As a Christian, I am more of an atheist than you could ever be.
Your atheism is an empty, intellectual assurance. Like the Fundamentalists, you cling to timeless, objective truths.
We who go with Christ to be crucified are not swearing loyalty to any truth. We are suffering the loss of a truth. We are forsaken. We are separate from everything that tethered us. Morality, meaning, and metanarratives are bled out into the dirt beneath us.
I envy the passive secular atheism that you enjoy. You don’t feel the collapse, the hemorrhaging, the terror as God is ripped from your chest. I would be far happier there than I am on this hill, in this place of skulls.
I don’t claim that God does not exist. I claim that God is crucified and buried. The Earth is unspun, and Ultimacy is emptied. That is an atheism that lives and moves.
I believe that this loss of divinity is the trauma that all of humanity is sharing, and I choose to stand in solidarity and love with the rest of humanity. We are all going together to Golgotha.
Today is Good Friday, but really, it is always good Friday.
Showing posts with label atheism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label atheism. Show all posts
Apr 6, 2012
Feb 13, 2011
On First Things (Part One - The Father)
I have long struggled to put what I believe into a coherent written statement, and for the next few posts, I'll be relating portions of my most recent attempt to do this. My views shift and mutate, like anyone else's, but I want to let this writing stand as a reminder of a particular point in my journey.
Originally, I began writing this when asked to contribute a guest-post to a blog on Atheism, and I intended to appeal, first and foremost, to unbelievers, not to proselytize, but to explain myself as a part of a dialogue.
Like most Christians, I share with most atheists a firm belief in the importance of critical thinking and skepticism, and in most of the day-to-day arguments between atheists and Christians (school prayer, evolution and such) I side firmly (I am “excluding the middle” for the sake of brevity) with atheists. I am a secularist not in spite of my faith, but because of my faith. Not only do I wish to keep something that I understand to be a beautiful, complex truth out of the hands of those who would cynically exploit a version of it for political, social (and even moral) purposes, but I also believe that the leaders of institutionalized Christianity have domesticated a radical idea (an idea that should stand in complete opposition to our social, moral, political and economic norms) and turned it into another obsolete dogma alongside others. I believe that the message of Christ is not a religion at all. It is a transformative perception of a Truth (post-modernity, tremble at that capital “T”!) that carries serious implications for our lives.
Thus far my Christian friends and neighbors are likely to agree, but I wish to be absolutely clear that the issue is not semantic; it is not a matter of placing Christianity above “religion” in order to stress Christianity’s privileged place. Not only is the Christian message not a creedal, dogmatic religion, it is an absolute rejection of all creeds, dogmas, ideologies, rituals, and moral laws.
Everything that is a part of religion is renounced by Christ. Even, finally, the traditional relationship with an anthropomorphic supreme being is abandoned. The things gained from humanity’s experiences with these traditions are not abandoned however. If we are willing to rise to the challenge it sets before us, the Gospel (the message that the first Christians derived from their experiences) offers a tenable step forward in the process of which religion is a part; an exit from religion that accounts for the value and meaning of humanity’s religious experiences.
Because the Christian message can only be understood as a leap that follows the leap taken by ancient Judaism, I should say a brief word about the Bible: I believe that our spiritual predecessors, while often brilliant and insightful, were also imperfect people troubled and prejudiced by the mores, political situations and pre-scientific world-views of the times in which they lived. They communicated their ideas and questions through myth and folklore, and their writings should not be understood as inerrant or literal. These stories are not intended as historical stories; they are spiritual literature that uses symbols and tropes that had profound meaning for the text’s intended audience.
This is not a new or unique position. Rudolf Bultmann, for example, said as much in his attempts to “de-mythologize” the New Testament, to lift the meaning out of its mythological construct, and Paul Tillich, (more prone than Bultmann to preserve the symbols), stressed that the symbolic is not less true than the literal, it is more true. Bultmann and Tillich had all the advantages of a 20th Century understanding of the world, but their arguments were not unprecedented. Origen, the 3rd Century Biblical scholar wrote in De Principiis (First Principles) that we misunderstand Scripture when we “understand Scripture not according to the spiritual meaning but according to the sound of the letter” because the mysteries transmitted there are hidden “in ordinary Words under the pretext of a narrative.”
