A. J. Jacobs is the author of The Year of Living Biblically: One Man’s Humble Quest to Follow the Bible as Literally as Possible. He gave a great talk at TED.

Jacobs had some great things to say on a range of subjects but there’s one I really wanted to zero in on and look at today, because – as long time readers will know – it is something I’ve been preoccupied with for a really long time. Specifically, when evaluating the Bible as a religious text, how do you negiotate which things are most imperative and which are dispensable?

I always think of that line Ned Flanders delivers in The Simpsons:

I’ve followed everything it says in the bible – even those bits that contradict the other bits.

A. J. Jacobs:

And finally I learned that thou shall pick and choose. And this one I learned because I tried to follow everything in the Bible. And I failed miserably. Because you can’t. You have to pick and choose, and anyone who follows the Bible is going to be picking and choosing. The key is to pick and choose the right parts. There’s the phrase called cafeteria religion, and the fundamentalists will use it in a denigrating way, and they’ll say, “Oh, it’s just cafeteria religion. You’re just picking and choosing.” But my argument is, “What’s wrong with cafeterias?” I’ve had some great meals at cafeterias. I’ve also had some meals that make me want to dry heave. So, it’s about choosing the parts of the Bible about compassion, about tolerance, about loving your neighbor, as opposed to the parts about homosexuality is a sin, or intolerance, or violence, which are very much in the Bible as well. So if we are to find any meaning in this book, then we have to really engage it, and wrestle with it.

In the talk Jacobs compares the Bible to Wikipedia, in the sense that it has “all of these authors and editors over hundreds of years. And it’s sort of evolved. It’s not a book that was written and came down from on high.” He notes too the approach of the Red Letter Christians, those who emphasise the words apparently spoken by Jesus Christ over the contribution of those other authors and editors.

So how do you wrestle with a religious text if you can’t take it literally? And what’s so great about literal interpretations anyway? Can you practice a religion without adhering to the traditional norms and practice of that religion?

Mona Eltahawy, speaking to Rachael Kohn on The Spirit Of Things, explored the perceived relationship between conservatism and authencity.

Mona Eltahawy:

I think also at the heart of this argument is this idea that conservative equals authentic, and that the more conservative you are, the better of whatever religion you are. And I oppose this idea vigorously because I’m a liberal Muslim and I’m also an authentic Muslim. But the kind of Muslim you see in the media is always the conservative Muslim who wants to speak for me. So it’s always the man who has a long beard and very, very severe and very strict, and the more covered up the woman is, the more authentic she must be. Well I am not covered up and I am a Muslim, and I demand to be taken seriously as a Muslim.

Something to think about. So how do you pick and choose?

Happy Sunday.

Something has really been pissing me off lately. And actually it’s something that I haven’t ever really had much emotional investment in until very recently. Because I always thought it was a legal construct, a formality, but actually within the last week I think it’s affecting people’s psyches in ways I certainly hadn’t considered. I might write about this some more in the future – but I tell you all this just to explain that the video I’m about to quote wasn’t the one I went looking for, though I thought it embodied something worth sharing…

YouTuber 1938Superman made a video titled Milgram Religion. The video is about 25 minutes long. He makes a lot of points within that time, but there was one I wanted to really focus on here.

1938Superman:

I put it out as plainly as I could. Your religious views are yours. Other people who don’t believe what you believe shouldn’t be subject to them. That’s most of the reason your religious views shouldn’t be involved in making laws, because your religious views govern the people that believe that religion, while the laws are supposed to govern everybody. And you wouldn’t find it very favorable if someone who had different religious views than you was having their religion infused into the laws and you had to follow the philosophies and rules and laws of their religion or you’d be arrested. By our own legal process you would be forced to follow them. You wouldn’t like that.

I wonder if this mentality doesn’t hark back to times when we didn’t have the kind of racial and religious diversity we see today. Times when a ruling monarch actually did set the religious standards and they were enforceable in this way, that there was this meshing of religion, law and power. I imagine in some special instances – say, Vatican City, for example – that this is probably still the case.

