The Five Core Commitments of My Worldview: Introduction

75E9F465-3566-4614-A5AD-E7F868424B7AI have five core commitments that inform all of my other beliefs and the way I aspire to live. I see these beliefs as interconnected and mutually reinforcing. But they are also separable and I hold inner commitments more firmly than outer ones. In that sense, they are like castle walls within castle walls that ripple out from a sacred center.

These commitments are as follows:

1) The “inner sanctum” of my castle (so to speak) is my commitment to truth, and to following evidence and experience as the best way to get at truth.

2) Secondly, I’m committed to this (physical) world. I believe this world is real and valuable, that our empirical experience generally leads to truth, and that embodied well-being matters.

3) Third, I’m committed to an ethic centered on love and justice. Especially social justice.

4) Fourth, I’m committed to a God who is primarily loving, gracious, and inclusive and only secondarily wrathful.

5) Fifth, and last in priority, I’m committed to a form of Christianity that is informed by these four prior commitments, and in that context, centered on Jesus.

Now that I have briefly summarized these five commitments, in my next posts I will take a little more time to explain what I mean by each and my reasons for holding them.

Love is God’s Primary Attribute: Part 7: Pragmatic Reasons (continued)

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In my last post, I argued that we have a range of pragmatic reasons for assuming that God is primarily loving, apart from evidence to the contrary. In today’s post, I will share a personal and complementary reflection.

About six years ago I wrote an essay on what God’s goodness means as a concept as well as the enormous difference it (and he) can make in one’s life. In that essay I was seeking to answer the question: “If there is a God who we could hope in and truly adore, what would he have to be like?” 

Much like my last post, my main thesis was that we should begin by conceiving of God as good in a way that is for us and analogous to what we elsewhere mean by “good,” apart from evidence to the contrary.

I want to re-share an abbreviated and updated version of that essay. Doing so will help clarify the arguments from my last post and also anticipate some common objections to my approach.

I’ve done a lot of questioning in my life. One of my most important breakthroughs happened about eight years ago, before Christianity was even on my radar again as a serious possibility. I have always had a hard time trusting in God’s goodness. But in wrestling with embracing God again, I reasoned thus:

God has to be good or he doesn’t really matter. Further, he has to be good in a way that is for us and accessible to us. I mean, there is always the possibility that there’s an evil god, an indifferent god, or a “good” God who has no intention of saving/accepting us or who makes this so hard that only spiritual athletes can attain it. That’s possible, but if that’s the reality, we might as well live as if there was no God because he has no relevance to us. His existence either has no bearing on our lives or it does in an oppressive way—we’re screwed and there’s nothing for it. So if I was to trust in God, he had to be a God who was good and good in a way that was for us. 

More recently, I came to believe that God’s goodness must also be at least analogous to what we elsewhere mean by “good.” If it isn’t—if arbitrariness, torture, genocide, and the like are really “good” when God is said to engage in them or command them—then calling them that involves equivocation, we end up with a God we cannot really trust or adore, we have no firm basis for ruling out heinous deeds as possibly being commanded by God, and theism’s typical grounding of human morality in God’s nature is fatally undermined.

In the final analysis, this is why I cannot be a Calvinist, believe that God commanded genocide (per the Old Testament’s “texts of terror”), or embrace the doctrines of salvific exclusivism or eternal conscious torment in hell. All of these positions imply things that appear intractably unjust or not good. 

What would it mean for God to be good in this way? When we think of admirable attributes in parents, rulers, or lovers—figures to whom it seems natural to compare God—certain constellations of characteristics pop up again and again.

We think, for example, of honesty, faithfulness, love in its many varieties (warmth, compassion, kindness, etc.) generosity, provision, protection, presence, justice/fairness/equanimity, mercy/grace/forgiveness, patience, wisdom, sacrifice, able strength and strength of resolve, and the ability to wisely and lovingly challenge/discipline others when necessary for their growth. There is no way to get around an element of subjectivity here; however, I believe these kinds of traits are widely recognized as ideals. I believe their opposites are also widely seen as aberrations from what is ideal.

In my originally essay, I also argued that an analogously good God who could ground transcendent hope would have to bear a range of other (non-moral) attributes.

To guarantee ultimate justice and the righting of all wrongs in this world, God would have to be powerful and knowledgeable enough to see that happen.

The divine would have to have a unified quality to it. I don’t think the divided and petty gods of classical polytheism can ground morality or transcendent hope.

God would have to deal with humanity in a relatively inclusive manner; for, it seems clear to me that people from a variety of religions traditions experience moral and spiritual transformation and no one worldview is so evidently true that all (or even most) people are culpably aware of this. 

God’s goodness implies to me that he is just; that he will judge us according to how we have lived. God would not be good in a recognizable way if he did not punish evil.

But God’s goodness for us also implies to me that he extends us mercy and grace. After all, assuming our moral intuitions roughly correspond to God’s nature and moral standards, we all fail in some degree to do what we ought to do.

Implicit in all this, if God is good, there must be some kind of afterlife. If this world, which often appears “pitilessly indifferent,” is all there is; God is not the all-loving Father he must be if we are to hope in and worship him. Instead, like Jesus, I must believe in the future extra-ordinary working of God to right wrongs—either in this life or another one.

Returning to God’s moral goodness, an analogously good way of perceiving God not only fits with our widespread and intractable moral intuitions, it also has good practical effects on our lives. Embracing a good God of this sort can be nothing short of life changing.

One realizes that God meets you and accepts you as you are. He sees your sin and imperfections, but he loves you anyway. He also sees your good qualities and efforts, even when no one else does. He has good plans for you, so you don’t have to worry. Whatever your life circumstance, he is there providing a strong center of love.

His holiness calls you to repentance. A sense of his love and forgiveness leads to profound thankfulness and a motivation to emulate his goodness in loving and forgiving others. Belief in his ultimate justice in an afterlife can help ground non-retaliation (if it is not feasible here or could not be done in a just way). His just nature can also ground our wise efforts to work for justice here on earth. When things are bad, he is there to pour one’s heart out to; when things are good, he is there to thank and praise. Everything and every situation thus take on a rich transcendental quality.

Many theologies also have a robust narrative of God’s plan and his actions in the world. This has the potential to give one a further sense of participating with God in fighting evil and bringing about his “kingdom.” Banding together with others who have similar beliefs, experiences, and goals; one has a community for love and support. 

Of course, this is speaking a bit idyllically. We love and believe imperfectly and so do others. This world’s “more full of weeping” than we can understand—be that from the hurts of others, our own failings, or the tragedies that plague our existence. This world is no Eden. Not everyone feels like they can believe in a good God. Even believers are often filled with doubt and occasionally fury at God for the way things are and how distant he can seem.

But there is room for all this in a benevolent theism. A good God accepts our honest questions and doubts. He is there for us to beat against, plead with, and pour our hearts out to. In the end, he is there to redeem us from situations that seem hopeless. Although religious communities can become toxic and even the best ones are imperfect; healthy ones, which have a well-rounded view of God’s goodness, are there to weep with us, encourage us, and together celebrate God’s mercies anew. Good theologies have an earthy honesty about suffering and depravity and the like, but they also believe in redemption. 

I said that we should assume that God is good in this way apart from strong evidence to the contrary. To me, if the evidence for God is ambiguous, then the only God worth believing in is one that is good in the way I’ve outlined. But again, my goal is not just to believe what I find pleasing but to be honest about and align myself with truth (at least as much as I existentially can). If there is strong evidence for a god who is a tyrant, then it would make sense in terms of self-preservation to acquiesce to him and do what he wants. But I don’t think there is compelling evidence for such a god.

Since I take a good conception of God to have many things going for it and since I believe it has a lower epistemic threshold of plausibility for belief than that of a capricious god, this is the type of God I would choose to believe in, all things being equal. 

Let me anticipate a few objections. Doing so will also help clarify my position. Isn’t it possible that there is no God? Even if there is a God, how do we know that he is fully good or good at all or that his goodness extends toward us or is like what we typically means by that term?

Well, strictly speaking, we don’t know for sure. I believe we have modestly strong evidence for a god-like being in the cosmological and teleological arguments. I believe we have even stronger evidence for Gods presence and goodness in our moral and religious experience and in the evidence for miracles. At the least, such factors make it reasonable to believe in God and conceive of him as good in this way.

But undeniably there are also strong challenges to such a God in the problem of evil, the problem of divine hiddenness, contradictory religions and religious experiences, and sophisticated challenges to the above arguments and to traditional religious texts. Given our lack of certainty, how can we decide? 

Of course, this is not simply an intellectual puzzle. For many of us (and perhaps for all us) these things are of ultimate concern. We long for something more, something intangible, something we can’t quite seem to put our finger on. We sense that things are not as they should be in the world or within ourselves. We long for things to be made right. We long for something or someone to give us stability and hope in a chaotic and unjust world; to restore our innocence and endow our life with moral purpose; to be the lover that will truly never leave or forsakes us.

A good God could potentially be these things. And as Eric Reitan points out, “those who live in this way tend to discover it doesn’t feel as if they are living a lie. In feels, instead, as if they’ve finally stumbled into the truth behind the surface appearance of things” (Reitan, 2009, p. 206). 

So we don’t have certainty, but it is at least rational to believe in a good God and there are many pragmatic benefits to embracing him. Starting out conceiving of God as good in the way I’ve outlined also undercuts unreasonable religious beliefs about God or his will for us. Views of God as loving and as calling for us to reflect his love in our treatment of others are presumptive.

Further, as I’ve maintained, “love” is assumed to be similar to our best notions of the word and our theology and ethics are assumed to fit what we empirically know about the world. So, even if there ends up being no God, such a view is structured to make sense in this life.

I can think of two other objections at this point. First, isn’t this merely anthropomorphism; us creating a “God” in our own image? Second, if God and his ways are so much higher than ours, is it reasonable to think he must fit into our flawed and finite understandings of what is good? Isn’t that hubris? 

Assuming that God exists, surely we do perceive and conceive of him in ways that are only partial and analogous. He will be bigger than we can possibly imagine. Sometimes some of our specific beliefs will be off the mark. We must be open to indications that he is different than we had previously supposed and we have to be open (if cautious) to the possibility that he might call us, in his higher wisdom, to do things that seem counter-intuitive.

