Undermining Progress: Power as Ignorance that Cannot Be Wrong

Bleeding to heal. The Earth is flat. Earth is at the center of the solar system. Zeus lives on Mount Olympus. The divine right of kings to act even as tyrants (e.g., Henry VIII of England). Hitler died in his bunker. Turning the heater on in a local bus kills coronavirus. These are things that were thought in their respective times to be uncontrovertibly true. In some of these cases, the power of the establishment was not subtle in enforcing them even when they should have been questioned. How presumptuous this finite, mortal species is! If ignorance on stilts is bliss, then why is it such in need of power? Subconsciously, the human mind must realize that its assumption of not being able to be wrong is flawed. We are subjective beings with instinctual urges—one of which manifests in the unquestioned assumption that what we know cannot be wrong, and furthermore that we are entitled to impose our “facts” on others. As the homo sapiens (i.e., wise) species, we are too sure, and too proud, concerning our knowledge and especially beliefs. We would like to have the certainty and objectivity that computers have, but we are subjective biological animals, not inert machines. 

The full essay is at "Undermining Progress."

Pope Benedict and Pope Francis: Power and Papacy

Power is seductive, even within religious organizations. It is like a drug in that denial can accompany an instinctual urge for immediate power even at the expense of the person’s own credibility. Put another way, self-discipline can easily succumb to the urge for power, even if the person has previously foreswore acting on that urge. Warped discernment between minor and major issues can also occur from the gravity of the instinctual urge. For example, a cleric may choose to break his or her decision to disavow acting on the urge in part because he or she incorrectly views the issue at hand to be a major one, when in fact it is not, at least as far as the religion is concerned. As in the case of a drug, perception, judgment and cognition may be impaired, or warped, by the urge itself. The Roman Catholic ex-Pope Joe Ratzinger (Pope Benedict XVI) is a case in point.

When Pope Benedict resigned in 2013, “some experts believed he should go back to being simply ‘Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger,” his previous title and given name, to emphasize that he no longer held any papal authority and to reduce the chance he might be seen as a rival point of reference to his successor.”[1] For his part, Ratzinger vowed to remain “hidden from the world.”[2] This decision was particularly important because just the fact that he continued to wear papal attire could lead people to view him as having such authority. In fact, bearing the likeness of a pope could have tempted him to leverage his appearance in order to challenge the current pope, presumably on a controversy central to the Roman Catholic Church.

Unfortunately, the former pope was not able to keep himself hidden from the world. In From the Depths of Our Hearts, published in 2020, he “argues in favor of the centuries-old tradition of celibacy within the church.”[3] In the introduction, he wrote, “We can say: ‘Silere non possum! I cannot remain silent!”[4] He could not remain silent, hidden from the world, on the matter of a tradition. His change of heart on remaining silent would have been more justifiable had a major theological doctrine, such as the divinity of Christ, been the controversy, yet he inveighed on a tradition, which a pope could change.

Indeed, the former pope broke his silence on a matter then before the current pope, challenging Francis’s statement that sometimes other factors had to be considered.  In this case, the exception had to do with whether to relax the celibacy rule pertaining only to the Amazon region in South America and only to whether elderly men could be ordained to relieve the shortage of priests. No priest would be getting married. So the controversy was actually quite minor because it was not only on a tradition, but even more damning, on a regional exception that still would not allow priests to get married (the elderly men in the Amazon being already married).

In short, the former pope chose to challenge the sitting pope on an exception to a tradition. Yet Ratzinger perceived the matter to be very important indeed. He wrote that he believed that celibacy carries “great significance” and is “truly essential.”[5] In fact, “(t)he call to follow Jesus is not possible without this sign of freedom and of renunciation of all commitments,” he wrote.[6] With its requirements, celibacy must penetrate “all of the attitudes of existence.”[7] Leaving the matter of whether it is or is not possible to follow a Christian religious calling without being celibate aside, I submit that the former pope overreacted to Pope Francis’s assertion that sometimes other factors should be considered as to whether specific exceptions should be made. The former pope chose to break his silence in order to use his papal influence to challenge the sitting pope on a minor matter.

Even if celibacy is as important to the Church as Ratzinger asserted, challenging the current pope when the latter agrees with the former pope on the principle represents a misjudgment in which, I contend, the urge for power was salient. Ratzinger felt an irresistible urge to speak up, violating his own terms of being hidden from the world, on an exception to a general rule. By implication, he compromised not only his own credibility, but also the viability of the office of an emeritus pope. I submit that whatever influence he achieved on whether an exception should be made to the celibacy rule was not worth the costs to not only him, but also his Church as unified rather than divided.