I am always slightly bemused when people tell me “Australia is a Christian country.” Even if you resist the urge to take this literally, to think that this piece of dirt has a religion (and that it has nothing to do with Aboriginal mysticism), it is usually cited as an excuse to enforce a kind of social norm. And, actually, we see this all the time in Australia, even in more secular pursuits. The Melbourne Cup, for example. If you don’t place a bet on this celebrated horse racing event or have a drink on this day, you’re clearly “UnAustralian.” (Never mind the terrible social consequences such an attitude might have on those suffering from gambling addictions and alcoholism.) You’ll be harassed if you don’t participate in this ritual, but you won’t be arrested – and that’s kind of the point, I think.

This is what is at the heart of the separation of church and state, this understanding that certain things apply to certain people in certain contexts. And religion is tribal, religion is ‘opt-in’. You are initiated into a tradition in one fashion or another. You choose to do certain specific things and identify as part of a specific group. Other people identify with other traditions and participate in other rituals.

I think Rabbi Jeremy Lawrence, talking to Rachel Kohn on The Spirit of Things, makes this point well.

Rabbi Jeremy Lawrence:

As Rebecca was saying before, you say a certain food isn’t allowed and it creates some kind of desire. Within the Torah we’re given a whole slew of animals, many of which are not readily accessible, but others which are, like a pig or a camel, that we’re not allowed to eat, and meat with milk that we’re not allowed to eat.

On the verse that I referred to before, it says you should be holy, and that meant you should separate, so Nachmanides says if you’re walking past a butcher’s shop and you see this huge pig hanging up there, you’re not supposed to say ‘How revolting, how terrible, how could people eat such things?’ You’re supposed to say, that you know, ‘This is food and God has provided in the world, but it’s not for me to eat’ and I’ve got a measure of self-censorship in that.

Here eating pork is not in and of itself a bad thing necessarily, those keeping Kosher are motivated by the commitment they made within their tradition. You’ll note the expression “self-censorship” here. You could perhaps argue that the act of consuming certain foods and not others here is of less importance than the commitment to the tradition that the act represents.

I understand that proponents of specific religious traditions may wish that everyone should embrace their particular tradition. (Many of the world’s religions are deeply rooted in proselytizing traditions.) Though such a push would result in less authenicity among religious practitioners because to participate authentically within religion requires faith and commitment.

I’m reminded of the remark of Twitter user @NZAfro:

I hate it when people say they pray for me. I ask them not to! I’m atheist, that’s like eating a chicken to help a vegetarian!

Happy Sunday!

I fear I may have been a tad too generous in thinking there might’ve been a more thoughtful purpose to the Bible Society’s Jesus: All About Life advertising campaign than prosletysing… A Bible Society brochure has cleared up all the question marks.

From the brochure:

The ‘Jesus. All About Life’ campaign is all about helping you understand what Jesus said about what he called ‘the abundant life’ or ‘life to the max.’ Many people find this hard to accept because they think that being a Christian means you have to stop doing anything you enjoy and instead walk around being boring and dull.

You think so? Really? The primary reason that people opt for a non-Christian religious practice (or no religious practice) is because they’re worried about walking “around being bored and dull”? You don’t think belief or life experience might factor into this equation?

[ad#adsense250]That there was human life before Jesus, that there were other religious traditions before and after Christianity, that there were (as Tom Harpur noted) “Christ figures [plural] and Christ communities and many Christianities” are of no consequence here. That is unsurprising; uncertainities do not create converts, especially not within people who base their religious orientation on its proximity to excitement and ‘life to the max.’

