Between God and the Devil: La Dolce Vita (the Sweet Life)

Thus says the LORD: Cursed are those who trust in mere mortals and make mere flesh their strength, whose hearts run away from the LORD. They shall be like a shrub in the desert, and shall not see when relief comes. They shall live in the parched places of the wilderness, in an uninhabited salt land. Blessed are those who trust in the LORD, whose trust is the LORD. They shall be like a tree planted by water, sending out its roots by the stream." Jeremiah 17:5-7

Levi Strauss theorized that the function of a myth lies in reconciling basic contradictions, whether they are felt within a person or at the societal level. Such contradictions, and even dichotomies, can be used to energize a story’s dramatic tension and for comic effect, such as through misunderstandings. Typically, contradictions are reconciled in the denouement of a narrative; if so, the audience gets a psychic payoff. Otherwise, the audience is left with the uneasy feeling that the world is somehow not in order. I don’t believe that Fellini reconciles the contradictions in his film, La Dolce Vita (1960). The last scene, in which the film’s protagonist, Marcello, a young and handsome single man who is a tabloid columnist, turns back to follow his high-society drinking friends, who are leaving the beach. He makes the choice to return to his life of late night parties with empty socialites rather than to walk over to the only sane, available woman in the film.  Marcello does not find or establish an equilibrium, but goes on as a lost soul. Although religion is not much discussed by the characters in the dialogue, the film’s structure can be described in terms of going back and forth between two contradictory basic principles—one represented by the Roman Catholic Church and the other by the Devil. In spite of the back-and-forth, which even includes the visually high (overlooking Vatican Square) and low (in the basement-apartment of a prostitute), the main characters remain as if in a state of suspended animation between the dichotomous and contradictory relation between God and the devil. If commentators on the film haven’t highlighted this axis, the verdict could be that film as a medium could go further in highlighting religious tensions and contradictions than it does—not that going beyond religious superficialities to engage the minds of viewers more abstractly necessarily means that the contradictions must always be resolved or sublimated in a higher Hegelian synthesis and the dichotomies transcended. 

The full essay is at "La Dolce Vita."

Shankara: Knowers-of-the-Self Should Not Fight

I contend that Shankara imparts too much of his Advaita Vedanta Hindu philosophy’s penchant for renunciation in interpreting the momentous chapter two of the Bhagavadgita. I know in having translated a text that it is all too tempting to “embellish” a text by re-phrasing beyond what is necessary for clarity. Sometimes, in reading another translation of a text that I am translating, I am astounded to find even entire subordinate clauses that do not correspond to the original text in its language. I believe Shankara does something similar in both his emphasis on the self (atman) as non-agent and his disavowal of action in favor of renunciation. Krishna’s advice to Arjuna is not to renounce fighting in the war, which even Shankara describes as righteous even though it is for earthly power. To fight dispassionately is obviously not the same as not fighting (i.e., not acting). Krishna is not in favor of Arjuna’s refusal to fight, whether Arjuna has knowledge of the Samkhya (i.e., discrimination of metaphysical reality: that eternal, immutable atman is Brahman).

Interpreting the Gita, Shankara acknowledges that “knowledge of Samkhya . . . has been imparted to” Arjuna by Krishna.”[1] In spite of the fact that knowers of Samkhya are to practice renunciation in line with the knowledge that an individual atman (self) is immutable and thus cannot act, Krishna tells Arjuna, “stand up, determined to fight.”[2] Take care, though, for being determined can be taken wrongly as wanting to fight; for in the next line, Krishna says, “Looking with an equal eye on pleasure and pain, gain and loss, victory and defeat, strive to fight; thus will you incur no sin.”[3] Krishna is preaching indifference in dispassionate fighting, rather than acquiescing to Arjuna’s desire not to fight. That desire, like all desire, occasions karma (i.e., the residue from righteous as well as unrighteous action) and thus keeps the self (atman) from losing itself even as an entity in Brahman.[4]

