I had an opportunity to guest teach for a group of peers at one of the local churches the other day. My dad is their usual teacher, and I've gotten to know them all quite well. We had a great time.
I had taken a poll the previous week to find out what they wanted me to teach about. I took in a few possible "lecture titles" and went with the one that got the most votes: "Selected Topics in Biblical Hermeneutics: Creation, Homosexuality, and Hell".
A few PowerPoint slides into it I had already made my main point which was, more or less, this: everyone who reads the Bible (or anything for that matter) interprets the Bible, there are a variety of options to be chosen from when it comes to shaping an interpretation, own your choices.
Which is to say, if you're confident enough to confess something with confidence then you owe it to the rest of us to trace its roots and track its implications. We all owe it to each other.
If you're interested in the selected topics themselves, I'd be glad to guest lecture at your venue of choice for a small fee and a complimentary lunch at Yats.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Then why?
In light of the frustration I communicated in my last post what is it that keeps me, in one way or another, on the fringes of the religious realm?
Well, here's the thing:
Religions are human productions. Really, they are. People made them. Not deliberately, but people living life at certain times spread out all over the world and all throughout history contributed to the development of the religions.
It wasn't like an assembly line at the religion manufacturing plant where this person added this piece and that person added that piece and it all fit together to become one fancy final product.
It was more like how people make babies. Once upon a time people's questions about life coupled with the reality of their lives and a baby was conceived. This happened wherever people clustered together. Some of the baby's grew up to be strong and active in the world. Others grew up and kind of kept to themselves. Many of them had babies of their own. And several of them, to this day, have dissociative identity disorder.
What I'm interested in is how we, as parents, respond to our offspring. And, even if we don't have our own, how we respond to the presence (and actions) of other people's offspring.
I'm not interested in discussing whether or not such and such a religion should exist, or whether religion in general should be discontinued. In my opinion it's kind of too late for those questions. Religion is too much a part of the family, too much a part of the human story, to be rid of it. Not without a big mess.
Maybe it will come to that. Things are already a mess and maybe before we can clean things up we'll need to make a bigger mess. But an honest appraisal of what the world would be like -- for so many individuals, nations, and cultures -- if the rug of religion was pulled out from under them leads me to conclude that I am not prepared to be the one to tug.
I think we have a lot more to discuss before we go down that road. And if we all open ourselves up to discussion then maybe we won't have to.
Well, here's the thing:
Religions are human productions. Really, they are. People made them. Not deliberately, but people living life at certain times spread out all over the world and all throughout history contributed to the development of the religions.
It wasn't like an assembly line at the religion manufacturing plant where this person added this piece and that person added that piece and it all fit together to become one fancy final product.
It was more like how people make babies. Once upon a time people's questions about life coupled with the reality of their lives and a baby was conceived. This happened wherever people clustered together. Some of the baby's grew up to be strong and active in the world. Others grew up and kind of kept to themselves. Many of them had babies of their own. And several of them, to this day, have dissociative identity disorder.
What I'm interested in is how we, as parents, respond to our offspring. And, even if we don't have our own, how we respond to the presence (and actions) of other people's offspring.
I'm not interested in discussing whether or not such and such a religion should exist, or whether religion in general should be discontinued. In my opinion it's kind of too late for those questions. Religion is too much a part of the family, too much a part of the human story, to be rid of it. Not without a big mess.
Maybe it will come to that. Things are already a mess and maybe before we can clean things up we'll need to make a bigger mess. But an honest appraisal of what the world would be like -- for so many individuals, nations, and cultures -- if the rug of religion was pulled out from under them leads me to conclude that I am not prepared to be the one to tug.
I think we have a lot more to discuss before we go down that road. And if we all open ourselves up to discussion then maybe we won't have to.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Pushy religion
Happy twenty ten. I've been struggling to come up with a bit to write here at the start of this new year. There are plenty of thoughts stirring, but not many taking shape, not the sort I'm interested in posting anyway.
So I've tapped the archives, found something I wrote a while back that I don't think I ever posted. It's a touch morose, but I hope (dare I say plan?) to offer some constructive and good tempered ponderings soon. Meanwhile...
I grow weary of this insistence: authentic faith requires either an attainment of certainty or the fervent pursuit of it.
It frustrates me. Why insist on answers? The questions will return, and the answer isn’t to answer them. The answer is to enter them.
Perhaps religion is nothing more than an institute dealing in the currency of answers.
Once upon a time religion dealt with questions. It didn’t answer them. I’m tired of religion that gives away its answers with the flash of a smile.
I’m tired of religion that offers certainty as a synonym for faith, sewing the two together with a cross-stitch. I find myself tearing at the resultant seams for a glimpse of light, a breath of air.
So I've tapped the archives, found something I wrote a while back that I don't think I ever posted. It's a touch morose, but I hope (dare I say plan?) to offer some constructive and good tempered ponderings soon. Meanwhile...
I grow weary of this insistence: authentic faith requires either an attainment of certainty or the fervent pursuit of it.
It frustrates me. Why insist on answers? The questions will return, and the answer isn’t to answer them. The answer is to enter them.
Perhaps religion is nothing more than an institute dealing in the currency of answers.
Once upon a time religion dealt with questions. It didn’t answer them. I’m tired of religion that gives away its answers with the flash of a smile.
I’m tired of religion that offers certainty as a synonym for faith, sewing the two together with a cross-stitch. I find myself tearing at the resultant seams for a glimpse of light, a breath of air.
Monday, December 21, 2009
However you do and whoever you are, as the days begin to lengthen, celebrate life this season. Thanks for reading.
Good cheer and happy tidings!
Peace. Shalom. Shanti.
Good cheer and happy tidings!
Peace. Shalom. Shanti.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
An open letter to a bully
Ms. Bully,
The moment you laid eyes on me you thought I was dumb, which was disheartening for me because I wholeheartedly disagree.
I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt at first by assuming that perhaps you were tired or sick, perhaps it was because you are old, or you are jealous that your office window lacks a scenic campus view. I met with three other professors in your department; they had lovely views, treated me cordially, and smiled a fair amount. You were mean.
I have tried to give you the benefit of the doubt, but it is difficult for me to do so. I have concluded that, although you are old and you said that you were tired when I asked, “How are you today”, and as I recall the view from your office window does suck, you nonetheless decided in your heart to be neither kind nor encouraging to me when I visited with you the other day.
You see, I am trying to be a student again, seeking an academic program to enroll in for the fall. It has been a while since I was a student, nearly five years. I have never been a student in an institution like the one where you work. I come from a small pond. I am not the most qualified prospective – I haven’t read Plato or Nietzsche, and am unable to spell Nietzsche without assistance. But you could have known practically none of that when you first laid eyes on me, at which point you began to think that I am dumb.
What might you have known about me? And how might it have led you to that conclusion?
Was it because I am young? Surely not, unless you despise the youth of all of your students. I have tangled locks of hair and an unruly beard, I’ll confess to that. But haven’t many radical geniuses been equally unkempt? Perhaps you translated the look of anticipation on my face as a look of apprehension; perhaps you deduced from that look that I was out of my element. Ergo you dubbed me dumb?
I remain perplexed, Ms. Bully.
I was out of my element, but a big reason for my being so was that I am in search of my element. I was there by choice, and I was not uneasy about that.
I am not dumb and I am not a coward, but neither did I feel particularly motivated to prove these things to you when it was all too apparent that you were axiomatically convinced otherwise. I could have engaged you in rich academic conversation, I have the capacity, but since you thought I was faking from the get go I decided not to give you more fodder to supply your suspicions.
Is it possible that it was my intuition and not my lack of wit that kept me from engaging the disparaging questions and comments that you layered my way? I channeled Ishmael’s words that were commentary on his chief mate Starbuck, “that the most reliable and useful courage [is] that which arises from the fair estimation of the encountered peril”. And like Starbuck, for me “courage [is] not a sentiment, but a thing simply useful”. I would rather not use it to unravel unfounded assumptions.
Had it been an interview and you the determining voice I would have exited your office a failure. Which, incidentally, is also how I entered.
A brief admonition, made with the understanding that, given a reversal of power and position, I might do (or have on occasion done) the same thing. In other words this is an admonition to the bully-potential that each of us walks through our days with:
Don’t be mean to people. It’s okay to be honest and lucid, to be direct and realistic, but have the courage and humanity to also meet the other where they are. Take a quick look at the world through their eyes, especially when the way you see them through yours is less than genial. And give them the benefit of the doubt.
I’ll try, again, to do the same for you.
And everyone remember that bullies aren’t scary. Just a different kind of scared.
Sincerely, your prospective student,
AJM
The moment you laid eyes on me you thought I was dumb, which was disheartening for me because I wholeheartedly disagree.
