27 minute read
Postures of Political Engagement Common Temptations for Public Theology
always destined to failure, how do the two entities interact with one another? More specifically, how does being a being a citizen of the heavenly city shape one’s perspective on the earthly city? How, then, does citizenship in the City of God affect how we inhabit the City of Man today?
1. Citizens of the City of God do not put their ultimate hope in the earthly city. They are eschatological beings, happy in the hope of the full manifestation of the heavenly city in the new heaven and new earth. Only when Jesus Christ returns in judgment will the heavenly city be revealed in all its glory and the earthly city be brought to eternal ruin.
2. Citizens of the City of God take a realistic view of how much actual good can be accomplished in the City of Man. The City of God must not coopt the City of Man or collapse the two into one missional entity hoping to bring about the fullness of the Kingdom of God through its partnership with the earthly city. Or, from another perspective, an earthly nation can never so absorb the heavenly city that that nation becomes a primary advancer of the Kingdom of God. Members of the City of God must have a chastened view of just how much true good can be accomplished in, with, and through the earthly city.
3. Citizens of the City of God do not seek to dominate the earthly city. The very lust to dominate is the insidious urge that twists and corrupts the earthly city into what it is. Individual citizens of the City of God should be cautious about taking positions of power. “Augustine counsels people not to pursue high position, unless it is done under the compulsion of love or for the sake of promoting the well-being of the people.”14 We serve as leaders not to gain the upper hand in a culture war but to care for the well-being of others. As UVA sociologist James Davidson Hunter puts it, citizens of the heavenly city rather than “seizing power” seek to be a “faithful presence” in the earthly city.15
4. Citizens of the City of God work for the common good and peace of the earthly city. Realistic expectations and skepticism toward power should not cause heavenly citizens to totally pull back from engagement in the public square. The earthly city can bring about real goods like a penultimate kind of peace that is preferred to civil conflicts and international wars. “The earthly city can, then, achieve limited goods, even if not the greatest goods for which humankind was created. And citizens of the Heavenly City can help foster those goods in the many different earthly cities in which they find themselves.”16 “Even the most disordered persons and institutions do not fall outside of the providence of God.”17 “It is within the interest of the ‘pilgrims’ of the city of God to seek the welfare of the earthly city, just as the Israelites in exile were admonished to seek the welfare of Babylon — for ‘in its welfare you will find your welfare’ (Jeremiah 29:7 ESV).”18
Augustine ends his magisterial work not with a crushing loss but with a happy hope, a vision of eternal rest: “There we shall be still and see, see and love, love and praise. Behold what will be in the end without end! For what else is our end but to reach the kingdom that has no end!”19
1 Letter 126,2. The translation is from J. N. D. Kelly, Jerome: His Life, Writings, and Controversies (New York: Harper & Row, 1975), 304. 2 Quoted in Robert a Markus’s Christianity and the Secular (Notre Dame, IN: Notre Dame University Press: 2006), 31. 3 Robert Marcus, Christianity and the Secular, 33. 4 Robert Marcus, Christianity and the Secular, 34. 5 Letter, 136.2.
6 The City of God, I, Preface 7 Ibid.
8 Ibid.
9 Augustine does not always equate the city of God with the church because there are some in the (institutional) church who are not true members of the church or the city of God and there are some in the earthly city who are predestined to membership in the true church and the city of God. Yet, sometimes Augustine speaks of the city of God as if it were equivalent to the church. 10 See James K. A. Smith’s You Are What You Love: The Spiritual Power of Habit (Grand Rapids, MI: Brazos Press, 2016). 11 The City of God, I.35 12 Much in the following several paragraphs depends on William Babcock’s introduction to the New City Press translation of Saint Augustine’s The City of God, part I, vol. 6 of THE WORKS OF SAINT AUGUSTINE: A Translation for the 21st Century, trans. William Babcock (Hyde Park, NY: New City Press, 2012), ix - xlvi 13 The City of God, part I, vol. 6 of THE WORKS OF SAINT AUGUSTINE: A Translation for the 21st Century, xxxii. 14 Kristen Deede Johnson, Theology Political Theory, and Pluralism: Beyond Tolerance and Difference (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 163. 15 James Davidson Hunter, To Change the World: The Irony, Tragedy, & Possibility of Christianity in the Late Modern World (New York: Oxford University Press, 2010), 95. 16 Kristen Deede Johnson, Theology Political Theory, and Pluralism, 169. 17 Ibid.
