Saturday, July 01, 2006
The "J----" word
A search of this Blog (admittedly not a thick tome) since I started it finds that I have used the word "Jesus" only 5 times in its postings so far. A search of "Google" for Jesus came up with "about" 230,000,000 occurences. Clearly, any new Christianity has to include Jesus, but the question is how/where/in what way? Dr. Spong writes of the "domino effect" that occurs when we knock down any central religious idea. Clearly the rain of falling dominoes does not have to go very far before the traditional Jesus and millions of derivatives join in.
It is pretty clear that, from the first, the people who came to call themselves Christians struggled with the just who and what Jesus was/is. Episcopalians are pretty familiar with the creeds. Every Sunday's liturgy of the Eucharist includes a recitation of the Nicene Creed as a mandatory inclusion. (It is not a "may" sort of rubric). The so-called Apostle's creed makes its appearance in the daily office and Baptismal liturgies. The "Historical Documents" section of the American prayerbook includes the Chalcedonian formulation as well as the Athanasian Creed. In essence, the composers of the credal statements had a central purpose. Yes, they wanted to make a statement about who is/was Jesus, but more importantly, they wanted to make it clear who/what Jesus is not. Prior to these creeds, there were may different answers to these questions, but the church authorities felt it essential to get this worked out. It was generally accepted that the Chalcedonian formulation was a sort of ecclesiastical "last word" on the subject. All the orthodox could breathe a collective sigh of relief on having settled this sticky issue and get on to being good little Christians from that point on. The "Credo" was no longer a statement about committment, but an intellectual assent to some core "facts" about Christianity. Assent to the facts was required to be an authentic or true Christian. Denial of any of these branded one as a heretic.
Unfortunately, in the minds of the rigidly orthodox, we moderns have been chipping away at the credal definitions for some time now. Once we could stop accepting the words of the Hebrew Bible and the Christian New Testament as literally true and inerrant, we began to see there was far from unanimity with regard to how the early church thought of Jesus. Mark, the earliest of the gospels, mentions nothing about the miraculous birth narrative of Jesus. Paul is hard to piece together, but he seems to have a sort of "adoptionist" view of Jesus, perhaps. Clearly, if those who were temporally closest to Jesus could not "get it together," it is rather foolish to think of the Nicene and Chalcedonian formulations as the "last word" on the subject.
The "Quest for the historical Jesus" in modern biblical scholarship has given us some fascinating insights, perhaps, into the "original" Jesus, but ultimately comes down at the end to a lot of speculation. We have very few "hard facts" about Jesus other than a general assent to the existence of an historical individual by that name who lived in the early years of what we now call the "common era" and who seemed to be a sort of religious teacher, perhaps, had disciples, fell out somehow with the political and/or religious authorities and was executed while still a relatively young man. He left no authentic writings. None of the writings about him are strictly contemporary. The first "Gospels" that tell the story of his life and teachings were written a number of years after he was dead. There is great debate about which, if any, of the words attributed to him in these Gospels he may have actually spoken. It does not take too long living in the "Historical Jesus Club" to get a certain sense of futility about the whole thing – simply that it will likely never be possible to really "know" the historical Jesus.
What then am I to do with Jesus?
First, we must admit that the adoption of a non-theistic view knocks "Jesus" down a number of rungs on the ladder of religious exaltation. I cannot afirm the conception of the God who homo factus est. The bodily resurrection "on the third day" or "after three days" seems a piece of religious fantasy as does the cosmological ascension into the divine sphere over the dome of the sky, the ability to suspend the laws of physics in making nature miracles, the predicted return on the "clouds of heaven," and I could go on for a long time. I think that I can safely agree that Jesus was a human person. Whatever he may really have said, the "experience" of Jesus continued after his physical death as a "spiritual reality" for people who have done extraordinary things. It has been a reality that has led many to accept self-destruction rather than deny their allegiance to a dead individual. The religion about him has been the dominant religion of the post-classical western world and is a central mover of our entire post-classical history. He is a figure at the center of great art and music. Countless volumes have been written about him. Even today, people remain fascinated with him in both intellectual and experiental ways.
Clearly, this is "one important dude" that we need to get to terms with, even if we are not trying to claim, in some sense, to be "Christian" in a religious outlook. I can no more dismiss Jesus from a religious perspective than I can ignore Mohammed, Siddhartha Gautama the Buddha, Lao Zi, and others. I must admit, though, that I have a hard time deciding where Jesus goes in the Christian non-theist camp. If I want to accept him as a great teacher, then naturally I would want to study his teachings. Uh-oh, just what were his teachings? If I am to revere him as "Master" then for what reason am I to adopt this posture of submission?
In a non-theistic Christianity, I would suspect that we could have some common ground with Buddhism. Buddhists too have spent quite a bit of time on a similar who/what and was/is the Buddha question. The basic story/facts of his existence seem to be reasonably well-known, but is is pretty clear that nothing close to the amount of words attributed to him could he have actually spoken. Just as in the many branches of Christianity, there are different formulations of his central "message" and how to practice that message in our own lives. I cannot, of course, forget Lin Chi's famous instructions, however, to his monk who reported seeing the Buddha in a vision while walking on the road. "If you see the Buddha on the road, kill him!" The second, less-quoted part is, "And burn all the sutras." This would suggest that perhaps the "finding the real Buddha" is a misdirected endeavor. Maybe we can find a kinship in our "search for the real Jesus." For the moment, it might be best that we should engage a little suspension in the search for a definition. We need a little of the "Credo" in the older sense of commitment rather than assent to a formulation. It may be that we should adapt Lin Chi and say, "If you meet Jesus on the road, kill him!"
Jeffrey Shy
(Is Jesus a four-letter word?)
Mesa, Arizona
It is pretty clear that, from the first, the people who came to call themselves Christians struggled with the just who and what Jesus was/is. Episcopalians are pretty familiar with the creeds. Every Sunday's liturgy of the Eucharist includes a recitation of the Nicene Creed as a mandatory inclusion. (It is not a "may" sort of rubric). The so-called Apostle's creed makes its appearance in the daily office and Baptismal liturgies. The "Historical Documents" section of the American prayerbook includes the Chalcedonian formulation as well as the Athanasian Creed. In essence, the composers of the credal statements had a central purpose. Yes, they wanted to make a statement about who is/was Jesus, but more importantly, they wanted to make it clear who/what Jesus is not. Prior to these creeds, there were may different answers to these questions, but the church authorities felt it essential to get this worked out. It was generally accepted that the Chalcedonian formulation was a sort of ecclesiastical "last word" on the subject. All the orthodox could breathe a collective sigh of relief on having settled this sticky issue and get on to being good little Christians from that point on. The "Credo" was no longer a statement about committment, but an intellectual assent to some core "facts" about Christianity. Assent to the facts was required to be an authentic or true Christian. Denial of any of these branded one as a heretic.
Unfortunately, in the minds of the rigidly orthodox, we moderns have been chipping away at the credal definitions for some time now. Once we could stop accepting the words of the Hebrew Bible and the Christian New Testament as literally true and inerrant, we began to see there was far from unanimity with regard to how the early church thought of Jesus. Mark, the earliest of the gospels, mentions nothing about the miraculous birth narrative of Jesus. Paul is hard to piece together, but he seems to have a sort of "adoptionist" view of Jesus, perhaps. Clearly, if those who were temporally closest to Jesus could not "get it together," it is rather foolish to think of the Nicene and Chalcedonian formulations as the "last word" on the subject.
The "Quest for the historical Jesus" in modern biblical scholarship has given us some fascinating insights, perhaps, into the "original" Jesus, but ultimately comes down at the end to a lot of speculation. We have very few "hard facts" about Jesus other than a general assent to the existence of an historical individual by that name who lived in the early years of what we now call the "common era" and who seemed to be a sort of religious teacher, perhaps, had disciples, fell out somehow with the political and/or religious authorities and was executed while still a relatively young man. He left no authentic writings. None of the writings about him are strictly contemporary. The first "Gospels" that tell the story of his life and teachings were written a number of years after he was dead. There is great debate about which, if any, of the words attributed to him in these Gospels he may have actually spoken. It does not take too long living in the "Historical Jesus Club" to get a certain sense of futility about the whole thing – simply that it will likely never be possible to really "know" the historical Jesus.
What then am I to do with Jesus?
First, we must admit that the adoption of a non-theistic view knocks "Jesus" down a number of rungs on the ladder of religious exaltation. I cannot afirm the conception of the God who homo factus est. The bodily resurrection "on the third day" or "after three days" seems a piece of religious fantasy as does the cosmological ascension into the divine sphere over the dome of the sky, the ability to suspend the laws of physics in making nature miracles, the predicted return on the "clouds of heaven," and I could go on for a long time. I think that I can safely agree that Jesus was a human person. Whatever he may really have said, the "experience" of Jesus continued after his physical death as a "spiritual reality" for people who have done extraordinary things. It has been a reality that has led many to accept self-destruction rather than deny their allegiance to a dead individual. The religion about him has been the dominant religion of the post-classical western world and is a central mover of our entire post-classical history. He is a figure at the center of great art and music. Countless volumes have been written about him. Even today, people remain fascinated with him in both intellectual and experiental ways.
Clearly, this is "one important dude" that we need to get to terms with, even if we are not trying to claim, in some sense, to be "Christian" in a religious outlook. I can no more dismiss Jesus from a religious perspective than I can ignore Mohammed, Siddhartha Gautama the Buddha, Lao Zi, and others. I must admit, though, that I have a hard time deciding where Jesus goes in the Christian non-theist camp. If I want to accept him as a great teacher, then naturally I would want to study his teachings. Uh-oh, just what were his teachings? If I am to revere him as "Master" then for what reason am I to adopt this posture of submission?
In a non-theistic Christianity, I would suspect that we could have some common ground with Buddhism. Buddhists too have spent quite a bit of time on a similar who/what and was/is the Buddha question. The basic story/facts of his existence seem to be reasonably well-known, but is is pretty clear that nothing close to the amount of words attributed to him could he have actually spoken. Just as in the many branches of Christianity, there are different formulations of his central "message" and how to practice that message in our own lives. I cannot, of course, forget Lin Chi's famous instructions, however, to his monk who reported seeing the Buddha in a vision while walking on the road. "If you see the Buddha on the road, kill him!" The second, less-quoted part is, "And burn all the sutras." This would suggest that perhaps the "finding the real Buddha" is a misdirected endeavor. Maybe we can find a kinship in our "search for the real Jesus." For the moment, it might be best that we should engage a little suspension in the search for a definition. We need a little of the "Credo" in the older sense of commitment rather than assent to a formulation. It may be that we should adapt Lin Chi and say, "If you meet Jesus on the road, kill him!"
