to commence by examining what political theologians do with, say, Christian theological concepts of creation, or at least approach political theologies after the style of a systematic theologian. This is not the way political theologians tend to approach their topics and eschatology figures centrally in political theologies (as well as, in a secularleft sense, in critical theory's conception of immanent critique). Indeed, Jürgen Moltmann places Christian eschatology at the centre of his theology of hope, and in so doing, makes explicit connections between politics and Christian theology: From first to last, and not merely in the epilogue, Christianity is eschatology, is hope, forward looking and forward moving, and therefore revolutionizing and transforming the present (Moltmann, 1967: 16). Eschatology is the Îdoctrine of the last things1 and can be simply concerned with the future, such as the future of the individual, the society, the world, or even the cosmos. This forwardlooking eschatology usually describes the future in terms of justice, peace, reconciliation between humanity and God, and humanity with humanity. This is the hopedfor, yearnedfor, even agonisedfor future often described in eschatological theologies. But it has another, and theologically inseparable, concern with the here and now, a realised eschatology personified by Christ (Macquarrie, 1966: 313 330). Moltmann claims that the original Greek root, logos, from which comes eschatology, refers to a Îherenow and always1 reality (Moltmann, 1967: 17). While eschatological theology contains many themes, the major theme political theologians tend to emphasise is the explicit judgement made of the present by the realised eschatology of Christ. Moltmann neatly outlines this grounded, existential, and political dimension of Christian eschatology: The hope of the gospel has a polemic and liberating relation not only to the religions and ideologies of men, but still more to the factual, practical life of men and to the relationships in which this life is lived. It is not enough to say that the kingdom of God has to do only with persons; for one thing, the righteousness and peace of the promised kingdom are terms of relationship and accordingly have to do also with the relationships of men to each other and to things, and secondly, the idea of an asocial human personality is an abstraction (Moltmann, 1967: 330). Like Christian theology, but lacking its transcendent vertical dimension of humanity's relationship with God, critical theory assumes that a general, historical human interest in emancipation from domination exists, always embedded in the present, momentarily breaking out with vivid clarity, and then obscured. This is significant because it gives critical theory greater purchase for its critiques of contemporary domination. The theory's selfassigned task is to increase the length and depth of the clarity to convince more people to struggle for their freedom, without offering any guarantees that any particular strategy will succeed in achieving their goals. In this sense, critical theory also has an eschatology in that it both critically examines contemporary society, highlighting contradictions between society's ideals and its practice, and looks forward to a future, hopefully better, society. The general approach to critique used by critical theorists, Îimmanent critique1 (e.g., Antonio, 1981), operates by first expressing what a social totality holds itself to be, and then confronting it with what it is in fact becoming (Schroyer, 1975: 30 31). Immanent critique, as a methodological tool, bears a striking resemblance to the Biblical doctrine of the Parousia, the Kingdom of God. Literally translated from the Greek, Parousia means Îpresence1, and refers to the presence of Christ both in the midst of the believers in the Spirit and coming again into human affairs at the end of history. Thus it can also mean Îhere now but not yet1 or Îhere now and yet to come1. 3The hope of the parousia brings the historical present of Word and faith into the dynamism of the 'not yet' which thrusts forward to what is ahead2 (Moltmann, 1977: 131). At one and the same time, the believer is understood to have entered into the Kingdom at the moment of their conversion to Christianity, Îborn again1, entering a special community of faith in the world here and now. This community also looks forward to the eschatalogical inbreaking of the Kingdom of God into history. The Christian takes up transcendent citizenship in the Kingdom of God by acknowledging Jesus as Lord, an affirmation which repudiates the domination of the powers of this world. Longing for the Kingdom to come is dialectically linked with permanent and irresolute dissatisfaction with the present, a dissatisfaction which contemporary political and Liberation theologians energise into active, theologically and politically informed, praxis (Küng, 1974: 224 225). Jürgen Moltmann describes this proleptic immanentness in The Church in the Power of the Spirit: If we view history, with its conditions and potentialities, as an open system, we are bound to understand the kingdom of God as a transforming power immanent in the system, and the rule of God in the kingdom of God as a future transcending the system. Without the counterpoint of the future of the kingdom, which transcends the present system, the transforming power immanent in the system loses its orientation. Without the transformation immanent in the system the future transcending the system would become a powerless dream. That is why in actual practice the obedience to the will of God which transforms the world is inseparable from prayer for the coming of the kingdom. The doxological anticipation of the beauty of the kingdom and active resistance to godless and inhuman relationships in history are related