Eyre Lines

Jesus is presented throughout the gospels as a healer, but some of his most controversial healings (such as those in Luke 5:20 and Luke 7:48) involve him stating that someone’s sins are forgiven.

Now, my scientific rationalist head tells me that this is a wonderful way of healing an illness which is psychosomatic. As can be seen in, for instance, John 9:3, the thinking of the day, at least among the religious conservatives, was that any ailment was a divine punishment for some transgression, either of the individual or his forbears. This can be seen at length in the book of Job, where Job’s friends go to great lengths to try to work out how Job absolutely must have deserved all the ills with which he was being showered; of course, in the last portion of the book God is seen very explicitly to tell his friends that they are mistaken. However, Job goes against the grain of much of the Hebrew scriptures (as do Ezekiel 18  and substantial portions of Ecclesiastes, for instance Ecc. 8:14 in which the wicked prosper and the good suffer). It is hardly surprising that some of the conservatives of the day ignored these few scriptures in favour of a philosophy whereby you got only what you deserved.

Thus, if an illness were to some extent psychosomatic, with the sufferer convinced that they were being punished for some sin, being told their sins were forgiven could produce an immediate cure. At least, it could if it were believed. Jesus must have spoken with colossal authority and charisma in order for this to work.

Of course, we have little difficulty in accepting that Jesus must have spoken in just this manner, and can remember that he was said not to have performed healings when he went home to Nazareth (Mark 6:4) – it is always more difficult speaking with authority to people who remember you as a child!

However, this was met with howls of protest from the religious conservatives (labelled Scribes and Pharisees in the gospels, although it would be a mistake to consider that this conservative attitude actually typified the Pharisees of the day, still less those of later times), ostensibly because only God had the power to forgive sins. To my mind, however, the protest stemmed from the privilege of the conservatives, who were well off and respected, and saw their position as justified by their exemplary character. What could be more threatening to them than to be told that their wealth and social position was not justified by relieving the suffering of those on whom they smugly looked down?

And yet, this was a thread running through Jesus’ entire ministry. The first were to be last and the last first, the preferred companions were publicans and sinners, even the occasional prostitute or adultress, who were more worthy of heaven than the overtly religious.

Christian theology has tried repeatedly to get a grip on this principle, and has regularly failed. Conventionally, we are justified through faith alone rather than works (although James reminds us that faith without works is dead), but for the most part this has come to mean that we much have the correct intellectual appreciation of how we are, in fact, smugly justified (i.e. we must adhere to a creed or another statement of faith). And, of course, our works show that for all to appreciate…

Which leads me to contemplating the case of Rob Bell. Rob is a hugely gifted communicator, who became a “star” by founding and growing to mecachurch status the Mars Hill congregation in Grandville, Michigan, being much sought after as a visiting preacher and teacher. His “Covered in the Dust of the Rabbi” talk illustrates this . He could preach a two hour sermon to me any day (as reference to the videos I link to here and below indicates he’s very able at), and I doubt I’d look at my watch once. I pointed a Jewish friend of mine at that talk a while ago, and he responded with “boy, is he charismatic!”. Granted, he is not really a theologian, and as I agreed with my friend, the image he paints in that talk is almost certainly not authentic to the period in which Jesus was teaching, as the system of pupils of Rabbis didn’t really develop in the form he talks of until significantly later, so far as documents can reveal. However, the message of the talk is not in the slightest impaired by the fact that it probably isn’t actually historically accurate.

Incidentally, it’s probably worth pointing out that Rob may well be naturally gifted and turbo-charged by the Holy Spirit, but he also puts a huge amount of work into his craft, as another set of videos shows.

Over the last two or three years, however, Rob has been regularly vilified by the evangelical establishment for whom he was once a shining star. The reason, originally, was his book “Love Wins”, in which he has the temerity to suggest that God might actually be powerful and loving enough to not condemn significant numbers of people to endless torment. (I don’t necessarily recommend the book for reading, as it isn’t theologically rigorous and reads like one of Rob’s talks – it would be better read aloud – but there is an audiobook).

Since then, he’s compounded the felony by suggesting that homosexuality is not, in fact, a sin over and above all other sins (which is a picture I tend to get from many evangelical commentators) but an expression of one person’s love for another which should be at the very least accepted. This too is beyond the pale, as we clearly need a new category of publicans and sinners on whom to look down.

This regular condemnation has recently had a resurgence, as Rob now has a prime-time programme on Oprah’s TV network in the
States. As the link I include indicates, whereas most evangelical preachers would cut off their left arm for such an opportunity in (relatively) mainstream TV, rather than the “preaching to the choir” outlets of the regular televangelists, the fact that it is Rob who is doing this is just unacceptable.

I think I see a parallel here (although Rob would probably be uncomfortable at favourable comparison with Jesus). “Love Wins” is actually saying that everyone’s sins will be forgiven (if, indeed, they aren’t already), and his stance on homosexuality is reminiscent of Jesus’ in relation to (for instance) tax collectors. The religious conservatives are again up in arms when a charismatic and authoritative preacher suggests that God’s grace, God’s forgiveness, extends to everyone, and not just the elect few. In this case the complaints are from the increasingly Calvinistic spokesmen for “evangelistic Christianity” rather than the gospel’s “Scribes and Pharisees”.

The Pharisees, it seems, will always be with us, much like the poor.

Regular readers of my blog, of whom I now seem to have quite a few, will have noticed that posts have been few and far between lately.
I’m sorry. “Life is what happens when you are busy making other plans” as John Lennon memorably said, and in my case a whole chunk of life has got in the way. I managed to finish one post on the day I started writing this, which had been largely written for about a month. There are some others part written, but when they’ll get finished I don’t currently know.

