How the Internet is killing religion – Part 2

John

John Draper is the author of the novel A Danger to God Himself

Network 500

 

In my last post, I said that the Internet is killing religion because of the profusion of information critical of the church. It works, whichever church is church to you. I went on to say that the church reeling most from the Internet was the Mormon Church, particularly because it had a paper trail not found in other monotheistic religions. You can fact-check the Mormon Church on the Internet, I said.

Now I want to move on to the most telling reason the Internet is killing religion—starting with the Mormon Church. The Internet isn’t just about information. It’s about connections. We’ve found truth doesn’t come from On High. It comes from the network.

Here’s how it used to work, pre-Internet:

You were in some religion, probably because you were raised to be part of that religion. (For example, the Pew Survey found that Islam is the world’s fastest-growing religion, not because more people are converting to Islam but rather because Muslims have more babies than other religious folks. That means you’re going to have more and more children growing up with the default presumption that they’re Muslims.) And you encountered doubt, as religious folks will, surrounded by swirling enigma, as they find themselves to be. If you were lucky enough to have a fellow parishioner you could let down your happy mask with, you sought him out and you confessed your doubts. More than likely, you got one or more of these reactions:

  • Some things we’ll never understand until we get to heaven. His ways aren’t our ways.
  • I will pray for you.
  • You should pray and read your scriptures more.
  • Do you have some sin to confess?
  • Can I pray for you right now? (C’mon, we’ll go over to this corner where no one will see us.)

And then you walk away, shrug your shoulders, lay aside your cognitive dissonance, and get on with the chore of living. His ways aren’t our ways.

The Internet has changed all that. On the Internet, one thing leads to another. Online, you can express a doubt anonymously. You find countless people who experienced the same doubt you struggled with, persevered through their cognitive dissonance, and then came to an unorthodox answer. Some of them became ex-Mormons or ex-Christians or ex-Catholics or whatever.

Others became New Order Mormons or Progressive Christians or Liberal Muslims.

Yet others ash-canned the whole idea of God, usually not without a lot of huffing and puffing and kicking about of furniture.

Whichever, soon enough, you find you resonate with some of them. You find these people are as decent and well meaning as anyone in your congregation. You see they all have the same experience of the divine that you do—that is, a vague sense of peace and a bemused resignation that God Works In Mysterious Ways. All of them grow vertiginous upon considering the vastness of creation and our utter insignificance. Even atheists. (Between 2007 and 2014, the percentage of atheists who said they felt a deep sense of wonder about the universe on a weekly basis rose a full 17 points, from 37 percent to 54 percent.)

Finally, you see no religion is better than any other religion at producing good humans. We’re all just doing the best we can. No religion really works. Neither does atheism.

Suddenly, you realize how confining the four walls of your local congregation were.

You realize we can’t know the truth—and know that we know it. I mean, sure, some of us may have stumbled on to the Ultimate Truth. It’s about as likely as an army of chimps pounding out Hamlet, I suppose. But we won’t be able to prove it—beyond insisting that we feel really, really sure. Really.

Face it. We’re stuck in a universe of uncertainty, and the best way to navigate our way is not through dogma but by connecting with one another and learning from one another’s apprehensions of the Grand Mystery. That’s what the Internet does. That and porn.

We learn the best we can do is piece together whatever it is we choose to believe by taking pieces from the best of what we learn from the people in our network.

The point is, we don’t have to take the church’s word on anything anymore.

Churches are going to get out of the Telling You The Truth business. The transmogrified religions that survive the Internet age will be religions devoted to mystery, religions devoted to not knowing. We will see a flattening of traditional hierarchies, as it’s foolish to think anyone has a more direct line to God than anyone else. There will be more and more diversity, more and more openness, less credal exactitude. People’s religious affiliations will be more fluid.

This idea rankles orthodox folks. They think dogma is what is most important—because it was “revealed” by God. “Without correct doctrine,” they say, “you could just believe whatever you want.”

Exactly. I mean, if God was so concerned we believe a certain set of facts about Himself, He could have been a hell of a lot plainer.

But He wasn’t, so we’re left with mystery.

And really, it’s mystery that deserves worship, isn’t it? Something we have figured out . . . well, we have it figured out. Move on. But mystery . . . Mystery stirs us at our core.

The new religion is coming. Get ready.

Photo: Network by Rosmarie Voegtli CC BY 2.0

 

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Occam’s Razor and the inactivity of God

John

John Draper is the author of the novel A Danger to God Himself

Razor

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Religious folks are often heard to say God works in mysterious ways. Ironically, when they say that, they’re usually trying to explain away an instance in which God apparently didn’t work. The child died of cancer. The promotion didn’t come through. The penis enlargement herbal remedy didn’t bear fruit.

