Daily Excerpt: A Theology for the Rest of Us (Yavelberg): about the key elements of a theology for the rest of us

 

Excerpt from A Theology for the Rest of Us (Arthur Yavelberg): about the key elements of a theology for the rest of us

At this point it makes sense to summarize the key elements of this “theology for the rest of us”:

1.      The orderliness of the universe indicates the presence of a divine intelligence (DI) responsible for that orderliness. This DI is conscious and cares.

2.      DI is all-powerful, but that only refers to that which is possible. Even DI cannot add 2 + 2 and get 3.

3.      Everything in the universe is subject to change. It is this potential for change that allows for the opening of free will.

4.       “Free will” exists, and the question itself presumes its existence.

5.      While terribly risky, free will is essential to human dignity and spirituality, and another sign that DI cares. Like a parent with a child, DI is willing to allow people to learn from their experiences and further their development.

6.      Teachers can be helpful, but they must not insist on a cult-like following.

7.      Humans are not bodies or souls, but bodies and souls—more like flowing rivers than fixed entities.

8.      The duration of human history makes an end of days or final messianic era improbable.

1.      Assuming DI exists, cares and is powerful, reincarnation is necessary to allow for an even playing field for individuals. Without reincarnation, there is no level playing field for the infinite variety of individual circumstances.

2.       People should behave morally not out of any expectation of reward or fear of punishment, but as a reflection of the understanding that “all is one.”

These 10 precepts, though definitely not commandments, can form the basis of a reasonably coherent theology that can reassure any skeptical individual who is anxious about his or her own rationality. There is nothing weird here or anything antithetical to scientific reasoning. As such, it can provide the grounding that may allow the individual to give him or herself permission to consider the possibilities involved in a metaphysical, theological realm. This permission may be absolutely necessary for those who are worried about being “kooks” or even insane. That is not to say that these beliefs will lead to social acceptance. For whatever reason—maybe their own doubts or insecurities—-people may very well reject individuals who do not conform to the accepted mores and beliefs. That those accepted mores and beliefs are labeled religious is misleading at best as they do not allow the kind of personal freedom that is essential to true spirituality. It is possible that such social rejection will lead the questioning individual to other kindred spirits and form a new social community, but there is no guarantee. Nevertheless, the alternative of squelching one’s spiritual aspirations for the sake of social acceptance cannot be preferable or even healthy. Once those thoughts and feelings begin to emerge, they cannot be repressed without significant damage.

                With this kind of rational assurance, it is possible that the seeker can now be open to what may be termed “truly spiritual experiences.” For example, consider the story of Jacob’s Ladder in Chapter 28 of the biblical Book of Genesis. It is the middle of the night. Jacob is all by himself in the middle of nowhere. He is terrified of the prospect of meeting his brother, Esau, the next day. Esau may very well be plotting his deadly revenge as Jacob can be accused of stealing his birthright and paternal blessing. The area is so barren he needs to use a rock as his pillow. Nevertheless, it is in this dire situation that Jacob has a dream in which he envisions angels ascending and descending on a ladder stretching from heaven to earth. At the very top is God Himself who renews His covenant that Jacob’s “descendants will be like the dust of the earth” and will accompany Jacob wherever he goes. Jacob is awestruck. “When Jacob awoke from his sleep, he thought, ‘Surely the LORD is in this place, and I was not aware of it’” (Gen 28:16).

How many people may experience the very same awe at the myriad wonders of the universe if they would just allow themselves to be open to it? It may be similar to the vulnerability necessary to truly experience love. One cannot be guarded and at the same time give oneself to another. Is there a great risk of such openness? Perhaps, and yet it is important to remember that there is great risk of not having such openness. Exactly what has been the value of a life that, however lengthy, has been lived without love? Socrates is supposed to have said, “The unexamined life is not worth living.” Maybe the same is true about a life without love, or a deep appreciation of just how marvelous the universe really is.

It is intriguing that so many mystics talk about “love” in the context of their experiences of the divine. Rumi, the Persian 13^th-century poet, joins with a great many mystics in all religious traditions when he says “Without love I was one who had lost the way; all of a sudden love entered. I was a mountain; I became straw for the horse of the king” Rumi, 2009, p. 24). Alfred Lord Tennyson (1850) is likely quite right when he says “Tis better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.” However, how much better, and safer, is it to love with the assurance that that love will be requited by the divine love inherent in all of reality.

