The Decline and Fall of Christianity?

I'm reading yet another of those books, written at or around 1900, roughly speaking, which contrasts ancient philosophy and religion with Christianity, and asserts Christianity is in some mysterious (pun perhaps intended) way superior, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say of superior appeal.

This particular book professes in its title that it addresses the conflict of religions in the Roman Empire, but seems to be primarily interested in Stoicism and Christianity.  Only passing mentions of the great pagan cults of the early Empire, thus far.

I fear that the primary reason the author feels Stoicism "failed" while Christianity triumphed is that Stoicism is too gloomy.  Relying almost entirely on quotations from Marcus Aurelius, the author asserts that Stoicism, though admirable in many respects, could only manage an attitude of weary resignation to the universe, not the joyful acceptance of it found in Christianity.  Stoicism's God was abstract, while that of Christianity intensely personal;  the God of the Christians was a loving father, "Abba."  The prodigal son was welcomed by a wronged but loving parent who ran to embrace him.

If the author had read Epictetus (he doesn't mention him) he might feel differently.  Marcus Aurelius, we know, was thought of as somehow unmanly by the more "muscular" Christian apologists such as Chesterton, who in touting Christianity had a disturbing tendency to refer to his nanny and fairy tales, and C.S. Lewis, who decided to end his charming tales of Narnia with the annihilation of his heroes and heroines in a train accident, and may or may not have had a nanny.

But the author, however, does a good job in referencing the simplicity of the early Christian message and the fact that it was not directed to those who could and did frequent philosophers and read their works.  The message was addressed to the "common" and contrasted them favorably with the Pharisee and the rich man.  Although it taught many of the ideas accepted by philosophy, and indeed the Stoics (e.g. that God permeates the universe and we are part of him, or he is in us) it did so in such a fashion that they could be accepted by those without philosophical training.  The philosophical Christians came later, bringing with them and incorporating into Christianity what they learned from Plato, Aristotle, Seneca, etc., just as the many Christian converts throughout the Empire brought with them pagan religious practices and customs of their homelands.  Christianity thus managed to incorporate what all found attractive in religion or religious thought by most of the citizens of the empire.  As a religion, it assimilated, and continued to assimilate for some centuries to come.  It was a remarkable achievement.

Gradually, Christianity became organized.  As it became the favorite of the emperors, and bishops were granted imperium in various respects, including in some cases high positions within the empire, it took on the aspects of the empire, even became the empire in some sense where the empire failed. 

The attractiveness and simplicity of the message functioned to make it popular in a time when people were seeking salvation and eternal life; the pagan cults which did the same were obscure and occult, and their initiates were often sworn to secrecy.  Christianity's appeal was universal. 

With organization, though, came power and power corrupts, as we know, and has I think corrupted for many centuries.  It had magic, but doesn't seem to have it any longer.  There are and have been those who purport to bring back the ancient simplicity of its message, but this likely is no longer possible. 

And so perhaps organized Christianity finds itself in much the same position as the Empire found itself at the time Christianity first appeared and gradually spread.  Still well organized, powerful, following ancient customs and rituals, but lacking in the ability to inspire.  I wonder what will take its place.

Enthusiasm and Analysis; Fatuity and Focus

I find myself becoming more and more convinced that we only think when we are faced with a problem that is capable of resolution, and that when we are not engaged in such a task, we simply stop thinking, or perhaps defer thought until we are once more faced with something useful to do.  When we're not busy with an actual task, we tend to occupy ourselves with fancies of various sorts, and suffer as a result--unless we understand and accept that we are doing something different from what we do when we think.

I should note that here I'm using "think" in a sense some might consider narrow.  I'm not contending that there is no brain activity involved in anything but problem-solving or decision-making.  Obviously, we dream, we imagine, we meditate, we do things which don't require the application of intelligence with some frequency, even most of the time.  I mean "think" rationally, judging which means are appropriate to result in certain ends, for example, or seeking explanations for phenomena based on an assessment of circumstances and causes and effects.  I mean it, in other words, in the way Dewey did in philosophy, and as I think most people involved in completing tasks in ordinary, day-to-day life mean it.

