I've been hitting the UU theology mailing list pretty hard recently. Someone posted this today:
Both atheist Christopher Hitchens and pastor Douglas Wilson concur that
society has no use for Christianity if its core story is not true and
it's reduced merely to moral and ethical doctrine. But does this view
act as a challenge to 'religious humanism'?
__________
By David Edwards and Daniel Tencer [edited]
Monday, October 26th, 2009
If the story of Jesus Christ isn't literally true, then Christianity is
a fraud that promotes "a positively wicked doctrine," Christopher
Hitchens told Fox & Friends Monday morning.
Hitchens discussed the role of religion in American society in the wake
of a recent study that shows the number of Americans who claim no
religious affiliation has roughly doubled in the past two decades, from
8.2 percent in 1990 to 15 percent in 2008.
The study, conducted by Trinity College in Hartford, Connecticut,
predicts that a full one-quarter of Americans will have no religious
affiliation by 2028. The study notes that the number of non-believers
among younger people is considerably higher than among older people,
suggesting that the trend of Americans growing less religious will
continue in coming years.
Hitchens said Americans are increasingly turning against organized
religion "because they want to push back against theocracy and the
parties of God and the awful challenge they pose to us internationally."
"By the way, your side seems to be winning in public schools, at least
across America," host Gretchen Carlson told Hitchens.
Hitchens appeared on Fox with pastor Douglas Wilson, who appeared along
with Hitchens in the recent documentary Collision, which explores the
battle of ideas between the religious and the non-religious.
The two came to unexpected agreement on one issue: They both attacked
the notion, popular among some secular thinkers, that Christianity is a
socially positive thing even if it's not true.
"If Jesus didn't come back from the dead, then Christianity is appalling
-- it's an appalling fraud and delusion and every unbeliever should
attack it," Wilson said. "Christianity is not good for the world because
it makes people decent and sober and that sort of thing. At the end of
the day, if it's not true -- if it's not objectively true -- then I
don't have any more use for it than Christopher does."
Hitchens echoed that idea, but made it clear he does actually consider
Christianity a fraud.
"They say, well the Bible story's not really true -- they're morality
tales. Don't listen to it, because if it's based on a fraud, if the
virgin birth and the resurrection and the miracles did not occur --
which they did not -- then those teachings are immoral, they teach that
sins can be forgiven by throwing them on to a scapegoat -- a positively
wicked doctrine."
Is it just me, or does this argument not make a lot of sense?
Admittedly, I was raised by liberal Christian parents who taught me that the less-believable parts of the bible were metaphor. Though the article and the guy who forward it to the list attribute this idea to secular thinkers, I hear it a lot more from liberal Christians than I hear it from secular folks.
To me, the idea that a religious story's meaning and value should be evaluated separately from its literal truth makes perfect sense and I'm not sure why anything else would be the case. After all, Jesus himself acknowledged that not all of his stories were literally true. If inventing a story to get a spiritual point across was good wnough for Jesus, one would think it would be good enough for the Reverend Wilson.
Thoughts?
CC
Showing posts with label Theological Ramblings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Theological Ramblings. Show all posts
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Jess on God, theism and atheism, CC on theological biodiversity
Jess has cool stuff to say here, go and read.
One of the things I find fascinating about the theism-atheism debates I see is that atheism really is a pretty varied thing. We all get that there are a billion types of theists*, but that there's quite a lot of theological diversity within atheism too seems to elude people.
I've certainly known atheists of the "Anything remotely related to God offends me and I'm really a nice person for tolerating such stupidity, when I tolerate it at all" variety. Some of those go so far as to call any atheist less extreme an "Uncle Tom."
Nobody asked for my opinion and I know this, but my general take is that this attitude does more harm than good.
When someone is extreme and insulting, I might smile and nod out of sheer desire to have them not turn their wrath on me (which extreme and insulting people usually take as a sign that I'm on their side, so I try not to), but the minute they are gone I find myself talking to other people about what a jerk they are and how wrong they are. Snotty presentation makes serious opinions easy to dismiss, which is not to say I'm not snotty too sometimes**, but I do try to keep that in mind. I also try to keep in mind that a room full of people smiling and nodding from sheer desire to be left alone looks like a room full of agreement to themselves and to any observer.
All that said, I also know plenty of atheists who are way more laid back about it, some allowing that the concept of "God" might be a loaded term for something unsupernatural that they essentially believe in, some not going quite that far but willing to do things for symbolic reasons. Some people who call themselves atheists don't dismiss the theoretical possibility of God, yet feel that we should act like functional atheists and take care of each other because God's not going to***. From a classification perspective, I have issues with people who call themselves atheists and say that they actually believe in a God, just not the Christian God, but I have met such people. And let's not forget Buddhists, though far from all Buddhists accept the term 'atheist,' some do.
Now, one type of atheist might well say that another type of atheist isn't REALLY an atheist because they have different views. Much like when Christians start sniping about who is a real Christian and who isn't, I tend to leave the room at that point. I'm pretty quick to accept people's self-identifications on religion.
Anyway, an atheist recently wrote on the UU blogosphere about how she just sits there when people pray, sing about God and light candles. She seems to think it's nice of her not to call it hooey. That said, I know plenty of atheists who use the prayer time for quiet reflection, sing about God knowing that they don't have to believe every word of the lyrics to get something meaningful out of the song and light candles to symbolically recognize their loved ones who are sick or dying or going through some other sort of strife.
I look at the rack of candles and all of those that are lighted and I am reminded of the suffering in the world and how many people need love and food and medicine and nurture. Even though I'm a theist, I don't view it as a signal flare to get God's attention but a flaming sign that says "Do something for somebody."
I'm guessing an atheist who sits there mentally denouncing the process and thinking about how great they are for not leaping up at that moment and crying "Hooey!" doesn't do that, but I know plenty of atheists who light candles right along with the theists.
Anyway, I've just touched on a bit of the diversity I see, but I think it is important to keep in mind that the people who speak loudest in a movement are often not in the majority and there's a lot more tolerance and reasonableness to go around than might initially appear in these debates.
Don't talk to straw men. Talk to people.
CC
*Ok, Richard Dawkins, with his broad statements about what theists believe, doesn't seem to get it, but most UUs do.
** I get snottiest when I feel I have had to explain the same point many times in the same discussion. By then I tend to assume that the other party is a lost cause as far as getting my point across goes and I'm effectively arguing to amuse myself.
*** I have a whole lot of sympathy for this view.
One of the things I find fascinating about the theism-atheism debates I see is that atheism really is a pretty varied thing. We all get that there are a billion types of theists*, but that there's quite a lot of theological diversity within atheism too seems to elude people.
I've certainly known atheists of the "Anything remotely related to God offends me and I'm really a nice person for tolerating such stupidity, when I tolerate it at all" variety. Some of those go so far as to call any atheist less extreme an "Uncle Tom."
Nobody asked for my opinion and I know this, but my general take is that this attitude does more harm than good.
When someone is extreme and insulting, I might smile and nod out of sheer desire to have them not turn their wrath on me (which extreme and insulting people usually take as a sign that I'm on their side, so I try not to), but the minute they are gone I find myself talking to other people about what a jerk they are and how wrong they are. Snotty presentation makes serious opinions easy to dismiss, which is not to say I'm not snotty too sometimes**, but I do try to keep that in mind. I also try to keep in mind that a room full of people smiling and nodding from sheer desire to be left alone looks like a room full of agreement to themselves and to any observer.
