God is not a Billiard Ball

Many of my conversations with atheists feel like this to me:

Anelectronist: I don't believe in electrons, you know, little billiard balls of negative charge that whizz around circuits and make them work.
Electronist: But something must carry negative charge.
Anelectronist: From what I read, a single electron can pass through two slits at the same time and make an interference pattern on the other side, like ripples on water. Billiard balls can't do that, even really small ones.
Electronist: Well, physicists don't think of electrons as billiard balls anymore. They talk about wave-particle duality or "wavicles", which exhibit properties of both waves and particles, to describe really small entities like electrons.
Anelectronist: I don't know about that. I define electrons as billiard balls and many other people think of them that way. So, I have to say, in light of these paradoxes, electrons don't exist.
Electronist: So, what do you think carries negative charge? Something must carry negative charge.
Anelectronist: Well, maybe there's something to these wavicles, although it sounds kind of incoherent to me - I don't see how something can be a wave and a particle at the same time. In any case, you'll have to come up with a better word for them. I can't talk about electrons without imagining little billiard balls.

Of course, I have loaded this rhetorically. Nearly anyone who thinks about it would realize that not believing in electrons is absurd, and that scientists are at liberty to update their models of reality as the data come in. I don't know of any "electronist" fundamentalists, for example, who continue to maintain billiard ball electrons in the face of the evidence! Nor of "anelectronists" who refuse to talk about electrons.

I suspect this has more to do with the human psychology of identity formation than with the facts on the ground. No one I know regards the existence of electrons as important in their view of themselves, but religious (as well as those who identify themselves as not religious) people often respond to criticism of their beliefs as if they were attacks on themselves. From a rational perspective, electrons exist in some form whatever an electron fundamentalist or anelectronist tells me! But when our deeply-held beliefs, theist or atheist, are under attack, a rational perspective is difficult to bring to the fore.

From the religious side, when I'm not annoyed, I can identify with Mary Magdalene at the empty tomb:

And [the angels] said to her, "Woman, why are you weeping?" She said to them, "They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him." (John 20:13)

Whether the perceived attack comes from a fundamentalist or an atheist, it can feel as though something very close to me is being taken away to who knows where? Scripture reminds me that Christ cannot be taken from me anymore than he could be taken from Mary. The resurrected Christ may also appear quite differently from the Christ I had remembered, yet still feel deeply the same.
A wider theological objection than atheism or fundamentalism is a traditionalism that would proscribe new ways of thinking. In the "existence-of-electrons debate" the traditional electronists would argue that billiard balls have been and continue to be quite adequate for everyday purposes, so why confuse people with complicated and unconventional electronology, when it gets in the way of useful stuff like building circuits, or whatever.

Whether traditional electronism is viable I don't know, but we do, for example, teach Newtonian mechanics in school, which is adequate to navigate the solar system, in spite of Einstein's relativity. We even start by simplifying it to ignore air resistance in calculating the path of a tennis ball from a moving train. We certainly allow paradoxes to remain in science, as of the incommensurability of relativity and quantum mechanics, even as we attempt theories of everything. So there may be pedagogical as well as pragmatic reasons to use simplified models in theology, just as in science.

In fact, theological models beyond stale tradition exist quite widely. What we learned about God in childhood may well be outgrown as we experience life. Thus, if life is good for us, then it's rather easy to imagine that God works things for the good. As we see and experience pain and injustice we may come to question what we were told about God. Traditionally, for example, classical theism claims that God is omnibenevolent (possibly meaning: infinitely good) and omnipotent (possibly meaning: all-powerful). The existence of evil and suffering suggests that the God of classical theism is either unwilling or unable to prevent them. The inability of people to grow in their thinking within their church of origin leads many to leave the church, often at the high emotional cost of disrupted relationships.

While there are biblical passages that support an omnibenevolent and omnipotent God, there are others that place limitations on God. Thus, the Bible itself encourages healthy debate. In the field of theology, Open Theism and Process Theology are just two ways of rethinking the God of Christianity to help us make religious sense of the data of human experience. I will go into no detail here - another post for sure - because my only point in mentioning them for now is this: God is not a billiard ball.

The Bible Is Not A Book

"Prove all things; hold fast that which is good" 1 Thessalonians v.21

This verse was the text on which William Ellery Channing, Unitarian minister, built his Batimore sermon "Unitarian Christianity" in 1819. In the sermon he laid out a case for using reason in interpreting scripture, and in his opinion, that precluded such theologies as the Trinity, or the divinity of Jesus Christ. Most importantly, he wasn't insisting that we use reason for its own sake, but as the best tool for inspiring us to live righteously. We need a God, that inspires us in head and heart to use our hands. Or in other words, that which ought to direct our actions (Organizing Principle) must take hold of our whole person.