Jeffrey Shy
(Is Jesus a four-letter word?)
Mesa, Arizona
Friday, June 30, 2006
Are we there yet?
I had intended this morning to re-read as much as possible of the chapter in Karen Armstrong's book, A History of God, on the "God of the Philosophers," but rather absentmindedly, I left it on my desk in my work office, so that it was unaccesible to me. I picked up, instead, Paul Tillich's book, The Eternal Now. It is, perhaps, a testament to laziness that the price on the cover of my trade paperback version is $2.95, and I have never completely read the whole book. I suspect that, at the time I bought it, I got it because some older (and probably wiser) individual had spoken of his/her admiration for Tillich, and I was just imitating. I also suspect that, at the time, I was rather still immersed, as it were, in the theistic God, and Tillich's gentle despair and quiet hope did not quite so much appeal to me at the time.
As I struggle with the philosophical discussion of "God" and religion and Christianity, I am always holding in the opposite hand the "practical" side of things. By this, I do not necessarily mean a "faith and works" dichotomy such that this opposite hand is that of "ethical action" like some sort of divinely inspired social work. That certainly is included, but it is more than that. Once again, it is the direct "experience" of "God." "the spirit," "the numinous," "the holy,"---call it what you will. Furthermore, it is the fundamental question of "Is there a religious experience, or it is all just delusional?" There is, of course, a deep paradox at the very center of this. How can I experience something that "is not?" If "God" or "the numinous" does not exist, then how can I experience it?
But before I fall into the silence that seems to descend every time we encounter one of these "Christian Koans," maybe I should go back to Tillich for a second. It was in thinking about "experiential" religion, that I was drawn to read his sermon "Spiritual Presence." First, his definition:
For Spirit is first of all power, the power that drives the human spirit above itself towards what it cannot attain by itself, the love that is greater than all other gifts, the truth in which the depth of being opens itself to us, the holy that is the manifestation of the presence of the ultimate.
Tillich then introduces a discussant who objects to his "definition" of Spirit:
...What I hear from you sounds like ecstasy; and I want to stay sober. It sounds like mystery, and I try to illuminate what is dark. It sounds like self-sacrifice and I want to fulfill my human possibilities.
Tillich goes on to admit that "Spiritual power" does all of these things (i.e. provoke ecstasy, invoke mystery, inspire self-sacrifice), but it does a great deal more as well. In a long series of examples, he goes on to credit this "spiritual" power as the motivator/mover/ground of all sorts of ways in which humans exceed their lowest or most base or self-serving motives. (Dare I suggest the term "transcendence" for this?) I'll give a few examples (with lots of omissions):
The Spirit can work in you with a soft but insistent voice, telling you that your life is empty and meaningless, but that there are chances of a new life waiting before the door of your inner self....The Spirit can work in you, awakening the desire to strive towards the sublime against the profanity of the average day. The Spirit can reveal to you that you have hurt somebody deeply, but it also can give you the right word that reunites him with you...The Spirit can make you love...someone you profoundly dislike or in whom you have no interest..
For Tillich, this Spiritual power or presence is always there, in, around, under, through all that is. "Mostly it is moving air, always present, not always noticed." It is a good experiential "argument" of rather the "movement" requires a "mover" and inasmuch as these "movements" are not always particularly the "low road" then a "higher mover" than ourselves may be reasponsible for them. It is that "something" that makes us try to be "more" than selfish, and it is that "something" that makes us feel badly when we ignore it and act in a self-serving way to the harm of others.
After this, however, his sermon takes a fascinating turn. It is the "Spiritual Presence" that is the reason for our experience of the "absent God." Tillich again:
It is the work of the Spirit that removes God from our sight, not only for some men, but sometimes for many in a particular period. We live in an era in which the God we know is the absent God. But in knowing God as the absent God, we know of Him; we feel His absence as the empty space that is left by something or someone that once belonged to us and has now vanished from our view....when our awareness of Him has become shallow, habitual--not warm and not cold--when He has become too familiar to be exciting....then He becomes the absent God. The Spirit has not ceased to be present. The Spiritual Presence can never end. But the Spirit of God hides God from our sight. ..the Spirit shows us nothing except the absent God, and the empty space...
I must give him credit for what is a pretty good argument against religious authority that seeks to defend "the deposit of faith" like it was some sort of celestial financial grant that has to be invested very cautiously always making sure that the "principal" is not put at risk. Here Tillich makes the "Spirit of God" that which is responsible for the "absence of God." Put again, it is God himself who snuffs out God. If God is the "ultimate authority" (for those who think like that), then it is hard to argue with him when his Spirit says that he does not exist. (Oh no, another "Christian Koan.")
Tillich concludes his sermon with a cautionary note, as it were, about the "works of the spirit." In trying to answer what this spirtual life is like, he first proposes and then rejects many "traditional" answers. We could say, traditionally for example, that the works of the Spirit are "Faith" or "Hope" or "Love."
But if I used such words, the shadow of the absent God would appear and make you and me aware that we cannot speak like this today. If we did, freedom would be distorted into willfulness, faith into belief in the absurd, hope into unreal expectations, and love--the word I would most like to use for the creation of the Spirit--into sentimental feeling. The Spirit must give us new words, or revitalize old words to express true life. We must wait for them; we must pray for them; we cannot force them.
Impatience makes me want these words now. It is rather like the old car trip joke where the kids keep asking, "Are we there yet?" And, make no mistake (did I just use President Bush's favorite phrase?---gads), I want, perhaps desire to get there. In the meantime, however, I must be careful not to forget to enjoy the view on the way.
Jeffrey Shy
"I'm not there yet"
Mesa, Arizona
As I struggle with the philosophical discussion of "God" and religion and Christianity, I am always holding in the opposite hand the "practical" side of things. By this, I do not necessarily mean a "faith and works" dichotomy such that this opposite hand is that of "ethical action" like some sort of divinely inspired social work. That certainly is included, but it is more than that. Once again, it is the direct "experience" of "God." "the spirit," "the numinous," "the holy,"---call it what you will. Furthermore, it is the fundamental question of "Is there a religious experience, or it is all just delusional?" There is, of course, a deep paradox at the very center of this. How can I experience something that "is not?" If "God" or "the numinous" does not exist, then how can I experience it?
But before I fall into the silence that seems to descend every time we encounter one of these "Christian Koans," maybe I should go back to Tillich for a second. It was in thinking about "experiential" religion, that I was drawn to read his sermon "Spiritual Presence." First, his definition:
For Spirit is first of all power, the power that drives the human spirit above itself towards what it cannot attain by itself, the love that is greater than all other gifts, the truth in which the depth of being opens itself to us, the holy that is the manifestation of the presence of the ultimate.
Tillich then introduces a discussant who objects to his "definition" of Spirit:
...What I hear from you sounds like ecstasy; and I want to stay sober. It sounds like mystery, and I try to illuminate what is dark. It sounds like self-sacrifice and I want to fulfill my human possibilities.
Tillich goes on to admit that "Spiritual power" does all of these things (i.e. provoke ecstasy, invoke mystery, inspire self-sacrifice), but it does a great deal more as well. In a long series of examples, he goes on to credit this "spiritual" power as the motivator/mover/ground of all sorts of ways in which humans exceed their lowest or most base or self-serving motives. (Dare I suggest the term "transcendence" for this?) I'll give a few examples (with lots of omissions):
The Spirit can work in you with a soft but insistent voice, telling you that your life is empty and meaningless, but that there are chances of a new life waiting before the door of your inner self....The Spirit can work in you, awakening the desire to strive towards the sublime against the profanity of the average day. The Spirit can reveal to you that you have hurt somebody deeply, but it also can give you the right word that reunites him with you...The Spirit can make you love...someone you profoundly dislike or in whom you have no interest..
For Tillich, this Spiritual power or presence is always there, in, around, under, through all that is. "Mostly it is moving air, always present, not always noticed." It is a good experiential "argument" of rather the "movement" requires a "mover" and inasmuch as these "movements" are not always particularly the "low road" then a "higher mover" than ourselves may be reasponsible for them. It is that "something" that makes us try to be "more" than selfish, and it is that "something" that makes us feel badly when we ignore it and act in a self-serving way to the harm of others.
After this, however, his sermon takes a fascinating turn. It is the "Spiritual Presence" that is the reason for our experience of the "absent God." Tillich again:
It is the work of the Spirit that removes God from our sight, not only for some men, but sometimes for many in a particular period. We live in an era in which the God we know is the absent God. But in knowing God as the absent God, we know of Him; we feel His absence as the empty space that is left by something or someone that once belonged to us and has now vanished from our view....when our awareness of Him has become shallow, habitual--not warm and not cold--when He has become too familiar to be exciting....then He becomes the absent God. The Spirit has not ceased to be present. The Spiritual Presence can never end. But the Spirit of God hides God from our sight. ..the Spirit shows us nothing except the absent God, and the empty space...
I must give him credit for what is a pretty good argument against religious authority that seeks to defend "the deposit of faith" like it was some sort of celestial financial grant that has to be invested very cautiously always making sure that the "principal" is not put at risk. Here Tillich makes the "Spirit of God" that which is responsible for the "absence of God." Put again, it is God himself who snuffs out God. If God is the "ultimate authority" (for those who think like that), then it is hard to argue with him when his Spirit says that he does not exist. (Oh no, another "Christian Koan.")
Tillich concludes his sermon with a cautionary note, as it were, about the "works of the spirit." In trying to answer what this spirtual life is like, he first proposes and then rejects many "traditional" answers. We could say, traditionally for example, that the works of the Spirit are "Faith" or "Hope" or "Love."