Just under 40 years ago now, I met a wonderful girl, Nel, with whom I fell in love. We have just had our 34th wedding anniversary (we were engaged for 5 years, as we were for most of that period separated by study and by work). “The two shall become one” (Mark 10:8), and we have grown to finish each others sentences and to know by some probably perfectly natural but seemingly supernatural sense what the others mood is, and sometimes what they are thinking. Maybe Douglas Hofstadter’s “strange loops” about which I wrote recently have something to do with that; maybe I now have a rudimentary “Nel” operating within my mind. That would mean that my SR, EC, GF division (see “About”) is not the whole story of my internal architecture – but that’s an aside.

Seven years ago she had a crisis, a mental health crisis. We had had plenty of more physical crises over the preceding few years (and some of those resulted in my own PTSD, depression, anxiety and addiction, though the addiction and PTSD are no longer of significance and the depression has quite remarkably been lifted during the last 18 months), but this was an internal matter – and it was put down at the time to reactive depression and anxiety. She was in hospital for quite a while that first time, and has been back more times since than I can count without referring to diaries. However, not within the last two and a half years.

I have, however, known that all was not right, and that this was not a clear movement toward a complete recovery. In particular, her mother died a little over two years ago, and we have still not been able to finalise her estate due to the need to sell a bungalow in a bad housing market. “Hope deferred maketh the heart sick” (Prov. 13:12), and on several occasions I have persuaded her to go back to her doctor and tell him that her state of mind was, frankly, dangerous. Up to a little over three weeks ago, the result was to be told that she was reacting to stressful circumstances and that things would get better. Hope, in other words, kept getting deferred through various proposed purchasers dropping out and the diminution of a fund on which several beneficiaries were depending, including her. Houses cost money to maintain, and our ideas of value are shrinking at the same time…

Then her GP took her seriously and prescribed antidepressants for the first time in years and got community mental health services involved, and we both breathed a huge sigh of relief. And let go…

So, when the Intensive Home Treatment team made their new daily appointment for the next Tuesday and then cancelled at short notice on the basis that she was seeming somewhat better, she had no-one to catch her any more. An overdose followed the next afternoon, and via our local hospital she ended up at a private hospital specialising in psychological and psychiatric medicine – put there because the local NHS had no beds available in area. It was a pain, as it was pushing two hours by road to get there or back, but it was safe.

Over the ensuing two weeks, it became clear that the Priory Hospital, Middleton St. George was a superior establishment. They had an assessment completed within days, and a programme of psychology, occupational health and psychiatry in place. They also made a diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder, with an indication that this diagnosis might be longstanding (in fact, although in the past a therapy has been suggested which is tailored to BPD, we have not previously been told that this is her diagnosis, and “reactive” has always been part of the wording used). Borderline, it would appear, can be made significantly worse by traumatic events and stress. It also wonderfully well describes Nel’s symptoms.

On Thursday evening, however, the NHS beds manager made a decision to move her back to our local psych hospital, or which we have long experience and about which we have previously needed to complain. Suffice it to say that neither of us had any confidence in the staff, treament availabilities or the systems there. This was done at 10 minutes notice and without consultation, against Nel’s firm expressed wish for this not to happen.

Needless to say, she arrived at Bootham substantially distraught. On the basis that she declared her lack of trust of Bootham, said she wanted to go home and would not guarantee her safety if she was discharged, the hospital took steps to prevent this and committed her, initially under S.5.2 and then under S.2 of the Mental Health Act. She therefore stopped being a voluntary patient, at least for the next 28 days or until the powers that be change their view of her safety if discharged.

I would note that if I had been perchance in Bootham I would probably have said I didn’t trust them, wanted to go home and would not be able to guarantee my safety if discharged, although if a different question were asked, I would say that the chances of me injuring myself were extremely low… at least for today, as all I will normally promise on such matters is “just for today”.

There has been a difference between this time and the previous ones, and that is that up to 18 months ago, I was suffering from severe depression. A sufficient degree of depression, indeed, that I could not feel much emotion at all, if any – this is well described in Hyperbole and a half’s second depression account, which I strongly recommend to anyone who has not themselves suffered this level of depression and wants to understand it. This time, I was feeling emotions just fine, and the whole thing has hit me like a train. There is an advantage to being at a rock bottom – you can’t fall any further; the only way is up…

That’s where I left this post, part completed, six weeks ago. Nel has now been out of hospital for four weeks, and any thoughts I might have had that things would be significantly easier with her at home have disintegrated. I was at the time trying to find positives to say about the situation – and not along the lines of “this fulfills a greater purpose so it’s OK”, but on the basis that if I could find a purpose, a way of turning this to the good, that would redeem the experience at least somewhat. I find “this fulfills a greater purpose” to be too much like the sayings of Job’s comforters (which God disavowed) to regard this as an objective truth, and certainly it is something I would never say to someone in a crisis, but to find my own way forward to a positive outcome is a different matter.

Initially, the purpose I found was that in complaining to Bootham, I might improve things for other people in the future; I did that, and after a very productive exchange, they have changed their systems for moving people around in a way which should minimise the chance of such a traumatic move for anyone else in the future. Also, it turned out that Bootham has changed radically for the better, and Nel had a named nurse with considerable experience with BPD who worked with her for a couple of weeks almost daily. A week after that, Nel was home with me.

There is now a real prospect that, with this diagnosis, she will move onto a course of therapy which actually has a track record of working with BPD patients. Not, however, just yet, as a period of weekly visits for an hour or so each intervenes – and in the interim, I’m left as “main carer”. Which is fine in one sense, as I take seriously the “in sickness” part of my marriage vow, and feel it eminently right that I should be doing this.

All in all, there is a major positive here. We have a clear way forward, which has been lacking for the last seven years (since Nel was first in hospital). So “all will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of thing will be well” as Julian of Norwich put it.

Unfortunately, though, I’m scared. First of all, I’m scared that it will happen again, Nel will take another overdose and at best there will be another hospital admission, at worst she’ll miscalculate and will seriously, perhaps fatally, damage herself. Or that we’ll never get to a viable course of treatment, or that we will, and it won’t work. I can tell myself to live in the present, not the imagined future, all I like, but can’t shake the emotion. I’m also scared that I’ll fall back into the depths of the depression which was my life for over 6 years. As a result, I find it difficult to shake off a state of hyper-vigilance, which is at the very least exhausting.

