On the speciousness of the charge of “decadent Barthianism,” or, the problem with fundamentalism

Let’s be honest and admit: there are indeed “Barthian scholastics” or “Barthian fundamentalists” who seem to think that the Swiss theologian could do no wrong and that any real criticism of him is based on a misunderstanding or is the result of a faulty presupposition. I have met such people in the past and I know they exist. In fact, if I am honest with myself, I was probably such a person at one time—though I am certainly not guilty of that today, as all of my friends can well attest (for ample evidence, see the comments here). But the truth is that such Barthian fundamentalism is actually rather rare—or at least all ostensible instances of it cannot simply be lumped together into some abstract category of “decadent Barthianism.” The truth of the matter is much more complicated.

The problem here is not that so-called Barthians are blind to Barth’s errors. The problem is rather with the way that these critics of Barth are approaching the conversation. There are two presuppositions for all meaningful dialogue:

1. Careful engagement with the texts or ideas in question; and
2. A mutual willingness to learn from another and to have one’s horizon of understanding expanded through the dialogical encounter.

The first point refers to the necessary scientific understanding that seeks to learn the facts of the matter: e.g., what is being argued here, what are the terms being used, and what is the logic being employed? The second point refers to the participatory understanding that requires one to approach the subject-matter with an existential openness to the new and unknown. As Rudolf Bultmann rightly puts it, “To understand history [or anything, for that matter] is possible only for one who does not stand over against it as a neutral, nonparticipating spectator but also stands within it and shares responsibility for it” (New Testament & Mythology, 150). These two points—which we might distinguish in terms of knowledge and truth, or science and existence—are directed against two errors: the first is the error of anti-intellectualism (the notion that one can make a judgment without attending to the materials at hand), while the second is the error of fundamentalism (the notion that one’s judgments are not open to criticism and reassessment, i.e., the confusion between history and eschatology, as if one’s position is already the final telos of all possible positions).

In a fascinating 1961 letter to Geoffrey Bromiley, Karl Barth identified both of these points as the reason why he would not respond to the questions put to him by American evangelicals. It is instructive, I think, to quote him at length:

Such a discussion would have to rest on the primary presupposition that those who ask the questions have read, learned, and pondered the many things I have already said and written about these matters. They have obviously not done this, but have ignored the many hundreds of pages in the C.D. where they might at least have found out—not necessarily under the headings of history, universalism, etc.—where I really stand and do not stand. From that point they could have gone on to pose further questions. ...

The decisive point, however, is this. The second presupposition of a fruitful discussion between them and me would have to be that we are able to talk on a common plane. But these people have already had their so-called orthodoxy for a long time. They are closed to anything else, they will cling to it at all costs, and they can adopt toward me only the role of prosecuting attorneys, trying to establish whether what I represent agrees or disagrees with their orthodoxy, in which I for my part have no interest! None of their questions leaves me with the impression that they want to seek with me the truth that is greater than us all. They take the stance of those who happily possess it already and who hope to enhance their happiness by succeeding in proving to themselves and the world that I do not share this happiness. Indeed they have long since decided and publicly proclaimed that I am a heretic, possibly (van Til) the worst heretic of all time. So be it! But they should not expect me to take the trouble to give them the satisfaction of offering explanations which they will simply use to confirm the judgement they have already passed on me . . . These fundamentalists want to eat me up. They have not yet come to a ‘better mind and attitude’ as I once hoped. I can thus give them neither an angry nor a gentle answer but instead no answer at all. (Letters 1961-1968, 7-8)

The problem with every fundamentalism is the adoption of the role of “prosecuting attorney,” the identification as “heresy” that which violates one’s securely-held orthodoxy. And this is the crucial point: by and large those who criticize Barth scholars for a “decadent Barthianism” are simply unaware of their own basic fundamentalism. One can find such fundamentalism in both conservative evangelicals and in dialectical materialists. The securely-held orthodoxy can be almost anything, from the decretum absolutum of Reformed orthodoxy to the “ontology of peace” of Radical Orthodoxy, from the absolute rejection of German idealism to the idolization of German idealism, from the doctrine of inerrancy to the rejection of all divine transcendence as the theological instantiation of a Big Other. Heresy takes any number of forms and, in a post-dogmatic or post-conciliar age, is always in the eye of the beholder. (Parenthetically, when your position is one that rejects all divine transcendence, along with the concepts of sin and grace, as a religious imposition that merely subordinates human persons to a “master signifier,” then it is not Barth with which you have a problem but rather the entire Christian faith.)

