I just finished re-reading my copy of Terry Pratchett’s Small Gods. It is a humrous look at belief, religion, and what happens when it all goes horribly wrong. The story focuses on the Great God Om, and his companion the eighth prophet Brutha. Om is not so great anymore for a very simple reason, everyone thinks that they believe in him, but in reality they don’t. The story is about how Om gets his umph back – and becomes great again. But, its not that simple.

The story is humorous – its Pratchett’s style. But what I found rather ingeneous is how it looks under the rocks of “religion” – fundamentalism, power, money, manipulation, as well as straight forward real honest belief – forcing you to reflect on these things, perhaps from a slightly different (and admittedly irreverent) angle.

Small Gods is not a new book – its been around for a while – but it is one of those books that could very well benefit OC/IC folk because we’ve all seen incarnations of the Deacon Vorbis (a.k.a. “Lord Vorbis”), we’ve all seen individuals in our communities who, because of the nature of belief, how it can, and does “shift” people no longer believe in the God and his teaching, rather in the “structure” of faith, and its mechanisms. But we’ve also seen reflections of Brutha, the simple monk who just wants to tend his garden, but whose calling, and his gift of directness, and openess, takes him down a different path.

The Guardian reported yesterday that a major conservation project has been recently completed. The Gerima Gospels are perhaps one of the earliest surviving illuminated Gospel manuscripts thought to have been completed sometime before AD 650. Combined with the remaining fragments of the Cotton Genesis dated to sometime between the fifth and sixth centuries, the fifth century Goleniscev papyrus (interesting for its depiction of the Theotokos) the Gerima Gospels suggests that there was a vibrant culture of illuminated manuscrpt production in the late antique period.

Last night I began reading Alan Jacobs’ Original Sin A Cultural History. This should be an interesting journey. I’m making a concerted effort to wrestle with an idea, a concept, a theory of the human condition that has fascinated and horrified me ever since I first learned about it.

To my mind, Augustine’s theory of “Original Sin” is so antithetical to the teaching of the Gospels, and the later writings of the fathers as to be . . . . well . . . heretical actually. As I understand it, Augustine says that we are all guilty, that we are all condemned, we are all naturally evil.

I’m sure there is a nuance there that I’m missing but allow me to play with this “recieved” interpretation for a moment.

The problem is that this sets us up spiritually, psychologically, and communally, for failure. It starts from an extremely negative view of the human condition, making us, all of us, bear the guilt of Adam and Eve’s misadventure in the garden.

Traditional explanations for the Fall tell us a different story. Adam & Eve were decieved, they were tricked, and then poisoned, or infected, as such they were made subjects of Death and his oppression, rather than Life, and his liberation. We do not bear their “guilt” rather, because they set a series of events into motion, we are faced with the challenges presented by the consequences of that event.

As I begin this journey to once again attempt to understand this particular theory of Augustine’s – which has had a significant (negative) impact on Western Christian theology for centuries, I’m curious as to how other indie folk – particularly western rite indie folk, assimliate this “doctrine” into our otherwise (largely) very liberal tradition. Do you accept Augustine’s theory? If so how does this impact the theology and praxis of you and your community?

Now here’s an interesting question, and it struck me while doing the morning trawl, one thing led to another led to another and before I knew it I found myself in the website of a convent scanning their FAQ page. What struck me about it was their answer:

“This is one of the hardest of all questions to answer because the person asking it usually has her own ideas about what “traditional” means. . . .”

This really opens a door into talking about what it means to be “traditional” because you have to start by asking the background question – what do YOU mean by “traditional”? In my experience in the indie community it generally falls into two categories (which sometimes but not always overlap).

Category A is ritual. I say ritual and not liturgy because ritual encompasses more than “just” liturgy. Frequently people define “traditional” or traditionalist, or traditionalism by the forms of ritual used in the life of the community. “Traditional” communities often seek to use “old” rituals, and to execute them with a level of precision that would make a drill seargent weep for joy. “Traditional” communities often like “the old language” – and use it liberally throughout their ritual year.

Category B is doctrine. “Traditional” communities in category B emphsise a set of doctrines that they hold to be the “traditional” teaching of “The Church”. Often this body of dictates is a set collection frozen in time, reflecting the real or imagined golden age of “The Church”.

