Some possibilities:
1. To read more about the brain, coginitive science, and how we think about religion: The God Instinct.
2. To think more about the basic question, "Is There a God?" we could read Karen Armstrong's The Case for God.
3. For a good overall look at what Christians believe, restated for a contemporary audience, there is To Begin at the Beginning, by UCC pastor Martin Copenhaver.
4. To talk not so much about what Christians have believed about God, but what they think they should be doing about it: Jim Wallis' Rediscovering Values (this from a Christian writer) or Peter Singer's The Life You Can Save (from a not so religious point of view).
Here's a link to a "To the Best of Our Knowledge" broadcast on religion in a secular age -- mentioning several books that might be of interest. Thanks to Mick for sending this along.
Here are links to the above books:
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Crossan's "God and Empire"
We are seeking to understand -- probably in ways we have never considered before -- the Christian faith. If we paid attention in Sunday School and Confirmation, and can remember some of it, many of us have a vague idea that Jesus, whose mother never had sex, came to teach us how to live, died on the cross as a sacrifice for our sins, came back to life, and somehow went back up to heaven. Our job on earth is to die (that we can do) and go to heaven (that may be in doubt). We may also have been told 'way back when that God created the earth in seven days.
All of which, or most of which, sounds pretty lame to many people who want to think rationally about their faith, the way they think about everything else that is important in life.
The Freedom from Religion folk recently polled their membership, asking what were their reasons for leaving religion behind. Around 25% said that relgious claims made no [rational] sense; around 15% cited hypocrisy or bigotry among the faithful. A smaller group said that reading skeptical authors made them skeptical, and a few said that reading the Bible was the last straw for them. [Christian Century, January 11, 2011] Our little group read one of those skeptics (Sam Harris), but not much yet of the Bible. But a lot of us would say that many religious claims don't make much sense to us -- especially the traditional expressions of the faith as outlined above.
And so we read John Dominic Crossan. A scholar. Who surely uses his reason, and a whole lot of historical and linguistic skills, to look at the biblical texts in very new ways. Like Ellul, he sees the Jesus movement of the first century against the backdrop of the Roman Empire, and comes to very different conclusions (compared to traditional theology) about who Jesus was, why he came, and what his followers today should be doing.
If you like reading history, then you'll like Crossan's God and Empire. Below are some things I noted as I read the first two chapters in which he addresses "civilization" and its violent propensity, and then that violence as reflected in the Hebrew Scriptures. In Chapter Three he'll head into the Gospels, followed by Saint Paul . . . and at last the very end, that wild and crazy book of Revelation.
Chapter One
Four kinds of power of empire: military, economic, political, and ideological. Crossan adds the power of non-violent "persuasion and attraction."
911. Purpose of the terrorists was to help us deny our own ideology.
Roman Imperial Power
Rome thought of itself in transcendental terms - "divinely mandated to rule without limits of time or place." Cites the poetry of Virgil, Horace, Ovid to support this. They believed that the gods run the world, and since Caesar ran the world then Caesar must be a god.
Crossan's main point: in the first century terms like "Son of God," "Lord," "Savior of the world" were reserved for the Emperor. When the followers of Jesus took those terms and applied them to the Jewish peasant Jesus, they committed high treason. To say that Jesus is Lord, and therefore Caesar is not is to make a radical, revolutionary statement.
Further: the ideology of Rome said, "Victory first, then peace.". But the Christians, following their Lord Jesus, said no, "Justice first, and peace will follow." This non-violence of the earliest Christians stood in stark contrast to the prevailing wisdom of the first century - and the 21st too.
Empire and Civilization.
Crossan then talks about the "normalcy" of violence even within "civilization." He offers some definitions of "civilization," citing a group of scholars who talk about civilization as "cage" and as "trap."
"Violence is bred by injustice, poverty, inequality, and other violence. A full belly and a fair hearing won't stop a fanatic, but they will greatly reduce the number who become fanatics."
The world has yet to see a civilization without violence. Is violence inevitable? Crossan says No, that "normalcy is not destiny." To support that he cites the history of monastic communities across time.
