'Begin at the beginning,' the King said gravely, 'and go on till you come to the end: then stop.'
"Why does religion keep telling us we're bad?" asks David Lahti, in a nicely-worded post. Which attracts the usual incisive, cutting comments below the article. I'm sure that, this time, those learned and meaningful comments will definitely make believers so ashamed of their beliefs, and so suddenly aware of their foolishness, that they will give up their beliefs immediately and dedicate their lives to wearing anoraks and making snide and - on a universal scale - pointless remarks on Internet forums and wondering why the other sex has lost interest in them.
But to be honest, it's obvious why religion tells us we're bad. The reason is - plot.
Religion is not merely a set of rules. Hopefully it's never one of those, but that's another matter. Religion is a narrative. And narrative needs somewhere to go from, and somewhere to go to.
And St Paul kind of set one narrative up and if you're struggling for a sermon topic and you're a certain kind of evangelical, it's easy and it fits and it starts:
"God is very good. But we're evil. Ooooh we're evil. We're so bad that everyone went bad in a bad way. Let's face it, even getting a bit shirty with the Traffic Warden who's just clamped your car is sinful. And sin fits you for Hell. Did you hear? HELL!!! Even if the only wrong thing you did in your life was thinking that the power-mad freak in the Westminster Council uniform who's just clamped your car because it was overhanging 0.5% of an inch of yellow line - three minutes after the restriction starts and even though he knows you were walking towards the car - even if that's the only wrong thing you ever did - and even though you only thought you'd like to smash his head onto the windscreen - and even though some might call that a reasonable thought and even though you know it's not - it's wrong, oh so very wrong - even so - YOU'RE GOING TO HELL!!! Now... what are you going to do about it?"
And various options will be offered to you. Trying to be good, so you're entitled to go to heaven. With the conclusion that YOU'RE GOING TO FAIL!!!! Or giving up and resorting to artificial means of cheerfulness - whether that be tawdry sex, or the sweet oblivion of alcohol, or watching Celebrity Big Brother. Without even the slightest concession that sex may be nice, or alcohol can indeed - in sensible quantities - be sweet*. Doesn't matter, because one morning you will wake up in a pool of last night's Creme de Menthe with someone you don't recognise, of a gender that you weren't thinking you were that attracted to, in a place you weren't expecting, while watching someone who used to be in Bros discussing the meaning of life with an old politician on Channel 5, and you'll have got the sack from work and you'll have hit Rock Bottom.
And then you will be told that there is one - and only one - way to salvation. This may be through repentance forgiveness and future sanctification, or following a six-step programme to enlightenment, or simply giving all your money to the pastor. But if you follow it, you will be Happy All the Day.
Now the thing is that the Book of Romans is just one way of looking at human nature. There seem to be others. Jesus didn't think that the Beatitudes were completely unrealistic. When he said "blessed are the peacemakers" he didn't add "...not that there are any. And as for the meek - where can you find a Meek, I ask you?" And when he talks about Sheep and Goats, although the consequences are pretty serious for the Goats, there doesn't seem to be any suggestion that it's impossible to be a Sheep.
And while a Drayton Parslovian analysis of human nature would fall in with the concept of Absolute Depravity, the Catholics, to take just one example, would seem to believe - at least in days gone by - that our lives are both weeds and wheat, and those that drag themselves over the line of salvation (I speak figuratively - for of course there is only one Dragger of our Souls) will still have spirits in such a state that they need purging.
Here at the Beaker Folk of Husborne Crawley we tend to have a view of human nature that can be summed up as "Total Mediocrity". This states that most of us, given an even break, will neither go to hell in a handcart nor be applauded as saints, but rather muddle through life without anyone noticing. It's not over-exciting but it's realistic. We recognise, however, that from this point there are easy and hard ways to go. To run amok in the local shopping centre with a dangerous weapon, for example, will cause everyone to know who we are. It's an easy way to make your name, but at best you will be known as "that wally" and at worst as a sad but dangerous adolescent fantasist. To be noticeably good, on the other hand, is very hard. To be a known saint you will have to wash the faces of the unloved, visit those in prison, be a friend to the stranger. And since nobody takes any notice of the unloved, prisoners and the stranger, you're going to have to do that a lot before anyone cares. You'll just have to hope that someone notices. Preferably someone who's fond of the unloved, prisoners and strangers.
