God's Image and Likeness

As most if not all of us know, it's written in the Book of Genesis that God made us in his image and likeness.  Somewhat strangely, God's portrayed there as speaking to himself prior to our creation.  "Let us make man [or mankind, or human beings, depending on the translation] in our image, in our likeness" God muses, or suggests to himself.

It happens that there were (and are) others besides the Hebrews and their successors in interest in Genesis who believe that we're the image and likeness of God or the gods, or at least believed that God or the gods resemble us to a startling degree.  The ancient Greek and Roman pagans, for example.

Certain of the ancients portrayed their gods as being hybrids, odd mixtures of humans and animals.  The ancient Egyptians did this, of course.  Certain cultures conceived of them as being particular animals.

It's interesting to speculate on the reasons for our tendency to worship divinities so like ourselves (at least, I find it interesting); our tendency, in other words, to worship ourselves.  The observation that this is what we do is so commonplace that it's thought perfectly natural or to be expected.  So we say things like "if horses had a god, it would be a horse."  Very well, then.  In that case, why do we so think and expect?

The simple fact is that physically, we're not particularly godlike.  If physical attractiveness or ability are worthy of worship or are considered to be aspects of divinity, a human god would seem unworthy.  There are animals far more graceful, more beautiful than we are as a rule.  There are animals faster, stronger than we are; animals that fly though we cannot; animals that are physically superior to us in many ways.  Why would anyone think that God or the gods would look like us, appear to be like us or resemble us, i.e. that we're the image or likeness of a deity?

The belief that humans are the image of God would appear to require a level of self-regard which is baseless almost to the point of lunacy.  Nonetheless, that has been and may even remain the belief of many.  Perhaps the apparent silliness of such a conceit led the religious to maintain that God or the gods were, in effect, super-humans, that is to say exceedingly beautiful, powerful and knowledgeable humans who are also better than normal humans in that they're not mortal.

That may have been the case with, e.g., the ancient Greek and Romans, but wouldn't seem to include the ancient Hebrews, who weren't inclined to picture God as having the physical form of a human being, portraying God variously as a burning bush or column of fire, etc.  But the God of the ancient Hebrews had various human characteristics nonetheless, if not physical attributes.  He was a jealous God, and could be an angry and vengeful one as well.  These characteristics are not those one would expect an almighty being to have, but are uniquely those of humans among the creatures of God, as far as we know.  The ancient Greek and Romans similarly portrayed their gods as having these human emotional characteristics and others, such as lust. 

So it appears that at least in recorded history, there's been a tendency to anthropomorphize the divine in one way or another.  Perhaps this came about due to the fact that animals came to be domesticated and we came to employ technology to alter our environment and so came in our opinion to dominate and tame the world.  Genesis of course indicates this was God's intent, to give us authority over the world and its other, lesser, creatures.  Not knowing much of anything else about the world, we may have come to believe that we were the supreme beings of creation, and thought that the Lord of creation would necessarily be like us, only grander.  Such a view would also be consistent with what came to be the hierarchical nature of our societies; as we typically had kings or oligarchs, so would the world in general.

Even so, it's difficult not to think the supreme being would be limited by being or appearing to be human in any significant manner.  This seems clear enough now, given our knowledge of the vastness of the universe and the resulting knowledge that we humans and our planet are almost unimaginably insignificant in comparison.  The creator or intelligence inherent in the universe probably would not be something which looks like us or is like us.  Perhaps our gods were in the past not considered to be supreme in the sense which is common at this time.  They had limited authority and power, peculiar to believers and their place in the world (universe) rather than authority over the entire universe.

We know that pagan philosophers in the West came to think the Olympian gods were not in fact real, but were meant to be representatives of the deity or aspects of the divine portrayed in a way comprehensible to the common people.  The "god of the philosophers" wasn't peculiarly human or like a human.  The philosophers were largely Deists or pantheists, like the Stoics.

The notion of God as perfect, all-good, omnipotent, omniscient is so unlike any notion we can reasonably have of ourselves that it's plainly unreasonable to think that we're created in God's image and likeness.  As that notion was entertained by pagan philosophers and as early Christians were eager to accommodate Christianity to philosophy, the Christian doctrine that God became man generated problems it took centuries to resolve.  Whether they were actually resolved is questionable.  The claim that Jesus was at one and the same time fully human and fully divine is unsatisfactory, but it was necessary for the heresies which maintained that he was not fully divine while human to be quashed, and quashed they were, though in a most mysterious way.

