Confessions of an Armchair Christian

I have mentioned before how very difficult I find it to read the works of George MacDonald.  After a lengthy rest from them and in a careless moment, I found myself dipping back into the Unspoken Sermons.  It was a mistake.  George MacDonald, a man writing in the north of Scotland over a hundred years ago nonetheless has a terrible ability to reach down through time and punch me right in the theology.

The particular sermon that I have been struck down by is The Truth in Jesus in Volume 2.  In a few pages, he strikes straight at the things that have vaguely concerned me about my own faith, tearing them out and holding them up to the light so that I can see them properly.  Frankly, they are not a wholly comforting sight.

I have said before, although possibly not in this blog, that I occasionally worry that my faith is too intellectual.  I love the minutiae of theology, I love discussing and debating it.  Recently a friend on Facebook shared the interview with Stephen Fry that I attempted to answer in a previous post, and it sparked an extremely lengthy debate that wandered over all sorts of theological territory.  I manfully (as I supposed) stepped up to the plate and argued my side of it, explaining my own beliefs and attempting to defend Christianity from the criticisms and questions levelled at it.  To what extent I have succeeded in that, I don’t know, but I have been reasonably satisfied with my own performance.  I have spent a long time crafting an, in my opinion, rational, intellectually defensible, reasonable (in the truest sense of the word) theology, and then spent some time testing it by explaining and defending it in numerous debates.

Then that terrible mistake of reading George MacDonald.  Here is the passage that threw iced water over my self-satisfaction:

“Whatever be your opinions on the greatest of all subjects, is it well that the impression with regard to Christianity made upon your generation should be that of your opinions, and not of something beyond opinion?  Is Christianity capable of being represented by opinion, even the best?  If it were, how many of us are such as God would choose to present his thoughts and intents by our opinions concerning them?  Who is there of his friends whom any thoughtful man would depute to represent his thoughts to his fellows?

If you answer, ‘The opinions I hold and by which I represent Christianity are those of the Bible’, I reply that none can understand, still less represent the opinions of another, but such as are of the same mind with him- certainly none who mistake his whole scope and intent so far as in supposing opinion to be the object of any writer in the Bible.  Is Christianity a system of articles of belief, let them be as correct as language can give them? Never.”

He then goes on to say that he would far rather have a person who held any number of obnoxious untruths but lived in the faith of the Son of God than one whose beliefs he agreed with totally, but who didn’t live their faith.

“To hold a thing with the intellect is not to believe it.  A man’s real belief is that which he lives by and that which the man I mean lives by is the love of God and obedience to His law so far as he has recognised it. (…)  What I come to and insist upon is, that, supposing your theories right, and containing all that is to be believed, yet those theories are not what make you Christians, if Christians indeed you are.  On the contrary, they are, with not a few of you, just what keeps you from being Christians.  (…)  No opinion, I repeat, is Christianity, and no preaching of any plan of salvation is the preaching of the glorious gospel of the living God.  (…)  I do not say that this sad folly may not mingle a potent faith in the Lord himself; but I do say that the importance they place on theory is even more sadly obstructive to true faith than such theories themselves.”

As I’ve already said, I’ve occasionally wondered whether I don’t over-intellectualise my faith.  G.K. Chesterton said that one’s religion should be less of a theory and more of a love affair, but I’m afraid that mine is definitely more of a theory, and I spend a lot of time pondering theological questions and points of apologetics.  I hope that my specific beliefs are not too obnoxious, and I also hope that I live my faith at least occasionally (when I remember to), but nonetheless I am keenly aware that my Christianity is theoretical rather than visceral.

I am also aware that when I take up my Keyboard of Justice and attempt to defend Christianity from its detractors and critics, I am wholly failing to do so.  Straw man arguments of the most ludicrous sort are a very common tool of angry online atheists who portray Christianity as a grotesque caricature of itself, and then wonder why anyone would believe it.  I have realised that I myself have done something not entirely dissimilar.  I end up not defending Christianity, but theology, and as a result end up portraying the theology as Christianity.  “Is it well that the impression with regard to Christianity made upon your generation should be that of your opinions, and not of something beyond opinion?”  It is not well at all, Mr. MacDonald.

Part of the problem is that we are born into a culture in which the ruling paradigm is scientific.  The objections raised against Christianity tend to be scientific ones, or at least based on a scientific notion of rationalism, and therefore the arguments against these objections are couched in the same terms.  Rational objections are raised, and therefore we feel that we must offer rational answers.  I have said before in this blog that Christianity is not rational (or rather perhaps, not rationalistic; there is more to be said on this, probably elsewhere), but such an answer would not only not satisfy these detractors, it would make them think that there was no answer at all.

I think that this will probably bear a whole other blog post to chew over, but to return to my main point for this post, have I ended up crafting this splendid rational model, and then had the foolish temerity to make out that it is Christianity.  Christianity isn’t thought or deduced or calculated, it is lived and breathed and acted.  It is easy to forget this in the joys of mental gymnastics. 

