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Misogyny

December 31, 2009 in Objections

Ironically, one of the things about Christianity that is most troubling to me is the Bible, particularly the Old Testament and its sheer brutality. Much of the brutality is directed at women, and at least twice, women are offered to vicious mobs as something of a sacrificial offering.

The most well know is the story of Lot and the visiting angels.

1 The two angels arrived at Sodom in the evening, and Lot was sitting in the gateway of the city. When he saw them, he got up to meet them and bowed down with his face to the ground. 2 “My lords,” he said, “please turn aside to your servant’s house. You can wash your feet and spend the night and then go on your way early in the morning.”

“No,” they answered, “we will spend the night in the square.” 3 But he insisted so strongly that they did go with him and entered his house. He prepared a meal for them, baking bread without yeast, and they ate. 4 Before they had gone to bed, all the men from every part of the city of Sodom—both young and old—surrounded the house. 5 They called to Lot, “Where are the men who came to you tonight? Bring them out to us so that we can have sex with them.”

6 Lot went outside to meet them and shut the door behind him 7 and said, “No, my friends. Don’t do this wicked thing. 8 Look, I have two daughters who have never slept with a man. Let me bring them out to you, and you can do what you like with them. But don’t do anything to these men, for they have come under the protection of my roof.” (Genesis 19.1-8)

We know it gets more sorted: Lot’s daughters get him intoxicated and then seduce him.

"Lot and His Daughters" by Hendrick Goltzius

"Lot and his daughters" by Hendrick Goltzius (1616)

It’s difficult to imagine a reasonable explanation for all of this. After all, Lot was considered a generally righteous man:

and if he rescued Lot, a righteous man, who was distressed by the filthy lives of lawless men 8 (for that righteous man, living among them day after day, was tormented in his righteous soul by the lawless deeds he saw and heard)— (2 Peter 2:7-8)

Righteous indeed: were anyone to make such an offer today, we would rightfully condemn him as shockingly evil. And yet St. Peter calls him righteous.

A lesser known but similar incident is recorded in Judges 19:

22 While they were enjoying themselves, some of the wicked men of the city surrounded the house. Pounding on the door, they shouted to the old man who owned the house, “Bring out the man who came to your house so we can have sex with him.”

23 The owner of the house went outside and said to them, “No, my friends, don’t be so vile. Since this man is my guest, don’t do this disgraceful thing. 24 Look, here is my virgin daughter, and his concubine. I will bring them out to you now, and you can use them and do to them whatever you wish. But to this man, don’t do such a disgraceful thing.”

25 But the men would not listen to him. So the man took his concubine and sent her outside to them, and they raped her and abused her throughout the night, and at dawn they let her go. 26 At daybreak the woman went back to the house where her master was staying, fell down at the door and lay there until daylight.

27 When her master got up in the morning and opened the door of the house and stepped out to continue on his way, there lay his concubine, fallen in the doorway of the house, with her hands on the threshold. 28 He said to her, “Get up; let’s go.” But there was no answer. Then the man put her on his donkey and set out for home.

"The Levite finds his concubine dead" by Gustave Dore

29 When he reached home, he took a knife and cut up his concubine, limb by limb, into twelve parts and sent them into all the areas of Israel. 30 Everyone who saw it said, “Such a thing has never been seen or done, not since the day the Israelites came up out of Egypt. Think about it! Consider it! Tell us what to do!” (Judges 19.22-30)

This sounds bad enough already, but then Judges 20 continues the story:

1 Then all the Israelites from Dan to Beersheba and from the land of Gilead came out as one man and assembled before the LORD in Mizpah. 2 The leaders of all the people of the tribes of Israel took their places in the assembly of the people of God, four hundred thousand soldiers armed with swords. 3 (The Benjamites heard that the Israelites had gone up to Mizpah.) Then the Israelites said, “Tell us how this awful thing happened.”

4 So the Levite, the husband of the murdered woman, said, “I and my concubine came to Gibeah in Benjamin to spend the night. 5 During the night the men of Gibeah came after me and surrounded the house, intending to kill me. They raped my concubine, and she died. 6 I took my concubine, cut her into pieces and sent one piece to each region of Israel’s inheritance, because they committed this lewd and disgraceful act in Israel. 7 Now, all you Israelites, speak up and give your verdict.” (Judges 2. 1-7)

He conveniently left out a few details, but it was enough to encourage the Israelites to make war against the Benjamites. In the end, 28,030 Israelites and 25,100 Benjamites died. The inhabitants of Gibeah seem to have been slaughtered, and as the Israelites chased the remaining Benjamite solders into the desert, the Israelites “went back to Benjamin and put all the towns to the sword, including the animals and everything else they found. All the towns they came across they set on fire” (Judges 20.48).