It seems unsurprising that particularly in ancient times, we worshipped gods which were strangely similar to ourselves.  But it also seems clear that an almighty God of the universe wouldn't be like us, wouldn't be especially or exclusively concerned with us and our affairs and how we act, or what we eat, or who we have sex with, or whether we keep holy the Sabbath day.  Christopher Hitchens claimed that religion is a relic of the selfish childhood of our species.  I don't think that's the case as I don't think a belief in the "god of the philosophers" for example can be considered childish, but religions which make the claim humans are significantly like God and our affairs God's special concerns may be.

Regarding Al Capp

I'm not sure what brings him to my mind, but here he is wandering about it, that most perplexing cartoonist, Al Capp.  Liberal in the 1950s, conservative in the 1960s and 1970s, unbearably smug and insulting at times as when visiting John Lennon and Yoko Ono during their much touted time in bed (not Lennon's finest moment, true); creator of the comic strip Li'l Abner, and very much a public figure of his times.  There must have been something about those days which prompted intellectuals of sorts to appear on various TV shows, and something about such as Johnny Carson (and before him Jack Parr) and Dick Cavett which prompted them to seek them out as guests.  That doesn't seem the case any more.  Perhaps there are no public figures who purport to be intellectuals anymore, or nobody to patronize them, no audience for them.

I suspect he's been brought forth by my memory as a kind of tonic in response to these remarkable times here in our Great Republic, and the sense of foreboding I feel, given the likelihood that its President will soon be one of two people for whom I have no respect or liking.  Also the sense of chagrin at what seems to be a potentially catastrophic failure of our political system, already necessarily corrupt due in part to the ruling of those who are supposed to be among the greatest jurists of our land.

 I' ve often wished Mencken or Bierce were alive to comment on this dark age.  I'd settle for someone like William F. Buckley, Jr., or his old friend, Gore Vidal; Walter Lippmann would provide solace as well.  Christopher Hitchens would have gone into a frenzy.  When it comes to editorial cartoons, I wish Pat Oliphant was still working.

Those old enough will remember that, depending on his mood, Capp could be quite the satirist; and, somewhat remarkably for a cartoonist, he could even be rather subtle in his satire.  I cherish the memory of the Schmoos and the Kigmies.  I even think fondly of Fearless Fosdick, now and then.  Sadie Hawkins Day, Dogpatch and the Yokums are part of Americana.   But Capp was by most accounts a very disagreeable, angry and vituperative man, with several unfortunate characteristics, such as propositioning uninterested women.  Like too many artists and intellectuals, his ability doesn't entirely surmount his personal flaws and this leads me, at least, to doubt his worthiness.

Still, he and others like Walt Kelly, creator of Pogo, were more adroit satirists than cartoonists of our time because they were more subtle in their political and social satire.  There's no question that cartoonists now lampoon political and cultural figures, but they do so in a more obvious manner.  Those figures appear in cartoon strips and do and say what one expects them to given the opinions of the artist.  This is sometimes funny, sometimes too blatant to be very amusing.  Now, Capp and Kelly would do much the same thing now and then.  I remember a character in Pogo clearly based on Spiro Agnew, and Capp wasn't above putting such as Ted Kennedy in his strips as characters under other names.  The case of Joan Baez appearing as Joanie Phoanie is notorious, and resulted in litigation.

But given his angry and seemingly malicious character, I have to wonder whether he would if he lived now merely contribute to the choleric nature of our politics, which I think contributes to the current chaos.  I wouldn't necessarily object to the mocking of either of what are being called the "presumptive nominees" of their parties, provided it's done well.  But I imagine him as being not content with satire, and inclined not merely to draw but to rant and not just in his cartoons.  At every opportunity.  He likely would, in other words, do little more than add to the thoughtless noise.  And we have more than enough of that now.

The Busybody God

Now and then I wonder why it is that some of us believe the God who created the unimaginably vast universe is so small.