At the end of Chapter One he says that monastic communities are a living witness that violence is NOT inevitable, that they are non-violent alternatives. Also, that these coming few years will determine the fate of the world for many years to come - the 10,000 year experiment will stand or fall by what we do now.
The "ambiguity of divine power" - the rest of the book is about how the Bible views political, military, and ideological power.
Chapter Two: The Ambiguity of Divine Power
Crossan will be looking first at the Genesis story of creation -- not as a historical account of origins, but as parables about God and humankind.
Traditional interpretation (the kind that fundamentalists, evangelicals, Catholics and many others would espouse) understands the story to be about human pride: simple disobedience of a command of God (don't eat of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil). Crossan sees it as much more complex than that.
The two trees in the garden -- Moral Knowledge on the one hand, and Eternal Life on the other -- were reserved only for God. Humanity could have one or the other . . . but not both. When Adam and Eve eat of the forbidden tree they forfeit the Garden -- not so much as punishment, but as consequence. Armed with this new knowledge of Good and Evil they head out and . . . there is the first act of violence, the killing of Able by his brother Cain.
The Flood Story shows a God who uses violence to cleanse a sinful world. But does that violence (the killing of all humankind except one family) do any good? Crossan says No -- and thus begins the story of Abraham, a non-violent story of redemption.
Crossan sees a big difference between Retributive and Distributive justice -- punishment/revenge versus equality distribution. He cites a number of examples in the Old Testament to illustrate distributive justice: forbidding usury (loaning at interest), controlling collateral, freeing slaves, forgiving debts -- all built into the civil laws of the Jewish people in the Torah.
But there is also retributive justice -- a God who punishes, avenges. Both retributive justice and distributive justice co-exists with one another in the biblical texts. A violent God and a non-violent God is present, sometimes within the same chapter. Are we supposed to embrace both Gods? Crossan's thesis is that the Bible proposes a radically non-violent God "warring" against the normalcy of violent civilization.
He sees both a violent and a non-violent God in both the Hebrew and Christian scriptures. How does one choose? By choosing the way of the Christ -- Jesus trumps all other views; he chose non-violence, and we as his followers must do the same. See the last paragraph of Chapter Two.
Friday, December 3, 2010
A Radical Faith
If you’re looking for a new way of going at the Christian faith, Jacques Ellul is your man. He insists it is not new – that he has not “discovered” some truth that all previous generations have overlooked. He would point to many groups down through the centuries who dared to oppose the prevailing notion of the faith – as defined typically by the Church, that is, Rome. They longed for an authentic experience of God demonstrated in real life in acts of love, sacrifice, and justice. They sought to model a new kind of community, one marked not by hierarchy, legalism and power but by equality, love, and care for the poor.
Christendom has been seduced time and time again by power – power corrupts, says Ellul, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Instead of faith empowering people to live in trust and harmony and mutual care and respect, it has been more often a means for power, for control over others.
“God is love,” says 1 John, and Ellul takes this as his fundamental belief. Love requires freedom; God has given us that freedom so that we can love genuinely. And so any act of control, when one person or an institution such as a government or church deprives another of his or her freedom, is sinful – morally corrupt.
Thus, anarchy: radical freedom of the individual with regard to any institution. And in a statement that Sam Harris would like, Ellul says that “religion is an incontestable source of war.” (250 But by “religion” Ellul means a corrupted faith, one that seeks to destroy freedom, to make its adherents behave a certain way, especially in obedience to the officers of religion.
Ellul is careful to say that he is not a secular anarchist – the sort who seek to overthrow an institution only to replace it with another that will control people in new ways. His Christian faith – which includes belief in “sin, not the breaking of moral law but rather covetousness and power (20) – won’t allow him the optimistic view that humankind is capable of a purely anarchist society. “I do not believe in a pure anarchist society, but I do believe in the possibility of creating a new social model/” (21)
A brief essay in the Appendix by a priest, Adrien Duchosal, states the position most plainly:
“I reject all human hierarchy.” We congregationalist ought to warm to that! But further, and more radically for a person of traditional faith:
“I reject hierarchy between us and God.” And even further . . .
