Holy Hand Grenade

The luxury of reason

I haven’t been writing here much lately because I don’t see much point in doing so. That probably sounds like any of a number of my earlier rants on nihilism and existentialism, but I think of this less as facing the gaping maw of meaninglessness in our world, and more as a sort of lighthearted futility. 

I’ve recently come across a couple things that illustrate this well. Today, a post by Peter Singer at Guardian Limited, basically stating that there is no God and that theists can’t rationally argue that there is. The article is titled, “Good God? Religious people are still unable to provide a satisfying answer to the age-old question of why God allows suffering.” 

My first thought was, How on earth is that news to anyone? But I guess to some, that’s evidence that you should not be believing in God, and an opening to make others believe the same. And so Singer attempts to convince the misled masses of the wisdom of his thinking, going on to describe how he totally wasted some “conservative” dude in a public debate (Dinesh D’Souza, author of What’s So Great About Christianity?). 

One by one, Singer lays waste to D’Souza’s points with the unbeatable recurring points of difficulty in theology: Why does God allow so much suffering? Why do we say that we can’t question God for suffering in the life He gives us, but we do hold a mother accountable for doing drugs while pregnant? And why reason through anything at all if you’re going to ultimately give up and say that God is too complex to understand? Singer concludes, “If … we insist on believing in divine creation, we are forced to admit that the God who made the world cannot be all-powerful and all good. He must be either evil or a bungler.”

And here we return to my initial point, the lighthearted futility with which I have been regarding theological thinking. I don’t deny that Singer has a point — several points, even. I can’t prove that believing in God makes more sense to the rational mind than denying said belief. But I also do not feel “forced to admit” anything at all. Rather, all I feel, as I walk away from this article, is that this guy is kind of a dick. 

Singer is the kind of very smart person who cannot fathom why others can’t seem to be as smart as himself, but insists upon trying to enlighten them anyway. In this way, he’s kind of like Northern liberals who think that “What’s the matter with Kansas?” is a question about intelligence. The book of that title addresses a question on the lips of many such Northerners, who are repeatedly puzzled that so many poor Southerners would vote people into office who work against the economic interests of the poor. However, the author of that book, I believe, points out that this is misguided on the part  of those who would ask such a question; rather, the issue is not what’s wrong with people in Kansas, but what liberal Northern intellectuals don’t understand about the culture of conservative Southerners. And the answer to that question is that some people really do prioritize issues of ethics and morality over economic policies that would benefit themselves. 

What Singer does not understand about theists is that plenty don’t feel “forced to admit” anything because they value faith over reason. Singer calls the concept of Original Sin “repellent” because of the implication that “knowledge is bad,” but he fails to understand that not everybody actually finds that so problematic. It is possible to be a good Christian without being a smart Christian. To some extent, this is even supported by the Bible, which so many trust as a source of truth and wisdom over all other sources.

Take a look at the Gospels. The Pharisees — the supposedly learned men, who are constantly trying to trap Jesus in logical and theological puzzles — are clearly the bad guys. Jesus, meanwhile, hangs out with the hookers and criminals, and reassures everyone that the greatest person in God’s kingdom isn’t the strongest, the richest, or even the smartest, but the humblest, the one with faith like a child. Jesus repeatedly makes clear that you don’t need to understand the ways of God to be a righteous person — you just need to love God, avoid sin, and forgive the sins of others. 

To some extent, then, for Christians, ignorance is bliss. Some of us are better trained as critical thinkers than others, and for us, faith and reason may sometimes feel in conflict — and so many of those become the market for D’Souza’s book, and thus invite criticism for claiming that you can explain faith through reason. But pretty much by definition, faith requires no reason.

This presents a quandary to me personally, of course. I’m the kind of fellow who feels the need to explain everything about his world — but I can’t seem to explain my own faith in progressive Christian morality, even as some of the finer points of theology implied within that fade away for me. And, what’s more, I’m not even sure that I need to explain it in order to do it right. Over-thinking it might even make it harder to do it right. 

