Books reviewed

It is rare, when reading four books on opposite sides of an intensely argued question, that I get the urge at some point to throw each of them across the room. One of them, maybe, or two, but never all four.

Juxtaposing the works of Andrew Sullivan, the former New Republic editor, and Stanley Grenz, a religious history professor at Carey/Regent college, deeply rewards and monumentally frustrates the reader interested in a fully rounded view of the white-hot debate over the morality of homosexuality. Reading these two thinkers, who have in common a moderate tone and a willingness to seriously consider opposing points of view, it becomes clear how far all of us--gay, straight, religious, and non-religious--have to go in this dispute. Likewise, I was convinced more than ever before that, no matter how harmful the screaming match seems at times, avoiding the issue does even more harm. Even these reasoned and careful advocates fail to grapple fully with the key arguments of the other side, which fails to help either cause.

Two concepts, faith and love, play a central role in each writer's thought. While the authors do not make such an explicit connection, the link must be noted. Faith and love both have manifestly different content and contrasting-though complementary-forms, but they share a crucial similarity: their nonrational origins. In the same way that religious faith is often difficult to speak about in rational terms, so too love defies similar elucidation. When an individual strongly expresses faith or love, others of a more rationalistic bent may question or even suspect the sentiment, leaving the individual to ponder these things in their own heart, to listen to their deepest promptings. It is these whispers from the heart that I contend are getting lost in the arguments, and are also the "X-factors" that make a neat resolution to this debate difficult, if not impossible.

These very whispers, I will admit from the beginning, have made these books difficult to consider objectively. I do my best to give Grenz's arguments the credit they are due, but I must confess that I find them, in the end, to be based on premises that are simply false in my experience and in the testimony of many others. While I likewise disagree with Sullivan on certain points, his premises seem stronger. I readily admit that the inverse might be true for other readers: in many ways, this is part of the trouble these books reveal. The heart is a difficult organ to gainsay, but equally difficult to dismiss.

Nature versus Nurture
As is almost predictable in any serious argument about homosexuality, the disagreement begins, well, right at the beginning: the origin, definition, and nature of homosexuality. Sullivan dismisses the nature/nurture debate: "The origins of homosexuality are remarkably mysterious, and probably are due to a mixture of some genetic factors and very early childhood development. . . . But these arguments are largely irrelevant for the discussion that follows. The truth is that, for the overwhelming majority of adults, the condition of homosexuality is as involuntary as heterosexuality is for heterosexuals." Thus, it is neither fully inborn and natural, nor solely a conscious choice.

Grenz, on the other hand, comes down firmly on the side of nurture. He carefully critiques the sketchy studies on genetic causes and repeatedly turns to the work of gay academic David Greenberg in The Construction of Homosexuality, which is based on the idea that "homosexuality," per se, is a social construction, and what we label it as today would not be recognized in the past. From this ground, Grenz asserts that Sullivan's "intractable minority" is actually a fluctuating handful of persons, and that sexual orientation is more fluid than most gay activists allow. Thus, an easy separation between homosexual orientation and homosexual acts can be maintained (an assumption that undergirds most of Grenz's conclusions later on).

Yet relying so heavily on a social construction model as the basis for ethical discourse undermines Grenz's argument. Overextending the social construction theory deprives the people involved--homosexuals, in this case--of agency, and calls into question the concept of a basic human nature shared among people in different cultures and historical periods. Even if Sullivan overstates his case that there will always be "homosexuals," there surely have always been--and always will be--individuals who are attracted to others of the same sex, however they construct their identity. Something here is part of human nature and not a mere convention.

Human Incompleteness
Grenz places gendered sexuality--creation as male or female--at the core of human identity. It is so central, Grenz argues, that it displaces all other common features: "there is simply no other way to exist except as this particular female or this particular male." Creation in imago Dei does not prove that we are whole unto ourselves, merely that we share a common telos: actualization of God's intention. The primordial symbolism of our individual incompleteness is our division into two biological sexes.

