An Interesting Idea

I was rummaging about on the internet earlier and discovered a very intriguing website , called AskPhilosophers.org. Even more intriguing is the fact that one of my old teachers, Dr. Peter S. Fosl--a man about whom I cannot speak highly enough--is one of the professional responders. In looking through some of the questions my classical skeptic former philosophy instructor responded to, one of them struck me, because he introduces an idea that I find highly provocative for Eastern Orthodox thoughts on Christianity.

The question asked of him was:

All major religions have miracles in their sacred texts, presumably to prove their divine origins. Don't these alleged miracles cancel each other out, and can this be extrapolated to religions as a whole?

Peter's response to this was:

I remember once posing the following question to a class I was teaching: if we take the religions of the world, isn't it true that at most one can be right and that perhaps none are right? Every single student in the class answered in the negative, holding that all can be right. When I pointed out that such an option would violate the principle of non-contradiction in the sense that it would mean that both X is true and X is not true (where X is a religious doctrine, for example that Jesus is God). To my amazement, every student was comfortable with tossing out the principle of non-contradiction.

At the time I figured that the event showed that people are more interested in moral and political practices of tolerance and even simple manners than with logic. But I later thought to myself that my students might be onto something about the curious way "truth" plays out in religious discourses. There may be a sense in which it's wrong to use ideas of truth and falsehood as they appear in the sciences, philosophy, law, etc. But if one takes that option, one does have to accept, I think, a set of consequences that most religious believers would be loathe to tolerate (for example, that believing in Jesus may have little to do with salvation).

In short, by common standards of logic and truth, the occurrence different sets of miracles can't be evidence for inconsistent religious doctrines. The miracles might have all occurred (though I follow Hume in thinking we can't have good reasons for thinking that they have); but even if they have, under standard meanings of truth, at best they can give evidence for one truth.

I added the bold emphasis to the part of Peter's response that I'd like to take on. Here, I think that my philosophically skeptic teacher has hit on something that we, as Orthodox Christians, would agree on, to a point. I would like to point out that I was not in the class at the time that he polled this questions--else there would have been at least one dissenting opinion about the nature of religious truth. It is logical...only one Way leads to salvation, but that was is not a mental adherence to dogmas, but rather, the mercy enacted by God who became flesh so that our flesh might be made divine. But, I digress.

The point I wanted to think about is the idea that belief in Jesus may not, in fact, have very much to do with salvation. I think this is especially true when one tries to define what one means by the word belief. If by 'belief' we mean only the mental acceptance of certain religious ideas, whereby these ideas serve as a kind of starting point for all our perceptions about reality (this, I think, could be considered what 99.9% of Western Christians understand belief to be), then this sort of "belief" really does not amount to much more than being another way of saying "It is my opinion that ___." Plato taught us all, some time ago, that in democratic societies, the problem with opinions is that everyone has one, and you have to affirm, on some level, that these opinions are all of equal worth...which, of course, leads to the tragic flaw in truly democratic societies, that a shoemaker's opinion about international policy would be just as valuable as a professional diplomat's. In this sort of set-up, it is easy to see how 'beliefs' get relativized. After all, if a belief is nothing more than an opinion about the nature of reality, no one is in any position to say that your beliefs are incorrect. We value, after all, the ability of everyone to have a difference of opinion. Again, in a world like, belief in Jesus Christ may have absolutely nothing to do with salvation at all--in fact, I would go so far as to say that it does not have anything to do with salvation, at all. My 'belief' may be that Jesus was a Jew, therefore if I want to emulate him, I must become a Jew. The predicate here is perfectly consistent with my premise, that is, my 'belief.'

However, this 'belief' (which is really no more than an opinion), has nothing whatsoever to do with salvation, as Orthodox Christians understand the term. For us, belief is not about mental adherence, but about living encounter--about the experience of Jesus Christ, whom we know because we meet him. Of course, this is a mystical proposition--and one that cannot be judged from the outside. This is why to philosophers, metaphysics is such a tricky dilemma. There is the recognition that we ought to be able to understand certain concepts--Truth, Justice, Beauty, etc--but in the end, no metaphysical system is able to really, perfectly lay it out. That is because belief has nothing to do with mental adherence, nor it is it an opinion; belief comes from experience, the same way that a scientist who studies gravity believes that objects fall to the ground at 9.8m/s/s, that is how Orthodox Christians believe in Christ as the savior: because we experience it.

...

I'm probably not done with this subject, but I'll gladly entertain comments.

Pax vobiscum

Diversion: Christmas Meme

I'm not normally into memes, but DonVA (of Ramblings of a Single Dad) tagged me, and in the interest of holiday cheer, I'll play along. Incidentally, though, this often too-cool for its own good heart of mine was warmed considerably by his revent post. I highly reccomend reading his entry for the Christmas meme...particularly if you need reassurance that there are some great people still around in the world.

