Bože!

What “is” religion? Religion Dispatches has this interesting essay today about a recent American court case in New York that determined that Feminism is not a religion. Well, D’uh! – I thought . . . . but then kept reading. What emerges in the essay is a rather complex morass of versions of a definition, and the complications this creates not only in academia, but also in legal terms. It is a rather curious thing to realise that something I’ve essentially taken for granted all of my adult life – has no commonly held “definition”. Indeed – I’m sitting here typing this and even now, I am unable to produce a working definition of “religion” (which may partially explain why a chapter of my Thesis on cult and devotion has been extraordinarily painful to write!).

This realisation – that we a) take this thing we call “religion” for granted, or better, we “assume” everyone knows what it means; and b) that we don’t have a common working definition – got me thinking about questions relating to its possible effect on theology and praxis; particularly in our OC/IC context where putting your finger on what it means to be “indie” is equally troublesome.

How do we describe the benefits, the possibilities, and the challenges of belonging to a religious tradition – without a working definition of “religion” independent of any characteristically “Christian” or OC/IC markers? Do we even need to be able to do this? One reason why it might be useful is answering the question: “Does religion matter?” or “Why does religion matter?” both for our own benefit, and for apologetic purposes. Moreover, does it not help us to describe, and analyse our reasons for choosing THIS tradition over all others if we have a neutral base-line understanding of this thing we call “religion”?

What effect does our lack of a generally accepted definition of “religion” have on our ability to address the points of both reasonable and militant atheism – or are we only able to do so within the context of our own OC/IC religious tradition?

Finally, does our working assumption, that everyone “knows” what religion is, have consequences for our OC/IC thinkers in developing new avenues of theology and praxis?

I’ve been watching the “wires” (religious news sources) and have seen an interesting effect of the London/DC Atheist bus campaign; a debate, within the wider Christian community about how to reach out and inspire others with the message of the Gospel. What I’m seeing is both a conversation about the benefit of getting people talking about the issue of faith, or non-faith, as well as the effectiveness (or non-effectiveness) of the ads and counter ads. Here’s just one sample from Christianity Today.

Are you seeing these or similar ads where you are? What is your response to them? What are others you have encountered saying about it?

I’ve been thinking about this bus driver who, last week (I think it was) refused to drive one of London’s new “Athiest busses” because he’s an Evangelical Christian. The story has been reported now on both sides of the Great Pond, but here are two references (A and B) for you to look at and ponder. We’ve talked about it a bit here at GCHQ and while I’m still sitting with some of the questions it raises I wonder: did he also refuse to drive busses advertising abortion services? What about busses with adverts celebrating Diwali and Ramadan? I could go on for another two or three dozen lines with these type of questions. Is this an act of hypocrisy, or is this “drawing the line” somewhere in the sand, and what is that line, what does it say about his expression of Christianity, more importantly, how does it reflect on other Christians – like us?

—- Here too is an NPR report on “Advertising Atheism” – I’ve not listened to it in full yet, but hey, its NPR you know it’ll be good. —

In a post two weeks ago I raised the question of when personhood begins. Andrew Brown, writing for the Guardian the other day describes a debate between the secular philosopher John Harris, and Professor David Jones of St. Mary’s College (Roman Catholic) which raised an even more useful (and perhaps even more unanswerable) question: what gives that “life” value?

The scenario, as Brown describes it goes something like this: at one end of the birth canal it is an embryo, and can be destroyed, at the other end – in the world – it is a valued human being. Nothing happens in transit to impart value on that life – so what does, and where does it begin?

Of course in this scenario there is that sense of liminality I raised in the previous post – when the “life” is neither human, nor not human. But Brown ends with a very interesting point:

“It seems to me that one of the reasons that a moral philosopher might postulate God is that it doesn’t make much sense to talk about things being valuable and worthwhile if you aren’t prepared to suggest to whom or what they are valuable or worthwhile. This is where the God of orthodox Christianity comes in handy, because he is by definition the only being who can value everything entirely for its own sake. Everything else in the universe – possibly everything in the universe – finds other things valuable and worthwhile in as much as they serve its purposes.”

The natural follow up question, albeit an exceptionally scholastic one, in relation to “personhood” and “value” is: at which point in the process does God assign value to this “life”?

If, “personhood” and “value” are assigned at the moment of conception (sperm & egg fusing) then we ought to also consider for a moment the effect of the biology involved. Each one of us (unless you are fraternal twins) exists at the expense of other “lives” that were naturally destroyed in the womb – if we accept that they too were “valued” or “persons” then it is not unreasonable to ask why they were destroyed.

As I’ve said previously – this cannot be reduced to black and white answers, and polarized positioning – indeed this is an object lesson in the sacramental way of life – we stand in the mystery, in that liminal space, celebrating the challenges of discernment, enjoying that little bit of wonder and awe in the process.

