So, this 11 year old girl says to her Sunday school teacher, “If heaven is so great, why don’t we all just commit suicide?”
The Sunday school teacher (who is either some poor schlub who didn’t think fast enough to decline this thankless job, or someone trying to impress the church pillars, or -- worst case -- someone bent on bending the minds of the little tabulae rasae, and who in any case certainly lacks the training, the rationality, or the imagination to give the kid a useful answer) is stumped.
If he had studied church history (unlikely), he could have explained that suicide was a real problem for the early Christian church. Having made such a fuss about the heavenly reward, and having made life so tough for believers (at least in no way improving their lot), the church found itself losing membership at a rapid rate. The faithful, seeking a way out of their misery through redemptive martyrdom, were gruesomely bumping themselves off right and left, and the congregation was dwindling fast. Something had to be done, so Holy Mother Church declared suicide a mortal sin (some oxymoronic thinking there), thereby denying heaven to the martyrs unless they could find somebody else to do them in. So, fear of damnation keeps us from suicide. Right.
If the teacher were a rational and thoughtful guy, and wanted to explain and maybe reassure, he might have told the kid that while suicide is certainly an option, it’s hard to pull off successfully -- a failed suicide is a sad, pathetic creature -- and that survival is the most basic and powerful drive of the instinctual being. One would have to be very determined, or inexorably driven by madness, actually to commit suicide. Furthermore, heaven waits for us all, for even the worst of us. So, thinks the kid, I’m not that determined, and I have this party next weekend, and I’m not crazy, so that keeps me from suicide. A little more right.
If he had had the imagination, the teacher could have said that, again, suicide is always an option, but whatever the life lessons one might be thinking of abandoning in suicide, one was just going to have to work at them again the next time.
What? WHAT next time?
Now it’s time for the teacher to be fired from his Sunday school job, because (a) no imagination allowed, only dogma-parroting and staying within the lines of the Christian coloring book (do Judaism and Islam have the same kind of idiotic teaching aids?); and (b) this guy’s about to give these kids a brief lesson in reincarnation. Can’t have that, certainly.
If we crack THAT window, then out of it flies the power of the church to control and manipulate: reincarnation neutralizes religion’s ace in the hole, which is the capacity to damn the wayward to the eternal flames of hell. If the soul is eternal and eternally learning and growing, if everybody gets another shot, over and over again until they get it right, plus, if they get a break in between classes, no matter how they might have screwed up in a particular life, a breather (which could very well be heaven, compared to how life can be here) before they have to come back for repair and reconciliation, then exactly where in this equation do we place the religious institutions?
Well, nowhere really, unless they’re willing to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, be instruments of comfort, havens of peace and guardians of the souls of their flock, solely in the name of love, without any thought of material or political gain, period. Exactly how probable is that? The track record isn’t great, so far anyway. It may have been the original intention, or at least the intention of those avatars in whose name religious institutions were established, but less than one generation removed from the physical death of the avatar -- of any of them -- it all went to hell. So to speak.
Okay, so let’s take a look at a rational and imaginative God, the Great Sunday School Teacher in the Sky. Surely, in the process of designing and executing an expanding universe, God would probably go the micro-route and design and execute an expanding soul, yes? And, in order to give it substance -- particulate form rather than the wave form of the spirit -- he’d give it a nice fruitful planet on which to explore the experience of consciousness. Unfortunately, given the dangers and hardships of being housed in dense, solid matter, not to mention the alarming fragility of such a complex mechanical system as the human body (all those delicate moving parts), the soul would have to keep replacing the vehicle as it wore out, and as the soul simply outgrew it.
Each person’s soul, let us say, is a micro unit of the ever-expanding Great Soul, and grows itself by learning and bonding, getting bigger and bigger, greater and greater, seeking always the reconciliation of karma and the reconnection with The Great Soul.
(Uh oh -- she said the word “karma.” But that’s another show, as Oprah says.)
Anyway, in order to keep growing, all of us need try out various life scenarios, to experience all of everything: How would it be to work a life as a Hitler, and then how would one make peace with that? How can one endure a life as a modern Sudanese farmer? How would one learn to control the temptations of ease and comfort in the experience of a Mother Teresa? How would it feel to break under the strain of living as a single mother of several children and thus do them great harm? How could one transcend fear and go into the darkness of the mind of a Van Gogh, solely to produce great beauty? The possibilities are infinite, obviously; we are all killers and victims, saints, demons, madmen, artists, priests, warriors, scholars, kings, teachers, slaves.