"Small" as in petty, mean, paltry, pettifogging.  God as busybody, consumed with the thought that someone somewhere is doing something sinful, which is to say something prohibited, something that we his creatures shall not do on pain of penalty, even eternal damnation, and eager to ferret it out.  A God who peers through keyholes, as it were, or watches us balefully through heavenly binoculars when we think he's not looking.  A God who is an omnipotent version of Santa Claus but who does not merely withhold gifts when we're naughty, and instead punishes us either directly or through his agents on earth, or through the manipulation of natural phenomena as such as Pat Robertson would have it, hurling hurricanes at those who displease him and anyone else who happens to be in the way.

A God who requires that we wear or not wear certain clothes, eat or not eat certain food, attend particular and regular ceremonies at designated locations, sleep only with certain other humans in certain circumstances, say certain prayers, worship only him, make others worship only him, or failing that persecute those who do not worship only him in a variety of ways.  Read or not read certain books, see only certain things.  The list is nearly as endless as this endlessly demanding and jealous God is said to be.

We may speculate that this Busybody God is one it should be expected we would envision, being busybodies ourselves.  Or that the concept of such a God would occur to us inevitably if we presume that God must be concerned with humans primarily or exclusively.  As to the latter, I don't think the Busybody God is necessarily one we would choose to worship if we make such a presumption.  Such a God of limited concern need not be excessively mean, only of much restricted scope and majesty.

If we accept a Divinity creating or pervading the entire universe, how is it even possible for us to conceive it as being so concerned with such trivial matters?  It would seem a profoundly stupid conceit, even delusional, unless we thought for some reason at this point in time that the universe is, in fact, immeasurably smaller than we know it to be.  Absent that it's as if we thought God created the universe all for the equivalent of a speck of sand he perpetually studies and manipulates to the exclusion of all else.  It is a kind of insanity, a super-narcissism.

It is also, however, a stunning diminishment of the Deity.  Why would the God of this astounding universe be at all concerned with the minutiae some say is of such significance as to merit his retribution?  Why, indeed, would an all-powerful, all-knowing God seek retribution, or be jealous (of what?) or angry?  God would have to be neurotic at best in order to be fascinated with such things or to harbor such feelings.

Clearly, those who believe in a Busybody God do the Deity no credit; they may even be said to defame him.  The Busybody God is not merely anthropomorphic.  The Busybody God does not merely have human characteristics; he is attributed some of the characteristics of humans that make us most unworthy.  The Busybody God is unseemly.

I maintain that some conceptions of God are more reasonable than others.  This may not please the atheists among us, who sometimes seem inclined to claim that any belief in God is so absurd it is meaningless to say one form of belief is better than another.  But I think it is more reasonable to think that the Deity is not troubled by sexual preferences, clothes, food and such other matters it is said consume him, which are more properly considered concerns appropriate only to what Christopher Hitchens called the childhood of our species.

Belief in God is not necessarily childish; but it is all too possible to hold beliefs regarding God which are childish.  Thus the Busybody God and his adherents.

The Greatest Show on Earth

I'm afraid it's time for the grotesque circus of American politics to pull into town once more.  Mid-term elections loom and the presidential election is coming, as unavoidable as death but not so reassuringly final.  It's altogether fitting that Godzilla has arisen again to flatten our cities.  He's a precursor of sorts.  The freak show of our politics has monsters of its own to display which, though not so large as those on the Silver Screen, may be more destructive in the long run.

Already it seems as if Ms. Clinton is to be the Democratic nominee, or would be if the Republicans have their way.  I personally dread the possibility of what Christopher Hitchens called the Clinton-family drama playing out yet again in the White House.  Doubtless she's more clever than her obnoxious lecher of a husband, but she appears equally venal and ambitious.  All of our politicians may have those characteristics, of course, of necessity here in the land where money is protected speech.  But one longs for variety, even in a freak show.  Surely there are newcomers to the political scene, ready to be bought and to take their places on stage.

Comments regarding her age and health are not unexpected, though it seems early to begin such attacks and they come ill from the pudgy pundit Karl Rove.  But her husband relentlessly commented regarding the age of Bob Dole all those years ago, and it's difficult for the Clintons to complain greatly as a result.  The Republicans may want to give this a rest until their nominee is chosen, though.