This equation of human incompleteness with biological sex is the keystone of Grenz's argument. On this basis he rejects homosexuality. "Love" between two women is not love at all, because it does not help complete them in any real sense: only union between and man and woman can accomplish that task. Sex between two people of the same gender is likewise not truly sex, in the sense that Grenz uses the term: "at best, it is only a simulation of the two-becoming-one ritual that the act of sexual intercourse is designed to be." Because it does not fulfill God's intention for creating us as sexual beings, homosexual sex is, regardless of context, a deficient and improper expression of sexuality. Both gay marriage and ordination of gays are improper, especially for "practicing" homosexuals. He does not wish to condemn homosexuality, but he is quite firm in his conclusion that it is not normal or co-equal with heterosexuality.

Grenz's social construction argument is by no means a secure linchpin and, in fact, turns against him: in the same way that Greenberg undermines essentialist views of homosexuality, so too other theorists problematize monolithic views of male and female. Grenz wants to hold both an essentialist understanding of heterosexuality and a social constructionist view of homosexuality, and he never addresses this contradiction.

Sullivan works through an alternative set of arguments by, effectively, rejecting Grenz's initial premise. Sullivan doesn't accept that completion of one's partial self only comes from the opposite biological sex: it comes from another human being. In locating homosexuality (and heterosexuality) as a mode of living grounded in aspiration and desire, Sullivan articulates other forms of commonality: "The homosexual's longings, his development, his dreams are human phenomena. They are, I think, instantly recognizable to any heterosexual, in their form if not their content. The humanity of homosexuals is clear everywhere." This assertion gestures at some characteristics--hope, longing, desire, aspiration, love--that are common to all humans, and transcend not only the straight/gay binary, but also the male/female division. This renders questionable Grenz's priority on biological sex as the fundamental indicator of our incompleteness: indeed, it may be commonalties like hope, desire, and love that demonstrate our incompleteness and need for each other. By positing that our human incompleteness is a puzzle with only two pieces--male and female--Grenz seems to vastly underestimate the complexity of Creation, much less the human soul. While it is appropriate that two humans would complete each other, it is too pat to assume that such a complex thing as a whole, balanced life would arise from just any man and just any woman: surely the answer to our quest for meaning is not that simplistic.

Further, Sullivan challenges the implications of sexual complementarity. Even if one grants the symbolic weight of the two embodied biological sexes and the Genesis creation narrative--Grenz's two main sources of support--the conclusion that heterosexuality is the only proper form for sexual expression does not necessarily follow: "all these arguments are arguments for the centrality of heterosexual sexual acts in nature, not their exclusiveness. It is surely possible to concur with these sentiments . . . while also conceding that it is nevertheless also true that nature seems to have provided a . . . spontaneously occurring contrast that could conceivably be understood to complement--even dramatize--the central male-female order." Homosexuality is thus a "natural foil" for heterosexuality which, though it diverges from the norm, is harmless, "a variation that does not eclipse the theme, but resonates with it."

Faith, Reason, and the State
Sullivan and Grenz appear to diverge not only in conclusion but also in audience. While the former divergence is indubitable, the latter is problematic. Grenz is primarily addressing the church, broadly conceived. His appeals to Biblical exegesis, scriptural authority, and church tradition are clearly only applied to a Christian audience. Though famously Roman Catholic, Sullivan does not wish to address church policy at all: "there may be religious reasons for resisting [gay marriage] that, within certain traditions, are unanswerable. But I am not here discussing what churches do in their private affairs. I am discussing what the allegedly neutral liberal state should do in public matters."

It is precisely this insistence that the spheres of religion and politics have little to say to each other on their own terms that turns so much argument over homosexuality (and other issues) into unproductive squabbling. Here, Sullivan tips his hand by unfavorably comparing faith to emotion: "a liberal society cannot engage someone who bases his view of homosexuality on religious authority alone. Like unreasoned emotion, unanswerable religious authority is, well, unanswerable." By contrast, "when the religious citizen seeks to provide a civil reason that is rooted in his religious belief, then the argument can begin." In other words, religious arguments are not admissible into political discourse on their own terms, but only when translated into a civic argot. (Liberal philosopher John Rawls makes a similar argument in Political Liberalism.)