But if I used such words, the shadow of the absent God would appear and make you and me aware that we cannot speak like this today. If we did, freedom would be distorted into willfulness, faith into belief in the absurd, hope into unreal expectations, and love--the word I would most like to use for the creation of the Spirit--into sentimental feeling. The Spirit must give us new words, or revitalize old words to express true life. We must wait for them; we must pray for them; we cannot force them.
Impatience makes me want these words now. It is rather like the old car trip joke where the kids keep asking, "Are we there yet?" And, make no mistake (did I just use President Bush's favorite phrase?---gads), I want, perhaps desire to get there. In the meantime, however, I must be careful not to forget to enjoy the view on the way.
Jeffrey Shy
"I'm not there yet"
Mesa, Arizona
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Shall we turn out the light?
I pulled out a book this morning that I had read (and have re-read) many times, A History of God, by Karen Armstrong. In the short time every day I have for my blogging, I clearly cannot make it through the whole of her 400 plus page volume (minus notes, suggested reading, index, etc.) I decided to page back to the final chapter, "Does God have a future?" which honestly might be a good title for this blog. In that final chapter, she takes the reader on a whirlwind tour of many contemporary theologies of the last century. Read quickly, it sets one's head spinning very fast.
I decided to go instead to the index and do a little browsing after looking up references to the via negativa school of theology and philosophy. Without making any presuppositions about the nature of "God," the via negativa tries to put into words something of a more-than and at the same time, less-than, approach to the numinous than traditional theism. It does not, of course, take very long to see that non-theism is not really a novelty, even in the Christian West, which has tended to emphasize a more concrete/rational approach to religion than many others. I found it captivating to read her summary of the theological method of Erigena. Her discussion is so good, that I hope that I am not doing wrong by inserting an extended quote:
Erigena used the dialectical method...in his own discussion of God, who could only be explained by a paradox that reminded us of the limitations of our human understanding. Both the positive and the negative approaches to God were valid. God is incomprehensible: even the angels do not know or understand his essential nature, but is is acceptable to make a positive statement, such as "God is wise," because when we refer it to God, we know that we are not using the word "wise" in the usual way. We remind ourselves of this by going on to make a negative statement, saying "God is not wise." The paradox forces us to move on to Denys's (Denys the Areopagite sometimes referred to as pseudo-Denys) third way of talking about God, when we conclude: "God is more than wise." This was what the Greeks called an apophatic statement, because we do not understand what "more than wise" can possibly mean. Again, this was not simply a verbal trick but a discipline (emphasis added) that by juxtaposing two mutally exclusive statements helps us to cultivate a sense of the mystery that our word "God" represents, since it can never be confined to a merely human concept.
She goes on to illustrate how Erigena used this same "discipline" in the examination of the statement "God exists." You can work it out yourself, of course. This leads to "God does not exist" and then "God is more than existence." Finally, this is, of course, incomprehensible since we cannot really understand something that is "more than existence." This means that God is not a being. In fact, God is "nothing."
The employment of the "via negativa" or the paradox is not unique to Christianity. Any of us who have encountered the "Koan" for example of Zen can understand that the use of paradox is, if you will, a "discipline" that allows us to perhaps escape in a limited sense our use of language in talking about the numinous. This is, of course, a paradox again in that if we admit that we cannot use language to talk about God, we have just done that. It is the logical partner of "This statement is false."
I think that, as we introduce ideas for "consideration" to help us live an answer to the "Does God have a future?" question, we should always have in our minds this essential paradox. To the extent that we do not negate each/every positive statement about "what God is" we are simply bringing back a "God-being" in a new disguise. For every "light" that we turn on, we must acknowledge the shadows that we are to create.
Perhaps again, a little silence to be the "negative answer" to speech?
Don't worry, I'll turn out the light.
Jeffrey Shy
(sittin' in the dark)
Mesa, Arizona
I decided to go instead to the index and do a little browsing after looking up references to the via negativa school of theology and philosophy. Without making any presuppositions about the nature of "God," the via negativa tries to put into words something of a more-than and at the same time, less-than, approach to the numinous than traditional theism. It does not, of course, take very long to see that non-theism is not really a novelty, even in the Christian West, which has tended to emphasize a more concrete/rational approach to religion than many others. I found it captivating to read her summary of the theological method of Erigena. Her discussion is so good, that I hope that I am not doing wrong by inserting an extended quote:
Erigena used the dialectical method...in his own discussion of God, who could only be explained by a paradox that reminded us of the limitations of our human understanding. Both the positive and the negative approaches to God were valid. God is incomprehensible: even the angels do not know or understand his essential nature, but is is acceptable to make a positive statement, such as "God is wise," because when we refer it to God, we know that we are not using the word "wise" in the usual way. We remind ourselves of this by going on to make a negative statement, saying "God is not wise." The paradox forces us to move on to Denys's (Denys the Areopagite sometimes referred to as pseudo-Denys) third way of talking about God, when we conclude: "God is more than wise." This was what the Greeks called an apophatic statement, because we do not understand what "more than wise" can possibly mean. Again, this was not simply a verbal trick but a discipline (emphasis added) that by juxtaposing two mutally exclusive statements helps us to cultivate a sense of the mystery that our word "God" represents, since it can never be confined to a merely human concept.
She goes on to illustrate how Erigena used this same "discipline" in the examination of the statement "God exists." You can work it out yourself, of course. This leads to "God does not exist" and then "God is more than existence." Finally, this is, of course, incomprehensible since we cannot really understand something that is "more than existence." This means that God is not a being. In fact, God is "nothing."
The employment of the "via negativa" or the paradox is not unique to Christianity. Any of us who have encountered the "Koan" for example of Zen can understand that the use of paradox is, if you will, a "discipline" that allows us to perhaps escape in a limited sense our use of language in talking about the numinous. This is, of course, a paradox again in that if we admit that we cannot use language to talk about God, we have just done that. It is the logical partner of "This statement is false."
I think that, as we introduce ideas for "consideration" to help us live an answer to the "Does God have a future?" question, we should always have in our minds this essential paradox. To the extent that we do not negate each/every positive statement about "what God is" we are simply bringing back a "God-being" in a new disguise. For every "light" that we turn on, we must acknowledge the shadows that we are to create.
Perhaps again, a little silence to be the "negative answer" to speech?
Don't worry, I'll turn out the light.
Jeffrey Shy
(sittin' in the dark)
Mesa, Arizona
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Now let's not get emotional!
As I wander through the logical mazes of a non-theistic theology, I keep running into those pesky "emotions." As in previous postings, I know that emotions are powerful things. They are a lot of the unreasoned "reason" behind what we do, think and say. It is, perhaps, an emotional state that got us into the "theistic mess" in the first place--our anxiety over the "big" questions of life/death/existence was a powerful motivator for creating the theistic God who could help relieve some of that anxiety. It makes me, therefore, a bit nervous to allow emotions back into the picture.
What I am skirting, and I suppose I should just "out with it," is the problem of the "religious experience." The question is this, simply put: Can there be an "experience" of/with a non-theistic God? Can I experience a "God" who is not? In my "religous practice," meaning things such as "prayer" "meditation" "worship" "service," there always seemed to be a "something" that I "got out" of these experiences. During a very difficult time in my life when I was alone in Washington, DC and coming to terms with my hasty decision to join the Army to pay for my medical eduction and realizing that I was going to have to "pay the price" of my indentured servitude, it was literally my daily prayer/meditation with my Book of Common Prayer that kept me emotionally together. Even in a less distressing setting, I would often drag myself to church on Sunday mornings drained and tired and wanting to rest/relax/escape and then find myself re-inspired and refreshed after participating in the Sunday liturgy. So I ask the question, was this just patching up my anxieties with the "everlasting arms" delusion? Was it just an "endorphin rush" that left me with a sort of "post coital" calm and high? Or was there some other quality to this experience that I simply cannot put into words. Is it possible that, even though I was mistaken in conceptualizing it as a theistic God entity, there was some "reality," a "more" or a "numinous" or an "other" that I could "touch" so to speak?
As I have read more of John Shelby Spong's books, I note that he seems to return repeatedly to the fact that so many persons have shared with him their "faith stories" or "journeys" and that this has been an important part of his growth and his development away from the theistic God. Perhaps what we really need is for more of those of us who are or are becoming "non-theists" to come out of the closet and share not only our ideas, but our experiences and stories - perhaps a kind of "Kinsey Report" for religion, I suppose. We are really lacking in any strong tradition that we can consult of others who have "experienced" a non-theistic Christianity, although there are, I think, some writings of Christian mystics that might be useful. I speculate that this will really be one of the most difficult parts about being on the edge of a new way of thinking or believing. We have no idea how this will all "come out" in the end (or on the way for that matter) for us.
As Dennis concluded in his comments on my last post---What to do, what to do, what to do? (Add some emphasis on the "do" part, I think.)
Jeffrey Shy
(Do be Do be Do be Do)
Mesa, Arizona
What I am skirting, and I suppose I should just "out with it," is the problem of the "religious experience." The question is this, simply put: Can there be an "experience" of/with a non-theistic God? Can I experience a "God" who is not? In my "religous practice," meaning things such as "prayer" "meditation" "worship" "service," there always seemed to be a "something" that I "got out" of these experiences. During a very difficult time in my life when I was alone in Washington, DC and coming to terms with my hasty decision to join the Army to pay for my medical eduction and realizing that I was going to have to "pay the price" of my indentured servitude, it was literally my daily prayer/meditation with my Book of Common Prayer that kept me emotionally together. Even in a less distressing setting, I would often drag myself to church on Sunday mornings drained and tired and wanting to rest/relax/escape and then find myself re-inspired and refreshed after participating in the Sunday liturgy. So I ask the question, was this just patching up my anxieties with the "everlasting arms" delusion? Was it just an "endorphin rush" that left me with a sort of "post coital" calm and high? Or was there some other quality to this experience that I simply cannot put into words. Is it possible that, even though I was mistaken in conceptualizing it as a theistic God entity, there was some "reality," a "more" or a "numinous" or an "other" that I could "touch" so to speak?