I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt at first by assuming that perhaps you were tired or sick, perhaps it was because you are old, or you are jealous that your office window lacks a scenic campus view. I met with three other professors in your department; they had lovely views, treated me cordially, and smiled a fair amount. You were mean.
I have tried to give you the benefit of the doubt, but it is difficult for me to do so. I have concluded that, although you are old and you said that you were tired when I asked, “How are you today”, and as I recall the view from your office window does suck, you nonetheless decided in your heart to be neither kind nor encouraging to me when I visited with you the other day.
You see, I am trying to be a student again, seeking an academic program to enroll in for the fall. It has been a while since I was a student, nearly five years. I have never been a student in an institution like the one where you work. I come from a small pond. I am not the most qualified prospective – I haven’t read Plato or Nietzsche, and am unable to spell Nietzsche without assistance. But you could have known practically none of that when you first laid eyes on me, at which point you began to think that I am dumb.
What might you have known about me? And how might it have led you to that conclusion?
Was it because I am young? Surely not, unless you despise the youth of all of your students. I have tangled locks of hair and an unruly beard, I’ll confess to that. But haven’t many radical geniuses been equally unkempt? Perhaps you translated the look of anticipation on my face as a look of apprehension; perhaps you deduced from that look that I was out of my element. Ergo you dubbed me dumb?
I remain perplexed, Ms. Bully.
I was out of my element, but a big reason for my being so was that I am in search of my element. I was there by choice, and I was not uneasy about that.
I am not dumb and I am not a coward, but neither did I feel particularly motivated to prove these things to you when it was all too apparent that you were axiomatically convinced otherwise. I could have engaged you in rich academic conversation, I have the capacity, but since you thought I was faking from the get go I decided not to give you more fodder to supply your suspicions.
Is it possible that it was my intuition and not my lack of wit that kept me from engaging the disparaging questions and comments that you layered my way? I channeled Ishmael’s words that were commentary on his chief mate Starbuck, “that the most reliable and useful courage [is] that which arises from the fair estimation of the encountered peril”. And like Starbuck, for me “courage [is] not a sentiment, but a thing simply useful”. I would rather not use it to unravel unfounded assumptions.
Had it been an interview and you the determining voice I would have exited your office a failure. Which, incidentally, is also how I entered.
A brief admonition, made with the understanding that, given a reversal of power and position, I might do (or have on occasion done) the same thing. In other words this is an admonition to the bully-potential that each of us walks through our days with:
Don’t be mean to people. It’s okay to be honest and lucid, to be direct and realistic, but have the courage and humanity to also meet the other where they are. Take a quick look at the world through their eyes, especially when the way you see them through yours is less than genial. And give them the benefit of the doubt.
I’ll try, again, to do the same for you.
And everyone remember that bullies aren’t scary. Just a different kind of scared.
Sincerely, your prospective student,
AJM
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
rigidly gooey
I’m moving tomorrow. So naturally I’ve been reflecting on what this season has contributed to life, what I have accomplished and experienced. Between exploring the mountain bike trails that Toronto has to offer, snuggling in for an episode of Mad Men accompanied by a bowl of the gourmet popcorn that Lauren got for her birthday, and stopping into Soma at the Distillery District for a cup of Mayan hot chocolate (i.e. the experiences) I have been working diligently on several applications for graduate school (i.e. the accomplishments).
I am applying for an MA in Religion. After I get these credentials, and maybe a few more, I am going to become a great teacher and change the world. But first I need credentials.
One portion of each application is a statement of interest, a concise essay that is meant to discuss what it is that the applicant is academically into and how it is that the particular program being applied to can both provide for and benefit from the applicant’s area of focus. In this scenario I am the applicant and it’s a pretty straightforward process.
Nonetheless, writing that statement was an intense emotional and intellectual undertaking for me. It couldn’t be too gooey, laden with details about my religious upbringing and personal development. But neither could I allow it to be too cold, rigidly treating the topic as if I was in no way personally invested, as if it was strictly a conceptual undertaking. Ultimately I just had to write it, finish it, without picking it apart too much. I had to make a statement and rest contented with it. I did, and I’m pleased. We’ll see how effective it is come next March and April when the un/acceptance letters start pouring in.
In the meantime I have the residual sensations to sort through. In the process of writing I did explore my religious history and I did examine my current concept of religion. How did I move from the religious expressions that I learned as a child toward the specific interest in religion that I have today? Can both continue to serve me professionally? Personally? Must I denounce the boundaries I grew up with in order to explore beyond them? If I do, may I still honestly be grateful for my religious heritage?
Most of these questions I have answered for myself already, but not publicly, at least not directly. Much of this blog recently has been a public attempt to indirectly betray the fact that I am entertaining questions like these. I think I want to be more direct in future posts. Thanks for reading in the meantime.
I am applying for an MA in Religion. After I get these credentials, and maybe a few more, I am going to become a great teacher and change the world. But first I need credentials.
One portion of each application is a statement of interest, a concise essay that is meant to discuss what it is that the applicant is academically into and how it is that the particular program being applied to can both provide for and benefit from the applicant’s area of focus. In this scenario I am the applicant and it’s a pretty straightforward process.
Nonetheless, writing that statement was an intense emotional and intellectual undertaking for me. It couldn’t be too gooey, laden with details about my religious upbringing and personal development. But neither could I allow it to be too cold, rigidly treating the topic as if I was in no way personally invested, as if it was strictly a conceptual undertaking. Ultimately I just had to write it, finish it, without picking it apart too much. I had to make a statement and rest contented with it. I did, and I’m pleased. We’ll see how effective it is come next March and April when the un/acceptance letters start pouring in.
In the meantime I have the residual sensations to sort through. In the process of writing I did explore my religious history and I did examine my current concept of religion. How did I move from the religious expressions that I learned as a child toward the specific interest in religion that I have today? Can both continue to serve me professionally? Personally? Must I denounce the boundaries I grew up with in order to explore beyond them? If I do, may I still honestly be grateful for my religious heritage?
Most of these questions I have answered for myself already, but not publicly, at least not directly. Much of this blog recently has been a public attempt to indirectly betray the fact that I am entertaining questions like these. I think I want to be more direct in future posts. Thanks for reading in the meantime.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
quick read
Here's a great article pertaining to the New Atheist conversation a few of us engaged in a few posts back, an article by Newsweek's Lisa Miller: http://www.newsweek.com/id/219009
Sunday, November 01, 2009
My podcast experiment
Over the past couple of months I’ve significantly increased my podcast intake. A couple of trips between Toronto and Indianapolis, as well as a fair bit of time spent strolling the urban terrain of the greater Toronto area has afforded me sufficient time to expand my listening. It’s been a worthwhile and informative endeavor, leaving me more confident in conversation. I often feel now that I have a thing or two to contribute regarding politics, culture, spirituality, or any of a number of interesting topics.
This week I decided to do an experiment. I spent a few minutes browsing for podcasts that would represent opposing perspectives on a particular theme. I chose religion, but any theme would have sufficed I’m sure.
By the end of my research I had sniffed out three free podcasts with an apologetic bent; podcasts which function primarily as a resource for defending certain Christian beliefs against secular threats. According to my understanding the ones I selected all represent, while of course not exhaustively, a conservative evangelical approach to Christianity.
Then I uncovered a few representatives from the opposite end of the spectrum, podcasts that advocated atheism and free thought. I downloaded some random episodes from their archives as well.
At the outset I was not interested in entering too deeply into the actual content of the episodes I listened to, because much of it engaged material that I’ve entertained in other ways at other times. Instead I was listening for tone and approach. And in that regard I found, for the most part, that the broadcasters were quite similar to one another regardless of what they were advocating.
What I had set up in my mind as a boxing match between apologists and atheists ended up being rather an absurd choreographed dance. A mental picture in which the boxers pranced about unaware of one another, beating their fists against the air with smirks of confidence spread across their face.
As a representative from either side of a debate it’s easy to be more interested in defending our propositions against perceived threats than it is to demonstrate ways that our views can contribute to a beneficial style of living.
It’s also common to be so set on attacking the opposition that we fail to recognize the ways in which listening to our opponents may actually contribute to our own formation.
Defending one’s perspective is by no means a thing to be criticized, but the attitude of defensiveness and victimization with which it is so often done is a juvenile habit. And although articulating one’s worldview is a necessary piece of social interaction and personal growth, to do so in a way that degrades another person is blatantly arrogant and intemperate.
I am learning to be more honest with others, and myself, by acknowledging that there are things I think with some degree of stability. I do have strong beliefs, and I’m often stubborn about them. My desire in this, however, is to grow in both honesty and patience. I want to recognize that when I propose a statement of belief it is only reasonable to do so if extended conscientiously and compassionately, because compassion is the soil that my beliefs are rooted in.
