The Pernicious Doctrine Of Repentance

I've wondered from time to time whether and to what extent the success of Christianity can be attributed to the doctrine of repentance--that is, the fact that it provides that sins may be forgiven.  I don't know of any religion or cult prevalent at the time Christianity began to spread which made a similar, equivalent claim in describing its benefits.

The popular mystery cults which existed at the time promised salvation, but not because you could, through them, obtain God's or the gods' forgiveness for the wrongs you committed if you became a convert and asked to be absolved.  Instead, salvation was forthcoming if you were properly initiated into the mysteries of the god and obtained thereby the knowledge required to be united with the deity.

Of course, merely asking for absolution isn't sufficient in itself to assure a sinner is forgiven.  The sinner must be sincerely sorry for the sins committed. The sinner must feel genuine remorse. 

In addition, the sinner must turn away from the way of sin and towards God.  Some Christian sects actually require proof of the sinner's change of heart in the form of good deeds and by doing what's required by scripture.

Thus is forgiveness attained, and responsibility and punishment avoided. Years of misdeeds are forgotten, and are no longer of any account.

This strikes me as unjust. I think that in most if not all cases someone who fears punishment, particularly eternal punishment, and believes it forthcoming for one reason or another, will certainly sincerely regret that he/she/they murdered, cheated, stole, etc. and genuinely wish the various wrongs committed had never taken place.  There's little possibility that someone believing in and facing Hell will simply pretend to remorse, thinking God will be fooled by a display of sadness.

It's also likely that a sinner facing damnation

will eagerly do all that can be done to establish his/her/their faith and demonstrate a desire to do good in whatever future remains.  There's nothing special or significant about believing Christians sincerely regretting their sins in such circumstances. It's almost certain, therefore, that all will be absolved.

 

It's an attractive prospect for sinners.

My point is that granting forgiveness for past sins or wrongs merely because it's requested minimizes the responsibility of the sinners and wrongdoers, and the significance of the misdeeds themselves, no matter how sincere the request may be,  Nor should forgiveness be granted merely because those that did wrong want to do good in the future, for the same reason.

The doctrine of repentance therefore gives those who do wrong to others, harm others, or are cruel and unjust, the hope if not the assurance that all will be forgiven as long as they appropriately seek forgiveness sometime in the future.  You may be as bad as you like now, as long as you become good.

Augustine wrote that he asked God to help him be pure, "but not yet."  The doctrine of repentance in effect allows that we should be good, but need not be good "yet."  If we're good eventually, we may be evil now.

Augustine vs. The Stoics

Let's try to ignore for a time the ugly and lunatic caperings of our politicians, including those of the elderly bully at the head of our government's Executive Branch.  [Is there anything more pathetic than an elderly bully?]  Instead let's consider some of the attacks made by the querulous Bishop of Hippo against the ancient Stoic philosophers.

Augustine, considered by some a saint, is a very significant figure, but I maintain was a very peculiar person.  I've noted several times in this blog that I think he was a kind of exhibitionist, flaunting his sins supposedly for our benefit, to demonstrate that even so great a sinner may be saved by Jesus.  Thus his life serves to demonstrate how desirable it is to be a Christian.  On the other hand, it's possible his conceit was that he was so great a man, so worthy of God's blessing, that he was saved even though he sinned so extensively.  In any case, this belief that Christianity provides salvation is the basis for for his claim it's superior to Stoicism, or at least that one of his arguments against Stoicism on which I'd like to focus.

Of course, the long-standing argument that the Stoic Sage held out by the Stoics as their ideal cannot exist is employed by Augustine.  He and others maintain that no human being could be as serene, detached, and so in control of human emotions as the Sage.  But it isn't clear that the Stoics thought the Sage to be anything but an unapproachable ideal we should seek to imitate.  If so, the fact that the Stoics used the Sage as a standard of thought and conduct should no more condemn Stoicism than Christianity should be condemned because  Christians are urged to imitate Christ, as suggested by Thomas a Kempis.  No Christian could be as good as Jesus, obviously, but it doesn't follow Christians shouldn't try to be like him to the extent possible.

Augustine also, however, thought the Stoics were prideful; guilty of Pride, one of the seven deadly sins.  That's because the Stoics dared to believe it was possible for humans to achieve happiness without the assistance and intervention of a personal god.  Without grace, in other words.

The Bishop of Hippo essentially created the cruel concept of Original Sin.  He proclaimed if he did not originate the pernicious belief that humans were tainted by the sin committed by Adam and Eve when they were persuaded to eat of the Tree of Knowledge despite the fact that God had told them not to do so.  For that sin, they were cast out of the Garden of Eden and condemned to die, to labor, to bear children, but to not merely do what human beings do to survive and thrive.  All human beings thereafter were sinful by nature.  They sinned merely be existing.  They need not do anything wrong.

Because we're naughty by nature, as it were, only God could absolve us of Original Sin and any subsequent sins, and did so through the sacrifice of Jesus as to the First Sin and by bestowing grace as to all others.

As Augustine rather proudly stated in his Confessions, because he was a great sinner he could not be happy, could not be wise, until Jesus saved him.  Not even the great Augustine could achieve what the Stoics said was achievable without divine assistance.  If Augustine required divine assistance, all others must require it as well.   So, the Stoics must be sinfully prideful for even making that claim.

Just as the doctrine of absolution serves to encourage sin or assuage our concerns when we act wrongfully, as I suggested in a prior post, so the doctrines of Original Sin and Grace serves to discourage our efforts to control our own conduct and achieve happiness or equanimity through the use of our reason and development of our character.  Each doctrine in essence renders us helpless to help ourselves, and yet promises that we will flourish and be saved if only we don't try to help ourselves but rely on God to do so on our request for forgiveness or assistance.  

Perhaps belief in a personal god necessarily requires that we take a dim view of the world and our place in it.

An Ancient Roman Perspective on Good Friday

Today is Good Friday.  It's been a long time since I've been in a church to "celebrate" the gruesome death which we're taught took place that day in the Roman province of Judea.  I wonder how it's celebrated by the One Holy, Catholic and Apostolic Church these days.  If I recall correctly, proceedings in my days as an altar boy were appropriately solemn.  Are they still, or has the effort to make observances cheery and attractive resulted in a kinder, gentler version of the crucifixion? 

Even as idealized in El Greco's painting shown above, a crucifixion must have been a horrible death.  Just how the Romans crucified people is a matter of some dispute, but there's no doubt it took place.  Some question whether the nails were placed as depicted here; sometimes the crucified are shown as tied to a cross.  

Presumably, this particular crucifixion, if it took place as described in the Gospels referring to "Doubting Thomas," involved the use of nails as Thomas is shown the wounds which resulted.  Whether it took place is disputed by some, of course.  

Unless one is a Christian believer and accepts the Gospels, the story of the Passion, the death and resurrection, isn't immediately acceptable.  Some parts of it, though, seem credible.  By this I mean that based on information available, some of what is said to have taken place could have taken place, though very little.  We can conclude that if we take a Roman view, and make reference to non-Christian sources.

We know at least that Pontius Pilate (Pontius Pilatus, properly) existed, and was a prefect governing the province of Judea around the time in question.  This has been confirmed by the so-called "Pilate Stone" which is a damaged block of limestone found in Caesarea Maritima (modern Caesarea), bearing an inscription in which he is named as making a dedication to Augustus and Livia.  Caesarea Maritima was the Roman administrative capital of the province and so would have been where Pilate stayed and from which he governed.  However, he no doubt travelled to and stayed in Jerusalem from time to time and as appropriate, and it makes sense he would have been there at an important period of time such as Passover.

Tacitus refers to both Pilate and "Christus" when he writes of the fire which destroyed much of Rome while Nero was Emperor.  Tacitus relates that Nero sought to blame Christians for the fire, and also notes that "Christus, from whom the name [Christians] has its origin, suffered the extreme penalty during the reign of Tiberius at the hands of one of our procurators, Pontius Pilatus...."  So, there is a non-Christian source which, though it indicates Pilate was a procurator instead of a prefect/governor, states that such persons existed and "Christus" was put to death by a Roman official.

There seems to be no contemporaneous Roman account of the crucifixion, however.  Flavius Josephus makes a reference to it, and Pliny the Younger while a governor famously wrote the Emperor Trajan regarding how to treat Christians, but Josephus and Pliny, like Tacitus, wrote long after these events were said to have taken place.  By the time they wrote, Christians were known of and deemed suspicious and anti-social among the Roman elite.  No sources are cited by any of these writers, and what they knew may have been based on rumor, or have formed part of the "backstory" of the Christian faith for many years at that time.  For that matter, the Gospels were written decades later as well.