As I have read more of John Shelby Spong's books, I note that he seems to return repeatedly to the fact that so many persons have shared with him their "faith stories" or "journeys" and that this has been an important part of his growth and his development away from the theistic God. Perhaps what we really need is for more of those of us who are or are becoming "non-theists" to come out of the closet and share not only our ideas, but our experiences and stories - perhaps a kind of "Kinsey Report" for religion, I suppose. We are really lacking in any strong tradition that we can consult of others who have "experienced" a non-theistic Christianity, although there are, I think, some writings of Christian mystics that might be useful. I speculate that this will really be one of the most difficult parts about being on the edge of a new way of thinking or believing. We have no idea how this will all "come out" in the end (or on the way for that matter) for us.
As Dennis concluded in his comments on my last post---What to do, what to do, what to do? (Add some emphasis on the "do" part, I think.)
Jeffrey Shy
(Do be Do be Do be Do)
Mesa, Arizona
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
What's in a Name?
Dennis (in a recent comment on this blog) said...
"I'm not sure that there is an answer out there that we may now name God..."
Like many profound thoughts, it often takes a little bit of reflection to see just how profound they are, and I thank Dennis for his contribution. In debate or discussion or any form of communication, there is only meaningful exchange if we agree on the meaning of the words/terms that we use. At the outset, we must first "define our terms" so to speak, before we can talk about something. To give a somewhat frivolous example, say we want to have a discussion about "cheesecakes." Discussant A understands cheescakes to be a confection that is rather "pie-like" usually created using a form of soft white cheese with other ingredients and baked in an oven. Discussant B, however, understands a cheesecake to be piece or "brick" of a cheddar-like dairy product - a "cake" of "cheese." Clearly, if A and B start to discuss "cheesecake" without first agreeing to a mutual definition, they are going to run into a great deal of trouble. They will be talking about two entirely different things, and ultimately, unless they realize the error they have made to define terms, they are going to wind up in a state of either puzzled confusion or massive disagreement.
The problem, perhaps, with even using the word "God" is that, for English-speaking Western Christians, "God" is not just a religious "term", but has come to be used as a name.This is particularly present in the phenomenon of vocal prayer where, although we may preface God with an honorific "O," we use it as a term of address. "O God, we call to you today...." is rather like "Dear Steven, I am writing to you today...." "God" is, therefore, rather the name that we give to the nameless God. We do not phrase the invocation as "In the Father, Son and Holy Spirit" but as "In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit." In spite of inheriting the story of the God whose "name" was unpronounceable, we could not live without a name.
We are, of course, all about giving names to things and particularly to persons. To not refer to or relate to a person by her/his name is tantamount to an insult in our culture. Witness the response that you get to "Hey, you!" Or how you can color a discussion about someone by referring to him or her as "that man" or "that woman." Our desire to "name" the numinous as "God" probably derives at least in part from our natural tendency to describe reality in terms of our human selves. We are self-conscious individuals with names---would it not be natural to conceive of the numinous in similar terms? We really should turn the first Genesis creation language on its head (pardon the gender-laden language, it's in the original):
In the beginning, man created God. In the image of man (woman), he created him (her). Male and female (at least before the feminine divinity was "deleted") they created God.
This is, of course, the essence of theism. It is so essential that even "theism" is probably a bad word for it. Although the term is already taken, "humanism" might have been a better one. It is a belief that so many people find indispensible that it passes hardly without notice. There are plenty of people who state as a prime principle of their faith that they believe in a personal God. In another context for the "born again" crowd, "I accept Jesus as my personal savior." In the deep human longings for something "other" than the surrounding reality of day-to-day life, there is, perhaps, a longing for a relationship. For humans, relationships are primarily those with "people." Even our relationships with non-human animals are conducted in similar terms where we relate to them as "people" (primarily as children for companion animals). It is natural, therefore, that we should think of "God" as a "person." It is a concept born of emotion, of longing, of loneliness, of a desire to love and be loved, to care for and be taken care of.
For this reason, discussions about "God" in impersonal, abstract, non-concrete terms often are perceived as "cold" "rationalistic" and, yes, "impersonal." These abstractions do not often speak strongly to a needy emotional self. They are, therefore, unappealing for most and do not inspire passionate response.
We must admit, however, that emotions, although they can lead persons to do extraordinarily good things, can also lead to extraordinarily terrible consequences as well. When emotions guide our actions, they can lead to ends that are incredibly constructive or incredibly destructive. For the neurologist, emotions are conceived of as coming from the most primitive parts of our brain in an evolutionary sense. They come from the "reptile" brain, we say. Indeed, there is a certain mystery to the origins of our emotions. They do not often come as a part of logical thought, but they arise unbidden from the depths often without clear reason. Witness the phenomenon of romantic "falling in love" that some have experienced as "love at first sight." It cannot come from any logical or considered conclusion about compatibility, but comes unbidden and unasked for. In a religious context, it is, probably, an error to let emotions rule the discussion, because ultimately, emotions can only be experienced, not discussed or argued in or out of existence. We need to both acknowledge our emotional selves and the value of emotion as well as to avoid letting emotion alone control us.
So what do we do with the word/name "God" then? Honestly, I am not sure. We could, I suppose, create an entirely new word with no pre-existent antecedents, "marneld" or "xtrilin" or some other "alien" sounding word. It is, however, a linguistic rarity for an entirely new word to be consciously invented and to gain general acceptance. Perhaps we need to use other "non-personal" terms that have been at the periphery of religious life such as "the numinous" or "enlightenment" or "buddha nature" or "the ground of being" or whatever. Whether one of these "alternate" terms comes to be central in non-theistic Christianity remains to be seen, but it helps, I think, to pepper them through consideration and discussion just the same. Perhaps we should use "God" only when talking in negatives (the so-called "Via Negativa") as in "God does not exist." or "God is not." Inasmuch as a "new" religious synthesis is going to have to come to terms with other faith/cultural traditions in a global world, perhaps we should simply use as many terms as possible and insist that our discussions always "begin" with an exploration of our words, their origins and their meanings. For those who have come to distrust language at all in a religious context, perhaps we should just not say anything at all....
At least for now, being out of time, I'll end with a bit of that reflective silence.
Jeffrey Shy
(Yep, that's my name, don't wear it out.)
Mesa, Arizona
"I'm not sure that there is an answer out there that we may now name God..."
Like many profound thoughts, it often takes a little bit of reflection to see just how profound they are, and I thank Dennis for his contribution. In debate or discussion or any form of communication, there is only meaningful exchange if we agree on the meaning of the words/terms that we use. At the outset, we must first "define our terms" so to speak, before we can talk about something. To give a somewhat frivolous example, say we want to have a discussion about "cheesecakes." Discussant A understands cheescakes to be a confection that is rather "pie-like" usually created using a form of soft white cheese with other ingredients and baked in an oven. Discussant B, however, understands a cheesecake to be piece or "brick" of a cheddar-like dairy product - a "cake" of "cheese." Clearly, if A and B start to discuss "cheesecake" without first agreeing to a mutual definition, they are going to run into a great deal of trouble. They will be talking about two entirely different things, and ultimately, unless they realize the error they have made to define terms, they are going to wind up in a state of either puzzled confusion or massive disagreement.
The problem, perhaps, with even using the word "God" is that, for English-speaking Western Christians, "God" is not just a religious "term", but has come to be used as a name.This is particularly present in the phenomenon of vocal prayer where, although we may preface God with an honorific "O," we use it as a term of address. "O God, we call to you today...." is rather like "Dear Steven, I am writing to you today...." "God" is, therefore, rather the name that we give to the nameless God. We do not phrase the invocation as "In the Father, Son and Holy Spirit" but as "In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit." In spite of inheriting the story of the God whose "name" was unpronounceable, we could not live without a name.
We are, of course, all about giving names to things and particularly to persons. To not refer to or relate to a person by her/his name is tantamount to an insult in our culture. Witness the response that you get to "Hey, you!" Or how you can color a discussion about someone by referring to him or her as "that man" or "that woman." Our desire to "name" the numinous as "God" probably derives at least in part from our natural tendency to describe reality in terms of our human selves. We are self-conscious individuals with names---would it not be natural to conceive of the numinous in similar terms? We really should turn the first Genesis creation language on its head (pardon the gender-laden language, it's in the original):
In the beginning, man created God. In the image of man (woman), he created him (her). Male and female (at least before the feminine divinity was "deleted") they created God.
This is, of course, the essence of theism. It is so essential that even "theism" is probably a bad word for it. Although the term is already taken, "humanism" might have been a better one. It is a belief that so many people find indispensible that it passes hardly without notice. There are plenty of people who state as a prime principle of their faith that they believe in a personal God. In another context for the "born again" crowd, "I accept Jesus as my personal savior." In the deep human longings for something "other" than the surrounding reality of day-to-day life, there is, perhaps, a longing for a relationship. For humans, relationships are primarily those with "people." Even our relationships with non-human animals are conducted in similar terms where we relate to them as "people" (primarily as children for companion animals). It is natural, therefore, that we should think of "God" as a "person." It is a concept born of emotion, of longing, of loneliness, of a desire to love and be loved, to care for and be taken care of.
For this reason, discussions about "God" in impersonal, abstract, non-concrete terms often are perceived as "cold" "rationalistic" and, yes, "impersonal." These abstractions do not often speak strongly to a needy emotional self. They are, therefore, unappealing for most and do not inspire passionate response.
We must admit, however, that emotions, although they can lead persons to do extraordinarily good things, can also lead to extraordinarily terrible consequences as well. When emotions guide our actions, they can lead to ends that are incredibly constructive or incredibly destructive. For the neurologist, emotions are conceived of as coming from the most primitive parts of our brain in an evolutionary sense. They come from the "reptile" brain, we say. Indeed, there is a certain mystery to the origins of our emotions. They do not often come as a part of logical thought, but they arise unbidden from the depths often without clear reason. Witness the phenomenon of romantic "falling in love" that some have experienced as "love at first sight." It cannot come from any logical or considered conclusion about compatibility, but comes unbidden and unasked for. In a religious context, it is, probably, an error to let emotions rule the discussion, because ultimately, emotions can only be experienced, not discussed or argued in or out of existence. We need to both acknowledge our emotional selves and the value of emotion as well as to avoid letting emotion alone control us.