To Shankara, it is only as a non-knower of the nature and essence of one’s self (atman) that a person is excused for acting—for such a person doesn’t know any better. Only a person knows that one’s self cannot possibly act (because the atman has no parts and thus is not subject to change) that one should practice renunciation. Whereas the non-knower’s righteous actions can result in heaven, the knower’s renunciation (and thus lack of karma) can result in liberation (moksa).[5]

I’m not convinced that Shankara realizes the contradiction in admitting that Arjuna is now a knower even as Krishna rejects Arjuna’s decision of renunciation from fighting and even urges him to fight. To be sure, Shankara could reasonably retort that in acting dispassionately on the battlefield, Arjuna is honoring the fact that his atman cannot act and is perhaps not even acting. Shakara could charitably be interpreted as referring to a person’s atman in stating “that it is impossible for the Self-Knower to act, whatever actions have been enjoined by the Sastras have reference only to the non-knower.”[6] That is, the “Self-Knower” here being referred to could be an individual’s immutable atman, which does not act even as a person is performing duties by acting. The “immutability of the Self” negates “all actions on its part; such immutability is the “specific reason for ruling out all activities.”[7] It is a person’s atman that cannot act, so presumably this is so even when a person is acting, and so Krishna could be interpreted as telling Arjuna: act, for you have a duty to engage in righteous battle, but know that your inner self is not that which is acting. But Shankara makes it clear that just acting is not proper for a knower-of-Self, which Shankara acknowledges Arjuna to be once Krishna has imparted Knowledge of the Self.

Therefore, it is difficult to reconcile the narrower reading that atman, as immutable, cannot act with Shankara’s claim that “the science of the Gita [is that] the Self-Knower is obliged to renounce and not to perform works of all kinds.”[8] Shankara even refers to this as a doctrine! It is the performance itself, whether done dispassionately or with a desire to conquer or for wealth, that is forbidden for a Ksatriya who knows one’s own self (atman).[9] Again, Shankara states that “both the Self-knower perceiving the immutability of the Self, and the seeker after liberation, are called upon exclusively to renounce all Veda-enjoined works,” which, according to Shankara, include even the duty of a warrior to participate in righteous battle (even for earthly power) even though such participation can get a person to heaven.[10]

That a non-knower has a duty to act is not relevant here because Krishna imparts knowledge of the Self to Arjuna and tells him that, even with such knowledge, he should still fight. I must admit to being perplexed: Was Shankara so oriented to presenting his own philosophy of the Self (Advaita Vedanta) that he overlooked this vital point, or am I missing something?  Because disinterested yogic action is for people who do not know the Self, and is thus inferior to the renunciation for people who know the Self and even those people who seek liberation, Krishna’s urging of dispassionate action to Arjuna after Krishna has taught Arjuna on the Self contradicts Sankara’s philosophy. Shakara’s writings evince great intelligence, hence my theory that the explanation for the contradiction lies not with his reasoning, but that he was interested in using the opportunity of commentary on the Gita to state his philosophy of renunciation over yogic action—which is to say, knowledge of Self over ignorance and delusion.

 It’s interesting that even the non-violent Gandhi acknowledges in his commentary on the Gita that Krishna enjoins Arjuna to fight, whereas Shankara insists that knowers of the Self are prohibited from fighting. To impart a commentary on a text should be centered, and thus not depart from, the ideas that are in the text, especially if its central idea, rather than used as an unabashed opportunity to present one’s own philosophy, especially where it diverges from that of the text. It is nothing short of astonishing that Shankara characterizes the Gita as being oriented to removing “the cause of transmigratory life consisting of grief, delusion, etc., and not to compel anyone to initiate action of any kind.”[11] But compelling action is precisely what Krishna does in the pivotal scene! It is Arjuna’s decision to renounce action that is being castigated and strongly refuted. That an atman, being eternal—neither born nor subject to decay and death—cannot be slayed does not mean that Krishna is urging Arjuna not to fight. Arjuna is in fact compelled by Krishna to initiate action on the battlefield befitting the Vedic duty of a warrior, even though Krishna knows that Arjuna has become a Knower-of-Self.