It is certainly the case that in many situations the problem is simply a failure of scientific understanding, i.e., a lack of careful engagement with Barth’s massive oeuvre. There is the additional—not to be underestimated!—problem of the fact that Barth contradicts himself numerous times over the course of his career and changes his mind on dozens of issues. The result is that, like the Bible, one can justify almost any interpretation of Barth’s text so long as one remains on a surface-level interaction. But for the most part the source of the problem is a fundamentalist approach towards others, one that divides the world into black and white, right and wrong, good and bad. Either you affirm the notion of inerrancy or you don’t; either you accept the concept of divine transcendence or you don’t. There are no grades or variations, no nuances on either side; there is only the stark Either-Or which determines whether a person is a “heretic” or not.

If theology is going to be more than an academic brawl, and thus a conversation that is actually worth listening to, then we need to set aside our fundamentalisms. I don’t excuse myself from this imperative. I’ve been quite guilty of overly zealous heresy-hunting myself, as this blog’s history can attest on numerous occasions. And while there is a place for such criticisms, that place has to be within the scope of a more generous openness to others. A hermeneutic of suspicion has to be located within a larger and more dominant hermeneutic of charity; that is, the No has to be in service to the Yes, as Barth would have it. I am as willing and ready to critique Barth as anyone else, but this critique is first located within a prior desire to give him the best hearing possible, to treat him as I would be treated. It is only after listening to him as a friend and neighbor that I can then properly point out his flaws.

C. S. Lewis captures this hermeneutic of charity quite well in his An Experiment in Criticism, where he writes:

“No poem will give up its secret to a reader who enters it regarding the poet as a potential deceiver, and determined not to be taken in. We must risk being taken in, if we are to get anything.” (94)

“We can find a book bad only by reading it as if it might, after all, be very good. We must empty our minds and lay ourselves open. There is no work in which holes can't be picked; no work that can succeed without a preliminary act of good will on the part of the reader.” (116)

Fundamentalism refuses to be “taken in”; it refuses to “lay itself open,” to demonstrate any “preliminary act of good will.” Fundamentalism lacks the willingness to establish a “common plane” for mutual, participatory understanding.

To conclude, the charge of a “decadent Barthianism” is specious insofar as it is born of this nonparticipatory fundamentalism that can only converse with like-minded fundamentalists, and which approaches all others with a silencing hermeneutic of suspicion. The irony is that, on this score, the materialists and atheists stand as one with the conservative evangelicals that they so virulently oppose.

2010 KBBC: Week 3

The third and final week of the 2010 Karl Barth Blog Conference begins tomorrow. See the introductory post at DET for more details.

Confession: on negotiating my ecclesial identity

This past week, Amy and I became new members (or as they would rightly prefer to say, new disciples) at Prince of Peace Lutheran Church—no doubt to the chagrin of many friends, colleagues, and professors. This is the first time either of us have ever belonged to a mainline denomination, having spent our lives primarily in non-denominational evangelical churches. And I always assumed, being at Princeton Seminary, that we would end up as Presbyterian, not Lutheran. But we feel really good about this decision. It represents the culmination (for now) of a long transformation in our theological commitments and ecclesial identity. While we still identify ourselves as “evangelical”—taking advantage of the term’s ambiguity, diversity, and multivalence—we also identify with many of the concerns and traditions of the mainline churches.

