Tag Archives: Christianity

Fame: A Contingency Plan for Eternal Life

 

Heretic’s Creed is intended to be blog about theology and the historical/linguistic context of religious texts and viewpoints.  However, once in a while I get an itch to write about the more personal aspect of religion in my life.  I have decided to dedicate a post in Heretic’s Creed to this purpose from time-to-time.  This is the first installment of said posts.  

I often marvel at my own desires.  Things I regard as meaningless, shallow and utterly without value inexplicably remain an emotional catalyst of my behavior.  Though I refute them intellectually, I carry many irrational secret longings.

One such guilty desire is fame.  Very simply, I want to be known.  Preferably as a novelist, but I’m not picky as long as it’s positive.  This urge has possessed me since I was a small child.  My history is littered with half-finished books, demo discs of flamed-out bands, and bit parts in college plays.  I even tried to write a rap song once.  It didn’t go well.

This wouldn’t be a problem if I could keep my pipe dreams in their proper, non-emotive locations.  I hear myself say, time and time again, “I am a pragmatist.  I chose a career that is beneficial to society.  I chase my dreams in my free time, and if they don’t pan out, well, I will have 40 years of human service to hang my hat on.”  This is, without question, a true statement, however, I am emotionally incapable of accepting it.  The way I feel about myself, and the way I relate to others is affected more by my foolish dreams than my rational plans.

Example:  I have a friend who was a successful rock musician for about 10 years.  His band was signed to a moderately large label and he made a living recording music and touring.  Furthermore, he is incredibly kind, humble and fun to be around.  There is not a more “deserving” person in the world.  But when I see his albums on the shelves or his picture in a magazine I am 10% happy for him and 90% inconsolably depressed and unabashedly envious.

I have been examining my response to my friend’s fame.  I can honestly say it is no ill will toward him, fortunately.  My response is purely internal and self-absorbed.  Seeing his fame reminds me of my lack-there-of.  Digging further, I have been trying to trace the origins of my need for recognition.  I am a modestly well-adjusted, tax-paying citizen, so what is the root of this anomaly in my self-concept?

Doubt.

What I thought was purely a psychological problem is, in truth, at least partially a spiritual problem.  When I assess my motivations earnestly, I discover I am truly a pragmatist after all.  Fame is my eternal life contingency plan.

If I am wrong about humans continuing a postmortem existence in some fashion, then creating a legacy on Earth is the only means of attaining immortality.  Granted, it’s a poor substitute for eternal life as described by the Judeo/Christian/Islamic traditions, or even in comparison to reincarnation of the Buddhist or Hindu variety.  It barely even beats out the ancient polytheists’ concepts of Dis or Hades.  But it’s better than nothing.  I guess you could say I am diversifying my immortal portfolio.

So if there is no continuation of life-after-death and our consciousness ceases to be, the only people to live on are those that create a lasting impression in some way.  I think this is why it stresses me out when I think about my failures to achieve notability.  My safety net isn’t hung yet, so if I die anytime soon, I will return to dust and be forgotten.

The knee-jerk response is to say “well you family and friends will remember you!”  But I am looking at the big picture.  To live on past a few meager generations of direct associates, I would have to create memorable imprints in those I have never interacted with.  If you write a riveting book, revolutionize public policy, or touch the hearts of the masses with music, a record of your existence will continue to influence the human experience for as long man exists.

That’s what keeps me writing.  That’s also what wakes me up at night in all-consuming panic.  I want to continue to exist.  In consciousness or in memory.  I want to live.

Doctrine vs Dialogue

Traditionally, the basis of religious community is allegiance to a set of doctrines, both theoretical and practical.  This isn’t true of every religion internationally, but it is true of most.  The irony is that to formalize religious doctrine is to kill the spirit of what you are trying to capture.  As many theologians have noted, religion is a deeply existential and subject experience.  Therefore creating a one-size-fits-all set of beliefs and practices, while wildly popular, is generally destructive.