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1. Amy Woodyatt, Vasco Cotovio, and Hada Messia, “Ex-Pope Benedict Undercuts Francis on Priests and Celibacy,” CNN.com, January 13, 2020. (accessed same day)

2. Ibid.

3. Ibid.

4. Ibid.

5. Ibid.

6. Ibid.

7. Ibid.

The Basis of Christian Faith: Beyond Idolatry

I think perhaps the title of the film, Silence (2016) ought to have been “The last Priest” because the main character, Rodrigues, is the last remaining Roman Catholic priest in Japan. His inner struggle is the core of the narrative, and of the theological/ethical dilemma to be resolved. The movie is set in Japan in 1640-1641. A Buddhist inquisitor, Mokichi, is torturing and killing Christians, who must step on a stove carving of Jesus as proof of committing apostasy (i.e., renouncing their faith). Taking it as proof, Father Rodrigues torments over whether to apostasy in order to save the Japanese Christians whom Mokichi is having killed serially until the priest renounces his faith. I submit that the assumption of proof rests on dubious grounds, so Rodrigues is actually faced with a false dichotomy.

The full essay is at "Silence."

Politics and Religion: President Trump at a National Prayer Breakfast

Politics and religion intermeshed can be a nasty business. Franklin Graham, son of Billy Graham, witnessed every venue of his planned tour in Europe cancel because Franklin had “called Islam ‘evil,’ attacked laws increasing rights for transgender people, and told his followers that the legalization of same-sex marriage was orchestrated by Satan.”[1] Although criticizing another religion is religious in nature, turning to laws renders the attack political too. Although Franklin Graham may have assumed that many of his co-religionists would agree with him both in religious and political terms, wading into controversial political matters risks alienating people who are or would otherwise be religious followers. Even the willingness to traverse into the political realm may not be liked by some religionists, whether followers or not, especially if the incursion is into a controversy. Some co-religionists may agree with the distinctly religious belief, yet hold dissimilar political views. Such distance created between religionists can weaken a religious leader’s credibility and even following in the religious domain. Politicians dragging their respective religious faiths into the political domain can also be problematic, though authentic applications can pay off even if there is a cost politically. The incursion of Christianity at the end of U.S. President Trump’s trial in the Senate and as he took a victory lap can demonstrate the complexities of religion distended into another domain. A politician may invoke his or her religious beliefs to justify a political position, as Sen. Mitt Romney did before he voted to convict U.S. President Donald Trump on the abuse-of-power impeachment article. In his speech justifying his vote on the senate floor, an emotional Romney said, “My faith is at the heart of who I am. I take an oath before God as enormously consequential.”[2] Obviously, his vote itself had the immediate effect of isolating him in Trump’s GOP. Even so, incorporating his religious faith in the senate chamber could have cost Romney more politically to the extent that other Republicans did not agree with his political beliefs. Some Democrats (e.g., secular or of other faiths) may otherwise have thought more of the senator in spite of his vote. Also, his denomination of Christianity, the Church of Latter Day Saints (i.e., the Mormon church) may have taken a hit in religious circles. In other words, a religionist who explicitly brings his or her faith across the border to play a role in the political domain may pay a price back on the religious turf.

Even religion itself can suffer from a politician bringing it into the political domain, especially if he or she contradicts his or her religion in political action. At a prayer breakfast on the day after the senate trial on President Donald Trump ended with an acquittal, he said he did not believe in loving enemies in spite of the fact that the teaching even though Jesus includes in his Sermon on the Mount in the Gospels. The president immediately matched his statement, “Arthur, I don’t know if I agree with you,” with attacks on his political opponents, calling them “dishonest and corrupt people” who “badly hurt our nation.”[3] Then he went after Senator Romney, saying “I don’t like people who use their faith as justification for doing what they know is wrong.”[4] The charge of religion used wrongly is a good example of how extending the religious domain into the realm of politics can have political costs, as well as costs to the particular religion.

Even though Speaker (of the House of Representatives) Nancy Pelosi was prominently placed at the breakfast and had said that she prays for the president daily, Trump said, “nor do I like people who say, ‘I pray for you,’ when they know that’s not so.”[5] If Pelosi had lied about the praying, then her invocation of her faith meant that she was misusing her religion in the political domain. If she really had been praying in private, then the president misused his religion in going after her personally.

Instead of the New Testament preachment to love thy enemies, Trump had said that he preferred taking an eye for an eye, a teaching in the Old Testament that Jesus rejects in the New Testament. “It’s striking,” one journalist wrote after the prayer breakfast, “to hear Trump, who is a Presbyterian, so directly reject one of Christianity’s core teachings.”[6] In implying that he can be a Presbyterian and not believe in one of Jesus’ core teachings, both the president and his denomination look bad. That is, that the president cited his religious denomination and faith for political purposes hurt both him and his Church, for duplicity or hypocrisy is not generally looked on favorably.