“Finally to accept or reject the existence of God is unimportant. What counts is having the taste and joy that live gives.” (98) That should take your breath away.
Ellul in the last half of the book is at pains to show that Christian anarchy is biblically based. He begins with the Hebrew Scriptures, especially noting that the beginning of the monarchy was not God’s idea, but the Israelites’ – so that they could be like the other nations. No good will come of it, says the Lord. And none did, says Ellul. So far from being instituted by God – Divine Right, we later called it – the monarchy was a human device only reluctantly allowed by God. (God gave us freedom to do dumb things, remember.)
In the gospels Ellul is most interested in how Jesus responded to the powers of his day, embodied in the religions rulers and by Pilate at his trial. That Jesus had nothing good to say about the former is certain. When confronted with Rome itself, Jesus said nothing – a contemptuous silence Ellul would say.
The book of Revelation, that strange piece of apocalyptic writing, portrays government – Rome, “Babylon” – as being against all that is good. Ellul (and an article in the Appendix) also addresses Romans 13 – “a very embarrassing passage” he says, page 86. Embarrassing because at first blush (and this is the way the Powers That Be have always read it for obvious reasons) Paul seems to be telling Christians to obey every authority as if they are God Himself.
Of course Romans 13 is “embarrassing” only to those who take the Bible (“cover to cover”) as the authoritative Word of God. Ellul despite he radical understanding of how Christian faith should be lived is nevertheless quite orthodox in his faith in many ways. He thus feels it important to show that his Christian anarchy is biblically based and supported by an authoritative scripture.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Jacques Ellul Should Shake You Up
We are beginning Ellul's Anarchy and Christianity. To set that in the context of our last six months' explorations, I offer the following.
To summarize where we’ve been, and why we’re here now:
In the grand scheme of things (MY grand scheme, such as it is) we have explored cognitive science – trying to have some idea of how this brain of ours works, especially with regard to religious impulse. Then we heard one of the leaders of the New Atheist movement – Sam Harris – as he called for renunciation of all religion, but especially fundamentalism, to be replaced by reason. He made room for spiritual, even mystical experience, and morality too, but all to be achieved by scientific research. Just for fun, here’s a great video of Steve Martin and the Step Canyon Rangers, performing “Atheists Don’t Have No Songs.”
Haught took aim at scientific naturalism like that of Harris, alleging that scientific, purely materialistic reason could not completely explain human experience. Something beyond us – God, we might say – beckons us on to emerging experiences. Human intelligence emerging from unintelligent matter, he said, was the greatest evidence for the existence of a god.
Our brains seem to be wired – or is it conditioned, a matter of contention – to be on the lookout for agents (natural or supernatural) acting in the world, from what can easily be explained (I shank a golf shot, I feel rage) to what provokes speechless awe (a view from the Hubble telescope) and seemingly defies explanation. Especially for people who, like me, whose brain is getting more clogged up every day. (Time to Defragment.)
Looking for a sufficient agent to account for our reality, we posit a God, or at least most people have. If I am prepared to explore that possibility (and have not ruled it out before giving the idea a chance – Haught’s charge against the scientific naturalists) then the next question is which God? -- the human race having come up with a variety of options.
Living where we are, we naturally look first to the Christian faith. And run smack into some ridiculous claims by its more vocal followers. Like the world is only 6K years old. And we hit a book that in places describes God more like an angry child than like a God I want to follow. Like when your son rebels, have him stoned – that’ll teach him.
Put off by the literalists – here I point you to this great sermon by one such practitioner, on a passage of interest especially to males, er, men -- many of us have dismissed the Bible and Christianity altogether. Thus , Marcus Borg’s contention that a modern person, without denying all that we have learned about science and culture and language, can read the Bible a new/old way.
Using the lens especially of metaphor, says Borg, modern people can reclaim a faith that is both intellectually sound and experientially satisfying. His book, Reading the Bible Again for the First Time, was an outline of Borg’s methodology and the faith he sees through a fresh reading of the Bible.