But I assume we can at least recognize the general feel of what God is like. I said that religious/moral experience and miracles point toward a good and loving God. That is to say, this view of him isn’t just cherry-picked. If God exists and is good, presumably he accepts us using our primitive categories to conceive of him; assuming we get the gist right. Perhaps he even guides us in that to some extent, especially if we are created in his image.

And if there is no God and religions are just projections of our ideals, a picture of God as loving and inclusive rather than violent and tribal at least has the virtue of inspiring the better angels of our nature. That’s why I said that I think it has a lower threshold for plausibility then the idea of a God who is capricious. If we believe in God, a good view of him of this sort should be our baseline, apart from strong evidence that he is different than that. Likewise, we should assume that his will for us accords with our best moral intuitions and knowledge, apart from strong evidence to the contrary.

In saying “apart from strong evidence to the contrary” I leave an opening for God to show us where we are wrong. But I don’t believe we have such evidence that God or his will is “good” in ways that go against what we everywhere else mean by that term—in ways that are really bad. Both pragmatism and experience point us toward a genuinely good God; even if he is bigger and different in some respects than we can possibly imagine.

 

References

Reitan, E. (2009). Is god a delusion: A reply to religion’s cultured despisers. West Sussex, UK: Wiley-Blackwell.

Love is God’s Primary Attribute: Part 6: Pragmatic Reasons

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Introduction

In my last post of this series I argued that there is broad, interfaith consensus that the Ultimate is primarily loving, good, blissful, or beautiful. In today’s post I will turn to a range of pragmatic arguments for assuming that God is primarily loving based on how different concepts of God work and the differential effects they have on people.

I’ve argued that the phenomenological evidence strongly points toward God being loving. But say we didn’t have all that. Say we simply started out with different views of God, each initially just as plausible as the next. How might we proceed in the face of such uncertainty?

I contend that we should start out presuming that God is good in a way that is for us and analogous to what goodness elsewhere means to us, apart from strong evidence to the contrary. Views of God as predominately loving and as calling for us to reflect his love in our treatment of others should be presumptive.

Further, “love” should be assumed to be similar to our best notions of the word and our theology and ethics should be assumed to fit what we empirically know about the world. This view of God and his will should be our default baseline, apart from evidence to the contrary.

Pragmatics have to do with “what works best.” The truth is, different ideas about God and/or God’s will have demonstrably different effects on people. Some conceptions are generally more conducive to human happiness, connectedness, and well-being. Some tend to instigate fear, conflict, and ill-health.

Additionally, if God’s goodness can mean something different than what we everywhere else mean by that term—if arbitrariness, torture, genocide, and the like are really “good” when God is said to engage in them or command them—then calling them that involves equivocation, we end up with a God we cannot really trust or adore, we have no firm basis for ruling out heinous deeds as possibly being commanded by God, and theism’s typical grounding of human morality in God’s nature is fatally undermined.

Now, pragmatic considerations are not the only or even the most important ones. Truth and evidence are key. That is why I started there in this series.

However, we already saw that the evidence for a real physical world and this-worldly norms of love and justice are strong. We saw that in broad strokes, these realities are better evidenced than more debatable theological beliefs. In fact, I will argue in a later series that there is an element of ambiguity about what larger worldview is true.

This suggests to me that we should start out giving strong presumption to views of God and God’s will that fit with our physical and moral experience of the world and human flourishing. These should be our baseline assumptions, apart from evidence to the contrary.

If there were evidence to support a harsh view of God or God’s will, it would make sense to recognize that and act accordingly. But harmful, oppressive views need to bear the burden of proof. And in my view, this burden is both high and unmet.

As I said, I’ve presented positive evidence for thinking that God is predominately loving and for moral norms centered on love and justice. But apart from that, even if there ends up being no God, such a view is structured to make sense in this life; to bring good in this life, to ourselves or others. Views of God as primarily loving, gracious, and inclusive bring very good fruit and their opposites bring very bad fruit (as we will see).

Different Views of God Effect Physical and Psychological Health

Studies show that fearful, authoritarian views of God that prominently emphasize his anger or punitive wrath harm the brain, decreasing empathy toward others and our ability to use our rational facilities. By contrast, views of God that emphasize his love, compassion, and grace foster brain health and increase empathy and our ability to use our critical faculties. Psychiatrist Timothy Jennings observes the following:

Does it matter which God-concept we hold? Recent brain research by Dr. Newberg at the University of Pennsylvania has documented that all forms of contemplative meditation were associated with positive brain changes – but the greatest improvements occurred when participants meditated specifically on a God of love. Such meditation was associated with growth in the prefrontal cortex…and subsequent increased capacity for empathy, sympathy, compassion, and altruism. But here’s the most astonishing part. Not only does other-centered love increase when we worship a God of love, but sharp thinking and memory improves as well. In other words, worshiping a God of love actually stimulates the brain to heal and grow.

However, when we worship a god other than one of love – a being who is punitive, authoritarian, critical or distant – fear circuits are activated and, if not calmed, will result in chronic inflammation and damage to both brain and body (Jennings, 2013, p. 27).

Jennings goes on to give a fuller explanation of the kinds of damages that prolonged activation of the fear circuits in the amygdala can cause. These include increased risk of type 2 diabetes, obesity, elevated cholesterol and triglycerides, heart attacks, strokes, ulcers, infections and inflammatory disorders, decreased energy and motivation, impaired concentration, aches and pains, and sleep disturbances (Jennings, 2013, pp. 154-156).

Andrew Newberg, in the book Jennings cites, explains it this way:

Contemplative practices stimulate activity in the anterior cingulate, thus helping a person become more sensitive to the feelings of others. Indeed meditating on any form of love, including God’s love, appears to strengthen the same neurological circuits that allow us to feel compassion toward others.

In contrast, religious activities that focus on fear may damage the anterior cingulate, and when this happens, a person will often lose interest in other people’s concerns or act aggressively against them. We suspect that fear based religions may even create symptoms that mirror post-traumatic stress disorder. Brain-scan studies have shown that once you anticipate a future negative event, activity in the amygdala is turned up and activity in the anterior cingulate turned down. This generates higher levels of neuroticism and anxiety (Newberg and Waldman, 2009, p. 53).

Studies also show that loving, supportive views of God have a positive impact on health and healing. Harshly punitive views of God and medically unsound beliefs about his will can lead to physical and psychological harm or even death.

For example, in an article in The Cambridge Companion to Miracles, Niels Christian Hvidt surveys positive and negative coping resources that people can have in regard to medicine, prayer, and miraculous healing.

Negative coping resources include harmful beliefs such as the refusal of Jehovah’s Witnesses to accept blood transfusion or the “snake handling” practices of some Pentecostals (Hvidt in Twelftree, 2011, p. 317). They include people rejecting medical treatment because of the belief that they should trust in God’s miraculous healing as an alternative form of therapy capable of replacing medicine (Hvidt in Twelftree, 2011, p. 317). And they include demands of senseless extension of regular treatment in hope of a miracle (Hvidt in Twelftree, 2011, p. 318).

Positive coping resources include the hope and sense of relationship with God that trusting prayer can bring (Hvidt in Twelftree, 2011, p. 311). They include willingness to combine prayer for healing with proactive pursuit of medical treatment. And they include the ability to recognize and accept that God does not always heal (Hvidt in Twelftree, 2011, p. 322).

What I find most interesting for our purposes here is that different conceptions of God also have different effects on health outcomes in regard to sickness and healing. For example, the belief that God controls everything combined with the belief that God sends accidents, sickness, or suffering as punishment for misdeeds can lead to negative outcomes (Hvidt in Twelftree, 2011, pp. 315-316).

Alternatively, a view of God as loving, supportive, and as entering into the patient’s suffering with them can lead to positive health outcomes, as can a view of God as controlling all things when combined with the belief that he can bring good out of difficult situations (Hvidt in Twelftree, 2011, pp. 315, 319).

Hvich’s summary is worth quoting at length:

Research suggests that negative religious resources, such as belief in God as an agent of retribution, may augment the risk of cancer-related depression…Conceptions of God in which illness and crisis represent divine punishment have been shown to provoke stress and low self-esteem, whereas the opposite applies when patients believe that God enters into their suffering, bears it with them and supports them throughout the disease. The idea that God punishes through disease and traumas is, as Pragament’s research shows particularly clearly, considered an example of ‘negative religious coping.’ Such negative coping has been associated with a decrease in psychological functioning, quality of life and longevity (Hvidt in Twelftree, 2011, p. 315).

Bad Views of God Play Into Violence and Oppression

The belief that God is violent and domineering and can command violence and oppressive uses of power against others can lead to religiously justified violence and oppression. Such beliefs stir up fear and hatred. They inhibit dialogue, tolerance, and peace. They are used to justify heinously unloving and unjust behavior toward others.

I think this is especially the case when they are combined with a dualistic view of one’s in-group as opposed to other out-groups, imminent apocalyptic expectations of violent judgment, a sense of unique choseness or election, an exclusivist view of God and salvation, a rigid and oppressive interpretation of one’s religious tradition, and/or a perceived call to convert and/or dominate others. The issue is not just the specific harsh beliefs a group might have, it is also the prominence given to them within the system.

Examples of religious beliefs contributing to violence are numerous. They include the crusades, inquisition, various witch hunts, religiously inspired conflicts such as the Thirty Years War, conflict between Hindus and Muslims in East Asia, and the Israeli-Palestinian conflict in the Middle East, religious justifications for colonial conquest, slavery, and genocide, Aztec and Ancient Near Eastern human sacrifice, Muslim conquests and violence against those perceived as infidels, religiously inspired terrorism and extremism, the use of Zen Buddhism to promote Japanese imperialism in the 1930s and 40s, and so on.

Religion has also often played a role in oppressive ideologies and systems that cause demonstrable harm to many. For example, religion has been used to justify racism, sexism, classism, slavery, homophobia and transphobia, economic exploitation and inequality, environmental degradation, and so on.

Its important to point out that violence and oppression are not just religious impulses. Tribalism, violence, and hierarchal structures of power are, to some extent, a part of our human (and even animal) nature (Pinker, 2011, pp. 31-58; de Waal in Oord, 2008, 242-262).