As with so much else, what we get out of the Bible depends on what we bring to it. The greatest advice I was given on entering theological school, wary of the biblical tradition and skeptical of Christianity, was to read with critical mind and open heart. There are many expressions of Christianity, and many ways of reading the Bible. In the tradition of which I am part, understanding literary and historical contexts are important in reading the Bible, and I got plenty of that in theological school. I have spoken to several ministers (in other denominations) who have told me they could not possibly teach their congregations what they learned in seminary. That is why I am a Unitarian Universalist.

In a more ecumenical spirit I would affirm that the purpose of our reading is to participate in and advance God's Kingdom of love and justice until the day when God brings it to fruition. If historical and literary criticism of the Bible get in the way of this, then there is something wrong. But, for me, reading the Bible in these contexts is a way into devotional reading.

The Bible is not a book. By this I mean, first, that the Bible is not merely a book, but holds a special authoritative status for Christians - even if we cannot agree on how to read it! And second, the Bible is not a single book, but a collection of books, each with its own genre and worldview.

The first assertion is likely to be agreeable to nearly all who would identify as Christians, but there is more to be said nonetheless.  The Universalist Winchester Profession held that "We believe that the Holy Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments contain a revelation of the character of God, and of the duty, interest and final destination of mankind" - an incredible statement for 1803.

In particular, the word "contain" suggests to me that the Bible is of indirect revelatory value. The Universalists are saying that the Bible is not a revelation from start to finish; indeed it is not itself a revelation, but contains a revelation. It is necessary to separate the contents of the Bible to seek the revelation. To me, this indicates that interpretation is key;  revelation is the scriptures interpreted (why we need Lenses to See By). The interpreter, and I would add, the interpreting community and tradition are important players. When all goes well, and the yield is good fruit, then we might be so bold as to say the Holy Spirit has spoken through scripture. However, just as in a preface, where an author frequently thanks friends who have influenced and edited the work yet takes responsibility for all mistakes, we might thank the Holy Spirit, yet take responsibility for our necessarily imperfect work.

Another remarkable word in the Winchester Profession is "a". That is, although the Bible contains a revelation, that does not preclude that revelation may be found elsewhere. Elsewhere might be reason, scientific observation, and maybe even in the scriptures of non-Christian traditions. There is much to say about the relationship between Special Revelation (i.e. the Bible, and, for some, the Church) and General Revelation. And I'll not say too much for now - only affirm that the Bible gives us, as Christians, a common reference point for discussion - argument even - as to how we should be, as well as inspiration to be as we should.

My second assertion is that the Bible is a collection of works, rather than a single book. This will certainly not meet with acceptance among Christians, who want to see a single and consistent message from Genesis to Revelation. I have been taught, and my reading confirms, there are many voices and strands of tradition within the Bible's pages. In the Old Testament, for example, we have prophets and historians, who maintain that when people misbehave, God responds with calamities. And then there is the Book of Job, which maintains that calamity has little relationship with righteousness. Or the need for cultic purity conflicts with the knowledge that King David was descended from a Moabite. In the New Testament, a tradition of salvation by works vies with a tradition of salvation by faith. Or between the leveling of slave and free and the need for slaves to obey their masters. All this is reminiscent of a dialectical process whereby the truth is somehow beyond the options, though not necessarily absent in either of them.

As a collection of works, the Bible contains law codes, proverb collections, hymns and poems, theological history, along with the words and deeds of prophets. There are probably plain factual accounts of happenings alongside prophetic rhetoric and performance art. In discerning how we should be, this variety of texts does lead to some very different understandings of what God wants for us - just look at the debate within the church regarding the legitimacy of homosexual marriage. But this kind of debate prevents us from becoming too attached to the idols of interpretation that we set up for ourselves.

Lenses to See By

Some time after the age of forty, I couldn't read as comfortably as before. The optometrist told me it was "presbyopia" (not to be confused with presbyterianism!), and that prescription reading glasses would help - which they do. Now, more than ever, I realize that we all need lenses to see clearly, even if they are the ones we were born with. How we interpret what we see depends on our cultural lenses, and the religious side of this is my topic here.

The cultural specificity of religions had always bothered me. Many religious practitioners make claims that theirs is the only True Religion, while the rest of us are deluded - or worse. Yet religions are clearly cultural products, and had I been born in Thailand, I suppose I would have been a Buddhist. Of course, science is in no better position in that regard, since whether we take science seriously also depends on our education and upbringing. Science, to be true, does not pretend to offer an exact description of the universe (science assumes that further data will modify or even radically change our understanding). However, the scientific method does claim to be the True Way (as it were) to better understand the universe, and, as a scientist, I'm inclined to believe that. My scientific inclinations are as culturally embedded as my religious ones.

In science, observational data support theories of the universe or its constituent parts. In religion, it's not so clear what observational data there might be. A biblical possibility comes from the end of the Sermon on the Mount. Anticipating multiple, and possibly self-serving, teachings within Christianity, Matthew 7:15-20 records Jesus' caution about "wolves in sheep's clothing", telling us, "by their fruits you shall know them". The Sermon is largely about ethical and religious Torah, and its summary (7:12), "in everything do to others as you would have them do to you: for this is the law and the prophets", suggests the nature of the fruits we should look for.