Because most of my friends and colleagues are of the Reformed persuasion, I want to use the remainder of this post to make explicit where I stand in terms of my Reformational identity. Before I outline in detail where I agree and disagree with Lutheran and Reformed theology, let me begin with a biographical note. I knew next to nothing about Lutheran or Reformed theology prior to coming to Princeton Seminary. I had read Bonhoeffer in college and fell in love then with Christian theology, and I read extensive amounts of Eberhard Jüngel between college and seminary. But I had only the faintest notion of them as “Lutheran” theologians, and I really didn’t know what distinguished them confessionally from someone like Karl Barth.

All that’s to say, I was a theological and ecclesial neophyte when I came to seminary. I approached these and other figures with no confessional agenda, no preconceived notion of what was “right” or “wrong” regarding the Reformation. I have always been and always will be a “free church” theologian, in the sense that I serve no particular confession or denomination, but rather serve Jesus Christ alone. I do not engage in theological work in order to bolster or defend a particular ecclesial identity. I am always ready to rebel against a tradition, institution, or theologian when I have reason to go in a different direction, but I am equally ready to make alliances in the most unusual and unexpected places (e.g., Barthian-liberationist or Anglican-Anabaptist).

Those trained to see Christian identity as the rigorous and faithful extension of a secure tradition will no doubt see this as a kind of radical voluntarism, the kind born of a Western spirit of individualism that leads precisely to today’s self-centered, seeker-sensitive, church-hopping culture. In response, I would reject both the notion of a “secure tradition” that only needs to be extended (rather than reinterpreted and renegotiated anew every day) and the notion of a traditionless voluntarism that refuses all norms apart from the sovereign preference of the individual will. Instead, I seek to embody a missionary openness to the claim of the moment, to the word of the gospel that addresses me here and now with God’s sending command. Our identity is never a secure possession, never a settled fact; ecclesial identity has to be discovered ever anew as we encounter the word of God today.

With this preface, let me now identify where I stand in the debate between Lutheran and Reformed theology. I will proceed as follows: (a) agreement with the Lutheran tradition over against the Reformed, (b) agreement with the Reformed over against the Lutheran, and (c) disagreement with both in favor of other ecclesial options.

A. Lutheran against the Reformed

1. The first point to make is simply that I identify with Lutheran theologians far more than with Reformed. To be honest, apart from Barth, Schleiermacher, Calvin (and Calvin only read in light of Barth), and the Heidelberg Catechism, I would have virtually no interest in the Reformed tradition. While I have certainly learned much from Reformed theologians (though almost exclusively from “Barthians”), I have been under the tutelage of Lutheran theologians. These include Eberhard Jüngel, Rudolf Bultmann, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Gerhard Ebeling, G.W.F. Hegel, Søren Kierkegaard, and Robert Jenson. The fact is that I read Barth in the light of what I have gained from these Lutheran thinkers, particularly Jüngel and Bultmann, though of course the influence is mutual.
2. Of the two central theological points of agreement with Lutheran theology, the first to note is the emphasis on the concrete and present-tense over against the abstract and past-tense. Put differently, I agree with the Lutheran emphasis on the present proclamation of the word as the decisive event over against the Reformed emphasis on God’s abstract, pre-temporal predestination (Barth, I want to say, represents a complicated via media that is neither Reformed nor Lutheran).
3. The second central theological point concerns christology. Historically, of course, this is what separated the Lutherans and the Reformed. Here my views are quite complicated, since I both agree and disagree with both Lutheran and Reformed views on Jesus Christ. In terms of agreement, I side with Lutheran theology in emphasizing the radical unity of divinity and humanity in Jesus Christ. That is, I see myself as standing in the so-called Alexandrian tradition of Athanasius and Cyril, though perhaps more accurately in the neo-Chalcedonian tradition of Maximus the Confessor. Of course, I submit this tradition to a thoroughly historical-critical revision in the wake of Schleiermacher, Strauss, Troeltsch, and Bultmann. So I would prefer to speak of a non-competitive “paradoxical identity” of divinity and humanity in Christ, rather than speak in terms of a logos-sarx relation as favored in the ancient church. And I would start “from below” with the concrete human person, Jesus, rather than “from above,” with the Logos, as did the Alexandrian tradition. It is the human Jesus who is identical with and constitutive of God, not a metaphysical Logos who then assumes human flesh. But I nevertheless rigorously reject the quasi-Nestorian christology manifest in the Reformed tradition, which is so concerned about protecting the sovereignty and majesty of God that it all-too-often forgets that Jesus redefines divine majesty in the form of a humble servant who suffers and dies. For this reason, I cannot accept the concepts of logos asarkos and extra Calvinisticum without serious reinterpretation.
4. Less important, but no less true, is my rejection of the Reformed opposition to art and iconography within the church. On this point I stand with the Eastern Orthodox, Catholics, and Anglicans, in addition to the Lutherans. Theologically, of course, this is derivative of the christological point made above in #3.
5. Liturgically and sacramentally, I firmly believe that the eucharist should be celebrated as often as the community gathers. For this reason, the Reformed practice of at least once every quarter (or as often as monthly) simply does not suffice.