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1. Shankara, Srimad Bhagavad Gita Bhasya of Sri Samkaracarya, Trans. A.G. Warrier (Madras, IN: Sri Ramakrishna Math), p. 62.
2. Gita 2.37. Quoted by Sankara in Srimad Bhagavad Gita Bhasya, p. 60.
3. Gita 2.38. Quoted by Sankara in Srimad Bhagavad Gita Bhasya, p. 61.
4. Interestingly, Samuel Hopkins, who studied under Jonathan Edwards (and even lived with the Edwards for some time), was so keen on disinterested benevolence that he castigates in his text even the desire for heaven; hence, the proper belief is that the soul ceases to be an entity when it is in union with God. Because Edwards studied comparative religion, whether Hopkins got his idea from the Hindu notion that an individual atman ceases to be an entity when it is liberated (moksa) from the cycle of reincarnations (samsara).
5. This is an interesting dual-track: righteous action, say if the “battle is for the sake of righteousness and people’s security, though the conquest [is] of the world,” can get person to heaven(“happy the warriors [who] encounter battle, occurring by chance and opening the gate to heaven”, Gita, 2.32); whereas renunciation can result in liberation. What is the difference here between heaven and liberation (moksa)?
6. Shankara, Srimad Bhagavad Gita Bhasya of Sri Samkaracarya,  p. 44.
7. Ibid., pp. 43-4.
8. Ibid.,  p. 49. The translator even puts the doctrine in italics.
9. Interestingly, Shakara claims that the essence of an individual atman is delusion and thus cannot be known (or, can be known to be an illusion). The knower of self thus even has insight (for an atman cannot be perceived or even pondered, and yet “the sruti teaches that ‘by the mind alone is the Self to be perceived’” according to Sankara (p. 47) that one’s own self exists but has no essence. Though is not beingness, taken as an adjective, the essence, and if so, being cannot be a delusion, for Brahman is being and consciousness writ large (and writ small).
10. Shankara, Srimad Bhagavad Gita Bhasya of Sri Samkaracarya,  p. 46.
11. Ibid., p. 39.

Lord Krishna in the Bhagavadgita

The Hindu myth, the Bhagavadgita, is typically regarded as placing the god Krishna above not only the other Hindu gods—here rendered merely as Krishna’s various functionalities—but also Brahman, which is being and consciousness themselves. As Krishna is incarnated in human form, placing him at the peak of the Hindu pantheon—in fact, even reducing the latter to the extent that Hinduism can be regarded as monotheist—compromises the wholly-other quality of the divine that is based on it extending beyond the limits of human cognition, perception, and emotion. In other word, the importance of Krishna’s role in the Gita comes at a cost. Depicting Krishna as the “Supreme Person” connotes less transcendence than does depicting Brahman as being and consciousness (of the whole). In going against the grain by making Brahman the basis even of Krishna, Shankara, a Hindu theologian, philosopher, and ascetic of the eighth century, CE, restores transcendence to its importance in not only Hinduism, but also religion itself as a distinctive domain of human endeavor distinguished by its unique element of transcendence.

According to Shankara, Lord Krishna is born “in order to safeguard the spiritual power in the world,” which can also be expressed as “the state of Brahmanhood.”[1] Such safeguarding is especially valuable when cravings dominate and a decline of “discriminative knowledge” impair those people who would otherwise be practitioners of Dharma, the law of righteousness.[2]  Besides promoting prosperity, that law is oriented to the “emancipation of living beings,” for being liberated from samsara is the summum bonum for a human being.[3] Shankara states that “the purpose of the science of the Gita is to set forth the summum bonum, which consists in the total cessation of the transmigratory life and its causes.”[4] Transmigration does not take place in the world; the term is inherently spiritual, or religious, because it takes place in a realm between death and birth, and thus not in the world that we inhabit during a lifetime.

