Before I begin, I must make it clear that I am out of my depth on the subjects that follow. I am no theologian or scholar, nor am I wise. I pretend nothing more than to explore subjects, never mastering and rarely grasping them.
Knowledge (or understanding) is exhausting in my eyes, for each apparent step forward reveals another ten necessary to confirm it true, another ten to determine it will not lead to harm, and another hundred yet to be made. “However much man may toil in seeking, he will not find it out. Even though a wise man claims to know, he cannot find it out.” (Ecclesiastes 8:17) Our understanding is always incomplete, always askew.
What concerns me most is that the “knowledge” we promulgate may lead to harm. The carnage resulting from ideas and ideologies throughout history is so great as to give any sensible person consternation about adding another. But the absence of an idea is an idea itself, and the presence of a bad idea necessitates a countervailing one.
It seems that the choice is not between proceeding toward understanding or not, but between proceeding with self-confidence or self-doubt. My intention is to proceed with the latter. If I do nothing more than articulate questions and dilemmas that may also be troubling your mind, I will consider that a success. I know my conclusions will be incomplete and askew. I pray they be ignored, forgotten, or sharpened to the degree necessary—if not completely.
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Earlier this year I came across a recording of a debate between Christopher Hitchens and Tony Blair in 2010 that focused on a single question: Is religion a force for good in the world?
I came across it on the heels of President Donald Trump’s decision to pardon over 1,500 individuals who had been convicted of or were awaiting trial for offenses related to their involvement in the riots at the United States Capitol on January 6, 2021.
The blanket pardon reminded me of the events of that day and the jarring displays of the Christian religion. JESUS IS KING signs, Christian flags, images of Jesus, crosses, Bibles, Bible verses, spoken prayers… The list goes on.
The extent to which the Christian religion animated the violent events of that day is debatable, but there is no debate that it played a role. The more I look at reports documenting what happened, the more I am convinced that religion played a larger role than Christians like myself want to admit. And there is no debate that the violent events of that day—the rioters storming the Capitol building, assaulting police officers, individuals losing their lives, others fearing for their lives—were bad, horrifying, evil.
Is religion a force for good in the world?
I suspect many Christians were quick to denounce the rioters as a fringe group not representative of Christianity. Jesus Christ commands us to love our neighbors and our enemies. (Matthew 22:39, 5:44) He tells his disciples to put their swords away and take up their cross. (Matthew 26:52, 16:24) He tells Pilate that his kingdom—God’s kingdom—is not of this world and not one that his servants are to fight for. (John 18:36) The Apostle Paul tells us to submit to the governing authorities (Romans 13:1), as does the Apostle Peter (1 Peter 2:13-14), and to lead quiet lives (1 Thessalonians 4:11). To violently storm the seat of a government that was peaceably performing its duties in an attempt to overthrow and hurt others for the cause of the God of Christianity is blasphemy in preposterous proportions.
Is religion a force for good in the world? Regarding the fusion of religion and violence on January 6th, the majority of Christians, myself included, said that this was malpractice of the Christian religion.
But I am not sure Christopher Hitchens would let us off the hook so fast. In the debate Hitchens argues that a reason religion is not a force for good is that the religious texts themselves—the Bible, Quran, and Tanakh as primary examples—lead their readers to do detestable things, not that religious people are practicing their religion falsely or poorly. As I mentioned, Bible verses were visible on January 6th. One was Psalm 144:1 – “Blessed be the Lord, my rock, who trains my hands for war, and my fingers for battle.” Given that someone carried this Bible verse around at the same time and place that a violent insurrection erupted—and this is only one example in history—Hitchens’s argument deserves serious attention.
Consider another Bible passage. In the book of Judges in the Old Testament, one of Israel’s leaders—Ehud—assassinates an enemy king with a dagger and then leads Israel’s army in war to liberate Israel from the oppressive control of an enemy nation. If we say that Ehud was not acting in God’s interests at all, the text confronts us: “…and the LORD raised up for them a deliverer, Ehud…” (Judges 3:15) The text does not explicitly provide divine approval of Ehud’s actions, and Judges is certainly not the book from which to draw inspiration of good behavior, but there seems to be at least some tacit permission by God for Ehud to use these means at that time to liberate God’s people.
It is probably these types of passages that prompted Hitchens in the debate to say: “But you cannot say that the foundational cause, casus belli in this region [Israel/Palestine], the idea that God intervenes in real estate and territorial disputes, isn’t inscribed in the text itself. And not only in the Jewish text but thanks to a foolish decision taken in the early Christian centuries where it was decided not to dump the Old Testament and to start again just with the Nazarene story. Great Christian theologians like Marcion were in favor of that. Why do we want to bring the darkness and tyranny and terror and death and blood and cultism of the first books along with us?”