B. Reformed against the Lutheran

1. Returning to the christological debate, I agree with the Reformed against the Lutheran doctrine of ubiquity—both the Swabian doctrine of absolute ubiquity and the Martin Chemnitz’s relative ubiquity or multivolipraesentia. This means I also reject the Lutheran use of the genus maiestaticum (genus of majesty), which involves a communication of attributes from the divine to the human nature as part of the perichoretic union of the natures. Against this, I hold to a kind of genus tapeinoticum (genus of humility) in which human attributes are communicated to the divine. The point is: I do not accept the Lutheran christology that undergirds its eucharistic theology. (But neither do I accept the Reformed christology that threatens the unity of deity and humanity in Christ. My christological moves are possible within a broadly Lutheran framework, even if I disagree with standard Lutheran orthodoxy.)
2. Along with my rejection of the Lutheran genus maiestaticum, I also side with the Reformed in terms of eucharistic theology. The Lutherans, holding to the ubiquity of Christ’s body, advocate a kind of consubstantiation, in which Christ’s body is substantially given “in, with, and under” the eucharistic elements. My view would be closer to Calvin on this point, who argues instead that the Holy Spirit makes Jesus Christ present in the elements, but without substantially localizing him on the basis of a doctrine of omnipresence. I prefer the Reformed view primarily because of its pneumatological orientation and its actualistic character: Christ is present in the Spirit and in this concrete moment of word and sacrament. I prefer to ground the eucharistic presence of Christ in the pneumatic epiclesis than in the priestly consecration. Having said that, I would still construe my theology of the Lord’s Supper in modern Lutheran terms as a visible word-event (Wortgeschehen) in which the elements become the tangible signs of God’s kerygmatic presence in the moment of word and faith.
3. Finally, because of the genus maiestaticum and other tendencies, Lutherans tend to favor notions of deification and mystical union. While there are strands of this in the Reformed as well, by and large I agree with the Reformed in rejecting all notions of divinization. Of course, figures like Jüngel and Bonhoeffer are quite adamant on this point as well, so the problem is not the Lutheran tradition per se but certain contemporary versions of it.