This week I decided to do an experiment. I spent a few minutes browsing for podcasts that would represent opposing perspectives on a particular theme. I chose religion, but any theme would have sufficed I’m sure.
By the end of my research I had sniffed out three free podcasts with an apologetic bent; podcasts which function primarily as a resource for defending certain Christian beliefs against secular threats. According to my understanding the ones I selected all represent, while of course not exhaustively, a conservative evangelical approach to Christianity.
Then I uncovered a few representatives from the opposite end of the spectrum, podcasts that advocated atheism and free thought. I downloaded some random episodes from their archives as well.
At the outset I was not interested in entering too deeply into the actual content of the episodes I listened to, because much of it engaged material that I’ve entertained in other ways at other times. Instead I was listening for tone and approach. And in that regard I found, for the most part, that the broadcasters were quite similar to one another regardless of what they were advocating.
What I had set up in my mind as a boxing match between apologists and atheists ended up being rather an absurd choreographed dance. A mental picture in which the boxers pranced about unaware of one another, beating their fists against the air with smirks of confidence spread across their face.
As a representative from either side of a debate it’s easy to be more interested in defending our propositions against perceived threats than it is to demonstrate ways that our views can contribute to a beneficial style of living.
It’s also common to be so set on attacking the opposition that we fail to recognize the ways in which listening to our opponents may actually contribute to our own formation.
Defending one’s perspective is by no means a thing to be criticized, but the attitude of defensiveness and victimization with which it is so often done is a juvenile habit. And although articulating one’s worldview is a necessary piece of social interaction and personal growth, to do so in a way that degrades another person is blatantly arrogant and intemperate.
I am learning to be more honest with others, and myself, by acknowledging that there are things I think with some degree of stability. I do have strong beliefs, and I’m often stubborn about them. My desire in this, however, is to grow in both honesty and patience. I want to recognize that when I propose a statement of belief it is only reasonable to do so if extended conscientiously and compassionately, because compassion is the soil that my beliefs are rooted in.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
sacred blunders
I recently finished reading a book called, Misquoting Jesus by Bart Ehrman, a professor and distinguished scholar of early Christianity and the New Testament.
Ehrman spent time in conservative circles (attracted to the Bible by Young Life initiatives, studying at Moody Bible Institute and Wheaton College) but ultimately pitched camp toward the liberal end of things.
His work focuses on textual criticism as it pertains to the New Testament writings. Textual criticism is a method of approaching literary sources that have come to us from a succession of manuscripts… or, a way to study old books. Before the printing press was invented books were copied by hand. Not surprisingly a lot of the hand-copied manuscripts of any old book prove to be riddled with “errors”.
I put errors in quotes because that’s just it, to have an error there has to be a standard from which something must stray. But what textual criticism points out, and attempts to sort out, is that we have lots of manuscripts (copies of portions of books, sometimes entire books) that all vary from one another in all sorts of different ways. There often isn’t a standard or “original” text to which we could compare the hand made copies.
This isn’t just the case with Shakespeare plays and Plato’s Republic. This is the case with the Bible as well, or more accurately, with the books of the Bible. In fact, when it comes to the books of the Bible there are no remaining originals; all we have access to are the copies… actually, copies of copies of copies, etc.
Textual criticism enters the scene and does its best to sort through the thousands of variations within the manuscripts to decipher which reading is probably the most accurate, which reading is closest to what the original author wrote (or said, in the case of a dictated book).
It’s quite a wild ride if you really get into it. The variations are more often than not pretty inconsequential (grammatical slip ups and what not), but there are some controversial bits as well, most of which Ehrman is glad to point out in his assortment of very accessible books.
On a lighter note here's an example of one of those variations, as quoted from Misquoting Jesus:
[Of all the many thousands of accidental mistakes made in our manuscripts, probably the most bizarre is one that occurs in a minuscule manuscript of the four Gospels officially numbered 109, which was produced in the fourteenth century. Its peculiar error occurs in Luke, chapter 3, in the account of Jesus’ genealogy. The scribe was evidently copying a manuscript that gave the genealogy in two columns. For some reason, he did not copy one column at a time, but copied across the two columns. As a result, the names of the genealogy are thrown out of whack, with most people being called the sons of the wrong father. Worse still, the second column of the text the scribe was copying did not have as many lines as the first, so that now, in the copy he made, the father of the human race (i.e., the last one mentioned) is not God but an Israelite named Phares; and God himself is said to be the son of a man named Aram!]
It’s probably best to keep manuscript 109 out of print. Otherwise it might go to my head.
Ehrman spent time in conservative circles (attracted to the Bible by Young Life initiatives, studying at Moody Bible Institute and Wheaton College) but ultimately pitched camp toward the liberal end of things.
His work focuses on textual criticism as it pertains to the New Testament writings. Textual criticism is a method of approaching literary sources that have come to us from a succession of manuscripts… or, a way to study old books. Before the printing press was invented books were copied by hand. Not surprisingly a lot of the hand-copied manuscripts of any old book prove to be riddled with “errors”.
I put errors in quotes because that’s just it, to have an error there has to be a standard from which something must stray. But what textual criticism points out, and attempts to sort out, is that we have lots of manuscripts (copies of portions of books, sometimes entire books) that all vary from one another in all sorts of different ways. There often isn’t a standard or “original” text to which we could compare the hand made copies.
This isn’t just the case with Shakespeare plays and Plato’s Republic. This is the case with the Bible as well, or more accurately, with the books of the Bible. In fact, when it comes to the books of the Bible there are no remaining originals; all we have access to are the copies… actually, copies of copies of copies, etc.
Textual criticism enters the scene and does its best to sort through the thousands of variations within the manuscripts to decipher which reading is probably the most accurate, which reading is closest to what the original author wrote (or said, in the case of a dictated book).
It’s quite a wild ride if you really get into it. The variations are more often than not pretty inconsequential (grammatical slip ups and what not), but there are some controversial bits as well, most of which Ehrman is glad to point out in his assortment of very accessible books.
On a lighter note here's an example of one of those variations, as quoted from Misquoting Jesus:
[Of all the many thousands of accidental mistakes made in our manuscripts, probably the most bizarre is one that occurs in a minuscule manuscript of the four Gospels officially numbered 109, which was produced in the fourteenth century. Its peculiar error occurs in Luke, chapter 3, in the account of Jesus’ genealogy. The scribe was evidently copying a manuscript that gave the genealogy in two columns. For some reason, he did not copy one column at a time, but copied across the two columns. As a result, the names of the genealogy are thrown out of whack, with most people being called the sons of the wrong father. Worse still, the second column of the text the scribe was copying did not have as many lines as the first, so that now, in the copy he made, the father of the human race (i.e., the last one mentioned) is not God but an Israelite named Phares; and God himself is said to be the son of a man named Aram!]
It’s probably best to keep manuscript 109 out of print. Otherwise it might go to my head.
Monday, October 05, 2009
follow up: Islamophobia
If you haven’t yet, please read Sub-sub-librarian’s comment on my Islamophobia post. This post is a response to Subsub’s insightful contribution, but hopefully not the final word… put on your thinking cap and join in! You don’t even have to know all the names of all the people, or all the meanings to all the words. God knows I don’t! [That last sentence becomes potentially ironic as you read further.]
Subsub,
Thank you so much for your generous and thoughtful comment. I appreciate the honest and moderate nature of your critique of Eagleton's argument. I confess that I too have some reading to do regarding the New Atheist conversation, more so than you.
Meanwhile, I especially appreciate your differentiation between the New Atheists, such as Dawkins and Hitchens, and the novelists Rushdie and Amis. It is certainly necessary to distinguish between the differing agendas represented by each of these individuals.
This deviates from the point of your comment, but I have a thought that was sparked by, “…can you blame [anyone] for having a beef with [any religion] what with [the multitude of irrational injustices it has conjured up] and all”. Indeed no. No one should be blamed for the personal ways that they take issue with institutions that have caused them harm. I do think, however, that one must be careful when taking issue with a religion as a whole, especially in the public sphere. Taking issue with the broad entity of "Islam", for example, is different from taking issue with the more specific entity of a particular political or extremist expression of "Islam". The very nature of religion today is complex and multi-representative -- one religion can represent an array of individuals and agendas. This isn't necessarily a good thing, but it is the reality.
Therefore, one of the primary tasks of INTer-religious dialog is to explore and catalog the myriad of religious expressions; perhaps going so far as to dismiss as inaccurate the manifestations of religion that do not align with the seeds of mutuality and compassion that can be found within religious texts, rituals, and traditions. And one of the primary tasks of INNer-religious dialog is for representatives of a particular religion to explore and account for the expressions of that religion, and where necessary labor to transform and redeem harmful expressions.
