Comfort, Difficulty and Hope

A frequent criticism levelled at Christianity, or rather at Christians, is that religion is a ‘crutch’ or a ‘comfort blanket’ for the morally weak.  This suggests to me that the people making this claim have only a very basic, ‘Sunday School’ idea of what Christianity is; a ‘Don’t worry, God will sort it all out’ sort of concept of the claims Christianity makes.  Nothing could be further from the truth.

For me, Christianity is not an easy thing.  It is very, very hard.  In fact, to live as we are asked to live is virtually impossible.  The things that are asked of us as Christians are so opposed to everything that nature has made us as to be practically unreachable.  John Wesley believed in the possibility of human perfection.  I do too, but I doubt that that possibility will ever be realised.  I certainly have no delusion that I myself will achieve it.  Not on this side of the grave in any case.

I occasionally think I’m doing ok, that I’m a pretty decent chap.  People seem to like me, I’m generally not unpleasant, I do small acts of good every so often, and have committed no great acts of evil.  Then I started reading a difficult book.  Some books, like Don Quixote, I’ve found difficult because they’re dense and rambling, and I’ve taken an approach of reading a few chapters, then going off and reading something much lighter for a bit before coming back to it.  Doing it like this, it took me about a year to read Don Quixote, but I very much enjoyed it.

Quite a while ago, I downloaded ‘Unspoken Sermons’ by George MacDonald to my Kindle.  I’ve read MacDonald’s ‘The Princess and the Goblin’, and ‘Phantastes’, both of which are excellent allegorical stories, but ‘Unspoken Sermons’ is very different.  Like Don Quixote, I’ve had to read it in fits and starts, chipping away at it before retreating to read something a little easier, and although I’ve been going for months, I don’t think I’m even halfway through.  MacDonald, a Church of Scotland minister, obviously left a lot of his preaching unsaid!

But unlike with the ingenious gentleman of La Mancha, it is not because it is dense and rambling that I have found it such hard work.  It is dense, it’s true, but mostly it is revealing and challenging.  It outlines very starkly just how difficult, how demanding it is to be a Christian.  I am enjoying the book (gradually), and finding it very thought provoking and inspiring, but mostly I am finding it very hard to take. It reminds how very much further I have to go.

To quote C S Lewis, one of my very favourite authors (and someone who was himself very heavily influenced by MacDonald), “I didn’t go to religion to make me ‘happy’.  I always knew that a bottle of port would do that.  If you want a religion to make you feel really comfortable, I certainly don’t recommend Christianity.”

I am aware of the demands put upon me by my faith, and I am aware that I very rarely live up to them, through inertia, accident or (and not as rarely as I would like) deliberate choice.  However, I also very firmly reject the concept, likewise levelled as a criticism, of Christian (or occasionally specifically Catholic) guilt, the idea that Christianity demands that everyone go around thoroughly depressed and guilt-ridden at their wretched, sinful lives.  I do not and cannot believe that this is what God wants.  A sensibility of our short-comings yes, but after all, those shortcomings are merely a part of what makes us human, and there is nothing wrong with being human.

To me, what is wrong is being content to remain human, when there is so much more to be had.  To me, the knowledge of my shortcomings is enlivening and energising.  The very fact that I know I fall short means that I also know that there are heights to be reached and explored and gloried in.  Indeed, other people have reached the foothills of these mountains already, while I linger in the plains and dried-up river beds.  Christianity does not tell us “You are a miserable sinner!” but “You can be a Child of God.”  It does not dwell on the distance left to travel, but on the fact that you are capable of travelling it.  It is optimistic and empowering and strengthening.  As Oscar Wilde said, “We’re all lying in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.”

It is what I find somewhat restricting about the solely scientific worldview.  Science tells us “You are an ape.  A clever ape to be sure, an ape that can shape the world according to its whims and even leave the planet on which you live, but an ape you are, and an ape you will be.”  God tells us “You are an ape, but I will make you a man, and, if you let me, I will make you so much more.”