In her book Fields of Blood: Religion and the History of Violence Karen Armstrong observes that,

The two world wars were not fought on account of religion. When they discuss the reasons people go to war, military historians acknowledge that many interrelated social, material, and ideological factors are involved, one of the chief being competition for scarce resources.(Armstrong, 2015, p. 4).

And as Tim Keller points out, religion is not the only type of ideology that has perpetrated violence.

The Communist Russian, Chinese, and Cambodian regimes of the twentieth century all rejected organized religion and belief in God. A forerunner of all these was the French Revolution, which rejected traditional religion for human reason. These societies were all rational and secular, yet each produced massive violence against its own people without the influence of religion. Why? Alistair McGrath points out that when the idea of God is gone, a society will “transcendentalize” something else (Keller, 2008, p. 55).

All of that to say that religion is not the only cause of violence and oppression and (as we will see) it does not inevitably lend itself to such things.

Good Views of God Promote Love, Peace, and Justice

On the other hand, views of God as predominately loving, gracious, peaceful, just, and inclusive (and calling for us to imitate such attitudes in our behavior toward others) lead to demonstrably good effects. They encourage open-minded, sympathetic engagement with others. They tend to promote love, peace, and justice in the world.

For example, an analogously good view of the Divine and its way played an integral role in the abolitionist movement in England and the United States, Gandhi’s non-violent actions for Indian independence from Britain, the Civil Rights movement in the United States, a peaceful end to apartheid in South Africa and the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, the efforts of various “Engaged Buddhists” for peace and justice, and so on.

In their book Religion, the Missing Dimension of Statecraft, Douglas Johnson and Cynthia Sampson give seven modern case studies of times when religion played an outsized role in enacting peace. Three case studies involved non-violent struggles that would have turned violent without church influence. Three involved ending wars that were already in progress. And one involved reconciliation after a major conflict ended (see the overview in Smith and Burr, 2007, pp. xl-xlii).

Many other sources survey examples of religious figures and movements that have worked to love others and advance peace and justice; and all of this specifically because of their religious experiences and teachings from within their religious traditions (see Smith and Burr, 2007; Hick, 1988, pp. 299-342; Witte and Green, 2012; Armstrong, 2006; etc.).

There are progressive religious movements that push for and seek to live out justice in regard to women, poor people, racial and ethnic minorities, immigrants, LGBTQ folk, religious minorities, people of all ages and abilities, and the environment.

As a final illustration of how analogously good views of God can lead to good effects toward others, in their book The Heart of Religion social science researchers Matthew T. Lee, Margaret M. Poloma, and Stephen G. Post document how perceived experiences of God’s love motivate and expand people’s benevolence toward others in statistically significant ways (Lee, Paloma, and Post, 2013, pp. 19-30). Here is one of their summaries:

Perhaps our single most important finding concerns the extent to which experiences of divine love are related to a life of benevolent service. For many Americans, the two are inseparable. And indeed, repeated experiences of divine love can provide energy for a “virtuous circle” in which a positive feedback loop fosters increasingly intense or effective acts of benevolence. This holds across religious and social groups. Whether liberal or conservative; male or female; young or old; black, white, or Latino; or Amish, Episcopal, or Pentecostal, powerful experiences of God’s love motivate, sustain, and expand benevolence (Lee, Paloma, and Post, 2013, p. 21).

The authors make clear that this is not only love towards family and friends, but also more extensive benevolence in caring for larger community and being a citizen in the world (Lee, Paloma, and Post, 2013, p. 51).

However, they do recognize that how love is exercised depends on one’s other beliefs and the interpretive grid through which they understand the world. Some belief systems will be more conducive to effectual love and justice than others (Lee, Paloma, and Post, 2013, pp. 189-222).

Finally, they make this fascinating observation:

Our work shows that emotionally powerful experiences are key, and they often reshape beliefs. Our interviewees generally moved in one direction: discarding a judgmental image of God picked up during childhood socialization in favor of a loving and accepting representation of God that is more consistent with their direct, personal, and affectively intense experience (Lee, Poloma, and Post, 2013, p. 21).

Critics of religion sometimes try to play down religion’s positive role in movements for peace and justice.

For example, Eric Reitan points out how Christopher Hitchens claimed that Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the Lutheran pastor who was executed for resisting the Nazis, was not truly motivated by religion, but by “an admirable but nebulous humanism” (Reitan, 2009, p. 18). And according to Hitchens, Martin Luther King Jr. was not “really” motivated by Christianity because he preached forgiveness of enemies and universal compassion rather than retributionism or hell (Reitan, 2009, p. 18).

Reitan goes on to cite direct passages from King’s writings that show he was profoundly shaped by his experience of God’s love. I cite an abbreviated portion here:

God has been profoundly real to me in recent years. In the midst of outer dangers I have felt an inner calm…I have felt the power of God transforming the fatigue of despair into the buoyancy of hope. I am convinced that the universe is under the control of a loving purpose, and that in the struggle for righteousness man has a cosmic companionship. Behind the harsh appearances of the world there is a benign power (quoted in Reitan, 2009, p. 42).

Clearly good conceptions of God and God’s will can lead to ethically good effects in the world.

A Matter of Great Urgency

Finally, I think we need to keep in mind how high the stakes are here in relation to different conceptions of God and his will. I remember something Brian McLaren wrote on this matter:

In the twenty-first century, Christianity – along with all world religions – must develop a more mature, robust, and ethically responsible theology of violence and peacemaking. It was one thing for our ancestors to use God’s name to legitimize violence inflicted with swords and spears; it was another thing when more recent ancestors sought to justify violence with guns and artillery. But for us and our children, living in a world of nuclear bombs, biological and chemical weapons, and as-yet unimagined terrorist adaptations of these weapons of mass destruction; the issue of God and violence takes on unprecedented importance (McLarin in Hardin, 2013, p. xiv).

One could say the same thing about different beliefs about God and the world in regard to challenges such as climate change and systemic injustice.

Some Other Religious Beliefs and Their Practical Effects

In later posts I will survey a number of bad effects that can come from belief in imminent apocalyptic destruction. For example, these include superstitious misreadings of people and events, sanctified violence, and opposing efforts to work for peace, justice, and planet care. I will also argue that an eternal conscious torment view of hell has caused enormous fear, despair, and violence toward others.

However, I will also argue that a better view of God’s eschatological judgment is available and it can lead to good effects in the world.

In another series of posts I will also argue that exclusivist views of God and salvation tend to lead to bad fruit. For example, they play into anti-Semitism, Islamophobia, and oppressive colonialist stances toward indigenous peoples. They often play into ignorant and false views of non-religious people and people in other religions.

But an inclusive view of God and salvation can lead to open-minded dialogue with others, mutual respect, ecumenical engagement on shared goals and values, and more fair and honest discourse about people of other faiths or of no faith.

A Good God Creates Harmony Between God’s Good Nature and Human Goodness

As I’ve already contended in my fourth post in this series, an analogously good view of God creates harmony between the God we imitate and are united to and the moral character we are expected to be transformed into. In that post I argued that this is the way believers tend to experience both God and moral transformation.

Here I am arguing that this way of conceiving God and morality bears a parsimonious simplicity, leads to good fruit, and cuts off a possible justification for heinous deeds at the roots. As I argued in that fourth post, we become like what we worship. Thus, what we think about God (or the Ultimate) is one of the most important things about us. Because of this, it makes sense to start out presuming that God and is analogously good, unless we have a good reason to think otherwise.

Non-Analogous Understandings of God’s Goodness Lead to Equivocation

In their book Good God, philosophers David Baggett and Jerry Walls argue that God’s goodness must have some recognizable similarity to our common notions of goodness and morality or his “goodness” becomes meaningless and we are left with a practical (theological) volunteerism where any alleged commands of God, no matter how abhorrent, could actually be “good” and reflect his good nature. Further, if God’s “goodness” is like this, we have no firm basis to trust him.

Baggett and Walls recognize that we are finite and sinful and that sometimes God’s actions or commands might seem problematic but actually be good. But they also believe some things have to be outside the bounds of what we would expect a good God to do. Because of this, they distinguish between what is difficult to reconcile with our moral intuitions and what is impossible to do so. They recognize that we might not be able to fully demarcate a line. They see torturing little children for fun as one thing that would fall into the impossible realm. There is no way a meaningfully good God could command such an action (Baggett and Walls, 2011, pp. 125-136).

Interestingly, they also argue that Calvinism falls into the impossible realm. This because the priority it assigns to God’s will leads to either ontological or practical volunteerism and its teachings on election imply that countless persons will be consigned to an eternity of utter misery as punishment for the very choices God unconditionally determined them to make (Baggett and Walls, 2011, pp. 65-81).

I note in passing that equivocation and making God into a moral monster are common criticism of Calvinism, ones with which I agree.

In his book The Human Faces of God Thom Stark shows how some views of God in the Bible are morally and practically problematic. Commenting on 1 Kings 22:19-23 , where God is said to intentionally send deceiving spirits, and Ezekiel 20:25-26, where Ezekiel claims that God himself gave evil commandments to the Israelites as punishment, calling them to sacrifice their own children, Stark observes that:

If Yahweh’s sovereignty entails the use of evil means to accomplish his undisclosed objectives, if Yahweh sent lying spirits in order to deceive, if Yahweh intentionally commanded the Israelites to sacrifice their children in order to punish them, if he intentionally gave them bad commands (at least one of which we know to be recorded in Exodus 22, where  it is depicted deceptively as a good command), then what is to prevent God from intentionally giving us other bad scriptures, intentionally obfuscating revelation as a form of punishment, or some sort of examination, to test our mettle? (Stark, 2011, p. 66).

In a later chapter Stark critiques traditionalist attempts to defend the moral rightness of texts calling the Israelites to genocide. After quoting one such apologist as saying that goodness is defined solely by God’s actions, and if God chooses to act differently today than yesterday, then goodness today is different than it was yesterday, Stark observes that,

In this picture of God, there is no consistent character. If God has no consistent character, then God’s self-revelation would be meaningless, because anything we learn about God could potentially be contradicted the moment God chose to be otherwise. Moreover to say that God is good when God does precisely what God has told us is evil is to render the language of good and evil meaningless (Stark, 2011, pp. 136-137).