In the words of Frank Herbert (probably borrowed) “fear is the mind-killer”. EC (emotional Chris) is terrified, and occasionally panicked. SR (rational Chris) can rationalise things all he likes, but this does not console EC. I need both to be singing from the same hymn sheet in order to function well, and at the moment they aren’t. It is proving very difficult to come up with ideas for posts, and even more difficult to stay on message long enough to finish them.

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Which, in the long version, continues “living one day at a time”. Sometimes a day is too long.

But just for this hour, I can finish off this post, and look for the next right thing to do. Which, as it turns out, is “make lunch”.

Some while ago, I wrote what was originally a sermon and which became a blog post putting forward a mystical interpretation of the concept of the “Kingdom of God”.  That was, let’s face it, the way in which I had arrived at a conception of the Kingdom.

Now I still think that where Paul talked about being “in Christ” or being “filled with the Spirit”, Jesus talked about “entering the Kingdom”. Different ways of talking about it, but essentially the same thing. However, I don’t think that a mystical state which is thrust on some (me, for instance, at least the first time, or, perhaps, Paul) or is attained by a huge investment of contemplation and other practices (me on later occasions, or, say, Meister Eckhart) is remotely all that is contained in this very major concept of the gospels.

Some years ago, when on retreat in the Yorkshire Dales, I took the opportunity of walks in the very scenic countryside to process what I had been learning. I spent a good part of these walks in walking prayer, or walking contemplation, or walking mindfulness – but that isn’t the point here.

One day I was on such a walk, walking down a typical Dales back road flanked by dry-stone walls mingled with hedges and bits of fencing (but always looking like a considerable barrier) when I passed a number of sheep contentedly munching on the grass verge. There were other sheep in the field beyond, but I couldn’t see any way in which the roadside sheep could have scaled or penetrated the wall-hedge-fence combination. I walked on, and about half a mile on found a farmer rounding up some more sheep on the verge there. I greeted him and said that I’d passed some more sheep about half a mile back, enquiring if they were possibly his as well – apparently they were, and he thanked me.

I commented that I couldn’t see how they’d managed to get out of the field and onto the road, and he grinned. He said it all depended on what the sheep thought – he could, on occasion, string a single piece of twine across a field, and none of the sheep would cross it, because, he thought, they didn’t think they could. On the other hand, if they saw some toothsome looking grass on the other side of a wall and thought they could get to it, nothing would stop them. They became ovine Houdinis, and could escape from anything. He reckoned that he stood little chance of working out where they’d done it apart, perhaps, from finding a lot of wool stuck in the hedge, between stones or on barbed wire, and even then it often wasn’t obvious how they’d actually managed to scramble over or through. Sheep, he said, aren’t really built either for climbing or for wiggling through small holes, but they did it anyhow. If they thought they could do it, they could do it, just as if they thought they couldn’t do it, they wouldn’t even try.

I’m inclined to think that humans work in much the same way (and it seems that Jesus, who talked of his “sheep” regularly, may have agreed), and so are the host of self-help guides you can buy – the power of positive thinking is at the root of most of them. Granted, the farmer was exaggerating (it is certainly possible to build a sheep-proof dry stone wall), but then, so are the self-help guides. An exaggeration for effect does not, however, invalidate the basic principle (something which a number of atheist critics of biblical accounts could do well to remember).

It seems from the accounts in Acts and at least one external comment (“How these Christians love each other!”) that the early Christians were living as if the Kingdom was a reality among them, according to the principles which Jesus had set down. Certainly loving one another, from the accounts, but also contributing massively into the common pot available for sustaining all. That “all” was not always restricted to Christians, either; they also loved and supported their non-Christian neighbours. It was perhaps a relatively short-lived experiment; there’s some evidence in Paul taking subscriptions to support Christians in Jerusalem, for instance, that “sell all you have and follow me” can lead to a degree of financial chaos if enough people follow it at the same time. I don’t know, but perhaps Jesus was exaggerating for effect there? Certainly by the time Christianity became the religion of empire under Constantine (and in my opinion sold its birthright for a mess of political power in the process), this was no longer characteristic. However, it’s an idea which keeps cropping up, particularly in Anabaptist strains of Christianity, and there are many smallish pockets of Christians trying something like this experiment around today.

I anticipate criticism on the basis that this is an unrealistic, idealistic way to live; the fact that there is some evidence (from Paul’s subscription) that the Jerusalem Christians had got themselves into a parlous state, and that may well have been as a result of collectively giving away more than would enable them to sustain themselves. I also anticipate criticism on the basis that empires (or modern nation states) are necessary to produce a civil society, and I may be seen as too critical of empire.

Both these criticisms have some merit if you consider the position as an “all or nothing” one. For a few people, I grant, it can be “all or nothing”; most societies can sustain a number of people living without possessions and “taking no thought for tomorrow” (Matt. 6:34), where it would be impractical for all to do so; similarly all societies have their dissidents (and a good thing it is that they do) but a society entirely composed of dissidents would fail. Unless, that is, everyone without exception were doing this, in which case there is at least a hope that it might be feasible – after all, that is Jesus’ vision.

It is not, however, an “all or nothing” situation. It is perfectly possible to live with “one foot in the kingdom of man, one foot in the kingdom of heaven” without following to the letter Jesus’ encouragement in Matt. 19:21. The history of the early church shows very many people who provided the use of their homes, money and sometimes leadership without completely abandoning their occupations or sources of income, and without them it is hard to see how the church would have spread.

Similarly, we can accept that the market economy, empires and kingdoms are for the time being necessary, even perhaps mandated by God according to Paul (Romans 13:1-7) so long as, with Walter Wink, we observe that they are fallen, among the powers and principalities which Paul also rails against (Eph. 6:12). Fallen and in need of redemption, so anything we do to bring them more into harmony with the vision of the Kingdom of God is a missional act.