The difficulty with these two (often overlapping) sets is that they are wholly unsuited to the OC/IC ethos. Which brings us back to the question: What is traditional (in our context)?

This essay by Theo Hobson was in my morning trawl (thank you nod to Maggie Dawn – who has been picking the really interesting stuff of late). Hobson visits a Anglican . . . non-worship, worship service in West London and shares the experience.

Throughout his description of the art instalations, the impromptu feel, the artsy free form nature of it all, while talking about how some people are not comfortable with “organised” religion – that is the structured liturgical forms, and familiar settings of churches – I could not help but reflect on how it all began.

Take a eucharistic prayer for example – now it is the norm that (in western liturgical churches) the priest reads one from a fixed set of options. The choice may vary depending on the season, local custom, or personal preference but the words are the same every time – the prayer has become homogenised. Believe it or not this was not always so. Indeed this one prayer (as an example) was for at least three hundred years a free form on the spot prayer by the bishop (the normal celebrant for the period).

There is something – safe, possibly even comfortable, about the “norm” a standard format, a memorable set of words, an expected environment. However, there is something to be said for the edgy, the awkward, the un-expected because our experience of, and growth in our faith, and our OC/IC identity is punctuated with the unexpected, the awkward, those moments that interrupt the flow and make us pay attention.

Finally – it is, as I have often observed here – too often the case that we indie folk spend too much effort and energy trying to look like “the norm” – rather than being true to our quirky, edgy, experimental selves.

Last week my office was re-decorated. It was about time too. I’d never changed the colour of the walls which as you can see were a nausiating “Crayola Sunshine Yellow”. Preparing for the arrival of the decorator I had to empty the room in which I spend so much of my time. The bird had to come out, my books, my table, cushions, laptop – everything. At the end I paused to reflect on the emptiness of my room in the morning sun.

We often think of emptiness as a negative space – a lack, an absence of something important. It was interesting, even energising however, to take a moment and enjoy the moment of emptiness not as a “lack” of something but as “potential”, a joyful leap into the unknown.

If you’ve not already noticed I’ve been editing my thinking on the “spiritual but not religious” idea as I go along. Looking at the conversation developing here, as well as thinking about various tangents (thus my first post on it here).

Thanks to Sam Urfer I’m quoting from the Onion:

“Father Clancy Donahue of St. Michael Catholic Church told reporters Wednesday that while he believed in blindly adhering to the dogma and ceremonies of his faith, he tried not to get too bogged down by actual spirituality. “I’m not so much into having a relationship with God as I am into mechanically conducting various rituals,” Donahue said. “To me, it just feels empty to contemplate a higher power without blindly obeying canon law and protecting the church as an institution.” Donahue emphasized that although he did not personally agree with those who pondered the eternal, he had nothing against them.”

Funny as this is it hits the mark when it comes to thinking about a definition of “religious” and “spiritual”. Is being religious merly thoughtless ritualism? Is being spiritual all about the ethereal, the intangible elements of relating?

Working on my PhD thesis I had to come up with a sensible “working definition” for “cult” and “devotion” and was surprised at how difficult it was largely because there is so much overlap between them that a cut and dried, black and white definition becomes rather awkward. If the same can be said of “spiritual” and “religious” does the description “spiritual but not religious” have any concrete meaning?

Surely there is a Venn Diagram for this somewhere (grin).

Thinking about this possible overlap reminds me of a study published last year about the nature of people’s belief and participation in Christian faith communities. I’m afraid I cannot remember who did the study – I think it was Pew. One of the interesting features of contemporary Christian belief is that most people believe that Christianity is not the only way to God, and that many people draw on the practices and ideas of other non-Christian faith traditions. Based on the tongue in cheek definition kindly provided by the Onion; does this mean that a significant portion of the body of Christian faithful are more “spiritual” than they are “religious”?

Finally, following the same “working” definition. I wonder should I switch from describing myself as “faithful” to “spiritual AND religious”? I value the intangible sense of intimacy with the Divine, and I participate in, indeed perform the rituals of the cult of Christ.

This little “sapling” of a conversation deserves more than its getting.

Looking at not only my own initial response on Twitter, as well as the response of others (see previous post) I’m realising that these two words are very “loaded”. Huw, rightly observes that the underlying question remains unanswered – what is our working definition of “spiritual”? What is our working definition of “religious”?