Consider some contrasts between the Old and New Testament. In the Old Testament Ehud thrusts a dagger into an enemy king. (Judges 3:21) In the New Testament Jesus tells his disciples to put their swords away. (Matthew 26:52) In the Old Testament Moses—God’s mouthpiece (Exodus 4:12)—tells the Israelites to stone anyone who commits adultery, among other sins. (Deuteronomy 22:22) In the New Testament Jesus defends a woman caught in adultery by saying, “Let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone at her.” (John 8:7) In the Old Testament Moses commands the Israelites to destroy certain nations. (e.g., Deuteronomy 7:1-5) In the New Testament Jesus commands his disciples to go and make disciples of all nations. (Matthew 28:19)
Christians, in my understanding, reconcile these differences by teaching that the Old Testament is subordinate to the New Testament. The book of Hebrews in the New Testament begins, “Long ago, at many times and in many ways, God spoke to our fathers by the prophets, but in these last days he has spoken to us by his Son [Jesus]…” (Hebrews 1:1-2) It continues by explaining how the old ways (covenant) of the Old Testament have been replaced by a new and better way (covenant) of Jesus. (Hebrews 8:13) This principle applies to more than ethics, but it’s important to note the effect it has on ethics.
If we read the text through this lens, we might wonder why God originally gave His people what appears to be a different code of ethics. Why not immediately command His people to put their swords away? Why not immediately teach forgiveness and grace instead of stoning sinners? Why not immediately go and make disciples of all nations instead of destroying some of them? This is something I hope to write more about in the future. For now, though I realize it may not be satisfactory, let’s leave the argument about violence at this conclusion: Jesus rejects human violence and prohibits his followers—Christians—from using (initiating) it, and Jesus is God’s final word on the subject.
While Jesus in the New Testament appears to resolve the dilemma of violence, other subjects prove more complex in my opinion.
Lately I have been disturbed by what looks to be an increasing intransigence in our society and country (the United States). The intransigence appears to have at least some of its roots in what we may refer to as epistemological superiority. In a general sense it seems that we are more and more certain of what we claim to know and more and more dismissive of what others claim to know. Particularly when our “knowledge” clashes, the result is often hostility and enmity towards each other rather than respect, open-mindedness, and dialogue. Currently this hostility and enmity appears so destructive to our shared life together that I think many of us are looking for some solution, some path out of the crisis.
As I’ve pondered this problem and thought about extreme events like January 6th, I’ve wondered whether my Christian religion bears some responsibility for it. And if my religion is at least partly responsible, is this a result of religious malpractice, or is it as Hitchens suggests inscribed in the text itself?
Christian doctrine has splintered a thousand ways since its inception, but a traditional belief that continues to persist in many churches is that the Bible (Scripture) is God’s word, God’s divine revelation of truth to humanity. Jesus himself, who Christians believe to be God, held this belief, at least about the Scriptures that existed during his earthly life. (John 10:35) He was constantly quoting the Old Testament and referring to it as the word of God. Related, many Christians believe the Bible to be infallible and inerrant, which is to say absolutely true and without error. The most prominent apostles, Paul and Peter, both write that the Scriptures are spoken (breathed) by God and transcribed by men. (2 Timothy 3:16, 2 Peter 1:20-21) Peter also conveys the principle that the New Testament writings—Paul’s letters as his example—are part of the Scriptures. (2 Peter 3:16)
Additionally, Jesus says, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” (John 14:6) Paul writes, “…at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord…” (Philippians 2:10-11) Because of this many Christians believe that the Bible—and Jesus at the heart of the Bible—is the truth for everyone, not a truth only for Christians.
Finally, Paul writes, “Now this I say and testify in the Lord, that you must no longer walk as the Gentiles do, in the futility of their minds. They are darkened in their understanding, alienated from the life of God because of the ignorance that is in them, due to their hardness of heart.” (Ephesians 4:17-18)
So you have what seems to be a potent, possibly dangerous, combination. Not only do Christians believe that they have come in contact with ultimate truth through God’s word, but also that those who haven’t yet acknowledged this truth (referred to in this context as “Gentiles”) are “darkened in their understanding.”
Together these ingredients seem like they could—and sometimes do—foster in Christians feelings of epistemological superiority, intransigence, and an impetus to impose this ultimate truth upon others. We can infer the line of reasoning… How could Christians not view God’s truth as superior to differing perspectives? How could Christians change their mind or compromise even a fraction of God’s truth? Why should others be allowed to flaunt God’s universal truth? The ingredients appear to be inscribed in the text—not derived from religious malpractice—though I acknowledge that some Christians reject the Bible’s infallibility, inerrancy, and exclusive/absolute claim on truth.