These criticisms stem to a great extent from the fact that individually we can do very little to influence the market economy and the nation state. Few people have the power to do that, indeed few people who think they have the power to do that are actually right. However, while few people can make a great impact, everyone can make a little impact. We may not be called on to build the whole city of God unaided, but we can all lay a brick.

We can lay more bricks and position them better if we maintain a clear view of the objective, and the certainty that we can achieve it.

Even if it is only one brick at a time.

In the course of some editing work recently, I came across an author who always talks of the “Empire of God” (or of heaven) and seems to think this is the accepted terminology. It isn’t what I’m used to, however – what I’m used to (in the various bibles I’m most familiar with) is “Kingdom of God”. Of course, seeing something which I didn’t quite expect put me on alert, and that isn’t necessarily a bad thing, as it seems to me that the biggest single unique idea in Jesus’ words as told to us by the gospels is “the Kingdom of God”. Or, indeed, “the Empire of God”, because the term in the original is “Basilea Theou”, and “basilea” is possibly better translated as “empire” than as “kingdom” – it is, after all, the term used in Greek for the Roman Empire, and the counterpoint in the gospels is between Jesus as Lord in the Kingdom of God and Caesar as Lord in the Roman Empire. However, “king” is translated by the same word, so my set of translations originating in the King James bible, in all of which the term is “kingdom” are not wrong.

I’ve also seen it translated as “Imperial Rule” – and that’s a perfectly good translation as well, as “basilea” does duty for that as well, much like the word “reign” in English. There are, however, very few self-styled empires around these days (though see below), and those aren’t really empires (including Japan); it maybe isn’t therefore as useful a term as “kingdom”, of which there are quite a few more.

However, I’ve recently read a few American commentators who want to translate it as “the Commonwealth of God”, and there I start having problems. Saying that, I recognise that English translations all go back to the KJV and before them to Wycliffe and Tyndall, and were composed in a kingdom; it was the model of government with which the authors were familiar. A fair proportion of English speaking Christians these days do not live in a kingdom; even less of them live in something which is called an empire, though the USA is about as close as we get in the 21st century to Imperial Rome.

I will grant very readily that the earliest Christians were very egalitarian – holding property in common, giving freely and coming as close as I think Christianity has ever got to the ideals of Mark 10:21, Matt. 18:21 and Luke 18:22 (and that makes me recall “anything I say three times is true”…), and possibly even those of Mark 10:35-43. However, “commonwealth” has the baggage of a democratic system of some kind, and “basilea” definitely does not; it is a reign, and a fairly absolute reign at that. “Commonwealth”, to me, therefore detracts from the supremacy of God, the implicit requirement to ask for and follow his instructions (“praying only for knowledge of his will for us and the power to carry that out” from step 11, and “turn our will and our lives over to the care of God” from step 3 for those of you who are 12 steppers).

The Commonwealth of God would be the Kingdom of God from which God was absent.

Shifting from the language of the Gospels to that of Paul, you cannot proclaim (as was the standard declaration for early Christians) “Jesus is Lord” and think of a commonwealth. Commonwealths do not have Lords.

I think this is important, in particular because the statement “Jesus is Lord” was coined at a time when a very major part of that declaration was the implicit claim “Caesar is not Lord”, the rejection of the Empire of Rome – and today, the rejection of the idea that any of us are first British (or American, or Canadian, or Australian, or…) and secondly Christian (we can, however, reasonably do things the other way round, and walk the extra mile with the soldier of the occupying army carrying his stuff…). The call to follow Jesus (Matt. 10:37-39), to turn to God (Ez. 18) is absolute, and while there are two Great Commandments (Matt. 22:36-40) the first is to love God, the second (and lesser) is to love your neighbour.

The commonwealth deals only with the second. It’s good, but not, to my mind, what is meant by “basilea theou”. For that, I’ll stick with “Kingdom of God”.

And Jesus is Lord.

Cattle die, kinsmen die, the self dies likewise; I know one thing that never dies: the repute of each of the dead.

(Havamal, Words of the Highest, Old Norse poem; alternatively translated "word-fame lives forever")

I’ve recently finished reading “I am a Strange Loop” by the appallingly brilliant Douglas Hofstadter (Author of “Godel, Escher, Bach”). I can unheistatingly recommend either, though SL is a far easier read than GEB, for which a background in pure maths and/or formal logic is distinctly helpful, though not completely essential. However, GEB has been listed among the top 10 philosophical books of the late 20th century, and it combines philosophy, logic, number theory, music, art and humour in an unique way. I’d vote it among the top 10 thought provoking books I’ve ever read.

In SL, Hofstadter develops further an idea in GEB, namely that of the “strange loop”, arguing that consciousness and the “self” derive from self-referential loops (or systems of loops) in the brain. Setting on one side any consideration of the self as a soul or similar immaterial entity (which Hofstadter does not believe in, being an atheist and friend of Daniel Dennett, one of the “four horsemen” of the New Atheism), I find his argument fairly compelling.

One of the applications of this concept he develops in the book is the idea that we form within our own set of “strange loops” pictures of the sets of “strange loops” of those close to us (and, although he does not go into this, I would assume people who are known to us fairly well but more remotely, i.e. those who are famous, or whose writings survive them). He thus argues, taking the case of his late wife, who died far too young in her 40s, that on death our “strange loops” continue within the minds of others, albeit in a somewhat attenuated and potentially distorted form. Having lived with her for 20 years or so, he now finds, decades after her death, that he can still “channel” his wife.

Again, I find this fits nicely with my own experience. I channel my wife quite a bit of the time, but also my mother, who is still alive, and my father, who died 13 years ago. Hofstadter’s idea is that the “self” which is a “strange loop” continues in an increasingly attenuated form until all memories of it (and some of them will potentially be second-hand, third-hand or even more remote) have been forgotten. However, he omits to consider that his magnum opus, Godel, Escher, Bach, into which he has poured a fair bit of the workings of his particularly strange loop, is probably going to stay in print long after the ripples of his circle of acquaintance have died away.