18 James K. A. Smith, Awaiting the King: Reforming Public Theology, vol. 3, Cultural Liturgies (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2017), 219. 19 The City of God, XXII, 30
Faculty Contribution
Benjamin K. Forrest Professor of Christian Education and Associate Dean College of Arts & Sciences, Liberty University
POSTURES OF POLITICAL ENGAGEMENT: COMMON TEMPTATIONS FOR PUBLIC THEOLOGY
“Know thyself” is common advice, yet at least one philosopher cautions against such self-help. 1His reasons for caution are summarized in a line from Gide’s Autumn Leaves: “A caterpillar who seeks to know himself would never become a butterfly.” Is knowing oneself a limitation or a frontier? First, our fallenness knows itself through the lens of our best interests. We know ourselves but love ourselves deeply, and thus our knowledge is imperfectly flavored by our best intentions rather than our daily actions. “I know myself as loving,” says everyone walking in the shoes of Ebenezer Scrooge. Yet, without the chains of our rose-colored glasses, we readily see the fallacy of this claim in those around us. Second to this is the individual who knows him/herself to be what they are, but in knowing this they never grow beyond the current real estate of life that they now occupy. They are to remain a caterpillar, never reaching the potential of their metamorphosis. Where they are now is where they will be tomorrow and throughout the next decade. They know themselves but fail to recognize that this knowledge can mature. On the other hand the knowledge of oneself can be a frontier that leads people to new horizons, new understanding, and, theologically speaking, toward sanctification.
It is this third type of knowledge that I hope to elucidate here — the type of knowledge that leads toward sanctification. Particularly, my aim is that Christians will know themselves and their common temptations for public theology and political engagement. Such terms as “public theology” and “political engagement” sound like official jargon of the intelligentsia — my intended meaning here, however, is all forms of our daily interactions in the world. The world in which we live is by nature a political world. Put simply, this means that the city — the polis — is governed by people, and our engagement and interaction in the sphere of the city is political. Thus, my intent is not simply to speak to those with official-sounding titles whose daily work is within or even tangential to this system; it is far more inclusive. My intent is to explore common temptations and a Gospel challenge to these temptations faced by a variety of people and professional engagement within our political age. While the points that follow may not prick the heart of every reader, my hope is to be inclusive enough that at least one of these temptations challenges the practices of believers everywhere as we steward our daily interactions in the world.
The public square has changed, and most likely, it will continue to transform in the coming years. Yet, the call for Christ’s disciples to be salt still remains intact (Matthew 5:13). In the time of the Reformers, to be salt meant to set forth on a lonely road walking against the current of Christendom and the authority of the Roman Catholic Church. Saltiness was also important for the Puritans who inherited the charge from these Reformers. The cultural context had changed, but the charge had not — add Gospel-laden flavor to your world for the making of disciples (Matthew 28:1920). Similarly, Christians in early America had been admonished by Christ to be salt in a “New World.” The context for their saltiness changed, but the task to integrate in society in a pleasing and flavorful way had not. No longer was the battle between religious freedom and the Church — as in the times of the Reformers. Instead, the public battle was between the visions for flourishing for the future of a nascent country. Of those setting about to live out in the public square the manner of Christ’s admonition to be salt — some succeed while others falter. However, despite the faults of sinful men and women, the flavor of those who have gone before has left a legacy and example. To this, however, it is clear that saltiness cannot exist where defeatism reigns. “But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out
and trampled underfoot” (Matthew 5:13). Faithfully carrying our task for engaging theologically within the public square precludes submitting to the temptation of defeatism. To accept defeat is to lose our saltiness and our use in the world.