Returning to your comment regarding theology, you are right that it is not an empirical science. I think a distinction between theology and apologetics would be helpful, with theology being the logos/study of theos/God, and apologetics being the apologia/defense of God. The former is the establishment of an ongoing discourse and the latter is an attempt to provide some sort of empirical proof of the existence of God.
Traditionally Christian theology has included apologetics as one of its offspring. But perhaps the apple in this case has fallen a bit too far from the tree. There are representatives from both sides of the New Atheist debate that approach theology as if it is a verifiable science. Apologists do this, and so do some proponents of atheism. The debate then becomes about whether or not theology is a viable verifiable science. But in fact theology is a conceptual endeavor. To enter into theological study in the first place, whether for or against the concept of God, one must surrender the compulsion to attempt proving or disproving God’s existence.
Theology isn’t about whether or not there is a God, but about what kind of God there is if there is one.
One should approach the subject of the debate (God) by way of the more tangible conduits of divine experience. Human beings. We need to move away from a debate about whether or not God exists, and toward an effort to understand the ways in which divine experience (supposed or actual) affect our social and relational interactions. How does God (whether or not God is real) influence the way people live and act? Can people who believe in God and people who don’t do so in a way that motivates them to live mutually beneficial lives?
There are concepts of God that do need to be discontinued, because of the hostile and sometimes fatal affect that they have in the world. Science can contribute to this task, religion is by no means off limits to any kind of scientific inquiry, but ultimately the task must be accomplished by a discipline that is suitable to the subject, by theology.
I just added, “Breaking the Spell” (by: Daniel Dennett, for those interested) to my Amazon wish list, I anticipate it being a valuable contribution to my exploration of religion as the multi-faceted phenomenon that is it.
Thanks again. You are most erudite.
Subsub,
Thank you so much for your generous and thoughtful comment. I appreciate the honest and moderate nature of your critique of Eagleton's argument. I confess that I too have some reading to do regarding the New Atheist conversation, more so than you.
Meanwhile, I especially appreciate your differentiation between the New Atheists, such as Dawkins and Hitchens, and the novelists Rushdie and Amis. It is certainly necessary to distinguish between the differing agendas represented by each of these individuals.
This deviates from the point of your comment, but I have a thought that was sparked by, “…can you blame [anyone] for having a beef with [any religion] what with [the multitude of irrational injustices it has conjured up] and all”. Indeed no. No one should be blamed for the personal ways that they take issue with institutions that have caused them harm. I do think, however, that one must be careful when taking issue with a religion as a whole, especially in the public sphere. Taking issue with the broad entity of "Islam", for example, is different from taking issue with the more specific entity of a particular political or extremist expression of "Islam". The very nature of religion today is complex and multi-representative -- one religion can represent an array of individuals and agendas. This isn't necessarily a good thing, but it is the reality.
Therefore, one of the primary tasks of INTer-religious dialog is to explore and catalog the myriad of religious expressions; perhaps going so far as to dismiss as inaccurate the manifestations of religion that do not align with the seeds of mutuality and compassion that can be found within religious texts, rituals, and traditions. And one of the primary tasks of INNer-religious dialog is for representatives of a particular religion to explore and account for the expressions of that religion, and where necessary labor to transform and redeem harmful expressions.
Returning to your comment regarding theology, you are right that it is not an empirical science. I think a distinction between theology and apologetics would be helpful, with theology being the logos/study of theos/God, and apologetics being the apologia/defense of God. The former is the establishment of an ongoing discourse and the latter is an attempt to provide some sort of empirical proof of the existence of God.
Traditionally Christian theology has included apologetics as one of its offspring. But perhaps the apple in this case has fallen a bit too far from the tree. There are representatives from both sides of the New Atheist debate that approach theology as if it is a verifiable science. Apologists do this, and so do some proponents of atheism. The debate then becomes about whether or not theology is a viable verifiable science. But in fact theology is a conceptual endeavor. To enter into theological study in the first place, whether for or against the concept of God, one must surrender the compulsion to attempt proving or disproving God’s existence.
Theology isn’t about whether or not there is a God, but about what kind of God there is if there is one.
One should approach the subject of the debate (God) by way of the more tangible conduits of divine experience. Human beings. We need to move away from a debate about whether or not God exists, and toward an effort to understand the ways in which divine experience (supposed or actual) affect our social and relational interactions. How does God (whether or not God is real) influence the way people live and act? Can people who believe in God and people who don’t do so in a way that motivates them to live mutually beneficial lives?
There are concepts of God that do need to be discontinued, because of the hostile and sometimes fatal affect that they have in the world. Science can contribute to this task, religion is by no means off limits to any kind of scientific inquiry, but ultimately the task must be accomplished by a discipline that is suitable to the subject, by theology.
I just added, “Breaking the Spell” (by: Daniel Dennett, for those interested) to my Amazon wish list, I anticipate it being a valuable contribution to my exploration of religion as the multi-faceted phenomenon that is it.
Thanks again. You are most erudite.
Friday, October 02, 2009
Islamophobia
Something I came across on The Immanent Frame blog which is itself something that I recently came across, strikes an interesting thought and an intriguing cultural phenomenon:
http://blogs.ssrc.org/tif/2009/10/01/arnold-eisen-and-terry-eagleton-discuss-reason-faith-and-revolution/
En route to some homemade pizza or else I'd write more, but I have my priorities...
http://blogs.ssrc.org/tif/2009/10/01/arnold-eisen-and-terry-eagleton-discuss-reason-faith-and-revolution/
En route to some homemade pizza or else I'd write more, but I have my priorities...
Monday, September 14, 2009
a spectrum of literacy
Now I'm in Toronto, the city of layers and contrasts. One of the few places where I welcome the concrete beneath my feet and the steel and glass structures around me. I've seen a fair chunk of the northeastern states since I wrote last from Gloucester City, and experienced hospitality from a good many friends. And I had a refreshing visit with my family in Nova Scotia, feasting daily at my mother's table, and partaking in the pleasantries of her company and habitat.
In my absence from posting I have been reading (and sometimes listening to) good books (and an occasional poor one). So as a maneuver of reentry I offer an assortment of abstracts and some subtle recommendations.
Have read:
The Bible: A Biography, by Karen Armstrong -- It is just that, a biographical look at the Biblical canon. Armstrong addresses the stages of development behind the various books that were compiled to make the Bible as it is today. She gives special attention to the individuals who were catalytic in that development, as well as those who influenced the progression of how the Bible (in its final form) has been and is perceived and interpreted. In light of the distorted and toxic ways in which the Bible is frequently used (whether as a justification for the violence of war or of attitudes of sexism, entitlement or intolerance, amongst other things) Armstrong suggests a compassionate hermeneutic. She references the approach espoused by Augustine, the church father, and Hillel, the Jewish rabbi, that "any interpretation of scripture that spreads hatred and dissension is illegitimate; all exegesis must be guided by the principle of charity."
Teacher Man, by Frank McCourt -- McCourt is an Irish man who immigrated to the United States and taught literature in the New York public school system for 30 years. I listened to (most of) the audio version, performed by McCourt himself. "Dead Poet's Society" meets an Irish accent. On his first day of class one student threw a bologna sandwich at another student, in response McCourt ate the sandwich. It's not so much that he was committed to his unconventional approach to education and crowd control tactics, as it was that he knew no other way. The book is an account of his improvisational career, a delight and, for those of us inclined to the possibility of becoming educators, an inspiration.
We Are Extremely Very Good Recyclers, by Lauren Child -- Meet Charlie, the warmhearted and amicable British school boy, and his little sister Lola, who is articulate in her own way and very funny. "Veggie Tales" quivers in the shadow of Lauren Child's creation. "Baby Einstein" needs to get up or move over. Here comes a multi-media sibling duo with enough charisma and charm to, quite possibly, actually make the world a better place.
Man Without a Country, by Kurt Vonnegut -- The man earned the right to write this book. A collection of final rants, complete with the unabashed honesty and raw humor that Vonnegut is loved, nay followed, for. If you want a gentle nudge toward the appreciation of socialism, or if you're tired of war and gas guzzling SUV's, then you might find a handy bit of solidarity from the beloved chain-smoking, sci-fi writing, cultural commentating Hoosier. God (whom Vonnegut seemed to have a strained but working relationship with) rest him.
Cry, the Beloved Country, by Alan Paton -- Set in South Africa just shy of the institution of apartheid, Paton's novel follows the unlikely story of two men whose sons have a tragic chance encounter. It's a story about family and home and the struggle of faith. But the setting somehow carries the plot beyond itself, and superimposes it onto any and all occasions, historical and contemporary, of segregation. It is a plea for hope, that humans might overcome or outlive our tendency toward segregation, replacing hierarchy with mutuality. It is also a sincere acknowledgment of the suffering that has occurred and is inevitable along the way.