That’s how we grow. We have to have different environments in order to study different experiences, and so, with each new entrance into solid matter, we try on a new body in new circumstances. Nothing scary about it, really; it sounds like something God might dream up. It also sounds like a framework that runs counter to normal politics; the truth of there being no soul death, that we have unlimited "do-overs", releases us from the thrall of our institutions, enables us to take more risks, be more creative in all our activities, and to see the elegant and stunning logic of our lives.
As soon as we accept that we are the sum and substance of unlimited possibility, we are set free.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Saturday, October 21, 2006
An Impossible Task
A friend assigned me a blog subject of World Religions, in 1000 words or less. I replied that 1000 words is either too few or way too many; glib, that, and I hoped it would suffice. It didn't, and he waits patiently.
Well, since this is my blog, here are my own conclusions on the subject: formal religion, of any stripe, that has a set of canons/rules/strictures, etc., that lays out acceptable modes of behavior, dress, diet, thought, ethics and so forth, is no more nor less than a deliberate means of social control and manipulation. This control is enforced by instilling fear (e.g., of a Jealous God, the Eternal Flames of Hell, Shunning, Karmic Payback) in the hearts of believers. The designers and the enforcers (who are the same people) are the elite, the priesthood, those who saw and seized the opportunity afforded by the impact of the arrival and teachings of an Avatar -- The Buddha, Jesus Christ, Mohammed, for example -- to create a social order with political ends, such as overthrowing Imperial Rome and setting up a second empire, the Holy Roman Church. It is cynical, it is a perversion of true spiritual nourishment, it interjects its own agenda between God and each human being, and thus religion itself is The Great Sin.
Yes, I do feel better now.
What's good about religion is that it can afford a place and time and ritual for private reflection; it offers the companionship of people of similar social leanings; it has sponsored and supported great art and music, keeping the creative class alive (albeit in the kitchen with the rest of the help), and healthy enough for long enough to produce truly transcendent works; and it can do Good Works for the poor and the unenfranchised (those often called The Unchurched). Some religions do better than others in each of these endeavors, and thereby attract similarly interested people.
What is unfortunate is that the great majority of believers (as opposed to the faithful, which I'll elaborate on in a minute) are those whose lives are predicated on fear itself (viz. Doonesbury October 2006); they find a safe haven in religion, and the more fearful they are, the more they can be directed to do unspeakable acts in the name of that religion, and if life is hell, then at least they can look forward to heaven (as rapsodically defined by the priests) once they've finished their obedience here on earth. If they vote as instructed, if they leave enough yak butter and flowers on the prescribed altar, if they bomb the designated marketplace, then they'll get their just rewards. Whew, what a relief. (And lately it seems that religion is no longer the opiate of the masses, but their crack cocaine.)
I think belief and faith are two different things. Belief is an intellectual construct; it depends on empirical data and conclusions, with supporting canon, and exhaustive parsing by theologians over centuries: Jesuits and Talmudists and scholars of the Koran spend most of their time defining and refining ever more miniscule points of reason, and when they get stuck, they cop out with the cheap "the rest must be taken on faith". Ordinary people, those living their lives, doing the best they can, and trying to fill the spiritual voids left by overweening, ubiquitous and haunting fear, just don't have the time, the strength or the curiosity to check up on the theologians' work, to challenge any of their personal motives. Usually they're just not courageous enough to take on the arrogant assertions of the priesthood.
Faith IS cheap, and it is beyond price at the same time. Faith flies in the face of reason, even denies much of what is offered as truth by established religion. Faith circumvents consensus: someone who has experienced a spiritual event -- an unexplained recovery from terminal illness, a time out-of-body, a "visit" from a loved one at the point of his death, or his own near-death experience -- knows on a cellular level the truth and value of real faith. He knows that faith is irrelevant to most of the bromides recited in a house of "worship"; while he may still attend the services, might still recite the credos (albeit with private additions and omissions), enjoy the society of those attending with him, find some peace and momentary transcendence from the music, the surrounding art and the occasional homily by an extraordinary priest, our man of faith knows exactly where truth lives, and, with some practice, knows how to get at it for comfort in times of trouble.
It is almost coincidence when a Mother Teresa, a Mahatma Gandhi, a Rabi'a al-'Adawiyya, a Dalai Lama, a Martin Luther King, Jr. emerges from within the strictures of established religion, but emerge they do, and the majesty of their lives and teachings are a reproach to the institutions of their infancy.
