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Kanye West and the King

By Jason Lee, TD ’22. Jason is majoring in Global Affairs.

I want to start by saying that my good friend predicted that Kanye West would put out a gospel album long before we heard anything about “Jesus is King”. I was blindsided. We were, after all, talking about a person who sloughed off his “slave name” for his “god name” just a handful of years ago. So to hear first the friends in my ministry, my home pastor, then my parents talk about Kanye West’s new album was, simply put, rather jarring.

I’m not here to talk about quality. The general verdict seems to be that “Jesus is King” is a refreshing “Christian” album but a mediocre Kanye album that speaks more to the scope of contemporary gospel music than to anything else. The point is that whatever artistry Kanye commands, he’s had a tumultuous relationship with his faith. Among his most acclaimed works is “Jesus Walks”, in which he espouses a deep devotion to Christ amidst life’s many maladies:

“(Jesus walk)

God show me the way because the Devil’s tryna break me down

(Jesus walk with me)

The only thing that I pray is that my feet don’t fail me now”

Yeezus’s “I am a God” is (despite the title) more ambiguous, featuring the rapper simultaneously claiming both his own divinity and his surrender to the Lord in a way that still leaves me with a vaguely heretical aftertaste. In between and outside these two songs, sexism abounds, as does a marked irreverence for the civil rights movement — both on and off track — and a, let’s say, superfluous amount of self-love.

It’s difficult to suppress a giggle whenever anyone brings up “Jesus is King” because it listens like an unequivocal declaration of repentance and rebirth from a man who, lyrics aside, seems to have lived much of his life as his own idol. It seems absurd. Perhaps it is only an ingenious marketing ploy, a sharp musical inflection to enliven his work as Kanye has done in the past. If so, it’s been a roaring success. We have Christians talking about Kanye West at the mild expense of Tim Keller, whose book, also Jesus is King, has been exiled to somewhere beyond the 15th page of search results. As much as we now play him, West has played us.

But then, we have seen genuine dramatic conversions before. So say it is genuine: if Kanye truly has reformed, is it any more dramatic of a return than our own conversions? It’s dangerous to treat divorce from God as a matter of degrees. We too, once lived lives separate from the Lord. For me at least, it isn’t fair to say I was not, or do not at times continue to be, as hypocritical, erratic, or mercurial in my commitment to the Lord, or as allured by the temptations of my own environment as any artist adrift in wealth and fame. This would be nothing more than a masked type of pride.

Still assuming this is indeed a true turn to Christ, while we have much to praise, there is also much to pray for. Kanye is still saying things like “I’m the greatest human artist alive” in the same breath he thanks the Lord for humbling him. Kanye still very much loves Kanye. Even setting matters of pride aside, his recent comments describing American slavery as “a choice” ensure the road to public redemption, and any serious attempt at advocacy, remain arduously long.

But this isn’t really just about Kanye. Rather than just talk about one artist, I feel this could be an opportunity to reevaluate what we mean when we say “Christian” music. While “Jesus is King” is unique in its authorial context, I wonder to what extent it differs from what other secular rap/R&B/hip-hop artists (or at least, artists not thought of as primarily Christian) have been doing for a while. Or rather, do we lose anything when we distinguish between music that is gospel/gospel-adjacent (that is, 2019 Kanye), and music that engages gospel, say, Kendrick Lamar?

Surely the work of Kendrick Lamar who, despite the agitation of the rest of the album, opens good kid, m.A.A.d city with a prayer— 

“Lord God, I come to you a sinner

And I humbly repent for my sins

I believe that Jesus is Lord

I believe that you raised him from the dead

I will ask that Jesus will come to my life

And be my Lord and Savior

I receive Jesus to take control of my life

And that I may live for him from this day forth

Thank you, Lord Jesus, for saving me with your precious blood

In Jesus’ name, Amen” 

–can embolden us in our own agitated commitments, just as well as any gospel of hope? From DAMN., the track “FEAR.” weighs upon one’s throat like any lamentation of Job’s. Perhaps To Pimp a Butterfly’s “Alright” delivers a blunt statement of hope — 

“Nazareth, I’m fucked up

Homie, you fucked up

But if God got us, then we gon’ be alright” 

–that resonates better than other hymns with certain defeated spiritual states. If nothing else, surely the rest of the album with its turbulent, furious search for higher meaning as it relates to identity, trauma, resilience, race, death, hope, sex, mortality, and the fallen world — 

“He looked at me and said, “Know the truth, it’ll set you free

You’re lookin’ at the Messiah, the son of Jehovah, the higher power

The choir that spoke the word, the Holy Spirit

The nerve of Nazareth, and I’ll tell you just how much a dollar cost

The price of having a spot in Heaven, embrace your loss—I am God”

–surely this mirrors and engages our own desperate pursuit of the Lord?

