Category Archives: Religion

Joss Whedon and Theology Abstract

Since I received news that my abstract was accepted for the Joss Whedon and Theology book, I thought I’d post my abstract in the hopes that it would generate some helpful comments.

‘Religious Selving in Dollhouse

The short-lived television series Dollhouse is about the question of identity — both whether one still possesses one’s original identity after it being removed and also whether one’s identity is singular. I think the second issue is the more interesting one through which to view Dollhouse because it provokes thoughts on the construction of identity. In particular, can one be both religious and non-religious (even ‘secular’)? What is the self if it is a collection of identities? Is it singular? Multiple? These last two questions highlight the struggle to maintain several identities — as all humans do — while still maintain them together as a single self.

I wish to explore the tension between multiple identities as a theological and social issue. By looking at dialogues of religious pluralism, ecumenism, and dual religious practitioners (e.g. Buddhist Christians), I shall argue that identity is always a collection of identities in which many different, and perhaps even competing, ‘selves’ construct an individual. Here is where Dollhouse comes into focus because, as the later part of the series explores, Echo becomes analogous for humanity precisely at the point that she begins to see herself as something other-than-human and as a collection of humans. As Echo tries to find echoes of herself throughout the series, this image can be applied both to individuals as they find echoes of themselves and to universal identities such as religion as practitioners find echoes of their faith everywhere (cf. the various Finding God in… books).

On Nonbelief

I must admit that I find arguments for and against belief/God/religion fascinating — much in the same way as one may find a genetic mutation fascinating. Why? Mostly, it’s because many of the arguments completely miss the mark. This is because both groups of arguments generally disregard definitions and limits of disciplines (namely, religion and the empirical sciences). Richard Dawkins’ The God Delusion is a clear example of this as his argument relies on making empirical sciences the basis for theology as well as that other discipline he seems to ignore (religious studies). While I accept the fact that empirical sciences can and should make contributions to these other disciplines (and, more generally, to the humanities) — and vice versa (something with which I think Dawkins may be uneasy); this does not mean that the latter (humanities) can be reduced to the former (empirical sciences). Social constructs are generally not things that matter to a ‘scientist’ (or, more specifically, a chemist, physicist, biologist, etc), which is fine because no discipline serves as the queen of the university (unlike in the past).

At a friend’s request, I read a short article by John Loftus critiquing religious belief. In my reading of it, I found it follows the above difficulty. I will bring this out by a short, perhaps inadequate, response to that article. His main point, which he himself provides explicitly, is to show that ‘Christian faith should be rejected by modern, civilized, educated, and scientifically literate persons’. However, I will argue that (1) he completely fails to make this argument and (2) the argument he does make ends up being contradictory.

Loftus finds evidence for his thesis in the fact that even ‘Christian professors have probably had some doubts’. Questioning belief is not evidence of moving towards disbelief. Rather, it is just as plausible that one could be refining one’s own belief, contemplating arguments against one’s belief from a rational, logical perspective. In other words, there is a gap between saying ‘someone has doubts’ and saying ‘one no longer believes’; and Loftus fails to connect the two. Furthermore, he follows this observation with a second: religious pluralism. He points out (quite rightly) that the geopolitical associations of religion heavily influence one’s religious faith. For Loftus, this means one must ‘test [one's] religious beliefs as an outsider’. Apparently, that means without actually taking that line of questioning seriously, lest one begins to doubt. As a result, I find his ‘sociological reasons’ quite lacking; at best, this section of his argument can be used to critique any given choice of religious belief but not religious belief itself (i.e. to criticise specific belief in Christianity/Islam/Buddhism.etc but not the prized general belief of religion itself).

Loftus’s next argument turns more directly philosophical. It seems that his point is that proofs for God are inconclusive (no argument there), then follows an tangent on these proofs for the existence of God. So what if proofs for the existence of God are inconclusive? Has Loftus not heard of Gödel’s incompleteness theorem? Or better yet, why does Loftus so quickly dismiss absurdity as a viable option, particularly since he paints religious belief as absurd? This is because Loftus confuses sense with logic. Perhaps a quick reading of any of the various post-structuralists would show that the sense of an argument needn’t conform to propositional logic. This is largely because, I suggest, humans are illogical and contradictory. In short, criticising the form of an argument does not make a critique of the content of an argument. I’m not saying the form is irrelevant, but rather it isn’t always the bulk of an argument, particularly in this case.