I agree with these authors and others that God’s goodness must be at least analogous to what we everywhere else mean by “good” or it becomes meaningless and unrecognizable. That leads to a practical volunteerism. I believe it involves an equivocation with the word “good.” As Stark particularly shows, it undercuts our ability to trust God. And not only would it undermine our ability to trust specific messages, it leads to uncertainty about God’s actual, enduring benevolence toward us.

Many of us would find it impossible to sincerely worship such a God. We could go through the motions, but we could not truly love or adore such a being. Finally, such a view opens the door to heinous deeds being justified as God’s will. Or to put it negatively, we would have no firm basis for ruling out heinous deeds as possibly being commanded by God. 

Conclusion

In my next post I will share a personal and complementary reflection on pragmatic reasons for presuming that God is good in a way that is for us and analogous to what goodness elsewhere means to us. Doing so will help clarify the arguments from this post and also anticipate some common objections to my approach.

 

References

Armstrong, K. (2015). Fields of blood: Religion and the history of violence. New York, NY: Anchor Books.

Armstrong, K. (2006). The great transformation: The beginning of our religious traditions. New York, NY: Alfred A. Knopf.

Baggett, D. & Walls, J. L. (2011). Good god: The theistic foundations of morality. New York, NY: Oxford University Press.

de Waal, F. (2008). “Getting Along” In The altruism reader: Selections from writings on love, religion, and science. pp. 242-262. West Conshohocken, PA: Templeton Foundation Press.

Hick, J. (2005) An interpretation of religion: Human responses to the transcendent (2cd Ed.). New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.

Hvidt, N. C. (2011). “Patient belief in miraculous healing: Positive or negative coping resource?” In The cambridge companion to miracles. Ed. Graham H. Twelftree. pp. 309-329. New York, NY: Cambridge University Press.

Jennings, T. R. (2013). The god shaped brain: How changing your view of god transforms your life. Downers Grove, IL: IVP Books.

Keller, T. (2008). The reason for god: Belief in an age of skepticism. New York, NY: Dutton.

Lee, M. T., Poloma, M. M., and Post, S. G. (2013). The heart of religion: Spiritual empowerment, benevolence, and the experience of god’s love. New York, NY: Oxford University Press.

McLaren, B. (2013). “Forward” In The jesus driven life: Reconnecting humanity with jesus (2cd Ed.). Michael Hardin. pp. xiii-xvii. Lancaster, PA: JDL Press.

Newberg, A. and Waldman, M. R. (2009). How god changes your brain: Breakthrough findings from a leading neuroscientist. New York, NY: Ballantine Books Trade Paperback.

Pinker, S. (2011). The better angels of our nature: Why violence has declined. New York, NY: Viking.

Reitan, E. (2009). Is god a delusion: A reply to religion’s cultured despisers. West Sussex, UK: Wiley-Blackwell.

Smith, D. W. and Burr, E. G. (2007). Understanding world religions: A roadmap for justice and peace. Lanham, MA: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc.

Stark, T. (2011). The human faces of god: What scripture reveals when it gets god wrong (and why inerrancy tries to hide it). Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock.

Witte, J. and Green, M. C. (2012). Religion and human rights: An introduction. New York, NY; Oxford University Press.

The Failure of Angry God Theology: Part 7 – Non-Christian End Times Errors

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In my last few posts I gave some examples of  failed apocalyptic predictions of imminent  judgment from the Christian tradition. In today’s post I will survey a few non-Christian examples of such mistaken apocalyptic expectations.

Traditional Judaism teaches that at the end of days God will regather the exiled Jewish diaspora to the land of Israel. God will raise up a Jewish Messiah who will defeat Israel’s enemies and usher in an era of peace and justice. There will be a resurrection of the dead, a final judgment, and reward in the world to come for the righteous and punishment for the unrighteous in Gehinnom.

Judaism has had a number of imminent apocalyptic movements within its history, sometimes connected with a messianic claimant and usually with the hope of reestablished national sovereignty in the land of Israel, with a return of exiled tribes.

This has sometimes combined with revolutionary (or colonial) violence and tragic miscalculations. Probably the most famous failed messianic claimants were Simon bar Kokhba and Sabbatai Sevi. Dale Allison narrates a lesser known episode from the 5th century CE. A Jewish man from the island of Crete took for himself the name of Moses and,

Perhaps prompted by belief that the Son of David would come in the eighty-fifth Jubilee (cf. b. ‘Abod. Zar. 9a-b), as well as by deteriorating conditions for Jews throughout the empire, Moses, over the course of a year of itinerant ministry, persuaded large numbers that he was the long-awaited Messiah, who would lead the faithful, via a dry sea, to the land of Israel. Those who believed in him abandoned their businesses and possessions. On the appointed day of redemption, he promised followers that they would, following their second Moses, see the miracle of the Red Sea duplicated. Some of the faithful, having ventured to a promontory overlooking the sea, flung themselves from the precipice, expecting the waves to part before them. The sea, indifferent as always, took no notice, with predictable and disastrous consequences (Allison, 2010, pp. 259-260).

Like Christianity and Judaism, Islam also believes in a future resurrection and final judgment, with the righteous rewarded in Paradise and the wicked punished in hell.

Before that time, Islamic sources seem to indicate that a number of signs will occur and things on earth will generally become more chaotic and corrupt (Yusuf, 2015, pp. 1829-31). An antichrist-like deceiver will arise and a coming Mahdi (“guided one”) with the returned prophet Jesus will battle against him – eventually establishing a time of peace, justice, and a return to Islamic values. At some time after this it appears there will be another falling away into evil before world-wide destruction, the resurrection of the dead, and final judgment (Yusuf, 2015, pp. 1830-1831; Islamic eschatology).

A number of Muslims have claimed to be the coming Mahdi, perhaps most famously, Muhammad Ahmad of the Mahdist revolt in Sudan. Of course, none of them have brought about lasting victory or widespread peace and justice.

One modern example of a failed Muslim apocalyptic movement is the terrorist group known as ISIL, IS or ISIS. Joseph Keating explains ISIS’ apocalyptic worldview and how it is failing to be fulfilled:

In ISIS’s apocalyptic propaganda, the otherwise unremarkable Syrian town of Dabiq was to be the site of a showdown with “Rome,” the Christian invaders of the Middle East, which was to immediately precede the conquest of Constantinople, and then the Day of Judgment. ISIS named its English-language magazine after the city, which it captured in the summer of 2014, and heavily fortified the town, despite it having little strategic value. But in October 2016, ISIS lost Dabiq after a short battle with Turkish-backed rebels. The Day of Judgment hasn’t happened yet…

ISIS has now lost not just Dabiq and Mosul—the Iraqi city where ISIS leader Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi proclaimed himself caliph in 2014—but most of the territory that was once under its control. The crumbling of the caliphate presents a problem for the organization’s propagandists. But ISIS is hardly the first movement to have to adapt when a doomsday prophecy turned out wrong. And past examples suggest that it isn’t even necessarily the end of the world for ISIS.

Let me survey a few examples from indigenous religious movements. One example comes from the South African Xhosa people. John Illife explains how Christian eschatological ideas mixed together with a traditional Xhosa cosmology in a volatile way.

Its power was displayed in 1857, at a time of cattle disease and white expansion, when prophets persuaded many Xhosa to kill their cattle and abandon cultivation because their ancestors were to be reborn with finer cattle and drive the Europeans back into the sea. Perhaps one-third of Xhosa died and the Cape Government seized the opportunity to destroy their society, alienating more than half of their land and admitting at least 22,150 of them to work in the colony (cited in Gould, 1997, p. 54).

One last example of failed apocalyptic expectations is the Native American Ghost Dance movement. In the late 18th century an apocalyptic movement began to arise among many Native American tribes that combined Ghost Dance lore with Christian apocalyptic beliefs. After the prophet Wovoka experienced what he believed was a vision from God, he proclaimed that,

if the Indians separated themselves from the world, and dutifully performed the Ghost Dance at the appointed intervals, and for the specified time, a millennial renewal would occur; the ghosts of ancestors would return to dwell with the living; the land would be restored to its original cover, richness, and fertility; the white man would disappear; and the buffalo would return (Gould, 1997, p. 56).

Although the Ghost Dance movement was separatist and pacifist, the incomprehension and racism of most whites caused them to be alarmed by it. This led to military action that culminated in the murder of Chief Sitting Bull and the Wounded Knee massacre in 1890 (Gould, 1997, pp. 56-61). Despite supposedly heavenly revelations that special medicine shirts were invulnerable to bullets, many Native American men, women, and children were killed and the movement mostly died out afterward.

In these last three post I have shown that ideas about imminent apocalyptic judgment have been ubiquitous in a variety of religious movements and these predictions have consistently ended up being wrong. In my next post I will survey a number of harmful practical effects that (often) flow out of imminent apocalyptic beliefs.

 

References

Allison, D. C. (2010). Constructing Jesus: Memory, imagination, and history. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic.

Gould, S. J. (1997). Questioning the millennium: A rationalist’s guide to a precisely arbitrary countdown. New York, NY: Harmony Books.

Yusuf, H. “Death, Dying, and The Afterlife in the Quran” In The study quran: A new translation and commentary. (Ed. Seyyed Hossein Nasr). pp. 1819-1855. New York, NY: HarperOne.

The Failure of Angry God Theology: Part 4 – The Initial Implausibility of Targeted End Times Destruction

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In my last post I critiqued the notion that unfortunate circumstances are normatively punishments from God. In today’s post we begin to consider apocalyptic notions of destructive judgment in the “end times” (prior to the eschaton, in a future post I will consider the matter of hell).

A number of world religions teach that this world will one day be destroyed. Of course, modern science predicts this as well. But from a purely natural perspective, this is seen as a brute inevitability. It is not (necessarily) seen as a positive act of punition.

In religions with a cyclical view of time, such as Hinduism, Buddhism, or Jainism, the universe’s destruction is seen as coinciding with the it being reborn again into a new set of  cycles of life, death, and reincarnation. In religions with a linear view of time, such as Judaism, Islam, or Christianity, the end of this current earthly age is seen as the time of final judgment and eternal reward or punishment.