C. Against both Lutheran and Reformed

1. I stand against both of these traditions in their Constantinian legacy. Both Lutheran and Reformed churches failed to break free from the catastrophic church-state partnership that has characterized the Christian faith since Constantine. While the Reformed have been more successful than the Lutherans in this regard, I actively stand with the Anabaptists in their non-conformist rebellion. This coincides with my views on mission and missiology. A Constantinian church believes that mission takes the form of extending the structure of the church to unreached people groups. A “free church” missiology recognizes that the church has to be freely translated from one culture to another. Mission is translation, not diffusion and expansion. Here I would borrow from Bultmann and Barth, along with contemporary voices in the field of missional theology (e.g., Guder, Flett, Sanneh, and Newbigin).
2. Along with the rejection of the heresy of Constantinianism, I also reject the tendency and temptation to turn a particular confession, such as Augsburg or Westminster, into a norm of orthodoxy. To be sure, this is a temptation that threatens the Lutheran tradition more than the Reformed (with its stress on the semper reformanda), but it is nevertheless a battle that wages in both churches. I firmly believe that we are faithful to God alone, and to the scriptures that bear witness to God. All creeds and confessions have only a relative authority, and they are entirely provisional in nature.
3. While I have come to embrace infant baptism as an acceptable rite—rightly understood, of course—I also affirm adult baptism (perhaps even as the norm).
4. Again with the Anabaptists, and John Howard Yoder in particular, I would also insist that the Christian church must be confessionally nonviolent. Participation in the military, for example, is a violation of one’s commitment to Jesus Christ.
5. Finally, as a “free church” theologian, I have doubts about all denominations, not only because I have an issue with static institutional identities that are by nature conservative and resistant to change, but also because I do not think the future of the church is going to be found in religious brick-and-mortar congregations that have visible, public properties with salaried staff. If there is a future for Christianity, it will be located in the marginalized homes and communities that serve as nodes in a global matrix of concrete social action and worldly solidarity.

These are not all of the factors involved. This list could easily be twice as long. But I hope this gives at least a glimpse into what I think it means to be a “free church” Reformational Christian. While my family now belongs to a Lutheran church, I do not think this makes us “Lutheran,” as if our faith now receives an indelible label. Like many in my generation, I disdain attempts to locate my faith within predefined categories. But I also do not believe that I am “cherry-picking” my allegiances. Instead, as with theology, I find myself compelled by my confession of Christ’s lordship to transgress boundaries and erect new ones in pursuit of a more faithful Christian self-understanding. Theology, as Barth said, must always begin again at the beginning. Perhaps the same is true in our confessional and ecclesial identity.

Koinonia Journal: Call for Papers on Religion and Popular Culture

As the new executive editor of the Koinonia Journal, I want to share the following call for papers/proposals regarding our upcoming annual spring forum. I should have posted this earlier, but hopefully there will be a few readers out there who can still submit something. If you have any questions, leave a comment or send me an email.

Religion in Popular Culture

We live today in a world in which popular culture—Hollywood, Billboard Hot 100, professional sports, New York Times bestsellers, etc.—constitutes our lingua franca, our society’s “common language.” Pop culture functions today as a key location for the shared exploration of what it means to be truly human. For this reason, it is appropriate that Christians attentively engage pop culture in a scholarly fashion. Doing so not only helps to bridge the divide between the academy and the wider society, but it also disrupts the temptation toward religious insularity and creatively expands the horizons of Christian self-reflection. For these and other reasons, the thoughtful analysis of religion in popular culture is an important task today.

Koinonia is seeking original paper proposals on religion in popular culture that interact with recent discussions in a particular area of study. Suggested topics include, but are not limited to:

Theology of Culture – Film and Theology – Cultural Theory – Postmodernity – Sacred and the Profane – LOST – Myth and Fantasy – Horror and the Horrific – The Hollywood Jesus – Christ-figures – Stories of Sin and Redemption – Sport and Spectacle – Technology – Image and Icon – Pop Music – Philip Pullman – Cormac McCarthy – Apocalypse and the Post-Apocalyptic – The Question of “Redemptive Violence” – Cultural History – World Cinema – Harry Potter – U2 – Sexism and Heterosexism in Contemporary Culture – Avatars and Virtual Reality – Superheroes

Submissions are encouraged from a variety of disciplines, including philosophy, biblical studies, church history, theology, ethics, and practical theology. Proposals that approach the topic from a feminist, African American, Latino/a, and/or other similar context are especially encouraged. Winning proposals will be selected based on strength and originality of argument, as well as the potential for interdisciplinary dialogue.

One or more author/s will be invited to present a paper at the Koinonia Annual Forum during a visit to Princeton Theological Seminary in February 2011. All expenses for attendance at the forum, including travel and lodging, will be paid for these authors. Forum papers will be published in the 2011 issue of Koinonia Journal.