So what do we do with the word/name "God" then? Honestly, I am not sure. We could, I suppose, create an entirely new word with no pre-existent antecedents, "marneld" or "xtrilin" or some other "alien" sounding word. It is, however, a linguistic rarity for an entirely new word to be consciously invented and to gain general acceptance. Perhaps we need to use other "non-personal" terms that have been at the periphery of religious life such as "the numinous" or "enlightenment" or "buddha nature" or "the ground of being" or whatever. Whether one of these "alternate" terms comes to be central in non-theistic Christianity remains to be seen, but it helps, I think, to pepper them through consideration and discussion just the same. Perhaps we should use "God" only when talking in negatives (the so-called "Via Negativa") as in "God does not exist." or "God is not." Inasmuch as a "new" religious synthesis is going to have to come to terms with other faith/cultural traditions in a global world, perhaps we should simply use as many terms as possible and insist that our discussions always "begin" with an exploration of our words, their origins and their meanings. For those who have come to distrust language at all in a religious context, perhaps we should just not say anything at all....
At least for now, being out of time, I'll end with a bit of that reflective silence.
Jeffrey Shy
(Yep, that's my name, don't wear it out.)
Mesa, Arizona
Sunday, June 25, 2006
And don't ask too many questions!
I was pretty brave today, and I decided to attend church this morning. It was, in the main, a pretty positive experience. I was able to greet someone who is probably the only reader of this blog other than myself. The music (if not all the paired texts) was pretty good for a summer morning without choir. I was also able to "rekindle" a few friendships that had fallen by the way. These are all pretty good in themselves, and I have been trying to promise myself to not be too critical. If there is anything that might come in a positive way from the Windsor report, then a committment to listening certainly might be the big one. I went determined to listen to any alternative viewpoints that might come my way. Even if I ultimately disagree, a viewpoint that makes me think is not all a bad thing, I suppose.
Today's lessons were for the Third Sunday after Pentecost. The first reading was one of, I believe, the rare appearances of a passage from the book of Job in the church's Sunday readings cycle. It was the "divine answer" of God speaking from the whirlwind to miserable and abused Job. It includes some dramatic imagery on the creation of the ocean and, when you read it literally, some very primitive understandings about the origins of the earth and the oceans. To sum up the substance, it is rather a "Hey, where were you when I set all this stuff up? Did you make the world? No? I didn't think so. When you make your own world, hey, then maybe we'll talk. In the mean time, shut the F--- up." As others have commented many times before, this, "answer" to Job's existential questions is far from satisfying.
On to the Psalm. This was sections of Psalm 107 that, I suspect, were mostly chosen because of some sea/ocean imagery that could tie it to the Job lesson and also the Gospel (see below). The key passage being that it describes some people who "went down to the sea in ships" "He spoke, and a stormy wind arose which tossed high the waves of the sea..." "Then they cried to the Lord..." "He stilled the storm to a whisper."
The reading from the second Epistle to the Corinthians is not precisely on topic, of course. It is the "if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation" passage.
Finally, there was the Gospel reading from Mark in which Jesus performs a nature miracle and calms the windstorm when he and his disciples are caught out on a boat in bad weather. It ends with the disciples saying, "Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?" This is, of course, a pretty good story to tell if you want to make some claims about a superhuman Jesus.
Since the writer of the sermon is not online here to defend himself, and I did not take notes or have his text to refer to, I think it best that the place and person remain nameless. If, somehow, my reflections are a misrepresentation of today's message, then I can at least say that what I believed I heard was something that I have "heard before," and it will not hurt anyone to reflect a bit more on what I perceived as the central points. As I understood it, the essential message was what I think I might call the "superbig" theism argument. While still sticking with a theistic conception of God, the caveat added on is the, "but God is really incomprehensible, so you really can never understand him." This is followed by the immediate corollary of "so you shouldn't even try." Another authority was quoted with a comment from Anselm of Canterbury that I probably paraphrase, "I do not seek to understand that I may believe, but I believe that I may understand."
I think that I can honestly say that I find the "superbig" theism argument rather unconvincing. In spite of claiming that "God" is much more than any theistic concept can make "him," the persons who espouse this conception continue, however, to speak and relate otherwise to a very much smaller and inadequate theistic entity. The God in heaven of the everlasting arms is still right there to step back in after a brief appearance of the incomprehensible immensity of the supertheistic God who bows out quickly before the discussion gets to be too difficult. In the end, it is, I think, just a way to squash any meaningful discussion. It is a fallacial argument.
If, however, we go back to Anselm, I have a little less trouble inasmuch as saying that "belief" or "faith" might be an important tool in a nontheistic approach to "God." (Again, I must use quotes so that we do not assume that by "God" I mean some superbeing in the eternal above and hearafter.) To return to Tillich for a moment from yesterday, and to continue the quote for a bit longer:
God is the answer to the question implied in man's finitude; he is the name for that which concerns man ultimately. This does not mean that first there is a being called God and then the demand that man should be ultimately concerned about him.
He goes on to say:
Faith (insert here, perhaps Anselm's "belief" in place of "faith"), is the state of being ultimately concerned.
Although this view of God is not a "comforting" one like theism can offer, it is a more interesting and more compelling one. In this setting, "faith" and "God" are inseparable as one inevitably calls the other into existence. Here, there is not a God outside me asking me to accept his existence based on some pretty lousy evidence, but "God" becomes that which is created, as it were, by the act of faith or ultimate concern.
Here the BIG question then is "What is this ultimate concern?" or "What is there about which I am ultimately concerned?" For Tillich, we have to go back to the first proposition of "the question implied in man's finitude" or as he himself also calls it the "shock of non-being" or again, Freud's "trauma of self-consciousness." In this paradigm, "God" becomes a conditional that, probably, has to be "lived out" rather than answered and defined empirically. "God" becomes our "answer" to a life that we live in full knowledge and awareness of our own mortality. It is, for us, the "point" of what we do from the time between our births and our deaths. This is not a God that one can ask for help in difficult times. This "God" is the answer that we give by our thoughts and actions to the circumstances with which we are presented and the reality in which we live. If our responses, for example, are loving and selfless, then "God" is the essence of love and selflessness. If our responses are mean/cruel/hurtful, then "God" is the essence of meaness, cruelty and harm. To take this further, "God" in a post-theistic Christian sense, might be that unifying principle by which the faith community lives out its ideals of love, mercy, benevolence, selflessness, etc. Here "God" is not a being that calls people together and creates a community of believers, but a community of "believers" who creates a "God" that is their meaningful and considered response to the world in which they live.
Hmm, a bit circular, perhaps, but not bad. I'll have to let this "sink in" for a bit. As a conditional answer, it is a heck of a lot better, however, than the "just shut the heck up" from the big fellow in the sky.
Jeffrey Shy
"Sorry, I can't check my brain at the door, it's attached."
Mesa, Arizona
Today's lessons were for the Third Sunday after Pentecost. The first reading was one of, I believe, the rare appearances of a passage from the book of Job in the church's Sunday readings cycle. It was the "divine answer" of God speaking from the whirlwind to miserable and abused Job. It includes some dramatic imagery on the creation of the ocean and, when you read it literally, some very primitive understandings about the origins of the earth and the oceans. To sum up the substance, it is rather a "Hey, where were you when I set all this stuff up? Did you make the world? No? I didn't think so. When you make your own world, hey, then maybe we'll talk. In the mean time, shut the F--- up." As others have commented many times before, this, "answer" to Job's existential questions is far from satisfying.
On to the Psalm. This was sections of Psalm 107 that, I suspect, were mostly chosen because of some sea/ocean imagery that could tie it to the Job lesson and also the Gospel (see below). The key passage being that it describes some people who "went down to the sea in ships" "He spoke, and a stormy wind arose which tossed high the waves of the sea..." "Then they cried to the Lord..." "He stilled the storm to a whisper."
The reading from the second Epistle to the Corinthians is not precisely on topic, of course. It is the "if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation" passage.
Finally, there was the Gospel reading from Mark in which Jesus performs a nature miracle and calms the windstorm when he and his disciples are caught out on a boat in bad weather. It ends with the disciples saying, "Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?" This is, of course, a pretty good story to tell if you want to make some claims about a superhuman Jesus.
Since the writer of the sermon is not online here to defend himself, and I did not take notes or have his text to refer to, I think it best that the place and person remain nameless. If, somehow, my reflections are a misrepresentation of today's message, then I can at least say that what I believed I heard was something that I have "heard before," and it will not hurt anyone to reflect a bit more on what I perceived as the central points. As I understood it, the essential message was what I think I might call the "superbig" theism argument. While still sticking with a theistic conception of God, the caveat added on is the, "but God is really incomprehensible, so you really can never understand him." This is followed by the immediate corollary of "so you shouldn't even try." Another authority was quoted with a comment from Anselm of Canterbury that I probably paraphrase, "I do not seek to understand that I may believe, but I believe that I may understand."
I think that I can honestly say that I find the "superbig" theism argument rather unconvincing. In spite of claiming that "God" is much more than any theistic concept can make "him," the persons who espouse this conception continue, however, to speak and relate otherwise to a very much smaller and inadequate theistic entity. The God in heaven of the everlasting arms is still right there to step back in after a brief appearance of the incomprehensible immensity of the supertheistic God who bows out quickly before the discussion gets to be too difficult. In the end, it is, I think, just a way to squash any meaningful discussion. It is a fallacial argument.
If, however, we go back to Anselm, I have a little less trouble inasmuch as saying that "belief" or "faith" might be an important tool in a nontheistic approach to "God." (Again, I must use quotes so that we do not assume that by "God" I mean some superbeing in the eternal above and hearafter.) To return to Tillich for a moment from yesterday, and to continue the quote for a bit longer:
God is the answer to the question implied in man's finitude; he is the name for that which concerns man ultimately. This does not mean that first there is a being called God and then the demand that man should be ultimately concerned about him.
He goes on to say:
Faith (insert here, perhaps Anselm's "belief" in place of "faith"), is the state of being ultimately concerned.
Although this view of God is not a "comforting" one like theism can offer, it is a more interesting and more compelling one. In this setting, "faith" and "God" are inseparable as one inevitably calls the other into existence. Here, there is not a God outside me asking me to accept his existence based on some pretty lousy evidence, but "God" becomes that which is created, as it were, by the act of faith or ultimate concern.
