February 14th, 2010

Religious Quislings

A quisling is a traitor who collaborates with the enemy.  The name comes from Vidkun Quisling, a Norwegian politician who aided Nazi Germany to conquer his own people and then ruled the collaborationist government they set up.  The term indicates one who, for personal gain, is willing to sell out his own people without regard for the worth or moral standing of the one  with whom they are collaborating.  They don’t care what suffering they inflict or whom they benefit as long as they are co-beneficiaries.

When one approaches the Christian faith, and the Bible especially, it is unavoidable that some of the things found there will disturb.  Deeply.  But this disturbance is far from being the end of the story.  I would like to argue that much of the time what is disturbing arises from an incomplete understanding of what is going on in the story, misunderstandings of the text and in some cases problematic translations.  What interests me, perhaps most, about these problems of scripture is the varied ways people react to them.  Some put them out of mind altogether, some search earnestly for exonerating circumstances and others are willing to write them off as the writer’s human error.   Others, more fanatical in my estimation, see this as unfaithful to the text and the faith.  They take the hard line that God’s actions are always recorded exactly in the text, always right and always beyond the need for justification.  Theologically, they often shelter under what is called the divine command theory, which is the theory that God can never do wrong because right are wrong are defined by his will alone.

To me this amounts to nothing more than divine might makes divine right, and is an abortion of the very idea of right and wrong, good or evil.  Beyond this, I have to say I am very personally disturbed by the mentality of someone who claims to be perfectly comfortable with the grotesque punishments commonly attributed to Hell, such that they can say (no matter what sort of life a person lived, what suffering they endured, what horrors they lived through) that any person truly deserves eternal torture if they did not acknowledge Christ in life.

Beyond this, I have heard many (whom I count as friends, by the way) go so far as to say these grotesque punishments exist for the glory of God.  For my part, if I believed their assessment of the Christian faith were correct and I believed the words of the scriptures actually disclosed that the god it purports to reveal was the sort of god who revels in that kind of unmerciful torture, I’d have no part in it.  And most Christians, I believe, when faced with the problem thus stated would have to qualify and mitigate God’s love of inflicting suffering before they would exclude themselves from agreeing with me.  But not everyone.

I can understand the drive to be consistent in theology, to make one’s beliefs black and white, and to refuse to use theology to excise the unpleasant parts of the scriptures, but I still find it disturbing when someone can actually revel in the cruelty of God and claim it brings him glory.  To me this is the epitome of the religious quisling.  A religious quisling is one who is so bent upon a fanatical following of God (at times for eternal personal gain) that they lose the ability to see other human beings, outside the elect, as worthy of sympathy or pity.  They are so bent upon “pure” theology and the benefits they think they receive from it that they are hardened toward what the theology makes of the rest of humanity, how it says God will treat them, and how they treat their neighbor as a result.

Perhaps this is an unfair caricature, and I personally can only name a few that I feel it applies to, but I think the caricature is important as a balance against the caricature within Evangelical theology that there can be no identification between Christians and those outside the faith, regardless of whether or not both are human.  It is a dangerous message that a person is Christian first and human second and that, when it comes to God, there is no such thing as betraying your fellow human being.

February 13th, 2010

On Gonzo Theology

It seems that with the emergent church movement we saw an increase in the popularity of theological books that were not written exactly as theology and not exactly as simple memoir or confession, books that were intensely personal and subjective with a commitment to recounting thoughts and reactions honestly rather than conforming them to what the author knew to be safe or agreeable.  As literature, I found them to be a mixed bag.  I liked the idea of approaching faith in that genuine human way, but it was not necessarily something I needed to read about.  After all, the point as I saw it, was that we can all live our lives and our faiths in an unpretentious open way, allow ourselves to be unvarnished and sincere and be all the better for it.  I did not need someone to do this for me.

My frustration with this genre of writing comes from the fact that I know too many people who love reading it, but read it as an end in itself.  It’s a counterpoint or entertainment or something to emulate but not an approach to life.  For my part I can’t think of any reason to read Blue Like Jazz more than once.  It’s not a bad book and I have used it with others as a conversation starter, but it contains no great insights you are going to miss on the first read.  It just disappoints me when I hear about people adapting it as a play or using one of its ideas for a gimicky evangelism project.  The point of the book is that Theology is meant to be lived out, wrestled with, contested and argued about over beer.  Be messy, unvarnished, enjoy the company of people who seem outwardly not to belong in church and don’t worry if, in the end, you don’t look too much like you belong in church either.

This approach to theology, getting into the thick of it, embedding and living in it without any pretense to objective distance seems to me to draw a natural, if humorous, parallel to the Gonzo approach to journalism-hence the title of the site.  I’m not a big fan of gonzo journalism, but I am a big fan of the subjective end of truth.  Truth doesn’t seem worthy of its title unless it has the power to change hearts and minds, and this does not occur on some ideal plane of objective abstraction, but in the gritty and ambiguous realm of human life.  So it goes.