As for Christmas memories...

Well, I don't have anything that remotely compares to Don's, but what I do have are certain feelings about Christmas that were informed from early memories. When was a very young, Christmas Eve was a whirlwind; I remember that breathless anticipation, and the equally breathless exhaustion, of making both sets of grandparents' houses, as well as both my mom and my dad's grandmothes' houses, on the same night. These were 12 hours of gifts, foods, and fun times. We'd start for lunch at my mom's parents' house, and have sandwiches and deli chips (a tradition that is still upheld on Christmas Eve, although now that some of us are Orthodox, and still in the Fast, there is soy cheese and Light n' Life bologna on some of the trays), and we'd exchange gifts there. Then we'd all load up and go to my grandmother's mother's house, where my mom's family had their major get-together (her first cousins--all 7 of them, and their families), where we had the big, celebratory feasting dinner, followed by more gifts. Then, our family ducked out early to hit the tail-end of the big, celebratory feasting dinner at my dad's mother's mother's house, where, of course, we were obliged to eat again, so as not to hurt any feelings. Then, after the gift exhange there (the highlight being the year that all the kids under 16 were given LazerTag guns and target vests!), we went to my dad's parents to exchange gifts with them, and my aunts and uncles (none of whom had any children of their own until very recently). Afterward, we'd go home, where after putting us (my siblings and me) to bed, often well after midnight, my parents would begin setting out Santa gifts, assembling things as necessary. In retrospect, there were many Christmas Days where mom and dad hadn't slept in close to two days--God love them!

Christmas, as you can guess, has always been a time of excess for me; although, thinking about it, excess doesn't seem like quite the right word. Perhaps largess might more appropriately describe the feeling. I suppose I was a spoiled child, although I don't recall ever expecting gifts; I've always been prone to magical thinking, so I suppose I just took gifts given to me with the understanding that all people, everywhere, gave liberally and fully. I realize now, as an adult, that this was, likely, not always the spirit wherein my gifts were given...but the simple wonder of childhood is that you can believe the best in people, judging their actions to come from better impulses than they may have had. Oh, Blessed! How much we have to unlearn as cold, jaded adults! How much do I wish that I could again see the world as I did as a child...a place of vast and substantial love, filling in all the cracks between us.

This is the important lesson of Christmas, I think, and one that is particularly meaningful to me, especially now that this isn't the rhythm of life for the celebration of the holiday. Since mom's grandmother's death (may her memory be eternal), we now get together with her family two weeks before Christmas itself; since dad's grandmother's death (may her memory be eternal), we no longer speak or have contact with any of his aunts, uncles, or cousins (bad family blood ensued). We still go to my mom's mother's on Christmas Eve for lunch, but now mom and I (and this year, dad also!) go to Church for Royal Matins that evening. Our Christmas meal and gift-exchange at dad's parents' house is never at a fixed date, but is decided by common consensus at the Thanksgiving meal; this year, we're going to be there for a late lunch on Sunday, after mom, dad, and I leave Liturgy.

The world seems a smaller place, now that I know that the magic wasn't really magic at all, but just my perceptions of the world. But in the proportion that my own little princedom has decreased, so has the larger world increased. Now, while I miss, on occasion, my misty-eyed, child-like wonder at Christmastide, I contemplate the truly cosmic implications of the fact that God has become Man, and he did this so that I could become like him. Truly, he has taught this man who worshipped the stars to adore him, the Sun of Righteousness.

I suppose all that is left to be said is:

Christ is Born! Glorify Him!

___________________

Incidentally, I'm tagging Karen, Katie, Petra, and Jacob.

Taste and See

When I was in college, the main criticism leveled at Christianity (and let's keep in mind, we're talking Western Christianity here; I doubt many of my professors could even have named the Orthodox Church, much less given you some idea of its beliefs) was that it had done violence to the body. In other words, postmodernity has picked up on the strain of neo-gnosticism that seeks to drive a wedge between the body and the immaterial mind and/or spirit that runs right through the heart of Western Christendom these days. Sadly, most think, as I myself once did, that this swill is what Christianity is, and therefore it is rejected.

When I was floundering about in Western mysticism (I'll need to talk about that more at a later date), I dismissed such people; after all, if they weren't looking for the Transcendent Divine Will, and actually were concerned for the body! then they clearly were not on the same spiritual plane that I was--and therefore, not worth my time. Well, this is insanely arrogant, but that's what I thought.

Notice, though, that I believed, essentially, the same thing they did. The body and the spirit are separated; and, while postmoderns want to toss out the mind and/or spirit (we're not sure which we're talking about) in favor of the body only--and, Orthodox Christians take note, when a postmodern talks about "reclaiming the body" they mean giving in wholesale to the passions of the flesh--I had taken the opposite approach and disregarded the body in favor of the mind/spirit. What Orthodoxy taught me, however, is that this is the same error, just a different expression.