Here the BIG question then is "What is this ultimate concern?" or "What is there about which I am ultimately concerned?" For Tillich, we have to go back to the first proposition of "the question implied in man's finitude" or as he himself also calls it the "shock of non-being" or again, Freud's "trauma of self-consciousness." In this paradigm, "God" becomes a conditional that, probably, has to be "lived out" rather than answered and defined empirically. "God" becomes our "answer" to a life that we live in full knowledge and awareness of our own mortality. It is, for us, the "point" of what we do from the time between our births and our deaths. This is not a God that one can ask for help in difficult times. This "God" is the answer that we give by our thoughts and actions to the circumstances with which we are presented and the reality in which we live. If our responses, for example, are loving and selfless, then "God" is the essence of love and selflessness. If our responses are mean/cruel/hurtful, then "God" is the essence of meaness, cruelty and harm. To take this further, "God" in a post-theistic Christian sense, might be that unifying principle by which the faith community lives out its ideals of love, mercy, benevolence, selflessness, etc. Here "God" is not a being that calls people together and creates a community of believers, but a community of "believers" who creates a "God" that is their meaningful and considered response to the world in which they live.
Hmm, a bit circular, perhaps, but not bad. I'll have to let this "sink in" for a bit. As a conditional answer, it is a heck of a lot better, however, than the "just shut the heck up" from the big fellow in the sky.
Jeffrey Shy
"Sorry, I can't check my brain at the door, it's attached."
Mesa, Arizona
Saturday, June 24, 2006
Nothing's sure but death and taxes
I think most people are familiar with the old saying, "Nothing's sure but death and taxes." While it is the "tax" part that makes it humorous, it is the universal assent to the first part that makes it insightful. There is no way to think about spirituality, God, religion, faith, et cetera, without having death a central player in the discussion.
Most of us do not think about death very much, but our biological life is really mostly about doing things to avoid it. Eating, drinking, breathing, moving - those verbs that are essential to the very nature of biological life's continuance have as their converse death. If we do not eat, we die. If we do not drink, we die. If we do not breathe, we die. If we do not move or act to avoid physical threats, then we die. The more disturbing reality is, however, that no matter how much eating, drinking, breathing and moving we do, we still die.
We owe to Dr. Kubler-Ross a debt of gratitude for helping many of us better to understand the process of grief. Although we may grieve many losses, death and dying were the subject of her now universally famous work. It has been debated, however, that the "final stage" of the grieving process "acceptance," really happens very much. There are many who contend, and I worry that they are right, that the final stage of acceptance is simply a deeper retreat into denial. We may internalize the person whom we knew externally, perhaps, and come to be "at peace" therefore with the loss, but the reality of the loss may not be fully and completely accepted as it is just too painful, ultimately, to bear.
One of my "hobbies" that I pursue as my time allows is family genealogy. With patience and persistence, I have slowly been putting together a family tree that now includes literally thousands of individuals and extends back over centuries. Along with the "inevitable facts" of date and place of birth, date and place of death, date and place of burial, I try as much as possible to accumulate other facts and "relics" as it were of these people. In the loft room of my home, I and my partner have framed photos of many persons in our family trees who are dead. At times, I have the feeling that, as I look at their silent faces, usually in the more abstract black and white photos of past times, they are somehow still there, sitting, regarding, existing in "silence." But as I think about this more, I shake myself and remind myself that they are not "really" there with me. It does not take much experience with real death to make any pleasant/calm abstraction seem like the most transparent fiction. As a physician, I have seen people die on any number of occasions. It is almost never the "stage" death of the dying individual speaking those last loving words, closing their eyes and slipping into a peaceful and permanent slumber. It is often slow. The individual is rarely conscious to the end. The dead person does not look as if s/he has fallen asleep. The person looks and is dead. There is no waking up from that biological fact. Not to put a gratuitously gruesome face on it, the decomposition of the body after death, at least of human bodies, is something most of us have not seen. We all have seen skeletons, yes, but it is hard to imagine the skeleton as a once-living person. They all look relatively the same, don't they? It is quite another thing to see the flesh melting, putrifying, being consumed by insects, etc. As a medical student taking a rotation in forensic pathology, I had ample opportunity to see bodies burned alive, drowned and decomposed to various levels. It is far from a peaceful sleep.
Paul Tillich has written (forgive the non-inclusive language-his, not mine), "God is the answer to the question implied in man's finitude; he is the name for that which concerns man ultimately." If this is true, and propositionally let's accept it for the moment, then any discussion of faith, belief, philosophy, religion, God, enlightenment, et cetera, must have death pretty close to the center. If the answer to this question is bounded by a question about our finitude (meaning that we were born, live and will some day, sooner or later, die), then having a clear and realistic picture of death is absolutely essential to understanding any "answer" that we may find. In, certainly, overly-simplistic terms, the theist God is an answer to the question of death: There is a God. He existed before me from all eternity. He created the universe and everything in it, including me. As an infinite being, he is infinitely compassionate. Although I may not understand "Why" we must die, I must accept it as part of the plan of this infinite being. If he is truly infinitely compassionate and death is painful, and he has ordained it, then surely it is not a complete end to my being. He even proved it to us conclusively in the person of Jesus who embodied his essence in a fully human being. Jesus died and rose again "on the third day." We are promised that, we too, at the last day, will be raised with all those who have died at any time/place and will live again in perfect happiness for eternity with the direct vision and experience of this loving God whom we may call "Father."
If one can accept the parts and premises, then the conclusions are reasonable and comforting. When, however, I put the "real" world against the theist, all-powerful and "all-loving" God, it just becomes too much to bear. What gets left out is the massive suffering that humans, animals, all sentient beings experience. There is cruelty, hatred, pain, disease, despair....and we can go on and on. People pray every day for mercy, help, relief of suffering from the all-powerful theistic God and get no relief. The apologetic answers are many. Faith was not strong enough. God answers every prayer, but sometimes the answer is "no." God has a higher plan and purpose and is all-wise. He does not give us the relief we ask for because he knows that that it would not be good for us. His "special plan" for each of us will be revealed in time. Just bear it for now and all will be made well after we die and see him face to face. I can find a parallel to this picture in the human world. There are many persons who cannot, for psychological/emotional/situational reasons, leave the relationship of another cruel/abusive individual. Those who have had the opportunity to deal with the victims of spousal abuse are often astounded at how many times the abused spouse will "go back" to the abusing partner. If God is truly a theistic God and is truly all-powerful, then he has a lot to answer for. It will take a lot of explaining to justify as part of the "loving divine plan" the horrors of genocide, of cold-blooded murder, of torture, of natural disasters that snuff out the lives of thousands in horrible agony....I could go on, literally, forever.
It was this theistic God who, for me, had himself to die. The only answer for me to the problem "death" and the God of theism is an ultimate death - the death of that God. To my mind now, however, it was not the death of a "real" God, but only a "false God" after all, so although it was incredibly painful for me, it was a necessary death. The "aching and gaping hole" where this "God" once existed in my life is one that is clearly not fully healed and, like some severe wounds, may never really be made whole. But if I am to be true to myself and others, I could not refuse to accept this death.....
So, "God" is dead...but can there be a "Long live God" echo that comes out of the end of the old, false God? I think, ultimately, that this is possible. Once again, "God is the answer to the question implied in man's finitude." The question, however, is far from simple, and the "answer" will of necessity be far from simple. In the recent movie version of the novels of "The Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy," the inhabitants of a long ago and far away planet built an ultimate computer and asked it to compute the ultimate answer. As the story went, they returned millenia later to get the answer. Unfortunately, the answer that they got was incomprehensible. When they asked for an explanation, it was apparent that they had really not understood the question in the first place. The question of our finitude is really the question that is the entirety of our lives. The answer will also be one that is/encompasses/perfects the entirety of human and cosmological existence. It is the process of exploring that answer that is the substance, I think, of Faith. "God" perhaps then, is not an entity, but a process of understanding, becoming and evolving. God may not, therefore, even be fully perceivable by any one person, species or planet but may be the "understanding of finitude" of the entire cosmos. Unlike the small God of theism, that may be an "answer" worth all the seeking.
Jeffrey Shy,
"I'm not dead yet."
Mesa, Arizona
Most of us do not think about death very much, but our biological life is really mostly about doing things to avoid it. Eating, drinking, breathing, moving - those verbs that are essential to the very nature of biological life's continuance have as their converse death. If we do not eat, we die. If we do not drink, we die. If we do not breathe, we die. If we do not move or act to avoid physical threats, then we die. The more disturbing reality is, however, that no matter how much eating, drinking, breathing and moving we do, we still die.
We owe to Dr. Kubler-Ross a debt of gratitude for helping many of us better to understand the process of grief. Although we may grieve many losses, death and dying were the subject of her now universally famous work. It has been debated, however, that the "final stage" of the grieving process "acceptance," really happens very much. There are many who contend, and I worry that they are right, that the final stage of acceptance is simply a deeper retreat into denial. We may internalize the person whom we knew externally, perhaps, and come to be "at peace" therefore with the loss, but the reality of the loss may not be fully and completely accepted as it is just too painful, ultimately, to bear.
One of my "hobbies" that I pursue as my time allows is family genealogy. With patience and persistence, I have slowly been putting together a family tree that now includes literally thousands of individuals and extends back over centuries. Along with the "inevitable facts" of date and place of birth, date and place of death, date and place of burial, I try as much as possible to accumulate other facts and "relics" as it were of these people. In the loft room of my home, I and my partner have framed photos of many persons in our family trees who are dead. At times, I have the feeling that, as I look at their silent faces, usually in the more abstract black and white photos of past times, they are somehow still there, sitting, regarding, existing in "silence." But as I think about this more, I shake myself and remind myself that they are not "really" there with me. It does not take much experience with real death to make any pleasant/calm abstraction seem like the most transparent fiction. As a physician, I have seen people die on any number of occasions. It is almost never the "stage" death of the dying individual speaking those last loving words, closing their eyes and slipping into a peaceful and permanent slumber. It is often slow. The individual is rarely conscious to the end. The dead person does not look as if s/he has fallen asleep. The person looks and is dead. There is no waking up from that biological fact. Not to put a gratuitously gruesome face on it, the decomposition of the body after death, at least of human bodies, is something most of us have not seen. We all have seen skeletons, yes, but it is hard to imagine the skeleton as a once-living person. They all look relatively the same, don't they? It is quite another thing to see the flesh melting, putrifying, being consumed by insects, etc. As a medical student taking a rotation in forensic pathology, I had ample opportunity to see bodies burned alive, drowned and decomposed to various levels. It is far from a peaceful sleep.
