(no title)

I started writing this post a few days ago and when I logged back into WordPress, the draft came up as ‘(no title).’ I thought it was a perfect title for a short musing on negative theology.

On our drive out to Alberta on Monday, my wife asked me what sort of conclusions I came to after finishing my papers on negative theology. My reply was something to the effect: “Well, negative theology is critical. It is an absolute must in any theology. It is irreplaceable. We can’t do without it. It allows us to become ‘silent’ and ‘catch our breath’ when we’ve been chattering and making noises about God that we think say it all. Critique is the gift of negative theology. We have to knock down our idols, recognize the total inadequacy of language to encapsulate the Divine. Negative theology helps us realize how idiotic we sound talking about mystery.”

I can imagine this all sounded pretty bleak to her.

I wasn’t done.

“But! But! We must speak! We need to say something about God and that something is poetic. It is not necessarily precise scientific facts, verifiable, fixed once and for all. Instead, we need metaphor, narrative, story, liturgy, art, iconography, and a host of other mediums to ‘speak’ about God in still meaningful ways. And we must always realize that our ‘languages’ about the Divine are interpretations that are open to new possibilities.”

The next day, I randomly came across this quote that I thought was such a simple way of expressing the whole of what I’ve learned this past year.

When those who love God try to talk about Him, their words are blind lions looking for springs in the desert. (Leon Bloy)

The lions need water. But their imperfections prevent them from finding and beholding the totality of the wellspring they search for. Their search is not in vain, but it is a difficult task to undertake.


Compassion in Religion – Some Reflections

Last Thursday, I attended the Compassion in Religion Conference at Iona Pacific Inter-religious Centre (at Vancouver School of Theology) which featured as its keynote speaker, author and scholar Karen Armstrong (whose name, I found out, is pronounced like “Car-in” rather than “Care-in”). Armstrong is the author of a number of books on the subject of God (The Case for God, The History of God), Jerusalem (Jerusalem: One City, Three Faiths), and Islam. Armstrong is also the recipient of the TED Prize (an award issued by the TED Talks) which grants the recipient “one wish to change the world” and a nice hefty some of $100,000 to see that wish to fulfillment (or partial fulfillment at least). In 2008, Armstrong wished for a Charter of Compassion. Since then, she has been hitting the road with her message that the religions of the world have at their core, the Golden Rule and that now more than ever, we need to reaffirm this principle of compassion in a cooperative setting.

The evening before the conference, I decided to find out a bit more about what the Charter was all about so I decided to listen to her 2008 TED Talk. I wish I hadn’t because, for the most part, her keynote address was pretty much the same.The conference also included some “storytellers” from Canadian Aboriginals and other major religious traditions on the subject of compassion. Finally, breakout group dialogues were facilitated by members of a class from SFU’s Centre for Dialogue.

A few reflections on the conference from my end…

Just how hard it is to accept the fact that there are other people in the world that think and believe differently from me. Now, I have come quite a long way (if I am able to step outside myself for a moment) in acknowledging and respecting the plurality of opinions and beliefs. In high school, not so much so. Democrats were “useful idiots” (and I had no real idea why, but that was just the buzz phrase that Ann Coulter’s title became). People of other religious traditions were flat out wrong. Even Catholics (who weren’t really Christians) were to be looked at with a degree of suspicion. After going to university for four years, my mind became a bit broader to allow for other people to hold to their convictions. But the problem, I am realizing, was that this broadness is just an idea in my head and I have only put it into practise to a limited degree within my own Western Christian tradition. It is a lot easier to think that respect for others is a good idea than it is to actually respect them and allow them to speak with conviction about what they believe (and to take them seriously, for that matter).

My aversion to certain expressions of liberal pluralistic religion. This is a bit strange considering the fact that I don’t consider myself necessarily conservative or orthodox. And, if one who spend a few minutes talking with me about theology or religion in general, “liberal” is probably the first word that comes to mind. I don’t like using the word “liberal” and “conservative” to describe religious positions because they don’t work very well and tend to ignore the more complex nuances of people’s spiritual and theological stances and journeys. Probably a better way to describe what I’m getting at when I say “my aversion to liberal religion” is that pluralisms’ which like to boil all of the world religions down to a common essence and then use that as some sort of “chief cornerstone” on which to build a new religion that transcends all religions do not sit well with me. I was quite glad, then, to hear Armstrong say herself that the Charter of Compassion is not her attempt to do just that. She stated that we must acknowledge differences while affirming the commonalities. I suppose my realization of this aversion I have emerged more out the storytellers who spoke and some of the group discussions. I am not saying that I think exclusivistic religion is the way to go. By no means! But particularities must be respected and acknowledged and protected. The stranger must remain strange. Inter-religious dialogue often runs to close (for my liking) to collapse the Other into the self, thus turning us into all the same. I don’t think that is realistic when we consider just how different we are from our own friends. Moreover, that removes the actual purpose of and impetus behind inter-religious dialogues. If the stranger is no longer strange, well, what’s the use of talking to ourselves?

My latent exclusivistic inclinations. I still have that desire to be “right” and to show the other that they are “wrong.” My initial feeling (and hope) is that this is a human problem in general. Epistemological humility is very challenging. The setting aside of our personal or communal agendas seems to test our inclination towards self-preservation of our individuality or our community’s uniqueness.