We have a reasonable basis on which to say that Pilate existed and was prefect/governor of Judea during the reign of Tiberius.  There is reason to think Judea was a difficult province to govern,  Herod the Great was a client-king of Rome, but the Jews were thought even then to be peculiar and the Herodian dynasty was known to be made up of people who wouldn't hesitate to kill each other as needed.  Augustus once remarked that he would rather be Herod's pig than one of his sons.  After his death Judea was split into smaller kingdoms, and Rome assumed rule of the area after the death of the last Herod, Herod Antipas, circa 39 CE.  The Jews revolted against Roman rule 30 years later.

Herod Antipas is the Herod referred to in the story of the death of Jesus.  Pilate supposedly sent Jesus to be judged by Herod.

So, there is a basis to believe Pilate lived and was the Roman governor of Judea.  We can probably infer that people were crucified while he was governor.  We have a single source which indicates one of those crucified was the "Christus" from whose name "Christians" has its origin.  That's a bit of stretch, perhaps, but it's arguably correct.  That would seem to be the most that can be said based on Roman, non-Christian sources.

From that perspective, we can plausibly infer that there was a person crucified under Pontius Pilate, presumably in accordance with Roman law or the authority of Pilate as governor, for some reason.  That person, if he existed, was decades later associated with the Christianity.  About three hundred years later Christians, of which there were several varieties, made up the ruling class of the Roman Empire.

If the death took place, it likely did so as part of a normal "day at the office" for Pilate, and would have been treated as such by him and his staff.  It probably wasn't even known of by other Romans.  Over the years the death, if it happened, became very important of course.  But again from the Roman perspective, by the time it became important, it simply didn't matter whether it took place or not.  

For someone who isn't a believing Christian, that seems the most sensible way in which to think of Good Friday, given the lack of evidence.  One can dispute with believers about whether the crucifixion took place, but it makes no difference.  It makes a difference to some of them, however, as it seems they hope to find some corroboration for their beliefs.  Perhaps "Doubting Thomas" has had more of an influence than has been suspected.

Prayer and Breakfast

In February of each year, just as folk gather to discover whether a groundhog "sees" his shadow, our national political representatives, their lackeys and those who wish to influence them gather to attend something called the "National Prayer Breakfast" (hereafter "NPB").  This ritual (is it that?) has taken place for 70 years, it seems.

It began to take place in the 1950s, part I would suppose of the reaction to godless communism which led to the change in the Pledge of Allegiance and our currency to include reference to God.  It also led to the rise of Senator Joseph McCarthy, I would think, but the Senator isn't my concern in this post.

In any case, the NPB is in the news, not merely because it will be taking place but because this time, prayers will be made and breakfast eaten by two different groups, one being the gathering held by the group called "The Family" and one held by a newly created foundation.   The Family is apparently an organization of Christians, the nature and purpose of which is obscure, which has run or sponsored it in the past.  The foundation was formed because, it seems, nobody knows much about The Family, or at least cannot explain its function or involvement in the event.  Some are concerned about this fact.  It is a reasonable concern.

Although as far as I am aware there was no Last Breakfast, it's not uncommon for churches throughout this Glorious Union to hold prayer breakfasts, as some browsing will confirm.  Sometimes there are prayer breakfasts touted as being for men; sometimes for women.  One assumes prayers are said at the beginning and perhaps at the end of the meal, but one suspects that they are, like most sponsored social gatherings here, opportunities for networking of various kinds.

For my part, I don't think the God of the vast universe listens to or responds to prayers of any kind made by anyone on our tiny planet.  When we believe there is such a God, it strikes me we have a very small, limited, being in mind--one with suspiciously human predilections and preferences.  A "you scratch my back, I'll scratch yours" kind of God.  Nonetheless, I'm normally unconcerned by prayers. As far as I'm concerned, people may pray and eat as often and as much as they like, at any time of day.  They may hold prayer snacks or attend happy prayer hours.   However, I may be concerned by what the prayer solicits, not because the wish expressed in the prayer may be granted by God, but because human agency may grant it.

The NPB is concerning not because prayers are said (presumably), but because of the opportunity it presents to influence national politicians and functionaries in favor of particular religious beliefs or in favor of interests which are couched in religious form and language, and promote the agenda of self-identified believers in a particular religion.  I think it serves merely as yet another opportunity to trade favors, line pockets and, in short, govern in relative secrecy.  There are many such opportunities available for that purpose which aren't so peculiarly religious at least in form if not substance, and it seems ill-conceived to hold meals of this kind in any Republic which purports to treat all religions equally, without preference.  In this country, those religious folk who foster or attend such a gathering will be primarily Christian.

The celebration of religion through eating (communally) has a long history.  Above is a picture found in Mithraeums, where follows of Mithras worshipped for several centuries during the history of the Roman Empire.  Mithras is shown eating a meal with Sol Invictus.  The meal is being served by initiates in the Mithras cult.  The bull slain by Mithas is the "table" at which the meal is served and eaten.  The meal consists, at least in part, of small pieces of bread marked with a cross.  This was a cause of concern to some of the early Church Fathers, who maintained that demons, knowing that the Eucharist would be celebrated by Christians, created the Mithraic ritual so the Christian one to come would seem a mere imitation.

But what I mean to point out is that the social, communal event of a meal or feast held by a group provides a very effective way to promote particular views and positions, some of which are traditionally religious in nature.  They have been used by us for that purpose for a very long time.  That, I suggest, is the purpose of the NPB. Similarities to the Last Supper are avoided by the device of the breakfast--that would be too blatant an association with Christianity.  But a Christian agenda is being promoted nonetheless.   

Never There In the First Place

 

If you give it some thought, Christmas is a holiday which invites skepticism regarding Christianity.  It may in that sense almost be called "Anti-Christian."   This isn't merely because it's become almost entirely about making and spending money, about marketing, about sanctimony and relentless religious posturing.  Rather, it's because there's nothing about it that has anything to do with a historical Jesus, and everything about it is either manufactured or based in pagan myth and tradition.  It's a great Christian holiday which isn't in the least bit Christian in nature or origin, but Christians have chosen it and describe it as Christian, and insist that it be treated as peculiarly Christian. 

The Christian story of Christmas, to the extent that it purports to be accurate, clearly isn't accurate.  The trappings of Christmas--the tree, the Yule Log, the exchange of gifts, mistletoe, etc.--don't have their origins in Christianity.  Why, then, do Christians insist on it, and make it their greatest holy day?

We begin with what should be known by all, but perhaps is not.  That is, that there is no evidence, no report, and indeed nothing, indicating or even suggesting Jesus was born on what we now call December 25th.  The Roman Church began celebrating it as the day of the birth of Christ in 336 C.E., more than 300 years after the event is said to have taken place.   There is considerable evidence, however, that it was the date on which the birth of pagan gods such as Sol Invictus and Mithras was celebrated, and was within the season during which the great pagan celebration of Saturnalia took place, which involved gift-giving and parties, and featured roleplay in which slaves and servants become masters and their masters slaves and servants.

As might be expected of a day celebrating the birth of sun gods such as the Roman ones I referred to, it occurs very near to the winter solstice.  The winter solstice was celebrated by pagans of all kinds long before Jesus is said to have been born, as the time at which the sun ceases "dying" and is in effect "born" and the days slowly become longer and brighter.

Then there is the story of Christmas described in the Gospels.  According to that of Luke, Jesus was born during the reign of Augustus, in Bethlehem, because of the requirements of a census taken while Quirinius (Publius Sulpicius Quirinius) was governor of the Roman Province of Syria, which included Palestine.  The census supposedly required all to travel to the town of their birth, to be counted.  According to the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus was born during the reign of Herod the Great.

The early Christians seemingly kept poor records, but the Romans were great record-keepers.  The census of Quirinius was taken several years after the death of Herod.  No Roman census required everyone to travel to their ancestral home--a requirement which would likely have caused chaos in travel and administration, and would have been a dramatically large burden to all concerned.  Why, then, does Christianity claim that Jesus of Nazareth was born in Bethlehem?  Because it was the City of David, and Jesus through his father Joseph was claimed to be a descendent of David and the messiah was supposed to be born there.  