The beauty of Orthodox theology is wrapped up in a simple phrase that you'll often hear Orthodox people say to those who inquire about the Church: Come and See. This is a variation of the theme of Psalm 33 (LXX), that says "Taste and see that the Lord is good; his praise shall continually be in my mouth." Come and see--taste and see. We tell people that the best way to experience God is to taste him. This sensual remark is totally out of place in Western Christianity, where it would at best be seen as a metaphor. In the East, we literally mean that the best way to get to know God is to eat him, which we have the opportunity to do at every divine liturgy.

The Lord is good, because he came to save our bodies as well as our souls. He came to restore material creation to the beauty that God intended for it, not to annihilate it in favor of some "pure" disincarnate reality. The Transcendent God has become incarnate; God has a physical, material body in the person of Jesus Christ. The unknowable God has willing chosen to partake in our nature, so that our humanity might be deified! How does this not excite you? How can this self-revelation of God fail to incite you to want to tell everyone: Come! Taste, touch, smell, see, and hear the Word of God made flesh for our sake!

This understanding of who God is, and how we come to know him, is Orthodoxy's cure for the dangerous disease of modernity (and her child, postmodernity).

+Pax vobiscum

The Value of Simplicity

I've said before that, as a new convert to Orthodoxy, the first six months or so, I was 'drunk off the incense.' There is a heady richness to Orthodoxy that, as a beer snob, I can compare to the first time I had "real beer" after thinking that beer was Budweiser (or other mass produced American swill). I grew up thinking that American Swill (tm) was what beer was, in much the same way that I grew up thinking the evangelical protestantism is was Christianity was. There is a direct analogy here. Genuine oatmeal stout::American Swill as Orthodoxy::evangelical protestantism.

This 'heady richness' in Orthodoxy makes for some interesting times for those not acquainted with it, at least at first. Like a man who had been starved for the first 22 year of his life, I came to the Orthodox banquet (to change metaphors mid-post; my apologies) and saw dishes of types and varieties that I never so much as dreamed of existing, much less ever thought would be spread out in front of me for the trying. So, being prone to gluttony (God forgive me!), instead of doing what you ought to do in such situations and just focusing on the two of three dishes nearest to you, I decided to take a spoon to all of them at once. (Incidentally, I did this also during my first Bright Week; I went as overboard with the feasting as I did with the fasting, and ended up putting my intestines into shock and spent an overnight in the hospital. Good convert lessons, these are.)

I am rapidly losing my point, as I tend to do, so I'm going to cut through here a bit and try to just make it; part of the 'drunk off incense' phenomenon is the sensory overload of Orthodoxy. Orthodox aesthetics appeal to me in great ways. The icons, Russian-style lampadas, deep-stained wooden altars...all of which I incorporated into my first icon wall (at mom and dad's house). I built the altar myself, stained it, mounted a cast iron cross on the front of it, made tons of print icons that I arranged in stacked, Russian style, used rich fabrics for altar cloths, etc. It is a very nice icon corner, if I do say so myself. But, since I've moved to my own place now, and am just getting things together for myself, my new icon corner (which I set up yesterday...it didn't feel like home until I got it up, which again is interesting how quickly icons have become the norm for me) was sort of assembled out of pieces of furniture I had. An old table from mom and dad's, a spare floating shelf from my old room in Lexington, a hanging lamp I bought on clearance from World Market, some candlesticks I bought at a second-hand shop, and just a handful of icons (my Pantocrator-and-Theotokos diptych, the Archangel Gabriel that Eric and April brought be back from Greece, my St. Jusinian that my godparents gave me at my Chrismation, and St. Anthony that I got at the Greek Festival this year), and a small silver-plated crucifix I bought on ebay, and an incense box I bought at a big box retail store, are all that make up the corner at present.

So, last night I did my evening prayers there, hoping to establish it as the place where I'll be doing my prayer rule now; I'll swear to you, I felt what people talk about feeling in their prayer rules for the first time. Although 'feeling' is misleading; I knew Christ was there, the way I encounter him at the Chalice in Divine Liturgy, the way I encounter him at Vespers service when we sing the Evening Prokeimenon. There is an ineffable wonder at this, which cannot truly be conveyed to those who do not know it themselves. These hidden things, these mysteries of the Incarnate God, are found in the simplest expressions of Orthodoxy, as well as in the rich and full ones. You'd think I'd know this, attending a mission that borrows space to meet each week, but sometimes, Christ needs to poke us with a needle to get our attention, because we would hardly notice the sword we expect to stab us.

St. John Chrysostom would be proud, I think, that I'm re-learning the value of simplicity. Learning to integrate simplicity into the practice of living Orthodoxy (which, btw, the indigenous Orthodox don't seem to have much trouble with--the problem is with the overthinking, overzealous converts) is a challenge I'm glad to take up.

+Pax vobiscum