Mysterium
by
by
BlackOxford's review
really liked it
bookshelves: american, sci-fi, church, sociology, philosophy-theology, epistemology-language An Essay on Theocracy
Mysterium uses sci-fi to compare and contrast a theocratic state with its secular equivalent within which religion is practised. It’s an interesting idea. And Robert Wilson does an intelligent job of identifying where and how the differences are established and maintained. In his theocracy, the ultimate power of the Church is represented by its control over the development of the nuclear bomb. This makes for good fiction but begs the question of how such authority might be created. I have some suggestions based on the history of the Church and some more recent events.
In my sunset years I have grown to despise Christianity as a philosophy and as a moral force in the world. One, I suppose, has to take it very seriously in order to reach this conclusion since on the face of it, the religion is just some admonitions about moral behaviour touted by many obviously normal, that is to say, immoral, people. Only close scrutiny and considered thought reveals that it is the adherence to Christian beliefs which produces the consistent history of immorality that is evident and persists in those societies it has infected. Looking beyond the surface appearance is a principle theme of Mysterium; so my remarks are in the spirit of the book.
My conclusion and attitude, of course, could all be put down as an old man’s disappointment with his life (not to mention dementia). This is certainly a possibility. But, although I have more than a few regrets, I can’t say that my life is in any sense a disappointment. It has provided me far more than I deserve as an average human being and given me the chance to think beyond my immediate needs for survival. And I fancy I think more clearly, certainly with more experience, than my youthful self (dementia or not).
I can’t even say that I am disappointed in Christianity. The Christian religion has always appeared to me as exactly what it says on the tin - the only way to eternal salvation. As long as one maintains the fictional notion of eternal salvation, one can hardly be disappointed in the institution that claims to give access to it. But I have never really been troubled by this salvation-neurosis. The Jansenist fire and brimstone retreat masters of my youth just never struck me as credible. Even then the contradictions between a loving God and the vindictive pains of hell were obvious.
No, my gripe with Christianity is about power, the coercive power that it exercises and justifies through its tribal theology of faith. This has been a surprise to me rather than a disappointment. Despite its rhetoric of love and forgiveness, Christianity is primarily a religion of human power over other human beings. This power takes a variety of forms, from its hierarchical organisation which claims that some of its members are intellectually or spiritually superior to others, to its doctrines that those who are not its members are vastly inferior to those who are.
But the most important, and in many ways least noticed, power-grab by Christianity has been its attempt to control language. From the re-invention of religion as ‘faith’ by Paul of Tarsus, to the definition of the Biblical canon, to the formulation of specific dogmas (and their antithetical heresies), to the systematic development (or restriction) of theological thought, to the frequent violence used to enforce all of these, Christianity has sought to control the language of the divine by making language divine, by effectively claiming it as a religious artefact. And by controlling language it means to control everything else from history to science, in other words, reality.
Christianity divinised language for its own purpose - to bring others under its authority. Very few of those who pronounce the various Christian creeds on a Sunday have any idea of the meaning of the words they are using. And even fewer of those who think they do understand the meaning of the words agree among themselves. But this doesn’t matter because the significance of the creeds is only in the words as words. Whatever they refer to can be left to the individual imagination. Words are tokens of tribal membership, a symbolon or confirmation to others that one is a respectable member of the band, and subject oneself to hierarchical obedience regarding language.
According to Christianity, nothing is unforgivable, but only for members of the Church and only through its authority. This doctrine is stated in words, derived from other words, and applied through words to those who profess the right words. This is the essence of theocracy. No theocratic functionary dare claim direct communication with the divine. Those that do are considered mad. But through their claim to a definitive understanding and interpretation of words, the theocracy can dominate human behaviour. Not necessarily by changing it but by approving or forgiving as required. All human foibles and crimes are permitted as long as they are subject to review by the Church.
So there is no reason to suppose that a theocratic state would be any more moral than an atheistic one. In fact there are logical reasons to consider it more likely to tolerate socially harmful behaviour - because it has the power of forgiveness for those who have faith. This is what the political philosopher Carl Schmitt, a Catholic, called the power of the exception. At root this is a linguistic power to either negate or re-interpret laws, which are of course words. Such is the case in Mysterium - the power of the exception - and such has been the case in the Church since its foundation.
Another way of saying the same thing is that Christian faith is a principle of amorality, that is, arbitrary and self-serving norms of behaviour. It puts all actions beyond public criticism. This is one reason for the Catholic (and many Protestant) Church’s historical animosity toward democratic government. It is also the reason why the Church has resisted exposing the extent of its own immorality, not for decades but for centuries. It has forgiven itself as a matter of faith. Contemporary Evangelical forgiveness of Trump’s lies, racism, misogyny, and frequently expressed personal hatreds is a compelling example of just how powerful this idea of Christian faith can be in rationalising aberrant, even criminal, behaviour. And it entirely bypasses established political channels.
So Trump’s assault on language is a very Christian one. The Evangelicals and their politicians get this. It is their route to that ideal of faith, the Christian nation. Mysterium is a parable of that strategy and its consequences. Let him who hath ears to hear...
