Monthly Archives: March 2009

#16 Will there be anyone left to speak out?

30 Monday Mar 2009

Posted by in Ethics, God, Philosophy of Religion, Theological Ethics, Theology

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According to the New Testament, Jesus entered Jerusalem without any illusion about what lay in store for him:  arrest, torture and crucifixion.  Prophesying and calling for reform have always been dangerous, but undeterred by the risks, Jesus headed to the temple with his controversial teachings.  Was he afraid?  In the gospel of Mark, the oldest of the four gospels, Jesus prays in the garden of Gethsemane, where he became distressed and agitated.  He pleaded for a reprieve.  “Abba,” he said, “Father, for you all things are possible; remove this cup from me” (NRSV, Mk 14:36).  Although among friends, Jesus was alone.  Several times, he roused his sleeping disciples and begged them to keep him company, but their eyes were heavy and they did not know what to say.

Two-thousand years later, on the day called Easter, Christians sing hallelujah and Gloria to commemorate the brutal trials of this man who went willingly to his death. 

How do non-Christians make sense of this commemoration? 

Analogies to more contemporary events can help us make sense of the past.  Even if we don’t accept the divinity of Jesus, or that he died for our sins, surely we can sing hallelujah and Gloria to commemorate and acclaim him just as we can sing hallelujah and Gloria to commemorate and acclaim others who willingly and willfully put themselves in harm’s way to speak truth to power.  Joan of Arc, Mahatma Ghandi, John F. Kennedy, and Martin Luther King, Jr., are but a few of the well-known martyrs who, with just as much clarity as Jesus, knew the risks they faced but still kept on keeping on.

More recently, we have the martyrdom of Lasantha Wickramatunga, shot dead by two assassins on January 8, 2009.  The editor of The Leader, Sri Lanka’s leading independent newspaper, Wickramatunga had written an editorial only days earlier predicting his own assassination by the government.  Aware of the danger, he chose to answer the call of his conscience and to voice ideas some found distasteful.  Aware of the danger, he kept on keeping on although he had a wife and three children.  Should we not sing hallelujah and Gloria to commemorate and acclaim such a man’s life and death?  If he was willing to die to improve the life of his fellow Sri Lankans, should we not honor the sacrifice he was willing to make on their behalf—and, by extension, because we are all part of the human family—on our behalf?

Why was Wickramatunga willing to die for our sake?  In his own words:

“People often ask me why I take such risks and tell me it is a matter of time before I am bumped off. Of course I know that: it is inevitable. But if we do not speak out now, there will be no one left to speak for those who cannot, whether they be ethnic minorities, the disadvantaged or the persecuted. An example that has inspired me throughout my career in journalism has been that of the German theologian, Martin Niemöller. In his youth he was an anti-Semite and an admirer of Hitler. As Nazism took hold in Germany, however, he saw Nazism for what it was: it was not just the Jews Hitler sought to extirpate, it was just about anyone with an alternate point of view. Niemöller spoke out, and for his trouble was incarcerated in the Sachsenhausen and Dachau concentration camps from 1937 to 1945, and very nearly executed. While incarcerated, Niemöller wrote a poem that, from the first time I read it in my teenage years, stuck hauntingly in my mind: 

     First they came for the Jews
     and I did not speak out because I was not a Jew.
     Then they came for the Communists
     and I did not speak out because I was not a Communist.
     Then they came for the trade unionists
     and I did not speak out because I was not a trade unionist.
     Then they came for me
     and there was no one left to speak out for me.

If you remember nothing else, remember this: The Leader is there for you, be you Sinhalese, Tamil, Muslim, low-caste, homosexual, dissident or disabled. Its staff will fight on, unbowed and unafraid, with the courage to which you have become accustomed. Do not take that commitment for granted. Let there be no doubt that whatever sacrifices we journalists make, they are not made for our own glory or enrichment: they are made for you. Whether you deserve their sacrifice is another matter. As for me, God knows I tried.”

God knows Jesus tried—this one of the messages of Easter.  He sacrificed his life. He spoke out for the poor and the despised and the persecuted.  And they came for him. 