They (whoever they are) say that the first step towards solving a problem is to admit that it exists.  Despite the overall tone of this post, I am not overly interested in self-flagellation, sack-cloth and ashes.  I will always maintain that Christianity is not and has never been about making people feel bad about themselves, or afraid of either God or whatever might come hereafter.  It is about self-awareness in the most empowering and optimistic way. I do not think that I am a terrible person, just not necessarily a very good Christian.  I try to live by the teachings and tents of Christ, and I occasionally even succeed briefly, but I spend far more time pondering the theory (and with no guarantees that I’m even getting that right) than I do thinking of how I can set about the practice.  It’s a struggle.  When I see people online hurling vitriol at my faith, I feel duty-bound to defend it lest they assume that there is no defence, but in doing so I am forced onto a field and into a defence which do not suit the subject.

I find that I am mostly an armchair Christian, an amateur Christian theoretician, which is to say not a very good Christian at all.  Well then, as long as I remember that, and aim upwards, things should come right.  I won’t attempt to theorise about the how, I’ll just try and believe in the result.

Testing my Patience

Yesterday, I sat my driving theory test.  Obviously it was, like any test, somewhat nerve-wracking, however I had prepared thoroughly and knew what to expect.  From the test itself that is.  The process I had to go through prior to being permitted into the test room itself however surprised, annoyed, and to some extent offended me.

I entered the building, past a bored-looking receptionist/security guard type who gave me not a second look (actually, he might not have given me a first look).  Following the signs, I went through a door, down a long, narrow and rather ominous corridor towards a door saying ‘Candidates Only: No Other Admittance’.  Passing through this portal, I found myself in a waiting room/reception area.

Here, a friendly receptionist gave a laminated sheet of Thou Shalt Nots that I had to sit and read through.  The standard exam stuff: no talking; no mobile phones/pagers/tablets: no taking in (or making) notes; no bags; everything to be stowed in a locker etc.  All fair enough.  I also had to remove my watch, which I found odd.

The surprise/annoyance/offence started when I went to the receptionist to return the laminated sheet and collect a locker key.  She asked if I’d turned off my phone, which I had.  Bearing in mind that my phone would be in the locker, in the waiting room, this seemed like an unnecessary precaution, but since it might disturb other people while they were waiting, didn’t seem totally unreasonable.  She then asked me to show her that it was turned off.  Apparently my word wasn’t good enough.

Having done so (after fishing it back out of my bag) I was permitted to go through another doorway, where a second lady explained the format of the test (which my preparation had already made me aware of).  She then made me show her my hands and wrists, and turn out my pockets.  I still had my keys and change in my pocket, so I had to go back out and put them in the locker.  I then had to turn out my pockets (side and back) to show that they were empty.  At this point, if she had produced an elbow-length rubber glove and forced me to undergo a full cavity search, x-ray and polygraph test, I wouldn’t have been wholly surprised.

Having quelled her suspicions, I was allowed into the exam room, where several signs informed me that I was being monitored by CCTV.  I sat at my allotted screen and took my test, finished, left, was permitted to collect my effects, was given my results and allowed to leave by a different door to the one I entered by.

Now obviously they need to make sure that people don’t cheat on these tests.  I fully appreciate that.  They’re important, and they’re there for a reason.  Telling people that they can’t have phones etc. makes perfect sense, and even having the CCTV there to help spot attempted cheaters doesn’t seem unreasonable.  Stopping cheaters is completely necessary.  The part that annoyed me was when I was asked to show in advance that I wasn’t trying to cheat.

I still have these quaint and archaic ideas about a person being innocent until proven guilty; the idea that it should be assumed that I am not trying to cheat until I am caught cheating, or there is reason to assume that I am trying to.  This is the opposite of what happened.  I was treated as guilty until I proved myself innocent.  Apparently the fact that I was taking the test was sufficient reason to assume that I was trying to cheat.  It was assumed that I had not turned my phone off until I had shown that I had.  It was assumed that I was wearing my watch (beneath which, presumably, information could have been concealed) and had written on my hands, until I proved otherwise.  It was assumed that I had notes or other devices in my pockets until I turned them out.  Why I wasn’t allowed keys or change in there, I have absolutely no idea.  Perhaps I might have a James Bond-esque microradio disguised as a pound coin?

I would like to emphasise that both the ladies involved were never less than courteous, and presumably didn’t write the policies which it is their lot to enforce.  At least, I shall assume so until I see evidence to the contrary.  I might also assume that these draconian and offensive policies have been put in place because many people have tried to cheat, which would be deeply saddening, but I’m not sure whether this is the case, or just the DVSA trying to prevent any such occurrence.

It saddens and angers me that we are all being treated like the lowest common denominator, that it is assumed that we have no sense of personal honour, that, in short, we are not to be trusted.  I meant to say something to the receptionist on the way out, but forgot to.

You might say that we must prove ourselves trustworthy before we are trusted, but that is not the world I wish to live in.  This may be another case of my hopeless and naïve idealism, but I would far rather live in a world in which we must prove ourselves untrustworthy, prove ourselves unworthy of respect, prove ourselves dishonourable and dishonest, or else be assumed to be trustworthy, respectable, honourable and honest.

I can’t force the DVSA to see things my way (although I’ve half a mind to write to them, for all the good it would do), but I can determine to treat others in the way I would wish to be treated.  Everyone is born innocent, and until I see evidence to the contrary, I shall assume that that is still the way they are.

(Oh, and if you're interested, I passed my test.  Hurrah!)