When Loftus speaks of scientific reasons he is no longer a Christian, he mentions naturalism, opting for empirically observable and verifiable events. He uses this straightforward (and useful) approach against theists such as Plantinga (who argues that Christians should start with a set of beliefs before pursuing scientific analysis). Loftus also uses naturalism against theistic belief because modern science has provided us with effective applications of knowledge (e.g. medicine) that make obsolete religious acts which were once used in lieu of rational, natural explanations. However, he fails to argue that theism requires this kind of superstitious belief, something that would make his argument much more forceful. Rather, we must accept his premise without argument despite evidence to the contrary (e.g. anthropologists like de Chardin). This reliance on naturalism becomes a contradiction when Loftus suggests that the one thing that would make him believe is the supernatural bit excluded from naturalism: revelation of the ‘mysteries’ of God.

Loftus continues his tirade against theistic belief by turning to ‘Biblical reasons’. The fact that the Biblical text is riddled with discrepancies, errors, and often bigoted and violent concepts is enough for Loftus. However, I disagree on the basis that such evidence can only be condemning if one takes a particular kind of inerrantist approach to the Biblical text. In other words, Loftus chooses to ignore the contexts in which the various books that compose the Bible were written. That’s simply not an argument for or against anything. It would be no different than an argument for the eradication of all guns because they’re linked with murders. In other words, it is an argument that uses the effects of particular (mis)uses of a tool as sufficient reason to ban the tool completely.

The argument continues with a sceptical approach to history. Loftus’s scepticism is an epistemological one in which he demands absolute certainty. However, Loftus fails to recognise that empirical science suffers the same issue. Science is based purely on observed reality without any a priori postulates. We may not be able to have absolute certainty who killed Jon Bene Ramsey, how Stonehenge was erected, or when Christ was born. However, we also cannot have absolute certainty that the world in which we live and experience is real either. It’s the classic brain-in-a-vat scenario and Loftus’s response to that must also be the response to historical certainty. If one wishes to be sceptical by requiring absolute certainty, then such scepticism cannot be applied selectively.

The second part of Loftus’s criticism from history has more substance and is perhaps the most compelling argument against Christianity (and it could be extended to all religious belief if one wishes to dig into history). Why believe in God (or a particular religion) if there is evil (or the religion has a history of doing very bad things)? In fact, why support a political entity (e.g. country, party, etc) which has had a seedy history? The proper response, however, is not to abstain from religion or politics (or citizenship) but to determine if the bad history of them is integral to their identity or if it was a period of wrong movement. In other words, does the atrocities committed in the name of Christianity during the Crusades, Inquisitions, etc accurately represent Christianity or were the atrocities done by people misguided by other ideologies. For example, Loftus cites slavery in the US South as a case. What Loftus does not mention, however, is the Christian abolition movement, William Wilberforce and others in the UK, etc. In other words, he treats Christian thought as a singular entity despite the plurality of beliefs that has existed since its beginning.

Loftus’s final argument is a revision of the previous, turning explicitly to the problem of evil. It’s a question that has plagued religious thought for millenia, and it still doesn’t have a good answer. Yet the problem does not go away because God is taken away from the question. Evil still exists, we just don’t have a God to blame it on. In other words, the problem of evil cannot be seen as the basis to reject religion or theism, but as a problem that exists despite those. This is followed by one-liners that form the actual case against his belief in Christianity, but these are presented as simple facts rather than arguments.

In summary, Loftus wants to appear as being reasonable and logical for rejecting Christianity despite a collection of arguments that are not connected to the root issue. He asks for certainty, something that is generally taken as reasonable, but taken as an absolute requirement that cannot be met. In fact, not even empirical science can meet that requirement as all scientific theories, observations, and facts are subject to additional observations. The epistemological issue becomes confused as an ontological one. Rather than delving into arguments about the merits of Christianity (or even religion in general), Loftus presents issues that are secondary. In the end, his criticism of Christianity is that it doesn’t make sense (whoever said it was is selling something) and his criticism of God is that God doesn’t appear like aliens in film and television do when they announce their existence (i.e. by coming down from the heavens and saying ‘we come in peace’). He asks for evidence that prove beyond any doubt while either ignoring or forgetting that nothing is certain (besides death and taxes) when questioned enough. In short, the only truly reasonable/logical position would be complete agnosticism on the matter, leaving things open for further observations. Yet this is not what Loftus chooses, and it shows in his arguments.