Just who will be the Republican nominee is unknown.  Those strikingly strange individuals we've heard of already may not last.  However, it can't be doubted that whoever is chosen will be at least as odd.  What sane, reasonable person would want to be President of the United States?  Who could put up with the miserable hypocrisy, posturing, buying and selling; the wretched kowtowing to virtually anyone with money and influence, without feeling such a loathing of self and others as to make suicide seem the only dignified option?  Only a monster.  Only a freak.

It's difficult to believe that we've managed to create a system which requires the election of those lacking in either principle or intelligence, but we've done just that.  We can't claim to have done so intentionally, but may as well have thought to do so all along given the near-perfection of the system in obtaining such a result.  At best our politicians are confused, dull figures, likely to say whatever they think will please those they're speaking to at any given time, then to forget what was said and to whom.  Perhaps it is not the wise but the opportunistic who truly live in the moment.

Of course every circus requires its carnies, its shills, but we've seen to that as well.  These inhabit our media, or are consultants to the stars of the show or the media, or are party functionaries or lackeys.  We listen to them, as they're as much part of the show as the politicians. 

It's indeed a great show, and a most important one, and the seeming inevitability of it makes me wonder whether the opponents of democracy have been right.  But there must be some option other than totalitarianism or a dictatorship or oligarchy, and these are what it seems those who oppose democracy generally conclude is required.  Something a bit closer to a democracy.

The corruption inherent in the system could perhaps be limited by the imposition of restrictions on the extent to which money can be used to influence politicians and elections, but our Supreme Court has seen to it that such restrictions cannot be imposed, at least until such time as a majority of them have died.  Term limits might help.  Viable parties in addition to the Democrats and Republicans might do so as well.

Perhaps our best option is to limit the powers available to our politicians.  The less able they are to regulate us for the benefit of those who do what is required to get them elected and keep them in power the better off we are.

What is the likelihood of any real change occurring, however?  Given our tendency to avoid change something remarkable would be required, and what would be remarkable in these times and at the same time possible is likely to be dramatically harmful as well.  So it's on with the show for now.  This is it, as Bugs and his friends would say.

Regarding Newman and his Apologia

The saintly John Henry Newman, Prince of the Church of Rome, whose elevation to sainthood took place with would have been thought celerity before the race to canonize John Paul II, wrote his Apologia pro Vita Sua ostensibly in response to an ill-advised comment by Charles Kingsley.  I've read and enjoyed reading some of Kingsley's breezy works on history, but must agree that Newman made a fool of him in his reply, and that he was able to do so in large part because Kingsley's remark was stupid and his efforts to defend it even more stupid. 

I say "ostensibly" because in addition to a meticulous rebuttal, the Apologia is an extended explanation and defense of Newman's religious beliefs and life, especially regarding his famous, or infamous depending on one's perspective, abandonment of the Anglican Church and conversion to the One Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church.  Newman was in effect given the opportunity to defend Roman Catholicism and apparently did so with great effectiveness.

I say "apparently" because this seems to be the reaction of those who read this work, but also because I find it difficult, if not impossible, to understand why Newman's conversion was the subject of such controversy.  I also find it difficult to understand or appreciate the distinctions between "High Anglicanism" and Catholicism, which presumably were of such significance as to render the conversion so controversial.  I suspect this is a difficulty which would be encountered by most who read the Apologia now.

Of course I can recognize that nationalism plays a part in the disputes between these churches.  All know that the grotesque Henry VIII had a falling out with the Church of Rome as it would not consent to his divorce of Queen Catherine and its assertion of authority over things sacred and profane Henry and others deemed to be the concerns of the English or of their rulers.  Since then the English have been sometimes virulently anti-papist.

The doctrinal differences, though, are beyond my comprehension or at least my patience, and regrettably this work is quite concerned with those differences, as might be expected.  It's difficult to believe that such differences were, and evidently are, still taken to be of great importance.  Even more difficult to believe is the extent to which these differences motivated seemingly intelligent people to devote extraordinary time, thought and effort to addressing them and the praise of such efforts which resulted.

My attitude is, I suppose, yet another indication of the extent to which traditional religions fail to excite or influence in these times.  While I'm not an atheist and don't take quite the savagely joyous delight others do in their decline, I'm unable to consider this failure unfortunate.