There was a rather fun article on the BBC late last week detailing a new campaign (starting in January) by the British Humanist Association encouraging people to reject religion. Posters (not sure if they are actually posters, but hey) will appear on the sides of the much loathed “bendy buses” around the city declaring in pretty colours: “There’s probably no God. Now stop worrying and enjoy your life.”

What I find entertaining about this new campaign is that while the BHA, and Richard Dawkins (who in part has sponsored this) are very shrill in their attacks on people of faith, they still show respect to the deity by capitalising “god”! But this is not the point of my post.

Looking at the article again today I was struck by the wording – and for some reason I recalled Pascal’s Wager (click here for an interesting Wikipedia on the wager), which states that reason cannot prove or disprove the existence of God, and as such it is best to work on the assumption that God exists, because the longterm benefit (eternal life, happiness, enlightenment) outweighs the possible loss (nothing) of disbelief.

Pascal (who is also interesting because of his connection to the Port Royal community in Paris) argues that you have to choose one or the other – agnosticism simply won’t do – and live your life accordingly. This, of course opens a whole raft of fun and interesting questions about faith, belief, and living out the wager.

With the recent flood of media attention on the emerging “Fundamentalist Atheism”, and the renewed debate between faith and reason this recent New Scientist segment exploring the pros, cons, and pitfalls of reason is rather timely. Contributors include the Abp. of Canterbury, Noam Chomsky, and the artist Keith Tyson.

I’m nearly finished reading Karen Armstrong’s A Short History of Myth (ISBN 1841956449), in which she makes a statement that fits well with something I said in this post last week regarding the debate between science and religion. Armstrong describes two “categories” myth and logos. Logos, she says is concern with fact – observable, measurable, fact. Myth, on the other hand reaches into our inner self and (along with our accompanying actions) transforms our character, our “person”. That is of course until, due to circumstances such as changes in society, that myth is no longer able to reach us, and inspire.

One of the drawbacks of having codified our mythology in writing is the fact that unlike predominately oral societies that allow the mythology to develop – once written our mythology ceases to change.

Up until about the time of the Reformation, myth and logos, in western society, were complimentary. Since then logos has overtaken, and indeed is used to undermine myth. Thus, when we seek to use the Bible as a source of logos – of fact – in every respect, we are undermining the key characteristic (myth) that makes it a valuable resource in our spirituality. Without the rich imagery of myth, understanding the “mechanics” of Christ’s death and resurrection – as late antique writers describe it (see for example Athanasius On the Incarnation, Proklos Homily 4) becomes nonsensical, useless.

Over the past few months I’ve been mulling over the question: “Why believe”. Increasingly I like my partner’s answer to the question: because Christ’s teaching is compelling. That it is. But I am not entirely satisfied with this answer alone. So I’ve been very interested in the increasingly vocal debate – here in the UK at least – over the past year between the theist and atheist camps.

What has caught my attention of late is the battle over science. Regular readers will know that my community here in London participated in this year’s Clergy Letter Project (we’re still working on our video series which seems to be expanding in scope at a frightening pace!). This morning I am reading Julian Baggini’s A Short Introduction to Atheism (OUP, ISBN 019 280 424 3) and it struck me that one element of the debate is the contention that at least one of the primary purposes of religion is to explain the world around us.

I don’t know about you, but I have a problem with this. In my experience of my faith I have never found myself turning to the Bible, or our tradition to explain the natural world. And here we enter the realm of the relationship between science and religion. Science is the pursuit of such explanations – the results are observable facts about our world and environment. I accept these findings as fact. What impact does this have on my faith?

In the run up to the weekend of the Clergy Letter Project I listened to a pod-cast of the National Academy of Science and in it, one of the speakers made a wonderful statement, something along the lines of: I do not believe in science, rather I accept it as fact. I found this a wonderful statement and have been mulling over it ever since.

I thought about this for a new poll question but realised the possible answers people offered would need space to breathe, and be seen. Recently, at least here in the UK, there has been a wave of media on both sides of the debate surrounding the idea of “atheism” – from Dawkin’s book The God Delusion to McGrath’s rebuttal The Dawkins Delusion and the many reviews, essays, and reports on their positions. I must confess I’ve not read either book. I have viewed some of the TV series that accompanied Dawkins’ book – and frankly found his argument to be whiney, childish, and near to the point of hysteria. There are very compelling, thoughtful, arguments for atheism – obviously I have not appropriated any of them, but they do exist, and they are valuable for those of us with faith as a means of better understanding why we do believe, and why we believe according to the particular tradition that we claim as our own.

Interestingly enough – I don’t think I’ve ever been able to my satisfaction, to explain or describe why I believe – what compells me to believe, and why in believing I’ve chosen to be a Christian. How about you?

Why do you believe? What is it about belief that makes it work for you?