His ways aren’t our ways.

The problem with this whole God Works In Mysterious Ways refrain is it turns Him into a . . . a . . . the right word eluded me as I was drafting this post. Originally I used a certain two-syllable expletive. You know the one. But my mom’s been asking me not to curse so much in my blog, so instead I used jerk in an early draft. When Mom read that early draft, she suggested the word wasn’t potent enough and offered monster. Seems to me that monster is more offensive than my two-syllable expletive. So . . . a mysterious expletive/jerk/monster. Take your pick. Whichever you use, He has a lot to answer for, which is why so many atheists are so ill-tempered, at least on the Internet. An atheist meme I saw on Facebook recently said, “Would you look the other way while a child is being raped? Then you’re more moral than your God.”

(As an aside, I should note that my mom also objected to the term “penis enlargement.” I hesitated but then figured she should be grateful I used “penis.”)

The only way out of this puzzle is to admit that God is impotent in important ways—that He’s not “all powerful.” The classic so what sidebar 250refrain is God can’t be all good and all powerful, or there wouldn’t be suffering. Theologians have wrestled with this dilemma as long as there’s been monotheism.

I say we apply Occam’s Razor.

Do we want a God who could stop bad things from happening but chooses not to? (Easy for Him to say. It’s not His child being raped.) Or a God who hates the badness we suffer but can’t do a damn thing about it?

If those are the options, I’ll take Door Number 2.

In other words, God doesn’t do in so many, many instances because He can’t.

Can’t. It’s the simplest explanation.

It all boils down to the concept of power.

It’s no wonder God seems so powerless. Think about it. There is nothing that happens in the world that doesn’t happen in a physical/material basis. So God’s activity—to the extent He acts—is always unseen. There’s no miracle until the water becomes wine, but the mechanism of that transformation eludes us. Evolution we can explain. But what is the desire behind evolution? God’s power, like God Himself, remains invisible.

The best we can say—and salvage any idea of a powerful God—is that what God does in the world, He does subtly. He acts on the world the way a beautiful woman walking across the bar floor acts on a straight man. (I say that because it just happened to me, and the effect was subtle yet profound. She did nothing, yet she did everything.)

God romances creation.

Which means, from our point of view, that He’s frustratingly patient. He’s willing to wait millions of years for homo sapiens to emerge—with all the false starts and painful deformities—and then it’s hundreds of thousands of years after that before those hapless bipeds first form the rudimentary concepts that will lead to “God.”

He’s playing hard to get, as it were.

God is about process—incrementalism. (That’s a nod to my mom, who is a student of process theology.) That’s why He “uses” evolution. Even religious folks, if you push them, will admit that God works in their life in incremental ways. In the early years of the Christian church, leaders struggled with the conundrum that people continued to sin after being baptized. Imagine. The solution was the concept of sanctification—becoming more godly bit by bit—what Orthodox Christians now refer to as theosis. Essentially, it’s evolutionary salvation, which suits everyone fine, even the Young Earth Creationists. You can’t argue with the facts. No one become a Saint In A Day. (Though most religious folks, if they’re being honest, will confess to feeling better than nonbelievers.) Even Mormons, perfectionistic Mormons—God love ’em—will trot out the refrain that we learn “line by line.”

I’d go further. God’s activity in our lives—once again, to the extent He acts in our lives—is so incremental so as to be indiscernible. So it seems as if we’re on our own in this Grand Process, which brings up the importance of forgiving oneself on a daily basis, as we’re apt to misstep. To my way of thinking, that’s much more important than asking God to forgive us. He’s the one that put us in this situation. He gets incrementalism.

Now it’s our turn.

Photo: Straight razor (pre-restoration) by Jeff Vier CC BY0SA 2.0

 

What role should God play in your life?

John

John Draper is the author of the novel A Danger to God Himself

God on throne

So I wrote my first novel. It’s about a Mormon missionary who goes insane on his mission. And in the interest of research, when Mormon missionaries would knock on my door, I’d invite them in, every time. It usually didn’t end well. Invariably, they’d bear their testimony heatedly and storm off in a huff, insisting I had a “spirit of contention!”

They were probably right.

Anyway, this one missionary sticks in my mind. I named my novel’s protagonist after him.

Let me set the scene. Things were getting dicey. You know me—push, push, push. Elephants in pre-Columbia America. The Book of Abraham papyrus. Joseph Smith’s wandering wangdoodle. All that. Every time I’d push, they’d bear their testimony. This corn-fed missionary clearly had spied my book shelf, heavy with “anti-Mormon” books and DVDs. He glared at it with resolute menace.

“You and your frickin’ videos!” He barked. “You have no concern for the things of God!”