Which leaves us with the most haunting questions of all.  Are our eyes heavy and we do not know what to say?  Or do we speak out?  Do I speak out?  Do you speak out?  Would we speak even if we knew they would come for us?  

Reference:  For a full transcript of Lasantha Wickramatunga’s editorial, see http://www.informationliberation.com/?id=26432.  

#15 The battle of the gods

22 Sunday Mar 2009

Posted by in God, Philosophy of Religions, Religion

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dreamstime_1568537We expect monotheists, who believe themselves to be worshipping the one and only true God, to have difficulty accomodating gods or even conflicting views about God. 

Although David Hume (1711-1776) has sometimes been derided as an armchair-anthropologist, he was one of the wisest observers of human behavior and of religion.  When discussing monotheism in his book, The Natural History of Religion, he lucidly noted that when “one sole object of devotion is acknowledged, the worship of other deities is regarded as absurd and impious…as no one can conceive, that the same being should be pleased with different and opposite rites and principles; the several sects fall naturally into animosity, and mutually discharge on each other that sacred zeal and rancour, the most furious and implacable of all human passions.”

And what about polytheists?  Are they less likely to perpetrate violence on those with other gods?  By virtue of its multiple gods, polytheism can, in principle, incorporate or absorb other gods without stripping them of their attributes.  In Hume’s opinion, “the intolerance of almost all religions, which have maintained the unity of God, is as remarkable as the contrary principle of polytheists.”  His view matches the romantic views of contemporary Westerners who often believe that non-monotheistic faiths are, par excellence, inclusive and hence, non-violent.  But are they?

History mostly supports Hume’s conclusion.  Take the Hindu state of Gujarat in India, for instance.  During its cosmopolitan trading history of some 5,000 years, it assimilated the religions of those who settled on its shores. 

But on September 27, 2002, 58 Hindu train passengers died after Muslims set their train on fire during a stop in Gujarat.  This intra-Indian violence was perpetrated by Muslim monotheists on Hindu polytheists.  Given that Islam acknowledges only one object of devotion, the world might not have been surprised (except for its cruelty) at such monotheistic-polytheistic enmity. 

Except that the supposedly tolerant polytheists were not to be outdone violence-wise.  As the province’s Hindu chief minister intoned (quoting Newton’s third law):  “Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.”  According to Robert Kaplan, Hindu mobs quickly organized.  The day after the train fire, they attacked the Muslim quarters in Ahmedabab (the city where Ghandi established his ashram) and in other cities.  Hindu men “raped Muslim women, before pouring kerosene down their throats and the throats of their children, then setting them all on fire.  Muslim men were forced to watch the ritualistic killings before they, too, were put to death.  More than 400 women were raped; 2,000 people, overwhelmingly Muslim, [were] murdered; and 200,000 more [were] made homeless throughout the state.”

And there’s more.  Martin Marty reported how, in 2008, Hindu militants forced Christians living in the eastern state of Orissa, to deny their faith, flee or die.    

We could, of course, argue that religion has oft-times been harnessed to serve various political and nationalistic agendas.  Then again, we could, just as easily, counter-argue the reverse—namely, that religion has oft-times harnessed political and nationalistic institutions to crush resistant, competing religions and assert its hegemony. 

Let’s ask, instead, whether polytheism can co-exist with monotheism.  By its very nature, monotheism recognizes only one God, and its God is jealous of all other gods.  Clearly a my-way-or-the-highway kind of God won’t share the road with other gods.  But what happens when a monotheistic God refuses to join a polytheism’s pantheon?  We need only recall how it came to pass that the Jews were exiled from the land of Palestine in the 1st century CE.  Their God refused to leave his bachelor pad in heaven for the gods’ group-living arrangement on Mt. Olympus.  

The so-called ‘New Atheists’ would no doubt propose that India eliminate all religions whether theistic or polytheistic.  Get rid of God and gods, and the Federation of no-God will surely be (finally and permanently) established on earth, bringing with it peace, justice and prosperity for all.  Okay.  Fine.  But what should India do as it waits for the New Atheists’ armchair-proselytizing to begin bearing fruit?  