I must admit that I feel that Newman was in many respects a most peculiar man.  He remarks on the fact that early in his life he came to doubt the reality of the "visible world."  Presumably, he felt instead that there was a real or at least more real world that is not visible for some reason.  This invisible world would, I would think, strike most people as less discernible and comprehensible than the visible one.  To the extent that what is real should be something one can discern and understand, I would think the "visible world" would be more real than an invisible one. 

But it would seem that to Newman this was not the case; the less we know of something the more real it becomes according to this curious logic.  Or, perhaps, he believed the real is something we "know" of in a sense we can't know anything in the "visible world."

Then there is Newman's statement Christopher Hitchens enjoyed quoting, to the effect that the Catholic Church takes the position that it would be better for the universe and all that's in it to be destroyed than for anyone to intentionally tell a lie, or steal a farthing.  I suppose such a contention is to be expected from a person who felt the "visible world" is not real.  Who cares if the not-real is destroyed?  Such an attitude would make the remark appear less chilling and callous.

But it wouldn't, really, would it?  That's because we all know the "visible world" is in fact real, as we treat it as real all the time; it is, actually, the only thing we can treat with at all--we wouldn't "treat" but for the "visible world" because we're part of it.

There is something wrong with someone who believes the "visible world" is not real.  It may be the fact that their lives are testaments to the fact that they disregard what they say, or it may be the fact that if they really do believe what they say they disdain the world and all that's in it.  This breeds fanaticism, absolutism and intolerance.

Peculiar indeed, from my perspective.  But that seems to be one of the aspects of traditional religions, in the West at least.  The real and true are someplace else, unrelated to the world in which we live.  If they are apart from the world in which we live, then what takes place in that world is unimportant.  Those who believe such stuff are better off dead, even according to their own religion.

Homage to Hitchens

I've just finished Christopher Hitchens' short biography of Thomas Jefferson, Thomas Jefferson: Author of America, and being reminded thereby of how well he wrote thought I'd devote some time and thought and space, here, to express some admiration for him and his work.  I tend to think a little less of Jefferson than he did.  In fact, I think of Jefferson as being in many respects something of a self-righteous hypocrite, but there's no doubting his significance.  But with Hitchens its possible to read and enjoy even when his subject matter is disagreeable.

I haven't read the books by which I assume he is, or perhaps even will be, remembered--his denunciations of religion and defense of atheism.  I know well enough his views on these topics, I think, from reading those shorter denunciations which would appear now and then online or in certain magazines, and his work on Thomas Paine.  I'm familiar enough with the arguments and the examples, at least as familiar as I want to be.  I think he was a bit extreme in some of his comments on these and other issues and people; he didn't understate, ever, though of course he could be ironic.

I admire his style and am sympathetic with many, but not all, of his opinions.  I sometimes wonder why I am so impressed by those who can write well.  Perhaps it comes from being a lawyer.  Legal writing is seldom eloquent and almost never witty, though it generally manages to be clear.  My admiration of style in writing leads me to forgive or at least tolerate those with whom I disagree who can write well.  Gore Vidal, who once considered Hitchens a kind of successor, wrote very well I think, but would express opinions now and then I thought absurd.  Nonetheless, I enjoyed reading him almost always.

Those that pass for intellectuals in these sad times often seem incapable of writing admirably, though they are more than capable of writing extensively, even relentlessly.  Most of our commentators seem to have adopted a declamatory style which I find tiresome.  Those that comment verbally are either boorish or pedantic.  This in combination with the fact that they are ubiquitous leads me to despair now and then, but also now and then I encounter someone capable of writing well, and feel a kind of tranquility.  Encountering someone who can think well and write well is an increasingly rare joy.

I find it interesting that what we call 9/11 resulted in a change in his status among the intelligentsia.  His railings against Islamic fundamentalism seem to make perfect sense given his views on religion generally, so the fact that his former comrades on the Left turned against him because of his support for actions against that fundamentalism is somewhat surprising.  This can be explained in part if their disagreement was with his support for certain actions, like the war in Iraq, but it seems broader-based.  He also burned bridges by his contempt for Bill Clinton and other liberal icons.

It strikes me that he was, for the most part, consistent in his thought and writing--based on what I've read, in any case.  He was a self-described contrarian who was just that.  Individuals are becoming scarce, though many claim to be individuals.  Self-styled individuals lurking in their bunkers awaiting government agents are merely deluded, however.  Anger doesn't make an individual, though it can make trouble for others.

