Ideas that breathe

I like to create ideas and then give them room to breathe. And I've realised that the only way ideas can truly breathe is if there are people around who are willing to give them sufficient space to breathe. Fundamentalists of all kinds – not just within religious circles – tend to be pretty comfortable in their space, and so squash any idea that may force them to consider the fact that their view of reality is in some way incomplete. I know many of these people who, for whatever reason psychoanalysis might offer, take the oxygen away from an idea until it dies. An example of this sad phenomenon would be as follows. 

In some conversations, when I mention that I read quite a bit of philosophy (only when I'm asked, of course), or (more subtly) insert some kind of philosophical notion into the flow of our discourse, it's incredible to see the reactions of the people I'm with. Occasionally, people nod their heads and go, "Oh really! That's fascinating!" or "I've never thought of it like that before", but more often than not I've received blank stares or some kind of rebuttal in the form of a statement: "I'm not very philosophical" or "Let's not go into that right now." The first statement is an obvious lie – everyone is a philosopher just by living in this world. But not everyone is a very good philosopher. 

I really don't blame people for their inability to want to engage with even the simplest unfamiliar notion (Take Socrates's "The unexamined life is not worth living" or Chesterton's "A yawn is a silent shout" for example). I think it's uncomfortable for most of us to have to challenge our own lived-in status quo. I dare say that all of us, in different ways, are prone to taking the oxygen away from interesting ideas. But, obviously, in thinking about this, I've realised that the kind of person I want to be is someone who listens well. In the end, the idea that I listen to may be flawed, ridiculous, daft or untrue; but how will I know that unless I let the idea come out of hiding? 

I can't help thinking of Mary Shelly's Frankenstein as a metaphor for this where the people of the town want to kill the 'abomination' that Dr. Frankenstein has made before they understand the nature of the monster. He may be ugly, but what if underneath that vile exterior he is a really peace-loving guy? What if the monster is really not a monster at all. Sadly, in the tale (as far as I can recall), the monster becomes monstrous precisely because that is how he is treated. 

A parable

A long time ago there was a large, walled city with no name that was the envy of the ancient world. However, its reputation was built merely on hearsay, for the only people allowed in and out of the giant city gates were the people who came from the city, and those people never spoke of their own country to those who did not belong to it. 

As rumours grew of the wealth of the city with no name, more and more people wanted to find out what was going on behind its walls. Kings and politicians were particularly interested in the wealth that they might find there. 

At last, a greedy young king from another great city took his soldiers and waged war on the city with no name. The war raged on for many years until, at last, the king, now old, and his men were able to break through the main gate. By then, so many lives had been lost. Most of the people of the city with no name were dead. 

It was certainly a revelation to the invaders to discover that there was nothing within the walls but some tents, humble farm fields and a few sheep and cattle. There was no wealth at all to speak of. 

"Why do you have such high walls?" the old greedy king asked one of the few surviving locals.

"These walls are the legacy of our forefathers," said the man. "The walls are to help us to protect what we have."

"But you have nothing!" exclaimed the king.

"Dear king," said the man. "You have conquered the city, and are now its ruler. It is no longer we who have nothing, but you."

And the king wept. Finally it had been revealed to him what he'd been searching for his entire life.

Polemics

A 'polemic' is the term we use for any kind of argument that has a very strong stance on any particular issue that is being debated. Naturally, there is a place for polemics, because some things are right and others are wrong; and polemics help us to figure out the difference. But there is a dark side to polemics ...

Polemical reasoning encourages people to be hard-headed at the beginning of an argument and utterly immovable by the end. If a person thinks he is right at the beginning of an argument, he will be even more convinced of his rightness by the end of it. And if two people argue with this same stubborn attitude, the result is relational disconnection, where everyone is talking but no one is listening. In fact, the Greek word from which we get the English polemic is the word polemos. Polemos means 'war'. 

While there are other possible ways of arguing (through paradoxical or metaxological reasoning, for instance), the point I want to make here is far simpler: it is only by listening that we find the truth. It is only by asking questions that reality is opened up to us. Merely hammering across a one-sided view of everything in our world will probably end up making us very one-dimensional people. 

Emergent detergent

This past Friday, I sat around a table drinking coffee and discussing the so-called emergent church movement with a few friends. Two of them in particular were doing what the church has been doing for the last two millennia: placing the emergent church in opposition to the evangelical church. If the church – the whole church – is the body of Christ, then why are we treating certain members of this body as if they don't belong. If a hand is hurt, do we cut it off in order to examine what is wrong with it? I agree that some of the doctrines of various factions of the emergent church may be a tad suspect, but I always find myself defending some of the nobler facets of the movement. After all, some of the doctrines of standard evangelical denominations are equally suspect. In fact, I don't know of a church with a perfect doctrine.

In this conversation, one of my friends in particular was very adamant that the emergent church – especially as represented by people like Rob Bell, Doug Pagitt and Brian McClaren – is tantamount to the worst kind of heresy. But I think that even if these guys have got some things wrong, surely not everything they say is utter hogwash? Is there nothing to affirm in what they're teaching? I feel that this sort of vehement denunciation does nothing to build anyone up, and further extends polemical reasoning into a terribly irrational state: it's the kind of thinking that throws the baby out with the bath water. 