Then there is the manger problem.  The nativity scene or setting we're familiar with involves a stable, a manger, various animals and shepherds.  Early Christians maintained Jesus was born in a cave, though.  That would seem to be the case according to the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, where the place at which Jesus was born is depicted by the star in the photograph at the head of this post, and is referred to as a "grotto."  That place along with other locations and objects important to Christianity was discovered by Helena, the very busy and industrious mother of the Emperor Constantine, who roamed the Holy Land in search of such things, and is considered a saint according to the Catholic Church.

We have heard, and still hear, many urge that we should "keep Christ in Christmas."  But it can fairly be maintained that he was never there in the first place, and isn't there much now.  Instead, he's been inserted, in a rather shameless, brazen fashion, into an ancient time of celebration made significant for reasons having nothing to do with him or Christianity.

It's harmless enough, of course, to create a holiday and designate it as a time for special celebration of a particular person or event.  This is done with some frequency, in fact.  If that is what Christians have done in creating Christmas, who could complain?  But a religion such as Christianity cannot be doubted, and that is especially the case where holy books are concerned. 

If we give it some more thought, perhaps in fact Christmas isn't Anti-Christian, but peculiarly Christian in the sense that it is contrived, a pretence, much like being a Christian is, today, and likely has been forever, sadly.  If to be Christian is to follow the teachings of Jesus, Christians are mostly frauds.

We should by all means celebrate the Christmas season.  It's great fun, and always has been, since long before Christ and Christianity.  The winter solstice has always been significant as well.  But one with think the pious and self-righteous should have some decency, and restrain themselves from insisting we stop treating the Christmas season as being solely something which it clearly is not. 

Angst Misbehavin'

How have philosophers, and others, come to dwell on such phenomena (if they may be called that) as angst, dread, nothingness, anxiety and other such foreboding--what, exactly?  Feelings? Things? States?  It seems to me a good question, as by my understanding these woeful conditions of mind are said to exist separate from any particular object.  That's what distinguishes them from fear, for example.  We fear something or someone in particular.  The angst, dread, etc. written of by philosophers, usually existentialists, have no particular object as they refer to life, living in general, or the world in general, all their constituents conspiring, as it were, to make us miserable in some profound sense.

Angst seems to have been created by that most melancholy of all Danes, Soren Kierkegaard.  Kierkegaard makes Hamlet seem positively jolly.  The author of such works as Fear and Loathing and Sickness unto Death wouldn't be the life of any party, except perhaps a burial party, at which he could, I suppose, cheer others present by making comments regarding the good fortune of the deceased to be quit of this vale of tears.

Kierkegaard was a (very sad) man of the 19th century, and it seems the concept of life and the world as full of woe and the relentless urge to expound on that subject in painful though not useful detail developed during the 19th and 20th centuries, at first at least through the efforts of Europeans.  I wonder why, and here provide a modest effort at an explanation, or the beginnings of one.

I think of ancient Western philosophy, and I know of no instance where the followers of Plato or Aristotle, the Stoics or Epicureans, or philosophers of any ancient school of which I know felt or described anything even nominally similar to angst, dread, anxiety or any other items in the cornucopia of woe posited by existentialists or nihilists, let alone anti-natalists who go them one better by not only decrying the world but contending it's so full of suffering that it is immoral to have children.  Even the Platonists and Neo-Platonists, who thought there was a realm beyond the imperfect world, to my knowledge didn't dread it as a whole.

Something must have happened to change this perception of the world so completely.  Ancient Western philosophy, like so much else, was stopped cold by the onset of Christianity, which later tried to assimilate it, though not all of it.  Christianity famously condemned the world and all that's in it, including we humans, as sinful and wicked.  Like certain ancient philosophers, they thought there was a higher realm.  But they thought that realm was available only to Christians, and very good Christians to boot.  The ancient pagan philosophers didn't think that the higher realm was available exclusively to any follower of any particular religion.

Christianity began to lose its grip on thinkers and intellectuals from about the 18th century on.  Many, like Voltaire, accepted a kind of Deism.  But subsequently, those no longer able to accept Christianity or a Christian god found it impossible, for some reason, to accept the world.  "Without God, anything is permissible" are the words used by Dostoyevsky in The Brothers Karamazov.  Despite the fact that the ancients accepted the world as good, or at least not dreadful, without the need for believing in a personal deity like the one endorsed by Christianity, the intellectuals of the 19th and 20th century could not do so.  And so, for them, anything was possible.  There was no longer a guide for conduct, no standards to be applied, nothing good or bad, no purpose to life; we're deposited in the world for no reason, only to suffer.

If this hypothesis has any basis, it's striking the extent to which the absence of God, of standards, of morals derived from a creator, rendered the intellectuals of formerly Christian Europe hopeless and in despair.  The reaction to the Death of God was dramatic, even melodramatic.  The search for alternatives began, but these thinkers had been so convinced of the need for absolute knowledge and standards of conduct that the probable, the likely, the well established didn't suffice to assuage their concerns.  

And so nothing quite worked.  Nothing replaced Christianity.  Existentialism, nihilism, were unsatisfactory and fostered melancholy at best, angst, dread and anxiety at worst.  Some became mystics or quasi-mystics, seeing some form of redemption through nationalism and racist ideologies and belief in leaders amounting to demigods.

The result is many of us see the world as not only separate from us, but deadly to us.  We're outsiders without hope or function.  We have no place to go.  For everything, we're out of tune.  

Separate from the world, but not beyond it in any permanent sense.  Subject to it but incapable of remedying our lot or making things better for us or others, there being no God to tell us that's what we should do.  It seems a remarkably self-pitying, futile way to live.  If it is the result of a disenchantment with a particular religious view which became rationally unsupportable, however, there are ways to overcome that disenchantment, as the ancients knew but we have forgotten.

Stoicism and Religion II

In the last post, I concluded that Stoicism isn't a religion, but could be religious, at least in a sense.  But is that truly the case?

I think that strictly speaking it can be if we use "religious" according to its dictionary definition as set forth in Merriam-Webster online.  A Stoic certainly can be devoted to a deity or underlying reality (the vague "Divine Fire" or "Divine Reason").  We can and do say that someone who believes in God is religious.  But the "God" commonly referred to when we say that word isn't an immanent "God" of the kind we find referred to by the ancient Stoics or other pantheists, nor is it the "god of the philosophers" we see referred to often enough even by those ostensibly devoted to institutional religions.

Who and why the reference is made is interesting, however, and indicates that the meaning of "God" is dependent on that who and that why.  Christian apologists, theologians and philosophers throughout history have managed to maintain that the "god of the philosophers" or something very much like that "god" is, in fact, the Christian God.  When they do that I think they necessarily must disregard Jesus as he is depicted in the Gospels, though (despite the Gospel of John's use of the word "logos" which must then, perforce, be made flesh and walk among us--something it's rather hard to imagine logos doing).  Nor is it possible to claim that the Christian God as he is actually worshiped in Christian churches is the god of the philosophers, if the ceremony of worship is considered.

And so I wonder whether it is entirely honest, if it is disingenuous in other words, to claim that Jesus is the god of the philosophers as is attempted from time to time.   Maybe those who do that are like some of the ancient philosophers who claimed that people should engage in the traditional worship of the gods despite the fact that the myths pertaining to them were silly at best.

If worship as ceremony, or ritual, is required for one to be religious, however, it would seem that a Stoic would not be religious.  Western history would seem to establish that worship is communal, something that groups of believers participated in generally at regular times and in a particular manner.  That was the case as far as I'm aware in pre-Christian and Christian times.  The ancient mysteries involved ceremony and invocation in group settings; sometimes large groups as in the case of the Eleusinian mysteries, sometimes in very small groups (the temples or caves in which devotees of Mithras would meet suggest 20 to 50 men would participate in worship).  Pagan worship involved parades and feasting and rituals of various kinds.  Christian worship certainly is communal, though one hears of hermits and folk who lived on pillars and other ascetic extremes, but these are rarities, and meant to be.