We now are looking at two contemporary theologians -- Jacques Ellul and John Dominic Crossan -- who put forth their understanding of Christianity, understandings that are quite different from mainline Protestant faith and, perhaps especially, Fundamentalists.
Ellul’s portrayal of faith is starkly contrarian – thoroughly and uncompromisingly opposed to “the Church” as expressed in Catholic and Protestant establishments. He says he has discovered nothing new – there have always been individuals and small movements who have protested against the authority of (and misdeeds of) institutionalized Christendom. Ellul’s understanding of Christianity is nothing like what we learned in Sunday School!
Thursday, November 4, 2010
So. Here’s What I Think. Part One.
1. The nature of “Knowing” and “Reality”
While there is some chance that what I am experiencing at this moment – looking out over Lake Winnebago, hearing some lovely music playing downstairs, savoring the taste of good coffee lingering on my tongue between sips, taking a call from a friend – is but a dream , that is, not “real” but something I am merely (!) imagining by the stunningly complex operations of my brain – while the world just might not be, I doubt it. The coffee just tastes too good to deny.
How do I “know” that? I just do. And most people agree with me on this, and that’s always nice. I disagree with a lot of people, this day after the election, and so am happy to find common ground on this most common of grounds (no, not coffee grounds), namely that the world around me, and me too is really here.
My knowing isn’t confined to the touchable and measurable. A bunch of it is, and I am thankful for the physical, technological advances that the scientific world has given me, especially, say, when I am in the dentist’s chair. Praise God for novocain, I say. And praise science too.
But there are other experiences that, to the best of my knowledge – and I admit my limitations here and everywhere else – are not subject to mere physical or chemical description. My experience of love and beauty and art and light and poetry; the way the brass sound the last verse of O Come All Ye Faithful on that one word, “Word of the Father now in flesh appearing . . .” and the sopranos are showering us with their angelic descant. A musician can describe it using the language of music theory (intervals and such), but that says nothing real about what that sound in that place at that moment accompanying those words does to me. I exaggerate. The theory is real too, but not in comparison with my experience of that sound.
I liked Haught’s description of layers of meaning, of truth. There is the perfectly true and very important, helpful scientific understanding of a campfire. For millennia we sat around those fires, oblivious to the chemistry of them. Now we know what fire is, chemically, and that’s nice. But that campfire means so much more, and has meant so much more to humans for millennia. And it is that so much more of the world that calls out for explanation, or some attempt at least.
I like to reserve the word “know” to the empirical, observable, factual parts of reality. Things I am sure of, can count on, or so it seems. I know I am aging. A quick survey of my face affirms that, if I needed any personal proof. I know my dog’s name is Pete, and that he is aging too, as he inhabits the same world I do. True enough there may come a time when I won’t be able to remember the name of my dog, but that is another matter. When I say I “know” something I am talking about the empirical realm. I don’t “know” anything, really, in the realm of the spirit.
The other word – like knowing, but very different – is “”believe.” I use this in both the physical world and spiritual world. “I believe it is 10:00" means that while I haven’t looked at my watch recently I’m pretty sure it’s around 10:00. A glance at my watch, if I have faith that it is reliable timepiece, and I can say, with certainty, “It’s 10:00.” I believe things about the physical, observable world that I am pretty sure of, but wouldn’t bet a cow on.
In the spiritual realm I will always use believe. Because the spirit realm is not subject to any proofs I know.
Two helpful words here, one I just used – “certainty” – and “certitude.”
Certainty arises from external evidence of the truth of a statement. The more the evidence, the stronger the evidence, the more certain I can be about a matter. Because it is external evidence, others can see it, and their observations together with mine encourages my certainty. To use perhaps the most obvious of examples: The sun “comes up” every morning. I am certain of that because it has done it every day of my life. Based on my experience and that of the rest of humanity, I am certain it will “rise” tomorrow. I may not be here to see it, but others will be. And even if there were no people to see it, the sun would “rise.” We can be certain of that, can’t we?
Certitude may be supported by external evidence, experience. But it takes into account interior, subjective experience as well. It does not require scientific proof, support, evidence, but may be glad to have it. No matter, though: certitude is a feeling that something is true and real. A person can have a feeling of certitude, say, that there is a God out there. They really can’t be certain – there is no scientific “proof” for God. God can’t be demonstrated to the world, at will, every day. But still millions of people have had this feeling within that there is something, someone beyond.
