These two films will be shown in anticipation of the "Surrealism U.S.A." exhibition. This introduction to surrealist film begins with two collaborations by Luis Buñuel and Salvador Dalí, Un Chien Andalou (An Andalusian Dog) and L'Age d'Or (The Golden Age).
I'd like to devote a post on this blog to some questions that invariably come up whenever I find myself engaged in a discussion on Jesus or on the early history of the movement that bears his name in various internet groups or rooms that I might frequent or contribute to from time to time:
FAQ #1 - "You're not christian, are you?"
My answer sometimes depends on who is asking the question. If I am in a particularly playful mood, I might say that I am a "transhumanist latitudinarian" and then just smile mischievously, leaving them to either reach for their dictionary or to stare vacuously into space. Most of the time I just say that I'm a heathen and leave it at that. Lately, though, I've taken to calling myself an agnostic catholic, which leads to the next question:
FAQ #2 - "What the hell is an agnostic catholic?" (which is sometimes followed by an emphatic, 'There's no such thing!')
Sure there is! The way I define it (since you ask) an agnostic catholic is someone who, though he may have been raised in the religious tradition of roman catholicism (i.e. baptism, structured cathechisms, the rosary, first communion, marian devotion, confirmation, et al), has subsequently abandoned those practices altogether but has somehow retained some of the characteristics or customs from the tradition. It's kinda like some of the jewish people I've met who don't really practice their tradition in any significant way yet still identify themselves with their "jewishness". Being jewish, they realize, is not just a religion; it's a cultural inheritance. The indoctrinations we undergo as children (the ghosts of which we later have to carry with us like a latent retinal after-image in our mind's eye) affect us beyond our ability or desire to accept or to doubt them. Jews and catholics, muslims and hindus, mormons and buddhists, whether they practice their inherited liturgies or not, are still part of their respective tribes in this sense. It has to do with certain acquired tendencies, certain attitudes toward our familial ties, our ethical ideals and moral obligations. Or it may have to do with our attitudes about sex, or our attitudes toward abortion or euthanasia or even our attitudes toward tradition itself.
My actual "religion", that is, the way that I choose to commune with the ground of all being (aka the "divine"), as far as that goes, doesn't really have a name (does it need one?). It consists of two articles of faith:
a- truth somehow matters
b- love is better than not
That's pretty much my faith in its entirety! (one person actually got angry at its simplicity once - I never understood why) From these two leaps of faith (after all, I have no reason to presuppose any of this, so I have no alternative but to call it faith) one can derive all of the rest of the body of "truths" that is.
But I still consider myself marginally catholic in the cultural sense.
To put it another way, I simply do not know how to be not-catholic just as I don't know how not to be Puerto Rican or how not to be Américan or how not to be the product of my parents or of my ancestors. We are what we are. The fact that I don't subscribe to the creeds and doctrines of the Roman Catholic Church is altogether separate from all that.
FAQ #3 - "If you don't believe in it, why do you seem to know so much about it, and why are you here?" (meaning in a religious discussion or chat)
About seven or eight years ago, I got a letter in the mail from a certain priest. On one of my visits to my sister's family in California, I had accompanied them to a huge catholic conference and it seems that someone in my family must have given them my name and address. Anyway, in that letter this priest asked me if I had ever considered a vocation and invited me to visit his seminary. On the one hand, I felt flattered that someone in my family would consider me spiritually up to such a task, but on the other hand, I thought it was hilarious, considering that I lack the faith required for such a thing. I mean . . . was he serious? I am agnostic, for god's sake! (laughs)
If he only knew that I had agreed to attending that dreadful conference (have you ever seen 20,000 people all pretending to speak in tongues simultaenously? It's kinda creepy, let me tell you) just to appease my family . . .
Anyway, I wrote him a brief cordial letter declining his invitation and that was that.
The episode, though, while humorous, made me aware of just how little I knew about the tradition at the time, apart from the basic liturgy and the cursory catechism of my childhood, so I decided to study the history of that faith that I had abandoned long ago, had abandoned, ironically enough, just shortly after my confirmation.