But here’s the caveat to those questions – can we define them without reference to the ongoing liberal vs. conservative war within and among faith communities? If we do succeed what affect does this have on the self description “spiritual but not religious”? Honestly, I’m not sure I have a definition – at least not yet – that is not consciously, or unconsciously rooted in the existing loaded nature of “spiritual” and “religious”.

Can I throw a spanner in the works here and ask – is there a difference between “religious” and “being faithful”? I ask this because it is how I often describe myself. It seems to me that to describe one self as being faithful is to actively divorce one self from the liberal vs. conservative, us vs. them, divisions.

Last week my friend and fellow Indie-Easterner Huw posed this question on Twitter: “Define ‘Spiritual but not religious’.” My initial response encompassed two ideas that I’ve encountered over the years from a significant number of people who describe themselves as being “spiritual but not religious”. First is the idea that the “institution” of religion impedes communion with God. Second that “dogma” or “doctrine” also impedes communion with God. Both of these themes have some very interesting problems. For example, people who describe themeselves as “spiritual but not religious” and go on to discuss their dissatisfaction at what they percieve to be the overly dogmatic nature of religous communities – frequently go on to make very clear statements of belief (doctrine) themselves. Opening the jar of questions about what do we know, and what do we percieve about the collection of teaching involved in a particular religious identity or praxis.

Huw uncovered an article from First Things “Spirituality Without Spirits” while a bit of a rant – makes an interesting point about the quality of being “non-dogmatic” in relation to also being “spiritual but not religious”:

“I don’t think Ms. Gaga or anyone else who talks like this has really thought it through. That God who forgives everyone and excludes no one doesn’t object to debauches in Berlin sex clubs. A point in his favor, from one point of view. But then he doesn’t object to murderers and torturers and corrupt bankers either. A point in his favor from no one’s point of view.”

Miller (the author) makes a fine point when he later says: “The word “spiritual” has no useful meaning if it does not refer to a relation to a real spirit. . . ” This is very true of course because that spirit necessarily has an identity, one which demands a particular relational mode, and that in turn shapes and informs the individual relating to it – just as all of our relationships shape and inform us as individuals.

In this morning’s news trawl I happened across another article this time in the Telegraph reporting that Mark Hucknull, the Chancellor of Lincoln Cathedral (a fantastic English cathedral by the way), criticises the “spiritual but not religous” crowd as selfish:

“To say that ‘I’ am ‘spiritual’ here is on a par with saying that ‘I’ am patient or thoughtful or generous; it is a description that is all about ‘me’.”

In truth this is not an unfair criticism. Think about the two themes already mentioned – the underlying issue in both is a desire to not be accountable, to not be challenged, and to not be expected to do X or Y in conjunction with one’s religious identity and praxis.

I’m aware that I’ve over-taken my usual 300 or so word limit so please bear with me just a few lines more, as I tie this into an OC/IC context. Ihave often heard indie folk, clergy and laity alike insist on being “non-dogmatic” or “non-doctrinal” – in essence “spiritual but not religious” the reasons given are that they endured the abuses of the “institutional church” and its imposition of doctrine through the activity of church officials. But It seems to me that they have run to the exact opposite extreme. The extremes at both ends are heretical as St. Epiphanius says in the Panarion.

“Spiritual but not religious” has had a lasting impact on the shape of the indie community over the past 20 years at least – one effect of this has been the simple fact that indie communities are fickle because people are afraid of committment, and they are afraid to call one another to account – because it might make them unpopular, and thereby shrink the “numbers” within the community. The problem with this model is that there is no integrity in it. Many people who convert – who become OC/IC believers do so because they are seeking a stronger connection between the integrity of the community and the practice of their sacramental Christian faith. “Spiritual but not religous” – non-dogmatic, simply does not cut it.

Have a look at the two articles, and maybe follow the sapling exchange of this thread on Twitter, but certainly add your thoughts to the comments below here.

Here in the UK the Guardian has a regular column called “Bad Science” which exposes . . . well, “bad” science, pseudo science, and “popular science” ideas – like homeopathy. Maggi Dawn has suggested on her blog the brilliant idea of a “Bad Theology” column. So what bad theologies, or pseudo theological ideas would you include, and why?