Beyond teachings about a final judgment and possible punishment, many of these religions teach that prior to this, toward the end of history, earthly life will get worse-and-worse and God (or perhaps other spiritual forces) will inflict unusually devastating acts of judgment on humanity and the earth.

For example, many of these religions teach that immorality and violence will increase, as will earthquakes and other natural disasters. Some teach that supernatural acts of great destruction will be inflicted on the world by God or other spiritual forces.

In the Christian tradition, those such as  dispensational premillennialists who take a futurist and often literal approach to the book of Revelation place a particular emphasis on this pessimistic future and these kinds of violent events.

In these next few posts I plan on arguing that this view of God and violent end times judgment is undermined by a range of evidences.

It’s important for me to emphasize that I do believe in a form of God’s future eschatological judgment. Accordingly, at the end of this series I will take one post to survey my positive beliefs about future judgment. But in today’s post we start with the negative.

I will argue in this post that we should deem such judgments initially implausible. In my next few posts I will argue that we have positive evidence against many such views: namely, that their predictions of imminent judgment consistently fail to obtain. Finally, before moving on to a consideration of hell, I will argue that notions of destructive end times judgments also lead to harmful practical effects.

We turn now to the subject of today’s post. Why should we deem miraculous end times judgments initially implausible? Because, as I argued in my first post of this series, we don’t see such supernatural miracles of judgment today and most if not all past claims to supernatural miracles of judgment are undermined by evidence.

Evidence against past miracles of destruction in the Bible are particularly significant toward the plausibility of future miracles of destruction in the end times because many beliefs about end times judgment grew out of a reflection on Biblical narratives of supernatural judgment.

For example, Edward Fudge notes that,

As we move through the Old Testament, the descriptive language in these accounts gradually forms a lexicon of judgment and a vocabulary of destruction. When later biblical writers wish to describe some future judgment against sinners, they often go to this lexicon of judgment for an appropriate descriptive symbol. Although descriptions of historical judgments necessarily occur within the present age, both Old and New Testament books often borrow language from these historical judgments to describe God’s final punishment of the wicked in the age to come (Fudge, 2011, p. 59).

While Fudge is specifically considering the issue of hell, the same truth applies to supernatural judgments at the end of history but before the eschaton.

G. K. Beale, in his commentary on Revelation, notes that “John bases the plagues of chs. 8, 9, and 16 on the plagues of Exodus” (Beale, 2015, p. 13). He and other commentators observe how much of Revelation alludes to or directly references Old Testament impressions on God’s judgment in enunciating it’s own outline of coming events.

J. Richard Middleton argues that many of the later Old Testament and New Testament images of cosmic destruction at the eschatological coming of God draw from the Mount Sinai account of God’s coming and giving of the law.

To understand the Old Testament imagery of cosmic destruction, we need to turn to the central and paradigmatic theophany in the Old Testament. YHWH’s descent upon Mount Sinai in Exodus 19 in cloud, fire, thunder, and earthquake. The Sinai theophany draws on the terrifying experience of thunderstorms and also on classic storm images found in theophanies of ancient Near Eastern deities from Canaan and Mesopotamia. Perhaps more important for our purposes, the Sinai theophany becomes a model for many other Old Testament manifestations of the God of Israel, which tend to be depicted in poetic and prophetic visions (Middleton, 2014, p. 110).

The miracles of destructive judgment in the Old Testament not only provide much of the imagery of prophesied future judgment in the end times, the conviction that God so comported himself in times past plays into the plausibility for many that he would do so again in the future. Richard Kyle explains:

Another biblical teaching – that the world was destroyed by a flood – has encouraged apocalyptic thinking. Christians believe that God judged the first world by water because of its evil and wickedness. They are convinced that this world’s sin and violence will bring a second divine judgment…A crucial factor in convincing people that “the world would end catastrophically was their belief that a similar catastrophe had already occurred” (Kyle, 1998, p. 22).

All of this is important because, as I argued in my first post, we have excellent reasons for doubting most of these Old Testament events actually occurred. We have scientific and archeological evidence against a world-wide flood and against the Egyptian plagues in the Exodus account. Evidence against the Exodus account also calls into question the Sinai theophany narrative contained within it, as does critical analysis of Mosaic law, which shows it to be anything but 100 percent purely divine.

I note in passing that even if there was some kind of Sinai encounter with God and a revealing of law (perhaps accommodated to their ancient context), we can question if the Israelites were right in the threatening way they interpreted the glory of God. I think here of a point I made in my series on religious experience and God’s love:

People’s religious encounters with  the divine are at least partly structured and colored by their preconceived notions about it. In a violent culture [such as in the Old Testament] where earthly rulers were often tyrannical and where many saw God as the direct cause of both good and evil circumstances, it would be natural to be terrified at meeting such an awesome, overpowering, “kingly” Being…

It is interesting that when God or an angel appear to people in the Bible they tend to begin by saying “fear not.” Even today, even in experiences more sharply characterized by love, people often feel overwhelmed by the immensity of God.

I want to explain one final element of my case for the initial implausibility of end times miracles of destruction. In my first post in this series I referenced the principle of analogy. This is a principle of evaluating historical probability. The principle is two-sided. If a historical account contains descriptions of events that bear no analogy to our current experience today and which bears analogy to a different genre (such as mythology), it should be deemed initially improbable.

This principle does not say we can know for sure that such events did not happen. Nor does it say that other evidential considerations cannot override this initially improbability. It just says they are (initially) unlikely or improbable. Without recourse to a consistent application of such a principle, fantastical tales become just as plausible as sober ones. As Robert Price notes:

Again, we weren’t there and thus have do not know that natural law always operated as it does now…but there is no particular reason not to think so, and unless we do, we have no criterion at all. We will be at the mercy of old stories of people turning lead into gold, turning into werewolves, using magic to win battles. If in our experience it takes a whole army to defeat an army, we will judge improbable any ancient tale that has a single man defeating an army. What else can we do? (Price in Beilby and Eddy, 2009, p. 56).

While strictly speaking, the principle of analogy is a methodology for historical analysis, I think it rightly gives us a reason to deem future miracles of destruction initially implausible as well. This because, as we have seen, we do not experience such destructive miracles today and we have evidence against many such narratives of destructive miracles in the past.

All of this would undercut the probability of future miracles of destruction in the end times just on its own, by virtue of the principle of analogy. But the fact that teachings on future end times miracles of destruction directly draw on imagery from Biblical narratives that are positively undermined by evidence adds to their lack of credibility.

While this post has primarily considered supernatural miracles of judgment, my last post on unfortunate circumstances argues that such circumstances are rarely if ever judgments from God. To me, this undercuts the plausibility that God will positively initiate (rather than allow) greater natural disasters in the end times as a form of judgment. Indeed, as I will argue in a later post, this way of perceiving world events leads to superstitious misreadings of natural phenomena and fatalism about our relationship to others and our environment.

If there does end up being destructive judgments in an end times (whether natural or supernatural destructions), I think we should still recognize that wide-spread destructive punishments do not mean that every single individual is guilty or being targeted by God. Indeed, the consistent teaching of the New Testament is that believers will also go through tribulation and be refined by it.

Also, we should bear in mind that Biblical judgment is often meant to prompt repentance and lead to restoration. Often predicted judgments are provisional and can be altered if people repent (Jeremiah 18:7-8, Jonah 3:10-4:2, see also Richard Bauckham’s comments on Revelation 9:20-21 (Bauckham, 1993, p. 40-41)).

Finally, much Biblical judgment involves a turning over to the destructive results of one’s own choices. Many of the agents of destructive in Revelation appear to be demonic. Greg Boyd argues that the author of Revelation views many of the destructions as God allowing Satan and his demons greater freedom to devastate the earth as people harden in their rejection of him (Boyd, 2017, pp. 593-628).

I sometimes wonder if some end times destruction will be the result of God giving us over to the effects of our own destructive habits of harming the environment and proliferating weapons of mass destruction. But if that is the case, we can still do something to prevent this by proactively changing our policies and behavior. Indeed, the God who calls us to steward the earth and partner with him in restoring all things expects nothing less from us.

In my next post I will begin to survey some failed predictions of imminent apocalyptic judgment in the end times.

 

References

Bauckham, R. (1993). New testament theology: The theology of the book of revelation. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press.

Beale, G. K. and Campbell, D. H. (2015). Revelation: A shorter commentary. Grand Rapids, MI: WM. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co.

Boyd, G. A. (2017). Crucifixion of the warrior god:  Interpreting the old testament’s violent portraits of god in light of the cross, Vols. 1. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press.

Fudge, E. W. (2011). The fire that consumes: A biblical and historical study of the doctrine of final punishment, 3rd Ed. Eugene, OR: Cascade Books.

Kyle, R. (1998). The last days are here again: A history of the end times. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Books.

Middleton, J. R. (2014). A new heaven and a new earth: Reclaiming biblical eschatology. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic.

Price, R. M. (2009). “Jesus at the vanishing point.” In Beilby, J. K. & Eddy, P. R. (Eds.). The historical jesus: Five views. pp. 55-83. Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic.

The Failure of Angry God Theology: Part 5 – Biblical End Times Errors

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In my last post I argued that apocalyptic notions of destructive judgment in the end times are initially improbable. There I also noted that I do believe in a form of God’s future eschatological judgment and indicated that at the end of this series I would write about these positive beliefs.

In today’s post I will begin to survey a number of  predictions of imminent apocalyptic judgment that failed to (fully) be fulfilled. This is an important part of my cumulative case against many such views. It will also illustrate for us a variety of dangers that often flow out of end times thinking that we should seek to avoid.

So far, prophesies about the final end have been repeatedly wrong, and often to great harm (see Kyle, 1998; Kirsch, 2006; Gould, 1997; and Weber in Walls, 2008).

Let me start with some examples from the Bible itself. In my next few posts I will survey other examples throughout church history and in other religions.

Daniel 11:3-12:4 appears to be an unbroken discussion of the actions of Antiochus IV Epiphanes (215-164 BCE)  and supposed subsequent happenings. The earlier part of chapter 11 is transparently about Antiochus Epiphanes and conflict between the kingdom of the North (the Seleucid Empire) and the kingdom of the South (the Ptolemaic Empire) (Sparks, 2008, pp. 116-118; Collins, 1994).

