If I Ever Feel Better

In the last few years, I’ve been intrigued by the work of British essayist/novelist/biographer A. N. Wilson.  Despite being an avowed atheist, Wilson seemed to be drawn to Christians of the past, writing biographies of Tolstoy, C. S. Lewis, Hillaire Belloc, Milton and…err…Christ.  His Lewis biography, the only one I have read, is simultaneously admiring and disdainful of Lewis’ belief.  The other Wilson book I’ve read, the novel My Name Is Legion, is loaded with Christ metaphors and revolves around a wild-eyed Christian mystic prophet.  For an atheist, he sure was a lot more complicated than Richard Dawkins.

But as C. S. Lewis himself commented, a serious atheist can’t be too careful with his reading - or writing.  As he has captured in two well-written articles this Easter, Wilson has found himself once again believing all the things he rejected so dramatically in his thirties.

Surprisingly, Wilson now sees his two decades of atheism as his brush with fundamentalism.  If anything, he has been encouraged back to Christianity by the intolerance and condescension he saw in his fellow unbelievers.  Maybe the side of buses isn’t as good an advertisement as actual humility.

The change-of-heart of one ageing doubter isn’t proof of anything, let alone the resurrection of Jesus, but it does challenge the common narrative of putting away “childish” beliefs with age.

The thing that amazes me most is the bravery it must take Wilson to admit his mistakes so publicly.  I can only imagine that he now reads much of his non-fiction work with the kind of embarrassment most of us only experience when seeing photos of our teenage selves.  At least C. S. Lewis converted before he made a name as a writer.  Wilson is going to have to live with his contributions to the cause he now rejects.  And good luck to him.

If you believe the magazines and blogs I read, President Obama is “bringing science back”.  Apparently like Justin Timberlake he’s reintroducing us to something we might not have realised ever went away.

“Science” in this case is a bit of a problematic term.  It doesn’t just mean knowledge resulting from experimentation and examination - it’s used to refer to a whole lot of policies and ethical decisions that are pretty strongly associated with liberal values.  Perhaps it’s because of late the Right has been so vehemently opposed to scientific findings (e.g. climate change) we’ve come to associate liberal causes with science.  Even when I agree with the policy or approach, I’m slightly concerned by the consequences of conflating the two, particularly when it allows people to leave their own ethics and principles unexamined.

Take one of the most frequently cited examples of Obama’s Scientific Renaissance - stem cell research.  Now, removing restrictions on this kind of research could have real benefits and it brings the US into line with most other developed countries.  However, the decision whether or not to allow stem cell research is not about science vs religion.  It’s about one set of values vs another.  Science tells us whether we can experiment on stem cells and what we might hope to find.  It doesn’t tell us whether we should.  I thought a recent article in Slate summarised it well

That decision rests on whether you think there are any negative consequences to the action, and if so, whether those consequences are outweighed by the potential benefits.  It’s about values.  I think that in a democracy, the ethical views of the majority should not be outweighted by those of the few, but that’s not the same thing as one set of priorities being “scientific” and therefore inherently more valid.

Or let’s look at climate change.  The science seems to me to be unambiguous on the major points, even if many of the detailed predicitions are open to debate.  The Earth is getting hotter and will probably get a lot hotter unless we reduce the amount of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere.  There are some who debate this, but that’s the scientific question.  The question of what we then do about climate change is much less about the science and much more about who is responsible for fixing it.

What costs should we incur now to prevent catastrophe?  Who should bear these costs?  Do rich countries have a responsibility to act first or should the developing world slow its growth to save us all?  These are all questions of values and politics and ethics.  There is no scientific solution that identifies what level of wealth is worth sacrificing now to protect our grandchildren.  No equation says what a Bangladeshi life is worth in terms of SUV trips to the mall.  I believe that urgent and drastic action on climate change by developed nations is needed, but it’s not purely about science.

Maybe it’s because I’m both a social liberal and a Christian that I am especially aware of the tensions.  I know that my values and my politics are influenced by so many factors: my faith, my upbringing, my education (five years of economic rationalist indoctrination included) and my career.  I know what’s informed by facts and evidence and what’s my gut instinct or sense of what’s right.  I may expect you to listen to evidence and proof, but I know that there are many things I will never be able to convince you of because they exist somewhere outside of the scientific method.