The turn to scripture here is religiously pragmatic; this is for me a fount of inspiration, and I'm not trying to slip in a claim that this is the only way to see the matter. Many religious traditions have some version of the Golden Rule, and it is not easy to choose between them. And even if you do, which version of a tradition do you choose? And how do you view that choice? For my part I choose what inspires me, and a community of which I am a part. So, here is a little to introduce where I am coming from, since not all readers of this blog know much about me. When asked my religious affiliation, I could reply, "Unitarian Universalist Christian." Which of course, doesn't make things much clearer for most people!

Most people I meet have heard of Christianity, and are aware that it has some variety. At the least, they have heard of Eastern Orthodox or Roman Catholic, or some of the many Protestant denominations. Among that variety, some are liberal, some conservative, and some more difficult to define. And all this makes Christianity hard to define. A Methodist minister once asked me if I believed that Jesus in the New Testament had been killed, and whether that Jesus was alive for me today. On my affirmative answer, he declared that was enough to be Christian for a start - although not a Methodist, mind! Marcus Borg in The Heart of Christianity suggests as marks of Christianity: the reality of God, and the centrality of the Bible and Jesus. While some want to draw the circle quite widely , others are more narrow in their definition of what it takes to be "true believers".

While there is an understandable desire to find once and for all a "true Christianity", stripped of all denominational pretensions, I'm not sure that it is desirable or possible. Even to take a stand on Bible alone is a stand that one must choose to take; the history of the wider tradition suggests that extra-biblical commentary has been the historical norm. Indeed, even the position of Bible-alone is an extra-biblical stand. We must at least be honest that each of our church communities has made a decision on how it interprets Christianity. Diversity of interpretation may actually be helpful, inasmuch as different churches are willing to engage in genuine, respectful and transforming dialogue.

This diversity of interpretation has probably been true ever since evangelists moved from their founding community to spread the gospel to other communities with different needs and expectations. Diarmaid McCullough's BBC series, The History of Christianity stresses divisions among Christians from the very beginning of the movement, and also emphasizes some of the strands of Christianity that we in the West tend not to recall. Each Christian community (indeed, each Christian) views the tradition through a lens, shaped by experience, teaching and temperament, among much else.

The lens I have chosen is that of Unitarian Universalism, a liberal religious movement that formed the Unitarian Universalist Association in 1961 through the merger of Unitarians and Universalists, both of which have denominational roots in the USA that go back to the founding of the nation. Unitarians grew out of the established church in Massachusetts, insisting on a rational understanding of scripture (in which they could see little evidence for trinitarian doctrine). Universalists made their name preaching universal salvation (which they also derived from rational interpretation of scripture) against the prevailing belief that many - in fact, most - would endure eternal torment in hell after death.

Starting out as liberal Christian denominations, Unitarian Universalism has come to include Humanists, Pagans, Buddhists, Christians, and others who tend not to think of a particular religious affiliation. (This list is by no means exhaustive, but merely those I've met in some numbers). With such wide latitude for individual religious opinions, we are not bound by a creed, but by common values as expressed in these Principles and Purposes.

I wrote above about Christianity being viewed through a lens. By the same token, each Unitarian Universalist sees Unitarian Universalism through a lens. In my case, that lens is a recognizable religious tradition - Christianity. But Unitarian Universalists are not under an obligation to define or identify with any particular tradition. Indeed, many would say they were just "Unitarian Universalists", although I question whether any such thing exists; we all see through lenses, even if those of a rational humanist, or a syncretic Pagan-Taoist.

I have presented a couple of the choices I have made: Unitarian Universalism and Christianity. The choices, however, are not entirely free. And here I am referring to choices as embedded in culture, education, experience and what have you. One criticism of Unitarian Universalism is that we can believe anything, which just isn't true.

Here are three possible constraints on what we can believe (and there may be more). First, from a scientific and logical perspective, some things are just false; we cannot simply believe what is falsifiable or illogical, for example, that two plus two equals five, or that cats can breathe underwater. Second, as Unitarian Universalists, we are covenanted to affirm and promote certain principles and purposes; we ought not believe that people can own one another, or that heretics should be put to death. And third, we cannot believe contrary to experience, teaching and temperament, any more than we can like music or visual art that we detest. We cannot believe anything. Our choice is not entirely free.

Which brings me to this conclusion. It matters which lenses we see through. The lenses I have chosen (or perhaps, they chose me) allow me to see the world more clearly, as best I can tell. They allow me to discern what to do and how to be. What I see through these lenses inspires me to do and to be. It comforts me when doing and being are too much. And it's not just about me and my lenses; it's actually about lenses we share in community, and how our being and doing affects the world. That will be a topic for another post.

In the meantime, I invite you to consider the following questions. What lenses do I see through? What do I see that is inpsiring? Comforting? Transforming? How does that benefit the world? How do I ensure that my lenses aren't misleading me?