Two things in particular have made me speculate along these line.  One is reading the Memoirs of General U. S. Grant (I use his military title as they are memoirs of his military career).  His presidency most of us remember as notable for its corruption and its especially haphazard nature.  He himself was considered by many to be sullen, morose and given to drink.  His Memoirs, however, are very well written.  I'm apparently not the first to be impressed by his clear, simple, intelligent style, or to wonder at it given his reputation.  He is precise in his narrative, and has a dry, understated wit.  He is straightforward; what he deplores (like the Mexican War) he deplores flatly and without qualification; he addresses what he admires in much the same way.  It is an admirable book.

He wrote it while dying of cancer, and deeply in debt.  He wrote it in the hope its sale would provide for his family when he was gone.  He finished it shortly before he died and it sold well, achieving his purpose.

His actions during the Civil War seem also to have been the result of a focused analysis of how to achieve the defeat of the Confederacy in the shortest possible period of time.  He did so through the relentless, savage application of superior resources and by the acceptance of the doctrine of "total war" ably assisted by his friend Sherman, who seems to have been intent on demonstrating the truth of his comment that war is all hell.

Given a task to perform or a problem to solve, Grant seems to have thought quite well.

But a greater motivation to ponder this possibility resulted from watching (portions of) a remarkable series on the History Channel entitled Ancient Aliens.  It constitutes basically a review (I won't say study) of various ancient ruins and interviews of several sadly well-known advocates of the view that the Earth was visited long ago by extraterrestrials who if they did not themselves create these wondrous monuments assisted or inspired our dull, ignorant ancestors sufficiently enough to assure their creation.  I'm something of an archaeology buff, and am ashamed to report it was through this series that I first became familiar with the site of Pumapunku (or Puma Punku or Puma Punka, it seems) in Bolivia, which those luminaries interviewed contend is incredibly old (15,000 years) and could only have been built through use of machines and only planned by people who had a system of writing, although it seems there was no such system.  I will assume the gentleman making this claim is aware that the Incas were very accomplished builders although they had no writing, but communicated through knotted rope, and either does not believe it or thinks their construction skills were not all they've been made out to be.

It's difficult to find anything about these ruins written by actual archaeologists on the Internet, although those who favor the alien explanation abound, but suffice it to say that when you encounter their writing claims regarding the age and construction of the site are much more tempered.

What is it that makes people see such ruins and think the only explanation for them is alien intervention?  I think this results at least in part from the fact that we cannot be sure just how and why they were made, as they were made long ago and no records were kept.  We don't often encounter people who maintain that the ancient Greeks or Romans were beneficiaries of well-meaning alien super-intelligences, although their achievements were remarkable, because we have records regarding their construction.  But in the absence of any clear evidence that will actually resolve the question many of us tend to stop thinking and start--dreaming.

Regarding Natural Law

The belief that there is something called "Natural Law" has been around for quite some time.  Since at least the time of the Stoics, it has been claimed as an unquestionable guide to conduct.  In its great days, Roman jurisprudence was informed by the belief.  One can see its influence in medieval thinkers such as Aquinas, and in the thinkers of the Enlightenment.  It's influence on those we call the Founders of this great republic was profound.

Like all claims that morality may have an objective basis, or worse yet to some a divine basis, it has been the subject of attack if not derision in intellectual circles for quite a number of years, but my recollection is that even in the remote time when I was receiving a philosophical education there were hints that it might be having a kind of renewal.  Aquinas's name was being whispered by some back then.  "Should old Aquinas be forgot and never brought to mind?" I remember a visiting professor singing during a meeting of our university philosophy club--not very well, and to some nervous titters by us undergrads, and stern looks from the members of our very modern (back then in any case) philosophy department.

I confess I have a certain fondness for the concept of Natural Law, which I suppose is to be expected in an admirer of the Stoics. and Cicero, that hybrid Stoic-Academic.  And it seems to me that some, at least, of the objections made to it may be addressed.

First, I think it's quite possible to recognize Natural Law without believing it to be of divine origin.  The universe exists, as do we humans, whether we are creatures of a divine creator or not.  Created or uncreated, the universe, and human beings, have characteristics which can be observed and regarding which intelligent inferences can be made.  Certain characteristics can be said to lead to certain conduct.  Certain characteristics and desires seem to be shared. 