Those who have wit and style, those that can write well, seem to be less objectionable than others, at least to me.  Even when they support acts or state views I oppose, I find them interesting and worthy of respect.  When I respect someone, I don't take them for granted, I don't treat them lightly.  It's impossible to feel contempt for those you respect or to disregard them.  One has to take them into account.

That's why respect is important, far more important than love, I think, because love is always reserved to a few.  The key to tolerance of others, the only thing that might save us yet, is respect.  Self-respect may even do the trick, as self-respect assumes the existence of thoughts, emotions and conduct which are unworthy.

I think we must add Hitchens to Mencken and Beirce as fierce, witty, eloquent critics of our society, culture and times, and mourn his passing as we mourn their absence.

Terry Eagleton on Christianity, or perhaps God, or in any case "the God Debate"

I take the position that debate on the question whether God exists is futile.  I nonetheless annoy myself by now and then reading books which attempt to address the question.  I'm annoyed by the fact that none of the books I've read make what I consider a significant or intelligent contribution to the debate, but far more annoyed by the fact that I continue reading them, which indicates either that I don't really believe the debate is futile or that I enjoy futile debates.

Most recently, I've been reading Terry Eagleton's book, based on his lectures, Reason, Faith and Revolution:  Reflections on the God Debate.  I remain annoyed.

I'm not annoyed by the fact that he takes such as Dawkins and Hitchens to task, as I find them annoying on this issue as well.  I tend to agree with Eagleton that they can be arrogant and abrasive on the issues of God and religion, and that they are sometimes uninformed regarding them.  I think they are not above setting up straw men and beating them, rigorously and tiresomely.  What they have to say about the lack of proof (or the impossibility of proof) of God, and the oppressive and violent nature and history of organized religion, to the extent what they say is valid, has been said many times before, it seems to me.

Nor am I annoyed by the fact that he argues that the values of the Enlightment, science, and liberalism have been perverted and twisted.  I don't find it annoying that he points out that belief in Progress through Reason (note the capital letters) is often naive, and dangerous.  I tend to agree with him that things which cannot be explained or absolutely established through the scientific method or reason nevertheless are significant and have meaning.  I am not even annoyed by the fact that he is apparently a Marxist, and complains about the evils of capitalism. 

What I find annoying is the fact that he says he supports and, I think, even believes in Christianity, properly understood, and then makes no effort to explain why he does so, or at least no effort I can discern.

He appears to feel that the Gospels, properly understood (and it seems the Old Testament as well), are revolutionary, and preach some sort of life which is radically anti-social, anti-family, and indeed anti-relgious, in the sense that they do not sanction a belief in a God who must be placated in some fashion through worship and sacrifice, or who is the basis of some absolute and restrictive code of conduct.  He goes so far as to say at one point that the existence of a Supreme Being, or at least proof of such a being's existence, was not really of significance to Aquinas and other Christian philosophers, which may suprise some who have read the efforts of Aquinas and others towards that proof.

Although he doesn't seem to like the phrase "liberation theology" what he seems to be describing is the kind of view of Christ and Christianity which was popular in some circles immediately after Vatican II, and which I recall resulted in guitar masses and priests who made chalices out of artillery shells and protested the Vietnam War and marched for civil rights and did all sorts of socially relevant things in my distant youth.  He believes, as many others have, that Christianity betrayed itself and has been doing so for roughly the period from the death of Christ to Vatican II (although Paul, Augustine and Aquinas and certain others have been true to the true faith, in various respects).

This is well enough, but I would have been grateful if he had tried to support his claims regarding Christianity in detail.  He seems to assume that we all will know why Christianity is actually what he believes it to be, which is odd as he claims that most declared Christians are among those who believe in a twisted version of Christianity.  Also, he says virtually nothing at all regarding the divinity of Christ, which I think is one of the essential aspects of Christianity.  Even accepting that this cannot be established to the satisfaction of such as Dawkins and Hitchens, and that this fact is not and should not be determinative of what one feels, I think it is incumbent on someone who professes to be a Christian (or whatever) and believes others should be as well to explain why they are Christian and why others should be, in some comprehensible fashion.  Otherwise, they would do us all a favor by saying, quite simply, that is what they believe but they cannot explain why.

Which, as I think of it, might help end this futile debate, or at least help end my fascination with it.