I find it hard to picture Stoics gathering for any similar purpose.  For that matter, I find it hard to imagine what they would do.  I personally am adverse to religious gatherings and ceremonies of any kind, though I've noted before my sentimental fondness for the old Catholic ritual.  This is one of the reasons I avoid not only Catholic but other Christian, and even Unitarian gatherings (from what I hear, Unitarians are similar to Christian church gatherings, with singing and reading from I'm not sure who--perhaps the New England Transcendentalists).  The only current non-pagan form of worship I can think of that might be tolerable would be Quaker, where it seems nothing is required beyond silent contemplation unless someone gets the urge to testify--which I like to think would be infrequent.  As for the so-called modern pagans, I suspect that Wiccans, Druids etc. do whatever they do in groups and that some sort of ceremony and liturgy is involved.

Are there any forms of worship engaged in by Stoics, or pantheists, or panentheists?  If so I don't know.  And this makes me wonder whether worship of such a kind can be, and also wonder whether it is possible for them to be considered religious.

Intolerance, Exclusivity and the Heirs of Abraham

A thread on a forum I frequent has motivated me to wonder something about the so-called Abrahamic religions, i.e. those which look back to the patriarch Abraham as a founder, directly or indirectly.  What I wonder about them may strike some as disturbing or even blasphemous.  I wonder whether there is anything peculiarly good about them; whether, in other words, they in themselves contain or preach anything good, that hasn't as it were been borrowed or assimilated in the course of their histories from elsewhere.

Above is a picture in stained glass, I think, depicting Abraham about to sacrifice his son in accordance with the will of his God.  I sometimes think of the God of the Old Testament as a kind of colossal, unsleeping cat, toying with his creation as a cat would a mouse.  A cat without a cat's usual charm and grace, though, and without its vast capacity to sleep, and doing no harm by doing so.  Whether urging the chosen people to destroy the Canaanites and take their land, laying waste to entire cities, flooding the world, or playing torturous games with Abraham and Job, he's perpetually doing something to us.  He seemingly made us to be the objects of his whims.

A particular belief in a particular God has been the cause of much violence and many wars, it's true.  But was it so, is it so, when one of the Abrahamic religions is not involved?  As far as I know, the pagans of the ancient Mediterranean didn't war against each other because one group worshipped Isis and one Mithras, for example.  Tolerance of religious beliefs was characteristic of the Greco-Roman world, except, of course, when it came to the Jews and Christians.

Greeks and Jews we know rioted against each other in Alexandria.  Roman suppression of the Jews in the two "Jewish wars" was ruthless.  The Roman state, periodically and with varying degrees of seriousness, persecuted Christians, but with nowhere near the seriousness depicted by Hollywood and others.  But violence against Jews and Christians was not motivated by the fact that they believed in Yahweh or Jesus as opposed to one or several of the pagan gods.  It was motivated by the fact that they believed themselves to be exclusively in possession of that which is right and good by virtue of the fact they worshipped their particular god and refused to recognize as right and good and indeed despised anything they did not think right and good--including pagans, the Roman state, and pagan institutions.  They were considered anti-social, as they were against pagan society and culture.  They appeared to subvert society, traditional religion and the government.

Jews and Christians were exclusive, sometimes militantly so, and intolerant.  Once Rome became a Christian Empire, it persecuted pagans far more relentlessly and effectively that the pagan empire persecuted Christians.  Islam, once founded, was similarly exclusive and intolerant, and engaged in great conquests in the name of its God.  Christianity was an imperial force as well.  All over the world, people were "saved" by being made Christian.

There are works of art inspired by religion, and they can be said to be goods peculiar to particular religious beliefs.  What of wisdom or ethics can be said to have resulted only by virtue of the Abrahamic religions, however? 

I would say nothing, not really.  All that was or could be said on those topics was said before Christianity or Islam existed, and developed independent of Judaism, primarily due to the ancient Greeks.  If one discounts unsubstantiated claims such as Plato or Solon got lessons from Moses, there's nothing to indicate the Greeks were influenced by Judaism in any significant respect.  That Christianity borrowed extensively from pagan philosophy is clear.

It's often claimed that Christianity brought with it the idea of love, something said to be absent from paganism.  Readers of Plato's Symposium might find that surprising.  But Christian love has much more often than not merely been given lip service.  If there was such a teaching, it's been ignored as a practical matter.  And arguably, the love touted by Christianity has never been capable of realization.  One simply does not love everyone.  Respect and dignity were accorded to all by the pagan philosophers; a much more achievable goal.

Well, that's what wondering can do.  But what can be expected from religions which hold themselves out to be the only way to God, the only way to worship God, but conflict in the name of God until all believe the same?

Danse Macabre

I first became familiar with the Danse Macabre through the music of Saint-Saens, who wrote a tone poem by that name.  I thought it a rather jaunty tune, though in a minor key and so thereby a bit unusual, perhaps even grotesque but in an entertaining manner.  I didn't know when I first heard and enjoyed it that it was greeted with something approaching outrage when it was first performed; something I find difficult to believe, but all too believable.

I knew enough even at the time I first heard it to be aware of its association with death.  Perhaps it's jauntiness in that association is what critics and audiences alike objected to in the 19th century.  The use of a xylophone must have been particularly irritating back then.  But it is after all a dance, even if a dance led by Death, and it seems that dance involved hopping or skipping judging from paintings, engravings and drawings by which it was depicted.  So it seems to me "jaunty" well describes the part of Death in it, at least, cavorting as it leads us into....what?

In the Middle Ages when it seems the dance appeared as an object of artistic representation which became, if we can use the word, "popular", the dance as represented had much the same features everywhere it was displayed.  A skeleton or skeletons, sometimes decked out in the garb we associate with the Grim Reaper, leads men and women and children identifiable by their dress as Emperors, Kings, Popes, Bishops, nobility, merchants and peasants--all of the kinds of people of Europe at the time--in the dance of death.  The meaning and purpose of these works is clear enough.  We will all die, and will do so regardless of our status when alive.  Being one of the rich and mighty won't protect us from our inevitable dissolution.  We all come to the same end, die and decay.

At that stage of humanity's "progress" death was more familiar than it is now.  Life spans were short, medicine primitive, sickness rampant.  The Black Plague and other diseases ran through whole communities.  There was no escape from death.  There's no escape now, of course, but seldom was the phrase "here today, gone tomorrow" more applicable.

Clear enough what was meant, then.  But what was the reaction to the message?  Reaction would vary, one would think.  In pagan times it likely meant something different.  There are old Roman funeral inscriptions which state one reaction; that is, to eat, drink and be merry while we can.  That may have been the reaction of some in the Middle Ages as well.  But with the advent of Christianity came a different view of the Danse.  Eating, drinking and being merry were frowned upon at least to a certain extent; to the extent, that is, they were sins or caused sins to take place.  And so the Danse  impressed on many the need to pray for forgiveness, to repent, perhaps even to do good deeds.  This would not be thought to do much if any good, though, in some circles, where only those were saved who were saved by the grace of God, not their own acts.  Also, of course, there would be the reaction that one must do right by the Church and its rules.

In both pagan and Christian times, however, there must have been those few who reacted to the Danse as indicating the vanity of our concerns and actions,  All fame, power and money came to nought.  Marcus Aurelius wrote more than once of the fact that our words and deeds will not be remembered in the future and meant nothing to the world, which we may now call the universe.

How react to the Danse now, though?  Some no doubt react now as others did then.  Some would react like Marcus did.  Most Stoics would know what he knew.  To a Stoic it would serve as a reminder that we should treat things beyond the control of our will as indifferent.  To do as Epictetus said, and do the best we can with what we have and take the rest as it comes.  To understand that our deaths are according to nature, and not to be feared.  Instead to be accepted.

But this time is peculiar in its selfishness, I think.  At least, I think that's the case here in our Great Republic.  We're encouraged not to care about others--and certainly not to do anything for them.  Particularly those who are different.  It's perfectly all right with many of us that some are poor, or can't afford health care, etc.  Perhaps it's our Protestant background, and the myth of rugged individualism that make us uncaring.  Or, perhaps we merely resent that others may get something we don't have "for free."

Our selfishness causes a different reaction to the Danse.  I think that reaction is anger.  We're angry that we, and what we want, will end.   For some of us, that makes it easy enough to do violence, to others.

Charged with Grandeur



The 19th century English poet, Gerard Manley Hopkins, had a remarkable way of using language in his poetry which sets him apart from other poets of the Victorian era, and from the English Romantics generally.  It's hard to describe, for me at least.  Hopkins' poems seem playful sometimes, sometimes erudite, sometimes philosophical.  Often philosophical, I think, and even more often religious.