Are you a fool?

Frickin’. That’s really harsh for a Mormon missionary. Usually, the closest they get to an F Bomb is flippin’. It was righteous indignation, I guess. His was the biblical view: The fool hath said in his heart, “There is no God.” Fools aren’t just dumb. They’re evil. Morally fatuous, if you will—all because they won’t orbit their existence around God and are left with no recourse but self-centeredness. Stupid is as stupid does.

And I was one of them, in his mind: a frickin’ degenerate.

Little did he know. I was actually on a mission from God at the time. I was an Evangelical hell-bent on skewering Mormonism through my debut novel—every bit as zealous as himself. Joke was on him. I wasn’t godless. I was, I guess, god-ful. The difference was I was worshipping the right Jesus.

Joke was on me: I ended up losing my religion through the process of writing my novel. So it goes.

What’s the greatest commandment?

Still, though, I understand where he was coming from. I still have ready access to the religious worldview. In that worldview, unbelievers are fools, as noted above, morally crippled by their self-centeredness. Our salvation, as the corn-fed missionary believed, was in centering of lives on the Things of God. To be the humans God wants us to be we must focus on God.

That was Jesus’ view. Asked what the greatest commandment was, Jesus said it was To Love The Lord Your God With All Your Heart And All Your Soul And All Your Might. The second most important commandment was to Love Your Neighbor As Yourself. The only reason we can’t serve others is we have our eyes on ourselves and off God. We can’t be good without God. Everything must be done for the Glory of God. The Bible refers to the good deeds of the ungodly as filthy rags, unclean because of their essential selfishness. If you’re not focusing on God, you’re left with no other recourse but to focus on yourself. Vanity of vanities!

Which circle best describes your life?

When I was in college, I joined Campus Crusade for Christ. As a member of that organization, I was expected to “witness,” which consisted of approaching students on campus and sharing the gospel. (Yes, I was a missionary, I guess.) Specifically, we would come up to unsuspecting people sunning on the lawn in the quad or eating lunch in the student union building and ask them, “Have you heard of the Four Spiritual Laws?”

Law 1: God loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life.

“However,” we’d ask, “why is it that most people are not experiencing God’s plan for their life?” That led to . . .

Law 2: All of us sin and our sin has separated us from God.

“We were created to have fellowship with God,” we’d say, “but because of our stubborn self-will, we chose to go our own independent way and fellowship with God was broken.” That led to . . .

Law 3: Jesus Christ is God’s only provision for our sin. Through Him we can know and experience God’s love and plan for our life.

“However,” we’d say, ‘it’s not enough just to know these three principles,” leading to . . .

Law 4: We must individually receive Jesus Christ as Savior and Lord. Then we can know and experience God’s love and plan for our lives.

“Receiving Christ involves turning to God from self and trusting Christ to come into our lives to forgive us and to make us what He wants us to be,” we’d say.

Then we would show them this diagram:

Four spritual laws

“Which circle best describes your life?” we’d ask. It was like asking somebody, “Have you stopped beating your wife?” No one wants to admit they’re selfish—and we were telling them the only alternative to selfishness was God-centeredness.

If they chose the Christ-directed circle, we’d lead them in The Sinner’s Prayer, the capstone of which is “Take control of the throne of my life and make me the kind of person You want me to be.”

In other words . . . we can’t be good without God, But what does that mean? How does one love God with one’s whole heart, practically speaking? How do you put Christ on the throne of your life on a daily basis? By reading the Bible? Please. You hear His voice? Call the folks from the Funny Farm. How can you focus on an invisible, silent being?

You can’t.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying God doesn’t exist. If you’ve raced to that conclusion, you’re mistaken. There is a thing called God that created space and time. He’s just not accessible.

Not to sell God short, but . . .

Religious folks cry, “Not true! God acts in my life.” Really? If you probe these religious folks about how God acts in their life you’ll find two things:

  • First off, most of the acts of God in a believer’s life are perceived in hindsight. God really taught me something through that trial or I can see there was a purpose to it all now. And so on.  If God does act in our life, we can’t recognize Him doing it, for the most part. It’s so incremental so as to imperceptible, like the continents sloughing off into the ocean.
  • Secondly, when they can point to God acting in the present it’s always through humans. God really touched me with that song or God brought you into my life or God spoke through you.

So what can we learn from that? I think God’s intention is clear. He knows we can’t focus on Him, so he wants us to focus on each other. That’s the whole point—the point of life. The second commandment is actually the first commandment. Jesus was wrong. Turns out, the Things Of God are the Things Of Men.