In the end, I've worked out that my main problem with all this stupid arguing over things that we have no control over is that it shows up our desire to prove, like true pharisees, that we have it more figured out than other people, who themselves feel that they are more clued up than we are. Everybody thinks they're right, which is precisely why everything goes wrong all the time. I left that conversation on Friday feeling downcast and heavyhearted. It has taken me two days to figure out why. It felt like we were speaking about God's people behind His back.  The words did not honour God or His holy church. There may have been truth in what was said, although I am doubtful of this, but there was no love.

This letter from Pseudo-Dionysius (5th century AD) to a friend  of his (named Sosipater), who was doing some church bashing of his own, is very helpful:

"Do not count it a triumph, Reverend Sosipater, that you are denouncing a cult or a point of view which does not seem good to you. And do not imagine that, having thoroughly refuted it, all is therefore well with you. For it could happen that the one hidden truth could escape both you and others in the midst of falsehoods and appearances. What is not red does not have to be white. What is not a horse is not necessarily human. So cease from the denunciation of others and speak about truth in such a manner that everything you say will be irrefutable."

Control

The philosopher Epictetus (AD 55 - 135) had some truly brilliant advice for those who have the world weighing down on them. In principle, he argued that people should learn to accept what they cannot control, and to do something about the things that they can control. Funnily enough, this principle is found in something that we know today as Reinhold Niebuhr's (1892-1971) Serenity Prayer: "God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference ..." This prayer is often quoted, but without the rest of it, which I think is truly beautiful:

"... Living one day at a time; enjoying one moment at a time; accepting hardships as the pathway to peace; taking, as He did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it; trusting that He will make all things right if I surrender to His Will; that I may be reasonably happy in this life and supremely happy with Him forever in the next. Amen."

There's a huge amount of freedom that comes when we realise that we are not in control; in short, when we realise that we are not God. This is not to negate free will, but to accept that the greatest freedom comes, paradoxically, when we relinquish our freedom. After all, it is written that those who lose their lives will be found.

Creation before the fall...

The monk Pelagius (c. 360 - c. 420 AD) denied the doctrine of original sin, and this upset a lot of people who were more fond of the Augustinian position, which states (approximately) that humankind is inherently evil. Pelagius was deemed a heretic by the Synod of Carthage, and many people at the time felt that justice had been served. After all, how dare this anyone proclaim that human beings are inherently good?!

I'm not too sure about the finer points of Pelagian doctrine, but I'm pretty sure that he may have presented something worth considering. People are very good at raising the issue of original sin, and they have a history filled with hundreds of bloody wars, brutal killings and heartless cruelties to back them up. But what about the good stuff? Surely God pronounced his creation good before the fall. Surely we are not all totally depraved? 

Chesterton writes that what is wrong with this world is that we do not ask what is right. And I think this is an invaluable insight into this issue: it's easy to negate the negative, but not so easy (or natural) to affirm the positive. I know enough moral atheists to be able to tell you that even the godless are capable of being godly. I know enough fallen people to know that even the fallen are reflective of the fact that they were created good. In the end, I have no problem with the doctrine of original sin. But I do have problem with the denial of the doctrine of original good. 

Thoughts at 23h11

It's pretty late, though not impossibly late, and I'm sitting here in my kitchen with a cup of tea after what has been a really hard, long week. My thought for the day comes in the form of a question: isn't it amazing how we spend most of our time planning for a future that may not exist? We work really hard sometimes, and maybe the work isn't going to lead to anything. I think acknowledging this may be a good way of figuring out whether or not the things we are busy with now are in fact worthwhile. If the future never happens, at least you can say, "Well, hey, I think what I'm doing now is valuable, even if it never sees the light of tomorrow!"

Now, in preparation for this tomorrow that may not exist, I'm going to do something that I definitely deem worthwhile: I'm going to sleep.

Human doings, human beings

People like to see themselves in the light of what they do, because it's easy enough to measure success or failure: if you climb to the tope of Kilimanjaro, you're a successful climber; if you save someone's life, you're a hero; if you arrive at work, your driving can't be that bad. Right? Actions are easy to label. 

I've heard that ants, who lose the scent trail that they follow, can end up following each other in an endless circle.  These ants can carry on in this 'circular mill' until they collapse or die. If they're lucky, they can lose their way again, thus escaping the circular mill. If this doesn't happen, all they have is a perpetuation of a perpetuation: on and on it goes.

The cultures we inhabit can be much the same. Fashion, technology, consumerism, religion and any number of the things we encounter in culture are often just perpetuations of perpetuations; copies of copies of copies. No one remembers why they do things. They just know they need to do them. These circular mills are so dangerous for the soul, and are very easy to trigger – as a friend of mine pointed out to me, "there's such a lot of energy, a sense of being 'in', a feeling of moving forward together". Circular mills cause us to mistake movement for progress. So, we do a lot, and we give what we do a name, but we still have no idea who we are.

To get out of the circular mill, all we need is a point of  reference point outside of the circle – what I like to call a transcendent point of attention. This point of attention doesn't have to be static but it should give a sense of whether we are on the right track in all that we do. I believe wholeheartedly that this transcendent point of attention is Jehovah, the God of Abraham, Isaac and Zaccheus the Pharisee, the God who calls Himself "I Am"... All that God does comes out of who He is. And surely we can learn from that? Surely we should figure out who we are first before we climb Kilamanjaro or drive to work? 

I think people are so obsessed with what they do, because they've forgotten who they are, and it's both scary and embarrassing for them to have to admit that.