Christians are an eschatological people. Each Christian is on a journey toward a heavenly and eternal reward as we strive toward the Celestial City, the City of God. We are eschatological because we know this world is not our home (Hebrews 13:14), that we are sojourners and aliens (1 Peter 2:11), and that we can be assured of our hope (1 John 5:13). Each of these phrases reminds us of the reality of our destination. Such an eschatological posture reminds us that the victory has been secured — perhaps not in this lifetime, but for sure at the end of the age, and on that day, there will be great rejoicing because we will see, face-to-face, our living hope (c.f., 1 Peter 1:3-6). As Christians look around to view their world, it is easy to see how the Garden-fall has compounded throughout history. The paganism of today is a natural byproduct of a people born estranged to God. Yet, we are not without hope and the only thing that has been ultimately defeated was death at the resurrection of Christ (1 Corinthians 15:55ff). Our engagement must ruminate not on the paganism of our culture but on the hope we have in a resurrected Christ as we look forward to His imminent return when death will be no more, every tear will be wiped away, and the lambs will lie down with the wolves (Revelation 21:4; Isaiah 11:6).
The antidote for defeatism is to remember the hope that is “an anchor for the soul” (Hebrews 6:19). For those tempted to walk in despair and defeat due to the quickening pace of the secularization of our country — remember the hope we have in Christ and how this story ends. Filling our minds with and preaching to our hearts the reality of what is to come will guard us and keep us from this temptation as it allows our salt to give flavor to our world.
In addition to salt, Christ followers are to be light in a dark world (Matthew 5:14). Lights, lamps, and lanterns are not meant to be lit and subsequently hid. Instead they are to be placed where they can give the most light to a room. As a Christian, to be a light means to engage faithfully in this world and to reflect the light of Christ (John 8:12; 1:9-10) to those who have eyes to see (Mark 8:18; Psalm 119:18). Yet, a common temptation is to hoard this light and savor it within the confines and safety of our homes and our churches. The temptation here is to escape from the darkness of the world and only enjoy our light in the presence of other candles. Such a temptation can stem from two directions: the first is fear, and the second is apathy.
Fear is understandable, for it is a normative experience in this world. When we find something to fear, we tend to avoid it. Many avoid sharks, snakes, spiders, and enclosed spaces. There are reasons for such fear, albeit few ever come to personally know these reasons. Therefore, fear, as a motivation for escapism, is also understandable. Holiness is of great significance in the life of believers and is an expectation placed upon us by our Creator. As Hebrews says, “Strive for peace with everyone, and for the holiness without which no one will see the Lord” (12:14). If without holiness we will not see the Lord, then there is a righteous fear directed at the sin that so easily entangles (12:1-2).2 Fear, therefore, keeps people in places where they feel safe and secure from the potential traps and snares of evil. There is a measure of wisdom in this, but it must be held in tension with the biblical assumption that we are
going about a life in the world and not of the world. This wisdom to avoid the potential filth of the world should not keep us from our calling to be light in the darkness of the world. Christians must guard against the temptation to fearfully escape and walk with the great cloud of witnesses who have modeled faithfulness to us despite “jeers and flogging, and even chains and imprisonment. They were put to death by stoning; they were sawed in two; they were killed by the sword. They went about in sheepskins and goatskins, destitute, persecuted and mistreated” (Hebrews 11:36-37). Their example to us models faithfulness in a pagan world and should do so for us in this world — which is far (so far) from the challenging contexts of these.
The second subset of escapism is the temptation of apathy. While anything but good, apathy surely sounds better than simple slothful unlovingness, which is what it is. Springing up from the roots of sloth and lovelessness, this union forms the bitter fruit that often feeds our escapism. It is not only because we fear but also because we are unmoved by the concerns and plights of others. In apathy, we flee from the public forum, failing to champion just causes — or we fail to stand against that which is starkly antagonistic to the things of God. Apathetic escapism stands in contrast to the type of light we are to be in and for the world. Our light is to give off a radiant blessing to those stumbling in the darkness. Those who have grown accustomed to the darkness will not understand or appreciate this sight that comes from light. Their eyes have learned to see in the darkness, and light brings squinting pain and a desire to return to the darkness. They may never learn to appreciate the potential of sight in the light. Others, however, who recognize their flailing attempts at walking around in the darkness will see the glow of those shining on a hill from far off and start walking towards it — recognizing that with it comes clarity, which ultimately brings understanding and hope.
The antidote to escapism is to “walk in the light” (1 John 1:7; Ephesians 5:7-8). Here our walking takes our light with us. We get the privilege of sharing and spreading this light for all those on the journey of life. The more we walk publicly, letting our light shine faithfully, the more that the world has a chance to see what hope comes from living in the light (c.f., 1 John 1:5-10).