Second, it's not necessary to believe in absolute laws, or laws founded in some kind of unchangeable certainty, applicable in all circumstances.  Warranted conclusions may be drawn based on available evidence, which are not absolute but are recognized as being subject to modification as necessary--just as secular laws are understood to be subject to amendment or repeal.  Even as the "laws" of science are understood to be subject to modification.

It may be that Natural Law understood in this fashion won't satisfy those who deny that morality can have any objective basis apart from humanity.  However, it doesn't seem to me that their satisfaction is of much importance.  For my part, though, the fact that morality is essentially human is neither surprising nor a sign that it must necessarily be defective or inadequate in some sense.  We are as much a part of nature as anything else.  Our thoughts and desires are influenced by the universe of which we are a part, and they in turn influence our conduct in the universe, which influence other creatures and things in the universe.  To speak of them as not being "objective" in the sense other constituents of the universe may be objective seems, to me, to be dependent on the view that they are not part of the universe in some sense.

If they're not part of the universe, though, just what are they supposed to be?  Is it possible that the critics of Natural Law themselves assume there are things outside or beyond nature?  Or are they as much victims of the "quest for certainty" as those they criticize, and have come to believe that without absolute certainty all is subjective, relative?

The Motionless Mind

Dualism may be the fundamental error in Western thought--in our assessment of the universe and our place in it, and therefore in what we do in it.  There are problems with viewing the mind as something distinct from the body.  The mind becomes a kind of receiver of transmissions from the external world; it is passive.  Or a citadel; where we are protected from the world.  Or our only access to that which is said to be beyond the universe.  Or what sets us apart from the rest of the universe, i.e. those creatures which have the misfortune of being something other than human, and gives us a kind of dominion over it.  Sometimes we maintain that our minds are the only means by which we can ascertain what is really true.  Sometimes we come to consider our thoughts and feelings as existing apart from the universe--they are private, subjective, relative, they cannot be considered objective.

Perhaps this dualism enters into Eastern thought as well.  There seems in some instances to be a desire to detach the mind from the body, not to mention the rest of the world, in pursuit of the ultimate.

For a time, one can "detach" oneself from the "rest of the world" in a certain sense.  One can sit motionless and do nothing, or stay in one's room, or meditate, or pray.  There may be benefits in doing so in certain cases.  But these are peculiarly selfish activities, if one can use that word.  They may be dangerous activities in some cases.  Chances are excellent that we would in any case act soon enough, as we'll become hungry or thirsty, at least.    That damn body keeps interrupting our contemplation, or self-absorption.  Worse yet, other people or things do, as well.

The view that the mind is somehow distinct from all else strikes me as puzzling.  There doesn't seem to me to be anything particularly dismal about being a living organism which necessarily interacts with its environment and other organisms.  It seems quite natural, in fact.  Unless, I suppose, one hates the environment with which one must necessarily interact or others which inhabit it.  But that is something I think could properly be called unnatural--or at least futile.

This dualism pervades traditional philosophy.  The "problems" of the external world and other minds seem to follow from this view as a matter of logic.  So, in strangely similar ways, do the views that morality is a matter of absolutes or is completely subjective.

But it seems clear that the mind is not something separate.  We act and react.  Our thoughts, feelings and desires are not private, as they result from our involvement in the world and have consequences in the world.  They don't simply "exist" somewhere in the mind.  They are, as Dewey maintains, part of our conduct, part of what we do as living creatures.

The stoics and some of the other ancients realized this as well, I think.  It was part of their conception of humanity as a functioning part of the universe, albeit a special part.  Those who maintain the stoics were supremely selfish misconstrue them.  Recognizing that there are things beyond our control which we should not allow to influence us--especially to dismay us--was a kind of practical wisdom.  It wasn't intended to be a means by which we separate ourselves from the universe and our fellow creatures, as it is essential to Stoicism that we honor and respect the universe and others.

