Idols
∞
Run For Joy
As I mentioned in a recent blog post, and as the Sioux Falls Argus Leader has reported, I am going for a run for the sake of joy this weekend, and you're invited to join me, here or wherever you are.
The prophets knew this thousands of years ago: we become like what we worship. We might think we don't worship, but I'm here to tell you that the way you spend your life is the way you worship. We all worship. Each of us ascribes worth to things by giving our time, our money, and our attention to them.
It's tempting to give our attention to monsters, to worship the devils that the news cameras follow breathlessly through the streets. It is tempting to worship our fears, to let the things that could steal, or maim, or kill become the focus of our attention. It is tempting to hold the horrors in our hearts until we form them into perfect idols. If that weren't tempting, the news would look very different.
Avoiding idolatry - by which I mean worshiping things that are not worthy of our precious lives and attention - takes a conscious and sustained effort.
It requires us to remember not the horror but the joy. It requires us to give up the cramped life of fear and to stretch ourselves in the exuberance of being alive, of having a body.
At their best, this is what marathons are about: exultation in the gift of living an embodied life.
So run with me. Shake off the terrors, and feel your muscles, your bones, your sinewed vitality. Wherever you are, get out there and feel a little of what the marathoners were feeling as they ran, the hard-earned joy of running, the joy of feeling alive with other people.
Let me add that I'm not an accomplished runner, so don't expect me to lead the pack. This will be a run, not a race. If you want to walk with us, push a stroller, or whatever lets you feel the joy of being alive, come and join us. Bring your joy.
The prophets knew this thousands of years ago: we become like what we worship. We might think we don't worship, but I'm here to tell you that the way you spend your life is the way you worship. We all worship. Each of us ascribes worth to things by giving our time, our money, and our attention to them.
It's tempting to give our attention to monsters, to worship the devils that the news cameras follow breathlessly through the streets. It is tempting to worship our fears, to let the things that could steal, or maim, or kill become the focus of our attention. It is tempting to hold the horrors in our hearts until we form them into perfect idols. If that weren't tempting, the news would look very different.
Avoiding idolatry - by which I mean worshiping things that are not worthy of our precious lives and attention - takes a conscious and sustained effort.
It requires us to remember not the horror but the joy. It requires us to give up the cramped life of fear and to stretch ourselves in the exuberance of being alive, of having a body.
At their best, this is what marathons are about: exultation in the gift of living an embodied life.
So run with me. Shake off the terrors, and feel your muscles, your bones, your sinewed vitality. Wherever you are, get out there and feel a little of what the marathoners were feeling as they ran, the hard-earned joy of running, the joy of feeling alive with other people.
*****
I'm not collecting money, but I encourage you also to give a donation to an organization of your choosing that cares for those who suffer. I'm going to give to the Red Cross and the United Way. Because I think that love for neighbor is a worthwhile thing to focus my attention on, and giving my money helps to focus my attention.
And while you're at it: turn off the news and think about this: what is bringing you joy today? How are you bringing joy to others today? As someone wise once said, "whatever is true,
whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is
lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or
praiseworthy—think about such things."
*****
Let me add that I'm not an accomplished runner, so don't expect me to lead the pack. This will be a run, not a race. If you want to walk with us, push a stroller, or whatever lets you feel the joy of being alive, come and join us. Bring your joy.
∞
The Idolatry of Fear
Let me start with some rough definitions: by worship I mean ascribing worth to something, to the point of making it a guide for one's actions. By an idol I mean something that does not merit the worship it is given.
Now: when fear becomes the guide for our actions, we should ask whether that fear deserves to be at the center of our attention.
Because what resides at the center of our attention starts to shape us. I don't mean it remakes us completely. I mean that what we mentally caress and cherish will affect our ethical decisions. The inward life has outward consequences.
Some fear is prudent. It is prudent not to stand on mountain ridges or under trees during thunderstorms. But if we live in constant fear of lightning, something has gone wrong. Either we live in the wrong place, or lightning has taken too central a role in our minds. Lightning becomes a monster, a demigod, a perpetual danger that stunts our growth and keeps our heads down.
The same could be said when we fear our neighbors: either we live in the wrong place, or we give too much credence to potential dangers and crowd out from our consciousness the potential joys of human fellowship. So our neighbors become monsters and we become their victims, and we worship them as fearful gods whom we come to despise.
What is the antidote to the idolatry of fear? Someone once said "perfect love drives out all fear." If I can conceive of my neighbor not as a monster but as someone worth loving--even to a small degree--then I have begun to let love -- philia, agape* -- dwell at the center of my consciousness. And I can begin to lift my head, just a little.