The temptation of syncretism takes faith in the public square in a different direction. Instead of internalizing defeat and/or escaping from our charge to be salt and light, syncretism attempts to make peace with the systems of the world by finding common ground. Common ground rooted in common grace and natural law are shared borders that can create harmony in the world, and this is to be desired as far as it can be achieved.3 However, harmony can only be found when the world recognizes the value of the natural law. For instance, Christians and non-Christians can get along politically (even if they disagree) when each neighbor values the other’s right to freedom and justice. Here these two neighbors, even with different worldviews, agree that freedom and justice (albeit defined differently based on each’s worldview) are not given by men to each other but are written on the hearts of man.
At least one aspect of the temptation here is the direction of proselytization. When Christians and non-Christians engage each other in the public square, our charge is to point them to Christ in a way that shows His glory and goodness — inviting them into ultimate freedom which finds peace with God through Christ. Yet, when the proselytization happens in the other direction, the news that is shared is not a good gospel. Thus, syncretism attempts to make peace with the world by diluting the distinctive elements of the Gospel for a culturally palatable version. This challenge to the good news of Christ has happened in every culture throughout the history of the Church. It is not new, but the forms it has taken in the last decade and the one(s) to come are certainly culturally and contextually driven.
Exploring the temptation of syncretism could take several routes. However, my intent here is to briefly raise awareness of one path in this direction — empathy. As with all virtues, empathy has the potential to encourage flourishing or, in a disordered form, serve as a host for syncretism. And, like all parasites, syncretism needs a host in which to live; it takes a bit of this and bit of that, bringing these foreign substances into a new context trying to disguise itself within the identity of the original host. This is often exemplified in the Old Testament as the Israelites borrowed from the faiths around them, bringing these pagan worship practices into Yahweh worship. What the broader Israelite community began to believe was that this new, adulterated form of worship was in fact “right worship.”4 Yet, in reality it was a parasitic worship that had no longer remained true to its original form or identity.5 In the American zeitgeist, empathy has become a virtue hoisted to the pinnacle of our secular moral order. Popularly speaking, empathy is a kind, emotive response to identify with those in need or pain. As we are repeatedly told, “[Homogeneity results in] an
empathy deficit, and it’s at the root of many of our biggest problems.”6 Empathy, therefore, is seen as one of the great tools for redeeming what sin has broken. Culture does not, perhaps, think in these terms of sin, but even secular culture can recognize the fruit of sin without understanding its ultimate root. An example here is helpful. In order to fight against the sins of injustice, the world has sought to cultivate empathy as an ethical tool to remove judgement, which is deemed to be one of the roots that bears the fruit of injustice. On the surface this could seem good and reasonable, for few have palatable categories for judgement. However, for a society to be just we must be able to judge. We cannot name injustice without standing against it in a posture of judging it incompatible with justice. Simply accepting all the habits, proclivities, and desires of our neighbors as amoral (or more preferably as good) does not comport with clear and logical thinking. Yet, empathy has been creatively attached to this interaction. It is easy to stand in judgement against something when one does not understand it, and so empathy can become a pathway for syncretism because empathy, in this day and age, requires that we put ourselves into the shoes of those experiencing and wrestling with various ethical dilemmas. Such posturing inside the shoes of others sounds good and brings a level of increased understanding to the wearers of these shoes. Simply put, it seems consistent with Paul’s admonition to “weep with those who weep” (Romans 12:15) and could harken even further back to The Teacher’s recognition that there is “a time to weep and a time to laugh” (Ecclesiastes 3:4). However, while I would certainly not got so far as to say that empathy is sin, its upward ascendancy to the pinnacle of our virtue summit should be questioned (or at least inspected closely).7 Standpoint empathy can blind the posturer to ethical equivocation. And here is how: Our culture believes truth is relative, making room for each person to claim their own “truth.” Perhaps this is a natural evolution for a pluralistic world where vast numbers of individuals claim truths that are ultimately contradictory. Christians must not accept such relativism, but we recognize how it has naturally become a part of the world. Christians, in large part, have stood theoretically and theologically against relativism, but empathy has, in many ways, become the pathway for the rise in neo-relativism via syncretism leading to ethical capitulation. Two points are valuable here. Empathy certainly does not always lead to the destination of syncretism, but it is worth noting that many of those traveling toward heterodoxy started on their journey via the empathetic way. First, let me ask, what happens when a believer mentally conditions themselves to think and experience that
which a nonbeliever experiences and thinks? Do they give up (mentally, imaginatively, etc.) their theology of sin, their understanding of the great battle in the heavenly realms between the spiritual forces, their identification of being buried with Christ in the likeness of his death that we might be raised with him in the likeness of his resurrection? To put ourselves, mentally or imaginatively, into the experiences of those who do not understand the offer of Christ and the peace with God through the atonement locates believers in a posture that is inherently darkened. For some this will lead to the compassionate desire to pull these friends and acquaintances from the slough of despond like Help did for Christian in Pilgrim’s Progress. For others, to identify, even briefly, with those estranged from God can lead believers to question their biblical ethic. As we put on the feelings of the unregenerate, we become more prone to understand their desires and thus begin to make excuses for these desires and behaviors (because we feel as they feel). As we leave this imagined location and return to our own experiences and theological location we often bring with us convictions adopted through our imaginative empathy. While it is also true that such empathetic and imaginative location can also remind individuals of the glory of living and walking in the light, there is a noteworthy temptation faced by many to remember the feelings of desire, sin, and understanding which can lead to an acquiescence with the social moorings of the world.