All that said, I also know plenty of atheists who are way more laid back about it, some allowing that the concept of "God" might be a loaded term for something unsupernatural that they essentially believe in, some not going quite that far but willing to do things for symbolic reasons. Some people who call themselves atheists don't dismiss the theoretical possibility of God, yet feel that we should act like functional atheists and take care of each other because God's not going to***. From a classification perspective, I have issues with people who call themselves atheists and say that they actually believe in a God, just not the Christian God, but I have met such people. And let's not forget Buddhists, though far from all Buddhists accept the term 'atheist,' some do.
Now, one type of atheist might well say that another type of atheist isn't REALLY an atheist because they have different views. Much like when Christians start sniping about who is a real Christian and who isn't, I tend to leave the room at that point. I'm pretty quick to accept people's self-identifications on religion.
Anyway, an atheist recently wrote on the UU blogosphere about how she just sits there when people pray, sing about God and light candles. She seems to think it's nice of her not to call it hooey. That said, I know plenty of atheists who use the prayer time for quiet reflection, sing about God knowing that they don't have to believe every word of the lyrics to get something meaningful out of the song and light candles to symbolically recognize their loved ones who are sick or dying or going through some other sort of strife.
I look at the rack of candles and all of those that are lighted and I am reminded of the suffering in the world and how many people need love and food and medicine and nurture. Even though I'm a theist, I don't view it as a signal flare to get God's attention but a flaming sign that says "Do something for somebody."
I'm guessing an atheist who sits there mentally denouncing the process and thinking about how great they are for not leaping up at that moment and crying "Hooey!" doesn't do that, but I know plenty of atheists who light candles right along with the theists.
Anyway, I've just touched on a bit of the diversity I see, but I think it is important to keep in mind that the people who speak loudest in a movement are often not in the majority and there's a lot more tolerance and reasonableness to go around than might initially appear in these debates.
Don't talk to straw men. Talk to people.
CC
*Ok, Richard Dawkins, with his broad statements about what theists believe, doesn't seem to get it, but most UUs do.
** I get snottiest when I feel I have had to explain the same point many times in the same discussion. By then I tend to assume that the other party is a lost cause as far as getting my point across goes and I'm effectively arguing to amuse myself.
*** I have a whole lot of sympathy for this view.
Monday, May 04, 2009
A pretty simple argument for theism. (Or at least not against it.)
Jessica Sideways addresses the question of why she criticizes theists. My church runs around 50/50 theist, though I've never heard an atheist express him or herself with Jessica's bluntness there. Pretty much all of it is stuff that has been addressed a million times, either you take Jessica's position or you don't.
A few examples in direct response to Jessica's examples: Yes, lots of blood has been spilled, theoretically in the name of God. Either you accept that in defending their God the people who spilled the blood got to put themselves in charge and that even more blood has been spilled over people wanting to be in charge with various other justifications, therefore were it not for religion those inclined to spill blood would just pick another reason, or you don't. I do.
Before the invention of the microscope, anyone who believed in bacteria had to, at best, say that their theory that bacteria existed was one of many theories that were possibly true. They could not show anyone bacteria or in any way prove that is wasn't imaginary. The people who didn't believe in bacteria were perfectly rational not to do so as the claim that bacteria existed surely sounded like a fairy tale.
But the people who believed in bacteria were still correct, as the invention of the microscope would eventually prove. So there is at least some precedent, in science no less, for people to believe in things they can't see and can't prove exist at this moment to turn out to be correct.
There are lots of people who justify science and religion co-existing various ways. To give my Christian parents' views as an example, which I like to do since they are smart folks, God designed a world that could be left on its own to grow and change. One of God's greatest gifts is freedom and the freedom to chose a mate that creates evolution is part of what plan God has, though it isn't our place to know God's plans, the degree to which things are planned and/or the level of detail. Stories like Adam and Eve and the Great Flood are meant to be taken as metaphor and if you think about them, provide valuable lessons. Biblical admonitions against the eating of shellfish that sound crazy now made a hell of a lot of sense in a world that wouldn't develop refrigeration for another couple of thousand years. Even if you don't believe that the ten commandments are God's rules, they make a lot of sense and we would live in a much more pleasant world if everybody took them as good advice and followed them.* Etc, etc, and soforth.
To further expand on the point, in an argument at Steve Caldwell's blog once, I made an analogy that I've always sort of liked, comparing belief in God to my appreciation of modern art. I assume for the sake of argument that one "chooses" to believe in God or not, something that I don't necessarily believe**. Anyway, I'm going to edit it what I wrote a smidge and re-post it here.
Dale McGovern wrote: Many, many theists express their supernatural belief as a necessary alternative to a world they otherwise see as cold, wonderless, and devoid of meaning.
CC responded: Just because someone says "A world without God would be cold, wonderless and devoid of meaning" does not mean they are choosing to believe in an imaginary God to please themselves.
I could say "a world without modernn art would be cold, wonderless and devoid of meaning" and that doesn't make Picasso a creature of my imagination.
You don't have to believe in modern art for modern art to exist, after all, and if modern art doesn't enrich your life, that doesn't mean that modern art isn't valuable to some people.
Steve Caldwell wrote: Given the amazingness of the natural world, do we need to "gild the lily" by adding a supernatural layer to this world we live in?
CC responded: You can say "Given the amazingness of the natural world, why do we need to 'gild the Lily' by having an style of art that focuses on finding new truths by looking for new ways of seeing and considering new materials and the nature of art itself?" all you want but:
1. Modern art still exists.
2. It's still a valuable thing that enriches the lives of those who appreciate it.
3. It gives a new perspective and new truths to those who believe in it and understand it.
At the same time, lots of people decide that modern art is a bunch of hooey and don't bother and/or only look at more representational older paintings.
Since much of the discussion has centered around a "What you see is what you get world," I will put my response in that framework.
If you don't go see Modern Art, you will never get it. You will get other things that you do see, but you won't get what you decide has no value and not to look for or at. If you superficially examine modern art and dismiss it without really understanding or appreciating what you're looking at, it's really not very surprising that you don't get much out of the exercise.
And that's up to you and fine, until you start saying "I don't see any value in modern art, so modern art must be valueless for everybody else, too."
CC
* As one who is still considering divorce law as a potential profession, it saddens me to admit that they have a point there.
**Sitting right where you are, just for a moment, choose to believe that the moon is made of green cheese.
Go ahead. Do it. I will wait.
...
...
...
Can't do it, can you? Even if you really, really, try?
IMHO, all belief works about the same way. You believe or you don't and your desires to believe or not don't have much to do with it.
I have met one guy who, when given this exercise, claimed that he was able to turn on his belief in lunar cheese and turn it back off again like a light switch. That dude sorta scared me.
A few examples in direct response to Jessica's examples: Yes, lots of blood has been spilled, theoretically in the name of God. Either you accept that in defending their God the people who spilled the blood got to put themselves in charge and that even more blood has been spilled over people wanting to be in charge with various other justifications, therefore were it not for religion those inclined to spill blood would just pick another reason, or you don't. I do.
Before the invention of the microscope, anyone who believed in bacteria had to, at best, say that their theory that bacteria existed was one of many theories that were possibly true. They could not show anyone bacteria or in any way prove that is wasn't imaginary. The people who didn't believe in bacteria were perfectly rational not to do so as the claim that bacteria existed surely sounded like a fairy tale.
But the people who believed in bacteria were still correct, as the invention of the microscope would eventually prove. So there is at least some precedent, in science no less, for people to believe in things they can't see and can't prove exist at this moment to turn out to be correct.