The amount of sheer immorality in this account is staggering:   the misogyny of the Levite and his concubine’s father, the lie the Levite tells the Israelites to incite them to war, the incredible carnage of the war, and war crimes against the civilians.

I’ll write about more of my objections later, but this is a good enough start. Let the apologetics begin.

All images are in the public domain, retrieved  from WikiMeadia Commons.

First Prayer

December 30, 2009 in General

In a lecture I listened to recently, Dr. Peter Kreeft said that “prayer doesn’t change God; prayer changes us.” It’s not a new notion; I’ve heard it before, and I know Dr. Kreeft would readily admit his “plagiarism.” (In one lecture, Dr. Kreeft refers to C. S. Lewis’ Mere Christianity as “the best book I’ve ever written,” laughing at his slip by referring to his “plagiarism” of Lewis’ ideas.)

Last night, I prayed for the first time in probably fifteen years, perhaps longer. I didn’t get on my knees; I didn’t follow any formal patterns or pronouncements. I simply found myself addressing thoughts to something or someone outside myself.

I admitted something that I never really thought I’d admit; it was something rather steeped in the Protestant formulations I’ve heard throughout my life: I’m a wretch. It suddenly became clear to me that I’m not the paragon of morality that I always thought I was. I’m cruel, and somewhat immature, and very competitive — not to mention hypocritical. The hypocrisy is somehow divinely ironic: I always prided myself on not lying, on being scrupulously honest, only to find I’ve been lying to myself all along.

Did it work? Did the prayer change me? The answer seems to be clear, doesn’t it?

Photo: Lel4nd at Flickr

Scales

December 29, 2009 in General

In one form or another, I’ve been digesting Catholicism all day today. I spent the entire afternoon raking leaves and listening to Peter Kreeft lectures. (“Divine Truth—The Heart’s Deepest Longing” is particularly worth listening to.) This evening, since everyone’s gone to bed, it’s been Catholic blogs.

Throughout the day, I’ve felt a little like Paul in Acts 9.18: “And straightway there fell from his eyes as it were scales, and he received his sight.” Today I’ve heard and read much I’d heard and read before, but somehow it simply made sense today.

At Purify Your Bride, I read,

Many atheists are good people. They follow a conscience that was formed by a Christian society. Often they are better than many Christians who don’t take faith and morals too seriously. But then you have to define what you mean by “good”. For Hitler “good” meant killing Jews. Can “good” be simply re-defined like that? If you say Yes then you have to defend genocide. If you say No you have to say why not. Many atheists accept much of the Christian definition of “good”. That does not mean they have to. Can atheism work when people are actively questioning basic morality. The early returns are not good – no pun intended.

This line of reasoning is certainly not new (not to disparage Mr. Purify), but it seemed fresher this evening. In fact, I can think of a couple of ways to counter that argument, but they suddenly seem so silly, so superficial. It is, in fact, the Moral Argument (for God’s existence) at work in Mr. Purify’s comment, and out of the clear blue — or perhaps, given today’s activities, out of the leafy brown — it makes perfect sense and is quite compelling.

The Problem of Pain

December 29, 2009 in Objections

“All the objections are there. The only thing that has changed is a desire to believe,” I said to a Catholic friend.

He advised me, “Search your heart and try to ascertain, if you can, what your objections really are and why you have them.”

For years, my primary objection  has been a common but powerful one.

This objection probably more than any other has driven believers to non-belief and kept the curious from committing: the problem of evil. How can we justify the presence of such evil in the world with the notion of a benevolent, omnipotent, omniscient deity?

The Hitler and other state-sponsored mass murderers spring to mind most readily, but it is the Holocaust that is the most difficult to comprehend. Six million men, women, and children killed because of which God they, or in the case of secular Jews, their mothers, grandmothers, or great-grandmothers, pray to. Such a calculated act of sheer brutality can only leave us shaking our heads.

I don’t claim to have any insightful twist on this very old argument. The only way I might alter this is with my focus on the suffering of children. Many theodicies exist; there are countless ways of explaining evil. But these explanations — it’s free-will; justice comes in the afterlife; we don’t know the ways of God; the wheel of karma will bring vindication — but none of these brings any solace whatever to a child suffering. A Rwandan Tutsi child could make no sense of a neighbor hacking her to death with a machete. Jewish children ripped from their parents’ arms and led into gas chambers had no use for even the most sublime theodicy.

Though I don’t claim to be widely read enough to say definitively that none exists, I’ve yet to encounter a solution to the problem of evil that is even close to compelling.

Really — Trust Me!