Here, Sullivan opens up a quandary: how welcome are arguments that, ultimately, rest on faith, in a forum which is limited to the consideration of premises based on reason? He explicitly welcomes them, but, when he evaluates the Biblically based "prohibitionist" stance, he points out that many of its premises are simply not welcome in a liberal civil society. And if these premises are not admissible, then the arguments, naturally, will either seem artificially weak, or might never be made.

Further complicating the issue, Sullivan's insistence on solely reason-based discourse in politics cuts against his own project: the sword of reason prunes away not only faith, but also love. Sullivan recognizes that personal experiences and testimony, though not determinative, can be a powerful way to illuminate the "truth" about the nature of homosexuality as it is actually lived out day-to-day. But by exiling "unanswerable religious authority," Sullivan similarly hamstrings "unreasoned emotion," such as love. Indeed, in Love Undetectable, Sullivan spends a fair amount of time explaining the unreasoned and innately irrational nature of love.

Grenz, for his part, does not draw the same limits. Let the church and Christian ethicists stand where they ought to; perhaps the state and society will follow, perhaps not. "The light of the world" leads the world, not the other way around. This allows Grenz to argue his position within a religious context while leaving open the political implications.

The necessary follow-up to the question of the two fora is difficult, however: how should they interact? As Sullivan rightly points out, our liberal system of political discourse does not handle non-reason-based debate very easily. If we are to loosen Sullivan's strict ban on non-reasoned arguments, and admit more warrants from the heart, then the slippery slope is not difficult to see looming ahead. With no principle to arbitrate between these differing convictions of the heart--de gustibus non disputandum--the debate rapidly degenerates into unproductive dueling assertions and "I feel" statements. It is all well and good to get feelings out into the open, but at some point a liberal polity will have to reckon with them.

Act and Essence
Another problematic question left unsatisfactorily resolved by these authors is the distinction between act and essence. Grenz argues for a sharp distinction--one can be homosexual without engaging in homosexual acts. If the two can be severed without ill consequence, then many pro-gay arguments would collapse: if a homosexual need not have homosexual sex in order to be a homosexual, then both straight marriage and total abstinence are viable options.

Sullivan counters that this distinction is not healthy, a position that becomes most evident in his discussion of coming out. "Those who never seize their own identity among their family, friends, and intimates are forever at the mercy of others' definitions and whims, if not socially and economically or emotionally, then in the depths of their psyches and the quiet parts of their souls." What Sullivan means by "seiz[ing] their own identity" comes clear only in other contexts: acting on homosexual desires, whether through sex, romantic pursuit, or outward confession to another. The converse exacerbates neuroses: "if he hides his orientation in a way no heterosexual would dream of doing, then he has actually acquiesced and contributed to the permanence of [his] victimhood." Ultimately, driving the wedge between essence and act too deeply in one's own life denies the individual's humanity: "a cipher is operating, not a human." This puts the question to Grenz starkly: his argument relies on a premise--the distinction between act and essence--which, if pushed just a little bit too hard, can deny the humanity of the people whose lives he is analyzing by prescribing that they live one life and feel another.

Sex and Friendship
When sex is out of the picture, however, both authors have strikingly similar arguments regarding friendship. Grenz contends that the proper realm for relations with members of the same sex is friendship. Introducing sex into such a friendship is "inappropriate, in that the 'targets' of these desires are potential or actual friends." One of the reasons homosexuality is so problematic is that it turns people who should rightly be friends into lovers, and such categories must be protected. Friendship is fine when it becomes part of a heterosexual marriage, because it deepens the sharing bond between the partners, which leads one to wonder precisely why blurring the categories must be viewed as negative in same-gender relationships.

Sullivan strongly echoes Grenz in arguing that sex has no place in friendship: sexual congress has a unitive symbolism that brings together two disparate things. Friends need to remain distinct individuals marked by similar aims, whereas lovers can afford the luxury of plunging into each other's difference. These conclusions overlap Grenz's argument but for one factor: because Sullivan does not concede that complementarity is based on biological sex, he can universalize the conclusions Grenz drew to include all people, not just heterosexuals.