Word-fame lives forever, or at least a very long time indeed compared with the fragile body of an individual. Courtesy of video, there will probably be people in 100 years who “move like Jagger”, and courtesy of GEB there will be people who “think like Hofstadter”.

This is one of a few work-rounds for a problem which arises from adopting an Aristotelean rather than a Platonic conception of how things are. Plato had a world of “ideals” which had real existence quite independently of their manifestation in the world (which he considered was always somewhat debased), and this has carried over into Christianity as, inter alia, a concept that souls are a higher level of being than bodies, and we would frankly be better off as immaterial souls. This did not work for Aristotle, who considered that qualities of things only existed insofar as they were embodied; it followed from this that the mind and the consciousness could not survive the death of the body. This was developed by Avveroes, who saw a major problem there for the concept of survival after death, and was a subject of concern for Spinoza, who developed a very idiosyncratic version of survival in which you survived because of the continued existence of the ideas which you had had within God. The more your ideas conformed to those within God, the more you survived. I’m skeptical that many people have found that idea a source of much comfort, but I could be wrong…

Now, I parted company with Plato a very long time ago (in my teens), thinking that the concept of “ideals” as having independent existence was both unnecessary to explain what I experienced and also gave rise to a set of philosophical conflicts which, to me, strongly indicated that there was a fault in the original concept. Granted, one facet of my “zap” experience has been an absolute conviction of some form of personal survival, but the specifics have been sadly lacking. The Aristotelean conception, though (which I think likely to be correct) only supports post-mortem survival if the pattern of one’s consciousness (mind, soul, spirit or whatever) is preserved in some material matrix. I have in the past tended to accept the “zap” based intuition that this is within that-which-is-God, which is similar to Spinoza’s model but allows for (for instance) affections and other feelings.

Hofstadter, however, give another way in which to some extent this could be the case. Indeed, a way in which it seems it very probably IS the case, thought not necessarily exclusively of some other mechanism.

Of course, when I listed some people whose consciousnesses I channeled, I left out one – Jesus. I work on the WWJD (what would Jesus do) principle as much as I can, and this means that I have within my own complex of strange loops a set representing Jesus.

Whose word-fame very probably will live forever…

Jason Michaeli at Tamed Cynic has just put up a post entitled “Liberalism’s Dogmatic Wasting Disease: God Does Not Change, God Does Not Suffer, and God Is Not Affected (By You)”.

Quoting David Bentley Hart, he states that God has three particular qualities, saying:-

“Apatheia: the attribute of God, held by the ancients, in which God, as perfect within himself and possessing all possibilities as actualities, is unaffected by objects outside of himself.

Impassible: the ancient doctrine that God, as perfect within himself and possessing all possibilities as actualities, does not suffer due to the actions of another.

Immutable: the ancient belief that God, as eternal and existing outside of creation, does not change.

So then…God does not change- not ever- and God is not changed- by us.”

His target, it seems to me, is not Liberalism as such, but very much all of the Process theologians and to a significant extent followers of Jurgen Moltmann (writer of “The Crucified God” inter alia). Liberalism, after all, merely demands that you do not take scripture as literal when it doesn’t have to be, that you seek to place it in its historical context and genre and that you accept that it is not necessarily the last word, but displays a progression which can still be progressing today; it is not actually necessary that you abandon these three ideas about God. I don’t know if he’s ever read Caputo, but Caputo’s “weak call” God would be so foreign to this concept as to attract even more force of words than appears in that article…

But he has a point that since the second century, Christian theologians have been deeply immersed in Platonic philosophy, and until relatively recently theology was done against that background. He has a considerable tradition behind him.

So, where does that leave those of us to stand who think that God is characterised by love, or who look to a relationship with God?

Well, nowhere. You can’t have apathetic love, and you can’t have a relationship with someone who is totally unaffected by you. You might as well suggest that Alpha Centauri loves you, or that you have a personal relationship with gravity. Or vice versa. Granted, in the case of gravity you are at least affected by it, but it is a vastly impersonal force – and that, I suggest, is what the “ancients” were getting at with their description of these qualities of God. You can see Alpha Centauri (given a decent telescope) which isn’t the case for gravity, which indeed might take that out of the running as a simile, but it is similarly extremely far removed from you. That was another quality of God on which the “ancients” were keen.

Who were these “ancients? The short answer is, Plato and his successors in Greek philosophy. Not, however, Abraham and his successors in Hebrew story; their experience was not of an impassible, distant, apathetic God, though on occasion ( for instance in some of the Psalms) they say things which might be interpreted as impassibility or immutability. However, the Hebrew scriptures also tell us of a God who sometimes changes his mind (on occasion, as with for one example Moses, or another Abraham, as a result of human argument), a God who cares deeply for his people, and a God who in the very early part of Genesis can be surprised by his creation. Also, of course, God is seen throughout the Hebrew scriptures as getting angry at the antics of his people, and if that isn’t “being changed”, I don’t know what is.

Then we have the New Testament, and Jesus (the image of the invisible God) who lives with the disciples, feels for the disciples, is frequently exasperated by them and almost always exasperated by the religiously smug. And who dies, enduring an exceptionally painful death. Not, according to the Philosophers, being affected, suffering or being changed… assuming, that is, that there is anything in the statement in Colossians 1:15.

To be fair, there is a touch of this going on in the Fourth Gospel. I’m pretty confident from comparing that gospel, and in particular the first chapter, with the work of Philo of Alexandria, that the writer was “thinking Greek”, and particularly thinking Greek philosophy. Philo was a Greek-speaking Jewish philosopher and theologian of the first half of the first century, notable for an attempted harmonisation of Platonic philosophy with the Hebrew Scriptures. Judaism of the time may have accepted Philo (he was a noted leader in Alexandria), but subsequently has more or less disavowed him as being the next best thing to Christian – and, indeed, some Church Fathers tried to paint Philo as having been a very early Christian, which he was almost certainly not.  In moving in a different direction from Philo, they were reacting against a Greek (“Hellenising”) influence which Judaism had been feeling for a long time, and which perhaps was best countered in the successful Maccabean revolt which managed to re-establish an independent Israel for a relatively short time just before the birth of Christ. Indeed, it was not until the middle ages when Judaism started playing with Greek philosophy again, in the writings of Moses Maimonedes. Other than the Fourth Gospel, the New Testament writers do not, to my mind, see God as thoroughly the God of the Philosophers, even the pseudo-Pauline writer of Colossians.