December 28, 2009 in Objections

I noticed it first in Galatians 1.20; cross references led me to Romans 1.9 and 9.1. In all three verses, Paul sounds more like a used car salesman than an apostle.

  • Gal 1.20: In what I am writing to you, before God, I do not lie!)
  • Romans 1.9: For God is my witness, whom I serve with my spirit in the gospel of his Son, that without ceasing I mention you
  • Romans 9.1: I am speaking the truth in Christ—I am not lying; my conscience bears me witness in the Holy Spirit— (ESV throughout)

Perhaps this was a rhetorical device. Perhaps we do have reason to doubt Paul?

This Old House

December 27, 2009 in General

In a neighborhood close to ours, a once-grand house stands on a corner. At one point, someone cared a great deal for this home and invested many thousands of dollars into it. The evidence of the care and investment is everywhere.

There are five-foot-high brick walls around the yard with elaborate lamps on the tops of the wall’s columns. The wall encloses the back of the property, creating an area of almost completely privacy in the back.

There is an impressive addition to the back. It probably adds 50% more area to the house, not to mention more parking. One entire half of the addition is a sun room overlooking a pool.

Every time my wife and I walk by, we inevitably comment about how this was once the most envied house in the neighborhood. With a pool and expansive sun room, it was the house everyone in the neighborhood — adults and kids alike — coveted.

Yet time passed and age brought decay. Perhaps the owner himself was aging and no longer able to take care of the property. Perhaps he simply didn’t care. Perhaps he had financial difficulties that prevented the maintenance.

Now it’s condemned, and has been since 2004. A letter posted to a window states that the property is in violation of several sections of the International Property Maintenance Code:

  • Sanitation
  • Protective treatment
  • Roofs
  • Drainage
  • Windows
  • Pool

It is a house in such neglect that no individual could reasonably be expected to take fiscal responsibility for it; indeed, a LLC in Alabama now owns the property. Perhaps they’re hoping to flip it and make a profit: they paid less than seventy thousand for it.

Yet the neglect is so overwhelming that it’s hard to see how anyone could make a profit off the house: so many thousands required to make it habitable; making it attractive to potential buyers is another story altogether.

For instance, the backyard doesn’t exist. A previous owner covered the entire backyard with concrete, leaving a few circular planters to accommodate trees, shrubs, and flowers that have long since died.

During the Christmas Mass homily, the priest spoke of our hearts as houses. We have rooms for various people — friends and family — that we keep warm and inviting. The tack from there is somewhat obvious: “What about the room in our heart for Christ?” asked.

Perhaps if he knew about this house, the priest would have worked it into his homily. How many people spend thousands of dollars on things that they make room for in their hearts only to end up with a neglected, condemned soul? Perhaps he wouldn’t have made such an analogy: Dorian Gray somehow seems inappropriate for a Christmas Mass.

It has cause me to wonder about the state of my heart — or soul, though I’m uncomfortable with that word. Indeed, with that idea. I like to think of myself as relatively lacking in vanity about my appearance: I don’t care about the appearance of the car I drive; I don’t want a big house; having this or that emblem on my shirt means nothing to me. In that sense, then, I haven’t spent a fortune creating an appearance.

That all seems too simplistic, though.

Proof

December 26, 2009 in General

Yesterday, after Mass, a friend (though “acquaintance” might be more accurate) asked me if I was Catholic. Like me, he married a Polish woman; he accompanied her to Mass as they’d driven into town to share a Christmas dinner with us.

“No,” I answered, quietly. A year ago, I might have been more emphatic in my denial. “You?” I asked, though I knew the answer. He always struck me as an individual lacking passion, and for some reason, that deficiency made me think he was a non-believer.

“No!” he said with a little chuck and a touch of indignation. “My mind works in different ways. More scientific. I need proof.”

Funny — I might have said something like that a year ago. I wouldn’t have used those words: I don’t know if I was ever very dogmatic in my disbelief when talking. I might have put it as Tom Hanks’ character in Angels and Demons expressed it: “Faith is a gift I’ve yet to receive.” In fact, this gentleman later quoted that passage. “I like that,” he said. (I might point out that I Googled all the information about the quote. I’ve not seen Angels and Demons, nor read the book, and given the author, I have no intention of doing either: Brown couldn’t write a convincing grocery list.) I might have liked the attempted diplomacy in such a statement myself at one point.

Later, after Christmas dinner, we were talking with a third friend. We got to talking about faith and evidence again. I mentioned a proof which an online atheist (I can’t recall the name) said he would find convincing: imagine that at the moment of Jesus’ birth, a message miraculously appeared on the moon stating that Jesus was indeed God incarnate. It would be visible to all for all centuries, and due to prior astronomical records, we would know that it hasn’t always existed.