In the end, I feel like it’s more important for me to feel like I’m doing a morally right thing than a logically right thing. That’s why my own powers of reason sometimes feel like a luxury I can’t always afford.

The "cool" factor and another kind of sacrifice

I stumbled upon an article in the New York Times just now about NYC’s recent shortage of Catholic priests-in-training:

An increasingly secular and materialistic culture, reluctance among the young to accept lifelong celibacy, and anger over the church’s handling of sexual abuse scandals have all contributed to the precipitous drop, the officials say.

Vocational directors recognize that the public’s confidence has been shaken by the scandals. They have chosen, however, to focus their marketing campaign on an upbeat message.

The Rev. Luke Sweeney, director of vocations for the archdiocese — which covers the Bronx, Manhattan, Staten Island and seven counties west and north of the city — says the church must make its case if it hopes to reinvigorate a priesthood that is increasingly elderly. “How do we get the ‘cool’ factor back into the priesthood?” Father Sweeney said. “If we don’t sell the priesthood, we can’t legitimately ask a young man to consider the priesthood as a vocation.”

Speaking as someone who once considered and ultimately abandoned the idea of pursuing a career in the priesthood, I think the answer is simple.

First, let priests marry. The prohibition against marriage for priests was not mandated by Jesus (see a few Biblical examples to the contrary), but added somewhere along the way by the church. You can commit yourself to the Lord and his flock without giving up the desire to “be fruitful and multiply,” one of the most basic human urges. 

Second, let women be priests. You want to slow declining admittance, open up the ranks to the 50% of the population you’ve traditionally shut out.

In other words, if the Catholic church wants to continue to exist in this country, at least, it probably needs to start copying from the Protestant denominations a little bit more. I’m not sure what’s so uniquely and necessarily Catholic about rules that are arbitrary and exclusionary, but if those things are essentially Catholic, then maybe the Church needs to make some sacrifices of its own.

(Not too) many ways to find God

Something — I’m not sure what — reminded me tonight of a post I wrote here awhile back about how I write more about religion on this blog than about God. I went back and reread that post, and I was pleased to find it (in my opinion) relatively coherent and honest. I reread the follow-up post as well, and, as I suspected, it was rambling and kind of confusing. I feel like there was a nugget of something still relevant to me in there, though, so I wanted to dig that out and explain what I meant (maybe even more for myself than for anyone else who might read this). So, here I go.

A friend of mine once read the first post linked above and told me that he appreciates the idea that there are “many ways to find God.” I’m not sure how he meant that.

Maybe he just meant it the way I meant it myself. In the blog post I originally wrote, I described a passage from the Bible that suggested that “The Righteous” meet up with the Almighty after death, not even realizing that they were working for the God Squad all along. So, perhaps my friend just meant there are many things you can call yourself so long as you’re being righteous — whether you see it as service to God, or to Allah, or just “doing what’s right” without even thinking of it as a religious obligation. (In some ways, I find that third one even more impressive than doing something because you feel religiously compelled to do good.) The important thing is being good, or rather, doing good.

When my friend said what he said, though, I immediately became concerned about another way one might mean (or interpret) such a phrase. Specifically, I was concerned that one could suggest that there are “many ways to find God” as a way of saying “there are many ways to be righteous,” and I actually disagree with that interpretation.

I mean, there are plenty of ways to just be a nice fellow, but to be truly righteous — like, so righteous that if there is a God, that God would want to shake your hand when all is said and done — I can’t imagine that just being a nice fellow would cut it. I wonder if saying “there are many ways of finding God” is a way of justifying one’s own lack of moral convictions — or, more importantly, one’s own lack of difficult, moral actions.

When a poor guy asks for a buck on the street and we walk by him, perhaps pretend he’s not there, we’re not being The Righteous. We tell ourselves, “Well, there’s more than one way to be a good person” — to go to Heaven, to find God — and we keep walking. We’re fooling ourselves. We are not going to be shuffled into the Meeting God line. That line is for people who care about their fellow humans so much that they feel compelled to do God’s work.