AAR 2010

So, now that it’s the day before the conference officially kicks off, I thought I’d mention which sessions I’ll be attending. I’m not giving any papers this year, but I do plan on having a fairly packed schedule. Without further ado…(panel names may be shortened)

Saturday:

  • A30-132: Ricoeur Consultation (0900-1130)
  • A30-202: Getting Published (1300-1530)
  • A30-300: Importance of Religion (1600-1830)
  • A30-404: Ann Taves plenary (2000-2100)

Sunday:

  • A31-129: Tillich (0900-1130)
  • A31-137: Jonathan Z Smith plenary (1145-1245)
  • A31-204: Public Theologies (1300-1430)
  • A31-328: Theology and Continental Philosophy (1700-1830)

Monday:

  • A1-131: Theology and Continental Philosophy (0900-1130)
  • A1-215: Bible, Theology, and Postmodernity (1300-1530)

I can’t do any more on Monday as I have to make it to the airport for my 1845 flight. If anyone wants to meet up, go get a drink (coffee or beer), grab a meal, etc, contact me (I’ll comment on this in Facebook with my cell phone number, others can email me at christopher[4$2aT*8^7]impleri[3#9d0T1@8]net. for my number). I won’t be bringing my computer to the panels (and my phone doesn’t have internet access), so I won’t be tweeting anything, but I’ll try to post some basics on the panels each night.

To build a community (centre)

The current ‘controversy’ in the US is the plans of a Muslim community to build a community centre a few blocks away from the ruins of the World Trade Centre (you know, that place where 9/11 happened 9 years ago). It’s really sad that these Muslims are getting such harsh treatment. So, I want to look at some of the major ‘arguments’ against the community centre and show how weak they are in addition to showing how much of a non-issue this should be.

A Mosque at Ground Zero!

First, I want to clarify on word choice. The current situation has very specific features and we should be clear, accurate, and concise with our words. First, the building in question is not a mosque. This seems to be a problem that even people on the left who promote religious tolerance have accepted. However, it is an all-purpose facility (e.g. community centre) that will include athletic areas, auditoriums, classrooms, a 9/11 memorial, a parking garage, and finally a mosque. An equivalent example would be calling Princeton Theological Seminary a ‘church’. Furthermore, the site in question is not on Ground Zero, nor even directly adjacent to it. The site is located two blocks away, far enough for them to use different subway stations with at least one in between.

Insult to Injury

The first ‘argument’ is that moderate Muslims building a community centre near Ground Zero is a slap in the face by Muslims against America. However, there are a few flaws with such an argument. First, this argument juxtaposes the religious and the political, making it the radical Muslims against the good religion of the US. Interesting in itself, as it turns America into a single religious community, more than likely ‘Christian’. This kind of assertion is exactly what the prohibition of a state religion is against. I’ve been arguing elsewhere that a government which is completely apathetic to religion (i.e. a secularised society) is the greatest asset for the growth and development of a religion. The ‘argument’ against the building of the community centre is a perfect case showing why secularisation is beneficial to a religious tradition. ‘America’ is not a religion (well, possibly, but that’s another post), and Islam is not a political entity that can attack a nation (Libya, Egypt, Israel, Saudi Arabia, Iraq, Kuwait, etc are).

Secondly, the Muslims building the community centre are themselves Americans! Many of them were present on 9/11 and have the same experience all other New Yorkers (and Americans in general) regarding 9/11. Not only that, but then they were ostracised and demonised by their fellow countrymen for what a handful of people who claim to practice the same religion did. This would be equivalent to Americans wanting to ban Christianity, burn the Bible, and discriminate against Christians because of Timothy McVeigh, the various abortion clinic bombers, Westboro Baptist Church, etc.

So, yes, 9/11 (as well as al Qaeda and others) are radicals who claim to be Muslims. However, the people building this community centre are not. I’m certain that they dislike the radicals as much as Sarah Palin, and chances are they are conservatives who agree with other religious conservatives from Christianity, Judaism, etc. In other words, they are really no different from any of the people who are most vociferous in opposition to the community centre with the exception of religious commitments. The community centre should be seen as Muslims offering to show that they are not the same as the radicals in al Qaeda. While I’ll suggest that they shouldn’t need to do this, other Americans should interpret it at least as such. In fact, the community centre is open to people of all faiths and will continue the tradition of interfaith dialogue. This is nothing like building a shrine to the kamikaze pilots at Pearl Harbor, a KKK memorial at Gettysburg, or a monument to nuclear weaponry at Hiroshima.