Love
In their respective discussions of friendship, both authors show a marked tentativeness with respect to the idea of love. Grenz is fairly clear in the earlier, more general Christian Sexual Ethics, and more circumspect in last year's Welcoming But Not Affirming, about the possibility of real love between two people of the same sex: it just doesn't exist. At best it is a flawed facsimile of the real thing. Though he abandons his earlier assumptions about the innate promiscuity and instability of homosexual couples, he remains cagey about attributing the label of "love" lightly: "Devoid of guidance as to what love involves, we repeatedly find ourselves distorting genuine love in the name of 'love.'" While that is undoubtedly true, he doesn't seem to worry much about heterosexuals similarly distorting the meaning of the word.

Sullivan is worried about love for a different reason: he sees the romantic love culture as disrupting stable friendships among gay men: "The great modern enemy of friendship has turned out to be love." By love, Sullivan here does not mean a form of mutual regard--that, he contends, is a hallmark of friendship--but rather "the longing for union with another being, the sense that such a union resolves the essential quandary of human existence, the belief that only such a union can abate the loneliness that seems to come with being human, and deter the march of time that threatens to trivialize our very existence." In short, he wishes to question Grenz's foundational claim that sexuality fuels the desire for completeness. He contends--here turning Greenberg's social construction against Grenz--that our culture is over-obsessed with such a manufactured image, and fails to see the pitfalls inherent in it. He cites Allan Bloom pointing out the big joke at the heart of perhaps the greatest expression of romantic love in Western literature, Romeo and Juliet. At the beginning of the play, Romeo is shown consumed by passion for a woman- Rosaline. "The greatest romantic hero of all time . . . was, in fact, obsessed with another woman just minutes before his first meeting with Juliet."

Ultimately, both Grenz and Sullivan hint at how high the stakes are in their arguments, but still, frustratingly, both show a marked blind spot to the issues at the core of the other's arguments. These neglected issues, though, are the whispers of the heart, the non-rational arguments that destabilize the whole discourse. Grenz does not seem to take seriously the reality of love between two people of the same sex. No matter how he wishes to reason out what defines love and how it fits into humanity's divine telos, he is falsified by confession: if, as he says, we are sometimes inaccurate in claiming love for ourselves, we are triply so in diagnosing it--or its lack--in others. There are plenty of foolish people who claim to be in love when they are not, but that population is hardly exclusively homosexual. At some point, an individual's considered self-evaluation and reflective attribution has to carry significant weight, even if it is not determinative.

Sullivan, on the other hand, does not adequately account for the reality of faith within the polity. Like Rawls, he tries to eject the initial premises while accepting anything reasoned out from those premises, and only as long as it is framed in terms of civic politics. Unfortunately, even though liberal civil society is notoriously unskilled at handling such arguments, it must: failing to do so means shutting out a crucial voice. By forcing religious discourse to abandon its unreasoned premises, Sullivan would strip its argumentative force. Prohibiting this religious voice from speaking on its own terms, and requiring a civic "translation," removes some of the truths behind its argument, truths that are not fully expressible in the terms of civic public discourse. Even if they are not admitted full-blown, religiously based arguments must be heard and reckoned with on their own terms, or else discourse becomes deficient.

If both these core arguments are taken seriously and heard on their own terms, then a dialogue can be fully engaged. Unfortunately, this dialogue can be incendiary. For Grenz, the stakes are no less than faith in God's telos for Creation. Even if one does not buy his theological arguments, however, his position still rests on a powerful foundational principle: the natural order, and how we as humans complete our quests for meaning. Sullivan, likewise, raises his stakes ultimately: by placing the capacity to love at the irreducible core of humanity and making homosexuality constitutive of some individuals, he raises the prospect of human flourishing. If his arguments are not dealt with honestly, one runs the risk of treating an entire class of people, in a very real way, as less than human.

Failing to take into account the whispers of the heart produces a sham discourse that is unhelpful, if not counterproductive. Taking those whispers into account gives rise to a volatile discourse with no clear, easy answers, and ultimate stakes. These two authors illustrate the challenge of dealing with this issue and demonstrate how important it is to meet it, but both fall short of fully engaging it. It is not an appealing situation at all, but once the challenge is clear, there is hope that some groups of people will at least take an honest shot at besting it.