to one another and reinforce one another mutually (Moltmann, 1977: 190). This conception of the Kingdom as proleptic, anticipating the glory, justice, and peace to come at the end of history, is simultaneously mediated through the community of faith seeking to actualise the Kingdom here and how in the fallen, dominationladen world through resolute action for liberation. This is coupled with the notion of immanentness, prophetically speaking, as it were, from outside history directly into immediate historical experience as a permanent actualising reminder that the present is not the sole boundary for possibilities of human experience, brings considerable energising power to struggles for liberation. Quite literally, while not laying claim to any kind of truth or certainty beyond the assurances of faith in God, those who are energised by the transcendent citizenship of the Kingdom, speak Truth to the power of this world, domination, confident that it shall not have the last word. As much as this relates to the individual brought into confrontation with their God, it also relates to the ways in which society is organised, producing a component in a critique of domination. A parallel theme running through political theological discussions involves the complex issue of apocalyptic theology. Few political and liberation theologians explicitly discuss apocalyptic theology at any great length, but, theologically, eschatology and apocalyptic theology are inseparably linked insofar as they deal with the Îlast things1 and the means whereby the end of history will be brought about through the final and decisive intervention of God into human history, but also inseparably linked to the permanent judgement of this world. Contemporary usage of the word Îapocalypse1 and its derivatives connotes a catastrophic event of historic proportions, such as a nuclear war. But apocalypse, coming from the Greek apokalupsis, also refers to a divine revelation. There is a general narrative form followed by both Jewish and Christian apocalyptic literature: There is to be a sudden end to the age by a supernatural intervention, expected by some of these writers in their own lifetime {Cf. Mark 9:1; 1Thess. 4:15}; the Son of Man will come in glory; there will be a judgement at which all must give account; the faithful will pass to their reward in heaven; and the wicked will receive their punishment in hell (Macquarrie, 1966: 314). A distinct shift took place in Christian Biblical apocalyptic literature which is evident in later writings in the Bible. Whereas Mark, for example, shared the belief with the first Christians that the end of history could literally occur at any time, though the precise timing was known only to God, later writers, such as the author of the Gospel of John, came to believe that the Christian community was going to persist for some time to come and had to accommodate itself to ongoing political and social realities without losing a firm hold on its central radical message. Therefore, the apocalyptic theme of anticipating an imminent end to history, and thence not requiring a theology for sustainable social existence, was expanded to encompass a realised eschatology of the Kingdom of God being both Îhere and now1 and Înot yet1 or Îyet to come1, incorporating the judgement of the present world order, its present transformation through the actions of believers in Christ, and the anticipation of its future, final transformation. Where political and Liberation theologians mention apocalyptic theology, they tend to interpret Biblical apocalypses, such as Daniel, sections of the Gospel of Mark, and the Revelation of John, as radical political tracts intended to provoke resistance to domination rather than as exclusively futureoriented revelations of how God would bring an end to history, to which the readers should respond by patiently awaiting the imminent end of history. American political theologian, Ched Myers, who is deeply influenced by liberation and European political theologians, follows Richard Horsley and John Collins by arguing that Mark1s use of Jewish apocalyptic narrative forms continued the political use of the form found in Daniel, the purpose of which for both Biblical authors: ... was to fire the sociopolitical imagination of the oppressed. First, in renewing old symbols and reappropriating Hebrew narratives of liberation, it functioned as 3remembering.2 Secondly, it promoted a 3creative envisioning2 of a future in which God restored justice and a full humanity to all. And thirdly, the dualistic combat myth functioned as a 3critical demystifying of the pretentions and practices of the established order2... Mark1s concern is not only liberation from specific structures of oppression embedded in the dominant social order of Roman Palestine; it also includes the spirit and practice of domination ultimately embedded in the human personality and corporately in human history as a whole (Myers, 1988: 101; 103). The Mexican liberation theologian, José Miranda, does not discuss apocalyptic theology at all in either Marx and the Bible (1974) or Marx against The Marxists (1980), but in the latter, he explicitly dismisses apocalyptic theology, with its vivid, and readily misinterpreted, imagery, in favour of eschatology: ... there is nothing incomprehensible about the term eschaton or its meaning. It does not refer to any universal conflagration or to a disastrous end of the world. Nor does it mean that human beings will turn into pillars of salt and cease to be human. It means that injustice and exploitation will disappear once and for all (Miranda, 1980: 266). The Americanbased German political theologian, Rudolf Siebert, traces links between Walter Benjamin and Johannes Baptist Metz1s political theology in an ingenious way. Recognising the echoes of Jewish and