Since sending that letter off, starting with the New Testament, I have read everything I could find (or afford) on the early history of the movement, from the writings of the early church fathers, to the current rennaisance in critical studies on the subject. I came to discover discussion groups and chat rooms as part of my quest and I've met all kinds of searchers there. I've made some useful aquaintances with a couple of learned professors who I sometimes consult and I have even forged some real friendships along the way in this strange virtual medium. (idU)
And all the while I keep devouring the existing literature (it's extensive). I'll mention a just few of the modern (20th century) works that I found particularly interesting or that have informed or influenced my views on the subject in some significant way. I mention these, not to boast erudition, but to answer those who might wonder what informs my take on the subject. (I don't just make the stuff up):
(in no particular order)
The Historical Jesus . . by John Dominic Crossan
A Marginal Jew - Vols 1-3 . . by John Meier
The Origin of the New Testament . . . . . by Alfred Loisy
From Jesus to Christ . . . . . by Paula Fredriksen
Orthodoxy and Heresy In Earliest Christianity . . by Walter Bauer
The Message and the Kingdom . . by Richrad Horsley & Neil Asher Silberman
The Birth of Christianity . . by Joel Carmichael
The Birth of Christianity . . by Alfred Loisy
The Birth of Christianity . . by J.D. Crossan
The Mythmaker . . by Hyam Maccoby
The Gnostic Gospels . . Elaine Pagels
A History of Early Christian Literature . . . by Edgar J. Goodspeed
The Dark Interval . . by John Dominic Crossan
Jesus and Judaism . . by E.P. Sanders
The First Coming . . by Thomas Sheehan
Lost Christianities . . by Bart Erhman
Who Killed Jesus . . by John Dominic Crossan
FAQ #4 - "Do you have a degree in this? Are you some kind of a scholar? Huh, Mr. Smarty Pants?"
Academically, I studied engineering. My love of history didn't develop until some years after college. However, countless books and periodicals and references on this subject are available in libraries and bookstores (some are even online). One does not need to enroll in a theology department to read them. They are easy to find and I would invite anyone interested the history of christianity to do so.
FAQ #5 - "How can you have studied these things and still not believe?"
peace
Ó
Yesterday I attended a public symposium on religion, science, technology, and law that was held at ASU' s Tempe campus. It was sponsored by ASU's Center for the Study of Religion & Conflict.
By my estimation, approximately 500 people attended. The average age of the audience was considerably higher than I would have expected, but there was a good cross section of the community represented in the audience nevertheless.
Ronald Green and Larry Arnhart touched on some of the ethical issues raised in the field of genetic research and their implications for our culture.
brief intermission
Philip Clayton and Carl Mitcham then discussed the ethical and practical concerns of the religion/science divide from a technological perspective.
These professors for the most part all shared the view that the traditional chasm between religion and science can be bridged. They agree that technology and the aquisition of knowledge in general is inherently a good thing (with the exception of Dr Mitcham, who described himself jokingly as the "luddite of the bunch" several times during his segment) but they point out that our accelerated rate of progress is now such that it's remarkably easy for some to envisage images like those in Aldous Huxley's "Brave New World", in which the genetic and pharmacological and pedagogic sciences are used as malevolent controling forces in society. An evil technocracy awaits us, they warn. "Not if we can help it", our lecturers boldly claim. They agree that this fear and apprehension that some feel at what they see as an attempt by Science (with a big S) to "play God" are not really rationally defensible (doomsday scenarios never are), but while it is true that we should not ignore the difficult ethical issues raised in these matters, it is unwise (I agree) to hastily adopt an overly pessimistic attitude toward progress. To paraphrase the best line in Dr Green's lecture, we should not be imagining nightmares when we should be cultivating dreams.
The panelists all seem to trust that "human nature" (a phrase that was not adequately defined) is enough to safeguard us against the very things which we fear. In other words, they trust that people won't abuse the new technologies, simply because we all deep-down just want what's good for our children and for our societies.
This point seemed to me somewhat naïve and needs to be addressed more fully and directly. It completely disregards the lessons of history. Human nature may make us benevolent, but seldom to the point of eliminating our basic selfish tendencies. Our vanities.
While it's true that everyone wants the best for their children . . . . . . the best intentions do not guarantee that we will make the right decisions, particularly as it pertains to favoring our own. It may be cynical on my part, but I DO believe people will be tempted and will have a tendency to abuse the technology just so their darlings will be taller, stronger, faster, prettier, smarter . . . whatever . . . . anything that will give them an advantage in their athletic, artistic, academic, or even merely aesthetic aspirations. While I agree that we should be generally optimistic about our role in history and about the continuing advances in the science of information transfer and of biology, when it comes to cases involving eugenics or cloning or genetic engineering, we must be extremely cautious. We have to vigilantly and critically examine the legislations we enact today, precisely to ensure that their abuses will be rare and few tomorrow.
Another related topic discussed by the panel was the subject of embryonic stem cell research and the obstacles being erected in our nation to impede its progress. This year, as we celebrate sixty years since Dr Jonas Salk's research gave us the vaccine which all but eradicated polio from our human experience, I doubt anyone would dare say that his work was anything but a marvelous gift to mankind. It's a little known fact, though, that the tissue which the good doctor used for his specimens was, in fact, mostly fetal tissue. Ironically, in our current climate of reactionary political divisions, it is sad to think that, today, Dr Salk's research would not only not be funded, but might even be outlawed outright.
peace
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