The trick is to reframe the whole experience. You’re not being ‘converted’ rather you’re discovering how to experience ‘an abundant life.’ The three steps towards this process involve accepting Jesus (as “not just another spiritual option…” but as God), asking (specifically about the death and ressurrection of Jesus and atonement), and finally changing (converting?)…

Increasingly when I approach the subject of religion I am noticing two distinct camps of people. Those that have a very visceral experience of their religious practice, they tend to talk in expressions that embody and celebrate their belief. They might exclaim, “God is love!” or “Jesus loves me” and feel loved. Often these people don’t have a particularly sophisticated theology, and you could probably argue that they don’t need one. (I think from the earlier remark about walking ‘around being boring and dull’ it is safe to assume that these are the kind of people being targeted by this campaign.) Then there are other people who consider religious ideas as ideas, and consider them in a context much larger than their own religious tradition. I don’t particularly understand how one could commit to a religion without a thoughtful discourse about revelation, particularly, and atonement. Because really religion isn’t about morality necessarily, it is about the divine and the mysterious – the mysterium tremendum, it is about the nature and existence of God and whether that force reveals itself and interacts with humanity or not. And what, if any, implications that might have for us as a species. So how do you know God? Through the religious texts, through the relevations he made through individuals? How do you evaluate religious texts? Which prophets are the ‘true’ prophets; and which are mouthpieces for the devil, or suffering from mental illness? Which God(s) are the true one(s) and which the ‘false’ idols? But most importantly consider your own process; how did you come to know these things? How did you decide? What’s your method?

This blog goes against everything I believe in. All the random stuff people have told me about marketing and traffic and content and pillar articles and giveaways and… and… and…

And you know what? I like it anyway. Most days I don’t even know what I believe until I have read back the words that fill these entries. The truth is I struggled to know why I even bothered to log in and write in it for the longest time. It wasn’t for the traffic or the readers (as much as I appreciate you all). It isn’t for the advertising revenue generated by the token adsense ad on each page. It isn’t particularly to prove myself as a writer. This blog has become everything I raged against as a younger version of myself. Its the journal I didn’t bother keeping as a child, except in rare instances of poetic flourish. It is the place I put all the random thoughts that have nowhere to go. The place I collect all that extra static in my life. It is a kind of therapy.

I wonder at times if scheduling an appointment with an actual licensed therapist wouldn’t be equally helpful. Certainly in the last couple of weeks my confidence has taken a beating. I don’t know why particularly. There seems to be a vague pattern though I cannot see the forest for the trees and there is a temptation to become so analytical as to only see the splinters. Did it start when I started to really think about my religous beliefs? Somehow the Christian beliefs I was imbued with as a child morphed into pagan beliefs as I reached my late teens. They were interesting. They really were quite thought-provoking. But I couldn’t shake off the general feeling that I was just believing something for the sake of having something to believe in. My experiences of Christianity were mostly unpleasant ones so Paganism seemed the obvious flip of that particular pendulum, but even still I realised I was still quite programmed ‘to believe’ in something. Over time it felt silly. In the same way I feel silly even now when I remember myself as a teenager coming home after another day of schoolyard torment and, literally, screaming at the sky.

But in more recent times the Paganism and the Christianity have given way to more metaphysical ‘new age’ and personal development ideas. The personal development is lovely in as far as it goes. It is practical and helpful, and it intersects into business and marketing pursuits – which have always interested me. The other stuff, the metaphysical stuff, I am not so sure about. The Secret was an interesting movie. The transcripts of that movie were turned into a clumsy and awkward book. But the ideas there were not ‘secret’ or even new, people had been talking and writing about them for eons. Many of these writers doing so much more eloquently than this succesfully marketed contraption. Wayne Dyer comes immediately to mind. I used to read and listen to him and feel like I was enjoying an intellectual-stimulating spiritual meal. And, yet, somehow while I was impressed by his manner I never really embraced the ideas he represented. I offered all my Wayne Dyer books, cds and tapes for sale at a recent garage sale. None of them sold. They were later given to an unsuspecting second hand store.