****
* Philia can mean "love," or "friendship." The latter books of Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics give a thoughtful treatment of philia. Among his insights there, Aristotle says that where there is philia, there is no need for laws. Like philia, the word agape can be translated as "love." Charles Peirce used this word to describe the kind of love that seeks the good of the beloved (you can see more here and also in the Gospel of John) and distinguishes this from eros, the love that seeks the good of the lover.
Now: when fear becomes the guide for our actions, we should ask whether that fear deserves to be at the center of our attention.
Because what resides at the center of our attention starts to shape us. I don't mean it remakes us completely. I mean that what we mentally caress and cherish will affect our ethical decisions. The inward life has outward consequences.
Some fear is prudent. It is prudent not to stand on mountain ridges or under trees during thunderstorms. But if we live in constant fear of lightning, something has gone wrong. Either we live in the wrong place, or lightning has taken too central a role in our minds. Lightning becomes a monster, a demigod, a perpetual danger that stunts our growth and keeps our heads down.
The same could be said when we fear our neighbors: either we live in the wrong place, or we give too much credence to potential dangers and crowd out from our consciousness the potential joys of human fellowship. So our neighbors become monsters and we become their victims, and we worship them as fearful gods whom we come to despise.
What is the antidote to the idolatry of fear? Someone once said "perfect love drives out all fear." If I can conceive of my neighbor not as a monster but as someone worth loving--even to a small degree--then I have begun to let love -- philia, agape* -- dwell at the center of my consciousness. And I can begin to lift my head, just a little.
****
* Philia can mean "love," or "friendship." The latter books of Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics give a thoughtful treatment of philia. Among his insights there, Aristotle says that where there is philia, there is no need for laws. Like philia, the word agape can be translated as "love." Charles Peirce used this word to describe the kind of love that seeks the good of the beloved (you can see more here and also in the Gospel of John) and distinguishes this from eros, the love that seeks the good of the lover.
∞
"Come, Let Us Reason Together": Thinking About God
A student in my philosophy of religion class recently asked me, "Do we really need to put this much thought into God? Is it not okay for me to believe without all the philosophical questions?"
On the one hand, yes, it is okay for you to believe without being a philosopher. As William James points out, we often decide to believe religious, ethical, and aesthetic propositions on insufficient evidence, and we often do so justly. Sometimes you've just got to choose, even if you can't prove you've made the right choice.
And I'm sympathetic with this student's position. Faith can be, as James puts it, passional. When people question our passions, or put restrictions on them, that can feel like a violation of something very personal and intimate. In those times we feel that the person telling us we may not believe is a dogmatist and a tyrant.
On the other hand, I think there are some good reasons to spend time thinking philosophically about God. Here are five reasons why I think religious people - and specifically but not exclusively Christians - ought to do so.
First, if your belief is based in Jewish and Christian scriptures, you might find the commandment to "love the Lord your God with all your...mind" to be sufficient reason. If you love God, why would you withhold your mind from your worship? And if you claim to be giving your whole self in worship but withhold your reason, aren't you in danger of committing the error of Ananias and Sapphira?
Second, thinking about God brings us into community with others. It's a way of putting our beliefs into words, and when we do that, we invite others to consider them with us.
Third, lots of people have opinions about God, and some opinions about God lead people to do violent things to others. If we disagree with that violence, and want to stop it, we have two choices: we can oppose it with equal and opposite violence, or we can try to reason with others. Perhaps more importantly, we can reason with those who might one day become violent and help them form reasonable and peaceable beliefs. It's hard to reason about others' opinions if we aren't able to reason about our own opinions.
Fourth, even if our reasoning about God is inconclusive (as it often is!) it is a kind of exercise for the mind, one that might prepare us for the conversations I just mentioned and also for solving lots of other kinds of problems.
Finally, thinking about God can help us discover idols in our own thinking. It's a kind of self-examination. If you take God seriously, then you probably want to make sure you don't worship the wrong thing. My experience tells me that when I think about very difficult problems, part of me gets tired and wants to settle on any old solution so that I can be done thinking. But that settling on a workable solution might well get in the way of finding the best solution. Similarly, settling for an easy theology might get in the way of finding the best theology. Will I ever find the best theology? I admit I'm not sanguine about this. But why should that keep me from longing and trying to make the theology I have better? At any rate, surely I should try to avoid believing in the wrong thing. I find Merold Westphal's position to be a helpful one: skeptics of religion are often better idol-detectors than I am.
What do you think?