The Old Testament narrative is not simply the surface conflict between the followers of Yahweh and the other cultures they encounter; it is a conflict between a convent with the mysterious God who defies concrete depiction and a worldly need for tangible, graven images and the religious security they offer.
In the beginning, humanity occupies a place of total innocence, represented by Eden. This paradise is lost when human beings eat, not from the tree of “knowledge”, as critics are fond of saying (in order to accuse Judaic faiths of anti-intellectualism), but the tree of “the knowledge of good and evil.” Humanity discovers “good” and “evil”, precursors to the concept of “sin” and this is the beginning of humanity’s great problem. Adam and Eve, the archetypical human beings, become ashamed of their nakedness. This nakedness posed no problem before, but with the burden of morality, they irrationally clothe themselves, not simply in literal clothing, but in divisive social constructions. They are now estranged by sin, but their sins are not the problem. The concept of sin is the problem. “Good” and “Evil” become categories into which behavior and even people are divided. As a result, human beings are estranged not only from an original place of innocence, an authentic life that encompasses the fullness and complexity of human-ness, but also from each other: We are expelled from paradise into a harsh world where brother kills brother (the Cain and Abel story) and people are separated into nations by barriers of culture and language (the Tower of Babel story.)
The decision is made to become “moral” people. Moral codes are demanded by such a decision. Religion is a way to preserve and teach these moral codes. For Israel, the stewards of truth in this narrative, God is kept invisible to prevent a shallow, superstitious faith. However, Israel loses faith, someone erects an idol, this idol is worshipped and the worshippers are severely reprimanded. Clearly, the more nuanced faith now demanded is difficult. Their God is anthropomorphic, and he is understood through their eyes but his Ultimate Otherness is still preserved by the prohibition against turning him into a visible object. This will (to an extent) prevent them from totally obscuring God with a god-image based on their prejudices and ideas. It does not work perfectly, but it is a step in the Process. Neil Postman, in Amusing Ourselves to Death, succinctly summarizes the significance of this:
Read Part Two here.
Originally, I began writing this when asked to contribute a guest-post to a blog on Atheism, and I intended to appeal, first and foremost, to unbelievers, not to proselytize, but to explain myself as a part of a dialogue.
Like most Christians, I share with most atheists a firm belief in the importance of critical thinking and skepticism, and in most of the day-to-day arguments between atheists and Christians (school prayer, evolution and such) I side firmly (I am “excluding the middle” for the sake of brevity) with atheists. I am a secularist not in spite of my faith, but because of my faith. Not only do I wish to keep something that I understand to be a beautiful, complex truth out of the hands of those who would cynically exploit a version of it for political, social (and even moral) purposes, but I also believe that the leaders of institutionalized Christianity have domesticated a radical idea (an idea that should stand in complete opposition to our social, moral, political and economic norms) and turned it into another obsolete dogma alongside others. I believe that the message of Christ is not a religion at all. It is a transformative perception of a Truth (post-modernity, tremble at that capital “T”!) that carries serious implications for our lives.
Thus far my Christian friends and neighbors are likely to agree, but I wish to be absolutely clear that the issue is not semantic; it is not a matter of placing Christianity above “religion” in order to stress Christianity’s privileged place. Not only is the Christian message not a creedal, dogmatic religion, it is an absolute rejection of all creeds, dogmas, ideologies, rituals, and moral laws.
Everything that is a part of religion is renounced by Christ. Even, finally, the traditional relationship with an anthropomorphic supreme being is abandoned. The things gained from humanity’s experiences with these traditions are not abandoned however. If we are willing to rise to the challenge it sets before us, the Gospel (the message that the first Christians derived from their experiences) offers a tenable step forward in the process of which religion is a part; an exit from religion that accounts for the value and meaning of humanity’s religious experiences.