So to answer my own question, “Do we lose anything?”, I’d say: not necessarily. However, it helps us to keep in mind that traditional “Christian” music doesn’t hold a monopoly over either the desires of faith or bearing witness to God’s glory. Until now I’ve focused on rap, but I’m sure an argument can be made for “Country Roads” as a celebration of creation. Secular music that sings to our souls can, in some sense, be just as Christian as any “Christian” song, and nourish our faith accordingly. 

This isn’t to say all such distinctions are meaningless. I’m hardly advocating for Sunday Lamar in the cathedral, or Kanye during communion. Acknowledging that Kendrick’s purposes extend beyond solely the expression of his faith, while by no means detracting from his work, illustrates the need for some sort of delineation. Our methods of worship and praise should be reserved to those wholly devoted to such a purpose. 

I am speaking rather to our own listening habits. Whether or not you buy, in both senses of the word, Kanye West, “Jesus is King” has already served its purpose by getting us to review, faithfully, our musical intake. If you don’t buy anything I’ve said thus far, that’s okay — take this then as a reminder to seek the Lord even in the most unlikely of places, even our playlists. I leave you with this benediction-adjacent passage from BROCKHAMPTON’s latest album, Ginger, song “NO HALO”:

“Used to fight all my night terrors, now I smoke through the dreams

Depression put me into places where I’m stuck in the seams

They sealed my mouth and said the only way to breathe is to scream

Pop the stitches from society and fall to my knees

The machines weavin’ our fate are gettin’ harder to please

But I believe to an extreme

(That we all can find a way)

To anybody listenin’ that’s in between

(That we all can find a way)”


To Want to Want: Desiring Differently

By Jason Lee, TD ’22. Jason is majoring in Global Affairs.

Sometimes I’ll look up from lunch and wish I liked math. This is different from wishing I was good at math. As it is, I’m perfectly fine being remarkably average. What I mean is that sometimes I wish math was as beautiful to me as it to the people who love it. Somewhere past the point where numbers become Greek lies the internal, ticking logic of the universe that I imagine is what pushes them to slog through things called combinatorics or “Boolean” whatever.

But while I know I’m missing some sort of splendor behind the polynomial veil, I’m stopped by the unfortunate fact that math bores me. So I kind of want it, but not really. There’s a distance between me, a person who wants to see lovely and evocative things, and a desire for this particular lovely and evocative thing.I almost have the desire, but not quite.

This is odd, but not uncommon. Exercise is another example of this in which we all know that running — or jogging, hopping, or picking things up and putting them down again — in the long run will make us healthy, which we want. But for various reasons we don’t do any of these activities. Eating poorly and staying up late are related examples in that, right now, we want to do both — fast fried food tastes good, and there’s a curious sense of pride and/or solidarity in working until predawn — but we wish we didn’t. Next to all our wantings and not-wantings, there appears to be a second category of desire in which we want to want or, alternatively, we want to not want.

Academics sometimes call this “wanting-to-want” a second-order desire or metadesire. I do not want to do math, but I know there’s an arithmetic wonder for those who count it all out, so in recognition of that, I want to want to do math. Once recognized, metadesires pop up everywhere (see: procrastination — we want to punt the p-set that’s really just the same problem repeated seven times, but we wish we didn’t).

So then, what to do about this, not new, but maybe newly attended to set of wants? We may as well start where we do with our more immediate cravings, which is to say, rank them. We do this almost instinctively with our regular wants. Our desire for learning (or maybe just a diploma) outweighs our desires for things incompatible with the demands of college, such as free time, or a disposable income. Over learning, we value our identities and our self-worth.

In the same way, maybe our want to want to exercise lies above our want to want to listen to country music. That seems to make sense: fitness can be its own reward, whereas country — country can wait. But then, shouldn’t we value finding, or rather, learning beauty in all things above being able to lift unreasonably heavy objects? That’s not exactly a fair comparison, but what I’m trying to ask is, whether we do or don’t, why?

There appears to be a standard or purpose by which we have ordered our desires, even if we did not consciously subscribe to one. There are a thousand and one such standards, whether altruism, God, or I-just-want-to-be-happy, and all offer many ways to prioritize, but also filter, our desires. If this standard, or “The Point” is our own happiness, we pull our great tangle of wants into order based on what drives us to joy. Maybe eating terrific cuisine tops that list, or making gobs and gobs of money, or living by the coast while others are cast aside.