Authors must currently be enrolled as doctoral students in an accredited graduate program. Paper proposals should be 750-1500 words in length. Proposals may be sent via email to koinonia.journal-at-ptsem-dot-edu, as may inquiries or requests for an expanded prompt.

Koinonia is published annually by Ph.D. students under the auspices of Princeton Theological Seminary and is indexed in the ATLA Religion Database and available in theological libraries across the country.

DEADLINE FOR SUBMISSION: November 1, 2010

2010 KBBC: week 1 has begun

The first post and response in the 2010 Karl Barth Blog Conference is now online. The author is Matthew Aragon Bruce, a friend and colleague at Princeton Seminary. His piece engages Barth and Schleiermacher on the scientificity of theology. It is an excellent and highly-informed essay. The response is by none other than Matthias Gockel, known for his very fine book, Barth and Schleiermacher on the Doctrine of Election.

2010 Karl Barth Blog Conference

The 4th annual Karl Barth Blog Conference (KBBC) begins tomorrow. This year’s conference is on the theme, “Karl Barth in Conversation with...” I have had the privilege to assist my good friend and colleague, Travis McMaken, with the planning and organizing of this event—and, trust me, it will indeed be an event in the theo-blogosphere. The topics are wide-ranging and immensely interesting. Many of the pieces will undoubtedly provoke intense discussion and debate. More exciting still is the fact that some of the contributions will be expanded and collected as a book to be published by Wipf & Stock.

See Travis’s introductory post for more information.

Review: Arcade Fire-Spoon Concert (8.2.10)

Even though I have been to many concerts over the years, I haven’t written any concert reviews in large part because it is so difficult to capture the experience in a few words. I will fare no better in this effort, but I will try to put something down in writing anyway. (Thanks to the magic of YouTube, I also have links to videos of most of the songs.)

Tuesday night was my third Arcade Fire concert. I first saw them in Portland in 2004 during their very first tour in support of Funeral. They were the third of four bands. I bought my ticket at the door for $10. The relatively small room was only sparsely filled. I could easily walk up to the front of the stage, which is exactly what I did. That show still sticks with me as my most transformative concert experience. Thinking back on it now, almost six years later, I still well up with emotion. (I have bootleg recordings from that first tour, and they instantly thrust me back into that moment.) Sadly for me, I will likely never hear the Arcade Fire in such an intimate setting again. The second time I saw them was at Tower Theater in Philadelphia for the Neon Bible tour, a 3000-seat indoor theater. Today they are stadium rockers capable of filling Madison Square Garden—which they will do tonight and tomorrow night (and tomorrow you can see them live online). The fact that Spoon opens for them is remarkable.

The show last night was held at the Mann Center, which is an outdoor covered pavilion with an uncovered lawn in the back. It is located in Philadelphia’s Fairmount Park and hosts a variety of cultural art events, including many orchestral performances. The Mann Center holds roughly 14,000 people, and from the looks of it, it was filled to capacity. Thanks to a presale ticket, I was in the four row on the left side.

Spoon’s opening set was very good, as expected, though not overwhelming. As with all such outdoor shows, the opening band has to play while it’s still light out and with half the seats empty. The effect of the music is considerably diminished. While it’s understandable, Spoon also chose to play almost exclusively from their last two albums, Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga and Transference (six and five songs, respectively, out of a total sixteen songs). “Written in Reverse” and “Got Nuffin” were both solid performances. I happen to think their latest release, while still quite good, is one of their lesser albums. Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga is a superb album, no question, and since it launched their current popularity, it is understandable that they would emphasize it so much. But my personal favorites are Kill the Moonlight and Gimme Fiction. They played three from the former (“Small Stakes,” “Stay Don’t Go,” “Jonathon Fisk”), and only one from the latter (“I Summon You”—sadly, not “I Turn My Camera On”). In any case, the real standouts from their set were all from Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga. Specifically, “Rhythm and Soul,” “You Got Yr. Cherry Bomb,” and near the end of the set, “Don’t Make Me a Target.” The last of these got the crowd on to its feet, which is significant considering the countervailing factors noted above. All in all, they put on a good show, with a good use of the stage and limited lighting.