“That would be fairly convincing evidence for many,” my second friend, a believer with a Ph.D. in physics, said.

Friend One shook his head. “No, I’d need to see him appear before me.”

I found myself thinking, “You’d probably find a way to explain that as well.”

He seems to be of the same mindset as Jennifer Fulwiler was:

I always assumed that the reason I didn’t believe in God was because I was a more scientific-type thinker. My mind simply demanded proof before it would believe a theory to be true. And as nice as it would be to think that God and Mr. Jesus love me and want me to hang out with them and the pretty angels in heaven, the Christian story just seemed so bizarre and, really, absurd. (Conversion Diary)

Proof is such a slippery thing because of the subjective nature of our individual experiences. That which is proof for one individual is folly for another. The proof provided in the DNA evidence in the OJ Simpson trial of the mid-nineties is a superb example: proof for some, nonsense for others.

When we begin discussing proof in a religious context, that becomes even trickier. In some ways, proof is impossible for matters of spirituality. My earlier doppelgänger would have retorted that that makes spirituality nonsense. What’s the point of believing something that can’t be proven false? It’s something I’m still wrestling with.

There are a thousand reasons I could give why I don’t believe, why any “reasonable” person shouldn’t believe.  But something seems to have changed. I’ve changed mindsets.

William James, in “The Will to Believe,” writes that there are two ways of looking at truth: we must know the truth, or we must avoid error. The atheist in me has always been the latter; I’m beginning to wonder about the former. Right  now, proof — however I might have defined that a year ago — is not as important as I thought it would be.

Restraint

December 25, 2009 in General

What keeps me from believing?

One would think that the mere desire might be enough. Czes?aw Mi?osz wrote:

The Catholic Church wisely recognized that faith is more a matter of collective suggestion than of individual conviction. Collective religious ceremonies induce a state of belief. Folding one’s hands in prayer, kneeling, singing hymns precede faith, for faith is a psycho-physical and not simply a psychological phenomenon.

That makes me think that if I just attend Mass and kneel to  pray long enough, I’ll believe. Wouldn’t that be too easy? And isn’t that really the effect of a group serving as a legitimizing structure, a sort of group suggestion? “I’m okay; you’re okay”?

I just wish sometimes that there were more to it than that. I sometimes long to lose my senses and fall in admiration — even praise — of someone. To do so in ritual, in the warm embrace of certainty.

And what stops me? Ego. It’s a long time unwinding that mess.

The Table Is Set

December 24, 2009 in General

The food is prepared. The table is set. The guests arrive in a few hours.

It’s still an odd thing for me to celebrate Christmas. I grew up in a sect that held Christmas, Easter, birthdays, and assorted other holidays and celebrations to be pagan — as evil as Satan himself. (Notice I left Thanksgiving off the list: I wasn’t raised a Jehovah’s Witnesses, but for now, I’ll leave off the details.)

I began celebrating Christmas in Poland, during a stint in the Peace Corps during the late 1990s. It was an exclusively cultural experience for me.

In the end, I married a Catholic Pole and continue celebrating Christmas, aware of the spiritual significance it has for my wife. A Polish Christmas Eve meal is a Catholic celebration, with prayers and scripture readings. It is a meatless meal, and while the mood is not somber, it’s an evening of reflection.

Such a change from the commercialized nonsense the church of my youth railed against.

Footnotes

December 23, 2009 in General

As an English major in college, I became fond of Norton Critical Editions. For books like Tristram Shandy, the critical remarks became more than an aid to understanding; they became an addiction.

It struck me one day that it might be convenient if life had a critical edition. Footnotes (or endnotes, I’m really not picky) would make things all the more navigable. In those moments of indecision, we could check a critical article at the back, or perhaps browse through the endnotes, hoping to find something of help.

In the end, we create our own critical editions. Looking back over life, our myopia corrected through experience, we whisper to our younger selves, “This moment is really not as critical as the pain makes it seem,” and “This appears insignificant; it’s not.” We compile the notes and hope for the best in future situations.

In high school, or in college, I would have given a great deal for such notes. I would not now. The price I paid then (and after) was and is too dear.

It occurs to me, though, that one might create the critical edition to one’s life in the now. Write the footnotes on the fly, so to speak. And it occurs to me, given the momentous decision I’ve been putting off for years, that now might be a good time to begin writing it.

I start this site on Christmas Eve somewhat by accident, but perhaps hoping it’s something more. Christmas represents the start of a new era for Christians. It was when a savoir entered in the most inconspicuous of ways and rewrote the rules about how humans relate to God and to each other.

That’s what Christians believe, but I don’t. And that makes me a non-Christian. An atheist on some days, an agnostic on others.

But on some days, I want to believe.