Although Shankara claims that the “unborn, immutable, Lord of beings, and, in essence, eternally pure conscious and free” Brahman becomes manifest in being “embodied and born as a man, for ensuring the welfare of the world,” I submit that for “the well-being of all living beings” is a more accurate description because whether or not an atman (self) is reborn or not is not contained in the world, but, rather, transcends it.[5] Even just trying in vain to imagine what it means for Brahman to be “eternally pure conscious” goes inherently beyond the limits of human cognition and perception. The Vedic law that is oriented to balancing embracing works with embracing cessation or renunciation pales in comparison to the extent that promoting balance in the world is taken as an end rather than as a means toward liberation from the world. Shankara’s stance that maya is merely illusion rather than being the causality by which Brahman emanates multiplicity in the world can itself be taken as an admission that the ways of Brahman are wholly other and thus not readily translatable into terms that we can fathom. Hence the Gita lauds whoever “is quiescent, firmly seated, silent, not thinking any thought.”[6]

In so far as the Vedic law of works is viewed in terms of promoting prosperity in the world—which is to say, “done with desire for fruits” rather, or even more, than in “dedication to God and without expectation of rewards,”—practicing the law does not even indirectly subserve “the attainment of emancipation” though admittedly such practice “leads its practitioners to the higher stations of heavenly beings.”[7] Madhusudana Sarasvati, another commentator of the Gita, claims that the first step in the “disciplines for Liberation” as presented “as the purpose” of the Gita, is “the performance of selfless work (niskama-karma) by rejecting rites and duties meant for personal gain (kamya-karma) and the prohibited actions (nisidha-karma).”[8] Of course, Shankara’s interpretation hardly promotes a worldly orientation. In fact, a proclivity in favor of the transcendent is implied, especially as “desire for fruits” can be included in cravings. Be in the world but not of it, Augustine warns Christians. Similarly, Shankara claims that the science of the Gita “is aimed at emancipation,” which characterizes an individual atman going back into unmanifest Brahman; hence Shankara also claims that the science “sets forth the ultimate Truth that is synonymous with Vasudeva, the content of Supreme Brahman.”[9] Having come from Brahman, an individual atman is sustained by Brahman in life and at death goes back into Brahman; the welfare of the world in which we live is thereby relegated, especially when an atman is liberated from this cycle of samsara and remains unmanifest in Brahman. Madhusudana Sarasvati’s description of the Unitive Vision as the “immediate Knowledge of the identity of Brahman and the Self”[10]—an identity that is certainly not lost on Shankara—anticipates the final fulfillment of an atman retiring in Brahman. This summum bonum, rather than the desire for earthly treasure and even religious ways to promote it, and even the achievement of balance in the world, grounds the Gita as distinctly religious in nature, and thus as firmly classifiable within the domain of religion.

1. Shankara, Srimad Bhagavad Gita Bhasya of Sri Samkaracarya. Trans. A. G. Warrier (Madras, IN: Sri Ramakrishna Math), p. 2.
2. Ibid.
3. Ibid.
4. Ibid., p. 4.
5. Ibid., p. 3.
6. Ibid., p. 4.
7. Ibid., pp. 4-5.
8. Madhusudana Sarasvati, Bhagavad-Gita. Trans. by Swami Gambhirananda, p. 22.
9. Shankara, Srimad Bhagavad Gita Bhasya of Sri Samkaracarya, p. 5.
10. Madhusudana Sarasvati, Bhagavad-Gita., p. 23.

Witchcraft as a Religion

If ever there were a mistaken title for a movie, Bell, Book and Candle must rank in the upper tier, for the spells in the bewitching comedy hinge on a cat and a bowl rather than bell, book, and candle. Magic can be thought of as the making use of concrete objects, combined with words, to engage a supernatural sort of causation meant to manipulate sentient or insentient beings/objects for one’s own purposes.  The film, Bell, Book and Candle (1958), is not only a love story and a comedy, but also the presentation of a story-world in which witches and warlocks engage in contending spells for selfish reasons. That story-world in turn can be viewed as presenting a religion, which can be compared and contrasted with others. Most crucially as far as religion is concerned, the supernatural element that is observable in the story-world points to the existence of a realm that lies beyond the world of our daily lives and thus renders the film’s story-world different. Put another way, the unique type of causation, which appears only as coincidence to the characters who are not in on the existences of witches and warlocks in the story-world, transcends appearance because the “laws” of the causation operate hidden from view, as if in another realm. I contend that it is precisely such transcendence not only in terms of belief, but also praxis, that distinguishes the domain of religion as unique and thus distinct from other domains, including those of science (e.g., biology, astronomy), history, and even ethics.