Because the Christian message can only be understood as a leap that follows the leap taken by ancient Judaism, I should say a brief word about the Bible: I believe that our spiritual predecessors, while often brilliant and insightful, were also imperfect people troubled and prejudiced by the mores, political situations and pre-scientific world-views of the times in which they lived. They communicated their ideas and questions through myth and folklore, and their writings should not be understood as inerrant or literal. These stories are not intended as historical stories; they are spiritual literature that uses symbols and tropes that had profound meaning for the text’s intended audience.
This is not a new or unique position. Rudolf Bultmann, for example, said as much in his attempts to “de-mythologize” the New Testament, to lift the meaning out of its mythological construct, and Paul Tillich, (more prone than Bultmann to preserve the symbols), stressed that the symbolic is not less true than the literal, it is more true. Bultmann and Tillich had all the advantages of a 20th Century understanding of the world, but their arguments were not unprecedented. Origen, the 3rd Century Biblical scholar wrote in De Principiis (First Principles) that we misunderstand Scripture when we “understand Scripture not according to the spiritual meaning but according to the sound of the letter” because the mysteries transmitted there are hidden “in ordinary Words under the pretext of a narrative.”
The Old Testament narrative is not simply the surface conflict between the followers of Yahweh and the other cultures they encounter; it is a conflict between a convent with the mysterious God who defies concrete depiction and a worldly need for tangible, graven images and the religious security they offer.
In the beginning, humanity occupies a place of total innocence, represented by Eden. This paradise is lost when human beings eat, not from the tree of “knowledge”, as critics are fond of saying (in order to accuse Judaic faiths of anti-intellectualism), but the tree of “the knowledge of good and evil.” Humanity discovers “good” and “evil”, precursors to the concept of “sin” and this is the beginning of humanity’s great problem. Adam and Eve, the archetypical human beings, become ashamed of their nakedness. This nakedness posed no problem before, but with the burden of morality, they irrationally clothe themselves, not simply in literal clothing, but in divisive social constructions. They are now estranged by sin, but their sins are not the problem. The concept of sin is the problem. “Good” and “Evil” become categories into which behavior and even people are divided. As a result, human beings are estranged not only from an original place of innocence, an authentic life that encompasses the fullness and complexity of human-ness, but also from each other: We are expelled from paradise into a harsh world where brother kills brother (the Cain and Abel story) and people are separated into nations by barriers of culture and language (the Tower of Babel story.)
The decision is made to become “moral” people. Moral codes are demanded by such a decision. Religion is a way to preserve and teach these moral codes. For Israel, the stewards of truth in this narrative, God is kept invisible to prevent a shallow, superstitious faith. However, Israel loses faith, someone erects an idol, this idol is worshipped and the worshippers are severely reprimanded. Clearly, the more nuanced faith now demanded is difficult. Their God is anthropomorphic, and he is understood through their eyes but his Ultimate Otherness is still preserved by the prohibition against turning him into a visible object. This will (to an extent) prevent them from totally obscuring God with a god-image based on their prejudices and ideas. It does not work perfectly, but it is a step in the Process. Neil Postman, in Amusing Ourselves to Death, succinctly summarizes the significance of this:
This new kind of theology was, I believe, a major step away from obsolete religious formulations. Christianity, then, arises from this tradition in the figure of Jesus, who provides the next major step.The God of the Jews was to exist in the Word and through the Word, an unprecedented conception requiring the highest order of abstract thinking. Iconography thus became blasphemy so that a new kind of God could enter a culture.
Read Part Two here.
Oct 25, 2010
Waiting for The Great Pumpkin with Richard Dawkins
The title of this post is the title of a snazzy one-act (one joke?) play that I am too uninspired to write.
Though more commonly known as That Guy Who’s Married to That Girl Who Used to Be Married to Your Favorite Incarnation of Dr. Who, English scientist Richard Dawkins is also one of the more articulate and outspoken public faces of the New (sic) Atheism. While not likely to be remembered as an innovator on that front, Mr. Dawkins has a knack for maintaining composure in the face of the most exasperating questions, and his sense of wonder regarding the beauty of our universe is a contagious awe that makes him the most accessible among the latest batch of religious fundamentalism’s critics.