As if to justify opposing Jesus’ dictum to love thy enemies, the president said at the breakfast, “So many people have been hurt and we can’t let that go on.”[7] He chaffed at having to like his enemies. I contend that loving one’s enemies is not the same thing as liking them. A mother may love her son but not like him, so like is not necessarily implied in love. Coming to an enemy’s aid when help could help the person—and valuing doing so—rather than attacking especially when the enemy is down—is the epitome of Jesus’ notion of loving one’s enemies. This goes beyond merely turning the other cheek when attacked. In fact, assent to valuing voluntarily helping people who have insulted, injured, or even physically attacked you can be viewed as the litmus test of whether a person is really a Christian. Even better is having helped a detractor, especially if he or she really needs help.  Resentment and retribution have no place.

In spite of loving your enemies being viewed as a strength rather than weakness by Christians, religion itself may be weak relative to political force once in the political domain. Pelosi may have been praying for the president, but this didn’t stop the president from going after her (and literally waving a newspaper whose headline was “President Acquitted” in the air) at the National Prayer Breakfast, which was “typically a nonpartisan event that organizers say is meant to provide a spiritual refuge from political warfare.”[8] Not even at such an event could religion have the upper hand; the president could disgorge Jesus’s famous dictum and attack his enemies even in victory. To be sure, that the president could be both a Presbyterian and an eye-for-an-eye guy points to a weakness within institutional Christianity. Even so, extending religion beyond its own domain into another may not be a good idea. However, if Sen. Romney bucked his own political party, which was controlled by the president, on the basis of his faith, then religion starts to look very good indeed in the political realm. Religion can be a strength even beyond its own domain, yet only if religion itself does not expand into something other than religious and, even worse, bring the other back into the religious realm as religious.

Religion must be authentic rather than employed as a political tool to have strength in the political realm. Yet even as authentic, a religious element can be vulnerable and even make the politician politically weaker. Sen. Romney and National Prayer Breakfast itself were vulnerable. The ways of the world are not those of the Kingdom of God that Jesus preached.

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[1] Rob Picheta, “Evangelist Preacher Franklin Graham Planned a Seven-City UK Tour. All Seven Venues Have Dropped Him,” CNN.com, February 6, 2020(accessed same day).

[2] Michael Warren, “Guilty Vote Against Trump Casts Romney in a New Role: GOP Maverick,” CNN.com, February 6, 2020 (accessed same day).

[3] Daniel Burke, “Love Your Enemies? Nah, Says Trump,” CNN.com, February 6, 2020 (accessed same day).

[4] Ibid.

[5] Ibid.

[6] Ibid.

[7] Ibid.

[8] Ibid.

Can the Medium of Film Surpass the Bible in Biblical Storytelling?

For anyone interested in filmmaking, a film that features the internal operations of a film studio—especially one during the “Golden Age” of Hollywood (i.e., the 1940s and 1950s)—is likely to be captivating. After all, as Eddie Mannix, the studio executive in Hail, Caesar! (2016), says, the “vast masses of humanity look to pictures for information and uplift and, yes, entertainment.” This film provides all three for its audience in terms of filmmaking and the studio system. The film could have provided the three in terms of Christian theology too, but the treatment is hurried and thus difficult to digest, with the exception of Baird Whitlock’s emotional speech on a studio set as the Crucifixion scene is being filmed within the film. Eddie Manix’s meeting with a rabbi, Catholic priest, Greek Orthodox priest, and Protestant minister is flooded with fast-moving theological points, and is unfortunately of little use to the viewers of Hail, Caesar!  This is interesting because the scene’s role in the film’s narrative is to make the point that Capital Studio’s management takes seriously the informational role the film being shot in the film.

The full essay is at "Hail, Caesar!"

Christianity on Climate Change

First Reformed (2017) contains fundamental ideas concerning the human condition and wrestles with the relationship between religion and politics.  Ideas play a significant role in the film, hence it can be used in support of the thesis that film is a viable medium in which to make philosophical (and theological) ideas transparent and derive dramatic tension from clashing ideas. In this film, the ideas that clash concern the role of religion in the political issue of climate change—or is that issue primarily religious?

The full essay is at "First Reformed."

American religion and politics: A Propensity to Overreach

Even though they are formally separated in the U.S. under the constitutional rubric that the federal government cannot lawfully establish a religion and infringe on the free exercise of religion, religion has ventured into politics and vice versa. Valued ideals pertain to both even though the highest in religion are transcendent, meaning that they extend beyond the limits of human cognition, perception, and sensibility, according to St. Denis (aka Pseudo-Dionysius) in the sixth century. So far is the political variety from such ideals as being in heaven! Yet the political sort has enjoyed a near monopoly in the world, including its public discourse. At least as 2019 was giving way to a new decade, captivation on President Trump’s tweets (i.e., brief statements made on the internet’s social media) and the process of impeaching him in the U.S. House of Representatives was strangely devoid of any religious discussion in the public square. This is all the more extraordinary because of the significant role that religion had played historically in presidential politics.

The full essay is at "American Religion and Politics."