Certitude may be, and often is I suppose, placed in the wrong things. There are people who every week, despite the overwhelming mathematical odds against it – and they know it – give money (large sums too) to the State of Wisconsin because they feel inside – they are “certain” – they will win the lottery. That’s certitude. That’s not smart.
I know some things about reality with certainty.
I believe other things about reality with certitude. Sometimes that certitude is very strong. Other times no so much.
2. God
Do I know there is a God? No. The world looks to me like there is a God – the complexities, beauties, mysteries, from the vastness (infinite?) of space (the photos from the Hubble telescope leave me speechless, see http://hubblesite.org/gallery/album/entire ) to what I am told about subatomic worlds, seem to force me to posit a creative Mind behind, within it. I seem to long for not an “explanation” but at least some idea of where this all came from. And God seems to be as good a theory as any. No certainty here. But some growing certitude.
Some very bright people do offer alternative theories. Richard Dawkins is the most outspoken of these folk, and he is very bright indeed. But frankly I am not smart enough even to read, let alone intelligently evaluate their theories. Such discussions take place in a rarefied atmosphere that relatively few people in the world have the smarts to participate in. That’s not saying they are wrong. It is saying that their conversation is accessible to few of us, and I am not one of them. It should be remembered that their theories, while arising from scientific observation, are yet theories – not a lot of certainty here either, given the disagreements among theorists and the changes their theories seem to regularly undergo. Being very smart doesn't necessarily mean being correct, although it doesn't hurt.
I’d like to say that I believe in God because of my careful, systematic, rigorous exploration of the evidence and theories offered pro and con. I’ve done a little of that – a fair amount of questioning my own religious tradition. But let’s be honest here. I believe primarily because I was raised in a home where belief in God was assumed, taught – and lived. I spent most of my childhood (I exaggerate again) in church, singing songs about God, hearing prayers to God, listening to testimonies about God. Fortunately I saw that faith lived out in good ways – these were decent, caring people who built their lives around their faith community and – as far as frail human beings can – genuinely loved each other and the world.
I resisted that faith as a high schooler, but pretty quickly returned to it and found a place in the Christian community. In fact I became a professional believer – a pastor. So belief in God has worked pretty well for me!
Along the way I have studied reasons for faith – “evidence” both for belief in God in general and the Christian God in particular. But I expect that my basic belief arose from my earliest years – from my being nurtured into faith – much more from careful study of the issues.
3. Is Belief in God Necessary?
Harris forcefully argued that religion – the traditional expressions of the major religions – contrary to helping people live ethically has caused an enormous amount of suffering – unethical living. The history of faith is replete with rampant and horrific abuses of faith. That has usually happened when people in power pretend to know more than they do – are certain of things that no one can be certain of. Fundamentalism pretends to know the mind and ways of God, and purports to speak for God in the world. That is a ridiculous claim.
Is belief in God necessary for a person to live a morally good life? No. There are people who by the force of their minds –reason – and the goodness of their hearts live moral lives. By that I guess I mean lives that take into account the good of the community rather than merely themselves, are able to live for the happiness and welfare of others, and not just themselves. There are plenty of good non-believers around. Better people often than the mean-spirited and ill informed Christians I see on the news every day.
There are a lot of folks, though, who need a religion to give a structure, a reason, a compass from outside of themselves to live morally good lives. What I call good religion - no matter the brand – can be a powerful means of reigning in some of humankind’s darker inclinations and encouraging, even rewarding our brighter side. (Some of the great non-religious leaders and nations of our time haven’t done a very good job of it morally. Think Joe Stalin, Chairman Mao.)
Religion can provide an impetus to moral living. From the lowest of motivations (God will roast you if you are bad) to more laudable motives (for the betterment of society, to help my neighbor, to follow the example of my Teacher), religion can make the world more livable. And that’s a good thing.