When combined and applied, the ingredients could be used to advocate for a kind of Christian authoritarianism in society where the principles of the Bible are mandated upon everyone—Christian and non-Christian alike—and Christians occupy positions of authority. As a Christian who holds to the traditional beliefs (infallibility, inerrancy, exclusivity) but also to democracy, intellectual and religious freedom, respecting and considering differing perspectives, the association of these traditional beliefs with an argument for Christian authoritarianism alarms me. Does the belief in the absolute and exclusive truth of God’s word, including that those who have not come to know God are lacking important understanding (not to say they do not understand anything important), necessarily lead to epistemological superiority, intransigence, and toward Christian authoritarianism?
One book of the Bible—one of the “old” books in fact—that may be surprising to mention here is the book of Job. Job is often referred to as a book about suffering, and surely it is. But reading it earlier this year, maybe given this internal struggle, it struck me in large part as a series of glimpses of what we as humans (in contrast to God) do not know. Many people in the book were confident they knew a great many things, especially Job’s religious acquaintances, but again and again they showed that they knew very little. Job also thought he knew and challenged God about what he perceived was unjust suffering, but Job didn’t know either. To gather all the glimpses into one picture, we could say that the book states something even more fundamental than what we do not know. It says that we do not know.
At the end of the book, Job has learned this lesson and says to God, “… I have uttered what I did not understand, things too wonderful for me, which I did not know… I despise myself, and repent in dust and ashes.” (Job 42:3+6)
I have imagined dropping Job, having suffered and experienced everything he did, into our American society today. What would he be like? How would he engage with his neighbors, those who revere God and those who do not? How would he go about his life?
I think it is inconceivable that Job would feel any sense of epistemological superiority over anyone else regardless of his or their beliefs. Job learned that all he knew was essentially nothing at all. His knowledge hardly registered on the cosmic scales. Even as an extremely devout and religious man, his understanding of God was minuscule.
As for intransigence, I do not think Job could ever renounce his belief in God’s existence or his conviction in the truth of the Scriptures. God worked so intimately in his life—humbling and teaching him through suffering—that it would be impossible for Job to do so. I suspect Job would not hesitate to tell his neighbors what had happened to him, who God is and what God taught him, and do everything in his power to help alleviate their suffering. After all, this was the main story of Job’s life. But I think Job would be far too humbled, too cognizant of his former overconfidence, of all the realms of knowledge that he knows nothing about (and realms of which even God has not spoken), of his fallibility in understanding the things he thinks he understands, of his inability to always follow God’s commandments, too aware that he is blind to some of his own faults and sins, too mindful that God had to labor a long time with him in the most private places of his heart and continues to do so… to believe that he is somehow superior to his neighbors, more fit to govern or rule, able to represent and impose God’s will upon society at large or responsible for doing so.
If Jesus is the final word on every subject, much of his public ministry was devoted not to dominating unbelievers or an ungodly culture into submission to God but to reprimanding religious people (in an effort to save them) who thought they were superior to others in knowledge and holiness. The purpose of his life on earth was not to exert his authority over us. “For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” (Mark 10:45)
After all the time Jesus spent with his disciples, they still did not understand this. The last question they asked him while he was still with them was: “Lord, will you at this time restore the kingdom to Israel?” (Acts 1:6) This is like them asking when they would have their authority restored. To paraphrase Jesus’s answer—his last words to them—he said, ‘This is not for you to worry about. Go everywhere and tell people about me.’ (Acts 1:7-8) If Jesus’s disciples were not to know so basic a detail like when this was to happen, how could they—let alone us—infer any responsibility to make it happen? If Jesus did not force his authority upon us while on earth, what makes us think that we should? A servant is not greater than his master. (John 13:16) If God does not violate our personal agency and gives us freedom to embrace or reject Him, to obey or rebel against Him, should we not extend the same agency and freedom to others, individually and collectively, while still preaching the gospel lovingly and faithfully in word and deed?
To read the Bible and feel superior to anyone else—epistemologically or in any other way—is to have missed the whole point. To fashion traditional Christian beliefs like the absolute and exclusive nature of the truth of the Scriptures into a theological argument for Christian authoritarianism is a myopic distortion. As Christians, we of all people should be the most humble, the most aware of our limited understanding, our infirmities, our sin, our need of God and others, the most averse to imagining that we alone are fit to wield authority.
By God’s grace let us seek Job’s humility. This humility may be the only path that leads out of our current crisis. If non-Christians should adopt their own forms of superiority, intransigence, and domination, and aim them at Christians, let it be so. Jesus told us to take up our cross and follow him. He promised that we would be persecuted like he was. (Matthew 10:21-22) To bear our cross and persecution with humility and love—not at the exclusion of graciously sharing what we believe to be true (Colossians 4:6)—is the means by which persecutors come to see that Jesus, who bore his own in this beautiful way, really is “the way, the truth, and the life.” To do the opposite only gets in the way of others encountering and embracing the real Jesus.
Latitudes of Plenty 