Even Louise L. Hay, whose publishing empire Hayhouse Books has given rise to this whole genre of reading, seems completely lovely and sincere. A woman with self-esteem issues and a history of abusive relationships who apparently found herself and life through being kind to herself and reciting personal affirmations. Can it really be that easy? The truth is of all the various pitches that revolve around religion and self-help and personal development, for me, Louise’s was the most compelling. It seemed kinder and gentler than anything I had experienced even in similar genres. Certainly it was much kinder than I was able to be to myself. However even in Louise’s books and talks things capture my interest and confuse me.

Louise assures that the best way to start loving yourself is to never ever criticise yourself, not ever. Being judgmental keeps us separate, she assures us, from other people. She says this and then tells that she’s spent her own life not being judgmental of other people, but, rather, ‘seeing the truth of their being.’ Is it wrong for me to wonder if this isn’t an exercise in semantics? Have we dusted off a whole library of old ideas and retweaked them for the more discerning tastes of the modern age? I’m sure we’re all familiar with the running gag that the only difference between pop music and Christian music is that you change the word ‘Baby’ to ‘God.’ Is that what we’ve done; changed ‘religion’ to ‘new age’ and ‘God’ to ‘The Universe’?

Part of me, despite all I represent, would actually really love to think there were a God. That in my moments of quiet desperation and social isolation there was some one – or thing – lurking in the shadows, sympathetically listening to my thoughts. Another part is secretly seduced by the idea of Ivan T. Sanderson that, actually, the earth itself is a giant organism; that maybe ‘The Universe’ isn’t another linguistic representation for ‘God’ as we’ve come to know that concept but rather that the super intelligence (should such a thing exist) actually be the cosmos itself, not some Man-like deity.

But from whichever tradition I approach my dilemma there is always one constant. That is the complete lack of certainty. There is no way of ‘knowing.’ There really isn’t. At least not one I can see. I realise that might seem offensive to some of you. This is what ‘faith’ is – belief in the absence of evidence. Certainly many people may have had very powerful visceral experiences that have reinforced their beliefs and frames of reference. And then the rabbit hole goes down another burrow, one that leads into the realms of human psychology. Yet this does nothing to help me. Not really. I still don’t know why we’re (collectively) here. Or why I’m individually here.

Because, actually, this isn’t a religious priligrimage. This is about me. I don’t really feel like I know who I am. Or who I am supposed to become. Or what it is that I am supposed to be doing here at all! I keep secretly wishing some divine plan will emerge and I’ll go, “Oh! It’s so obvious to me now. That is what I am supposed to be doing.” Frankly I don’t even know what I want at this point. Everything seems difficult and thankless. I secretly wish I was one of those people who knew they wanted to be a teacher or a lawyer since age 10. I wish some opportunity would present itself and the universe would shake me violently to get my attention. I just want some reassurance. I just want some feedback. It was easy in school. One way or another, teachers would let you know – and actually in a practical sense if you could appease your teachers, your schooling success was a foregone conclusion. Now suddenly I have to set my own work and mark it and prioritise it? It should be a no-brainer. I should run out and do everything I’ve ever wanted to do and just keep doing it and refining it until it is superbly accomplished. Somehow it hasn’t worked like that. I don’t know why it hasn’t worked like that. I imagine The Secret and Louise Hay would say I am not ready to receive, I do not feel deserving. That might be true. I don’t know. Maybe I am being persecuted by unseen nonhuman forces for various and sundry sins. Maybe my low self-esteem is the spanner being thrown into these works. Maybe I have ineffective strategies. I mean any of these could potentially be true.

Perhaps all I am seeking is certainty. I was unhappy in my previous position. But at least there was a routine in place. I knew when I had to be there, I knew when I could (approximately) leave. I knew how much money would find itself into my bank account every fortnight. I chose to break out on my own and do my own thing. Freedom is exciting, freedom is liberating… and freedom is bloody frightening. Even the few things I attempt to do in a routine fashion can (and often are) thrown out of the window since the only authority I answer to is myself, and, actually, if I am being honest I am fickle and moody and lazy. I don’t really feel as though I know anything for certain. There is no guarantee that the friends I have today are the friends I’ll have next week, for example. There is no guarantee if I make something, anyone will particularly care.