Taking scripture generally, therefore, what I see is not a picture of the God of the Philosophers. In fact, that God ends up barely, if at all, distinguishable from the God of the Deists. I don’t think Plato and Scripture can be successfully harmonised (actually, I don’t think Plato can be harmonised with reality, but that’s another story). Rev. Michaeli sees a grandeur in that God; I don’t, I see that God as being reduced to a power of nature.

The God I see in scripture, the God I experience, is not Deist, is not Platonic, is not apathetic, impassible and immutable, he is involved, caring, feeling, loving, responding – in other words, like the Jesus who was his image. To me, in truth, a picture of an apathetic God is a pathetic picture, not so much impassible as impossible.

And no, I can’t come up with something for “immutable” which doesn’t stretch the language too far for comfort. Suggestions warmly appreciated!

Following on from my previous post (about labels), I’ve just been listening to Henry Neufeld’s video explaining the mission of Energion Publications (with which I am proud to be associated).

Although it isn’t Henry’s central point, he talks there (and in the post which it’s embedded in and to which I linked) about statements of faith, sets of doctrines. Those who have read my blog from the beginning will know that I take a somewhat dim view of doctrines. I’ve perhaps moved a little since I wrote that post – now, for instance, I can see the viewpoint of the post-liberals, who see doctrinal statements as the rules of grammar for a language of description, but even then I have the problem that languages develop and adapt in practice, and what Fowler’s Modern English Usage was saying 50 years ago about rules of grammar is not necessarily what it says now.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the bases of human perception recently (and there may be a post specifically about that soon), but it seems to me that the most basic features of cognition are firstly the distinction of one thing from another, and secondly the comparison of one thing with another – the two faculties go together, though I’m inclined to think that distinction is marginally the first-born twin. It is therefore hugely natural to try to work out how, exactly, two groups are different from each other (and to a lesser extent how they are like each other). Thus the impulse to create doctrinal statements.

One really major snag with these is that as James McGrath recently linked to, one result is that protestantism has fractured itself into more than 30,000 denominations, each with slightly different doctrinal views. The article he links to perhaps slightly jokingly blames the insistence in protestantism for each believer interpreting scripture for him or herself, but I think the greater blame has to be with our impulse to create categories of distinction. Emo Philips’ celebrated joke lampoons this wonderfully.

Perhaps it is time that we looked at a different way of constructing our categories? What doctrinal statements seek to do is to create a bounded set; adherence to the doctrines creates the boundary, and you’re either in or out. There is, however, a different way of constructing a set; this is a centered set. Rather than setting a boundary, you create a centred set by looking at everyone who looks to some centering principle.

I used something like this principle in setting down the guidelines for “who is a Christian?” some years ago on the Religion Forum. There were a really wide variety of people there, including many flavours of Christianity – and the Baptists weren’t sure that the Catholics were Christians, the Catholics were pretty sure that they were the only Christians, the Anabaptists thought every one else got it wrong, and so on. Were, for instance, Jehovah’s Witnesses Christians? Or Seventh Day Adventists? Or Mormons? This mattered, as I was running the Christianity section there, in which “Christians” had wider latitude and better protection under the forum rules. I settled on the basic test of “Do they look to Christ as their leader?” No further clarification was allowed, and particularly not any concept of who or what Christ actually was. “Jesus is Lord” would do nicely, without the need to say “and saviour”. This had the particular merit of being, in essence, one of the very earliest touchstone phrases expressing Christian identity.

I find to my interest that the Vineyard Churches have this kind of thinking. At least they have it to an extent, as the article to which I link depends on the issue of direction (are you going towards Jesus or in some other direction?) and the loosest kind of centered set does not require direction, merely focus. Perhaps the distinction is too subtle, though; it’s certainly not one I’d have encouraged when setting down the guidelines! This, of course, could be summed up by the baptismal declaration “I turn to Christ”.

Vineyard are, however, a denomination among others. They have some other denominational indicators which actually make them another bounded set. I suggest that if we are ever to see a “Church Universal”, a “one church” (and I submit that that is a thoroughly biblical concept), a centered set centered on Christ is as much doctrinal requirement as it can support.

I came across a suggestion yesterday in a manuscript which was broadly an introduction to progressive Christian thinking which gave me pause. In essence, the author sought to distance himself, as a “progressive” from the term “liberal”. It would seem from what he wrote that “liberal” Christians have more or less thrown away scripture and don’t treat it at all seriously.

I tend to read a lot of blogs which are labelled “progressive”, largely courtesy of Patheos’ Progressive Christian channel. As a result, this suggestion was not new to me; I’ve seen it from quite a few writers who self-identify as “progressive”.
Now, I do tend to accept the label of “liberal” (though see my post “labels and libels”). I remember introducing myself to the curate at my current main resting place, and him saying “Oh yes, you’re the very liberal chap”. I didn’t jump down his throat, although I did wonder from where he thought that “liberal” needed expanding with “very” – at that point I hadn’t put forward any of my more adventurous thinking, of the kind I tend to indulge in when discussing with scientific rationalists, anywhere which would have been likely to get back to him, although I rather expected him to have heard that I regarded scripture as a human product rather than as divine dictation. That said, I doubt anyone in conversation with me or reading what I write would get the impression that I fail to take scripture seriously, or that I throw it away. As Marcus Borg says, I treat scripture seriously but not literally.

He was, perhaps, not far off the mark. I’m probably a little more conservative in some ways than, say, John Shelby Spong. (I owe Spong a debt of gratitude – it was seeing myself as to the traditional side of someone who was actually a bishop in the Anglican communion which encouraged me to think I might find a home there myself). However, I know a lot of people who are comfortable accepting the label “liberal” who are more traditional than I am, so within the limits of labelling, “very liberal” is probably adequate.