Reading:
Runaways, by Brian Vaughn & Adrian Alphona -- It reminds me of "Newsies" in a way. The Marvel version, without any music. The parents turn out to be super villains. The offspring run away, discover their own unnatural gifts and abilities, and unite with super-angst to set right the world's wrongs. There's also a velociraptor from the future.
That's Not What I Meant, by Deborah Tannen -- A little paperback psychology book about the linguistics of conversations. With this book I am attempting to acquire and fine tune my very own superpower.
Jesus Wants to Save Christians, by Rob Bell & Don Golden -- A good use of the biblical narrative, the way it should be done: as a progression, as good literature, with themes and irony and complex characters. Part way into the audio version and already I'm applauding.
In my absence from posting I have been reading (and sometimes listening to) good books (and an occasional poor one). So as a maneuver of reentry I offer an assortment of abstracts and some subtle recommendations.
Have read:
The Bible: A Biography, by Karen Armstrong -- It is just that, a biographical look at the Biblical canon. Armstrong addresses the stages of development behind the various books that were compiled to make the Bible as it is today. She gives special attention to the individuals who were catalytic in that development, as well as those who influenced the progression of how the Bible (in its final form) has been and is perceived and interpreted. In light of the distorted and toxic ways in which the Bible is frequently used (whether as a justification for the violence of war or of attitudes of sexism, entitlement or intolerance, amongst other things) Armstrong suggests a compassionate hermeneutic. She references the approach espoused by Augustine, the church father, and Hillel, the Jewish rabbi, that "any interpretation of scripture that spreads hatred and dissension is illegitimate; all exegesis must be guided by the principle of charity."
Teacher Man, by Frank McCourt -- McCourt is an Irish man who immigrated to the United States and taught literature in the New York public school system for 30 years. I listened to (most of) the audio version, performed by McCourt himself. "Dead Poet's Society" meets an Irish accent. On his first day of class one student threw a bologna sandwich at another student, in response McCourt ate the sandwich. It's not so much that he was committed to his unconventional approach to education and crowd control tactics, as it was that he knew no other way. The book is an account of his improvisational career, a delight and, for those of us inclined to the possibility of becoming educators, an inspiration.
We Are Extremely Very Good Recyclers, by Lauren Child -- Meet Charlie, the warmhearted and amicable British school boy, and his little sister Lola, who is articulate in her own way and very funny. "Veggie Tales" quivers in the shadow of Lauren Child's creation. "Baby Einstein" needs to get up or move over. Here comes a multi-media sibling duo with enough charisma and charm to, quite possibly, actually make the world a better place.
Man Without a Country, by Kurt Vonnegut -- The man earned the right to write this book. A collection of final rants, complete with the unabashed honesty and raw humor that Vonnegut is loved, nay followed, for. If you want a gentle nudge toward the appreciation of socialism, or if you're tired of war and gas guzzling SUV's, then you might find a handy bit of solidarity from the beloved chain-smoking, sci-fi writing, cultural commentating Hoosier. God (whom Vonnegut seemed to have a strained but working relationship with) rest him.
Cry, the Beloved Country, by Alan Paton -- Set in South Africa just shy of the institution of apartheid, Paton's novel follows the unlikely story of two men whose sons have a tragic chance encounter. It's a story about family and home and the struggle of faith. But the setting somehow carries the plot beyond itself, and superimposes it onto any and all occasions, historical and contemporary, of segregation. It is a plea for hope, that humans might overcome or outlive our tendency toward segregation, replacing hierarchy with mutuality. It is also a sincere acknowledgment of the suffering that has occurred and is inevitable along the way.
Reading:
Runaways, by Brian Vaughn & Adrian Alphona -- It reminds me of "Newsies" in a way. The Marvel version, without any music. The parents turn out to be super villains. The offspring run away, discover their own unnatural gifts and abilities, and unite with super-angst to set right the world's wrongs. There's also a velociraptor from the future.
That's Not What I Meant, by Deborah Tannen -- A little paperback psychology book about the linguistics of conversations. With this book I am attempting to acquire and fine tune my very own superpower.
Jesus Wants to Save Christians, by Rob Bell & Don Golden -- A good use of the biblical narrative, the way it should be done: as a progression, as good literature, with themes and irony and complex characters. Part way into the audio version and already I'm applauding.
Saturday, August 08, 2009
Crossings
Currently we're in New Jersey, here to celebrate (and participate) in our friends' wedding. Yesterday while Lauren was performing bridesmaid duties I had the opportunity to shadow my new friend Nate as he trouped around town. Nate had to pick up some dry cleaning and check his PO box, but en route he swung me past a few establishments to check in on some friends of his, all the while he offered me a crash course, entry level education regarding the social, racial, and economic situation of some of the neighborhoods east of Philadelphia.
Gloucester City and Camden, New Jersey function (or disfunction) as a sort of microcosm of some of the macro-issues in the world at large; including attitudes of prejudice and racism, habits of drug abuse, and the gentrification of select areas corresponding with the neglect of others. What I find most striking from the exposure to these areas and their demographics is the distinct border that Nate pointed out to me which separates Gloucester City (97% White) from Camden (53% Black or African American and 38% Hispanic or Latino). It's a simple bridge. On one side is Gloucester City and on the other is Camden. It takes about three seconds to cross it in a car.
The issue, of course, is not the geographical border.
As a peacemaker and an architect for unity (some people call him a pastor) Nate considers it his task to prod people toward crossing borders. Certainly the geographic ones, so that we can be in the same place, eating with one another, playing with and living along side of each other; but also the many borders that we establish in our hearts and our ideologies toward others.
And if perhaps we are quite sure that we have established no such borders, let's consider that perhaps there are borders we have inherited that must be crossed even before we can recognize them as debilitating to the pursuit of a healthy humanity.
To see a bit more of what Nate and his cronies are up to in the greater Philadelphia area you can go to http://circleofhope.net/blog/
And if you are in or interested in the Indianapolis area I have some cronies who are doing similar border crossings in the Fountain Square vicinity. Their web-presence is on the horizon.
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
quotes: in pursuit of an us
At the heart of all authentic, healthy, life-sustaining religions, one always finds this clear requirement. Whatever religious people may say about their love of God or the mandates of their religion, when their behavior toward others is violent and destructive, when it causes suffering among their neighbors, you can be sure the religion has been corrupted and reform is desperately needed. When religion becomes evil, these corruptions are always present. Conversely, when religion remains true to its authentic sources, it is actively dismantling these corruptions, a process that is urgently needed now. Unlike generations that have gone before us, the consequences today of corrupted religion are both dire and global.
Charles Kimball in When Religion Becomes Evil
The challenge today is to seek a unity that celebrates diversity, to unite the particular with the universal, to recognize the need for roots while insisting that the point of roots is to put forth branches. What is intolerable is for difference to become idolatrous. When absolutized, nationalism, ethnicity, race, and gender are reactionary impulses. They become pseudoreligions, brittle and small, without the power to make people great. No human being's identity is exhausted by his or her gender, race, ethnic origin, or national loyalty. Human beings are fully human only when they find the universal in the particular, when they recognize that all people have more in common than they have in conflict, and that it is precisely when what they have in conflict seems overriding that what they have in common needs most to be affirmed. Human rights are more important than the politics of identity, and religious people should be notorious boundary crossers.
William Sloane Coffin in A Passion for the Possible
The traditional form of Western scholarship in the study of other [religious traditions] was that of an impersonl presentation of an "it." The first great innovation in recent times has been the personalization of the faiths observed, so that one finds a discussion of a "they." Presently the observer become personally involved, so that the situation is one of a "we" talking about a "they." The next step is a dialogue where "we" talk to "you." If there is listening and mutuality, this may become that "we" talk with "you." The culmination of the process is when "we all" are talking with each other about "us."
Wilfred Cantwell Smith
Charles Kimball in When Religion Becomes Evil
The challenge today is to seek a unity that celebrates diversity, to unite the particular with the universal, to recognize the need for roots while insisting that the point of roots is to put forth branches. What is intolerable is for difference to become idolatrous. When absolutized, nationalism, ethnicity, race, and gender are reactionary impulses. They become pseudoreligions, brittle and small, without the power to make people great. No human being's identity is exhausted by his or her gender, race, ethnic origin, or national loyalty. Human beings are fully human only when they find the universal in the particular, when they recognize that all people have more in common than they have in conflict, and that it is precisely when what they have in conflict seems overriding that what they have in common needs most to be affirmed. Human rights are more important than the politics of identity, and religious people should be notorious boundary crossers.