There are lots of people who justify science and religion co-existing various ways. To give my Christian parents' views as an example, which I like to do since they are smart folks, God designed a world that could be left on its own to grow and change. One of God's greatest gifts is freedom and the freedom to chose a mate that creates evolution is part of what plan God has, though it isn't our place to know God's plans, the degree to which things are planned and/or the level of detail. Stories like Adam and Eve and the Great Flood are meant to be taken as metaphor and if you think about them, provide valuable lessons. Biblical admonitions against the eating of shellfish that sound crazy now made a hell of a lot of sense in a world that wouldn't develop refrigeration for another couple of thousand years. Even if you don't believe that the ten commandments are God's rules, they make a lot of sense and we would live in a much more pleasant world if everybody took them as good advice and followed them.* Etc, etc, and soforth.
To further expand on the point, in an argument at Steve Caldwell's blog once, I made an analogy that I've always sort of liked, comparing belief in God to my appreciation of modern art. I assume for the sake of argument that one "chooses" to believe in God or not, something that I don't necessarily believe**. Anyway, I'm going to edit it what I wrote a smidge and re-post it here.
Dale McGovern wrote: Many, many theists express their supernatural belief as a necessary alternative to a world they otherwise see as cold, wonderless, and devoid of meaning.
CC responded: Just because someone says "A world without God would be cold, wonderless and devoid of meaning" does not mean they are choosing to believe in an imaginary God to please themselves.
I could say "a world without modernn art would be cold, wonderless and devoid of meaning" and that doesn't make Picasso a creature of my imagination.
You don't have to believe in modern art for modern art to exist, after all, and if modern art doesn't enrich your life, that doesn't mean that modern art isn't valuable to some people.
Steve Caldwell wrote: Given the amazingness of the natural world, do we need to "gild the lily" by adding a supernatural layer to this world we live in?
CC responded: You can say "Given the amazingness of the natural world, why do we need to 'gild the Lily' by having an style of art that focuses on finding new truths by looking for new ways of seeing and considering new materials and the nature of art itself?" all you want but:
1. Modern art still exists.
2. It's still a valuable thing that enriches the lives of those who appreciate it.
3. It gives a new perspective and new truths to those who believe in it and understand it.
At the same time, lots of people decide that modern art is a bunch of hooey and don't bother and/or only look at more representational older paintings.
Since much of the discussion has centered around a "What you see is what you get world," I will put my response in that framework.
If you don't go see Modern Art, you will never get it. You will get other things that you do see, but you won't get what you decide has no value and not to look for or at. If you superficially examine modern art and dismiss it without really understanding or appreciating what you're looking at, it's really not very surprising that you don't get much out of the exercise.
And that's up to you and fine, until you start saying "I don't see any value in modern art, so modern art must be valueless for everybody else, too."
CC
* As one who is still considering divorce law as a potential profession, it saddens me to admit that they have a point there.
**Sitting right where you are, just for a moment, choose to believe that the moon is made of green cheese.
Go ahead. Do it. I will wait.
...
...
...
Can't do it, can you? Even if you really, really, try?
IMHO, all belief works about the same way. You believe or you don't and your desires to believe or not don't have much to do with it.
I have met one guy who, when given this exercise, claimed that he was able to turn on his belief in lunar cheese and turn it back off again like a light switch. That dude sorta scared me.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
On proper use of the word "Zen"
James takes me to task, and justly so, in the comments on my previous post.
He writes: I realize this is an exercise in futility, particularly against the cultural weight of the Daily Show's "moment of Zen," but I am saddened to see my religious tradition trivialized by this precious term being reduced to mean non-sequitur...
Or not...
My intention with using the word "Zen," was to nudge at how the game was pointing at a simple kind of self-exploration and examination of what one desires (and in my case that all I really know about Alan Rickman is that he's a nice looking actor with a rich and sexy voice, and anything else I might crave in him is something I put there with my own perceptions,) with the "or not" as a reminder that this was, after all, a Honda website I was looking at and a game at that.
At the same time, it was still trivializing and I've used it even less correctly before as my circle of friends tends to use "I'm pretty zen about not getting the promotion" to mean "I have dealt with the inherent badness of not getting the promotion and have attained a sort of balance and mental peace with the idea that I'm not getting promoted."
But that's still misusing and trivializing and I will try not to use it badly again.
Sorry about that.
CC
He writes: I realize this is an exercise in futility, particularly against the cultural weight of the Daily Show's "moment of Zen," but I am saddened to see my religious tradition trivialized by this precious term being reduced to mean non-sequitur...
Or not...
My intention with using the word "Zen," was to nudge at how the game was pointing at a simple kind of self-exploration and examination of what one desires (and in my case that all I really know about Alan Rickman is that he's a nice looking actor with a rich and sexy voice, and anything else I might crave in him is something I put there with my own perceptions,) with the "or not" as a reminder that this was, after all, a Honda website I was looking at and a game at that.
At the same time, it was still trivializing and I've used it even less correctly before as my circle of friends tends to use "I'm pretty zen about not getting the promotion" to mean "I have dealt with the inherent badness of not getting the promotion and have attained a sort of balance and mental peace with the idea that I'm not getting promoted."
But that's still misusing and trivializing and I will try not to use it badly again.
Sorry about that.
CC
Sunday, August 03, 2008
Today in church, we did something really great.
We prayed for the guy who shot up the congregation in Tennessee.
I don’t pray often, to be honest. My conception of God is that God is a force not at all unlike gravity, pulling at us all the time and changing the way things behave in ways that are so seamless with our reality that we can be forgiven for missing God’s presence. (Yes, you can argue this one out with me if you wish, but that’s not really the point of this post.)
So when I do pray, I’m pretty aware that I’m talking mostly to myself.
I’m also aware of Robertson Davies’ comment “Prayer is petition, intercession, adoration, and contemplation; great saints and mystics have agreed on this definition. To stop short at petition is to pray only in a crippled fashion. Further, such prayer encourages one of the faults which is most reprehended by spiritual instructors -- turning to God without turning from Self”
But I think I can be aware that I’m talking mostly to myself while at the same time trying to remove myself from selfish concerns. But am I motivated to try to remove my thoughts from selfish concerns by Pride or by wanting to feel good about myself for having done so? Eh… Dunno. Either way it seems like a good practice. And besides, we can’t ever completely leave ourselves out. We can look beyond ourselves to some degree, but we’re kind of stuck in the perspective we’re in. A dog who loves one still expresses his affection as dogs express affection.
Still, even among people who do pray as a regular thing, I don’t think praying for those who attack us is very common, even though the bible pretty much straight up says we should pray for everyone. (Ok, that’s the way I read I Timothy 2: 1-4*, given what jerks most of the biblical kings were.) It has given me great pride in Unitarian Universalism to hear about how forgiving we have been and how we have been reaching out in all directions spiritually, not just the easy ones.
Even though I’m a humanist who doesn’t pray much, I see it as crucial for our own dealing with this tragedy to look to the shooter with compassion in any way we can, prayer included**. When we reach out, to heaven and to one another, and call out to those whose personal concerns are well beyond our own, by the very nature of the act we are increasing our own awareness and growing spiritually. Will compassionate thoughts lead to compassionate action, leading to compassionate acts and feelings on the parts of others, setting off a chain of events that makes the world suck less?
Maybe not, but, hell, let’s give it a shot.