I also don’t see churches in which it’s clear that scripture has stopped being treated seriously or in which it is not central, with the exception of Unitarian Universalist churches I’ve visited. I will grant that some of the mainstream churches have some clergy who, in private and with an audience they expect to be sympathetic, will put forward views as liberal as mine, or even as liberal as Spong’s. It isn’t a substantial proportion, though, and is definitely not characteristic of any denomination other than UU who I’ve encountered.

The thing is, I don’t see clear water between the people labeling themselves “progressive” and those labeling themselves “liberal” as far as treatment of scripture, core beliefs or even praxis is concerned – there’s a spectrum, and one “liberal” may be more conservative in what they write than another “progressive”. As far as I can see, there are two major dividing factors, neither of them having anything to do with scriptural interpretation. Firstly, a “progressive” is likely to have previously styled themselves as “evangelical”, “charismatic” or both. Secondly, they’re likely to be American.

Taking the second first, it would seem that things are different in the States. I’m told that there, there actually are congregations which are mainstream Christian and in which scripture is far from central, and far from being taken seriously, and quite a number of clergy. Here, I couldn’t direct you to a congregation which had that character.

However, ex-evangelicals may, I think, feel a particular need to distance themselves from the label “liberal”, particularly if they’re American, where “liberal” seems to have become a term of political abuse. I rather fancy that in evangelical circles, “liberal” is also a term of theological abuse, and it may even be that our esteemed curate meant it that way, as he is an evangelical (as indeed is that church generally). For them to accept the label “liberal” may well mean that they’ve “gone over to the dark side” from the point of view of their former affiliations.

That’s sad. There’s a significant community of self-admitted liberals with whom the progressives have a huge amount in common. It is also a little irritating to me; I see a “progressive” putting forward ideas which are indistinguishable from those which I see from most “liberal” sources, but taking time to take a side-swipe at “liberal Christians” for an attitude which, by and large, they don’t have.

I do, however, also wonder whether Bishop Spong is taken as being representative of the whole of “liberal Christianity”. When reading Spong, I feel that he’s somewhat lost his connection with scripture, though he does talk about it a lot. I don’t actually think that is a true picture of what he believes and feels, it’s just that it’s the impression his books tend to produce. I do, however, position him at the extreme of liberals who are actually still within the Church, and it is a mistake to take extreme examples as representative.

I think it’s also worth mentioning that here, where I find liberal-minded clergy, they’re usually in the mainstream denominations. They do suffer in general from the fact that once they’ve dealt with maintaining an ancient and decrepit building (and frequently congregation) they have little energy left for evangelism or other outreach. Where I see a “progressive” label, I expect outreach and some commitment to evangelism (generally of the “not in your face” variety), and quite probably experiments with new styles of “doing church”. I approve of those – they’re a prominent reason why I’m inhabiting and evangelical church at the moment!

Following on from my previous post, I notice James McGrath has linked to a post from Fred Clark today. Fred is talking about Al Mohler, president of Southern Baptist seminary, who it seems is frightened about the need for some final authority. Fred quotes Al as saying “Without the Bible as the supreme and final authority in the church, we are left in what can only be described as the debilitating epistemological crisis. Put bluntly, if the Bible is not the very Word of God, bearing his full authority and trustworthiness, we do not know what Christianity is, nor do we know how to live as followers of Christ.”

Perhaps what he really hankers for is a Pope? No, I suppose not, as he’s a protestant, and protestantism went in a different direction in the 15th century. Apparently, though, just putting forward the Bible as authoritative is not enough; Fred chronicles how Al has had to add a number of additional statements as to how you should read it.

I wonder if Al has forgotten John 14:6 (NIV) “And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another advocate to help you and be with you forever”? Advocate is sometimes “comforter”, sometimes “helper”. It does rather follow from the direction of my argument in the previous post that it would be desirable to read scripture with the aid of your own inspiration via the Holy Spirit, does it not?

Mind you, this is what broadly happened following the break from the pope in the reformation, and the result is thousands of protestant denominations all of whom read bits of scripture in different ways, so perhaps this wouldn’t give President Mohler quite the confidence he is looking for. Perhaps a vote of all those who have interpreted scripture themselves? Maybe not – something tells me he is not a fan of the Jesus Seminar!

Personally, I’m inclined to say “welcome to the twenty-first century”. Nobody’s epistemology rests on absolutely firm ground any more since a succession of German, French and American philosophers and theologians have cut away the support for anything which might be called “foundational”, just as a succession of physicists have cut away the support for anything really definite, anything really solid in science.  A ” dark night of the certainty embracer” perhaps?

You never know, perhaps he will come to the wisdom of Jack Caputo, saying that God does not exist, he insists; he is a weak call to which we can do no more than say “perhaps”, and “yes, yes”.

And follow the call, with a certain amount of intellectual humility.

In my last post, I expressed some frustration with concepts of inspiration in scripture from the point of view of whether human language and concept structures could actually do justice to the content of the inspiration, and I want to develop that a little further.

Language is essentially a communication. There is a speaker or author and there is a listener or reader. What the recipient receives is not necessarily what the utterer has in mind (assuming, for a moment, that the utterer has anything remotely clear in mind, which is dubious taking the tack of my last post). In spoken English, trivial examples might be the joke exchange between two old ladies on a train:- “Is this Wembley?” No, it’s Thursday.” “So am I, let’s have a cup of tea”, or the apocryphal communication from the Western Front “Send reinforcements, we’re going to advance” becoming after many stages of passing via multiple mouths, brains and ears, “Send three and fourpence, we’re going to a dance”.