The full essay is at "Bell, Book, and Candle." 

Is the Hindu Bhagavadgita Monotheist?

Even though the Bhagavadgita is just a small part of the Mahabharata Hindu epic, the popularity of the former book in Hindu households has led to it being referred to as the Hindu Bible. This likeness should be taken at face value, for the contents in the Gita are very different than the theological context of the Bible, whether just the Torah, the Talmud, or the New Testament. Even though the virtue of kindness or love issuing out in compassion to other people is a shared descriptor of the Hindu Lord Krishna, which is the highest god in the Gita, and the Christian Lord Jesus, the ideational dissimilarities between the Gita and the Bible should not be glossed over. Put another way, not even the symbol of the mandala, which Joseph Campbell includes as the religious archetype of wholeness in The Power of Myth, should dispel the notion that religions contain unique and thus different philosophical and theological ideas and even just stances.

In the Bhagavadgita, for example, “(y)oga practices and knowledge of salvation are equated with ritual performances in which all defilements and desires are offered up in the ‘sacrificial fire’ (agni) of knowledge.”[1] In ritual, basic elements on Earth, such as fire, water, and food, which, astonishingly, are labeled as deities in the Chandogya Upanishad, are related to, and perhaps even vicariously connect, the cosmos and the human person. Knowledge of liberation from rebirths (samsara) involves or even necessitates the sacrifice of desires. The word salvation is extremely salient in Christianity, and yet is hardly innate to Hinduism; the connotation that being saved by the vicarious sacrifice (as per Anselm’s theology) of a god-man once and for all so that any believer is made right thereby with God (i.e., justified by faith, as per Luther’s theology) is foreign to Hinduism. To be sure, the inclusion the element of food in both the Hindu sacrificial ritual and in the Christian Eucharistic ritual (i.e., Communion) and even that the food is consecrated in the latter with the real presence of the divine (agape) and food is labeled at a deity in a Upanishad should not blind a non-Hindu reader of the Gita into supposing that the book’s paradigm like the one upon which the Judeo-Christian Bible rests.

Even taking into account Gnostic Christianity, the emphasis which the Gita places on knowledge, especially that which Krishna imparts to Arjuna, distinguishes Hinduism from Christianity, where at least Paul distinguishes theology from philosophy—only the knowledge of the wise being vain.[2] This demarcation, and prejudice against philosophy, does not exist in Hinduism. Malinar, for instance, refers explicitly to “the various religious and philosophical doctrines presented in the [Gita]” without driving an artificial wedge between them.[3]

Furthermore, even though Krishna is portrayed as the high deity and even the portal through which Brahman itself can be glimpsed in full—as if that were possible for a human being—it is a mistake to label the Gita as monotheist. Even though Krishna is portrayed in the Gita as “the mighty ruler and creator of the world and its dharmic order, as well as the ever-liberated and transcendent ‘highest self’” and thus as “the most powerful Lord and yogin,” with “power over nature (prakrti)” and being “the cosmic cause of activity” yet “detached from the created world, being forever ‘unborn’ and transcendent,”[4] it is a mistake to conclude that Krishna’s supreme qualities renders the Gita as monotheist.

As if the Gita were akin to Hobbes’ Leviathan, Malinar states that the “monotheistic theology in [the Gita] also offers an interpretation of kingship and royal power” simply because Krishna is revealed “as the highest god.”[5] Even in the Hebrew Bible where other gods are referred to, they are not credited with being real gods, so it is not as though Yahweh is the highest god; rather, Yahweh is the only god, and thus God.[6] Also, the accolades that Malinar attributes to Krishna do not make Krishna merely a manifestation of Yahweh, for the latter did not create a dharmic order and is not liberated as the highest-self. Although “detached from the created world, being forever ‘unborn’ and transcendent” also characterizes Yahweh, or God, I wonder whether Malinar was knowingly or unknowingly drawing on Christian theology in describing Krishna in such “Western” terms.