CC
*1I exhort therefore, that, first of all, supplications, prayers, intercessions, and giving of thanks, be made for all men;
2For kings, and for all that are in authority; that we may lead a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and honesty.
3For this is good and acceptable in the sight of God our Saviour;
4Who will have all men to be saved, and to come unto the knowledge of the truth.
**Ok, if prayer straight up doesn't work for you spiritually, you don't have to pray. Note again that I stretching the concept of prayer somewhat. But the ideas are still worth contemplating on and considering.
I don’t pray often, to be honest. My conception of God is that God is a force not at all unlike gravity, pulling at us all the time and changing the way things behave in ways that are so seamless with our reality that we can be forgiven for missing God’s presence. (Yes, you can argue this one out with me if you wish, but that’s not really the point of this post.)
So when I do pray, I’m pretty aware that I’m talking mostly to myself.
I’m also aware of Robertson Davies’ comment “Prayer is petition, intercession, adoration, and contemplation; great saints and mystics have agreed on this definition. To stop short at petition is to pray only in a crippled fashion. Further, such prayer encourages one of the faults which is most reprehended by spiritual instructors -- turning to God without turning from Self”
But I think I can be aware that I’m talking mostly to myself while at the same time trying to remove myself from selfish concerns. But am I motivated to try to remove my thoughts from selfish concerns by Pride or by wanting to feel good about myself for having done so? Eh… Dunno. Either way it seems like a good practice. And besides, we can’t ever completely leave ourselves out. We can look beyond ourselves to some degree, but we’re kind of stuck in the perspective we’re in. A dog who loves one still expresses his affection as dogs express affection.
Still, even among people who do pray as a regular thing, I don’t think praying for those who attack us is very common, even though the bible pretty much straight up says we should pray for everyone. (Ok, that’s the way I read I Timothy 2: 1-4*, given what jerks most of the biblical kings were.) It has given me great pride in Unitarian Universalism to hear about how forgiving we have been and how we have been reaching out in all directions spiritually, not just the easy ones.
Even though I’m a humanist who doesn’t pray much, I see it as crucial for our own dealing with this tragedy to look to the shooter with compassion in any way we can, prayer included**. When we reach out, to heaven and to one another, and call out to those whose personal concerns are well beyond our own, by the very nature of the act we are increasing our own awareness and growing spiritually. Will compassionate thoughts lead to compassionate action, leading to compassionate acts and feelings on the parts of others, setting off a chain of events that makes the world suck less?
Maybe not, but, hell, let’s give it a shot.
CC
*1I exhort therefore, that, first of all, supplications, prayers, intercessions, and giving of thanks, be made for all men;
2For kings, and for all that are in authority; that we may lead a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and honesty.
3For this is good and acceptable in the sight of God our Saviour;
4Who will have all men to be saved, and to come unto the knowledge of the truth.
**Ok, if prayer straight up doesn't work for you spiritually, you don't have to pray. Note again that I stretching the concept of prayer somewhat. But the ideas are still worth contemplating on and considering.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
The spiritual practice of not sending bitchy rants.
I just got an incredibly snotty email.
One of my professors gave an assignment that was rather unclear, asking us to make an outline for revising a paper we have written that we haven't gotten feedback on yet. I didn't email the man asking for clarification, but apparently a decent proportation of my 80-member class did.
He wrote an email that basically said that he wouldn't be around to help us revise any drafts we might write for the final and strongly implying that the people who wanted extra guidance weren't taking responsiblity for their work. It's all about "character," you see.
Character my ass.
My response, if I may say so, was blistering. I pointed out the fundamental attribution error inherent in making judgements about people's characters based on their behavior during the first semester of law school. I said that the people who kept asking for clarification weren't lazy, they were scared. And I get that, because I may be more apt to try and figure things out for myself, but I'm scared, too. All of us are borrowing $120,000 and betting it on our own ability to succeed and when professors are vague about what they want, that is legitimately terrifying.
It was too mean. I wrote another, shorter draft. I sent both to a friend.
Would the professor get over it if I sent it to him? Probably. And the comments he made were over the line. I could send it and my legal career would survive. Our exams are anonymous. Hell, my friends would think it was pretty cool.
But I stepped back from the computer. I thought. I got a drink of water. I did some work. And the anger started to burn away. My friend emailed me back, saying not to send either e-mail, but by then I'd already decided I wouldn't.
I was left with the sad realization that I didn't want to be the person who sent the rant. I was offended. I did take what he said personally and his bringing character into it really seemed gratuitous and judgemental. But I just didn't want to be that person. Buddhism doesn't usually come to mind, but I found myself thinking of the concept of right speech.
The idea of self-purification through well chosen words is appealing to me today, and the idea that two wrongs don't make a right.
So I'm sitting here now, the emails saved far from my e-mail account, and I don't have a sense of destruction. When I rant at somebody, particularly in a nasty and private way, it feels good. The moment of fouling a relationship with someone who deserves it is always a great relief.
But now I'm in the moment after, and this moment after is better.
Off to school.
CC
One of my professors gave an assignment that was rather unclear, asking us to make an outline for revising a paper we have written that we haven't gotten feedback on yet. I didn't email the man asking for clarification, but apparently a decent proportation of my 80-member class did.
He wrote an email that basically said that he wouldn't be around to help us revise any drafts we might write for the final and strongly implying that the people who wanted extra guidance weren't taking responsiblity for their work. It's all about "character," you see.
Character my ass.
My response, if I may say so, was blistering. I pointed out the fundamental attribution error inherent in making judgements about people's characters based on their behavior during the first semester of law school. I said that the people who kept asking for clarification weren't lazy, they were scared. And I get that, because I may be more apt to try and figure things out for myself, but I'm scared, too. All of us are borrowing $120,000 and betting it on our own ability to succeed and when professors are vague about what they want, that is legitimately terrifying.
It was too mean. I wrote another, shorter draft. I sent both to a friend.
Would the professor get over it if I sent it to him? Probably. And the comments he made were over the line. I could send it and my legal career would survive. Our exams are anonymous. Hell, my friends would think it was pretty cool.
But I stepped back from the computer. I thought. I got a drink of water. I did some work. And the anger started to burn away. My friend emailed me back, saying not to send either e-mail, but by then I'd already decided I wouldn't.
I was left with the sad realization that I didn't want to be the person who sent the rant. I was offended. I did take what he said personally and his bringing character into it really seemed gratuitous and judgemental. But I just didn't want to be that person. Buddhism doesn't usually come to mind, but I found myself thinking of the concept of right speech.
The idea of self-purification through well chosen words is appealing to me today, and the idea that two wrongs don't make a right.
So I'm sitting here now, the emails saved far from my e-mail account, and I don't have a sense of destruction. When I rant at somebody, particularly in a nasty and private way, it feels good. The moment of fouling a relationship with someone who deserves it is always a great relief.
But now I'm in the moment after, and this moment after is better.
Off to school.
CC
Friday, October 27, 2006
Your religion is like your significant other
Recent ex-UU Sean Anthony has a thoughtful if angry post up called
So I can't really build my own theology in the UUA? As evidenced by a recent post of mine, I don't take the opinions of ex-UUs, especially recent ones, very seriously in regards to questions about my faith anymore than I trust recent ex-Fundamentalists to offer the most objective and reasonable criticisms of THEIR old faith. Those who have left their churches slowly and have the more "High School Sweetheart" view of their old religions are a good deal more trustworthy, but on the whole I'd say one has to be gone for awhile to get the perspective that brings with it truly useful insights.
