I finished the section of Gary Dorrien's The Making of American Liberal Theology in which the liberal black theology of J. Deotis Roberts met the radical black theology of James Cone. Cone has always held a special place in my heart, as two works of his, A Black Theology of Liberation and God of the Oppressed were the first major theological works I ever read. It has been nearly seventeen years since we were assigned the latter in a survey class my first year in seminary. Being an earnest first year seminarian, I purchased the former and decided to read it as preparation for reading the latter. I will confess that I made it through the confusing and ponderous dialectics of Paulo Freire's Introduction to the second edition and about five pages in before I put it down, infuriated by Cone's tone. After two weeks, however, I picked it back up and finished it. I went right on and read God of the Oppressed eagerly. While exposed to the even more, atheistic, critique of black theology given by William R. Jones in Is God a White Racist?, I still found Cone uplifting, revelatory, and chastening.
After all these years, however, and after considering the differences offered up by comparing Roberts and Cone, I have decided to act with presumption and reconsider certain aspects of Cone's thought. This criticism should not be taken as a rejection, but rather as my own reflection on certain aspects of Cone's thought that I think are wanting. It is still a necessary corrective to the complacent color-blindness and invidious racism of too much Christian thought.
First, while it has been repeated often, including by Cone himself, his reliance upon neo-orthodox methodology limited his appreciation for and appropriation of the history and lifeways of African-American life as a source for his theology. He made strides towards correcting this one-sidedness, both in God of the Oppressed and his short study of black music, The Spirituals and the Blues. Still beholden to the Barthian disdain for culture, however, the impact of his musings upon his own and his people's history had only limited impact upon the way his thought unfolded. In some ways, he treated Scripture as a way of interpreting African-American history, rather than considering both in light of one another.
More seriously, I think it is fair to say that I was able to return to Cone's work after I considered his theological position as therapeutic rather than ontologically normative. That is to say, I took his claim of the blackness of God and Jesus to be a metaphor, and an ameliorative metaphor, rather than a claim of metaphysical truth. I have to admit that is actually a patronizing attitude to take, and I must apologize to Cone from long-distance for being so, yet taking this position did allow me to hear what he had to say, albeit in a truncated fashion.
On the other hand, his one-sidedness on this issue, his identification of the personhood of God with the social construction of race in the furnace of American race relations created as much of an idol as did the conscious and unconscious racism of white American theologies. I can affirm the identification of God with the suffering of African-Americans in their struggle against white supremacy without reducing God and Jesus to "blackness" as a metaphysical truth. Perhaps this is another way of introducing a therapeutic interpretation of Cone's desire for the real blackness of God, but I refuse to countenance the absolute identity of God with any group whatsoever, even one as historically beleaguered and dehumanized as the African-American community.
I think Cone is still right after all these years in his insistence that the definition of liberation, redemption, and reconciliation are the product of the struggle against racism, and white America needs to listen for what these definitions mean. On the other hand, Cone is obstinate in his refusal to give such a definition. If the Christian faith isn't about redemption and reconciliation, or even their possibility even in the midst of the most grievous sin of white supremacy, it isn't about much of anything. On this one point, Cone is most wanting, not so much moving the goal posts as keeping them off the field entirely.
I have benefited in my life from the thought of James H. Cone in multiple ways. In many ways he was my first theology teacher. One of his former students, Josiah Young, was my very real teacher, both of systematic theology, as well as the leader of a seminar on Karl Barth. Along with these venerated teachers, among my friends who confronted me and presented me with the opportunity of seeing life through the lenses of racism were Alpha Brown and Rodney Graves. I treasure our conversations, even and perhaps especially those that made me uncomfortable. Having one's eyes opened to new realities is never easy, especially when I though I was one of the enlightened.
It was from Young, Brown, and Graves that I learned the vital lesson of shutting up and listening. I could do so, however, because I first shut up and listened to the Rev. Dr. James H. Cone. I still recommend any of his works to those who wish to be challenged, perhaps even infuriated. I only ask that you remember that he speaks from the heart, and as such, his words have the power to kill. They also, however, have the power to heal, if you allow them.
Virtual Tin Cup