A second concern I have with empathy in its current idealized form is that while it takes on the pain of others, it does not necessarily commit to assisting people out of their pain. In his work Against Empathy, Paul Bloom makes the case for what he calls rational compassion, an antidote against the potential ethical misuses of empathy.8 As a secular psychologist, his book is aimed at a similar audience. But his call to compassion as a replacement, I think, is astute. Christians should make the case for Christlike compassion vis-à-vis Mark 6:34 when Jesus “saw the large crowd, He had compassion on them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd” (c.f., Matthew 9:36). Christlike compassion is more than empathy because it draws those in pain from their location of suffering into the hope we have now in redemption or the eschatological hope we have for eternity. Empathy, however, is often happy to identify with the pain of others, joining others in their pain, and decrying the many injustices of the root causes for this pain. Such posturing can be encouraging for those weeping, but eventually weeping should be replaced with joy as the dawn of the morning breaks (Psalm 30:5). Yet empathy is not committed to such redemption, whereas compassion must necessarily be concerned with a redeemed end. Compassion can stand against and denounce injustice, but it seeks to bring people from a location of hurt and pain to one of healing and restoration.
I have two types of pugilists in mind here. Interestingly, each finds this temptation from opposite ends of their public theology and engagement. The first is the boxer. This pugilist is fairly recognizable in that they are ready to do battle for rights and wrongs at any given time. Paul was clear that “our battle is not against flesh and blood,” but against rulers and authorities of the spiritual world. He then turns to encourage believers
to put on armor that they might “stand against the devil’s schemes” (Ephesians 6:12-13). Willingness to fight is not wrong, and much of the thesis of this article is that fighting the right fight is wise. But the boxer is out looking for a fight, and this fight tends to forget the admonition to do all things in love (1 Corinthians 16:14).
The second politically engaged pugilist is the fencer. They fight from a distance and are intent on cutting and wounding not with confrontational animosity that bludgeons, but are content to prick, slice, and cut. This pugilist often does far more damage with their words (and from a keyboard?) than the boxer could ever do in their arenas of engagement. Just as the boxer has the temptation to forget the admonition of love, the fencer tends to clothe their pugilism in a veil of virtue. They are virtuous fencers fighting against the ignorant masses. Some of these that find this temptation readily recognize it as such. They know they cut with words, and they tend to carry a social following where this type of fighting occurs regularly. More subversive than these is the category of stealth fencers who do not overtly use social media as an attack on others. They do not berate, call out, or intentionally cancel those who disagree with them. They are far stealthier than this. Instead, their approach to pugilism is the subtlety of shame. They use their words to discredit their foes under the guise of helping others to see their specks and logs in their eyes. On many occasions, readers end up seeing what has been pointed out, but sadly many of these never perform personal eye surgery before they publish surgical manuals on how to remove dust from others’ eyes. Here, condescension is clothed as virtuous concern and enjoyed as if it justifies one’s own lack of honest self-reflection and willingness to perform heart and eye surgery.9
The Sanctified Frontier
To know thyself, in a Christian sense, is not to find understanding and then place it on a shelf to gather dust. Instead, it is pressing on in the race that is set before us (Hebrews 12:1-2). This knowledge for the Christian should compel us toward consecration and sanctification that we might day-by-day look less like ourselves and more like Christ. While on this side of glorification, we will remain ourselves, and this is to be desired. The sanctification process is not a docetic doctrine that claims that the flesh is bad, and the spirit is good. Sanctification recognizes that all creation was good (Genesis 1:31) yet tarnished in a way that required redemption. However, this redemption is progressive and does not find its culmination this side of death. To know thyself in the Christian sense is to see where our individual faults and foibles lie and to then plan for how we might grow beyond these. Kierkegaard offers help here, saying, “Paganism required: Know yourself. Christianity declares: No, that is provisional — know yourself — and look at yourself in the mirror of the Word in order to know yourself properly. No true self-knowledge without God-knowledge or [without standing] before God.