But of course religion has also provided great motivation for evil living – from the Spanish Inquisition to our invasion of Iraq cheered on by the likes of evangelist John Hagee and his ilk. Religious motivation can go both ways.
To summarize: I believe there is a Holy Presence that began and is continuing to be create the worlds around me. Could be wrong – not certain. But something inside compels me to believe in that Mystery above and within all things. That belief offers me some comfort, a purpose, and calls me to live responsibly and morally in the world.
To be continued . . . .
While there is some chance that what I am experiencing at this moment – looking out over Lake Winnebago, hearing some lovely music playing downstairs, savoring the taste of good coffee lingering on my tongue between sips, taking a call from a friend – is but a dream , that is, not “real” but something I am merely (!) imagining by the stunningly complex operations of my brain – while the world just might not be, I doubt it. The coffee just tastes too good to deny.
How do I “know” that? I just do. And most people agree with me on this, and that’s always nice. I disagree with a lot of people, this day after the election, and so am happy to find common ground on this most common of grounds (no, not coffee grounds), namely that the world around me, and me too is really here.
My knowing isn’t confined to the touchable and measurable. A bunch of it is, and I am thankful for the physical, technological advances that the scientific world has given me, especially, say, when I am in the dentist’s chair. Praise God for novocain, I say. And praise science too.
But there are other experiences that, to the best of my knowledge – and I admit my limitations here and everywhere else – are not subject to mere physical or chemical description. My experience of love and beauty and art and light and poetry; the way the brass sound the last verse of O Come All Ye Faithful on that one word, “Word of the Father now in flesh appearing . . .” and the sopranos are showering us with their angelic descant. A musician can describe it using the language of music theory (intervals and such), but that says nothing real about what that sound in that place at that moment accompanying those words does to me. I exaggerate. The theory is real too, but not in comparison with my experience of that sound.
I liked Haught’s description of layers of meaning, of truth. There is the perfectly true and very important, helpful scientific understanding of a campfire. For millennia we sat around those fires, oblivious to the chemistry of them. Now we know what fire is, chemically, and that’s nice. But that campfire means so much more, and has meant so much more to humans for millennia. And it is that so much more of the world that calls out for explanation, or some attempt at least.
I like to reserve the word “know” to the empirical, observable, factual parts of reality. Things I am sure of, can count on, or so it seems. I know I am aging. A quick survey of my face affirms that, if I needed any personal proof. I know my dog’s name is Pete, and that he is aging too, as he inhabits the same world I do. True enough there may come a time when I won’t be able to remember the name of my dog, but that is another matter. When I say I “know” something I am talking about the empirical realm. I don’t “know” anything, really, in the realm of the spirit.
The other word – like knowing, but very different – is “”believe.” I use this in both the physical world and spiritual world. “I believe it is 10:00" means that while I haven’t looked at my watch recently I’m pretty sure it’s around 10:00. A glance at my watch, if I have faith that it is reliable timepiece, and I can say, with certainty, “It’s 10:00.” I believe things about the physical, observable world that I am pretty sure of, but wouldn’t bet a cow on.
In the spiritual realm I will always use believe. Because the spirit realm is not subject to any proofs I know.
Two helpful words here, one I just used – “certainty” – and “certitude.”
Certainty arises from external evidence of the truth of a statement. The more the evidence, the stronger the evidence, the more certain I can be about a matter. Because it is external evidence, others can see it, and their observations together with mine encourages my certainty. To use perhaps the most obvious of examples: The sun “comes up” every morning. I am certain of that because it has done it every day of my life. Based on my experience and that of the rest of humanity, I am certain it will “rise” tomorrow. I may not be here to see it, but others will be. And even if there were no people to see it, the sun would “rise.” We can be certain of that, can’t we?
Certitude may be supported by external evidence, experience. But it takes into account interior, subjective experience as well. It does not require scientific proof, support, evidence, but may be glad to have it. No matter, though: certitude is a feeling that something is true and real. A person can have a feeling of certitude, say, that there is a God out there. They really can’t be certain – there is no scientific “proof” for God. God can’t be demonstrated to the world, at will, every day. But still millions of people have had this feeling within that there is something, someone beyond.