Anthony makes some rather strange assertions in his post. Essentially his issue is that in the year before he left UUism, he declared himself a religious humanist, then said he was a UU christian, talked about how at home he felt in the AUC, then ended up at the church of the breathren. He left UUism and a bunch of people made fun of him for his rapid changes of faith. Were he not a seminarian, I would say that the sheer speed of the changes suggested that he wasn't really exploring each option fully before taking up the next, as he was a seminarian, I have more faith that he knew what he was doing and takes faith more seriously than that, but I'm still not sure what was up and maybe it's not my business to know.
In some senses his problem is more a blogger's problem than a Unitarian problem. I often think out loud on this blog and I do sometimes change my mind. I write passionately when I'm feeling passionate and sometimes regret this passion the next day. Usually, though, I'm pretty careful to not use language that suggests I'm committed to something until I really am. I have for years said that I consider myself a Unitarian Universalist first and don't feel I need additional labels, but if you press me on it, I'm a humanist. I have a conception of the holy and am sometimes willing to call it "God" for the sake of argument, but see it more as a force than a personality.
I've believed roughly this for the entire time I've been a UU. I've messed around with various rituals and ways of expressing my relationship to the holy, but my sense of the holy has remained pretty consistent.
Anyway, here's the response I wrote to his post, slightly edited.
___________________________________________
To me beliefs are like significant others.
Nobody objects when someone, especially someone youngish, dates around. But when you go through three or four significant others in a year, declaring each in turn a true love*, and then claim you have to treat your friends badly because your latest true love said to and love is more important than friendship, the people who don’t know you well will make fun of you and the people who care about you will feel jerked around.
That’s life.
However, if the marriage between you and the Brethren is meant to be and you stick with her for a long time, everybody will have forgotten about your sowing-your-religious-oats period in time.
CC
*My guess is part of the confusion may come from your willingness to try on labels publically. Often it’s good to fully make, say Buddhism a part of you before you start calling yourself a Buddhist to everyone. You don’t tell all your friends that you and Peggy Jean are in love until you know her pretty well and are sure it’s true. Same principle.
_______________________________________
Ps. On another post on his blog, Shawn is now expressing his amazement that when he insults a religion people show up to say "Actually, that religion works fine for me."
Wow. When you insult something, people who like that thing decide you're wrong and sometimes defend it! Will wonders never cease? Shawn totally didn't see that one coming!
The world must be such an amazing and unpredicatable place for Shawn.
So I can't really build my own theology in the UUA? As evidenced by a recent post of mine, I don't take the opinions of ex-UUs, especially recent ones, very seriously in regards to questions about my faith anymore than I trust recent ex-Fundamentalists to offer the most objective and reasonable criticisms of THEIR old faith. Those who have left their churches slowly and have the more "High School Sweetheart" view of their old religions are a good deal more trustworthy, but on the whole I'd say one has to be gone for awhile to get the perspective that brings with it truly useful insights.
Anthony makes some rather strange assertions in his post. Essentially his issue is that in the year before he left UUism, he declared himself a religious humanist, then said he was a UU christian, talked about how at home he felt in the AUC, then ended up at the church of the breathren. He left UUism and a bunch of people made fun of him for his rapid changes of faith. Were he not a seminarian, I would say that the sheer speed of the changes suggested that he wasn't really exploring each option fully before taking up the next, as he was a seminarian, I have more faith that he knew what he was doing and takes faith more seriously than that, but I'm still not sure what was up and maybe it's not my business to know.
In some senses his problem is more a blogger's problem than a Unitarian problem. I often think out loud on this blog and I do sometimes change my mind. I write passionately when I'm feeling passionate and sometimes regret this passion the next day. Usually, though, I'm pretty careful to not use language that suggests I'm committed to something until I really am. I have for years said that I consider myself a Unitarian Universalist first and don't feel I need additional labels, but if you press me on it, I'm a humanist. I have a conception of the holy and am sometimes willing to call it "God" for the sake of argument, but see it more as a force than a personality.
I've believed roughly this for the entire time I've been a UU. I've messed around with various rituals and ways of expressing my relationship to the holy, but my sense of the holy has remained pretty consistent.
Anyway, here's the response I wrote to his post, slightly edited.
___________________________________________
To me beliefs are like significant others.
Nobody objects when someone, especially someone youngish, dates around. But when you go through three or four significant others in a year, declaring each in turn a true love*, and then claim you have to treat your friends badly because your latest true love said to and love is more important than friendship, the people who don’t know you well will make fun of you and the people who care about you will feel jerked around.
That’s life.
However, if the marriage between you and the Brethren is meant to be and you stick with her for a long time, everybody will have forgotten about your sowing-your-religious-oats period in time.
CC
*My guess is part of the confusion may come from your willingness to try on labels publically. Often it’s good to fully make, say Buddhism a part of you before you start calling yourself a Buddhist to everyone. You don’t tell all your friends that you and Peggy Jean are in love until you know her pretty well and are sure it’s true. Same principle.
_______________________________________
Ps. On another post on his blog, Shawn is now expressing his amazement that when he insults a religion people show up to say "Actually, that religion works fine for me."
Wow. When you insult something, people who like that thing decide you're wrong and sometimes defend it! Will wonders never cease? Shawn totally didn't see that one coming!
The world must be such an amazing and unpredicatable place for Shawn.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
UUs vs. Trekkies: Who's a religion?
Joel has a post up at CUUMBAYA asking for a definition of "religion" that includes us and doesn't include a socially active star trek fen club.
At the same time, Philo has pointed out in the comments that it sounds like what Kos really wants to start isn't so much a megachurch as a megacivicorganization if you will.
Interesting convergence of ideas here, kids.
Ok about that definition, how about "a system of beliefs and practices that a person or community regards as giving meaning to life?"
For me, fundamentally religion is about human relation to the holy, whether you believe that: "In a child’s power to master the multiplication table there is more sanctity than in all your shouted 'Amens!', 'Holy, Holies!' and 'Hosannahs!" Or not.
But I don't think that language can be understood as I understand it without more explanation than I can give this morning.
And I will note that some Star Trek fans are probably so heavily into Star Trek that is does give meaning to their lives. They use Trek as a source of authority and really do find a sort of spiritual guidance there. I recall that a former foster kid once changed his named to "James T. Kirk, jr," explaining that as he was shuffled from foster home to foster home, the Captain of the Enterprise was his most consistent and useful male role model. That guy probably counts.
I think one can get to the point where Star Trek is one's religion, but I don't know that Star Trek fan clubs are composed mostly of people who are there or see that getting people there is a goal. I think the point of UU churches is that UUism is already our religon.
CC
Thursday, August 31, 2006
On getting through the dark night
An entry for the UU blog carnival
It's a nasty truth of the Chaliceblog that I do a better job writing about some things when I don't actually know about them. Unfortunately, I'm well acquainted with dark nights that seem to last forever. Those nights when out of the corner of your eye, you see something frightening and inhuman peering at you around the door frame from the hall and your breath is already short when you realize it's a laundry basket.
I had one about two weeks ago that brought to mind a line from Robertson Davies' Tempest-Tost (my last copy of which I've given away, so I'm going to have to paraphrase for now) where Davies tells us that Hector hadn't slept all night and while when most people say that, they mean they slept six hours rather than their usual eight, in Hector's case it was literal truth. Davies wrote it better, of course.
I was very worried about something that night, something that was a reasonable worry but did not come to fruition. I talked to friends earlier in the evening, I even gave prayer a shot.