By ranking and pursuing these immediate desires we can take steps towards our Point. At the same time, we also put together a set of metadesires, which by nature are more oriented towards the future. Alongside desires fitted to who we are right now, there exists a class of metadesires that pertain to self-transformation, to who we want to become.

Maybe that sounds a little grandiose. And in a way it is grandiose, ambitious, and plain difficult to accept–not to mention achieve–the project of self-improvement. After all, there’s been more than enough research demonstrating sturdy links between CO2 ppm and meat production, refrigerators, and palm oil to provoke some lifestyle changes with the recognition of “caring about the planet” as a worthy desire in line with our Point. Yet for some reason, that recognition isn’t enough. Even if we only consider those who have the funds to enact such lifestyle changes, my favorite dish is short rib stew, yours is ice cream cake and we both use semi-cheap soaps. Sometimes, our resolve to pursue improvement is simply too weak. Within certain margins of nuance, we don’t want to protect the environment: we want to want to.

It is here that our metadesires of self-improvement become achingly relevant. On some level, our metadesires reveal a lack: of resolve, of foresight, of willpower, of vision, of stamina, or of tenacity in ourselves. There’s a sense in which we want to become ready, or maybe worthy of our Point before we take it on. If our Point is to protect and empower people, we must first want to fight by all means for the planet, to acknowledge the homeless, or even just be academically responsible and start papers prior to their due date. If we ignore the project of self-improvement fueled by these transformative metadesires, then the Point is not only out of our reach, but out of our pursuit. If we don’t value metadesires as part of our Point, if we are always waiting to be prepared for our desires rather than letting our metadesires prepare us, then there’s no reason to seek anything more than what we are already capable of, to desire anything more than what we already know, or to be more than we already are.

But if we do attend to them, our desires for transformation help us not to just pursue “feeling good,” but health, and not just health but wholeness. They guide us beyond I-just-want-to-be-happy to a timeless happiness that may be called satisfaction, or even peace. They push us not just to live well or be compassionate, but to be good, the best we can be. Wholeness, peace, goodness, which can be called righteousness: these are enduring, one might say eternal desires that prepare us for our Point as much as they push us to it.

At the same time, it makes sense to be wary of these types of metadesires. After all, we don’t know where they come from, and sorting the origins of desire like trying to unmix paint. Maybe these projects of self-improvement as I’ve defined them are just the result of social pressure, conditioning, and overactive community instincts. Maybe it is efficient or biologically sound to pursue certain desires, even if, for some reason, we don’t feel the desire itself. Maybe they’re a burrowing side effect of a consumerist culture that is constantly telling us to want things that we don’t currently want. The resulting wariness is paralyzing; if we can never parse the roots of our desires, how do we know we’re not wasting our time, or worse, being made fools of?

It is in this uneasiness that I and other believers turn to faith. As Christians, we believe that there’s a Big Guy™ up there who not only created the world, but has a particular way in which He’d like us to live in it. Not because He’s picky, but because He knows His Point for us will be larger and broader and more fulfilling for us, the people He loves, than any other.

This is not to say that such a life will not be difficult. God knows it will at times seem just as complicated and confusing as all the other Points. In fact, Paul, the author of several books of the Bible, explicitly acknowledges in his letter to the Romans the difficulty of metadesire, self-improvement, and general existence in this way:

“I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do … For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing” (Romans 7:15-19, NIV).

In response, we’re promised that God will help us along the way. In combination with our own earnest efforts, He will grant us the resolve and the capacity we lack to deny our misleading (which for me means un-Godly but could also be called counterproductive) desires and help us become worthy of the Point that He has set before us.

If this is true, then resolve can be trained and morality practiced. We can try to do it on our own, or with those we trust. It could be that the desires of self-improvement promoted by the Bible are the only way to live a fulfilling life. The exact way we live and the goals we set for ourselves seem to be matters of faith. For those who say, “that’s good for you, but I don’t really need it,” I understand. In fact, I’ll be honest in saying that even if we believe them to be promoted by a holy text, we’re not always sure how our professed metadesires will get us where we need to be.

One simple response to this uncertainty is that if there is a person or method or series of poems that some believe to be inspired and effective in helping them get to where they want to be, it seems odd not to look there. But more importantly, the Christian message is that in our doubt, in our uncertainty, we’ve chosen to believe the word of an unwavering, divine, bigger-than-capitalism God. Rather than rely on what we know–which, as we’ve discussed, is often so, so little–we’ve chosen to humble ourselves in faith. To keep living in that humility is the Point.

Taken from the Fall 2019 issue of Logos, Desire.