The problem is that the passage goes on to predict things that were never fulfilled. Specifically, the text predicts that Antiochus would die in Palestine (11:45) and that shortly thereafter the general resurrection and judgment would happen and God’s final kingdom would be established (11:40-12:4). We have three sources for Antiochus’ death and they all agree that he died in Persia, not Palestine (Sparks, 2008, p. 117). And obviously the final end did not occur in the 2cd century BCE.

Some conservative Christians believe that verse 36 marks a change of focus from Antiochus and the 2cd century to the time of the Antichrist and the eschatological end. Conservatives are virtually forced to make a break somewhere in 11:2-12:4. But so far as I can see, there is no contextual basis for this.

The text makes no clear break itself. If it is supposed to break, the description of Antiochus is left hanging unresolved. Verse 42 goes on to talk about more conflict with Egypt (the kingdom of the South); which, as John J. Collins notes, has been a constant theme in this whole section (Collins, 1994, p. 65), including parts that are unmistakably about Antiochus. There are abundant reasons for seeing the section as one whole and no reason to make an arbitrary break apart from the self-serving desire to save Daniel from being in error.

As another Biblical example, consider the New Testament teaching on imminent coming judgment and vindication. While I believe that Jesus and the early church were wrong about the timing and perhaps some of the details concerning coming end times judgment, I also believe there are core truths we can draw from their eschatological outlook (on which see my future post).

A strong case can be made that Jesus explicitly said that the final end would occur within the lifetime of his contemporaries (Mk 8:38-9:1 c.f. Matt. 16:24-28 and Lk. 9:23-27; Mk. 13:30 c.f. Matt. 24:34 and Lk. 21:32; Mk.14:62; Matt. 10:23; 23:34-36). Attempts to reinterpret or spiritualize this fail: a.) in context, “generation” in Mark 13:30 refers to that (current) generation and b.) much of what these texts describe could not be said to have happened in the first century (Allision, 2010, pp. 31-220; Stark, 2011, pp. 160-207; Loftus in Loftus, 2010, pp. 316-343; and Dunn, 2003, pp. 431-437).

Elsewhere Jesus is remembered as speaking more generally of the kingdom’s imminent coming (Mark. 1:5; Matt. 10:7; 24:42-44; 25:1-13 c.f. Lk. 12:35-40; Lk. 10:8-11; 18:7-8; 21:34-36; etc.). Later Christian writings very much seem to be reinterpreting the tradition in light of its failure (John 21:22-23; 2 Pet. 3:3-13; 1 Clem. 23:3-5; Gospel of Thomas; etc.) (Allison, 2010, pp. 125-134; Stark, 2011, pp. 204-207; and Loftus in Loftus, 2010, pp. 327-333).

Much of the rest of Jesus’ message is illuminated by seeing him in this paradigm (apocalyptic prophet) (Ehrman, 1999, pp. 141-214; Grant, 1977, pp. 18-29. and Allison, 1998). Jesus’ message and actions closely mirror other millenary groups who expected the end in their lifetime (see particularly Allison, 1998, pp. 78-94 for the global pattern).

Finally, part of the reason it seems likely that Jesus taught an imminent apocalyptic end is that this was the view of both his mentor John the Baptist (Matt. 3:2, 7, 10; etc.) and the early church (1 Thess. 1:10; 2:19; 3:13; 4:15-17; 5:23; 2 Thess. 1:6-10;  1 Cor. 2:6; 4:5; 7:29-31; 10:11; 11:26; 15:51-52; 16:22; Phil. 1:6, 10; 3:20; 4:5; Rom 8:18, 22-23; 13:11-12; 16:20; James 5:1-9; Cor.7:28-31; Heb. 1:2; 9:26; 10:25, 37; 1 Pet. 1:20; 4:7; 5:1; Jude 14-15, 18; 1 John 2:17-18; Rev. 1:1, 7; 2:16, 25; 3:10-11; 22:6- 7, 10, 12, 20). It is unlikely that Jesus held a completely different view, seeing as that would involve two discontinuities: Jesus rejecting John’s apocalypticism and then some of Jesus’ followers rejecting that rejection (Allison in Miller, 2001, p. 85. Allison, 2010,.pp. 48-55).

As to the early church’s imminent apocalyptic expectations, not all of the verses cited above are explicit about imminence. But most are. Perhaps most clearly, in 1 Corinthians 7:17-31 Paul counsels people, including slaves and virgins, to not go out of their way to change their circumstances or focus on worldly things because the present form of the world is in crisis and passing away. In 1 Thessalonians 4:15-17 he indicates his belief that both he and other first century believers will be alive when Jesus returns.

Beyond clear passages such as these, the sheer ubiquity of more general immanency indicators is problematic (see Babinski). For various New Testament authors to assert that Jesus’ coming was going to happen “immediately” (Mk. 13:24) after events in their generation or that it was “right at the very gates” (Mk. 13:29), that “He who is coming will come, and will not delay” (Heb. 10:37), that “the coming of the Lord is at hand…Behold, the Judge is standing right at the door” (James 5:8-9), or that Jesus was “coming quickly” (Rev. 3:11; 22:6, 7, 10, 12, 20) etc. when in reality this would not happen for 2000 + more years is misleading at best. Robert Price aptly asks,

But what sort of a revelation is it that is couched in terms unintelligible to those whose sake it is vouchsafed? Given God’s infinite expanse of cosmic eons, what could ‘soon’ possibly mean if it bears no relation to our own use of the word? After all, if God is talking to human beings, he has to use human terms if he wants to be understood. And if he really meant, ‘I am coming thousands of years in the future,’ why didn’t he just say so? (Price, 2007, pp. 159-160).

Again, although I think there are general principles we can glean from the New Testament’s eschatological teachings, in my view its errors regarding end times judgment play into other reasons to reject a number of overly rigid and violent eschatological expectations contained within it and/or associated with it.

 

References

Allison, D. C. (2010). Constructing Jesus: Memory, imagination, and history. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic.

Allison, D. C. (1998). Jesus of Nazareth: Millenarian prophet. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press.

Allison, D. C. (2001). A Response. In The apocalyptic jesus: A debate. Ed. Miller, R. J. Santa Rosa, CA: Polebridge Press.

Collins, J. J. (1994). Daniel: A commentary on the book of daniel (Hermeneia: A critical & historical commentary on the bible). Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press.

Dunn, J. D. G. (2003). Jesus remembered: Christianity in the making volume 1. Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co.

Ehrman, B. D. (1999). Jesus: Apocalyptic prophet of the new millennium. New York, NY: Oxford University Press.

Gould, S. J. (1997). Questioning the millennium: A rationalist’s guide to a precisely arbitrary countdown. New York, NY: Harmony Books.

Grant, M. (1977). Jesus: An historians review of the gospels. New York, NY: Charles Scribner’s Sons.

Kirsch, J. (2006). A history of the end of the world: How the most controversial book in the bible changed the course of western civilization. New York, NY: HarperSanFrancisco.

Kyle, R. (1998). The last days are here again: A history of the end times. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Books.

Price, R. M. (2007). The paperback apocalypse: How the christian church was left behind. Amherst, NY: Prometheus Books.

Sparks, K. L. (2008). God’s word in human words: An evangelical appropriation of critical biblical scholarship. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic.

Stark, T. (2011). The human faces of god: What scripture reveals when it gets god wrong (and why inerrancy tries to hide it). Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock.

Weber, T. P. (2008). “Millennialism.” In The oxford handbook of eschatology. (Ed. Jerry L. Walls). pp. 365-383. New York, NY: Oxford University Press.

The Failure of Angry God Theology: Part 3 – Unfortunate Circumstances

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In my first post in this series I looked at evidence against (most) modern and historical miracle claims of destruction. In my second post I looked at problems with original sin, a cursed creation, and genocide as supposed punishments from God. In today’s post I will look at the notion that unfortunate circumstances are judgments from God.

There are evidential and theological problems with this notion. We have natural explanations for things like natural disasters, disease, poverty, and military defeat. Unfortunate circumstances often seem to be indiscriminate in who they harm. “They do not distinguish the culpable from the innocent or the more culpable from the less culpable.” In fact, they tend to harm the poor and vulnerable the most.

As the Jews and others came to realize, often the righteous suffer and the wicked flourish. Our circumstances in life are often an injustice which the faithful wait for God to correct. Relatedly, the suffering inflicted by unfortunate circumstances at least in some cases do not seem proportional to any wrongs done. That is to say they appear “cruel and unusual.” Take for instance the suffering of children in war or in childhood diseases like cancer.

As Randal Rauser points out, unfortunate circumstances fail to unambiguously link the punishment to an offense. For example, unfortunate circumstances can happen months or even decades after a deserving offense. Sometimes they don’t happen at all. Or they happen to relatively innocent people but not guilty ones. When they happen, there is normally no credibly communicated link between the circumstance and a particular offense. Rauser compares it to parents disciplining a child for something he did six months earlier and failing to even tell him the reason for their actions.

Seeing unfortunate circumstances as punishment can blind people to actual, causal explanations and patterns. For example, my friend Caleb once pointed out that religious climate change deniers will likely see increased flooding and extreme weather patterns as simply God’s judgment in the end times. This is dangerous because there is evidence that these kinds of things are at least partly related to human causes and there are actual things we can do to combat them. The same could be said about many other unfortunate circumstances.

Blaming everything on God’s judgment plays into fatalism, an indifference to suffering, and a dereliction of our duty to partner with God in the restoration of all things. In the worst cases, it can even encourage self-fulfilled apocalyptic expectations.

Related to that, seeing unfortunate circumstances as punishment (or fortunate circumstances as a sure sign of God’s blessing) plays into health-and-wealth, victim blaming, and imperialistic mindsets. For example, as American settlers engaged in dishonest and genocidal policies towards Native Americans, they saw their westward expansion and success as God favoring them in manifest destiny (Spencer in Spencer & Spencer, 1998, pp. 37-62). Numerous other examples could be supplied.

These kinds of notions prop up injustice and oppression. In reality, “success” is sometimes sinful and those who suffer or “lose” are often the kinds of people who, according to Jesus, God has promised to bless in his “upside-down” kingdom.