Science is often said to be the anthesis of faith and I hear it often.  “Oh, I used to believe that, until I discovered science,” a guy commented to me last year.  We see a lot of this kind of talk from the New Atheists.  Religion is dangerous because it shuts off inquiry and leads to blind obedience, they say.  It needs to be stopped.  But wait a moment: is that a view backed up by scientific evidence?

I remember watching Richard Dawkins on TV talk about the dangers of faith and it hit me that the moment he talks about religion is the moment he stops being a scientist.  Dawkins’ views on religion may be driven by his passion for science, but that’s not the same as being scientific.  Has he subjected his hypotheses about the dangers of religion to experimentation?  Has he conducted a comprehensive cohort study or a rigorous metaanalysis to see whether exposure to religious belief leads to violence or intolerance or stupidity?  Has he determined the causation, controlled for other influences and found a statistically significant variation between believers and atheists?  Because until then, he’s squarely in the world of values and ethics and opinion.

I’m pleased to see science taking a strong place in government.  I think there should be more of it.  I’m all for evidence-based policy and subjecting our presuppositions to scrutiny.  I just want everyone to take a deep breath and remember that when a scientist moves beyond what is to what should be, they’re just the same as the rest of us, weighing up the pros and cons and making a judgement.  It may be a good thing, but it’s not science.

By now, you’ve probably heard about the group of British atheists who have sponsored a series of bus ads that tell people that there’s “probably no god” and that they should just get on with life.  It’s a clever campaign, fitting with the more (dare I say) evangelistic flavour of 21st century atheism but with much less militancy and condecension than a Hitchens or a Dawkins (even if Dawkins gave it his blessing).

Even as a believer, I’ve got no problem with the campaign - freedom of belief and expression and all that.  I was, however, struck by a recent article in The Guardian applauding the campaign.  James Randerson makes the comment that “Atheists are by definition free-thinkers who don’t follow the crowd.”  Really?  I thought that by definition atheists were people who didn’t believe in a deity.  Maybe there’s more to the Greek root than I knew.

I can see how this view came about.  In the Western world, Christianity was dominant for so long and so integral in the development of the academic and intellectual world that coming out as a non-believer was clearly bucking a trend.  This would have even been true up until the turn of the last century in many quarters and would still be the case in some families and cultures.  But for the average Guardian reader?  I’m not so sure.

Can someone who grew up in an atheist or agnostic family, attended secular schools and universities and works in a white collar profession in a large Western city be automatically deemed a free-thinker for their own atheism?  This is not to say that atheists who grow up with other atheists are sheep-like or uninquiring.  Many come to atheism based on profound intellectual inquiry and through deep struggle.  But there are also environments in which atheism (or some other disbelief) is the default position.

My maternal grandfather, a long-time agnostic, would often take my brother and I aside when we were younger.  “I know that you respect your parents deeply,” he would say, “but you can come to these own decisions for yourself.”  I used to laugh to myself afterwards.  Having come to unbelief within a devoutly Catholic family, he felt strongly that free-thought was the polar opposite of religion.  To my mind, though, my beliefs were my own.  They were the product of my own quest and my own investigations.

I can’t claim that my parents or environment have played no role in the evolution of my faith.  It’s highly probable that in another family, I would never have been exposed to the experiences, ideas, people and books that have led me here.  So I’m not going to call myself a free-thinker - just someone who thinks as hard as they can and is aware of some of their blindspots.  And I think that’s the most any of us can really claim.

I thought I was being clever the other week with my post about a Christian version of Rock Band.  Little did I know, it actually exists - and it’s called Guitar Praise.  I guess no one ever went broke underestimating the need for crap Christian versions of mainstream products.

According to the testimonials, the best thing about it is that your kids won’t go singing those pesky secular song lyrics.  All that careful homeschooling won’t go to waste!

They also have a Christian version of Dance Dance Revolution.  I am not going to link to it to protect you.

From the evil geniuses who brought you Rock Band and Guitar Hero, we now present the new interactive music game, Worship Band!  Available now for Wii, Xbox 360 and PS3.  With exciting new action features:

• Point like Darlene Zschech from Hillsong!
• Close your eyes earnestly!
• Change the lyrics to the new Coldplay album to make them about Jesus!
• Create just the right spritual atmosphere to increase tithing!