Islam is Violent

This was an early thought following 9/11. However, it is based on a severe misinterpretation of Islam, one which the radicals want to popularise. In other words, this argument already accepts a radical minority as being the proper/true interpreters of Islam. Given the facts that places like the UAE, Egypt, Jordan have progressive, moderate atmospheres, it seems that there are modern-day counterfactuals to the assertion that Islam is inherently violent. Further, with accounts of Andalucia, we also have historical evidence that Islam is not just peaceful but progressively adaptive as societies change. While Sean Hannity denounced Feisal Abdul Rauf as a supporter of al Qaeda, his publications in Newsweek and the Washington Post say otherwise.

To put things simply: the current ‘arguments’ from the opposition to the community centre amounts to nothing put bigotry, racism, and religious intolerance in a country that claims to be none of them.

Theology and the Church

I’ve been discussing with a few different groups of people what is the role of (‘academic’) theology within the function of the church. So, here are a few quick points.

Theology serves the church in providing resources for understanding the church, the tradition, and even the culture in which one lives. No Christian lives without some kind of underlying theology. While a theologian may say something very strange, radical, ‘wrong’, or challenging, it is still worthwhile to listen and dialogue with that statement. A theologian’s role in the church is that of an advisor. The theologian has studied and researched a wide range of theologies, capable of connecting theological statements and beliefs to their logical conclusions and other beliefs and ideas. The theologian isn’t perfect; but that doesn’t negate his understanding. In other words, the theologian is (nominally) an authoritative source for the theory behind and within the practice of the church. A theologian isn’t a pastor/preacher; and a pastor/preacher is not a theologian. They have different roles; and they should work together.

A theologian who suggests that an understanding of how others read a text (e.g. the Bible) and how there may be more than one plausible interpretations of that text isn’t advocating a ‘relativism’ (i.e. a relativity of truth) but rather the truth of relativity. In other words, the theologian is suggesting that a single interpretation of a text may not be the only one because, after all, we’re only humans trying to make heads or tails of things. When the church (or a church) chooses to ignore the wider area of theology because ‘it doesn’t help us do XYZ’ (e.g. evangelise, worship, etc), it tends to supplement that decision with a radical personalisation of hermeneutics (i.e. ‘anyone can read and fully understand the Bible because it is in plain English’), the church has actually accepted the ‘relativism’ it may have levied against the theologian. When anybody can clearly understand the Bible, what mechanism is there to decide which interpretation is acceptable (or even ‘correct’)? In other words, how can there be orthodoxy when any interpretation is possible? I think most people would agree that theology isn’t a democratic process within a church–even though it tends to be treated as such.

I suggest that there are (at least) three different groups of theologians that exist today. One group I will call the ‘practical’ theologians. These are the everyday believers within the Church as well as the pastors/preachers. While they may be informed by the other groups of theologians, they are most interested in the practice and application in everyday life (this is not to say that the others are not interested in such!).

The second group is the ‘confessional’ theologians. They tend to have spent their time within a particular group of practising believers (e.g. Baptist, Reformed, Anglican, etc) and their understanding of theology is largely shaped and influenced by that one confession. They remain within that confession, sometimes even to the exclusion of theologians outside this group. Examples of this group would be people like Norman Geisler and Wayne Grudem who are well known within some Evangelical circles as having provided substantial systematic theologies (which inevitably follow a nearly formulaic course of action that defines God, Christ, the church, creation, the apocalypse, etc) which tend to be read only within those Evangelical circles.

The third is the more ‘traditional’ group of ‘academic’ theologians. They study theology from different angles as well as look at the philosophical movements that have shaped theology. They circulate within academic circles, sometimes mixing with various confessions of faith. Examples include Hans Küng and Sarah Coakley, neither have provided systematic theologies per se (they’ve definitely contributed substantially to systematic theology). For these theologians, theology is a discipline like any other; a systematic theology is more like a collection of methods and tools to be develop theological statements rather than a set of answers that assert a single ‘orthodoxy’. To use an analogy of food, the stereotypical ‘confessional’ theology is a restaurant that provides a set of meals; if one does not want to eat the food, one must choose a different restaurant. The stereotypical ‘academic’ theology is a cookbook or cooking class where one must cook one’s own food (in the end). It is for this reason that an ‘academic’ theologian is vital to the Church (in general, across denominations) because she provides the critical tools necessary for the development of theology both confessionally (as a ‘confessional’ systematic theology) and practically (as used in the pulpit and the pews). The ‘academic’ theologian is not in opposition to the other theologians but is rather an important dialogue partner for them.