I suppose for now I shall have to console myself with the knowledge that I certainly need sleep and that I certainly intend to go out for breakfast tomorrow morning. And know that I certainly have this blog to flesh out other random thoughts at equally random hours.

I’ve decided to post about a collection of things that bother me because, frankly, I haven’t posted anything in a while… and what is a blog besides an online soapbox?

World Youth Day: They came, they saw, they trashed Randwick race course. I was secretly relieved that I was struck down by illness so I wouldn’t have to venture up to Sydney. I guess on the one hand I totally got that they were there to celebrate their religious convictions. I totally get there is great affection for the latest Pope. What I don’t get is… why? And that isn’t even a criticism of Ratzinger himself, more a general wondering about what makes the pope so important within the realm of Catholicism to begin with. I don’t feel like I’m being flippant, either. What makes any singular person any more divine than any other? There is a wonderful presumption that Priests are particularly divine though surely there is enough anecdotal evidence to acknowledge their own individual and collective shortcomings?

I recently saw The X-Files: I Want To Believe. At one point there is an exchange between Dana Scully (Gillian Anderson) and Father Joseph (Billy Connolly). Scully asks Father Joseph if he thinks God hears his prayers. Father Joseph quips back, “Do you think he hears yours?” At this point Scully offers flatly that she (unlike Father Joseph) didn’t sodomize twenty-something altar boys.

Elsewhere, some Anglicans are up in arms. Well, actually, I think most Anglicans are up in arms; it is more a question of which quarter of opinion they fall into. Gay Priests. Female Bishops. Lions and Tigers and bears – oh my!

I suppose I’ve come to two basic conclusions.

Discrimination seeks legitimacy from religion and this is not appropriate. I was particularly disappointed to see the introduction of new laws for the benefit of World Youth Day that meant that those ‘annoying’ WYD delegates could be arrested. I severely doubt the laws would be available to more secular events such as Mardi gras. Which is disappointing because I have to say Cardinal Pell’s routine protests at that particular event are really fucking annoying!

Furthermore, Organised Religion is ‘Organised’ for a reason and whatever that reason is, it seems doubtful it is about cultivating personal freedom or improving your relationship with your creator. I wonder if The Church (indeed, any church) might actually impair the potential for a relationship between you and your creator. I doubt, for example, that, if permitted by the Archbishop of Canterbury, Gay Priests or Women Bishops will be seen any differently than they were previously by God himself. No, rather, they will just have made themselves accountable to an entirely worldly figure who had spent the better part of their lives treating them like second class citizens.

We are able to freely acknowledge that historically people were controlled through militant force and religious influence; why is it so hard to acknowledge now the power we surrender to mere mortals and the potential for that power to be misused and abused?

In response to The Joy of Shame, Daniel wrote:

It’s not just ‘extremist’ churches that focus on guilt and shame. I’m not positive on this, but I think that John (like me) was raised by run-of-the-mill moderate evangelical Australian Protestants. The fact is that Christianity is centred around the doctrine of salvation, which all seems very positive until you stop to ask, “salvation from what?” Sin and damnation is the other side of the coin – you can’t have one without another, and you can’t help but be concerned with both no matter which of the two aspects your church chooses to focus on more in expressing it.

I suggest to you, today, that perhaps we are not ourselves sinful. That our creator need not want us to feel ashamed, or shameful. That the rhetoric of shame and sin is an entirely worldly construct. Born, primarily, to aid in controlling people. That the hierarchy is set up not as an exercise in support though rather in influence and control. But mostly I would suggest to those wanting to infiltrate the inner workings of either the Catholic or Anglican churches simply – be careful what you wish for, you might just get it. It might feel ostensibly like ‘acceptance,’ though it might actually be little more than a surrender of control. You may have just made yourself part of the machine.