Paul Tillich has written (forgive the non-inclusive language-his, not mine), "God is the answer to the question implied in man's finitude; he is the name for that which concerns man ultimately." If this is true, and propositionally let's accept it for the moment, then any discussion of faith, belief, philosophy, religion, God, enlightenment, et cetera, must have death pretty close to the center. If the answer to this question is bounded by a question about our finitude (meaning that we were born, live and will some day, sooner or later, die), then having a clear and realistic picture of death is absolutely essential to understanding any "answer" that we may find. In, certainly, overly-simplistic terms, the theist God is an answer to the question of death: There is a God. He existed before me from all eternity. He created the universe and everything in it, including me. As an infinite being, he is infinitely compassionate. Although I may not understand "Why" we must die, I must accept it as part of the plan of this infinite being. If he is truly infinitely compassionate and death is painful, and he has ordained it, then surely it is not a complete end to my being. He even proved it to us conclusively in the person of Jesus who embodied his essence in a fully human being. Jesus died and rose again "on the third day." We are promised that, we too, at the last day, will be raised with all those who have died at any time/place and will live again in perfect happiness for eternity with the direct vision and experience of this loving God whom we may call "Father."
If one can accept the parts and premises, then the conclusions are reasonable and comforting. When, however, I put the "real" world against the theist, all-powerful and "all-loving" God, it just becomes too much to bear. What gets left out is the massive suffering that humans, animals, all sentient beings experience. There is cruelty, hatred, pain, disease, despair....and we can go on and on. People pray every day for mercy, help, relief of suffering from the all-powerful theistic God and get no relief. The apologetic answers are many. Faith was not strong enough. God answers every prayer, but sometimes the answer is "no." God has a higher plan and purpose and is all-wise. He does not give us the relief we ask for because he knows that that it would not be good for us. His "special plan" for each of us will be revealed in time. Just bear it for now and all will be made well after we die and see him face to face. I can find a parallel to this picture in the human world. There are many persons who cannot, for psychological/emotional/situational reasons, leave the relationship of another cruel/abusive individual. Those who have had the opportunity to deal with the victims of spousal abuse are often astounded at how many times the abused spouse will "go back" to the abusing partner. If God is truly a theistic God and is truly all-powerful, then he has a lot to answer for. It will take a lot of explaining to justify as part of the "loving divine plan" the horrors of genocide, of cold-blooded murder, of torture, of natural disasters that snuff out the lives of thousands in horrible agony....I could go on, literally, forever.
It was this theistic God who, for me, had himself to die. The only answer for me to the problem "death" and the God of theism is an ultimate death - the death of that God. To my mind now, however, it was not the death of a "real" God, but only a "false God" after all, so although it was incredibly painful for me, it was a necessary death. The "aching and gaping hole" where this "God" once existed in my life is one that is clearly not fully healed and, like some severe wounds, may never really be made whole. But if I am to be true to myself and others, I could not refuse to accept this death.....
So, "God" is dead...but can there be a "Long live God" echo that comes out of the end of the old, false God? I think, ultimately, that this is possible. Once again, "God is the answer to the question implied in man's finitude." The question, however, is far from simple, and the "answer" will of necessity be far from simple. In the recent movie version of the novels of "The Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy," the inhabitants of a long ago and far away planet built an ultimate computer and asked it to compute the ultimate answer. As the story went, they returned millenia later to get the answer. Unfortunately, the answer that they got was incomprehensible. When they asked for an explanation, it was apparent that they had really not understood the question in the first place. The question of our finitude is really the question that is the entirety of our lives. The answer will also be one that is/encompasses/perfects the entirety of human and cosmological existence. It is the process of exploring that answer that is the substance, I think, of Faith. "God" perhaps then, is not an entity, but a process of understanding, becoming and evolving. God may not, therefore, even be fully perceivable by any one person, species or planet but may be the "understanding of finitude" of the entire cosmos. Unlike the small God of theism, that may be an "answer" worth all the seeking.
Jeffrey Shy,
"I'm not dead yet."
Mesa, Arizona
Friday, June 23, 2006
Bells and Smells
As I have been trying to work out how a non-theistic Christianity might take form, it has been hard to resist simply going back to how I believed things to have been before I gave up theism. One of the persistent attractions has been to return to the music and ritual. Like most people, I was not born with prayer beads in one hand and a BCP (Book of Common Prayer) in the other, but from my first encounters with complex religious ritual, I was captivated. As a child and through high school, I was a member of a Presbyterian Church in a small midwestern town. This church was far from liberal as a whole and had a very sparse liturgical life. The minister of the church, while a wonderful man, was somewhat painfully placed in this congregation. He had a doctorate in theology from a non-Presbyterian school and introduced the somewhat heinous notion that the bible was not to be understood literally, but needed to be interpreted. He also had some slight fondness for religious ritual and made small strides to try to improve the liturgical life of this church. It was from him that I "learned" that the Presbyterian prayerbook of the time, The Book of Common Worship, was a relative of the English and American BCPs via the prayerbook of the Church of Scotland. Unfortunately, this book was very hard to find and was largely ignored by almost every Presbyterian congregation that I knew, so it had little relevance. It was, however, during this time that I found a copy of the Book of Common Prayer (the latest revision) shortly after it was first released. From the first, the complex novelty was fascinating. There were liturgies for all sorts of times and circumstances, a complex calendar, a version of the Psalms unlike any in the bible versions that I knew, not KJV, NEV, RSV or any other V (the pastor of the Presbyterian church had introduced the use of the RSV-"horrors"- and had even purchased and made available many copies of the "Oxford Annotated" version of the same) and other liturgical novelties.
Like any "play" that is read, however, it became quickly clear that liturgy needs to be acted out, and thus started my fascination with and love for religious ritual. During college at a small midwestern Lutheran school, I finally left the Presbyterians and adopted a "When in Rome" conversion to Lutheranism. (In honesty, my reasons were much more complex than that, but it would be too great a digression) At this school, there were a number of students involved in and around the college Chapel. One of them was decidedly fundamentalist and liturgically of the sit in a circle with a guitar, read the Bible, "lift up" in prayer sort of entity. The other group was more traditional but was split between those of us that were liturgically inclined and those that were more for social action and rather indifferent to liturgy. It was in services there that I first experienced some of the "something" that I came to associate with complex religious ritual. It was this "something" feeling that kept me coming back, even though I was socially far away from traditional religous conservatism. In the light of candles, the smoke of incense, the sounds of polyphonic music and the precision of movement, I could often achieve what I suppose I could call a "religious high." I would seek this "high" out many times again in the future. It would become a frustration for me when I could not achieve it. An ineptly or indifferently conducted liturgical event which "broke the rules" became a source of irritation. An extended, complex and well-executed liturgy could send me into a nearly "ecstatic" experience. Eventually, I would go to rather great lengths to get really good liturgy. I took several "pilgrimages" around the time of religious holidays to (by this time Anglican/Epsiscopalian) churches known for their "high church" liturgical practices to get a bigger "fix" of this liturgical high.
After my great collapse (another later blog), I stopped attending church altogether. Initially, I did not miss any of the liturgics, but little things kept calling me back, and that "siren call" continues to this moment. The comfort of saying a piece of the office, an "inspiring" piece of music, the rhythmicity of repeated prayer with a rosary, all of these things keep beckoning me back to a world of religious practice that I left rather abruptly. What I found, however, was that with the collapse of theism for me, the words were all wrong. I would get along OK for a bit, taking some refuge in the "symbolic" nature of religious language (I could redefine terms fluidly by now), but then I would hit on some "ugly" bit. The Nicene or Apostles creeds were particularly bad. Petitionary prayers asking God for help, good weather, peace, mercy, candy, a new Barbie doll, whatever, were also particularly bad and would demand a sort of liturgical "nose holding" until the moment passed. But I still hear the call....I just cannot get the "fix" any more.
You can guess that, from the terms I used to describe the subjective and emotional nature of these experiences, I have considered that the "religious high" was no more than some sort of "endorphin rush" brought on by just the right combination of sensory stimuli (bear with me, I am a neurologist after all). If that is so, then it will be a great task to stay away from it and to avoid "falling off the wagon." If it is merely an addiction, then it can only cloud my reason and perception and make it harder to see things in new ways. At the same time, however, I have to consider that there are other possibilities. Some of my greatest moments of new insight, "Ah ha!" moments, have occured in liturgical experiences. Could this suggest that, in these liturgical experiences, I had achieved some sort of "higher" mental state? In a more religious sense, could I have had contact with "the numinous" or perhaps have been "moved by the Spirit?"
Obviously, the answer to this question has some relevance. Liturgical practice has been an integral part of Christianity and other religions from the very beginnings. To a degree, it is some of the most obvious and visible manifestation of any religion. If there is to be a Christian non-theism, is this to be a purely intellectual exercise that is "works" alone (consider, for example, the present fervor of the "Millenium Development Goals" and the emphasis on "Mission" in the Episcopal Church today), or will there be a liturgical/experiential side as well?
Clearly, I do not know the answer to this question at this point. As I am "trying out" non-theistic Christianity, it is certain that I do not have a "non-theist" prayerbook to pick up. Any liturgies that express the intellectual assumptions and questions of non-theism have yet to be written. Like many of these questions, it is likely that I will not live to see a "final solution," and I suppose that it is naive to think that there will ever be one. I think, however, that I will be careful for the moment. There may still be some sense in preserving a liturgical/ritual life, and I, for one, do not wish to be guilty of "throwing out the baby with the bath water."
Jeffrey Shy
"Was that an 'Ave' I heard?"