Mysterium uses sci-fi to compare and contrast a theocratic state with its secular equivalent within which religion is practised. It’s an interesting idea. And Robert Wilson does an intelligent job of identifying where and how the differences are established and maintained. In his theocracy, the ultimate power of the Church is represented by its control over the development of the nuclear bomb. This makes for good fiction but begs the question of how such authority might be created. I have some suggestions based on the history of the Church and some more recent events.
In my sunset years I have grown to despise Christianity as a philosophy and as a moral force in the world. One, I suppose, has to take it very seriously in order to reach this conclusion since on the face of it, the religion is just some admonitions about moral behaviour touted by many obviously normal, that is to say, immoral, people. Only close scrutiny and considered thought reveals that it is the adherence to Christian beliefs which produces the consistent history of immorality that is evident and persists in those societies it has infected. Looking beyond the surface appearance is a principle theme of Mysterium; so my remarks are in the spirit of the book.
My conclusion and attitude, of course, could all be put down as an old man’s disappointment with his life (not to mention dementia). This is certainly a possibility. But, although I have more than a few regrets, I can’t say that my life is in any sense a disappointment. It has provided me far more than I deserve as an average human being and given me the chance to think beyond my immediate needs for survival. And I fancy I think more clearly, certainly with more experience, than my youthful self (dementia or not).
I can’t even say that I am disappointed in Christianity. The Christian religion has always appeared to me as exactly what it says on the tin - the only way to eternal salvation. As long as one maintains the fictional notion of eternal salvation, one can hardly be disappointed in the institution that claims to give access to it. But I have never really been troubled by this salvation-neurosis. The Jansenist fire and brimstone retreat masters of my youth just never struck me as credible. Even then the contradictions between a loving God and the vindictive pains of hell were obvious.
No, my gripe with Christianity is about power, the coercive power that it exercises and justifies through its tribal theology of faith. This has been a surprise to me rather than a disappointment. Despite its rhetoric of love and forgiveness, Christianity is primarily a religion of human power over other human beings. This power takes a variety of forms, from its hierarchical organisation which claims that some of its members are intellectually or spiritually superior to others, to its doctrines that those who are not its members are vastly inferior to those who are.
But the most important, and in many ways least noticed, power-grab by Christianity has been its attempt to control language. From the re-invention of religion as ‘faith’ by Paul of Tarsus, to the definition of the Biblical canon, to the formulation of specific dogmas (and their antithetical heresies), to the systematic development (or restriction) of theological thought, to the frequent violence used to enforce all of these, Christianity has sought to control the language of the divine by making language divine, by effectively claiming it as a religious artefact. And by controlling language it means to control everything else from history to science, in other words, reality.
Christianity divinised language for its own purpose - to bring others under its authority. Very few of those who pronounce the various Christian creeds on a Sunday have any idea of the meaning of the words they are using. And even fewer of those who think they do understand the meaning of the words agree among themselves. But this doesn’t matter because the significance of the creeds is only in the words as words. Whatever they refer to can be left to the individual imagination. Words are tokens of tribal membership, a symbolon or confirmation to others that one is a respectable member of the band, and subject oneself to hierarchical obedience regarding language.
According to Christianity, nothing is unforgivable, but only for members of the Church and only through its authority. This doctrine is stated in words, derived from other words, and applied through words to those who profess the right words. This is the essence of theocracy. No theocratic functionary dare claim direct communication with the divine. Those that do are considered mad. But through their claim to a definitive understanding and interpretation of words, the theocracy can dominate human behaviour. Not necessarily by changing it but by approving or forgiving as required. All human foibles and crimes are permitted as long as they are subject to review by the Church.
So there is no reason to suppose that a theocratic state would be any more moral than an atheistic one. In fact there are logical reasons to consider it more likely to tolerate socially harmful behaviour - because it has the power of forgiveness for those who have faith. This is what the political philosopher Carl Schmitt, a Catholic, called the power of the exception. At root this is a linguistic power to either negate or re-interpret laws, which are of course words. Such is the case in Mysterium - the power of the exception - and such has been the case in the Church since its foundation.
Another way of saying the same thing is that Christian faith is a principle of amorality, that is, arbitrary and self-serving norms of behaviour. It puts all actions beyond public criticism. This is one reason for the Catholic (and many Protestant) Church’s historical animosity toward democratic government. It is also the reason why the Church has resisted exposing the extent of its own immorality, not for decades but for centuries. It has forgiven itself as a matter of faith. Contemporary Evangelical forgiveness of Trump’s lies, racism, misogyny, and frequently expressed personal hatreds is a compelling example of just how powerful this idea of Christian faith can be in rationalising aberrant, even criminal, behaviour. And it entirely bypasses established political channels.
So Trump’s assault on language is a very Christian one. The Evangelicals and their politicians get this. It is their route to that ideal of faith, the Christian nation. Mysterium is a parable of that strategy and its consequences. Let him who hath ears to hear...
posted by The Mind of BlackOxford @ January 19, 2019
0 Comments
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home