Some of his pithiest remarks, immortalized in Facebook profiles and countless blogs, reveal his limitations (calling pantheism “sexed-up atheism” is akin to calling biochemistry “sexed-up alchemy”) but no one mistakes him for a philosopher or sociologist. It is unfortunate in a way that the current de facto voice of atheism has to be a scientist. Working from that discipline enables a critique of only the most superstitious theological models. Horses don’t come much deader than that, though in the fallout from this (now obsolete) conversation, thinkers who remain in the religious spehere will happily find themselves in more sophisticated company.
To the project of developing a Christian position that was tenable for the 20th Century, it could be said that no one has contributed more than Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche. (My friend Michael Stohrer told me this is a suggestion that would "make Nietzsche’s moustache quiver with rage".) In the same way, the popular atheists of this moment, by funneling essentially old-hat arguments into shiny new best-sellers, have brought the purging fire skepticism to a large audience, and the spiritual ideas that survive will be the ones worth saving. For that, believers should be grateful.
Rather than an heir to Bertrand Russell and Antony Flew, Dawkins is a charismatic provocateur whose civil and unwavering rhetoric could potentially contribute to getting participants in the popular conversation onto the same page so we can take the conversation farther.
Tomorrow’s Dawkins will have to be more sophisticated, someone who, like his audience, will accept the conclusions of hard science as a given but is willing to dive into abstract, even subjective concepts beyond myopic materialism. In any conversation, the no-saying position must be meaningfully occupied, (lest we fall into a sheepish consensus) and this position requires three-dimensional thinkers able to adapt, thinkers who are unbeholden to predecessors. The 21st Century’s religious conversation must move past simplistic science/religion binaries as well as the common inability to understand or distinguish between the diverse positions that exist within one tradition.
Though more commonly known as That Guy Who’s Married to That Girl Who Used to Be Married to Your Favorite Incarnation of Dr. Who, English scientist Richard Dawkins is also one of the more articulate and outspoken public faces of the New (sic) Atheism. While not likely to be remembered as an innovator on that front, Mr. Dawkins has a knack for maintaining composure in the face of the most exasperating questions, and his sense of wonder regarding the beauty of our universe is a contagious awe that makes him the most accessible among the latest batch of religious fundamentalism’s critics.
Some of his pithiest remarks, immortalized in Facebook profiles and countless blogs, reveal his limitations (calling pantheism “sexed-up atheism” is akin to calling biochemistry “sexed-up alchemy”) but no one mistakes him for a philosopher or sociologist. It is unfortunate in a way that the current de facto voice of atheism has to be a scientist. Working from that discipline enables a critique of only the most superstitious theological models. Horses don’t come much deader than that, though in the fallout from this (now obsolete) conversation, thinkers who remain in the religious spehere will happily find themselves in more sophisticated company.
To the project of developing a Christian position that was tenable for the 20th Century, it could be said that no one has contributed more than Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche. (My friend Michael Stohrer told me this is a suggestion that would "make Nietzsche’s moustache quiver with rage".) In the same way, the popular atheists of this moment, by funneling essentially old-hat arguments into shiny new best-sellers, have brought the purging fire skepticism to a large audience, and the spiritual ideas that survive will be the ones worth saving. For that, believers should be grateful.
Rather than an heir to Bertrand Russell and Antony Flew, Dawkins is a charismatic provocateur whose civil and unwavering rhetoric could potentially contribute to getting participants in the popular conversation onto the same page so we can take the conversation farther.
Tomorrow’s Dawkins will have to be more sophisticated, someone who, like his audience, will accept the conclusions of hard science as a given but is willing to dive into abstract, even subjective concepts beyond myopic materialism. In any conversation, the no-saying position must be meaningfully occupied, (lest we fall into a sheepish consensus) and this position requires three-dimensional thinkers able to adapt, thinkers who are unbeholden to predecessors. The 21st Century’s religious conversation must move past simplistic science/religion binaries as well as the common inability to understand or distinguish between the diverse positions that exist within one tradition.
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