A crassly utilitarian yearning for order may be key to peace in India.  The threat of déjà-vu anarchy, the memory of partition’s chaos and destruction, could entice cooler heads to prevail.  After all, without domestic tranquility, the blessings of prosperity remain out of reach for Hindus and Muslims alike.  Let’s hope the battle of the gods finally becomes a thing of the past. 

References:  David Hume, The Natural History of Religion, New York:  MacMillan Publishing Company, 1992), 39-41; Robert D. Kaplan, “India’s New Face,’ in The Atlantic, April 2009, vol. 303, no. 3, 74-81, Martin Marty, “Monotheism, Polytheism and Violence,” in Sightings, October 20, 2008, bi-weekly subscription e-newsletter available through the Martin Marty Center of the University of Chicago. 

#14 Rescued from the iron cage of guilt

15 Sunday Mar 2009

Posted by in Ethics, God, Philosophy of Religion, Religion, Religious Philosophy, Theological Ethics, Theology

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If you don’t have an ear for the music of Christianity, it may be hard to make sense of why the Lenten days tracking the Gospels’ accounts of Jesus’ journey from freedom to arrest, crucifixion, and resurrection are so important to Christians.

The answer partly lies in the doctrine that Christ liberates, or saves, human beings from bondage to sin.  

But what’s this about freedom from bondage to sin? 

Here’s an existential way of thinking about sin or wrongdoing.  If we reflect on the past twenty-four hours, a clear-eyed inventory of what we did, said, didn’t do, didn’t say, either leaves us with a comfortable feeling or it leaves us troubled.  Our consciences are a built-in mechanism that detects some (not all) of the gaps between what we consider to be the good and right thing to say and do, and what we actually did say and do.  When the gaps are wide, we feel bad—our conscience bothers us.  We call that feeling guilt. 

To do guilt is part of the human condition.  True, some people proclaim they ‘don’t do guilt’ as if ‘doing’ guilt was a bad thing and nobody should ever ‘do’ it.  But should Chris really not feel guilty about smacking the beJesus out of Rhianna?  Those who claim they ‘don’t do guilt’ probably mean that they ‘don’t do self-loathing.’  Although we may have been taught otherwise, the anguish of a guilty conscience need not result in self-loathing.  In fact, the anguish of a guilty conscience can prompt us to make some positive changes. 

There’s a difference worth noticing between self-acceptance and self-approval.  Guilt helps us keep the difference straight.  We might accept ourselves as we are, but a guilty conscience reminds us we’re a ways off from the acts and intentions that are in keeping with out-and-out self-approval. 

Back to guilt and sin.  Shall we agree that nobody (except a masochist) likes doing guilt?  Guilt feels bad.  Downright awful.   The problem then is what to do with our guilt.  Live with it?  Make amends to the injured party?  Ignore it?  Suppress it and make it ‘disappear’?  Deny it?  Feel sorry for yourself?  Take it out on other people?  Ask the wronged party for forgiveness?  Ask yourself for forgiveness?  Ask God for forgiveness?

We, human beings, always carry hope and despair within us.  On the despair end, most of us have a low tolerance for the despair of the iron cage of guilt.  We are trapped, bound, imprisoned.  We want release from guilt, some way to feel better, some way to heal the hurt and be reconciled with ourselves. 

Many Christians hand their guilt over to God in prayer or in ritual with the hope that God will hand back forgiveness.  Many Christians believe that thanks to Jesus’ suffering and death on the cross, God forgives their wrongdoings.  The way this forgiveness works differs according to the Christian tradition.  Lutherans, for example, place their trust in Christ and, thanks to that trust, believe themselves forgiven by God (they know they’re still messing up as much as any of us, but they’re forgiven).  Roman Catholics confess their wrongdoings to priests who assign them works of contrition and forgive them in Christ’s name.  In all these Christian traditions, the key to forgiveness is Christ.  Thanks to the crucifixion, the doors of the iron cage of guilt spring open and the Christian is restored to wholeness.