Mesa, Arizona
Like any "play" that is read, however, it became quickly clear that liturgy needs to be acted out, and thus started my fascination with and love for religious ritual. During college at a small midwestern Lutheran school, I finally left the Presbyterians and adopted a "When in Rome" conversion to Lutheranism. (In honesty, my reasons were much more complex than that, but it would be too great a digression) At this school, there were a number of students involved in and around the college Chapel. One of them was decidedly fundamentalist and liturgically of the sit in a circle with a guitar, read the Bible, "lift up" in prayer sort of entity. The other group was more traditional but was split between those of us that were liturgically inclined and those that were more for social action and rather indifferent to liturgy. It was in services there that I first experienced some of the "something" that I came to associate with complex religious ritual. It was this "something" feeling that kept me coming back, even though I was socially far away from traditional religous conservatism. In the light of candles, the smoke of incense, the sounds of polyphonic music and the precision of movement, I could often achieve what I suppose I could call a "religious high." I would seek this "high" out many times again in the future. It would become a frustration for me when I could not achieve it. An ineptly or indifferently conducted liturgical event which "broke the rules" became a source of irritation. An extended, complex and well-executed liturgy could send me into a nearly "ecstatic" experience. Eventually, I would go to rather great lengths to get really good liturgy. I took several "pilgrimages" around the time of religious holidays to (by this time Anglican/Epsiscopalian) churches known for their "high church" liturgical practices to get a bigger "fix" of this liturgical high.
After my great collapse (another later blog), I stopped attending church altogether. Initially, I did not miss any of the liturgics, but little things kept calling me back, and that "siren call" continues to this moment. The comfort of saying a piece of the office, an "inspiring" piece of music, the rhythmicity of repeated prayer with a rosary, all of these things keep beckoning me back to a world of religious practice that I left rather abruptly. What I found, however, was that with the collapse of theism for me, the words were all wrong. I would get along OK for a bit, taking some refuge in the "symbolic" nature of religious language (I could redefine terms fluidly by now), but then I would hit on some "ugly" bit. The Nicene or Apostles creeds were particularly bad. Petitionary prayers asking God for help, good weather, peace, mercy, candy, a new Barbie doll, whatever, were also particularly bad and would demand a sort of liturgical "nose holding" until the moment passed. But I still hear the call....I just cannot get the "fix" any more.
You can guess that, from the terms I used to describe the subjective and emotional nature of these experiences, I have considered that the "religious high" was no more than some sort of "endorphin rush" brought on by just the right combination of sensory stimuli (bear with me, I am a neurologist after all). If that is so, then it will be a great task to stay away from it and to avoid "falling off the wagon." If it is merely an addiction, then it can only cloud my reason and perception and make it harder to see things in new ways. At the same time, however, I have to consider that there are other possibilities. Some of my greatest moments of new insight, "Ah ha!" moments, have occured in liturgical experiences. Could this suggest that, in these liturgical experiences, I had achieved some sort of "higher" mental state? In a more religious sense, could I have had contact with "the numinous" or perhaps have been "moved by the Spirit?"
Obviously, the answer to this question has some relevance. Liturgical practice has been an integral part of Christianity and other religions from the very beginnings. To a degree, it is some of the most obvious and visible manifestation of any religion. If there is to be a Christian non-theism, is this to be a purely intellectual exercise that is "works" alone (consider, for example, the present fervor of the "Millenium Development Goals" and the emphasis on "Mission" in the Episcopal Church today), or will there be a liturgical/experiential side as well?
Clearly, I do not know the answer to this question at this point. As I am "trying out" non-theistic Christianity, it is certain that I do not have a "non-theist" prayerbook to pick up. Any liturgies that express the intellectual assumptions and questions of non-theism have yet to be written. Like many of these questions, it is likely that I will not live to see a "final solution," and I suppose that it is naive to think that there will ever be one. I think, however, that I will be careful for the moment. There may still be some sense in preserving a liturgical/ritual life, and I, for one, do not wish to be guilty of "throwing out the baby with the bath water."
Jeffrey Shy
"Was that an 'Ave' I heard?"
Mesa, Arizona
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Making new words and re-using old ones - problems with religious language
I had a bit of time today to continue reading Bishop Spong's book, "The Sins of Scripture." In the chapter on "Reading Scripture as Epic History," he reminds us that spoken language is a fairly recent development on the cosmological scale- about 50 thousand years for us. Written language is even more recent - no more than five to ten thousand years. In a blog, written language is essentially what it's all about. Our ability to write about religious ideas, however, is both a blessing and a curse. It is a blessing because it allows us to depend a bit less on our fallible day-to-day recall and to "acumulate" and "build" ideas and knowledge. It is a curse, to a degree, because of the problem of religious language. Not only does religious language not "follow the rules" always of logic and discourse, but the very most central terms are ones that are so hard to define. Whether we are talking about God, the Buddha, Enlightenment, Brahman, etc (you can extend the list), we are in essence using words/terms that are not clearly definable by any great concensus.
Last night, I participated in some back-and-forth discussion on the 11th hour decision of the Episcopal General Convention to pass a resolution that in substance would seem to be at least a temporary moratorium on the consecration of more gay/lesbian bishops. It is, however, a document that is outstanding in its vagueness. It specifically avoids talking about sexual orientation and rather foolishly talks about persons who might be viewed as inappropriate (see, I'm paraphrasing) in other parts of the Anglican communion. One wonders if their intent is to hold on consecrating any more female bishops? As there are only three provinces to date that have women bishops and, for many in the world, the issue of female priests and deacons is far from a done deed, a woman primate is clearly going to be offensive to some--reference the petition of the Diocese of Ft. Worth to have alternative primatial oversite. Having just elected Katharine as the new PB, this seems extremely ironic. It was also rather choice that another candidate who was twice divorced and thrice married was consented to just before this "gem" of a resolution was agreed to as the "best we can do for now."
I am, however, digressing a bit. What I meant to come to was that I realized in my postings in the discussion how much I had redefined religious language in ways that I knew were far off the mainstream. As a theoretical non-theist (all belief is conditional and I am "trying out" non-theistic Christianity as it were), I feel that words like "God" and "Faith" and "The Spirit" and others seem to demand to be "in quotes" somehow. I rather feel that, until I have new and unique words to convey what I am coming to believe about these things, I have to use quote enclosures to at least remind me and any other reader to pause and consider that we all may mean very different things when we use these words. As I try to explore what a new non-theistic (and perhaps non-religious as the Rt. Rev. Spong has conditionally proposed) Christianity might be like, I know that I will have to be careful at every step to consider the meaning of the words that I use and, when necessary, to define them as best I can, or if I cannot define them in positive terms, to at least do so in negative ones (e.g. God is not a personal entity watching over us from heaven above.)
As a final note, I have read on other blogs some fairly harsh criticism of PB-elect Katharine, and I would suggest that we moderate our criticism to allow her to grow into this awesome responsibility. I suspect that, just like all of us, she has had and will have more and less inspired moments. Fortunately, being an Episcopalian does not require that I view what she says as infallible. It does, however, require that I am charitable. For someone who has been dumped into the fire, as it were, we need to consider how we might do in such a position. I, for one, wish her well and hope that she will become the inspiration to all of us that I know she has the potential to be.
In the meantime, and a bit contrary, how about a quote from Benjamin Franklin? "Well done is better than well said."
Jeffrey Shy
Struggling in Mesa, Arizona
Last night, I participated in some back-and-forth discussion on the 11th hour decision of the Episcopal General Convention to pass a resolution that in substance would seem to be at least a temporary moratorium on the consecration of more gay/lesbian bishops. It is, however, a document that is outstanding in its vagueness. It specifically avoids talking about sexual orientation and rather foolishly talks about persons who might be viewed as inappropriate (see, I'm paraphrasing) in other parts of the Anglican communion. One wonders if their intent is to hold on consecrating any more female bishops? As there are only three provinces to date that have women bishops and, for many in the world, the issue of female priests and deacons is far from a done deed, a woman primate is clearly going to be offensive to some--reference the petition of the Diocese of Ft. Worth to have alternative primatial oversite. Having just elected Katharine as the new PB, this seems extremely ironic. It was also rather choice that another candidate who was twice divorced and thrice married was consented to just before this "gem" of a resolution was agreed to as the "best we can do for now."
I am, however, digressing a bit. What I meant to come to was that I realized in my postings in the discussion how much I had redefined religious language in ways that I knew were far off the mainstream. As a theoretical non-theist (all belief is conditional and I am "trying out" non-theistic Christianity as it were), I feel that words like "God" and "Faith" and "The Spirit" and others seem to demand to be "in quotes" somehow. I rather feel that, until I have new and unique words to convey what I am coming to believe about these things, I have to use quote enclosures to at least remind me and any other reader to pause and consider that we all may mean very different things when we use these words. As I try to explore what a new non-theistic (and perhaps non-religious as the Rt. Rev. Spong has conditionally proposed) Christianity might be like, I know that I will have to be careful at every step to consider the meaning of the words that I use and, when necessary, to define them as best I can, or if I cannot define them in positive terms, to at least do so in negative ones (e.g. God is not a personal entity watching over us from heaven above.)
As a final note, I have read on other blogs some fairly harsh criticism of PB-elect Katharine, and I would suggest that we moderate our criticism to allow her to grow into this awesome responsibility. I suspect that, just like all of us, she has had and will have more and less inspired moments. Fortunately, being an Episcopalian does not require that I view what she says as infallible. It does, however, require that I am charitable. For someone who has been dumped into the fire, as it were, we need to consider how we might do in such a position. I, for one, wish her well and hope that she will become the inspiration to all of us that I know she has the potential to be.
In the meantime, and a bit contrary, how about a quote from Benjamin Franklin? "Well done is better than well said."
Jeffrey Shy
Struggling in Mesa, Arizona
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Jeffrey Shy's Non-theistic Episcopalian Blog
In the light of recent events at the general convention (both positive and negative) and my growing sense that the "whole darn thing" meaning the entire Christian Theistic Religion is on the verge of a collapse, I have started this blog to at least help me to put my ideas and feelings into words. I will strongly admit that I am influenced by the writings of Bishop Spong regarding the need for Christianity to "change or die." I also believe that, as a non-theistic Christian, the Spirit that will allow us to create a new and livable Christianity for the 21st Century and beyond will be found nowhere but in ourselves. I invite all comments should anyone have the great kindness to read any of my posts as I work towards trying to understand Christian Religion, particularly as a post-modern Episcopalian in new ways.
Jeffrey L. Shy
Mesa, Arizona
Jeffrey L. Shy
Mesa, Arizona
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