Featuring tunes by Casting Crowns, Sanctus Real, Chris Tomlin and that band that wrote “Jesus Is My Friend”.

Last month, one of my musical heroes passed through my city and I didn’t go and see him play.  Part of that was because his recent music isn’t doing it for me like it used to.  The other part was a slight feeling of betrayal, one that just won’t leave me.

See, David Bazan (formerly of Pedro the Lion) meant something very special to me once upon a time.  It seemed like it was possible to be a serious, cool Christian guy, operating in the world of indie rock and being frank about your faith and your doubts.  I’m someone with a LOT of doubt, but strong beliefs as well - a contradiction and a tension that makes it a little difficult to fit in with either the believers or the unbelievers.   Pedro the Lion’s songs captured that feeling.

Now maybe I had him up on too high a pedestal, one Bazan would have been the first to tell me to get him right off.   I sang “Of Minor Prophets and Their Prostitute Wives” to a bible study (easier than preparing a study on Haggai, and catchier).  I quoted “The Secret of the Easy Yoke” in a sermon.  I loved his irreverence mixed with deep conviction.  He seemed to be like me, only cooler and more talented.  The only way from that kind of adulation is down.

But last year when I was in Seattle, I read an interview in the local indie rag where Bazan said he no longer considered himself a Christian.  He was an agnostic, probably.  It was serendipitous - I was in Seattle for one week only and the story wasn’t reported widely - and it broke my heart a little bit.  Clearly I’m not the only one who felt that way - Joel Hartse in the latest Patrol Magazine clearly went through all the same emotions.

For me, it was kind of like reading Tanya Levin’s journey into unbelief (blogged about here) last year, when I could see so many parallels with my own journey.  When you see yourself walking down the same path as someone and then you see the destination they reach, it seems like only a matter of time before you get there too.

At the same time, it hardens my resolve not to end up where they have.  It’s so easy to let your disillusionment win over, to let the shit you’ve seen distract you from the truth about Jesus.  I heard a Rob Bell talk earlier this year when advised people to “doubt your doubts” - to subject your anger and questioning to the same critical thinking you put your beliefs and passions through.  Because often they’re less well-grounded than the things you’ve held to all these years.  Often they don’t hold up to any kind of scrutiny.

I don’t know what’s happened to David Bazan.  I do know that I’m not him.  I’m a different David and I’ve got my own path to follow and I suspect I’m going to like where it takes me.

After hearing a lot about it, I finally read Brian McLaren’s newish book, Everything Must Change, over the weekend and I have a lot of thoughts arising from it. First of all, it was a great read and full of inspiring thoughts about the Christian response to poverty and the environment (hint: we’re for one of them and against the other). I thoroughly recommend it as a book to make you assess your own life and faith in a new light.

I do, however, have some issues that I want to discuss. These aren’t so much to do with Brian himself, and I’m wary of being one of the people who assumes they can judge his entire theology from one book, but they’re rather broader issues about how we talk about Jesus and how we talk about politics. I’ll talk about the theology (which I’m scarcely qualified to discuss) first and then the politics (which I’m much more equipped on) tomorrow.

Again, I have to say that I really appreciate Brian bringing the focus around to Jesus’ thoughts and actions to do with justice and peace. He’s at his best when he’s showing what Jesus wasn’t like and what he was concerned about. The co-option of Christianity by the forces of wealth and inequality should be a big concern and Brian is right to point out that Jesus wasn’t just here to tell us what theology to believe so we don’t get burnt.

The problem is really that there’s not much in the Jesus described in Everything Must Change to set him apart from all other wise moral teachers of history. His message is largely that we should live within limits, care for each other and respect God’s creation. These are not controversial thoughts, especially within the political left.

I was left with the feeling that the Jesus on display here was the ultimate left-wing performance artist; acting out and describing a moral and ethical system that people had come up with before and would come up with again. Kind of Mahatma Gandhi with better party tricks.

In essence, McLaren is pointing out the social justice elements within the Christian tradition, without showing any clear distinction between it and any other social tradition. There’s really nothing in this picture of Jesus to attract anyone from an agnostic or a Buddhist background. He’s really just a way for the culturally Christian to embed their social concerns into their own religious framework.