But the point is, it's not a great story. I think that's why some liberal Christians have to invent a whole new tale - one where people are basically good but the system is bad. Because if there's not something bad to make right, some low to climb out from, some despair in which to find hope - there's no narrative.
So in conclusion - why do religions tell us that we (or the world, or the system) are bad? Because if they don't, as I say, there's no plot. With no rags, there's no riches. Whoever read a rags-to-rags story (depressing) or a riches-to-riches one (boring)? With no downs, where's the ups? (Except in Dunstable, where the Downs are the high points). Without Absolute Depravity, where's the excitement of being Saved to the Uttermost? If the system doesn't need to be smashed, why not leave it alone?
Gentle ones, you've got to have a direction. You've got to have movement. You've got to have a dream. For if you don't have a dream, how you gonna make a dream come true?
* I'll give you that there's no redeeming side at all to "Celebrity" Big Brother. Unless it be the feeling of relief when it's over.
This outrageous. Of course there's a hell and I'm jolly pleased to let you know that ALL folk that are not exactly like me are destined to go there. I mean, part of the fun will be pointing and laughing and saying "told you so"....FOREVER......
ReplyDeleteGosh, if I were not motivated at all times by hell, how would I summon the will to walk my dog? There would be no compelling force.
I think you would be well advised to learn a few pertinent Scriptures, preferably taken out of context, and severely concentrate on them - rather like when you're constipated - until you feverently believe them and voila, you will have mustered enough faith to MAYBE avoid hell.
OK, granted, I live with the terrifying fear that I can't actually muster enough faith to avoid hell and I'm constantly racked with guilt; nonetheless, I'm on the right path and those that are exactly like me reaffirm this daily.
And woe to everbody else, you know, those thoroughly wicked sort.
Blessed are the cheese makers?
ReplyDelete(sorry, but I saw John Cleese on telly last night, coincidence?, I think not!)
I like the ‘Total Mediocrity’ approach. It has some historical merit after all. Just look at some of the Apostles.
ReplyDeletePeter, a mediocre fisherman who couldn’t hit a barn door with a two-foot sword. Philip, who was verbally-challenged and probably dyslexic. James and John who feigned toughness but were pussycats when the chips were down. Thomas, wracked with doubt but certain about his uncertainty. James the Less the quintessential ‘younger brother’ about whom less is known and probably for good reason. And finally there was Nathaniel (“What good ever came out of Nether Wallop?”). Now there’s mediocrity we can aspire to!
Blessed are those who, owing to minor deficiencies of character namely, insecurity, witlessness, unquestioning acceptance, paranoia, lack of imagination and blind dogmatic adherence, unsubtly insist on correcting others' lack of faith and spiritual insight by parroting the few de-contextualised verses of Scripture that attract them in order to point out repentance is on hand for those reprobate souls who do occasionally feel the urge 'to smash a traffic warden's head on a windscreen'. As you say, we journey alongside a narrative that points to right and healthy living, embodied by 'Jesus', a supernatural hero (ooooh! slightly theologically suspect terminology) authored by God. Fortunately, when we tell Him (Abba, that is), he's already forgotten the mess we've 'fessed-up about. It's His grace that draws us towards Him, grace which reveals the (shlock, horror) uncomfortable truth about the condition of the/our human heart(s). Gospel truth (at least, that's my interpretation on the back of a fag packet). Doh! There I go again...destined for the dark mincing machine in the sky, where I'll eternally be half-minced, but not totally finished off! (...or is that a relic of mediaeval superstition propagated by a power-soaked theocracy, graphically portrayed in Hieronymous Bosch's 'The Garden of Earthly Delights'). Anyway, if there was no fear of being caught breaking the speed limit on motorways, many more of us would end up causing carnage, pain and destruction. Sorry to end on an oddly mediocre automotive analogy.
ReplyDeleteNot exclusively cheese makers Steve - but it could refer to any maker of dairy products.
ReplyDeleteGOR - Precisely.
Anonymouse - What?
The doctrine of total mediocrity!!
ReplyDeleteI don't really believe in total depravity--there is too much good in the best of us!!--though things like the Stanford Prison Experiment are often cited in support of that doctrine. It is a troubling experiment, in that it's possible in can be replicated anywhere with the same results.