And then?
I waited.
Now, I realize that this does not seem a brilliant solution. Perhaps it would seem a little better if I gave you the mantra I waited with, something Katy-the-Wise told be several years ago during a similar dark night. (Everyone should have a friend who doesn't go to sleep until after midnight and doesn't care if you call lateish.) I was curled up on my couch in South Carolina, relating my latest woe in a sniffly voice and she said, softly and calmly:
"Things will get better, then they'll get worse again. That's life"
I have quoted that to so many people, I can't even tell you. I have repeated it to myself and said it back at Katy-the-Wise. I've never taped it to the refrigerator, but I've considered it.
Given free rein my mind will start with a worry like "I'm really having trouble getting my groove on this 'personal statement' thing. They want honest and non-boring, but the essays in the books of successful essays all sound alike. I'm not sure I can beat my biography into 'the rosy path, beset with a few standard obstacles, that led me to law school' form." and my mind will chew on this and end up with "...and that's how I will end up a beggar woman dancing in front of WalMart for change."
Then, I say, "Things will get better, then they'll get worse again. That's life."
Those eleven words have an immense power for me. They are sometimes the only bridle that gives me any control of my runaway stagecoach of a mind. Now, often the stagecoach is still running away, but having reins I can pull helps a lot.
And the little dose of venom, the "then they'll get worse again" is crucial to the believability of the phrase. Not lying to myself is a central part of this because I'm accustomed to discovering that what people tell me about spiritual things isn't true. My life so far has shown me that if I get jumped my street punks on a walk with Jesus, he's going to watch sadly as they take my wallet and later he'll urge me to forgive them. A girl needs to know some spiritual self-defense in this world because I have yet to meet the deity who will actually make things not suck.
It's one of the things I like about UUism that we're so down with reality much of the time. We get that when God answers our prayers, the answer is often "no." I am a shades of gray person, full of uncertainty and doubt, and for UUs, this uncertainty and doubt is just part of doing business.
So on those long nights, I curl up in bed, I pop on a movie that I'm only going to half watch.
And I wait.
CC
It's a nasty truth of the Chaliceblog that I do a better job writing about some things when I don't actually know about them. Unfortunately, I'm well acquainted with dark nights that seem to last forever. Those nights when out of the corner of your eye, you see something frightening and inhuman peering at you around the door frame from the hall and your breath is already short when you realize it's a laundry basket.
I had one about two weeks ago that brought to mind a line from Robertson Davies' Tempest-Tost (my last copy of which I've given away, so I'm going to have to paraphrase for now) where Davies tells us that Hector hadn't slept all night and while when most people say that, they mean they slept six hours rather than their usual eight, in Hector's case it was literal truth. Davies wrote it better, of course.
I was very worried about something that night, something that was a reasonable worry but did not come to fruition. I talked to friends earlier in the evening, I even gave prayer a shot.
And then?
I waited.
Now, I realize that this does not seem a brilliant solution. Perhaps it would seem a little better if I gave you the mantra I waited with, something Katy-the-Wise told be several years ago during a similar dark night. (Everyone should have a friend who doesn't go to sleep until after midnight and doesn't care if you call lateish.) I was curled up on my couch in South Carolina, relating my latest woe in a sniffly voice and she said, softly and calmly:
"Things will get better, then they'll get worse again. That's life"
I have quoted that to so many people, I can't even tell you. I have repeated it to myself and said it back at Katy-the-Wise. I've never taped it to the refrigerator, but I've considered it.
Given free rein my mind will start with a worry like "I'm really having trouble getting my groove on this 'personal statement' thing. They want honest and non-boring, but the essays in the books of successful essays all sound alike. I'm not sure I can beat my biography into 'the rosy path, beset with a few standard obstacles, that led me to law school' form." and my mind will chew on this and end up with "...and that's how I will end up a beggar woman dancing in front of WalMart for change."
Then, I say, "Things will get better, then they'll get worse again. That's life."
Those eleven words have an immense power for me. They are sometimes the only bridle that gives me any control of my runaway stagecoach of a mind. Now, often the stagecoach is still running away, but having reins I can pull helps a lot.
And the little dose of venom, the "then they'll get worse again" is crucial to the believability of the phrase. Not lying to myself is a central part of this because I'm accustomed to discovering that what people tell me about spiritual things isn't true. My life so far has shown me that if I get jumped my street punks on a walk with Jesus, he's going to watch sadly as they take my wallet and later he'll urge me to forgive them. A girl needs to know some spiritual self-defense in this world because I have yet to meet the deity who will actually make things not suck.
It's one of the things I like about UUism that we're so down with reality much of the time. We get that when God answers our prayers, the answer is often "no." I am a shades of gray person, full of uncertainty and doubt, and for UUs, this uncertainty and doubt is just part of doing business.
So on those long nights, I curl up in bed, I pop on a movie that I'm only going to half watch.
And I wait.
CC
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Of courage and beestings
I think about sin a lot, which is odd enough in a UU. But recently I've been thinking about virtues.
Virtue is, if anything, more complicated an issue than sin is, IMHO.
For example, just about everyone will agree that courage is a good thing.
As Screwtape, the Senior Devil in The Screwtape Letters put it:
We [ in hell] have made men proud of most vices, but not of cowardice. Whenever we have almost succeeded in doing so, the Enemy [God] permits a war or an earthquake or some other calamity, and at once courage becomes so obviously lovely and important even in human eyes that all our work is undone, and there is still at least one vice of which they feel genuine shame....
But in thinking about it, I've realized that the issue is more complicated than just "courage is good."
Bill Maher lost a television show because he offended people by pointing out that the 9/11 bombers were not cowards. In the days after 9/11, the President was frequently calling the terrorists "cowards," presumably because, as Screwtape notes, cowardice is universally despised. You can say a lot of things about a man who purposefully crashes a plane that he himself is inside, but that he's a coward probably shouldn't be one of them. (This is not to say that Maher's comments were the sort of thing I would want my TV stars saying if I were a network executive. They were appallingly timed. But he was still essentially right that the president was trying too hard to frame some already-hated people in the worst possible light.)
But it's not just that courage can be used for evil. I don't think it counts at all unless you're using it for good.
Example:
Last year, I was having lunch with a friend and her kids. One of the kids was stung by a bee in the restaurant. My friend took the crying kid on her lap. The bee, still in shock herself, fluttered down onto a napkin on the table. I sat there watching it for a moment, increasingly nervous. I'm terrified of bees.
Finally, she said, her tone of voice understandably snippy, "It would be nice if SOMEBODY got rid of that bee." And then she picked up the napkin, bee still inside, and held it out to me.
There were other people at the table who could have done the bee wrangling, but for whatever reason it was my job.
The judgement was implied. If I didn't get rid of the bee, I was clearly too lazy to help someone in need and inconsiderate of a mother who so clearly needed to be tending to her child. I still sat there and looked at her for a second until annoyance creased her face. Angry bee? Friend who thinks less of me? It was a tough call. As my friend sat there, kid in one hand, bee napkin in the other, her expression grew increasingly hateful.
Finally, I took the bee. Holding the very edges of the napkin as if it contained highly explosive material, I took the bee outside, set it down on the table and watched, quivering, until it finally flew away.
As I walked back in to the restaurant, one of my friend's other kids went "Ha, ha. You're TERRIFIED of bees."
No duh. Who wouldn't be? Bees are scary.