Certitude may be, and often is I suppose, placed in the wrong things. There are people who every week, despite the overwhelming mathematical odds against it – and they know it – give money (large sums too) to the State of Wisconsin because they feel inside – they are “certain” – they will win the lottery. That’s certitude. That’s not smart.
I know some things about reality with certainty.
I believe other things about reality with certitude. Sometimes that certitude is very strong. Other times no so much.
2. God
Do I know there is a God? No. The world looks to me like there is a God – the complexities, beauties, mysteries, from the vastness (infinite?) of space (the photos from the Hubble telescope leave me speechless, see http://hubblesite.org/gallery/album/entire ) to what I am told about subatomic worlds, seem to force me to posit a creative Mind behind, within it. I seem to long for not an “explanation” but at least some idea of where this all came from. And God seems to be as good a theory as any. No certainty here. But some growing certitude.
Some very bright people do offer alternative theories. Richard Dawkins is the most outspoken of these folk, and he is very bright indeed. But frankly I am not smart enough even to read, let alone intelligently evaluate their theories. Such discussions take place in a rarefied atmosphere that relatively few people in the world have the smarts to participate in. That’s not saying they are wrong. It is saying that their conversation is accessible to few of us, and I am not one of them. It should be remembered that their theories, while arising from scientific observation, are yet theories – not a lot of certainty here either, given the disagreements among theorists and the changes their theories seem to regularly undergo. Being very smart doesn't necessarily mean being correct, although it doesn't hurt.
I’d like to say that I believe in God because of my careful, systematic, rigorous exploration of the evidence and theories offered pro and con. I’ve done a little of that – a fair amount of questioning my own religious tradition. But let’s be honest here. I believe primarily because I was raised in a home where belief in God was assumed, taught – and lived. I spent most of my childhood (I exaggerate again) in church, singing songs about God, hearing prayers to God, listening to testimonies about God. Fortunately I saw that faith lived out in good ways – these were decent, caring people who built their lives around their faith community and – as far as frail human beings can – genuinely loved each other and the world.
I resisted that faith as a high schooler, but pretty quickly returned to it and found a place in the Christian community. In fact I became a professional believer – a pastor. So belief in God has worked pretty well for me!
Along the way I have studied reasons for faith – “evidence” both for belief in God in general and the Christian God in particular. But I expect that my basic belief arose from my earliest years – from my being nurtured into faith – much more from careful study of the issues.
3. Is Belief in God Necessary?
Harris forcefully argued that religion – the traditional expressions of the major religions – contrary to helping people live ethically has caused an enormous amount of suffering – unethical living. The history of faith is replete with rampant and horrific abuses of faith. That has usually happened when people in power pretend to know more than they do – are certain of things that no one can be certain of. Fundamentalism pretends to know the mind and ways of God, and purports to speak for God in the world. That is a ridiculous claim.
Is belief in God necessary for a person to live a morally good life? No. There are people who by the force of their minds –reason – and the goodness of their hearts live moral lives. By that I guess I mean lives that take into account the good of the community rather than merely themselves, are able to live for the happiness and welfare of others, and not just themselves. There are plenty of good non-believers around. Better people often than the mean-spirited and ill informed Christians I see on the news every day.
There are a lot of folks, though, who need a religion to give a structure, a reason, a compass from outside of themselves to live morally good lives. What I call good religion - no matter the brand – can be a powerful means of reigning in some of humankind’s darker inclinations and encouraging, even rewarding our brighter side. (Some of the great non-religious leaders and nations of our time haven’t done a very good job of it morally. Think Joe Stalin, Chairman Mao.)
Religion can provide an impetus to moral living. From the lowest of motivations (God will roast you if you are bad) to more laudable motives (for the betterment of society, to help my neighbor, to follow the example of my Teacher), religion can make the world more livable. And that’s a good thing.
But of course religion has also provided great motivation for evil living – from the Spanish Inquisition to our invasion of Iraq cheered on by the likes of evangelist John Hagee and his ilk. Religious motivation can go both ways.