Somehow, we came to believe that we are apart from not only the world, but our own bodies.  It would be interesting to explore how this happened.  Do we blame Plato and other Greek thinkers, because of their view that what can change is inferior?  Do we blame religion and its focus on a presumed other world, much more important than this one?  Yeats wrote of our neglect of "monuments of unaging intellect."  But why assume change, a necessary condition of growth, is inappropriate? 

I think it would be useful to rid ourselves of this fantasy.  Assume, arguendo, that that we're merely transients in this world, on our way to another, which may be either heaven or hell; assume even that this is the only world.  In what sense do either of these views mean that we should not live better lives, and better ourselves and others?  The mind is not something unchanging, unmoving, or a mere observer; it's simply a part of us, as we are parts of the universe.

On the Connections between Religion and Morality

One of the many things Augustus boasted of in his Res Gestae, which he thoughtfully had inscribed for our benefit in various parts of the empire, was his assiduous restoration and dedication of temples of the gods.  He names those who were so honored, but I won't repeat them here.

Augustus and others of his time were concerned that Rome had gone astray by forgetting or at least ignoring ancestral pieties.  As a result, Rome had been plunged into civil war, and its citizens were degenerating, indulging in innumerable vices and sometimes succumbing to the depraved charms of outlandish religions, primarily of weird, oriental (decidedly un-Roman) origins.   Augustus therefore felt it necessary to legislate morality, and actively preached the benefits of the simple, rigorous, religious and chaste lifestyle of the old Romans in the Senate and elsewhere.  If Suetonius and others are any indication, he was ignored by most Romans, including members of his family in particular.  Nevertheless, he was cheered on in his efforts by many, including Horace and Virgil.

Of course, this is a story we're familiar with; indeed its been repeated so often that this familiarity may be seen to breed a certain contempt.  We hear today as we've heard for centuries that we're degenerating and that this degeneration is the result of our failure to be religious, or more properly our failure to be religious in the sense that our fathers and mothers reputedly were.  That is to say, our failure to be Christian enough here in the West, and apparently our failure to be Muslim enough elsewhere.

Christians of a historical bent may feel somewhat uncomfortable in taking this position.  They may recall that Christianity was once perceived as a depraved oriental cult and that its prevalence was said to be the reason for the fall of the Roman Empire, as late as Gibbon but especially during the fall of the empire.  The early Church Fathers spent a significant portion of their energies denying that Rome must return to worship of traditional pagan deities in order to retain its glory.  Some cynical souls may speculate that the Church's incorporation of many aspects of pagan religions was motivated by a desire to placate the feelings of those who felt that abandoning the old ways was wrong, and harmful.

Must one be religious--in particular traditionally religious--in order to be moral, to live an ethical life?  I don't see how this proposition can be maintained.  Even the religious have been known to admit now and then, perhaps grudgingly, that atheists have lived highly moral lives.  Christian morality may be different in some respects from pagan morality, but pagan philosophers, Platonic, Aristotelian, Stoic, Cynic and even Epicurean championed high moral standards and had no need to rely on the very personal God of Christianity in order to do so.  This has even been acknowledged by Christians--think of Dante placing the great pagan philosophers rather comfortably in the first circle of hell; they were not deserving of the horrors he delighted in visiting on other citizens of that place, many of whom were Christian.

If the pagan philosophers managed to promulgate high moral standards without recourse to "religion" as organized religions conceive it, it would seem it's very possible to do so, and even to live by those standards, without religion as such.  Why then are we so frequently being told otherwise?

Some may maintain that one must at least believe in some kind of law-giver God in order to be moral, but that doesn't seem to work, either, nor does it seem that some kind of creator God is required.  Certainly systems of morality were derived in the past and are still derived from the belief in natural laws, or the wisdom of living in accordance with nature.  But these systems are justified based on nature itself; they don't necessarily require that nature have been specifically created by a God for some purpose.

So perhaps it isn't necessary to be religious to be moral.  It's simply necessary to be moral, and morality isn't necessarily grounded in what most believe to be religion, although it may be grounded in wisdom.  Those who claim we must "return" to religion, and especially a certain kind of religion, to save ourselves from depravity may therefore do so because they think that most of us can't be wise if left to ourselves, or because they feel a certain religion is exclusively true, or for other reasons which aren't all that compelling or honorable.