Furthermore, I submit that not even Brahman considered as the highest or supreme god in Hinduism renders the religion monotheist. One twentieth-century American philosopher, Keith Yandel, erroneously interpreted the Hindu philosopher and theologian, Shankara (8^th century, CE), as characterizing Hinduism as monotheist simply because, according to non-dualism, the Hindu deities are merely appearances, or manifestations, of Brahman. As the ground-being of the world’s multiplicity, Brahman cannot be said have what we think of as intelligence as it differs from the awareness or consciousness of being itself qua being.  Neither can Brahman be thought of as a discrete entity, for Brahman is the being of everything—of all existence, or, perhaps more accurately, of existence itself. It is surely difficult, if not impossible, to view raw being as an entity; rather, being is the existential basis (rather than an attribute) of entities. So, I’m not convinced that Brahman can even be said to be a deity. It is possible that English translators of the Gita (and the Upanishads) have used a familiar word whose meaning differs from what the writers of the text(s) had in mind. In any case, when the warrior Arjuna gets a glimpse of Brahman itself by Krishna revealing himself as he really is, it is not the Abrahamic deity, or God, that Arjuna sees in his epiphany.

As yet another example of a leitmotif of the Gita that is not easily convertible into any of the Abrahamic faiths, Krishna urges Arjuna to engage on the external battlefield with “detached action” as a way to avoid “karmic bondage” even as Arjuna is active and performs his social duties.[7] To be sure, to be detached from sinful desires in Christianity bears a rough similarity to the “detached action,” but here even the desire not to harm relatives is a problem. Also, the very notion of “karmic bondage” is utterly foreign to the Abrahamic religions. In Christianity, for example, the bondage is to sin, whose basis lies within rather than as actions (even less in the residue of past actions).

Although religions can be said to bear Wittgenstein’s “family resemblances” to each other, the urge to minimize or overlook the differences between religions, as in depicting one in terms of another (or that another uses), should be checked and corrected for, lest scholars of religion unintentionally remake particular religions into more familiar terms. One of the main benefits of studying more than one religion, especially religions other than one’s own, is the access to different ideas and theologies/philosophies. A person’s own religious/philosophical paradigm can be made transparent to oneself even to be seen as an alternative rather than as the unquestioned and unrecognized default. Unconsciously distorting other religions into more familiar terms diminishes this realization.

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1. Angelika Malinar, The Bhagavadgita: Doctrines and Contexts (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), p. 4.
2. 1. Cor. In contrast, the Hebrew Bible contains the verse, “God knows the thoughts of men.” Paul adapts this to: “God knows the thoughts of the wise; they are vain.” Jerusalem is fine; Athens is not. Such a dichotomy does not exist in Hinduism.  
3. Malinar, The Bhagavadgita, p. 5.
4. Ibid., p. 6.
5. Ibid., p. 4.
6. Also, whereas Hobbes’ notion of a sovereign power, whether a king or an assembly, has absolute political and religious (i.e., interpreting divine law) power within a territory, Hindu kings have traditionally been at least ritually dependent on the Brahmin priests in the main temple not only for another year of legitimacy, but also as a means of gaining power by giving land away through the auspices of the temple.
7. Malinar, The Bhagavadgita, p. 4.

A Bishop's Partisanship Overshadows Her Christianity

On the first full day of U.S. President Trump’s second term, the president and vice president attended a multi-faith prayer service at the National Cathedral. Episcopal Bishop Mariann Budde delivered the sermon on what is necessary for imperfect political unity in a country such as the United States. I contend that in trying to influence the president on immigration policy in a partisan way, she undercut the credibility of her message that there is strength in loving rather than retaliating against one’s detractors and even political enemies. The sacrifice of which she spoke concerning being kind in reaching out in humanity to people we dislike could be applied to herself in resisting the temptation to be partisan. That she lapsed at the expense of Jesus’ most important message is particularly striking.