But suppose we are not there yet. Suppose, whether because of our rationality or in spite of it, we just do not feel either love or awe. After all, the field is called “metaphysics” because it is “beyond the physical.” Suppose we are on this side of the door and have no idea as to what is on the other side. The door seems locked to us, so what is the possible alternative to just going about our business until somebody else opens the door? This is indeed a sad state of affairs, and one in which the overwhelming majority of the rest of us find ourselves. As Rumi sighs, “Take an axe to dig through the prison; you will all be kings and princes!” (Rumi, 2009, p. 86)

Having said that, there may be an alternative approach. Assuming we are in prison and have not yet realized we have the key, maybe we can still experience some of the benefits of the spiritual life. People like the 17^th-century French mathematician Blaise Pascal and the 20th Century American psychologist William James have offered a sort of “cost benefit analysis” of faith in God. Given the ineffable nature of God, assume that it is impossible to know for sure whether or not God exists. Suppose one believes in God and it turns out God does not exist. Now suppose that one does not believe in God, but God does exist. In which scenario do we experience greater benefits? In which scenario do we risk greater losses? By benefits and losses, the intent is not about the possibility of heavenly reward or eternal damnation, though those possibilities are necessarily included, but rather which scenario is more likely to lead to a more appreciative, grateful life, a life more likely to bring one happiness and contentment? Surely there is more hope for happiness and contentment with a worldview that sees life as an integral, ongoing part of the consciousness of reality, surviving even death, as opposed to a worldview that sees death as the annihilation of any conscious life on an individual basis and ultimately of any and all consciousness.

As clear as that choice may be, again, given the impossibility of knowing for sure either way, there may still be some reluctance. Perhaps that reluctance has to do with all the associations, whether conscious or unconscious, with the term “God.” Suppose instead that the choice was articulated along these lines: ”Given the impossibility of knowing for sure, is it better for an individual to believe in the orderliness of the entire universe than to believe that all reality is fundamentally chaotic?” Most would agree that some belief in the orderliness of the universe not only has more potential for happiness and contentment, but for sheer sanity as well. If so, there is little point in quibbling over whether there is a God who is responsible for that orderliness, even if the latter logically suggests the former.

Having said that, ultimately happiness is indeed a choice. Again, given the lack of absolute information, believing in the orderliness of the universe is more likely to lead to happiness than the alternative. However, another factor of happiness has to do with authenticity. In other words, for people to be happy, there has to be integrity in the sense that what one does is an expression of what one believes. That is a lot more difficult than it sounds. As the 20^th-century, French existentialist Jean Paul Sartre says in his play, No Exit, “Hell is other people” (1943, p. 45). There are extraordinary pressures to conform to what others in society consider good and acceptable. Worse, as these pressures have been applied since birth, they generally have become internalized so that there can be extraordinary fear, anxiety and shame attached to thinking and feeling outside these social norms. Nevertheless, if what is unique about the individual is suppressed in order to appease others, the resulting tension leads to everything but happiness.

There is a very special Jewish Hasidic story about Zusya, a poor man on his death bed. Besides his physical condition, Zusya was terribly agitated. A rabbi was called to comfort him. When the rabbi asked Zusya what was troubling him, Zusya answered, “I am afraid. I have lived a pretty good life….not perfect, but pretty good. Still, I was no Moses. I am afraid that they will not let me into heaven because I was not good enough.” The rabbi took Zusya’s hand in his and said, ”Do not worry. When you approach heaven, they will not ask you why you were not Moses. They will ask you why you were not Zusya.”

At the beginning of this book, we imagined entering a large dark room, filled with fancy set tables and chairs. There was a long dais at the front with more chairs and a podium with a microphone. At the time, the question was whether all that got there by accident, randomly thrown into the room by some thieves or maybe movers for storage, or whether all that got there because someone planned it that way, plausibly for some kind of banquet. The idea that all that got there by accident seemed more than implausible, even though the one who did the planning was never actually seen. The point was that, if such a hall could not have been the result of some accident, there was no way the entire universe, with all its intricate laws and patterns, could have been the result of some accident, either. If so, there must be a “Divine Intelligence,” DI, operating in some fashion that is responsible for the universe.