The Arcade Fire put on a trademark Arcade Fire performance. By that I mean they were as energetic, athletic, and carefree as they always have been. Where Spoon portrays themselves as professional rockers—with the skinny jeans, untucked button-up shirts, low-hanging guitars, and expressionless faces on everyone except the lead singer—Arcade Fire is intentionally un-professional. As Will Butler said in a recent NY Times article, the band seeks to maintain “that amateur sheen, that nonprofessional sheen that I treasure.” Early on, Win Butler began a song, but then had to start it over again. Some of the other musicians weren’t quite ready yet. As anyone who has seen them live knows, they like to switch instruments frequently, often between every song (and during the first tour, they switched within songs as well!). As a result, they can sometimes take awhile to get settled. It’s all part of that “nonprofessional sheen.” Their usual on-stage antics were also on full display here, and considerably more so than during their Neon Bible tour. Win came out into the crowd several times, taking the mic with him. There was a wall enclosing the pit, and he walked along that a few times. At one point, he threw the mic back to the stage and ventured beyond the wall, climbing over the chairs. And near the end of the set, Will Butler (Win’s brother) ran all the way through the crowd to the very back of the pavilion pounding on a drum.

As far as the music itself, the concert fulfilled every expectation. I mean this not only in the sense that they performed another incredible show, but also that they performed it in a way that I had been expecting based on prior reports and reviews. For instance, back in June they played a private show at the Notman House in Montreal. A person privileged enough to be there wrote a review mentioning the fact that they now use two drum kits again. He also said that the new material “didn’t bother with instrumental novelties: no hurdy-gurdy, melodica or accordion. Instead, there were often just four electric guitars, heavy as hell, and charging.” This proved to be quite accurate. While some may want them to return to the instrumental form of Funeral, this concert solidified these songs as a new stage in their progression as a band. The kids have grown up and now have their own kids. Now they live in suburbs, where “dead shopping malls rise like mountains beyond mountains,” as Régine Chassagne sings on “Sprawl II” (more on that song later). Suburban angst runs through the entire album.

If Funeral is the youthful response to memory and regret, and if Neon Bible is the translation of this response into an ambitious world-changing idealism, then The Suburbs is the abandonment of global slogans and the return to a kind of existential locality (or maybe local existentialism)—smaller, more concrete, images of sorrow, joy, nostalgia, anxiety, and rage. The problems that need to be addressed are work routines, the businessmen who “drink my blood,” “living in the sprawl” of endless shopping malls, the rise of technology, and the loss of small pleasures like writing a letter. And, of course, “the kids,” or now, “the modern kids,” as Win sings in the new song, “Rococo.” While kids have always been a motif for the Arcade Fire—all the way back to “No Cars Go” from their original EP—the new album makes this the dominant theme from beginning to end. Almost every song references “the kids” in some way or another, but now with a sense of distance and reserve that wasn’t there before. One of the reports I read noted that the band was playing very little from Neon Bible on their tour, and that proved to be the case on Tuesday night. After listening to the new album, this makes sense. Funeral and Suburbs are almost of a pair: they have musical similarities, for sure, but thematically there is a close connection between them.

The set opened with “Ready to Start,” one of the new “heavy as hell” songs that is sure to be an instant hit from the new album. From there they turned to more familiar territory: “Neighborhood #2 (Laika),” which they performed with their usual crowd-involving dynamism and forcefulness; “No Cars Go,” which seemed even more intense and rousing than the Neon Bible tour (preceded by Win giving the crowd permission to do “whatever the fuck you want,” to the consternation of the Mann Center staff!); and then, perhaps most powerfully, “Haïti,” which was a true highlight of the night. The original song is an acoustic showcase for Régine’s beautiful vocals, and while she stole the show again with her charming trademark dancing, the song was transformed into a heavy, electric-guitar rocker. By the end of the song, it bore little resemblance to the original version on Funeral. It could have held its place alongside “Neighborhood #3” or “Intervention” in terms of sheer force. Interestingly, when they played “Intervention” several songs later, it was quite a bit more subdued than the version they played on the Neon Bible tour—further evidence of their de-emphasizing of that album.