I know that I’m lying in the gutter.  I can see the stars above me, and that is something.  But I also know that I can, with help, reach those stars, and that is something more.  But it is hard, very hard indeed, but that’s alright, because very few things that are truly worth doing are easy.

A third quote for you, this time from G K Chesterton:  "Christianity has not been tried and found wanting; it has been found difficult and not tried."

Well I cannot honestly claim to have tried.  I’m not even sure that I’ve really tried to try, but I want to, and I hope that that is start enough.

Madness, Stupidity and Certainty

This week, a man in Nigeria was forcibly commited to a mental institution by his concerned family.  His symptoms?  A tragic case of severe atheism.

I have to confess that I am struggling not to be slightly amused by this story.  In reality it’s an unbelievable and deeply concerning situation, in which a man’s freedom of and/or from religion is being impinged upon in a very serious way.  However, the idea that his family, when he told them he didn’t believe in God, came to the conclusion that this could only be explained by the fact that he’d gone stark raving mad, is one that nonetheless makes me smile.  In a comedy it would be hilarious.  In real life it is less so.  Certainly the impression I get from the story is not that it’s a case of cynical religious oppression, but a genuine case of familial bewilderment and concern.

As human beings, we become very certain about things, and when people question what to us is obvious, we are often left wondering whether they (or perhaps we) are mad, or just incredibly stupid.  If someone insists to me that the sky is green and that flowers emit a constant shrieking noise, I will wonder if he’s firing on all cylinders.

It is common theme for atheists to attribute religious belief to irrationality, gullibility or plain stupidity.  I have seen someone online state that in their opinion, anyone who hasn’t been able to think their way out of religious belief by the time they’re an adult shouldn’t be entrusted with public office, or even allowed to work with children, due to their obvious mental inadequacy.  The response from some theists is to assume a moral, rather than an intellectual high ground.  Instead of implying that atheists must be incredibly stupid not to believe in God, they imply it is because they are wicked, or possibly just deliberately contrary.  Stupidity is not to be ruled out entirely of course.

I find it very strange that so many people can look at the same information, weigh up the same evidence and arguments, and come to so many very different conclusions.  Obviously, they are not looking at the same body of evidence, are starting with different asumptions, with different parts of their minds closed or open, and the information comes through a variety of filters, mixers and distillers.

I have neither the desire nor the ability to embark on a philosophical treatise on the nature of truth, and it’s subjectivity or otherwise.  However, we are forced to question whether all of these conclusions hold the same weight.  In theory, the best conclusions would be those that are unfiltered, unmixed and undistilled.  The heady spirit of raw, crude Truth, drilled straight from the ground.  However, humans are completely incapable of dealing with this, we can only interact with the world through these filters and mixers.

Inevitably, I can’t help but feel (and I make no claims as to the actual correctness of this) that my own position is the best, given current information.  As a moderate theist, all avenues of exploration are open to me, philosophical, theological and scientific.  No avenue of science is for me forbidden or heretical, no branch of theology to be automatically dismissed as superstitious nonsense.  Now obviously I have not read every book of theology and philosophy (in fact a pathetically small amount), nor am I a devotee of the cutting edge scientific journals.  However, I hope that as I come across new information, no doubt somewhere far behind the curve of intellectual progress, I am open minded enough to reassess my position, but as it stands, it seems pretty good.

I am left wondering how people can be so very stupid as to look at the same things as me, and yet inexplicably come to conclusions other than my own.  It is entirely possible that I am the only sane, or truly intelligent person in the world.  Certainly I’ve not met anyone who agrees with me on every single point, so this is the only logical conclusion.  It can only be a matter of time before my concerned but mentally insufficient family and friends lock me in a Sane Asylum, leaving the mad and the daft to wander the world unhindered by my blatant correctness.  Maybe they’ve already done that to all the other sane, intelligent people, and that’s why I can’t find anyone who agrees with my completely?