The language he employs can be archaic, antiquated.  He was fond of alliteration.  He seems to have sought to use unusual words--unusual groupings of words--in his poetry, and I believe this sometimes saves him from the sanctimony which too often infuses the writings of the religious, and from being sentimental.  Sanctimony and self-righteousness was prevalent among the Victorians.  Sentiment was prevalent among the Romantics.  In a way, his poetry seems almost modern.

"The world is charged with the grandeur of God."  This is the first line of his poem titled, unsurprisingly, God's Grandeur.  It's an arresting opening line.  "Charged" suggests electricity, a force invisible but pervasive, empowering the world as it courses through all that it is, all that's in it.  "Grandeur" as in splendor, greatness, majesty, magnificence.  The world seethes with God's splendor; it's an embodiment of it.  It shines forth "like shook foil."

It seems a Stoic view, to me at least.  Perhaps a view of the world even older than that of the Stoics.  This can be inferred from another of his poems, one with a lengthy and somewhat awkward title, That Nature is a Heraclitean Fire and of the Comfort of the Resurrection.

Heraclitus was one of the pre-Socratic philosophers, and what we know of what he thought and taught is fragmentary.  Some of what he is said to have said is well known, like the statement that one never steps in the same river twice, and all is flux.  The fragments we have sometimes seem contradictory, and he is criticized for this by Plato and Aristotle.  The Stoics valued him, however, and it seems Cleanthes especially admired him.  The Stoics seemed to have admired his cosmology, particularly his view of the universe as being eternal and its basis being a kind of fire, divine it would seem as the Stoics conceived of it.  God to him and to the Stoics was immanent in the world.

It seems Hopkins thought well of him also, given the title of this poem.  Like God's Grandeur the poem begins with an artful, witty, even musical-sounding celebration of the world.  "Nature's bonfire" is referred to.  That's the only clear reference to anything like the fire of Heraclitus I can see in it.

In God's Grandeur, the celebration of Nature is followed by lines which express regret that the world has been sullied by man and his toils, bleared and smeared by it, in fact.  Then, hope and wonder is expressed that there remains something beautiful and divine in nature, nurtured still by God in his capacity as the Holy Ghost, or as that person of the triune God called the Holy Ghost.

In Nature is a Heraclitean Fire the celebration ends in sad reflection on the temporary nature of man:  "Man, how fast his firedint, | his mark on mind, is gone!"  But these broodings are ended by the knowledge of the Resurrection to come after death:   "In a flash, at a trumpet crash, I am all at once what Christ is, | since he was what I am, and This Jack, joke, poor potsherd, | patch, matchwood, immortal diamond, Is immortal diamond."

That's very impressive stuff, to me.  And perhaps it expresses and explains better than anything I've read the appeal of Christianity at its beginning to those who came to be called pagans, and its success even though the wisdom of pagan philosophy was acknowledged and admired.  It was an appeal the mystery cults may have had as well to an extent, but were the gods they extolled "what I am" as Jesus was, before his Resurrection, fully man?  But also fully God, it seems, inexplicably to me but perhaps this was, and is, of little concern to true believers, and pagan philosophy forgotten in the acceptance of mystery.

Great Pan Is Not Dead



According to Plutarch "Great Pan is Dead!" are the words uttered in a loud voice (sometimes called a "divine voice") heard by the sailor Thamus on his way--by boat one would assume--to Italy while travelling there during the reign of the Emperor Tiberius.  The extremely fat and inordinately glib Christian apologist G.K. Chesterton, who could be a witty fellow though over-fond of quips, thought Pan to be the only pagan god said to have died, and thought his death somehow connected with the death, or perhaps the birth, of Jesus.

I'm not sure if it mattered all that much for Chesterton's purposes, but I suspect the birth of Jesus somehow precipitated the death of Pan.  I think a case can be made that it did, though it took quite some time to do Pan in.  This had something to do with the birth of theology, according to Chesterton.

Others, such as Robert Graves, thought the story the result of some confusion, and believed the great shout had been mistranslated over time or mistold.  He believed there was no Thamus, but there was a Tammuz, another pagan god who died and whose death was remembered through a ritual which was being performed and was overheard by...someone.

It does seem jolly old Chesterton was mistaken about pagan gods and their birth or death, for various of them did die or their consorts did, and it was their death and resurrection which became the subject of the mystery religions such as that of Mithras, and Isis, and the Great Mother.

Pan was the god of nature, of wild nature that is; but also of shepherds and flocks, and music through the rustic flute.  He's often confused with satyrs, due to the fact that he had the horns, hoofs and hindquarters of a goat.  And it must be said he was inclined to physical pleasures as well, which of course rendered him abhorrent to many Christians.  As a nature god he wasn't worshipped in temples but in caves or wooded groves.  He was born in Arcadia.  His Roman counterpart was Faunus.

But if he died so long ago, he seems to keep coming back, Chesterton and, perhaps, Jesus notwithstanding.  He came back during the Renaissance, as did so much else pagan in spirit.  He was a favorite of the 19th century Romantics, and is even now worshipped by neo-pagans.  He is part of the great inheritance of Western culture that is pagan antiquity, and like it will not die much as some wish it would, who are blithely ignorant of the debt owed to it even, and perhaps especially, by Christianity. 

I know little of Wiccan or neo-paganism generally.  I'm not inclined to engage in rituals or ceremonies which are meant to revive or mimic ancient religious worship.  Nor am I inclined to worship any of the old gods.  But I am pleased that there seems to be a revival in respect for and reverence towards nature--by which I mean the physical world, the universe.  We've believed ourselves to be nature's master for far too long, and are paying the price of the monstrous credo we've accepted here in the West; that we like the God of the Abrahamic religions are apart from nature rather than a part of it.  We will pay more for our self-regard. 

Stoicism also keeps coming back, as the modern resurgence of that philosophy makes clear.  But it's always been around in one sense or another, and it's injunction to "live according to nature" is one that will be accepted it's to be hoped.  It may have to be accepted if we're to survive.

But if I were to worship any of the old gods, I think Pan would be one of them, along with Apollo and Hermes, the one the god of reason, the other the bright intelligence of the universe.  And Pan the god of the physical nature of all living things.

Ashes to Ashes

A Happy Ash Wednesday to all!

Well, it comes after carnival, so it seems appropriate that a post about Ash Wednesday would follow one about carnival.  It seems inappropriate, though, to wish anyone a Happy Ash Wednesday.  That would be to take the "Ash" out of Ash Wednesday, would it not?  No, not happy.

For several years--many, I suppose--I duly submitted my forehead to be smudged with ashes once a year, as did, and do, many others.  It seems I can't claim that this was or is a peculiarly Catholic tradition.  Certain Protestant churches "celebrate" Ash Wednesday as well.  The One Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church has no monopoly on the ritual of misery.

"Remember, man, thou art dust, and unto dust thou shalt return."  The Latin is: “Memento, homo, quia pulvis es, et in pulverem reverteris.”  This is (or was?) the cheerful reminder dispensed along with ashes by priests on this insistently mournful day.  From Genesis 3:19.  We're reminded we're mortal.  So, supposedly, were those in ancient Rome granted a triumph--memento mori they were told as they rode their chariot along the Sacred Way; remember you are mortal.  It's a reminder that seemingly was ignored then, as it no doubt is ignored now, to the extent possible.  Who wants to be reminded of their upcoming death?

Nobody, I would think.  But it is apparently the function if not the delight of certain religions and certain of the religious to remind us of it nonetheless.  One could say that this reminder is made only in the course of reminding us as well that our salvation, and eternal life, is nonetheless guaranteed to us by the suffering, death and resurrection of Jesus, if only we believe in him.  And so we celebrate Easter.  If we don't believe in him, though, then we'll be among the dust burning in hell, if dust does indeed burn.  Or so some would say, in any event.  Thus, one could also say that the reminder serves as a warning of the horrible fate which awaits us when we die, unless...we repent, and change our evil ways, and believe.  Then, death will have no sting.  It will come, yes, but only as to the body.

It strikes me as strange, given the body-soul distinction made in Christianity, that relics of saints came to be given such importance, and were ascribed miraculous powers.  Some saint or martyr's bone is revered, and causes the blind to see and the lame to walk.  But why, if the soul has left the body?  Was the saint in question so very holy that holiness seeped into his/her body?