To summarize: I believe there is a Holy Presence that began and is continuing to be create the worlds around me. Could be wrong – not certain. But something inside compels me to believe in that Mystery above and within all things. That belief offers me some comfort, a purpose, and calls me to live responsibly and morally in the world.
To be continued . . . .
Saturday, October 9, 2010
What's Next?
We will be pushing on into and through the "New Testament" for the next meeting . . . I encourage you to read that section, and also Borg's section on the "Old" Testament if you haven't done that yet. The "New" is based on the "Old" and so it's important to have an idea of the major stories and themes of the Hebrew Scriptures if we are to grapple with Christianity well.
When we finish the Borg book . . . what next? Here's a book just out that strikes my fancy: see what you think! Krasny, who seems to have lots of good credentials, is neither in the new atheism camp nor the believing camp . . . but tries to understand both in his own spiritual journey. You can see the Table of Contents, the Index (quite extensive), and read the first chapter at Amazon.
Another possibility: Anarchy and Christianity, by Jacques Ellul. Recommended by Mick: 
A book recommended by Brian: God and Empire: Jesus Against Rome then and Now. This expands what Borg said talking about God and Caesar.
When we finish the Borg book . . . what next? Here's a book just out that strikes my fancy: see what you think! Krasny, who seems to have lots of good credentials, is neither in the new atheism camp nor the believing camp . . . but tries to understand both in his own spiritual journey. You can see the Table of Contents, the Index (quite extensive), and read the first chapter at Amazon.
Another possibility: Anarchy and Christianity, by Jacques Ellul. Recommended by Mick: A book recommended by Brian: God and Empire: Jesus Against Rome then and Now. This expands what Borg said talking about God and Caesar.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Sacred "treasure" always in earthen vessels
Quaker writer Parker Palmer talks about an image that St. Paul used 2000 years ago when he said, "We have this treasure [the sacred, the presence of God, the Spirit, an experience with the Holy . . . or whatever else one may call it] in earthen vessels." Frail, transitory "vessels" that "hold" the Holy -- be they words or metaphors or rituals, religions -- are not what is Holy, sacred. They are important, but they are not the Holy.
Our religions -- our sacred texts, our traditions, our ways of "understanding" God . . . these are always incomplete, flawed, misleading, and subject to all sorts of abuse. But they are what we have.
Palmer writes,
"Every container we create to hold the sacred treasure is earthen, finite, limited and flawed -- and is it never to be confused with the treasure itself lest we confuse God's power with our own. These containers include everything from the words and propositions that constitute our theologies and creeds, to the forms our worship takes . . . "
"If our containers prove too crimped and cramped to hold the treasure well, if they domesticate the sacred and keep us from having a live encounter with it . . . then our containers must be smashed and discarded so we can create a larger and more life-giving vessel in which to hold the treasure."
He tells of an old Celtic story about a monk who died and was interred in the monastery wall. Three days later, the monks head noises coming from inside the crypt. When they removed the stone they found their brother alive. He was full of wonderment, saying, "Oh, brothers, I've been there! I've seen it! And it's nothing at all like the way our theology says it is!" So they put him back in the wall and sealed the crypt again.
Our religions -- our sacred texts, our traditions, our ways of "understanding" God . . . these are always incomplete, flawed, misleading, and subject to all sorts of abuse. But they are what we have.
Palmer writes,
"Every container we create to hold the sacred treasure is earthen, finite, limited and flawed -- and is it never to be confused with the treasure itself lest we confuse God's power with our own. These containers include everything from the words and propositions that constitute our theologies and creeds, to the forms our worship takes . . . "
"If our containers prove too crimped and cramped to hold the treasure well, if they domesticate the sacred and keep us from having a live encounter with it . . . then our containers must be smashed and discarded so we can create a larger and more life-giving vessel in which to hold the treasure."
He tells of an old Celtic story about a monk who died and was interred in the monastery wall. Three days later, the monks head noises coming from inside the crypt. When they removed the stone they found their brother alive. He was full of wonderment, saying, "Oh, brothers, I've been there! I've seen it! And it's nothing at all like the way our theology says it is!" So they put him back in the wall and sealed the crypt again.
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