Monty Python satirises this in terms of the recording of the spoken word in the gospels in the “blessed are the cheesemakers” heard at the back of the crowd. This can be used to demonstrate one feature of hearing (or reading), that you tend to hear or read what you expect. “Blessed are the peacemakers” is not something you’d expect a Jewish resistance leader to say, so it becomes something else, if you think of Jesus as a Jewish resistance leader. In any case where you hear or read something very similar to something you already know, it tends to become what you already know (something I need to watch extremely carefully when proofreading) – take the widespread “Paris in the the spring” written in a triangle so the two “the”s are on different lines.

On the other hand, something which does actually strike home and is remembered particularly forcefully is when you do hear and register something which is novel and out of character. That, I think, is why we have the Sermon on the Mount rather than “blessed are the cheesemakers”.

I had to contend with this phenomenon a lot as a lawyer, dealing with eyewitness evidence. Eyewitness evidence of any reasonably complex situation was never straightforward; one person was adamant they had seen one thing, another had seen something completely different – and years of experience unpicking the stories led me to conclude that in general no-one was lying, they were faithfully recounting their memories. There was no getting behind the fact that that was how they had experienced what quite often was clearly not the case (from hard evidence such as CCTV or tire tracks). I made something of a speciality of weaving together the set of disparate stories and coming up with a plausible reason why each person had experienced what their testimony related, despite the fact being as I proposed, not as they proposed.

There is a clear application of these principles in the “quest for the historical Jesus”, although far more along the lines of the current “social memory” theorists than the formal rules of the Jesus Seminar.

Of course, in the case of people steeped in scripture (certainly in the cases of the gospel writers and, I think, Paul, the Septuagint Greek version of the Hebrew Scriptures), there is a set of templates of expectation into which you can fit experience. Matthew, for instance, sees the story of Jesus overwhelmingly through the eyes of previous scripture, but all of the NT writers do to some extent – and they use different scriptures and different interpretations, making the task of a systematic theologian extremely difficult. Just as one example, I have been in the process of working through a set of scriptural supports for various atonement theories; I find that Paul’s use of the word “atonement” uses the template of the Maccabean martyrs in 4 Macc. 17:12-22. The writer of Hebrews, on the other hand, wishes to see Jesus’ death both as a replacement for the Levitical sin offering sacrifices and as the scapegoat of Leviticus 8; 1 Peter 2:24 picks up the second meaning. Those two concepts are somewhat inconsistent, as the sin offerings are slaughtered and burned (in part eaten), the scapegoat is driven out. They are fine as ways of looking at something, less fine if you try to extract from them a single deep meaning – at least, a single deep meaning which preserves more than a bare outline of what the originals actually are.

This fitting of experience into templates of expectation seems to me particularly strong when I look to compare my own mystical experience with the spiritual experience of, for instance, friends in the church whose trajectory has been via the template of evangelical conversion. I think that this is cognate experience, at least, if not necessarily identical – but it is very difficult to be sure. They know in advance the terms which are applicable, such as “filled with the Holy Spirit” and “slain in the Spirit”, and it has proved nearly impossible to get them to describe what their experience has been without that terminology, in non-religiously charged and non-specialist language. I can sympathise; it was extremely difficult for me to develop a description which actually conveyed something of the experience without using words and concepts previously laid down for me by others, and if I do describe it that way, it seems at the same time pedestrian and self-contradictory (how, for instance, can the sense of self at the same time expand towards the universal and be reduced to near-nonexistence?).

What we experience, in other words, tends to be what we expect to experience, or at least what we have language and concept structures for. I wouldn’t go quite as far as saying that our language and concept structures create our experiences, but they definitely modify them and constrain them. Where we have an experience which really doesn’t fit with our existing concept structures and language, we will tend to torture those concept structures and language until they are a better fit (as, I would argue, the New Testament writers were doing, and it may be that this fuels the torturing of language which I find typical of modern philosophers – that is to say most philosophers later than the 18th century).

Even then, I think it isn’t necessarily a good “fit”.

However, what would I expect if a God as reasonably commonly conceived looked to communicate directly with a human being, which is the basis of the concept of inspiration – at least, the scriptural form of it? I fancy I would expect two snippets from scripture to have “got is right”: Isaiah 55:8 ““For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,” declares the LORD” and 1 Cor. 13:12 “For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.”

I would expect some recipients to go mad, or babble incoherently (speaking in tongues?). I would expect some to keep to themselves what, in any attempt to express it, seemed totally inadequate. I would expect some to try to coin new language to express what they had experienced (which we see to an extent in, for instance, Paul coming up with neologisms). I would expect some to launch into a paradoxical and extremely allegorical rehashing of motifs in existing scripture (which I think we see in Revelation). I would expect some to twist meanings in existing scripture to produce new forms (which I think we see all over the Bible, not restricted to the NT, and in a lot of Rabbinic midrash, and which finds meanings in existing wordings which the original authors would not have dreamed existed). I would expect those with poetic gifts to speak or write metaphor, allegory and myth. Finally, I would expect some to write or speak in a way wholly incomprehensible to those around them (which might not be the same thing as babbling incoherently).

I would not expect anyone to come up with insights which were far removed from anything for which they had existing language or concept structures; their minds would just not contain the building blocks to construct these – though the poets would be likely to do best at this, talking around the insight rather than attempting to tackle it directly. Moreover, if anyone actually did overcome their internal constraints in a radical and sustained way, I would not expect their words to be remembered, or if written copied and circulated; you need readers and listeners who understand at least something of the contents as well as writers and speakers in order for communication to happen.

Some years ago, an internet acquaintance suggested to me that I took too pessimistic a view of God’s ability to communicate exactly what he wanted to communicate; I did not think God was sufficiently powerful to do this. This is not the case – what I think is that he took far too optimistic a view of man’s ability to understand what God communicates.

It may well be that God has been communicating everything we may ever need to know about life, the universe and everything, and that we have not yet got to the stage of being able to understand it. We may never get there, but we can, I think, build steadily on the shoulders of those who have had a stab at it previously.

In fact, central to peak mystical experiences (including mine) is the feeling that, for a moment, you do understand everything – and as soon as the moment passes, you don’t. Maybe that’s a correct feeling?