I think the Day of the Dead celebrated in Mexico is far less dreadful (literally) than such "reminders" of death as Ash Wednesday.  Unsurprisingly, this event derives from a custom in place before the arrival of the Spanish.  The dead are remembered and cherished.  Those who participate are reminded of death, certainly, but also of life as lived.  Those gone live again, or at least are treated as living; remembered as they were, and invited to participate in a family feast or celebration.

Even more significant is the fact that those living continue to live, and live with the dead and the knowledge of death.  Death is a part of living, and so loses its sting in a far more real sense than it does when its sting is thought to dissipate from the promise of some existence after death, one that can only be imagined.  The wise among the ancients, like the Stoics, thought death had no sting as well, and didn't fear it. 

Fear of it is inspired when it's viewed not merely as an end, but also a beginning--of suffering.  Death is a threat of sorts, now; the threat of hell and punishment if you don't do what you should do, think what you should think, in the craven system of morality that's been fostered here and elsewhere by those who think right and wrong are determined by divine command.  If they are, though, there is no right or wrong, really.  There is just the command.

"Our life is what our thoughts make it."  So says Marcus Aurelius, and Epictetus.  So is our death.

Apocalypse None

The Gospel of Mark is thought to be the oldest of the four Gospels which have been accepted by the Church and, it seems, Protestant churches as well.  As we know, there are other gospels which were unaccepted, if not purged, by the early Church and thus excluded from the canon.  The reasons for their exclusion makes an interesting study.

The Gospel of Mark is interesting in itself though.  In its original form, it didn't include what is included in other Gospels, particularly when it comes to appearances of Jesus after the Redemption.  It also includes statements it states were made by Jesus regarding what's generally described as the Second Coming and the commencement of the Kingdom of God which are considered troubling to many Christians.  Those statements are to the effect that it will occur during the lives of those to whom he spoke, or within a generation (e.g. Mark 9:1).

Early Roman critics of Christianity, such as Celsus, noted this and other peculiarities and inconsistencies  in the Gospels.  They also noted that at the time they wrote, those who heard Jesus speak these words and their generation had long since passed away, and the world continued on nonetheless just as it had for centuries.  They reasonably inferred from this that Jesus must have been a false prophet if not something worse.

No less a zealous apologist for Christianity than C.S. Lewis felt that this is most "embarrassing" passage in the Bible.  Earlier apologists were also well aware that the Gospel ascribed to Mark was a problem in various respects.  Origen wrote a book to refute Celsus, though it's thought he didn't do a very good job.

Christians and Christianity have struggled over the long years to account for the Gospel of Mark.  It was maintained at one time that this Gospel was a mere summary of the Gospel of Matthew, and less important.  Naturally, it couldn't be maintained that the Gospel of Mark was wrong, or inaccurate in any sense, if it was thought to be the Word of God.  But the fact that the available evidence indicates it was written before the other Gospels makes this explanation unhelpful.

And so rather than accepting that it's possible the words of the Gospel of Mark should be taken to mean what they clearly say, which would be to acknowledge that Jesus was wrong and so could not be God, those words have been the subject of interpretation.  For example, it's been claimed that what Jesus spoke of according to Mark was something different from the real Second Coming, but a spiritual one resulting from his death on the cross or his Resurrection, or was somehow intended to refer to the destruction of the Jewish Temple by the Romans in 70 C.E.

The Romans certainly destroyed the Temple.  I've now seen "with my own eyes" the Arch of Titus and the relief on it showing men of the legions marching in triumph holding the riches of the Temple. But it isn't clear to me why Jesus wouldn't simply have said that was what he was referring to, nor do I see how the Kingdom of God came to be established due to the sacking of Jerusalem.

Ancient writings, such as those of the obliging pet of the Flavian emperors, Josephus, tell us that the  Roman world and especially Palestine were host to a number of men who worked miracles and taught that the end of the world was coming.  Jesus thus was not unique in that respect.  It appears such men are not unique in our history, as there have always been those who proclaim the end of the world is nigh for one reason or another.  There are such men today, in fact, and like their successors they've found that they have admirers enough to keep them happy, and even wealthy though not wise.

I don't know enough of religions besides Christianity to say whether this ecstatic belief that the world will end and only certain of us will be saved is characteristic of religious belief everywhere, or limited to the various kinds of Christians.  Christians, though, have too often believed someone to be a prophet and have anxiously awaited the end of others, but not themselves.  Periodically they venture to some place or other, gathering at the appropriate time to witness the Second Coming, only to be disappointed.  Their prophet generally explains thereafter that he was wrong in his count, or misinterpreted signs given, and comes up with another date which in turn is found not to be the day the world ends or Jesus comes again.

This isn't all that surprising.  But what is surprising is that the people disappointed in their expectation of annihilation blithely accept explanations offered and believe that the end will come at whatever new date is selected by their erring leaders.

This kind of faith, if it may be so called, is difficult to explain.  The faith in an apocalypse must be very stubborn to survive continuing disappointment and the relentless survival of the world and its sinning inhabitants.  Mere stupidity can't provide the only explanation.  The hope for an end of the world must be extreme.

The world is a difficult place to live, but it's probably now a less cruel place than it was for the poor and disaffected of the Roman Empire nearly 2,000 years ago.  What is it in some of us that provokes such an enormous discontent, such a fervent dissatisfaction with the world and with other people, that we hope and pray that the world will be destroyed and most of us swept away by an angry god?t

The Gospel of Mark makes me wonder about how the early Church grew and Christianity became the state religion of the Roman Empire.  As those who expected the Kingdom of God to commence while they were still alive noticed that it had not arrived, did they come to question whether Jesus was God?  There are statements in Paul's letters which indicate he was aware of this possibility and spoke against it, even as he spoke against those followers of Christ who were too Jewish to accept that he was the (self-proclaimed) apostle appointed by God.  Is the Christianity we know that of Paul and not that of Jesus?  That isn't a new notion by any means.

 

Would Christianity have spread if Jesus was portrayed only as he is in the Gospel of Mark, in its original form?  In other words, would it have come to dominate the Western World without the later Gospels, the Acts, and the writings and travels of Paul, who never knew him while he was alive?  Or would it remain what pagans thought it was initially, a Jewish sect?

Regardless, we can see in this expectation of and hope for the end of the world, the thirst for martyrdom, and the reverence for the relics of saints which began very early, why educated Romans (like Marcus Aurelius) thought the Christians to be irrational and irresponsible, and even insane,  and why the Emperor Julian and others thought Christianity to be a death cult.

"The Triumph of Barbarism and Religion"

These words appear in the final chapter of Edward Gibbon's The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.  Thus he characterizes what he's described in prior volumes in six words.  It seems a clear statement of his position, very incisive and succinct.  It's something of a pleasure to read such a bold pronouncement from a historian, as the historians of today seem hesitant to make judgments of any kind, victims perhaps of a what appears to be a growing culture of timid ambivalence in Academia.  Woe to those who are perceived as having come to a conclusion, especially regarding anything it is now customary to claim cannot be judged.  Which is a great many things.

 

It's no doubt inadvisable to come to such a definite conclusion regarding something as complicated as the Fall of Rome (though Gibbon is always a joy to read).  Also inadvisable to attribute the Fall to only two causes or factors.  Barbarians certainly came to rule territory formerly ruled by Roman Emperors, but they did so sometimes as at least nominally the functionaries of the Emperor of the Eastern Empire, which survived for may years after the year traditionally said to be the fall of the West, 476 C.E., or if not as rulers who perceived themselves and were perceived as successors to the Emperors, continuing the rule of Rome albeit in somewhat different ways.  The leaders of those  barbarians were usually high-ranking members of the Roman military, trained by Romans, familiar with Roman customs and civilization.

 

As late as the 9th century, Charlemagne, (a descendant of the barbarians known to the Romans as Franks) took up the mantle of Rome in the Latin West.  Rome's shadow falls over most of the history of the West, though.  The Holy Roman Empire which Voltaire said was neither holy, nor Roman, nor an empire, survived into modern times, and the Kaisers and the Czars owed their titles, at least, to the Caesars.

Religion in the form of Christianity certainly came to rule in a sense as well, in both West and East.  An intolerant religion which believes itself exclusive, possessing the truth and worshipping the One True God, by its nature seeks to rule the minds and conduct of all.  But it's difficult to maintain Christianity was a cause of the Fall of Rome, as the Christianized Roman Empire of the East continued to exist for roughly one thousand years after the year 476 C. E., although in a continuously diminished form.