They might be coming for me next!  A disturbing thought...

Power Corrupts, Super Powers Corrupt Superbly

It is a truth universally acknowledged (at least by my wife) that I’m an enormous geek.  Aside from the roleplaying games that I’ve already mentioned, I quite like comics.  I get most (but by no means all) of the sly references that are put into the current flood of superhero films, harking back to the comics (the original Human Torch in the first Captain America film anyone?) for people like me and even worse than me.  By some standards, my comic book knowledge is pale and shallow, and I can only bow to the encyclopaedic knowledge of others, and their dedication to the art form.  However, mine is certainly better than the layman’s.

Not all comics are about superheroes, but they are the best known.  Everyone’s familiar with the tropes involved; of (usually) ordinary people gaining, one way or another, amazing abilities which they choose to use for good, saving lives and fighting crime, protecting the world from a seemingly relentless stream of international, interstellar, intergalactic and inter-dimensional threats.  Opposed to them are the super-villains, also usually normal people in possession of super powers, but for reasons of their own have used them for evil or selfish ends, and who are reliably thwarted before the end of the comic/film.  Related to these are the wizards of fantasy and the Jedi of Star Wars, people with super-human powers, who have the choice to use them for good or evil.

And like most boys, I would dream about having amazing powers and doing all the usual super-heroic stuff with them.  However, as I grow older I am becoming increasingly grumpy.  The other night, we watched the 2003 Hulk film directed by Ang Lee, which gained a lot of deservedly negative reviews.  All I can say is that if you’re considering watching it, get the 2008 one instead.  It’s much better.  As you are no doubt aware, the premise of the Hulk is that a mild-mannered scientist becomes an enormous, incredibly strong and near-invulnerable green monster when he becomes angry, and goes on violent rampages, but often ends up using his strength and invincibility to fight evil.

I can empathise.  I wouldn’t want to become a giant green monster you understand; it seems a bit showy.  However, I do occasionally wish that I had laser beam eyes, a la Superman or Cyclops, or force lightning or the ability to create and control fire.  Even telekinesis or telepathy would be good.

However, I cannot guarantee that I’d use it solely for good.  I’d like to think that overall I’d come down more heavily on the ‘Hero’ side than the ‘Villain’, but there are some things that demand the judicious application of laser death vision.  People who allow their dogs to foul in public and don’t clean it up; people who smoke in bus shelters; people who don’t thank you, or even look at you, when you step out of their way; people who push into queues; people who sit behind you on the bus chatting loudly into their mobile phone for the entire forty minute bus trip, apparently without the need to inhale; people who write intermittent blogs without any clear focus or subject, and people who disagree with me on any given subject.  The list goes on.  These deserving recipients of instantaneous ocular immolation would be reduced to ash faster than you can say ZAP!!!

And herein lies the problem.  If I did have such powers, then every single day that I hadn’t had enough sleep, or enough to eat, or I was too hot, or things were working out exactly as I think they should, the population of the Earth would fall significantly.  This isn’t a case of power corrupting, merely allowing me to do what I would already like. Does this make me a bad person.  Well, yes.  Yes it does.

We’re told to judge not, but I can only refer you to the list above and ask what sort of chance I have?  Happily, the closest thing (as far as I'm concerned anyway) to super powers that anyone's had to deal with have been in the hands of someone rather more likely to use them for the best.  The statistically small number of lightning strikes each year is a testament to God’s comparative forbearance.  The fact that Jesus restricted his laser death vision to a single fig tree is practically proof of His divinity.  If it had been me, Israel would have been adrift in Pharisaical cinders and toasted money lenders.  Sodom and Gomorrah would have had nothing on the work I’d make of Milton Keynes shopping centre on a pre-Christmas Saturday.

So we can all be glad that I don’t have super powers.  I struggle to use the mundane abilities I do have in the way I know they ought to be, and I am more than happy to leave the super powers to a being who has and does make better use of them than I would.

To quote the Gospel of Stan Lee, “With great power comes great responsibility.” 