Another problem with seeing fortunate or unfortunate circumstances as a blessing or curse is that they seem so fickle and inconsistent. An example would be the Nazi’s early success, which they interpreted as their historic destiny but which quickly turned to ashes. Does God really bless one group and then turn around and curse them or favor their rivals in a willie-nilly fashion? I don’t think so. At least not normatively.

While the dominate view of the Hebrew Bible is that those who are righteous will be blessed with good things in this life and those who are wicked will be cursed, there are counter-narratives such as the books of Job and Ecclesiastes that buck up against the notion that unfortunate circumstances are God’s judgment.

Jesus could occasionally see unfortunate circumstances as a form of judgment (Luke 13:1-5; 21:20-24; John 5:14), but more often his message radically subverted the notion that our present circumstances are indicative of God’s favor or judgment (John 9:1-3; Matt. 5:45; Luke 6:35-36; Matt.13:24-30; Matt. 5:3-11; Luke 6:20-22).

I am open to the notion that unfortunate circumstances are occasionally a form of divine judgment, especially in the sense of God giving people over to the harmful affects of their own decisions – reaping what they sow (so to speak). But the notion needs careful qualification.

It seems clear that relatively good people also suffer unfortunate circumstances. And it can be difficult to parse out personal guilt from other non-culpable factors. Thankfully, God is the one to judge, not us. Even if and when such circumstances are a judgment, I think we have good Biblical and other reasons to see divine judgment as generally intending to lead to eventual restoration.

Instead of seeing bad things that happen as a sure sign of God’s unyielding anger, a healthier perspective is to (generally) see God as the compassionate One who identifies with us in our suffering, who graciously extends us forgiveness and restoration (even if and when bad things are a judgment), and who gives us hope that someday all things will be made new (in this life or the next). Jesus also calls us to see God in the suffering of others; helping them is akin to helping Jesus (Matt. 25:31-46).

In my next few posts I will continue to present reasons why overly harsh or wrathful views of God’s judgment deserve to be rethought or discarded. There I will consider ideas about God’s apocalyptic judgment in the “end times” and the final judgment resulting in heaven or hell.

 

References

Spencer, W. D. (1998). God of power vs. god of love: The united states of america. In Spencer, A. B. & Spencer, W. D. (Eds.). The global god: Multicultural evangelical views on god. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Books.

 

The Failure of Angry God Theology: Part 2 – Original Sin, Cursed Creation, and Genocide

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In my first post in this series I argued that there is good evidence against (most) modern and historical miracle claims of destruction. Building off of my survey of undermined Biblical claims, in today’s post I will look at reasons to reject traditional notions of original sin, a cursed creation, and divinely inspired genocide as punishments from God.

The evidence against the Genesis narrative of the curse and fall shows that we are not guilty of “original sin.” That is, we are not born with inherited guilt or with a completely corrupt nature. The notion that children are culpable for the sins of their parents is intractably unjust, something recognized by some streams in the Bible itself (Deuteronomy 24:16; Ezekiel 18:19-20).

However this does not mean that humans are “basically good.” In reality, we are born with a range of both good and bad inclinations that are then shaped by our respective cultures and environments, the spiritual forces at work around us (good or bad), and by our own choices. It is certainly true that humans can inherit and become trapped in systems of violence and oppression. However, in these cases parsing out human culpability and guilt from varying degrees of ignorance and cultural inertia is not as simple as is implied under traditional notions of original sin.

Evidence against the historicity of the fall/curse also shows that death and decay, pain in childbirth, and difficulty in harvesting are not punishments from God. Death, decay, and thorns can be reliable traced back in the fossil record millions of years before humans even existed (Lamoureux, 2008, p. 204). Human females experience pain in childbirth because of the unusually large heads of human babies.

In my view, since sin is inherently destructive, death often follows sin – both spiritually and sometimes physically. If not turned from, sin eventually leads to the “second death” in God’s final judgment. But in the here-and-now, innocent people also suffer and die. Death is an enemy that God has overcome in Christ.

That the conquest of Canaan did not happen in the way the Pentateuch describes plays into other good reasons to reject the notion that God ever calls people to indiscriminate violence or genocide as an instrument of his judgment.

Obviously, if the Israelite genocide of the Canaanites didn’t happen, as the evidence seems to indicate, God could not have truly commanded it. At least not in that case.

Genocide seems intractably unjust. Although it has been common throughout history, it is now widely condemned and has been historically condemned by groups as diverse as Muslims, the church fathers, and arguably parts of the Bible itself (Stark, 2011, pp. 127-28, 138-40). Genocide stands in stark tension with the teachings and values of Jesus, who taught us to love our enemies, show mercy, and not harm children (Boyd, 2017, pp. 296-97; 329; Seibert, 2009, pp.183-207). Engaging in such indiscriminate bloodletting would have adversely effected the Israelites’ moral development (Stark, 2011, 117-18; Boyd, 2017, p. 933).

A traditional reading of these texts has been used to justify numerous other genocides against Muslims, Jews, indigenous peoples, and others (Boyd, 2017, pp. 19-30). The text’s stated rationalization must be judged as suspect in light of other examples of dehumanizing propaganda for other genocides and the self-serving motives behind them (Stark, 2011, 106, 147-48). Finally, the notion that Israel is given this land and that genocidal means are valid to obtain it is used by (some) modern Jews and Christians to justify unjust – even genocidal – policies against Palestinians and others (see Sizer, 2007 and Burge, 2013).

In my next post I will look at evidence against normatively seeing unfortunate circumstances as  a punishment from God.

 

References

Boyd, G. A. (2017). Crucifixion of the warrior god:  Interpreting the old testament’s violent portraits of god in light of the cross, Vols. 1 & 2. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press.

Burge, G. M. (2013). Whose land? whose promise?: What christians are being told about israel and the palestinians. Cleveland, OH: The Pilgrim Press.

Lamoureux, D. O. (2008). Evolutionary creation: A christian approach to evolution. Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock.

Seibert, E. A. (2009). Disturbing divine behavior: Troubling old testament images of god. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press.

Sizer, S. (2007). Zion’s christian soldiers: The bible, israel, and the church. Downers Grove, IL: IVP Books.

Sparks, K. L. (2008). God’s word in human words: An evangelical appropriation of critical biblical scholarship. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic.

Stark, T. (2011). The human faces of god: What scripture reveals when it gets god wrong (and why inerrancy tries to hide it). Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock.

 

Why My Ethic is Centered on Love: Part 8: Love as the Guide in Sexual Ethics

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In today’s post I return to my series on love in ethics. In my last three posts of the series I wrote about how universal invariant moral norms flow out of the logic of love, how our best notions of justice can be couched in a way that flows out of love, and how love gives us a basis for evaluating cultural traditions.

More contraversially, I think love should be our chief guide in matters of sexuality as well. Before going forward, let me say I am still working through my convictions on some of these matters. Let me also say that in this short space I can only scratch the surface of these complexed issues.

As I see it, the logic of love leads us to value honesty, consent, harm avoidance, good communication, informed decision making, and treating others with respect in our sexual encounters. I think it generally calls for mutuality in pleasuring or in satisfaction. I am also convinced that we need to be mindful of how oppressive institutions have played into sexual harm, and thus there needs to be a justice component in our sexual ethics (Farley, 2006, 215-32; Anderson, 2015).

Sadly, a traditional sexual ethic rooted in patriarchy and focused almost exclusively on purity did not always value or even promote such things. For example, because women have traditionally been viewed as essentially controlled by their husbands, marital rape was not widely considered as wrong or even as genuine rape until very recently (“Marital rape” Wikipedia).

My commitment to following evidence and experience and the logic of love is one of the main reasons I changed my mind about gay relationships. Of course, some types of gay relationships such as abusive or pedophilic ones violate love and are wrong. But many others not only do not violate love, they clearly flow out of it and foster well-being. Conversely, condemning all gay relationships is empirically unloving and bears very bad fruit (Lee, 2012; Gushee, 2017).

I believe love also helps give us a better, more healthy way of evaluating when lust is wrong and when it is, rather, normal and healthy. Lust of the harmful sort is wrong because it objectifies someone else in an oppressive or dehumanizing way, can make them feel threatened or degraded, and can lead down the path to sexual assault.

However, sexual attraction and fantasy are natural and not always harmful. In fact, being shamed for such normal feelings can be deeply damaging (Klein, 2018). In my view, “lust” in the sense of normal sexual attraction to another or fantasy and masturbation are acceptable – even healthy and life giving forms of self-love – so long as they do not lead us to view or treat others in unloving ways in our daily interactions with them.

Love consequentialism (on which, see my post here) also helps us navigate the tricky issues of monogamy, polyamory, and sex outside of committed relationships. Without going into all the details here, in the past, my research led me to believe that a number of evidential considerations implied that restricting sex to committed monogomous relationships (and especially marriage) was often a more loving, less harmful thing to do than casual or uncommitted sexual encounters.

However, more recently I’ve come to realize that there is significant debate on these matters. Some experts critique the naturalness of monogamy and argue instead that humans are more naturally suited to serial relationships and multiple sexual partners (Ryan and Jetha, 2010; Bergner, 2013).

Although the data and evidence are confusing, at this point I still tend to see monogamy as a generally good (loose) norm to promote for sexual relationships. Monogamy helps protect against sexually transmitted diseases and infections. It can protect against the pain of broken emotional bonds formed during serial sexual encounters (Rhoads, 2014; Stepp, 2007). It provides a context of stability and multiple caregivers for rearing children. And although I am critical of the so-called pro-life movement, I still personally oppose abortion in most cases.

Additionally, in terms of evolutionary psychology, monogamy helps men know they are investing in their own genes and it helps women get a partner who will commit to invest in them and their offspring (Rhoads, 2014; Saxon, 2012). Sociologically, monogamous norms tend to help even out competition for partners. I will note some inherent risks related to polyamory below. Finally, many cultures and most world religions promote pair-bonding and discourage sexual promiscuity (Parrinder, 1998).

To be clear, my reasoning here is based on provisional evidential considerations; not an inflexible commitment to particular beliefs about sexual purity.

However, undeniably there are pieces of evidence that do not seem to fit monagomy very well. Also, and more relevant here, I hesitate to say that this general norm is an absolute one that need apply to everyone. One thing I’ve learned is that people are complicated, and in particular, their experience of their sexuality can be diverse and varied. Perhaps polyamory fits the nature and desires of some people better than monogamy does.