Wholeness!  Stepping out of guilt’s iron cage!  Sounds great.  But if, for us, Jesus was not the Christ, then we must find other ways to seek forgiveness for wrongdoings and soothe our guilt.  Going directly to the party we have harmed and asking forgiveness is one way.  But what if they’re no longer alive, or we don’t know where they are?  

Helpful ideas, anyone?

#13 Giving up Me-Centrism for Lent

05 Thursday Mar 2009

Posted by in Ethics, God, Philosophy, Philosophy of Religion, Religion, Religious Philosophy, Spiritual Exercises, Theological Ethics, Theology

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dreamstime_14845884Think you’re number one?  Who doesn’t?  Are you a narcissist? Hey, who isn’t? After all, our interior world is most vivid to ourselves.  Who could possibly know and care for our well-being and happiness better than ourselves?  A tidy amount of Me-Centrism is desirable (we Americans prefer to call it self-esteem), but in sloppy-sized doses, it turns into self-absorption.  Result:  lack of interest in, and lack of concern for others.  Not you, you say?  When was the last time you stepped out of the internal monologue a-buzzing in your head or the fatigue from a long day‘s work to look the checkout clerk at Dominick’s in the eye?  You know, like he was a real person worthy of your attention (which, of course, he is)?  And did you say, “Hello, how are you today?”  And were really interested in the answer?  Or did you look away before he finished telling you? 

A little thing, sure, this saying hello, how are you.  But imagine how different our every-day would be if we stepped out of our heads and shook off our tiredness just long enough to treat each other like each one of us mattered.  Imagine the ordinary wonderfulness of a simple “after you” as we stepped onto the bus or walked into the elevator.  Or letting a car (or two) merge ahead of us on a clogged freeway, or smiling at the stranger on the street for no good reason, or paying our frenenmy an unsolicited compliment, or turning off our cell phone to give a friend our full attention.  With all that free-flowing kindness, especially in these hard economic times, who knows what we could achieve?  Our quest for meaning could literally end.  We would all find peace of mind.  Messianism would have come to pass.

The great religious faith traditions ask their followers, at some point during the year, to step-out of their daily routines and orient themselves toward something greater.   To demonstrate that they mean it and are 100% committed to the exercise, these followers are asked to sacrifice something—in other words, to give up something they value, like a cow, or money, or food.  The act of having given up something serves as a prod of sorts, a powerful reminder (lest one slack off) to reflect on one’s relationship with the divine.   This giving-up takes place in community so that one gets swept up in a great shift of life-as-usual.  The new normal is a common life focused on God.   Whether one is taking part in the one-day fast of Yom Kippur or the month-long fast of Ramadan or the surrendering of something of one’s choosing for the forty days of Lent, the giving-up has a definite time-table with well-advertised and ritually-marked start and end dates. 

But what about those who aren’t followers of such traditions but want to engage in a similar kind of spiritual exercise (exercise in the sense of an intentional and disciplined activity)?  Yow!  That’s harder.  After all, you’ll give up something without any kind of communal or ritual help.  That’s like deciding to give up cigarettes without a support group and without nicotine patches.  Still, for those who are up to the challenge, it could be even more rewarding.  

So let’s dare to give up something for Lent.  How about Me-Centrism?  Give up Me-Centrism until April 12 and orient yourself toward God.  The phenomenologist and ethicist, Emmanuel Levinas, taught that we might, in the act of treating others as human beings instead of objects, discover a passageway to the extraordinary, the infinite, the transcendent.  No promises though.  Hopefully, even if you don’t find that passageway, the gift of a simple human interaction is gift enough.  And should the checkout clerk or the passenger on the bus respond to your friendly gaze by looking at you like you’re crazy, or looking past you like you don’t exist—well, you’ll know you did your part.  And no one can ask more than that.

Reference:  Emmanuel Levinas, Nine Talmudic Readings, intro. and trans. Annette Aronowicz (Bloomington:  Indiana University Press, 1990).