William Sloane Coffin in A Passion for the Possible
The traditional form of Western scholarship in the study of other [religious traditions] was that of an impersonl presentation of an "it." The first great innovation in recent times has been the personalization of the faiths observed, so that one finds a discussion of a "they." Presently the observer become personally involved, so that the situation is one of a "we" talking about a "they." The next step is a dialogue where "we" talk to "you." If there is listening and mutuality, this may become that "we" talk with "you." The culmination of the process is when "we all" are talking with each other about "us."
Wilfred Cantwell Smith
Monday, June 29, 2009
my recent reading list
A Short History of Myth, by Karen Armstrong
I read this already. It's accessible (perhaps even more so than her other books, due, if nothing else, to the length -- it is short and concise and informative). It's contents resound harmonically with what I wrote about in my "follow up (part two)" post. I recommend it especially for people interested in stories of origin, sacred stories/parables, history, art and literature. I recommend it for anyone who is a story teller; whether a parent who story tells to a child at bedtime, or a preacher who story tells from the pulpit.
When Religion Becomes Evil, by Charles Kimball
I'm bouncing toward the finish as I turn the pages of the final chapter. Almost literally bouncing, it's been such an exciting read for me. I was caught by the title while browsing the library shelves, because I have this thing: I value religion. As one who values religion I am sensitive to the instances in life when religion is discarded. The title of Kimball's book struck me in such a way that I assumed its contents to be in keeping with such a message -- religion is a fertile breeding ground for malevolent conduct, therefore be rid of it. On the contrary however, Kimball writes out of his vast experience in the realm of religious study and practice, indeed about when religion becomes evil, when it is manifested in corrupt form (and we'd do well to heed the reality of such forms of religion). But he approaches the topic with a hopeful, rather than cynical, bent suggesting that an authentic understanding of religion, an accurate examination of the heart of the major religious traditions, is both helpful and necessary in our globalizing world today. What I appreciate most about this book is Kimball's tone, which is gentle, fair, and compelling.
The World's Religions, by Huston Smith
(Sort of, it's the illustrated version, abridged a bit.) I haven't begun yet. As I continue to read in this field I intend to offer some posts that might help with the process of what I mentioned above: pursuing an authentic understanding and accurate examination of the diverse religious traditions worldwide (and, like it or not, next door).
It is not necessary for us to agree with our neighbors or to have the same experience as our neighbors. What is important is that we put forth an honest effort at understanding our neighbors, this is the first step toward loving them well. In order to understand our neighbors the surest approach would be to live alongside of them -- to eat and work and play and talk with them, to listen to their stories and share our own. Yet one of the obstacles many of us face today is the wall of religious (mis)understanding. We do not know how to (or if we should) entertain relationship with those (individually and often communally) who seem so starkly different from us. The exposure that we get from the media regarding religion is almost exclusively honed in on the corrupt manifestations (religiously motivated violence and conflict and war). Yet there is much more to be gleaned from religion than corruption and misunderstanding.
It requires energy, humility, and, more than anything else, courage to enter into the process of pursuing mutual understanding and reconciling relationships -- whether the table we're sitting at is explicitly religious, or political or ethnic or economical (or as is most often the case some assortment of each of these elements). But it's worth the energy -- because these people are your brothers and sisters. And we don't need to feel threatened by each other -- because each of you have a voice that can not be silenced. And there's nothing to be afraid of -- because diversity is at the heart of the dynamic peace that is God's intention and plan for our world.
Now some of us don't believe in God, some of us think we are gods, most of us who do believe in God don't agree on God. My point isn't to suggest one scheme of divinity over another. What I'm pointing at is the possibility beyond the plight that is far more evident and proximate than any of us are comforatable with. That possibility of peace (whole peace, shalom and shanti peace) will require everything: more than our honest efforts alone, and more than our fervent prayers alone, and more than our deepest hope and strongest faith alone. It requires everything of us and everything of everything.
I read this already. It's accessible (perhaps even more so than her other books, due, if nothing else, to the length -- it is short and concise and informative). It's contents resound harmonically with what I wrote about in my "follow up (part two)" post. I recommend it especially for people interested in stories of origin, sacred stories/parables, history, art and literature. I recommend it for anyone who is a story teller; whether a parent who story tells to a child at bedtime, or a preacher who story tells from the pulpit.
When Religion Becomes Evil, by Charles Kimball
I'm bouncing toward the finish as I turn the pages of the final chapter. Almost literally bouncing, it's been such an exciting read for me. I was caught by the title while browsing the library shelves, because I have this thing: I value religion. As one who values religion I am sensitive to the instances in life when religion is discarded. The title of Kimball's book struck me in such a way that I assumed its contents to be in keeping with such a message -- religion is a fertile breeding ground for malevolent conduct, therefore be rid of it. On the contrary however, Kimball writes out of his vast experience in the realm of religious study and practice, indeed about when religion becomes evil, when it is manifested in corrupt form (and we'd do well to heed the reality of such forms of religion). But he approaches the topic with a hopeful, rather than cynical, bent suggesting that an authentic understanding of religion, an accurate examination of the heart of the major religious traditions, is both helpful and necessary in our globalizing world today. What I appreciate most about this book is Kimball's tone, which is gentle, fair, and compelling.
The World's Religions, by Huston Smith
(Sort of, it's the illustrated version, abridged a bit.) I haven't begun yet. As I continue to read in this field I intend to offer some posts that might help with the process of what I mentioned above: pursuing an authentic understanding and accurate examination of the diverse religious traditions worldwide (and, like it or not, next door).
It is not necessary for us to agree with our neighbors or to have the same experience as our neighbors. What is important is that we put forth an honest effort at understanding our neighbors, this is the first step toward loving them well. In order to understand our neighbors the surest approach would be to live alongside of them -- to eat and work and play and talk with them, to listen to their stories and share our own. Yet one of the obstacles many of us face today is the wall of religious (mis)understanding. We do not know how to (or if we should) entertain relationship with those (individually and often communally) who seem so starkly different from us. The exposure that we get from the media regarding religion is almost exclusively honed in on the corrupt manifestations (religiously motivated violence and conflict and war). Yet there is much more to be gleaned from religion than corruption and misunderstanding.
It requires energy, humility, and, more than anything else, courage to enter into the process of pursuing mutual understanding and reconciling relationships -- whether the table we're sitting at is explicitly religious, or political or ethnic or economical (or as is most often the case some assortment of each of these elements). But it's worth the energy -- because these people are your brothers and sisters. And we don't need to feel threatened by each other -- because each of you have a voice that can not be silenced. And there's nothing to be afraid of -- because diversity is at the heart of the dynamic peace that is God's intention and plan for our world.
Now some of us don't believe in God, some of us think we are gods, most of us who do believe in God don't agree on God. My point isn't to suggest one scheme of divinity over another. What I'm pointing at is the possibility beyond the plight that is far more evident and proximate than any of us are comforatable with. That possibility of peace (whole peace, shalom and shanti peace) will require everything: more than our honest efforts alone, and more than our fervent prayers alone, and more than our deepest hope and strongest faith alone. It requires everything of us and everything of everything.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
hermeneutics in a different discipline
I'm not particularly savvy when it comes to political matters. So I don't mean to open up a discussion that I'm not personally able to engage in. However, I sensed some similarities in a brief article I read about interpretive theory as it pertains to the USA's constitution (http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=105439966&ft=1&f=1001), and the art of interpretation (hermeneutics) as it pertains to sacred scriptures.. in my experience specifically: the Hebrew Bible and the Christian New Testament.
I feel strongly that there is a lot of value in considering any authoritative document as a living thing, not static or fixed, but adaptable, active, and alive. This is a tradition of thought that I was exposed to early in my education regarding the Bible, through passages that actually came from the Bible (such as 2 Timothy 3.16 that compares sacred scripture to the breathing of God or the wind that God blows into our lives to propel us along the good route of living right) and from the influences of my teachers and mentors who read scripture and applied it (adapted it to relate) to personal matters, things that mattered to them or me or us.
As a dear friend of mine pointed out during a recent stint of camping and exploring amongst the elements of the natural world: while much around us seems to be fixed and established and still from our perspective (such as the ground we walk and sleep on, the rocks we lean against, the words we read) they are actually in perpetual motion. A sort of momentum or current carries them along, with us, in a frightening-comforting cosmic chaotic divine dance.
I feel strongly that there is a lot of value in considering any authoritative document as a living thing, not static or fixed, but adaptable, active, and alive. This is a tradition of thought that I was exposed to early in my education regarding the Bible, through passages that actually came from the Bible (such as 2 Timothy 3.16 that compares sacred scripture to the breathing of God or the wind that God blows into our lives to propel us along the good route of living right) and from the influences of my teachers and mentors who read scripture and applied it (adapted it to relate) to personal matters, things that mattered to them or me or us.