Rev. Budde claimed that recognizing the dignity of even one’s enemies as being worthy of respect is one of three elements in achieving an admittedly imperfect (for we are imperfect beings) political unity, which in turn can be understood as “a way of being with one another.” To hold different perspectives or opinions as “valid and worthy of respect” does not require agreeing with them, and it is indeed permissible to proffer corrections on faulty reasoning. Such differences can exist within a deeper political unity if there is also compassion with another person’s humanity, as in the context of natural disasters.

Helping another person even though dislike exists in either or both directions involves sacrificial love as we give of ourselves for the sake of others, regardless of whom they voted for in the last election. In his Sermon on the Mount, the priest said, Jesus advocates loving not just our neighbors, but to love our enemies. Such love can seem vague, and the term “enemies” can easily be dismissed as too extreme to apply as the term does not include people who simply don’t like us or whom we don’t like. Being willing to be compassionate and kind in not just sympathizing, but also helping even people whom we regard as assholes is none other than the content of the kingdom of God, according to Samuel Hopkins, an American theologian who followed his relative, Jonathan Edwards, in the First Great Awakening. God is incarnate in our world in the interpersonal dynamic that only exists when a person disregards dislike in choosing to respond in kindness to another person’s needs when doing so is inconvenient interpersonally.   Valuing this divine presence in the world and enabling it to manifest by helping out in humaneness is something that anyone can value without necessarily believing in a god-man. Indeed, the litmus test in Christianity could be changed in line with this focus on the kingdom of God, whose mysteries Jesus says in the Gospels he came to discuss. Put another way, were actual acts of kindness to people who have been rude or even mean the focus for Christian intention, interpersonal peace might just break out as from a mustard seed. The world would change dramatically, and a president could lead the way by example.

Had the priest left her message at that, the impact would have been greater than it was, but she went on to bring up Jesus’ position on societal outcastes in order to beg President Trump to have mercy on people in the United States who have entered illegally. Reminding the president of Jesus welcoming outcastes in the Gospels, she pleaded for mercy on the hard-working people in the U.S. who don’t “have the proper documentation” to be in the country but “are not criminals.” I submit that not having the proper documents is a function of having broken U.S. law, and thus being criminals by entering the U.S. illegally. The problem lies not with documents, but with the willful decision to enter another country without permission, which, I submit is rather presumptuous. To label this as not criminal is not only incorrect factually, but glosses over the sheer presumption in sneaking into another country. I submit that the attitude of “laws don’t apply to me” is indeed presumptuous, and in fact is inconsistent with being in a society at all. For it is only in a Hobbesian state of nature that laws do not apply.

So, I submit that by “getting political” in a misleading or artful way, the priest undercut the immense credibility that lies in the strength of forgiveness by helping out people who have been most unkind—a kind of strength that is often dismissed in the political world, as it is by the Romans in the Gospels. In his writings, Nietzsche argues that this sort of strength is actually weakness. He even points out how it is preached as a means of gaining power over the politically strong. This is exactly what the priest was doing in trying to make the president feel guilty for objecting to people whose first act in the U.S. was to break its laws by entering illegally. That they have no right to be in the U.S. does not undercut their dignity, for they have done that themselves in audaciously sneaking into a country (or staying beyond a court date). The priest herself said that honesty is a major element of political unity.  

Unfortunately, the focus was not on whether serving the humanity of even political adversaries in acts of kindness rather than seeking retribution constitutes strength or weakness. Christianity stands for the former, whereas Nietzsche provides a counter-argument wherein the religion is useful for the weak who are not strong enough to be politically powerful. It could be that valuing not only turning the other cheek, but responding to the humanity of detractors in acts of kindness is the or ought to be the definitive litmus test by which a person can decide in the privacy of one’s own heart whether one is a Christian. Were this the focus of the religion, then the earthly city might really change. Being opportunistic in seeking political influence, on the other hand, is unfortunately already well-ensconced, and is thus easily recognizable.  