Now imagine that, on leaving that hall, you see a sign by the door. You reasonably assume that the sign will give you a clue as to the honoree of the celebration. When you look more closely, you see that your very own name appears.

Once you get over the shock and awe, the questions come quickly. What are you going to say? How honest will you be? Will you just talk about your successes...or will you be forthcoming about not only your failures, but your regrets? What would you hope others would say? Those others might be loved ones who will be caring and forgiving, but they might be enemies, too. Will they admit they respected you even though they bitterly fought against you? What about your mentors, those people who recognized your potential and helped you along the way? Will they be proud of what you’ve done? Or will there be just a hint of “S/he could have been one of the very best, but…”?

Will there be a Questions and Answers session? What will people ask? “When were you happiest?” “How did you get the idea to get started on your life’s work?” “What was the hardest thing you ever did?” “Is there anything you would have done differently?” “What advice do you have for those who will come after you?” And maybe the most important question of all: Looking back over all of it, were you truly you?

Technically speaking, theology is about defining and understanding what is “out there.” Who/What is responsible for this reality in which we find ourselves? Fundamentally, though, theology is about how we relate to the Who/What responsible for this reality in which we find ourselves. It is about honesty, authenticity, and the realization that, because there is some DI responsible for this reality in which we find ourselves, it will all be ok.

Finally, in this context, you may be wondering: “Just who is this ‘we’ in which ‘we’ find ‘ourselves in this reality? For that matter, who is the “us” in “a theology for the rest of us”? After all, if theology is so personal and individual, how can there ever be a meaningful “we” or “us”?

That is an important question, especially in this particular reality in which we find ourselves. Everything is so polarized in so many areas. Everything is all too often classified into “us” and “them”: “you’re either for us or agin’ us.” People who disagree are not simply “mistaken” or even “wrong;” they are “stupid” or, worse, “evil.” The notion that different people can have different legitimate opinions—that different, even apparently contradictory, opinions can each be “right” simultaneously, depending on the context and circumstances of those different people—is a notion that inspires skepticism and charges of treason. Even agreement can be suspect unless it is 100% and refuses to acknowledge that the “other” may have some points worth considering.

There is a famous parable found in many traditions of a group of blind men who come across an elephant. Each is in contact with a different part of the animal and draws conclusions accordingly. So, for example, the one holding the tail assumes the elephant is snake-like. The one touching a tusk decides the elephant must be made of stone. A third cannot reach around the leg and claims the elephant is like a huge tree. The argument goes on and on until, in most versions, the group of blind men separate with each thinking the others are close-minded, sadly mistaken, and worse. Of course, each blind man was telling the truth in the sense there was no intent to deceive, but that “truth” was only partial—substantial enough to appear credible, but not nearly complete.

The usual point of the parable is to show how our perceptions are invariably limited and how much everyone has potentially to gain from sharing information and being open to different perspectives. That is the attitude of the “us” in “a theology for the rest of us.” We are all individuals who, like Zusya, strive to be honest and authentic. However, we acknowledge that we have no monopoly on “the TRUTH;” that we can learn much more by sharing what we have learned as individuals instead of by insisting we have already learned all there is to learn. This recognition may have been what Jesus had in mind when he taught: “First remove the beam from your own eye, and then you will see clearly enough to remove the speck from your brother's eye." (Matthew 7:5) This is not an easy approach to adopt—particularly in a world that preaches independence and individuality, just so long as you think and act just like all the right people.

Of course, all this questioning and exploring and even arguing are all part of the process. As Richard Bach says in his novel, Illusions, “Here is a test to find whether your mission on earth is finished: If you are still alive, you haven’t.” (1977, p. 158). If we already know all the answers, why bother with exploring? Yes, it is often difficult and confusing and lonely—often desperately lonely. It is so much easier—safer—to be absolutely sure; to neatly fit into a category where one can find acceptance in conformity. But, again, once we believe that DI not only exists, but also cares about us, we can be confident as to our ultimate success.

In the meantime, we can only do our best—and cherish the company of those kindred spirits around us along our way.

To read more posts about Arthur and his book, click HERE.

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