As a dear friend of mine pointed out during a recent stint of camping and exploring amongst the elements of the natural world: while much around us seems to be fixed and established and still from our perspective (such as the ground we walk and sleep on, the rocks we lean against, the words we read) they are actually in perpetual motion. A sort of momentum or current carries them along, with us, in a frightening-comforting cosmic chaotic divine dance.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
follow up (part two)
I want to offer a revision to one of my recent posts. In "VI. Jesus" I said that I don't believe in the ascension of Jesus. That's not entirely true, and I apologize for the misleading that such a statement could cause.
It's a fact that I don't believe that the historical Jesus actually levitated into the sky and broke through the stratosphere en route to the heavenly corner of outer space.
But I do believe that the Bible's story (referenced in Mark 16, Luke 24, and Acts 1) about the ascension of Jesus is true.
To say that something is true is more than (not less than) saying that something happened.
The story of Jesus' ascent expresses his "new level of spiritual attainment", his "transcendence and liberation from the constraints of the human condition", and his always-presence in our explorations of what it means to become fully human, fully alive, eternally alive. (quoted words borrowed from Karen Armstrong, the italics are my addition)
I am compelled and encouraged by this story that I believe tells the truth.
This sort of approach raises questions for some people.
For instance, "If you do away with the story of the ascension [or in a lot of similar conversations the story at hand is that of creation as contained in both Genesis 1 and 2, but the point is...] what's to keep you from doing away with Jesus' resurrection? or miraculous birth? or his divinity? or the sending of the Holy Spirit? or the promise of heaven after life as we know it has come to an end?"
In response I ask that it be considered once again whether such an approach does indeed do away with the story? Does the truth contained in the story require that each event happened in a literal fashion? If your answer is "yes" then please hold to that truth, hold to it in the fashion that your heart and conscience necessitates. And if mine is "no" please understand that you and I have a hold of the same truth, though our grip may differ.
Another question is, "Who are you [insert my name, or someone else perhaps] to decide what is to be taken literally and what isn't?
Indeed, point well made, I completely agree and readily refrain (and hope that anyone else would do the same) from assuming such authority.
The task of seeking understanding and direction from one's sacred scriptures belongs to the community that holds those scriptures as authoritative. That community must use both scholarship and common sense, must heed the voices of academic experts, qualified clerical leaders, and committed believers. It is also the responsibility of the community to corporately heed the voices of those who are often marginalized and silenced.
Only as part of such an ongoing conversation will scripture become alive with its full potential to guide in the way of love and truth. Only then will it silence the chatter of the minority that uses religion as a justification for violence, and the babble of those who sell certainty as a synonym for faith. Only then will it equip and enable its followers to live in a manner corresponding with the hope available in its words.
It's a fact that I don't believe that the historical Jesus actually levitated into the sky and broke through the stratosphere en route to the heavenly corner of outer space.
But I do believe that the Bible's story (referenced in Mark 16, Luke 24, and Acts 1) about the ascension of Jesus is true.
To say that something is true is more than (not less than) saying that something happened.
The story of Jesus' ascent expresses his "new level of spiritual attainment", his "transcendence and liberation from the constraints of the human condition", and his always-presence in our explorations of what it means to become fully human, fully alive, eternally alive. (quoted words borrowed from Karen Armstrong, the italics are my addition)
I am compelled and encouraged by this story that I believe tells the truth.
This sort of approach raises questions for some people.
For instance, "If you do away with the story of the ascension [or in a lot of similar conversations the story at hand is that of creation as contained in both Genesis 1 and 2, but the point is...] what's to keep you from doing away with Jesus' resurrection? or miraculous birth? or his divinity? or the sending of the Holy Spirit? or the promise of heaven after life as we know it has come to an end?"
In response I ask that it be considered once again whether such an approach does indeed do away with the story? Does the truth contained in the story require that each event happened in a literal fashion? If your answer is "yes" then please hold to that truth, hold to it in the fashion that your heart and conscience necessitates. And if mine is "no" please understand that you and I have a hold of the same truth, though our grip may differ.
Another question is, "Who are you [insert my name, or someone else perhaps] to decide what is to be taken literally and what isn't?
Indeed, point well made, I completely agree and readily refrain (and hope that anyone else would do the same) from assuming such authority.
The task of seeking understanding and direction from one's sacred scriptures belongs to the community that holds those scriptures as authoritative. That community must use both scholarship and common sense, must heed the voices of academic experts, qualified clerical leaders, and committed believers. It is also the responsibility of the community to corporately heed the voices of those who are often marginalized and silenced.
Only as part of such an ongoing conversation will scripture become alive with its full potential to guide in the way of love and truth. Only then will it silence the chatter of the minority that uses religion as a justification for violence, and the babble of those who sell certainty as a synonym for faith. Only then will it equip and enable its followers to live in a manner corresponding with the hope available in its words.
follow up (part one)
I have finished my project of episodic posts pertaining to myself and the Christian paradigm(s). Chipping away at a theology of sorts, by no means managing (or trying) to find the final word on theology's subject, who is mystery beyond all else, and who does more crafting on us than we on her or him.
I've had the opportunity to dialogue with some of my readers who have felt confused, and some who have felt concerned, by portions of some of the posts. And that's ok, some confusion is to be expected, partly because this stuff goes deep in us, but also because my chisel here is language. Not facial expression or vocal inflection. Not situational or direct relational context. Just English words wrapped around images and ideas.
I enjoy language, all it's nuances and capabilities -- it's un/subtle tools that enable us to communicate with one another -- yet I also have a lot of respect for the limits of language. The ways it allows for and contributes to mis-communication.
The ideas I've shared lack context for many of my readers. They lack the history in which they've developed -- both outside of me (by way of books, classes, trips, conversations, poems, prayers, sermons, speeches, interviews, and essays) and inside of me (the pace at which these ideas have come to me, or I to them, personally). The full story of my experiences with these sources of influence and their place in my life isn't something that I can recount completely. And since the story of where I've been is incomplete, so to is the communication of where I am.
I would like to offer a clarification nonetheless -- again, not for the sake of agreement or consensus, or even for the sake of understanding in and of itself. But for the process of trying, and simply because I'm having a great time writing.
My clarification has two parts: (part one) some back ground thought, a canvas, and (part two) a revision to one of my posts...
(part one)
To believe that a thing is true does not necessitate a corresponding belief in the literal, actual, historical occurrence of the thing.
That truth requires something to be verified as historical or believed in as literal is a relatively young concept, and by no means universally practiced. It's sort of the brain child of the age of enlightenment and the era of modernity. A result of the incestuous coupling of scientific method with religious or existential concerns.
To apply scientific methodology to our endeavors in biological or psychological study is entirely appropriate and yields good and informative fruit. To apply it to historical and archaeological study, to ecology and neurology, to chemistry and physics is good.
Our use of observation, forethought, and reason is as old as our earliest inventions. Our first tools and the discipline of agriculture resulted from these qualities, so have moon landings and photographs and our ability to purify water.
To address things of a religious, moral, or relational nature with the methods of science, however, is not helpful in the end -- square hole, triangle block -- it doesn't fit.
Both are about life. About what's around us and what comes at us through our senses. And sometimes about what's beyond us, which can't be directly sensed. Both are about happenings.
"Why did that happen?" -- Science wonders what sorts of causes led up to a certain event.
"Why did that happen?" -- Religion wonders what purpose there is, or can be found, in a certain event.
"How did we get here and where are we going?" -- Science assumes that the ball is already rolling, that we can measure the ball, we can decipher where it has rolled from by examining the trail it has left, and we can predict how and where it will continue to roll depending on various influential factors.
"How did we get here and where are we going?" -- Religion also assumes that something or someone got the ball rolling, and it crafts, compiles, and sustains narratives and rituals that help us to cope with and celebrate the rolling of the ball.
We could try to do away with science, but we'd be cutting out an important innovative and inventive portion of our nature as humans.
We could try to do away with religion, but we'd be severing ourselves (if not personally then collectively) from a part of us that is thoughtful, feeling, and imaginative.
These two are not at odds within us, neither do they need to be at odds externally. Rather than going to the extreme of ridding ourselves completely of one of these important elements in the human story, or trying to marry two things that are not meant to be married (though they make great friends), we'd do well to commit our energies to a couple of other tasks.
One: being rid of the corrupt forms of religious expression that manifest themselves either ridiculously (best case scenario) or violently (worst case scenario).
Two: refraining from the contemporary compulsion to deify our rational abilities at the cost of sacrificing our emotional abilities, which has the potential to (best case scenario) lead to a biting skepticism and (worst case scenario) create a context for... you guessed it, violence.