Overriding Selfishness by Experiencing Awe

As biological animals, we are genetically and even behaviorally programmed to be self-centered, even though we can “self-program” to override this instinctual urge, which is geared to self-preservation. We are naturally economizing beings, oriented like squirrels to store up as any nuts as we can for winter, given the natural conditions of scarcity and uncertainty in the human condition. Yet we eschew selfish people and generally expect some extent of generosity from benevolence (benevolentia), which in turn is based on good will (benevolentia). To be sure, we can take measures not only to hold us back from abject selfishness, but also override the instinctual urge even for self-preservation. One such way has to do with experiencing awe.  

It is easier to accept that self-interest, which can manifest narrowly as selfishness, has a biological basis refined by the process of natural selection in evolution than it is to believe that experiences of awe have biological effects that reduce or even eclipse a self-centered orientation in perception and behavior. According to one researcher, an experience of awe “activates our vagus nerve. That’s ‘the big bundle of nerves starting in the top of your spinal cord that helps you look at people and vocalize’ . . . and it also ‘slows our heart rate, helps with digestion and opens up our bodies to things bigger than us.’”[1] The neurological feature of perceiving (and perhaps even judging) other people is particularly salient in regard to self-centeredness. For as the vagus nerve is being activated from an experience of awe, a region of the brain is deactivated—the default mode network. “That is where all the self-representational processes take place: I’m thinking about myself, my time, my goals, my strivings, my checklist. That quiets down during awe.”[2] As thoughts about oneself become recessive, we would expect the vagus nerve to look at people less fettered by interlarding thoughts about oneself and one’s own interests.

An experience of awe does not necessitate there being a religious experience; “finding awe and wonder” in the world around us “can be as simple as pausing and noticing . . . something as seemingly small as a newly blossomed flower to something as bigas a sunset stretched across the entire sky.”[3] Another source of awe is of a moral sort, as evinced in “witnessing the kindness or goodness or generosity of other people.”[4] I submit that witnessing or being on the receiving end of compassion for a detractor or enemy transcends awe from a virtue to instantiate spiritual awe, especially if God is believed to be love itself, theologically speaking. To be sure, such awe, or moral awe, need not be experienced for the biological processes to kick in; “listening to music, seeing art and contemplating big ideas” may suffice to trigger an experience of awe.[5]

Perhaps regularly having intense experiences of awe can reduce self-referential thoughts to the extent of a person being willing to die for a larger principle than self-preservation. Religious martyrs and warriors who are willing to die for their country (or cause) on a battlefield may thus be so inclined for biological as much as religious/patriotic reasons.

Furthermore, being less self-referential cognitively can, in itself and as this affects how other people are perceived (via the vagus nerve), render a person more moral in terms of being more benevolent, and thus generous, and less selfish. This orientation is in line with Bentham’s utilitarianism, wherein a person should act in line with the greatest good for the greatest number possible of people, and with Kant’s categorical imperative wherein a person should treat other rational beings not merely as means to one’s own interests, but also as ends in themselves. This formulation is in line with the Golden Rule in Christianity: love others as one loves oneself. Though in depressing the latter, loving others becomes more like selfless, or agape, love, which is self-emptying (kenosis) rather than self-aggrandizing. 

That such lofty theological notions may have correlates in biology does not take away from the value of the former as being sacred even if biology is viewed as profane. Even if a religious person is of another world, being in the earthly realm before any after-life cannot be doubted. Even though Augustine held that human love even as directed “upwards” to God is the best that we mere mortals can do, Calvin was more idealistic in viewing us as being capable not merely of Augustinian caritas love, but also of divine-sourced agape love—this species of theological love being much closer to selflessness than is caritas, which is based on garden-variety eros. Ironically, Calvin’s claim may find support from biological processes that are deactivated and activated.

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1. “Scientists Asked People . . .,” The Huffington Post, December 27, 2024.
2. Ibid.
3. Ibid.
4. Ibid.
5. Ibid.