I don’t want to sell God short. Nothing would exist without God. We owe God not just for our creation but for every second of our existence. As the Bible says, “In Him we live and move and have our being.” (There is truth in the Bible.) We only keep on keeping on because God holds reality together. In fact, He’s the only Necessary Thing. Nothing has to be. We’re certainly not necessary. The fact that there’s something rather than nothing is a clue that there is a Necessary Being to bring all this unnecessary stuff into being and hold it together.

But God is totally unnecessary in crucial one sense—when it comes to how we lead our lives. Let me be more plain: We Don’t Need God. We don’t need Him to be good. We don’t need Him to be selfless. God doesn’t act in our lives. He can’t act in our lives. That’s not the way things work.

So what good is God? Well, as I said, He holds reality together—no small matter, that—but, past that, we’re pretty much on our own. That’s why we need each other. That’s why a life focused on self is . . . foolish. Not because we’re not focusing on God. Rather, because we’re not focusing on others. Therein lies our salvation.

Photo: Christ as Judge 3 by Waiting for the word CC BY 2.0

The Bible makes sense when you realize it’s nonsensical — Part 1

John

John Draper is the author of the novel A Danger to God Himself

Bible 2

Back when I was religious, I couldn’t get enough of the Bible. Its mysteries just prodded me to dig deeper. Soon enough, I found a series of books put out by one of the mega-Christian publishing houses devoted to the most well-worn doctrinal disputes. It was called the Counterpoints Collection and included such titles as “Five Views on Sanctification,” “Four Views on Eternal Security,” and “Four Views on the Lord’s Supper.”

And I read’ em all. Like I said, I couldn’t get enough.

The volume I want to talk about was “Five Views on Law and Gospel,” its existence engendered by the fact that the New Testament seems to speak with, at least, two voices about whether or not Christians must follow the Law of Moses. Sometimes the New Testament seems to say yes, sometimes no. The volume boasted the thoughts of five theologians:

  • One of whom posited a “non-theonomic reformed view of the use of the law.
  • One who argued for a “theonomic reformed approach.”
  • One who maintained that “the weightier issues of the law of Moses are binding on believers today”
  • One who advocated for “the dispensational view”
  • And one who proposed a “modified Lutheran approach with a clear antithesis between the Law and Gospel.”

(I’m still waiting to meet a Modified Lutheran. I suppose I’ll know him when I see him, won’t I?)

After reading this volume—and all the volumes in the Counterpoints Collection—one is left to fall back on some version of the familiar bulwark of the religious: “We’ll just have to ask God about this when we get to heaven.” Ah well. Makes sense. God is absolutely simple, yes, in that He is an undivided One, but he is mind-bogglingly complex. What were we thinking—assuming we could fathom scripture’s mysteries?

Or . . . maybe’s there’s another reason the Bible’s a mishmash. What if the Bible is all over the map on theological issues because it was written by men who were, literally and figuratively, all over the map? The riddles of the Bible suddenly make sense when you accept the fact that the book was written by hapless schlubs like ourselves, hopelessly prone to walking around with our flies open and being none the wiser—i.e. imprudent and clueless, just parading around with our wangs wobbling in the breeze and thinking we’re all that. Such folly. Stupid humans.

To wit:

The reason the New Testament speaks with varied voices on the issue of Law vs. Gospel is that different men with different opinions wrote different sections of scripture. For example, Jesus was all about obeying the Torah—hence his take on the final judgment:

A time is coming when all who are in their graves will hear his voice and come out—those who have done what is good will rise to live, and those who have done what is evil will rise to be condemned.

People who do good go to heaven. People who do bad go to hell. Jesus didn’t know anything about being washed of one’s sins by the blood of the lamb—amazing grace—as advocated 30 years later by the Apostle Paul.

Oh. . . so men wrote the Bible? That explains a lot!

Still, though, we’re stuck with the Bible, for better or worse. It’s a worldwide sacred and revered text, the Word of God, read in hundreds of languages and dialects, the number one bestselling book of all time, with billions of copies sold and a hundred million more sold each year. (In your face, Harry Potter.) The genie’s not going back into the bottle.

Look at the bright side. The Bible provides scant answers. But it makes us ask important questions.

We must view the Bible differently. The church that’s coming—and, make no mistake, the church will either spin a chrysalis about itself and reappear renewed or it will ossify like a McDonald’s French fry left under the passenger side seat—the church that’s coming will have a new view of the Bible. The Bible we have is not what God would have provided for us assuming He could have controlled everything. One hopes. He doesn’t, though—control everything.

That’s why Christendom is going to change or die. Believers must change the way they view God, doing away with outmoded ideas like omnipotence, change the way they view scripture, change the way they view the whole bloody undertaking we call religion. Change or die.

I blame the internet. More on that in a later post.

Photo: Bible by Lauri Rantala. CCBY 2.0