At least, that’s what I think. I realize that places me squarely in some theological traditions and not in others. (Search around for “faith, works, grace, salvation” for more info.) I can’t claim any special knowledge of the divine; but, just like how it feels impossible to me that anyone could be denied entry into Heaven for being born into the “wrong” religion, I simply cannot believe that those of us who live in a friendly but ultimately comfortably selfish manner will get to be among The Righteous.

Let me be entirely clear: When my friend said what he did, I became concerned not because my friend is a dick (he is not) but because of my own sense of unworthiness. I feel like I constantly justify my own actions (or inaction) in the world by thinking of getting by as good enough. That’s just how I feel about me, but I sort of suspect I know others who will relate to this if they think hard enough about it.

Maybe getting by is good enough, depending on what you want to get out of life. But I can’t imagine it’s how you find God.

Social sins and institutional duties

You may have heard the somewhat recent news that the Vatican (to quote CNN) “has listed drugs, pollution and genetic manipulations as well as social and economic injustices as new areas of sinful behavior.” And, while not directly related, BBC reported right around the same time that the Southern Baptist community “said evidence of man-made global warming was ‘substantial,’” thus advocating church involvement in the quest to “stop climate change.”

I wonder if this will be a new trend in the immediate future, with Christian churches increasingly and officially focusing on bigger-scope issues. I don’t know much about the Southern Baptist community (despite it being “largest protestant group in the country”), but a few things jumped out at me from these stories.

First, reading about the Vatican’s announcement, I figured, well, that’s nice. It’s good to see them recognizing that there are a number of different problems in the world, and we shouldn’t just ignore certain ones because they have only arisen years after the Bible was written.

Second, still reflecting on the Vatican announcement, I thought, wait, why the hell should I care what random-ass list the Catholic church comes up with? I mean, I agree that pollution and “social and economic injustices” are pretty bad, but why lump that in with “genetic manipulation” and (later) compare it to abortion?

It’s not that I don’t think that spiritual leaders have a place in directing discourse about ethics and society, but the Catholic church’s way of formalizing and enumerating what we should feel guilty about sometimes seems antithetical to actual consideration and discussion. And honestly, I find it hard to accept a list of “social sins” from an institution that was so deeply implicated in a massive pedophilia coverup.

And finally, just now, it occurred to me that the Baptist message describes the fight to stop climate change as a duty in stewardship to the earth, whereas the Catholic message describes pollution and such as sins. And here we get to one of the Catholic church’s lasting hang-ups: insisting upon phrasing religious obligation as “you’re doing bad stuff” over “you have the power to do good stuff.”

Blame is a tool for judgment, and I’m pretty sure that judging people is a no-no according to Jesus. I’d like to see fewer official lists of sins, and more positive, willful action.

What we mean when we say "I was raised Catholic"

The New York Times recently reported on a survey about religious affiliations in the US. I found the results really interesting:

If shifts among Protestant denominations are included, then it appears that 44 percent of Americans have switched religious affiliations. […] 

The report shows, for example, that every religion is losing and gaining members, but that the Roman Catholic Church “has experienced the greatest net losses as a result of affiliation changes.” The survey also indicates that the group that had the greatest net gain was the unaffiliated. More than 16 percent of American adults say they are not part of any organized faith, which makes the unaffiliated the country’s fourth largest “religious group.” […]

The rise of the unaffiliated does not mean that Americans are becoming less religious, however. Contrary to assumptions that most of the unaffiliated are atheists or agnostics, most described their religion “as nothing in particular.”

Those three portions jumped out at me the most (plus a bit noting that Catholicism is having the greatest net losses despite the influx of Latin immigrants, which help slow that loss). 

I remember I was in a class once, with a Jewish professor, and I noted that we mean different things when we say “I’m Catholic” and “I was raised Catholic.” Another woman in class, a Folklore student I think, turned around to look at me and gave an emphatic, “Yes.” My professor looked around kind of stunned, as I suppose no one had ever described this distinction to her. 