The inadequacy of many (mostly Christian) theologies of pluralism (that is, Christian explanations of the presence of and relationship with other religious and spiritual traditions). The exclusivistic interpretations of Christianity provide a rather simplistic explanation of the presence of other traditions: simply, other religious traditions are almost entirely untrue (though at the surface, they may have a truth like a belief in one God). Extreme forms of this interpretation may chalk the presence of other religious traditions as the work of Satan who is out to confuse the world and distract people from Christianity. This doesn’t sit well with me for reasons that are not worth going in to. It’s the more nuanced inclusivistic and pluralistic interpretations that still don’t seem to jive with personal experience and observations. On the one hand, inclusivistic interpretations still are exclusivistic in that they necessarily think of a particular group as having the fullness of truth while others have parts of the truth. There is still one truth, but all others participate in this truth. This is great from a theoretical perspective. But attempt to tell this to a friend from another tradition and you will still sound like the fundamentalist. On a practical level, inclusivism is patronizing (“Your tradition has truth in it!”) and at the same time hostile (“But only hints of it!”). We pay lip service to the Other with our left hand (or with the left side of our mouth!) and in one swift breath we rebuff the Other (with our right side of the mouth). Inclusivism is great within religious traditions but still bears the marks of being dictatorial and unbending outside. Inclusivism still views the Other as lacking something that we have. We have something that they don’t and we are in a position to point that out to them. We have power. And, if the other is really interested in truth, they will become one of us.

But if inclusivism is still unsettling to me, the opposite of exclusivism is still problematic in my thinking. It reduces difference to sameness. Many forms of pluralism like to acknowledge the diversity of religious traditions but at the same time they reduce religion to a few generalized, universal concepts that can all too often ignore the categorical differences between traditions. The Other is lessened, boiled down, contracted, pruned of their otherness. Pluralism expects the Other to trim themselves to fit into a pluralistic perspective of the world. Pluralism becomes the new exclusivism in that it excludes those that want to maintain their otherness. In the name of inclusivity, some have to be excluded.

Still reflecting; that is all for now.

God is dead! Uhh, which one?

Paul Ricoeur is my new found friend.

Everyone is familiar with the famous expression of the madman in The Gay Science: “God is dead.” But the true question is to know, first of all, which god is dead; then who has killed him (if it is true that this death is a murder); and finally what sort of authority belongs to the announcement of this death. These three questions qualify the atheism of Nietzsche and Freud as opposed to that of British empiricism or French positivism, whose methods are neither exegetical nor genealogical…

Which god is dead? We can now reply: the god of metaphysics and also the god of theology, insofar as theology rests on the metaphysics of the first cause, necessary being, and the prime mover, conceived as the source of values and as the absolute good. Let us say that it is the god of onto-theology, to use the expression that was coined by Heidegger, following Kant.

Ricouer, Religion, Atheism, and Faith, 445.

…everything still remains open after Nietzsche.

Ricoeur, Religion, Atheism, and Faith, 447.

Excerpts from Ibn Abbad

4: Desolation

For the servant of God

Consolation is the place of danger

Where he may be deluded

(Accepting only what he sees,

Experiences, or knows)

But desolation is his home:

For in desolation he is seized by God

And entirely taken over into GOd,

In darkness, in emptiness,

In loss, in death of self.

Then the self is only shes. Not even ashes!

5: To Belong to God

To belong to God

Is to see in your existence

And in all that pertains to it

Something that is neither yours

Nor from yourself,

Something you have on loan;

To see your being in His Being,

Your subsistence in His Subsistence

Your strength in His Strength:

Thus you will recognize in yourself

His title to possession of you

As Lord,

And your own title as servant:

Which is Nothingness.

Hymn 25 – Symeon the New Theologian

–But, Oh, what intoxication of light, Oh, what

movements of fire!

Oh, what swirlings of the flame in me, miserable one

that I am,

coming from You and Your glory!

The glory I know it and I say it is Your Holy Spirit,

who has the same nature with You and the same

honor, O Word

He is of the same race, the same glory,

of the same essence, He alone with Your Father

and with You, O Christ, O God of the universe!

I fall down in adoration before You.

I thank You that You have made me worthy to know,

however little it may be,

the power of your divinity.

I thank You that You, even when I was sitting in


revealed Yourself to me, You enlightened me,

You granted me to see the light of Your countenance

that is unbearable to all.

I remained seated in the middle of the darkness, I


but, white I was there surrounded by darkness,

You appeared as light, illuminating me completely

from Your total light.

And I became light in the night, I who was found in

the midst of darkness.

Neither the darkness extinguished Your light


nor did the light dissipate the visible darkness,

but they were together, yet completely separate,

without confusion, far from each other,surely not at

all mixed,

except in the same spot where they filled everything.

So I am in the light, yet I am found in the middle of

the darkness.

So I am in the darkness, yet I am in the middle of

the light.

–How can darkness receive within itself a light

and, without being dissipated by light

it still remains in the middle of the light?

O awesome wonder which I see doubly,

with my two sets of eyes, of the body and of

the soul.

From Maloney and de Catanzaro’s translation of The Discourses (The Classics of Western Spirituality)