After “Haïti,” they played four new songs. The first was “Rococo,” which is a great song on the album, but even greater live. Win sung it with much greater intensity and bite than on the album, the repetitive chorus becoming a raging cry juxtaposed with the melodic background vocals of Régine and others. In the middle he added, “I’ve gotta feeling that tonight’s gonna be a good night.” Then, in one of the surprising moments of the night, they played a cover of Jay Reatard’s punk classic, “Oh It’s Such A Shame.” Arcade Fire is known for great covers, and this one has to be among their very best. Reatard, if you don’t know, died in January at the age of 29 due to drugs and alcohol. I can’t describe how moving it was to be there for that performance. I think everyone had chills from it. They then played two more songs from the new album, “Deep Blue” and “The Suburbs.” Both captured the album perfectly.

The band then played “Intervention” (this is a high-quality video), which I have already mentioned. Next was “We Used to Wait,” about the loss of letter-writing and today’s culture of instant gratification. The video behind them showed pictures of old QSL postcards (the kind used by ham-radio operators) from the collection of the Butlers’ grandfather, at least according to the NY Times article cited above. Then came the moment everyone knows from their live show, when play “Neighborhood #3 (Power Out)” and “Rebellion (Lies)” together. This goes back to their very first tour. It was, without question, the climactic point of the entire show—as it should be. (This video captures the transition from the one song into the other, as well as the thrill of being there; click here for a high-quality video just of “Rebellion,” which, when it zooms in, also roughly shows you how close I was, though I was even closer than that.) The performance of these two songs eclipsed almost everything from the previous Arcade Fire shows I have seen. It was a transcendent moment.

I was afraid, for a second, that they would end the main set here. But they continued, to my delight, with “Month of May”—the heavy punk rock song from the new release—and “Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains).” (The video of the latter is very poor, but it’s the only one I could find.) Though the “Neighborhood-Rebellion” performance is still the climax of the show, “Sprawl II” was a close second. Régine is my favorite member of the band, and she dominated the show with this song. It’s clear that this song will be featured in every future show for a long time. It is a highlight of the album, and it was a highlight of the concert. The main set concluded with “Keep the Car Running” from Neon Bible. In many ways, the most fitting transition to the encore: “keep the show running!”

The three-song encore was as remarkable as always. They started with fan-favorite “Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels),” again more guitar-driven and charging than the album version. They transitioned into the new hit “Modern Man,” which has already established itself as one of the standout tracks from The Suburbs. Finally, as usual, they closed with an epic performance of “Wake Up” (see also here, here, and here), in my opinion the greatest song of the 21st century. Even though everyone knows this song is coming, it never gets old and never ceases to amaze. It is truly one of the great live songs of all time, and it brought to a close one of the best concerts I have ever seen.

What was missing? Most noticeably, “Empty Room” from the new album. This really surprised me. It is one of the strongest, loudest, and most concert-ready tracks on the entire album. I wish they had performed it, especially since it features Régine’s voice and Sarah Neufeld’s violin. They also didn’t play my personal favorite song from The Suburbs, “Half Light I,” but this didn’t surprise me considering it is one of the softer and more subdued tracks. As expected, they also skipped many of the hits from Neon Bible, including “Black Mirror,” “Black Wave/Bad Vibrations,” “Ocean of Noise,” and “Windowstill.” All in all, they played six songs from Funeral, three from Neon Bible, and eight from The Suburbs. I really could not have asked for much more. It was a stunning concert. They infused each song with an intensity and urgency—one might say, an apocalyptic exigence—that transfigured this one night among other nights into a singularly unanticipatable event, a sonic encounter with something beyond. Truly, an epic concert.

Update: Video links added for “We Used to Wait” (partial), “Keep the Car Running,” and “Neighborhood #1.” At around 0:20 on the “We Used to Wait” clip, Win is standing about 10 feet from where I am.