I've had the opportunity to dialogue with some of my readers who have felt confused, and some who have felt concerned, by portions of some of the posts. And that's ok, some confusion is to be expected, partly because this stuff goes deep in us, but also because my chisel here is language. Not facial expression or vocal inflection. Not situational or direct relational context. Just English words wrapped around images and ideas.
I enjoy language, all it's nuances and capabilities -- it's un/subtle tools that enable us to communicate with one another -- yet I also have a lot of respect for the limits of language. The ways it allows for and contributes to mis-communication.
The ideas I've shared lack context for many of my readers. They lack the history in which they've developed -- both outside of me (by way of books, classes, trips, conversations, poems, prayers, sermons, speeches, interviews, and essays) and inside of me (the pace at which these ideas have come to me, or I to them, personally). The full story of my experiences with these sources of influence and their place in my life isn't something that I can recount completely. And since the story of where I've been is incomplete, so to is the communication of where I am.
I would like to offer a clarification nonetheless -- again, not for the sake of agreement or consensus, or even for the sake of understanding in and of itself. But for the process of trying, and simply because I'm having a great time writing.
My clarification has two parts: (part one) some back ground thought, a canvas, and (part two) a revision to one of my posts...
(part one)
To believe that a thing is true does not necessitate a corresponding belief in the literal, actual, historical occurrence of the thing.
That truth requires something to be verified as historical or believed in as literal is a relatively young concept, and by no means universally practiced. It's sort of the brain child of the age of enlightenment and the era of modernity. A result of the incestuous coupling of scientific method with religious or existential concerns.
To apply scientific methodology to our endeavors in biological or psychological study is entirely appropriate and yields good and informative fruit. To apply it to historical and archaeological study, to ecology and neurology, to chemistry and physics is good.
Our use of observation, forethought, and reason is as old as our earliest inventions. Our first tools and the discipline of agriculture resulted from these qualities, so have moon landings and photographs and our ability to purify water.
To address things of a religious, moral, or relational nature with the methods of science, however, is not helpful in the end -- square hole, triangle block -- it doesn't fit.
Both are about life. About what's around us and what comes at us through our senses. And sometimes about what's beyond us, which can't be directly sensed. Both are about happenings.
"Why did that happen?" -- Science wonders what sorts of causes led up to a certain event.
"Why did that happen?" -- Religion wonders what purpose there is, or can be found, in a certain event.
"How did we get here and where are we going?" -- Science assumes that the ball is already rolling, that we can measure the ball, we can decipher where it has rolled from by examining the trail it has left, and we can predict how and where it will continue to roll depending on various influential factors.
"How did we get here and where are we going?" -- Religion also assumes that something or someone got the ball rolling, and it crafts, compiles, and sustains narratives and rituals that help us to cope with and celebrate the rolling of the ball.
We could try to do away with science, but we'd be cutting out an important innovative and inventive portion of our nature as humans.
We could try to do away with religion, but we'd be severing ourselves (if not personally then collectively) from a part of us that is thoughtful, feeling, and imaginative.
These two are not at odds within us, neither do they need to be at odds externally. Rather than going to the extreme of ridding ourselves completely of one of these important elements in the human story, or trying to marry two things that are not meant to be married (though they make great friends), we'd do well to commit our energies to a couple of other tasks.
One: being rid of the corrupt forms of religious expression that manifest themselves either ridiculously (best case scenario) or violently (worst case scenario).
Two: refraining from the contemporary compulsion to deify our rational abilities at the cost of sacrificing our emotional abilities, which has the potential to (best case scenario) lead to a biting skepticism and (worst case scenario) create a context for... you guessed it, violence.
Friday, June 05, 2009
VI. Jesus
My trail mates and I have returned from the Paria Canyon. Her curves were intoxicating, aquatic and feminine. Her touch luminous and chilling. Her presence was a grip and it calmed the core with soothing tones. I feel great.
And now it's time again for some of my ink to spill into the internet, the web, that unknown expanse of nothingness that somehow holds all of these words and interactions we have.
Jesus of Nazareth.
A miracle baby with a big story: the carpenter turned rabbi, the rabbi turned revolutionary, the revolutionary turned religious icon.
I wonder at times if, as a religious icon, Jesus wishes he might have avoided that last stage of his evolution and remained a revolutionary? Inspiring change and rebuking indifference in the lives and hearts of the men and women who gathered around him.
I wonder, in his revolutionary days, if Jesus may have thought fondly back on the simplicity of his teaching days? A rabbi telling stories and offering anecdotes pertaining to matters of living in a harsh and humorous world.
And as a rabbi might Jesus have reminisced about his father's workshop? Where with his hands busy and tongue still he experienced the luxury of practicing a craft.
It's no wonder Jesus often withdrew to lonely places. We have overwhelmed him with our demands: "Teach us." "Inspire us." "Save us."
What is a wonder is that Jesus comes around any more at all, that Jesus ever returned from the lonely places. He must have loved doing what he did: incarnating love, befriending the friendless, touching the untouchables, partying with the partiers; amongst other things.
I believe in Jesus' resurrection, but not his ascension. I don't think heaven is a place in the sky that Jesus could or would have ascended to. I don't like the idea of a satellite Jesus, an outer space Jesus, a Jesus in orbit.
I like the idea of a shekinah Jesus, a Jesus who wandered off in the midst of the scandal of his return from the dead, and who has been amongst us in one way and another ever since. Yes in spirit as a teacher and revolutionary and religious icon. But with his body as well. Biting his tongue and using his hands and still making friends, loving humanity, loving life.
And now it's time again for some of my ink to spill into the internet, the web, that unknown expanse of nothingness that somehow holds all of these words and interactions we have.
Jesus of Nazareth.
A miracle baby with a big story: the carpenter turned rabbi, the rabbi turned revolutionary, the revolutionary turned religious icon.
I wonder at times if, as a religious icon, Jesus wishes he might have avoided that last stage of his evolution and remained a revolutionary? Inspiring change and rebuking indifference in the lives and hearts of the men and women who gathered around him.
I wonder, in his revolutionary days, if Jesus may have thought fondly back on the simplicity of his teaching days? A rabbi telling stories and offering anecdotes pertaining to matters of living in a harsh and humorous world.
And as a rabbi might Jesus have reminisced about his father's workshop? Where with his hands busy and tongue still he experienced the luxury of practicing a craft.
It's no wonder Jesus often withdrew to lonely places. We have overwhelmed him with our demands: "Teach us." "Inspire us." "Save us."
What is a wonder is that Jesus comes around any more at all, that Jesus ever returned from the lonely places. He must have loved doing what he did: incarnating love, befriending the friendless, touching the untouchables, partying with the partiers; amongst other things.
I believe in Jesus' resurrection, but not his ascension. I don't think heaven is a place in the sky that Jesus could or would have ascended to. I don't like the idea of a satellite Jesus, an outer space Jesus, a Jesus in orbit.
I like the idea of a shekinah Jesus, a Jesus who wandered off in the midst of the scandal of his return from the dead, and who has been amongst us in one way and another ever since. Yes in spirit as a teacher and revolutionary and religious icon. But with his body as well. Biting his tongue and using his hands and still making friends, loving humanity, loving life.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
(intermission II.)
I'll be carrying my journal with me during the next week, along with all of life's other essentials, and a handful of luxuries (pipe, dark chocolate, Sierra Designs' down moccassins). My lover and I, along with two other couples, and a single guy who is comfortable enough in his own skin to make the journey with we three pairs, are flying to Vegas in the morning, and by various means making our way to Wire Pass -- a trail head in Utah that points us toward the Paria River which we'll find and follow for five days or so until it shoves us into the Colorado near Lee's Ferry in Arizona.
The wireless signals are just weak enough in the canyon that I'll not be bothering to bring a lap top with me. I'll complete my "Christian Enterprise and I" series of posts upon my return with a word or two on Jesus. But I'll be writing in my journal, real inky words, while I'm away, and eager to continue to share the words I'm finding that express my way of being in this very diverse and beautiful, often troubling, and more often surprising world of ours.
I'll be walking with some dear friends, listening for Creator's rhythms, noting the expanse of desert and sky. Not missing the keyboard or screen. It's going to be good. You should let me show it to you some day. Let me know when, I'll put together a trip for you.
Peace to you. Shalom.
The wireless signals are just weak enough in the canyon that I'll not be bothering to bring a lap top with me. I'll complete my "Christian Enterprise and I" series of posts upon my return with a word or two on Jesus. But I'll be writing in my journal, real inky words, while I'm away, and eager to continue to share the words I'm finding that express my way of being in this very diverse and beautiful, often troubling, and more often surprising world of ours.
I'll be walking with some dear friends, listening for Creator's rhythms, noting the expanse of desert and sky. Not missing the keyboard or screen. It's going to be good. You should let me show it to you some day. Let me know when, I'll put together a trip for you.
Peace to you. Shalom.
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