But my point is that carrying out that bee, though it involved facing one of my fears, was not an act of courage. I didn't do it to help the kid, or even really to help the mother. I did it because as a grown woman, I was embarassed not to, and for that matter too freaked out and stupid to say "Ummm... I'll hold the kid if somebody else gets that bee. I hate bees" which probably would have been socially acceptable.
I don't think something you do for someone else's approval can really count as a courageous act.
When I was a small child, maybe ten years old, my brother sat next to a beehive and got something like twenty bee stings. As my parents were taking care of him, I noticed that his blankie was still out next to the beehive. Being a well-meaning if not terribly bright child, I went running out and grabbed the blankie, calming him considerably and getting six or eight bee stings for myself.
But I really was doing it because Jason was upset and it was the only thing I could think of that would make him feel better. It was worth facing down some bees to help him out. That was courage.
Of course, the six or eight stings and the resulting hives I got (I'm mildly allergic to beestings) is how one develops a bee phobia as a child that haunts one into adulthood.
Nobody ever said virtue was easy.
CC
Virtue is, if anything, more complicated an issue than sin is, IMHO.
For example, just about everyone will agree that courage is a good thing.
As Screwtape, the Senior Devil in The Screwtape Letters put it:
We [ in hell] have made men proud of most vices, but not of cowardice. Whenever we have almost succeeded in doing so, the Enemy [God] permits a war or an earthquake or some other calamity, and at once courage becomes so obviously lovely and important even in human eyes that all our work is undone, and there is still at least one vice of which they feel genuine shame....
But in thinking about it, I've realized that the issue is more complicated than just "courage is good."
Bill Maher lost a television show because he offended people by pointing out that the 9/11 bombers were not cowards. In the days after 9/11, the President was frequently calling the terrorists "cowards," presumably because, as Screwtape notes, cowardice is universally despised. You can say a lot of things about a man who purposefully crashes a plane that he himself is inside, but that he's a coward probably shouldn't be one of them. (This is not to say that Maher's comments were the sort of thing I would want my TV stars saying if I were a network executive. They were appallingly timed. But he was still essentially right that the president was trying too hard to frame some already-hated people in the worst possible light.)
But it's not just that courage can be used for evil. I don't think it counts at all unless you're using it for good.
Example:
Last year, I was having lunch with a friend and her kids. One of the kids was stung by a bee in the restaurant. My friend took the crying kid on her lap. The bee, still in shock herself, fluttered down onto a napkin on the table. I sat there watching it for a moment, increasingly nervous. I'm terrified of bees.
Finally, she said, her tone of voice understandably snippy, "It would be nice if SOMEBODY got rid of that bee." And then she picked up the napkin, bee still inside, and held it out to me.
There were other people at the table who could have done the bee wrangling, but for whatever reason it was my job.
The judgement was implied. If I didn't get rid of the bee, I was clearly too lazy to help someone in need and inconsiderate of a mother who so clearly needed to be tending to her child. I still sat there and looked at her for a second until annoyance creased her face. Angry bee? Friend who thinks less of me? It was a tough call. As my friend sat there, kid in one hand, bee napkin in the other, her expression grew increasingly hateful.
Finally, I took the bee. Holding the very edges of the napkin as if it contained highly explosive material, I took the bee outside, set it down on the table and watched, quivering, until it finally flew away.
As I walked back in to the restaurant, one of my friend's other kids went "Ha, ha. You're TERRIFIED of bees."
No duh. Who wouldn't be? Bees are scary.
But my point is that carrying out that bee, though it involved facing one of my fears, was not an act of courage. I didn't do it to help the kid, or even really to help the mother. I did it because as a grown woman, I was embarassed not to, and for that matter too freaked out and stupid to say "Ummm... I'll hold the kid if somebody else gets that bee. I hate bees" which probably would have been socially acceptable.
I don't think something you do for someone else's approval can really count as a courageous act.
When I was a small child, maybe ten years old, my brother sat next to a beehive and got something like twenty bee stings. As my parents were taking care of him, I noticed that his blankie was still out next to the beehive. Being a well-meaning if not terribly bright child, I went running out and grabbed the blankie, calming him considerably and getting six or eight bee stings for myself.
But I really was doing it because Jason was upset and it was the only thing I could think of that would make him feel better. It was worth facing down some bees to help him out. That was courage.
Of course, the six or eight stings and the resulting hives I got (I'm mildly allergic to beestings) is how one develops a bee phobia as a child that haunts one into adulthood.
Nobody ever said virtue was easy.
CC
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Everything breaks down at sociopathy
I was trying to figure out how to tell this story without mentioning that I'd had a bunch of psychological testing done. But I mentioned that last post. Again, I'm fine and have escaped some pretty serious demons through what is I assume the grace of a few well-placed strands of DNA. (Of course, the indirect effect of said demons in others was inescapable, but that's another post. Actually, it is in some ways exactly this post. People unaffected by such things don't have their minds go into places like this in the dark hours of a sleepless night. I assume.)
Anyway, so this was hours and hours of filling out multiple choice batteries, describing ink blots and making up stories to go along with pictures. When it was all over, the psychologist who had administered the tests went to her computer and was compiling my bill.
Being me, I started looking at her books as I was waiting. She had quite a few on crime and the criminal mind.
"Do you do forensic work?" I asked.
She smiled. "Yes." My bill was printing.
"Can I ask you something about that?"
"Sure."
"Do sociopaths have souls?"
She looked at me for a long moment, but not nearly as long a moment as a lot of people would have. "True sociopathy is not as common as most people think. But the real ones? No. They don't have souls."
"Hmmm..." I said. "I tend to agree. I confess I've been working on this one in my own head for years. As closely as I can figure, the soul is what inside us that is receptive to the force some people call "God." And I am really loath to label another human being as soulless, but that's the conclusion I'd come to. They just can't pick up on God's radio signals." She nodded as if that sounded reasonable to her. "But it upsets me that my religion breaks down at sociopathy."
She gave a tired laugh, "oh, Honey. Psychology breaks down at sociopathy, too. Everything breaks down at sociopathy."
I'm certain I thanked her for her time and said goodbye, but my memory of the conversation stops there.
(Item: Boris, one of our cats, just nosed the bedroom door open and I about jumped out of my skin.)
So, I guess what I am asking here is does anybody else have a theological framework where the concept of a person who can't really concieve that other people feel even fits?
Many people take a "Well, if my girlfriend with clinical depression loved me enough, she'd cheer up" approach to mental illness and assume that anything can be overcome by sheer willpower. That people with ADHD don't fail to focus on you every minute because they don't like you, it's just the way their heads work, is really a post of it's own, but suffice to say such thinking is useless in this contest. A friend told me once about a sociopath she knew who was genuinely broken up about the fact that his sister didn't like him any more after he stole her visiting daughter's money and left his neice stranded on vacation. He can do something really obviously awful one minute, then be distressed that his victim doesn't love him the next.
Such a person is missing peices that are necessary for a moral consciousness beyond the very basic cops and robbers level.
As a universalist, I know they well be OK in the hereafter, but how does one minister to them on earth?
CC
Anyway, so this was hours and hours of filling out multiple choice batteries, describing ink blots and making up stories to go along with pictures. When it was all over, the psychologist who had administered the tests went to her computer and was compiling my bill.
Being me, I started looking at her books as I was waiting. She had quite a few on crime and the criminal mind.
"Do you do forensic work?" I asked.
She smiled. "Yes." My bill was printing.
"Can I ask you something about that?"
"Sure."