Rigid doctrine is particularly prevalent in Christian circles.  For many congregations, church is nothing more than gathering together with people you agree with, to reinforce doctrine you already believe.  Perhaps that is why most church services are dreadfully boring.

But there is another view of the utility of religious community.  Dialogue.  A diversity of opinion, shaping and reshaping one another, built on respectful discussion about the principles that drive us.

To be sure, neither approach is without fault.  Doctrine-centric church is nothing more than gathering together to celebrate our own piety and solidify ourselves as “us” and those we disagree with as “them”. It is one-dimensional, petty, and ultimately divisive.  At a point, the more narrowly you define yourself the closer you are to creating a church that consists of the only person you agree with 100%: yourself.

Conversely, the idea of church as a dialogue of ideals is far from perfect.  Discussion is time-consuming.  Communities can become protracted in discourse, and dialogue can be every bit as divisive as doctrine if done incorrectly.  If you are looking for efficiency, discussion on principled living is probably not for you.  Democracy is always messy.

While imperfect, I think the dialogue-focused approach has more value.  The differences between doctrine-driven and dialogue-driven religious communities are somewhat nuanced, but vitally important.

Doctrine is inherently concrete, where as dialogue is, by and large, abstract.  Without question, doctrine is easier and less unsettling.  Being clearly told what to do, and what to believe makes life much more peaceful.  But the cost of harmony is high.  Inevitably you will alienate good people who can contribute to your church in powerful ways if you can’t allow differing perspectives.

Dialogue, in it’s abstraction, is inclusive if handled in an environment of mutual respect.  When a church holds loosely to principles it empowers a diverse body of people to reach the needs of others with a breadth that is impossible in a system built on rigid doctrine.

An example; Church A says “our stance on sex is that it should only be a man and a woman who are married.  period.  no exceptions”.  Considering over 90% of people in America have at least one sexual relationship before they are married, this automatically narrows your audience considerably.  People in monogamous but unmarried relationships, gays, widows/widowers in love who choose not to remarry for financial reasons, are all sanctimoniously written off.

Church B says “our stance is that people should strive for sexual lifestyles that are healthy, edifying, and rooted in love and commitment.” Now you have invited the vast majority of people to the table for a discussion.

A common criticism is that being open-ended allows people to say “anything goes”.  I would argue that allowing people some autonomy in determining what sexual responsibility means creates longer lasting moral infrastructure in a person than simply following a rule.  Reading the biblical text, studying the culture and language, and discussing with others who are concerned with ethical living engenders a stronger affinity for principles because the individual has taken part in shaping them.

Another criticism is “people will justify whatever they feel like doing”.  It’s true, some will.  But if a group of people are willing to gather in their free time to discuss ethics, they are obviously concerned with doing what is right, and are much more likely to arrive at a principled existence than what they are being given credit for.

Secondly, doctrine, by it’s nature, puts rules ahead of people.  Dialogue, however, is uniquely human.

In Mark 2 Jesus and his disciples are walking in a wheat field, picking the grain and eating it as they pass through.  The Pharisees see what they are doing and criticize them for working on the Sabbath (as they are technically harvesting grain).  Jesus rebukes the rigid interpretation of Sabbath adherence, going on to state that the Sabbath is made for man, not man for the Sabbath.  This story is demonstrative of the problem with putting rules first; it can harm the people it is intended to help.  Moral codes are created for the sole purpose of helping people live healthy, productive lives.  They are not objectively good devoid of people.  If enforced inflexibly, morality becomes a hindrance to goodness.

Open-ended principles, always subject to reexamination, allow for exceptions.  It also creates a setting where proper prioritization can take place.  In the example of Mark 2 the principle of charity for the hungry would take priority over the principle of resting on the Sabbath, because it is the most beneficial to the people involved in that particular situation.

Religious community can be an empowering experience for almost anyone, but to allow fellowship to reach it’s full potential we must be willing to sacrifice.  We have to give up the power, and control that allows us to feel superior others.  If we can let go of the comfort of lifeless doctrine and embrace the living, breathing and yes, changing, nature of ethical dialogue, the waters of grace will flow, invasive and irresistible, over all things.