Maybe McLaren isn’t concerned about Christianity having any superior claims over other ethical or religious traditions - and considering the appalling superiority complex we Christians often demonstrate, I don’t really blame him for moving away from that kind of comparison. But I am left with the question “Why Jesus?” Do I listen to Jesus’ message because I was brought up a Christian and he’s the logical go-to man? Or is there genuinely something about the carpenter from Nazareth that was different and special? What was it about his life and death and life-after-death that makes him more worthy of my time and commitment than Gandhi or Jose Ramos-Horta or Nelson Mandela or any other prophet of love and tolerance?

I think there is. I think the fact that he was the Son of God and had a supernatural ministry and has given us his Holy Spirit to work in us and make us more like him is important. You just wouldn’t get that from reading Everything Must Change.

Seeing thousands of happy young Catholics on the streets of Sydney this week has really impressed me.  For someone whose impression of Catholicism has been dominated by old guys and long, boring services (no, wait, that’s Anglicans, right?) the youth and enthusiasm has changed my perspective.

Shame then, that the public reporting of the Pope and Cardinal Pell’s messages has mostly focused on them decrying the ills of the modern world - sex, violent entertainment, not breeding enough.  It’s one of those things where the medium and the message get a bit confused.  Apart from the robes and Stations of the Cross and so on, it’s been a highly contemporary event - live music, text message alerts to the pilgrims, a social networking site to keep in touch with friends.  Cultural trappings have been adopted but then the overall culture is condemned.

Maybe the message has been lost in communication via the media - it wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened.  But it’s a question all Christians face when looking at a culture that has so much good and so much bad.  Do we pick and choose the bits we like and use them to make our message and our church culture funkier?  Do we retreat into some kind of anti-cultural seclusion? Is there another option?

Making church culture “relevant” works sometimes.  Occasionally a kid will come for the band, stay for the faith.  But culture is more than technology and music and visual flair.  If you’re sharing a message that conflicts with the conventional wisdom, you have to realise that the people you’re speaking to are part of that culture and shaped by that culture - what they hear isn’t always what you intend.  So when you stand up and criticise that culture outright, sometimes you sound like an old man in red shoes having a whinge.

I’m not a fan of major public events and this city is full of the suckers.  Last year my sleeping and waking hours were cut through by the sound of the choppers protecting George Bush from (presumably) air-to-surface missiles during APEC.  This year my walk to work is being disrupted by a big fence around where part of World Youth Day will be held.

But they’re minor annoyances, in truth, and the amount of vitriol that is being spewed around about World Youth Day clearly has nothing to do with traffic and pedestrian movements.  It’s much more to do with the Catholic Church and how it’s viewed in sections of Australian society.  You’d think we’d moved on from old fashioned Protestant hatred of “Micks”, but it’s just been replaced by secular, liberal bile.  I’m not sure it’s any better.

The excuses are all around condoms and AIDS and kiddy-fiddling priests.  I’m pro-condom and (yes, amazing this) anti-pedophile like most folks, but do my fellow caring, sharing lefties realise that, gosh, there are actually REAL people in the Catholic Church?  That it’s not a big self-flagellating, mediaevalist mass of religious maniacs hell-bent on making every last African die of AIDS?  There’s something profoundly anti-humanist about the way humanists demonise and belittle religious believers - something I’ve discussed regarding Richard Dawkins et al.  And it makes my blood boil.

I admit, I’m biased.  I’m a Christian, a right-wing nutjob, a pre-modern, ignorant, gay-hating, sexually repressed ball of irresponsible, dangerous beliefs I’ve blindly accepted.  Actually, most people wouldn’t call me those things to my face.  Even some anti-religious people might choose to qualify it with a “Christians are like that but you’re different.”  Maybe I am, but maybe I’m not.  That’s the problem with demonising an entire section of the population - you’re going to accidentally include a hell of a lot of well-intentioned, good people.  I guess the question is whether you care.

A while ago, I had a weird dream that I went along to a synagogue. But it wasn’t all traditional - it was kind of more like the way we’re starting to do church now. It was just full of Jews talking about Judaism.

So you can imagine how hilarious I found it when Andy pointed me to the post on Out of Ur where they show the “Emerging Synagogue” movement.

Watching the video and seeing they sitting around talking exactly the way we pretentious Christians talk, except with “Judaism” instead of “Christianity” and “synagogue” instead of “church”, was mind-boggling. It almost seemed like a hoax.

Maybe next we’ll see something like “emerging” Islam and Hinduism and Taoism.