Christian apocalyptic theology in Marxism1s emphasis on the allbut inevitable and violent transformation of society from a capitalist to a communist mode of production, Siebert notes that, for Benjamin, religion was the eschatological remembrance of the innocent victims of history with the intent of revolutionary praxis (Siebert, 1983: 64). If contemporary secular politics is imbued with nihilism, and if, as Hans Küng argues in Does God Exist? that nihilism cannot be proved and yet is irrefutable, then so too is the antithesis of nihilism, which Küng asserts, is God and all that flows from the existence of God (Küng, 1980: 415 424). Siebert also reads Benjamin as arguing along the same general lines, that the thrust of our allegedly nihilistic society is actually towards a form of Messianic Realm because to be entirely true to nihilism would necessarily lead against the absolute institutionalisation of domination, itself impossible because of nihilism1s inherent subversion of legitimation and supposedly permanent structures. Nihilism is also the denial of the innocent victim of history, a denial of the memory of that victim because a nihilist would argue that their death was meaningless. Metz takes up the role of the memory of the innocent victim and uses it as a basis to argue that the Church should actualise the memory of Jesus: The Christian hopes not just in any open future, but precisely in that future which is shaped by God1s sovereignty and brings justice to the oppressed. Our memory of Jesus constantly forces us to transform ourselves in order to do justice to this future. This memory breaks through the structures of the dominant consciousness of our age, a onedimensional way of looking at things which hides the fact of oppression from us. It mobilizes tradition as a dangerous tradition and thus as a critical and liberating power opposed to the security of those 3whose hour is always here2 {Jn 7:6}(Metz, 1974: 204). This memory is an apocalyptic memory or, as Siebert describes it, an Îapocalyptic consciousness1 because Metz, together with Benjamin, sought to critique contemporary society1s view of time as an 3... empty infinitude, the Hegelian Îbad infinity12 (Siebert, 1983: 93). The tendency in modern society is to manage time, to predict events, and explain the inexplicable by reference to its own legitimation categories, and thence the innocent victims of history, and their tormenting memory, are swept aside and consigned to historical oblivion, or, perhaps worse, their torment is selectively recalled to legitimate current social practices. This is also what Marcuse is criticising in OneDimensional Man (Marcuse, 1964: 98 99). In contrast, The time consciousness of political theology is apocalyptic. The political theologian is keenly aware of the apocalyptic contradictions between nature/spirit, male/female, religious/secular, individual/community, producer/consumer, owner/worker, luxury/misery, rich/poor, classes, country, continents and hemispheres which are so evident in bourgeois history. Metz uses apocalyptic remembrance to fight against the ban of timelessness under which modern men and women have suffered since the beginning of advanced capitalistic society (Siebert, 1983: 94). The relevance of this discussion of the role of memory in the context of an exploration of political theological positions on domination is to point to the possibility that one of the effects of domination is to deprecate people1s authentic memory and replace it with a Îmemory1 which is congruent with the aims of deploying domination in particular situations. Political theologians, and, to a lesser extent, critical theorists, seek to replace that manufactured memory with an authentic memory derived from the lived experiences of people in society. Helmut Peukert helps explain why political and liberation theologians apparently deprecate apocalyptic themes to emphasise eschatological themes. In part, Jewish apocalyptic literature arose in preChristian times as the People of God underwent fearsome persecutions by invaders such as the Syrians. To try to explain to themselves why a God who was supposed to be prejudiced towards them and supposed to be eternally working for justice nevertheless allowed His people to suffer so unjustly and terribly, the Hebrews developed, firstly, an apocalyptic vision the key theme of which was the hope that Hebrew innocent dead would arise at the end of history. Later, the vision was extended to include God1s justice being visited upon all, with the just being saved and the unjust consigned to hell. In the New Testament, while Jesus took upon himself the traditions of Judaism, he emphasised the immanence of the Parousia and the restoration of God1s damaged creation. Peukert reads Jesus as overturning earlier apocalyptic traditions and expectations because he did not engage in pietistic withdrawal, like the Essenes, or guerilla warfare, like the Zealots, or collaboration with the invaders, like the Priests, or ritual purification, like the Pietistic faction in the Temple. Rather, as the Gospels amply relate, Jesus was gregarious, moving widely through his society, healing the sick, mixing with outcasts, preaching repentance and the Kingdom, and admonishing the unjust. Jesus understands his own actions as believing anticipation. He 3dares2 to enter into the urgent nearness of God1s reign. He anticipates the completion of the Kingdom of God, which yearns for its fulfilment, by asserting the reality of God and his salvation for others. However, Jesus makes such an assertion not merely in theory but in his preaching and acting, in the performance of his existence as communicative practice. He is this assertion for others (Peukert, 1986: 223).
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© Mark D. Hayes October 1994 All Rights Reserved