To stand before the mirror means to stand before God.”10 This journey requires intentional inspection, introspection, and consideration regarding how we have been taken captive by the glittering vices of our culture. All Christians engage in their world, and all face a myriad of temptations in their engagement. Let us consider closely our own temptations and rightly display the humility modeled by Christ as we confess these temptations and guard our theological praxis from our sin-saturated hearts. Knowing ourselves — our own proclivities — helps us to see with clarity how we might avoid the aforementioned temptations and faithfully engage publicly and politically in ways that are honoring and consistent with our calling to be salt, light, set apart, loving, and humble within this world.
1 Bence Nanay, “‘Know thyself’ is not just silly advice: It’s actively dangerous.” Aeon, October 16, 2017, accessed June 6, 2021, https://aeon. co/ideas/know-thyself-is-not-just-silly-advice-its-actively-dangerous. 2 I want to make a theological caveat here. In essence, our holiness is not what justifies or sanctifies. 2 Corinthians 5:21 tells us that Christ became sin for us that we might become the righteousness of God. So it is the holiness of Christ given over to us that allows us into the presence of God. Yet, despite this reality, there is an expectation for believers to actively participate in the holy identity that has been given to us through Christ’s offering on the cross. 3 See the definition of pluralism in the introduction of Timothy Keller and John Inazu, Uncommon Ground: Living Faithfully in a World of Difference (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2020). 4 See R. Alan Fuhr, “True Worship Versus False Worship: Worship in the Preexilic Minor Prophets,” in Biblical Worship: Theology for God’s Glory, ed. Benjamin K. Forrest, Walter C. Kaiser, and Vernon M. Whaley (Grand Rapids, MI: Kregel, 2021), 271-280. 5 See also, G. K. Beale, We Become What We Worship: A Biblical Theology of Idolatry (Downers Grove, IL: IVP, 2008). 6 Claire Cain Miller, “How to be More Empathetic,” New York Times, n.d., https://www.nytimes.com/guides/year-of-living-better/how-to-bemore-empathetic (accessed, June 25, 2021). 7 Doug Wilson and Joe Rigney, The Sin of Empathy, Man Rampant, 2021, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6i9a3Rfd7yI (accessed, June 27, 2021). For an insightful summary of Rigney’s views on empathy, see his fictional letter written in the Lewisian voice of Screwtape to Wormwood, “The Enticing Sin of Empathy,” DesiringGod.org, May 31, 2019, https://www.desiringgod.org/articles/the-enticing-sin-of-empathy (accessed, June 28, 2021). 8 Paul Bloom, Against Empathy: The Case for Rational Compassion (New York: ECCO, 2018). 9 Here, it could be pointed out that I am partaking in what I am warning against. I am using veiled language to pick at an issue from afar without clearly identifying where I am aiming. This temptation is subtle and can use good intentions for division in the body. The challenge for those engaging this subfield of cultural engagement is to assess, reflect, and evaluate whether the intention here is for self-aggrandizement as a virtuesignaler or whether one is stewarding their voice humbly and biblically as an encouragement and admonition. My approach is to consider often how easily I could also fall into the trap of pugilistic public theology and engagement. I know I can, and so I hope that I am walking carefully, writing not only about what I see in others but also about what I know wants to grow within my own heart. 10 Søren Kierkegaard, JP, Volume 4, S-Z, Edited and Translated by Howard V. Hong and Edna H. Hong (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1975),40.