I tend to tell people “I was raised Catholic” for just this reason: It’s true, and it contains a nuance of meaning that other Catholics (and perhaps other Christians?) might pick up on. But it’s not so personal and messy-sounding as some gushing profession of lost faith — or, in my case, bitter recollections of scandal in the archdiocese of Boston, and resentment towards a bishop refusing communion to a presidential candidate who had supported abortion rights. I can’t support a religion that protects its powerful members over its weakest members, or that is structured in such a way as to give a single figure unilateral power to (claim to) deny a believer access to God.

I suppose I would have ended up in “Christianity” if I had been on that survey, though I still feel so disconnected from most Christian denominations that I’m just a step away from “unaffiliated.” I’m finally understanding why some of my friends back in college and high school made a distinction between “religious” beliefs (which I suppose has something to do with organized movements, community, and cultural belonging) and “spiritual” beliefs (which I suppose implies not much more beyond personal belief about right, wrong, and the nature of our relationship to the universe). I thought it was a cop-out then, and I kind of still think it’s a cop-out now — a failure to commit, giving oneself a free pass. But how can you not cop out when you’re not really impressed by the options you find laid out before you?

Neo-Gomorrah is going to E-X-P-L-O-D-E

Would you believe that there’s not just one, but two manga versions of the Bible? I can definitely see precedent for throwing some giant robots into the Old Testament — it was the Hebrew people, after all, who brought us the golem — but I am kind of bummed to read this:

The Sermon on the Mount did not make the book, though, because there was not enough action to it.

Ah. See, for people who actually pay attention to the parts that kind of define Christian morality, that’s an important part.

Revisiting nihilism

I had a conversation with a friend last night about the big question I keep hitting up against on this blog: If there’s no such thing as universal Truth, Morality, or Meaning (note well the capital letters!), then isn’t our existence, by definition, meaningless? And if that’s the case, why don’t we just take our own lives and be done with it?

My friend doesn’t see it that way. She kind of likes the idea of believing in a god, but can’t really bring herself to do it. She feels like she’d be fooling herself, and she’d rather not do that.

If there is no real “Right” way to do things, though, I’m not sure why she’s so tied to a belief system that makes her less happy than she could be. Why not just pick the one that fits best with what you want? I realize it’s not easy to just completely upend everything you’ve ever believed, but it’s certainly not impossible. I do know people who have done it. And they do seem happier afterward (eventually), I must admit — whether we mean the religious convert who is so happy to be freed from sin, or the former fundamentalist who is happy to be freed from hypocrisy.

I was tired during last night’s discussion, but even if I had been fully awake, I’m not sure I could have defended my position. Why is it such a horrible thing if all morality is relative, socially and personally constructed? Why must there be anything more? I’m honestly not sure. I had answers at the time, but I can’t even remember them.

Now, after having a really, really crappy day, I think I am realizing part of my answer to that question, at least. A sense of right and wrong, or at least a sense that life could be meaningful, is what keeps us from just offing ourselves when everything about life seems pointless.

It’s been a long time since I seriously considered that as a possible course of action. Sitting here tonight, I know I am in no more danger than normal of even harming myself, let alone killing myself. What I’m writing now is not a suicide note or a teenage cry for help. I’m just processing my thoughts here. And my thoughts say:

Contemplating the meaningless of existence when I already feel lonely and depressed, as I do today, makes me think that suicide might be a perfectly legitimate and even sensible decision. 

It doesn’t have quite the poetry of “to be, or not to be” and further musings on “what dreams may come,” but it’s honest, anyway. If there is no point … well, then, what’s the point? Even living a relatively coddled life can often feel like it involves more pain and sadness than happiness and fulfilment. Unless there is something more to this existence, our options seem to be to give up or to occupy ourselves with things we trick ourselves into thinking might matter. Despite my friend’s assertion about why she can’t choose to believe in a god, how is the individual quest for meaning, or the social construction of meaning, anything but self-delusion?

Please don’t read this and kill yourself. (I’m certainly not going to.) I’m just thinking out loud here.