 

What is taking place in our times, however, in the name of a religion and through the efforts of people who can justly be called barbarians, threatens a triumph of the kind Gibbon felt took place in the 5th century.  If Gibbon was right about the corrosive effect of barbarism and religion, combined, then perhaps his statement will be more true of our century than the centuries of which he wrote.

 

It's difficult to believe that there are heavily armed people who are intent on causing us, by force, to live and think as members of a particular religion did in the 7th century.  What reasonable person living in the 21st century would think that desirable, or even possible on a large scale?  Why return to the distant past?  But then, it isn't merely the time after the spread of Islam that these barbarians reject and want others to reject.  The time before the 7th century is also condemned by them.  Witness their destruction of the great remains of civilizations of the even more distant past.

 

Here we have the true fanatic at work.  Great efforts are being made to destroy the new barbarians or at least stop their progress.  Well and good, but one wonders, sometimes, whether some of those involved in the effort or their masters have come or will come to believe that it is necessary to fight fanaticism with fanaticism inspired by another, better, religion; or to employ irrational means to fight the irrational.

 

That would lead to a triumph of barbarism and religion of a different kind, resulting in a state somewhat more familiar to we of the West but I think equally deadly to Western civilization.

 



Vidal's Messiah

I've read a good deal of Gore Vidal's work, but only recently read his Messiah, though it was published in the 1950s and so has been available for reading for quite some time.  There are other works of his I haven't read.  I haven't read Myra Breckenridge, for example, or The City and the Pillar.  Perhaps I will some day.

I'm an admirer of Vidal the author, but not necessarily of Vidal the person or TV personality.  His personality doesn't intrude on the books I've read; that is to say, his personality as it appeared on TV talk shows of the past.  It can be a mistake, I think, for good writers to appear on such shows, as they're asked to participate in order to provoke and do so gladly, which I think diminishes them.

This particular novel describes the origin and "progress" of a religious movement based on the insight of a curiously charismatic former mortician's assistant that death is not just something we shouldn't fear, but something we should want.  The protagonist of the book is given some similarities to Vidal himself, as when he first begins his portrayal of the "messiah" in question and the way in which the movement developed, we find that at the time he met the man, he was involved in researching the Emperor Julian for purposes of writing about him.  Vidal of course wrote a novel about the emperor entitled, unsurprisingly, Julian, which was published ten years after Messiah.

For reasons not entirely clear, the message that death is desirable is enchanting to all who hear it; or, at least, all who hear it while seeing the one who speaks it, called John Cave in the novel.  People find it liberating as it extinguishes the fear of death.  Vidal or the Vidal figure, called Eugene Luther, is one of Cave's first converts though he is as might be expected a reluctant one.  Luther is aware of the fact that the claim that death isn't to be feared is not a new one, even in the form expressed by Cave, who thinks it to be an endless sleep, without any form of personal immortality.  It is in fact ancient, and one can see it in the works of Lucretius and the Stoics and Epicureans before him.  But wanting to die seems an odd premise for a religion.

Early in the book, it's hypothesized by Luther and others that Cave's remarkable appeal is the result of some kind of hypnosis.  Cave himself is portrayed as a simple and unassuming man, interested only in his rather narrow message, however; he doesn't seem at all intent on mesmerizing people or taking advantage of them in a sinister manner or indeed in any manner.

Cave and his message are taken up, though, by a publicist who milks the machinery of the media to its utmost in popularizing them both and broadcasting the message far and wide.   That machinery was formidable even in the 1950s.  Rich donors and converts appear, a corporation is formed.  Luther himself is retained to prepare a kind of introduction to Cave and his message, referencing and expounding on the philosophical basis for the message.  A kind of religious business is established.  The message spreads with great speed, throughout the world.  There is opposition from established religions, eventually there is violence against Cavism and the Cavites and ultimately violence by the them as they become well established and become the establishment, wielding political power to stamp out opposition.

The book is written as the recollections of Luther, who became a leader of a kind of heretical sect which thought the message death was not to be feared should be used to enhance life, not make death seem desirable and went into voluntary exile.  His writings which once formed the basis for the religion have been expunged.  The message is rewritten by those who didn't know the founder; the religion has become something different, something powerful, intolerant, oppressive, intent of saving and thereby dominating the world.

In researching the Emperor Julian, Vidal became quite knowledgeable about his attempt to restore paganism and eliminate the favors and status granted Christianity since the reign of Constantine.  He became aware of the manner in which Christianity became an institution over time and assimilated the Roman Empire, knew its holy books were written decades after Jesus lived, knew that other books regarding Jesus were proscribed, heresies were quashed, an orthodoxy established. 

I tend to think this satire by Vidal was primarily intended to reflect his views on what happened to Christianity, on the triumph of the Church rather than the message of Jesus which clearly appealed in a dramatic manner to many, but was over time changed, ignored, extinguished as deemed necessary by Christians when and after they accepted the "gift of Constantine" and gained the world while losing their souls.  There are too many parallels between the rise of Cavism and that of Christianity for me to think otherwise.  Another thoughtful book of Vidal the author, so much more admirable than Vidal the personality.

The Magic Christians

Some of us remember the film The Magic Christian, a very silly bit of anti-capitalist, anti-greed satire (using that term broadly) which starred Peter Sellers, Ringo Starr, and a host of others in cameo appearances, including some of the members of what was to be Monty Python.  The title was the name of an ocean liner on which the protagonists eventually sailed.  I saw it while in high school,  and it appealed to the adolescent in me.

I don't mean to comment on the film here, but use the title to draw attention to those who in the third to fifth centuries CE (somewhat broadly speaking, again) managed to make of Christianity something which was magical, or which I think may be called magical.  "Magical" I mean to refer to something based on a mysterious, extraordinary supernatural power associated with certain equally mysterious rites.

Of course I'm aware of the fact that even the Gospels ascribe miracles to Jesus, and these may count as magic--though not, I think, magic of the remarkable kind to come.  There were several men and beings which the ancients felt were capable of working wonders; even early Christians felt the pagan gods to be demons with supernatural powers.  Also, it's clear that even shorn of the Gospels' occasional, very cursory, references to Jesus being the Son of God and worker of wonders, the belief in the existence of a supernatural, creator god--that of the Jews, in any case--is presumed and manifest in them.  So, Jesus' early followers, if in fact they wrote the gospels, which doesn't seem likely, may be called "magic Christians" to a certain  extent.

But there was nothing unusual in this given the times and the culture.  For example, John the Baptist reputedly did much the same things as Jesus, and though honored in Christianity is not God or his Son.  Something very unusual occurred in the case of early Christianity as it became the Christianity we know of now and throughout subsequent history (at least the Christianity recognized by most of the established churches).  What happened distinguishes Jesus from the run-of-the-mill saviors and magicians who roamed the Roman Empire in those times, and required magic of an unusual sort.

What took place was, I think, necessary in order to maintain that Jesus was God; the only God, in fact.  Not merely God after he was crucified, or before he took human form, but God even while he was human and was killed.  The nature of Jesus was of course a subject of fierce and even violent disputes in the history of early Christianity and even into the Middle Ages and beyond.  Some found it impossible to accept that God, the Supreme Being, could suffer and die on a cross.  So, they thought Jesus must have been human or something less than wholly divine while on Earth, at least.  And so we see controversy of the kind which involved whether Jesus as Son was of the same or similar substance as God the Father.

These and other disputes resulted in the heresies we hear so much of in Christianity.  There was of course the famous dispute between the followers of Arius and Anathasius.   But there was also Nestorianism, which was the belief that Jesus had two natures, one divine and one human;  Monophsyitism, which held that Jesus' divine nature wholly overwhelmed his human nature; Monothelism, which taught that Jesus had two natures, one divine and one human, but only one "will."  This is not even to get into the controversies which came about once the Holy Spirit was in the mix as God as well, and Trinitarianism arose.  A heresy which followed was called Monarchiansm, which held that God the Father predominated over the Son and the Holy Spirit in the Trinity.  As they say, the list of Christian heresies goes on and on, though certainly not all of them involved the true nature of Jesus.

The controversies were deemed so significant that emperors of the Christianized Roman Empire felt it necessary to become involved in an effort to resolve disputes through the use of Councils over which they presided or at least sponsored.  They probably first rose to a governmental concern because the disputes were physical in nature in some cases.  People were killed or injured; property destroyed.  But some emperors were concerned about doctrine as well.  Indeed, emperors favoring a particular kind of Christianity persecuted other Christians in the same manner as pagan emperors are claimed to have persecuted Christians before them, and the Christians persecuted by other Christians believed themselves to be martyrs.