Happily, I lack the former, and so I’m spared the weight of the latter.

On Literature, Charity and Giving

A couple of rather strange threads come together for this post.  I have recently started reading The Red Knight, by Miles Cameron, a fantasy novel that I picked up in a charity shop whilst on honeymoon last week.  One of the comments on the back cover describes it as ‘gritty, and at times brutal’, and so I assumed that it was a fantasy in the style of Joe Abercrombie or George RR Martin, both of whose books I very much enjoy.  However, I was mistaken.  In the latter two authors’ books, the majority of people are scheming, violent and treacherous, and violence is very rarely far from any given page.  Good characters exist, but they are very much the exception, and often end up being manipulated or destroyed by their more devious and amoral peers.

By contrast, The Red Knight is mostly filled with good, decent, honest people, and it is the evil, scheming and treacherously violent that are the exception.  Even the wealthy merchant, usually a staple of underhanded nastiness, is an honest and upstanding person.  Not that the characters don’t have flaws, but they are genuinely good people, struggling to get by in what is an undeniably violent world.

If I had to choose which I believe this world to be, I would have to say that I believe it to be the latter rather than the former, and that most people are essentially decent and honest.  Believing the opposite leads to cynicism and misanthropy, and that helps no-one at all, least of all yourself.

So that’s thread one.  Now for part two:

Some time ago, I posted about giving to the homeless.  My conclusion was that while it is indeed best to give to a homeless charity, I would still give directly to the homeless, giving them the benefit of the doubt regarding what they would do with the money.

This week in the Milton Keynes Citizen, the front page story is about Jamie Cooke, a ‘professional’ beggar, pretending to be homeless and using the money he is given to fund a heroin habit.  The article includes a photograph, and I recognised him as someone for whom I’ve bought food in the past, and indeed someone to whom I’ve given money.  He is now under a 5 year antisocial behaviour order preventing him from begging in Milton Keynes.

To quote the article, and in the words of MK Anti Social Behaviour officer PC Dave Goodwin, “Members of the public thought they were helping Jamie by giving cash but in fact they were almost killing him with kindness.  In a funny kind of way, I’m hoping the ASBO will do him a real favour.  I’ve been dealing with Jamie for years, and I know he is obviously a man of intelligence. The fact that he can no longer be a professional beggar could be what he needs to turn his life around.”

So where does this leave me and my high flung idealism?  I really don’t know.  I do worry that this story will harden the hearts of many people, and make them even less inclined to give to the homeless, even through reputable charities.  I certainly don’t feel as though I have been the ‘victim’ of his lying.  If there is a victim at all, I suspect it is him, rather than any of the kind-hearted people who thought they were helping him.  I do believe that eventually he will have to stand before God, and give an account of what he has done, and I genuinely pray that he will be able to repent and accept the forgiveness that is his for the taking, if only he is willing to do so.  When those of us who gave to him stand before the same God, the fact that he was misusing our generosity will not count against us, but the fact that we gave, and gave willingly will count for us, no matter what he then did with it.

I hope that this does indeed help Mr Cooke sort his life out and put it back on some sort of right track.  I hope that he comes to repent of his actions long before he is called to account, for his own sake.  I hope that it won’t stop people from helping those who are so much less fortunate than themselves.

In the meantime, I shall continue to assume that those who ask me for generosity are asking genuinely, and will use that generosity in the best possible way.  This may make me horribly naive, indeed I’m sure it does, and I won’t stop supporting those charities that will make good use of that money, but I refuse to live in a world in which everyone is deceitful, and the good are the rare exceptions.  It may make me blind, it may even (though I hope and pray it does not) make me part of the problem.  It may very well be that life is as it is imagined by Abercrombie and Martin, and that the majority are liars and manipulators.  However, I shall live my life assuming that, like in The Red Knight, the Jamie Cookes are the exception and not the rule, and if I am wrong, then I believe that it will not be held against me, when I am finally called to account.