I am still thinking through these issues, but I have friends I respect who argue that polyamory fits within a love ethic. After all, if all of the parties involved feel a natural desire for this, give their informed consent, the parties are disease free, means are taken to avoid conception (or it is allowed for in the plan), the parties communicate honestly with one another, various members are treated with respect, and there is mutuality in the pleasuring, this would seem to fit a love ethic fairly well. Conversely, it might be argued that stifling these kinds of acts without a justifiable reason leads to harm or the inhibition of flourishing for people with these kinds of sexual and romantic desires.

Now, such types of sexual relationships are more complicated and involve more dangers. For example, that some members agree to do something they don’t genuinely want to do because of pressure from their partner, the greater possibility that one or more people have a disease they did not know of (because of their promiscuity), the possibility of an unplanned pregnancy, and of course issues of unexpected attachment, jealousy, and possible betrayal.

But the point here is that evidence and experience and love give us a means to evaluate these kinds of choices rationally and ethically. And even though we can make generalized prescriptions, the right decision may vary depending on the person and situation. Sometimes it may even be difficult to decide. Or it may take study, experimentation, and life experience to know yourself and what you want.

Love consequentialism doesn’t give the cooker-cutter, black-and-white answers or certainty that some people crave. But it does give us an objective means of evaluation and it’s flexibility is more in keeping with the diversity of real people and real life.

And I want to be clear: An evidence-based, love consequentialist sexual ethic does not mean that all things become permissible. It does prohibit a number of sexual actions as immoral. For example, it condemns rape, cheating (understood as the breaking of mutually agreed upon relational boundaries, however they are defined), selfishly using others as objects, deception in sexual encounters, unjust structures or institutions related to sex that lead to oppression and harm, as well as a number of other actions and attitudes that do not flow out of love.

Put more positively, and to reiterate what I said above, a love consequentialist sexual ethic promotes honesty, consent, mutuality, harm avoidance, justice, good communication, informed decision making, and treating others with respect in our sexual encounters with others.

References

Anderson, D. A. (2015). Damaged goods: New perspectives on christian purity culture. New York, NY: Jericho Books.

Bergner, D. (2013). What do women want?: Adventures in the science of female desire. New York, NY: Ecco.

Farley, M. A. (2006). Just sex: A framework for Christian sexual ethics. New York, NY: Continuum.

Gushee, D. P. (2017) Changing our minds: Definitive 3rd edition of the landmark call for inclusion of lgbtq christians with response to critics. Canton, MI: Read the Spirit Books.

Klein, L. K. (2018). Pure: Inside the evangelical movement that shamed a generation of young women and how I broke free. New York, NY: Atria Books.

Lee, J. (2012). Torn: Rescuing the gospel from the gays-vs.-christians debate. Nashville, TN: Jericho Books.

Parrinder, G. (1998). Sexual morality in the world’s religions. Oxford, England: Oneworld.

Rhoads, S. E. (2004). Tasking Sex Differences Seriously. San Francisco, CA: Encounter Books.

Ryan, C. & Jetha, C. (2010). Sex at dawn: The prehistoric origins of modern sexuality. New York, NY: Harper.

Saxon, L. (2012). Sex at dusk: Lifting the shiny wrapping from sex at dawn. Lexington, KT: Lynn Saxon.

Stepp, L. S. (2007). Unhooked: How young women pursue sex, delay love and lose at both. New York, NY: Riverhead Books.

 

An Ode to Intelligent Christian Alternative Rock Music

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Me at the last Cornerstone music festival in 2012 with most of the members of one of my favorite bands, The Choir. Photo by Gary Smoot.

[In todays post I take a small break from my usual posts on theology and social issues to reflect on the significance to me of a specific subset of Christian music.]

I’m a big fan of music generally.  I like a number of bands, both Christian and secular. But Christian music—in particular what I might call intelligent Christian alternative rock—has been a huge part of my life and spirituality. In some ways it serves as a microcosm of my larger spiritual outlook.

I’m thinking specifically of bands like Daniel Amos, The Choir, Adam Again, Vigilantes of Love, Charlie Peacock, The Violet Burning, Mark Heard, and The 77s.

First of all, these groups are musically excellent. Christian popular music has often had the reputation of being derivative and subpar. Some of that stems from the undervaluing of the arts in contemporary American Christianity and its reaction against forms it associates with “secular” or “Satanic” values.

On the other hand, Christian music’s awful quality has sometimes stemmed from a sloppy desire to be relevant and copy the latest trends. Ironically, this has led to the phenomenon of Christian bands that not only sound like clones of secular bands, but secular bands and styles from a few years ago!

But the bands I have in mind aren’t like that. They sound good musically and are original and even forward thinking. I honestly think that if they weren’t consigned to the Christian ghetto, some of these bands could have made it big. They are seriously that good. So I enjoy the beauty and excellence of these artists music.

I suppose my awareness of having discovered something special and being part of the select few who really “get it” helps give me a sense of loyalty and community. The aggressiveness of alternative music has also been a way of asserting my masculinity and inner darkness.

But as much as I like good music just for music’s sake, it’s also the lyrics and ethos that really resonate with me. Simply put, these artists are honest about all of life, particularly suffering, and yet they still find ways to hope in and exalt a big-yet-gracious God.

They write good loves songs: angsty existential love songs full of references to nature; or richly metaphorical ones with sacramental overtones; or earthy ones sensitive to everyday realities such as touring and separation; or simply good old fashioned heart-tugging ones.

They write honest and painful songs about breaking up or divorce. They write poignant songs celebrating their children. They write bittersweet songs about the death of a child or the death of a close friend.

They write funny songs: about particular incidents such as missing a flight; or about the ridiculousness of being poor; or self-deprecating ones about only coming up with a retort later; or sarcastic songs that bitingly critique, at equal turns, secular culture and the church.

They write socially and historically incisive songs: eerily prescient songs on the dangers of the religious right; songs calling for social justice; sober tributes to the “greatest generation”; or explorations of experiences like the Great Depression. They write on a host of other things too. Even beyond the religious element, the things they care about are typically the things I do as well.

As I said, suffering and evil are a big part of their experience. They write simply penetrating songs about existential suffering, doubt, sin, and depression. In that vein, they also have a keen eye for corruption and stupidity in contemporary Christianity.

They criticize “health and wealth” theology; the church’s black-and-white inability to admit mystery; or its propensity to come up with cultural, legalistic rules; or its bigotry; its fascination with shallow religious knick-knacks; and its apparent fear of anyone being anything but happy.

This honesty about suffering and doubt and about problems in the church is a big part of why these bands still meant the world to me even when I wasn’t a believer. They were able to capture my thoughts and feelings there in a way few could. Of course, when I re-embraced a more progressive form of Christianity, their wholistic gospel message meant even more to me.

I have to say, the flack these artists got for this and their resulting independent (indie) status is also something I respected and found relatable about them. These groups have a true alternative spirit. As I said, they were willing to speak honestly about pain and suffering; perhaps sometimes inordinately, sure, but never without some implicit hope.

Because of this willingness to be bleak, because their approach to God was often more nuanced and opaque, and because the Christian world was resistant to truly embracing hard-alternative music, these fantastically good groups would languish in obscurity. The CCM market wouldn’t touch them; but because they were on a Christian label and would sing about God, neither would the secular market. They got it from both ends and soldiered on in defiance of both.

Here was a community of outsiders with whom I could identify—not the least because I didn’t fit into either Christianity or the secular world myself.

But unlike some secular alternative groups, these artists don’t evince pure despair or nihilism. In the face of this gritty realism there is still a trust in God’s ultimate goodness and a “romanticism” (of the C. S. Lewis variety) that pervade their words.

Part of this, of course, has to do with the literary, poetic quality of these songwriters. The best of them are just very good writers—easily comparable to the Bob Dylans and the Paul Simons out there, and I’m not even exaggerating. Good writing often has a transcendent quality to it.

But it’s more than that. At a most basic level there is a sense of transcendence in the everyday but also world-weariness and a longing for something more.

They write songs about embracing grown-up realities, yet with faith and a “hopeful song;” songs about being disillusioned by a world that teaches us to “capture and tame wild pathos” and throw out a the Holy Ghost; or songs about feeling, “like a ghost on the edge of night, restless for a home I can glimpse in the fading light, craving for something I can never quite get right, feeling only inches away…”

At a more pronounced level, there is a deep sense of God’s love and a profound thankfulness and adoration of God. Often this is connected to God’s extravagant grace poured out for us in the person of Jesus. That in turn is often connected to two other refrains: 1) God’s special heart for the poor, the downtrodden, and sinners and God’s call for us to love them and others ourselves. 2) The idea of suffering ultimately leading to redemption.

So we’re treated to songs that praise God for making every corner of our hearts, as well as all creation, for Godself; almost overwhelming stream-of-consciousness songs full love for and thankfulness to Jesus; songs that glory in the paradox of the old, the poor, and the handicapped streaming into heaven while “the beautiful people” abstain from doing so; simple, earthy songs about Jesus taking on our “blame” and burdens; and songs that cry out for the “waiting wind of Gabriel” to “blow soon upon the hollow bones” and resurrect our loved ones.

This stuff is powerful—all the more so because it comes out of a broken seedbed and speaks to all of life.

A final reason these artists mean a lot to me is because of their personal examples and the community and culture they draw around themselves. I know them and their families well, granted from a distance (though I have met some of them personally). They are far from perfect. Some of them are deeply flawed and broken people. But I can’t help but be impressed by the way they comport themselves. Most of them strike me as warm, gracious, down-to-earth, honest, intelligent, and incredibly funny. Many of them have remained married to the same person for decades and still write love songs to their spouse. I look up to these people.

Although most of them are fairly unknown, critics love them and they have dedicated followings. It’s fun to watch fans interact with them and with each other online. There’s a real, Christ-like love and a sophisticated fan language full of witty allusions to songs, history, and a shared ethos. Going to Cornerstone seven years ago allowed me to partake in this culture even more directly.

Perhaps you can see, reader, why I’d be attracted to all of this and how powerful these ideas might be when modeled by such people and intelligently expressed in driving rock music.