Personally, I cherry-pick my religion, feeling most comfortable and least judged in the Episcopal Church, and so far I have found no defensible reason to do otherwise. I admire and appreciate the teachings of the Dalai Lama (compassion as well as detachment), I strive for the wholeness of Christ, I am transported by the music composed for the Roman and Anglican institutions, I am grateful for and I revel in the love of my dear ones whether they agree with me or not. The day this established church tells me how to vote, and who is and is not worthy of love and redemption will be the day I leave for good.
Well, since this is my blog, here are my own conclusions on the subject: formal religion, of any stripe, that has a set of canons/rules/strictures, etc., that lays out acceptable modes of behavior, dress, diet, thought, ethics and so forth, is no more nor less than a deliberate means of social control and manipulation. This control is enforced by instilling fear (e.g., of a Jealous God, the Eternal Flames of Hell, Shunning, Karmic Payback) in the hearts of believers. The designers and the enforcers (who are the same people) are the elite, the priesthood, those who saw and seized the opportunity afforded by the impact of the arrival and teachings of an Avatar -- The Buddha, Jesus Christ, Mohammed, for example -- to create a social order with political ends, such as overthrowing Imperial Rome and setting up a second empire, the Holy Roman Church. It is cynical, it is a perversion of true spiritual nourishment, it interjects its own agenda between God and each human being, and thus religion itself is The Great Sin.
Yes, I do feel better now.
What's good about religion is that it can afford a place and time and ritual for private reflection; it offers the companionship of people of similar social leanings; it has sponsored and supported great art and music, keeping the creative class alive (albeit in the kitchen with the rest of the help), and healthy enough for long enough to produce truly transcendent works; and it can do Good Works for the poor and the unenfranchised (those often called The Unchurched). Some religions do better than others in each of these endeavors, and thereby attract similarly interested people.
What is unfortunate is that the great majority of believers (as opposed to the faithful, which I'll elaborate on in a minute) are those whose lives are predicated on fear itself (viz. Doonesbury October 2006); they find a safe haven in religion, and the more fearful they are, the more they can be directed to do unspeakable acts in the name of that religion, and if life is hell, then at least they can look forward to heaven (as rapsodically defined by the priests) once they've finished their obedience here on earth. If they vote as instructed, if they leave enough yak butter and flowers on the prescribed altar, if they bomb the designated marketplace, then they'll get their just rewards. Whew, what a relief. (And lately it seems that religion is no longer the opiate of the masses, but their crack cocaine.)
I think belief and faith are two different things. Belief is an intellectual construct; it depends on empirical data and conclusions, with supporting canon, and exhaustive parsing by theologians over centuries: Jesuits and Talmudists and scholars of the Koran spend most of their time defining and refining ever more miniscule points of reason, and when they get stuck, they cop out with the cheap "the rest must be taken on faith". Ordinary people, those living their lives, doing the best they can, and trying to fill the spiritual voids left by overweening, ubiquitous and haunting fear, just don't have the time, the strength or the curiosity to check up on the theologians' work, to challenge any of their personal motives. Usually they're just not courageous enough to take on the arrogant assertions of the priesthood.
Faith IS cheap, and it is beyond price at the same time. Faith flies in the face of reason, even denies much of what is offered as truth by established religion. Faith circumvents consensus: someone who has experienced a spiritual event -- an unexplained recovery from terminal illness, a time out-of-body, a "visit" from a loved one at the point of his death, or his own near-death experience -- knows on a cellular level the truth and value of real faith. He knows that faith is irrelevant to most of the bromides recited in a house of "worship"; while he may still attend the services, might still recite the credos (albeit with private additions and omissions), enjoy the society of those attending with him, find some peace and momentary transcendence from the music, the surrounding art and the occasional homily by an extraordinary priest, our man of faith knows exactly where truth lives, and, with some practice, knows how to get at it for comfort in times of trouble.
It is almost coincidence when a Mother Teresa, a Mahatma Gandhi, a Rabi'a al-'Adawiyya, a Dalai Lama, a Martin Luther King, Jr. emerges from within the strictures of established religion, but emerge they do, and the majesty of their lives and teachings are a reproach to the institutions of their infancy.
Personally, I cherry-pick my religion, feeling most comfortable and least judged in the Episcopal Church, and so far I have found no defensible reason to do otherwise. I admire and appreciate the teachings of the Dalai Lama (compassion as well as detachment), I strive for the wholeness of Christ, I am transported by the music composed for the Roman and Anglican institutions, I am grateful for and I revel in the love of my dear ones whether they agree with me or not. The day this established church tells me how to vote, and who is and is not worthy of love and redemption will be the day I leave for good.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)