Constantine is generally considered to have been a great unifier of Christian doctrine, but Justinian, a peculiarly dubious emperor, was even more avid in his efforts.  Councils condemned certain views, accepted others.  Excommunications were made and then rescinded.  This went on for centuries.  The Council of Nicea was probably less important in the history of Christianity than that of Chalcedon, held by the Emperor Marcian.

These Christological disputes had the result that the Latin Western Church became disassociated from the Greek Eastern Church and had other significant ramifications.

What is remarkable is that these great controversies have nothing at all to do with the preaching of Jesus; with what he said was right or wrong, what he said one should or should not do.  They are wholly amoral.  Christianity became a matter of definition, and the truth and goodness in Christianity came to be determined by what a person thought Jesus' nature to be and the manner in which he was to be worshiped.  All resulted because it was deemed that Jesus was or should be construed to be the one God.

These disputes, and efforts at their resolution as they appear in written records of the time, resemble philosophical and legal disputes, in that their focus is on abstract concepts and their application as rules to circumstances.  Their legal nature may be understood as resulting from the fact that Christianity became in every significant sense a government as well as a religion.  Their philosophical nature may be the result of the desire early Christians had to give Christianity a basis which would be recognized as similar to if not sanctioned by the philosophy of the time, which was essentially pagan and, I believe, still is pagan.  If Jesus is God, and there is only one God, what then? 

Because of the fact the disputes were similar to legal and philosophical disputes, the arguments raised by one side or the other are not clearly false or absurd.  There is a basis for them in the sense that relevant scripture may be referred to in their support or recognized authorities appealed to by disputants.

But ultimately the resolution of these disputes, to the extent they were resolved, entailed the imposition of certain mysteries, certain inexplicable doctrines.  In other words, Magic, but Magic of the highest kind.  The view that God is one substance but three persons is magical.  The view that Jesus is consubstantial with the Father is magical.  There is simply no other explanation for these beliefs.

It's interesting to consider what would have happened if Jesus was not considered God or divine in some manner, or perhaps a lesser God.  I suspect Christianity would be much less complex and far less dependent on mystery.  But Christians in charge were probably leery of making him a lesser God, as this would smack of polytheism.  And what would the death of one man matter?  Jesus' death and sacrifice would be insufficient to salvation if he was not at all times God.

We tend to forget what a mess Christianity was during its development.  Dispute is considered inconsistent with what is said to be clearly set forth by God.  Perhaps Christianity's search for a rational basis was unwise, and there is none clearly present.  It's no wonder some Christians came to believe that God could not be known except through revelation.  This conclusion may be less the result of mysticism as the realization that applying reason in the case of Jesus/God inevitably results in machinations of a particularly tortured kind.

The Christmas Conglomerate

Let's escape, however briefly, the vast Fun house of our national politics and the distorted images of human beings (the candidates) lurking there for our amusement and dismay.  It's time, once again, to consider--or at least appear to consider, or say we're considering--the True Meaning of Christmas.

Just what the True Meaning of Christmas (TMOC)  is may be a subject of some dispute.  Generally, though, it's thought to have something to do with Jesus Christ, or Christianity in one form of another, and may actually be about them for that hour or two many of us attend church services.  They of course are also subjects of some dispute, and have been from the beginning.

So the popular claim we should "put Christ back in Christmas" provides little guidance to those seeking or saying they seek TMOC.  It's unclear, though, that those who demand Christ be "put back" believe they require any guidance in this respect, and it's likely they're unaware of any dispute regarding Christ or Christianity.  Arius, Pelagius and the many others disputants are probably unknown to most of them.  We may be reasonably certain they've heard of Martin Luther and John Calvin, however, and some even of John Wesley.

Also generally, TMOC is thought to have something to do with peace on earth and good will towards men, possibly even by those who don't think Christ needs to be put back in Christmas or anywhere else.  In any case, TMOC is normally believed to have little if anything to do with Santa Claus or anything commercial, as such things, though they may have meaning in themselves and indeed are prevalent, even omnipresent, at this time, nonetheless lack True Meaning.  In fact, TMOC is said to be significant because it has nothing to do with them.

But it's hard to ignore what has become increasingly clear regarding Christmas, its celebration, iconography and mythology.  That is, that we humans have been involved in celebrating this time of the year for countless thousands of years and were doing so long before Jesus or even Abraham were heard of, and that those celebrations had much in common with what takes place now.  Christmas is a relatively new development with very old features.  Christmas is in fact a relatively new way of characterizing a very old tradition and celebration; one that was old when Christianity came to exist.

It's doubtful anyone living believes Jesus was actually born on December 25.  It was decided his birth should be celebrated on that date long after he died.  The early Christians were diligent, even ruthless, in their suppression of pagan beliefs, but could do nothing to alter the arrival of the winter solstice or the fact that it had been celebrated for many, many years as the time at which Light inexorably began its triumph over Dark, and the Sun born or reborn.

The winter solstice had long been considered for obvious reasons a time for celebration of Helios, Sol Invictus, Mithras and other gods associated with the Sun.  These gods were worshiped during Christianity's development in the Roman Empire; other Sun gods were worshiped outside the Empire, and before it.

Early Christian leaders and thinkers were no doubt aware of the fact that Mithras was claimed to have been born on December 25th, in the presence of shepherds and three kings.  The Church Fathers were disturbed by many things about the worship of Mithras, which included a sacred communal meal of bread and wine, the bread marked with crosses according to certain depictions of the ritual.  They were also no doubt aware the winter solstice was a time for gift-giving, for the Saturnalia in fact, when the roles of master and slave were reversed.

I'm not one who thinks that but for an accident or two, Mithras would have become universally worshipped in the West rather than Christ.  Males only were allowed to become initiates to his mysteries, and it seems clear women played a significant role in Christianity's triumph over its rivals.  I don't think we would be setting up figurines of Mithras and his bull, Helios, Cautes and Cautopates instead of manger scenes if things went a bit differently 1700 years ago.

So I doubt December 25 was chosen as the day of Christ's birth solely because it was the birthday of Mithras.  But as the winter solstice was a time for universal celebration in the society in which Christianity was born and, as it were, raised, it made considerable sense for the early Church to choose it as the time at which Christ's birth would be celebrated.  It was plainly a major social and cultural event already, with significant religious overtones; it was ideal for the purpose.  And like Christianity itself, Christmas took on aspects of pagan worship and culture.  In a sense, Christ was put into Christmas, or Christmas-time, long ago.  There was a time when Christ was new to the party; a latecomer.  The Christmas we know is a conglomerate, as is Christianity.

Helios/Sol Invictus/Mithras/Jesus and their predecessor gods have been part of what we call Christmas-time for thousands of years.  The religious tone of the time is well-established and unquestionable.  More interesting is the association of Christmas-time with "peace on earth, good will towards men."

That phrase is claimed to have been part of a statement made by angels to duly astonished shepherds during the Annunciation; the announcement of the birth of Jesus.  Here there is also a dispute, however.  The dispute is over the correct translation of what was said by the angels from the original Greek of the New Testament.  Pagans of the time thought the Gospels to have been written by persons whose Greek was very bad, but I don't know if that was truly the case or whether it would make a difference in this case.

It seems that more ancient versions of the text are believed by scholars to be more appropriately translated as "peace to those men with whom God/Jesus is pleased" or words to that effect.  Peace, therefore, is bestowed on those who have the good will of God/Jesus.  This is a different sentiment of the season than that with which most of us are familiar.  If we're to have good will towards men (instead of God having that good will), it may be we shouldn't have good will towards all men at Christmas-time, but only to those men who please God.  As the statement is made in connection with the birth of Jesus, it would seem those who please God are those who believe in Jesus as God.

If this is correct, TMOC wouldn't be good will, friendliness towards, or tolerance of all, but only of Christians.  A sobering thought for those of us who have believed good will was to be extended to all at this time of the year, but one that may make more sense given the context in which the Gospel was written.  Is this in fact the True Meaning?

Merry Christmas to all.  Perhaps.  But whether the good will we're supposed to feel at this time of the year is towards all or only a portion of humanity, we may be grateful, as the great Tom Lehrer sang regarding National Brotherhood Week, that Christmas-time doesn't last all year.