"Do sociopaths have souls?"
She looked at me for a long moment, but not nearly as long a moment as a lot of people would have. "True sociopathy is not as common as most people think. But the real ones? No. They don't have souls."
"Hmmm..." I said. "I tend to agree. I confess I've been working on this one in my own head for years. As closely as I can figure, the soul is what inside us that is receptive to the force some people call "God." And I am really loath to label another human being as soulless, but that's the conclusion I'd come to. They just can't pick up on God's radio signals." She nodded as if that sounded reasonable to her. "But it upsets me that my religion breaks down at sociopathy."
She gave a tired laugh, "oh, Honey. Psychology breaks down at sociopathy, too. Everything breaks down at sociopathy."
I'm certain I thanked her for her time and said goodbye, but my memory of the conversation stops there.
(Item: Boris, one of our cats, just nosed the bedroom door open and I about jumped out of my skin.)
So, I guess what I am asking here is does anybody else have a theological framework where the concept of a person who can't really concieve that other people feel even fits?
Many people take a "Well, if my girlfriend with clinical depression loved me enough, she'd cheer up" approach to mental illness and assume that anything can be overcome by sheer willpower. That people with ADHD don't fail to focus on you every minute because they don't like you, it's just the way their heads work, is really a post of it's own, but suffice to say such thinking is useless in this contest. A friend told me once about a sociopath she knew who was genuinely broken up about the fact that his sister didn't like him any more after he stole her visiting daughter's money and left his neice stranded on vacation. He can do something really obviously awful one minute, then be distressed that his victim doesn't love him the next.
Such a person is missing peices that are necessary for a moral consciousness beyond the very basic cops and robbers level.
As a universalist, I know they well be OK in the hereafter, but how does one minister to them on earth?
CC
Friday, April 07, 2006
Rituals of eating
So I'm in the grocery store this afternoon, buying some last minute ingrediants for tonight's dinner. I run into Tim, who is the brother of one of my high school friends. We walk around the store and chat for awhile. Tim is about to get out of school with a degree in graphic design. His sister Gwen is doing nifty things in the physics department of the University of Colorado.
The conversation winds down and I notice Tim is carrying only a box of pistachios.
He'd mentioned earlier that his mom was out of town and I know he lives with her.
"So, Tim," I said. "Would you like to kick off your big bachelor weekend with a home cooked meal? We'd love to have you..."
"What are you having?" Tim asked. (Goodness, I think, I invite him to dinner and he asks what I'm cooking. That's a fresh kid.)
"I'm making a chipotle chicken and mushroom pizza and we're having salad with it."
"Can't," he says. "I'm Catholic."
And I instantly feel bad for my assumption that he was being picky. Now we all know I wanted to tell him that I could make fish instead. And we all know he would have said I shouldn't make a fuss and he and his pistachios were fine. So I decided to save us both some awkwardness. I told him if he wanted to come over Saturday to give us a call and we said goodbye.
He works at Edie's, so I have no shortage of chances to invite him again, but his refusal has me reflecting on the fact that we as Unitarians have no dietary restrictions or food rituals at all.
I'm not even completely sorry we don't. I think often people who have that sort of thing get too caught up in the ritual but forget the meaning. At the same time, food can be a powerful thing. (Indeed, the superiority I feel when on a successful diet is far and away more intense than any religious zealotry I ever feel.)
What do we lose by not telling each other what to eat? What do we gain?
CC
The conversation winds down and I notice Tim is carrying only a box of pistachios.
He'd mentioned earlier that his mom was out of town and I know he lives with her.
"So, Tim," I said. "Would you like to kick off your big bachelor weekend with a home cooked meal? We'd love to have you..."
"What are you having?" Tim asked. (Goodness, I think, I invite him to dinner and he asks what I'm cooking. That's a fresh kid.)
"I'm making a chipotle chicken and mushroom pizza and we're having salad with it."
"Can't," he says. "I'm Catholic."
And I instantly feel bad for my assumption that he was being picky. Now we all know I wanted to tell him that I could make fish instead. And we all know he would have said I shouldn't make a fuss and he and his pistachios were fine. So I decided to save us both some awkwardness. I told him if he wanted to come over Saturday to give us a call and we said goodbye.
He works at Edie's, so I have no shortage of chances to invite him again, but his refusal has me reflecting on the fact that we as Unitarians have no dietary restrictions or food rituals at all.
I'm not even completely sorry we don't. I think often people who have that sort of thing get too caught up in the ritual but forget the meaning. At the same time, food can be a powerful thing. (Indeed, the superiority I feel when on a successful diet is far and away more intense than any religious zealotry I ever feel.)
What do we lose by not telling each other what to eat? What do we gain?
CC
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
CC ponders what murder must look like from God's perspective
This started as two responses to Peacebang'sreally good thread on Universalism and God's forgiveness.
I suspect that when you deal with humanity on the scale that God does, murder seems less significant. Things that don't seem especially significant are easier to forgive.
I was never much of one for a personal God, though.
One has to assume that God on a regular basis sees every sort of awfulness humanity can think of and a few varieties that can only be left to nature.
According to the census bureau's international database, some 154,483 people die every day. Likely the majority of these individuals die in a way that would upset any reasonable person who really understood each story. (Many die of starvation, many are killed in pointless wars, many die of disease treatable in other parts of the world, many die alone and ignored by the families they built, many get preventable diseases they didn't understand how to prevent, many die in stupid accidents, many die of quiet suicide caused by addictions they developed because they were abused or otherwise treated badly, many commit suicide directly. And yes, many are murdered.)
In the context of all these deaths, murder doesn't seem like an outlier in terms of shitty ways to die.
Is is possible that one of the things that makes God God is God's ability to care for each and every one of those people as individuals and want justice for everyone?
Yes, but I for one have trouble conceiving of it.
But then, I'm most assuredly not God.
If I had to guess, though, I'd say that in God's ultimate ability to take the long view, God sees the probably fairly forgivable roots of every murder.
Murderers become murderers through some combination of circumstance and being born that way.(Presumably God does not "make" a sociopath any more directly than God "makes" a tornado. But nobody expects a tornado to ask forgiveness.)
CC
I suspect that when you deal with humanity on the scale that God does, murder seems less significant. Things that don't seem especially significant are easier to forgive.
I was never much of one for a personal God, though.
One has to assume that God on a regular basis sees every sort of awfulness humanity can think of and a few varieties that can only be left to nature.
According to the census bureau's international database, some 154,483 people die every day. Likely the majority of these individuals die in a way that would upset any reasonable person who really understood each story. (Many die of starvation, many are killed in pointless wars, many die of disease treatable in other parts of the world, many die alone and ignored by the families they built, many get preventable diseases they didn't understand how to prevent, many die in stupid accidents, many die of quiet suicide caused by addictions they developed because they were abused or otherwise treated badly, many commit suicide directly. And yes, many are murdered.)
In the context of all these deaths, murder doesn't seem like an outlier in terms of shitty ways to die.
Is is possible that one of the things that makes God God is God's ability to care for each and every one of those people as individuals and want justice for everyone?
Yes, but I for one have trouble conceiving of it.
But then, I'm most assuredly not God.
If I had to guess, though, I'd say that in God's ultimate ability to take the long view, God sees the probably fairly forgivable roots of every murder.
Murderers become murderers through some combination of circumstance and being born that way.(Presumably God does not "make" a sociopath any more directly than God "makes" a tornado. But nobody expects a tornado to ask forgiveness.)
CC
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