I realise there will be those among you who will at this point cite the bible as assurance that, ‘no, John, there is really sin!’ The bible is what we politely call, in paranormal circles, ‘inspired literature.’ And I really feel as though if I am going to accept one ‘inspired’ text at face value it is only fair to accept all ‘inspired’ texts in this fashion, including – er – those faithful reworkings of history and the bible itself. What separates some books dictated by strange supernatural powers as being ‘crazy’ and others being ‘religious’ is surely a dilemma worthy of further consideration, too.

I tried writing something in here last night. It was going to be a terribly witty explanation of why Christians scared me. It even had a witty title to coincide with The World Youth Day celebrations: Ratzinger Is Coming – Look Busy!

The truth is while the general tone of what I was going to write last night and what I am writing now is very different, the issues really aren’t.

I’ve never been a fan of religion, in general. Though my personal experiences, growing up, all revolved around Christianity. I would love to tell you that my experiences were all about the Love and Grace of God, but they really weren’t. If anything Christianity taught me the ‘joy’ of shame. (If the quotation marks were too subtle – they were used to denote sarcasm!)

Christianity taught me I was sinful. Christianity taught me that, in fact, we were all sinful, though apparently there were aspects to my being that were particularly notable in this regard.

And growing up I quickly became aware that there were numerous people who were happy to see me unhappy. People who seemed to derive a good deal of pleasure from my pain. I didn’t understand why they would want to do that to anyone, least of all me. I just assumed I must’ve done something to deserve it – I mean I was sinful, my scripture teacher assured me of that much.

I die a little inside when I think back to that day, but I can’t pretend it didn’t happen. I can’t pretend I didn’t run from the bus stop to my home. I can’t pretend I didn’t slam the door behind me and start crying hysterically. The bit that really cuts me, though, is that I clutched a Gideon’s bible and screamed at the sky. Can you imagine that? I can’t recall exactly what I said. I would like to think it was “Why have you forsaken me?” though that seems more poetic than I was at that stage. I imagine it was more likely, “Why are you doing this to me?” Perhaps “Why me?” more generally.

I don’t actually believe in “God” anymore. I don’t, personally, struggle with theological dilemmas or scriptural interpretations. You could be forgiven for thinking the problem had evaporated entirely.

The truth is even without the grandeur of a tyrannical God of Old Testament proportions, I still feel inadequate. I still feel inherently flawed and worthless. I now assume I’m not good enough for the people in my life in the way I used to assume I wasn’t good enough for a deity. I am terrified that I will never be enough for anyone. I am convinced I am unlovable.

I showed a project that I was working on to the person I consider my dearest friend in the world, and they didn’t say a thing about it. It is such a silly reaction on my behalf. I’m sure they were interested. I am sure (intellectually) they do care. But at the time I just wanted to throw myself in the path of a train. I am terrified of being abandoned, but suspect that the people in my life would be entitled to do it, convinced that I probably don’t deserve their affection.

I guess my fear is that Christians already have a theological reason to dislike me. Whereas, other people have to actually take the time to get to know me before deciding I’m worthless and hopeless. That probably isn’t fair. But in at least one area of my life I am well and truly a response-stimuli animal and the response is usually to flinch, before slowly withdrawing entirely.

I worry about investing in people, emotionally. It is easy enough to be dismissive of criticism of you from relative strangers, but another thing entirely when it comes from people you’ve come to care for. I try to be more open with people upfront because its easier that way, because frankly there are some things over which I exercise no or little influence. And unfortunately existing prejudices top that list.

Somebody once made a YouTube video. It was the sort of thing that ordinarily I wouldn’t have given a second thought to. But this time it was different. I lost sleep over it. Because it didn’t come from some random stranger. It came from somebody I loved.