Friday, September 11, 2015

Moral Grounds Found Sufficient to Deny Employees Contraception Coverage: Is Morality Distinct from Religion?

In addition to religious organizations and their respective affiliates being excluded from having to include contraceptives in employee health-insurance, non-religious groups with a salient moral stance against the use of the devices are also exempt—this according to a federal judge in the United State. The moral stance need not be associated with any religion. By implication, moral principles are distinct from religious doctrines. Even though religions incorporate moral principles, the latter are based in another domain. I contend that the interlarding of the non-native fauna can dilute and even compromise a given religion, thus undercutting its viability.

On August 31, 2015, Judge Richard Leon of the U.S. District Court for the District of Columbia ruled that employers do not have to provide medical-insurance coverage for contraceptives even though their objection is moral rather than religious. More subtle than the expanded accommodation is the decision’s demarcation of religion. By implication, religion may be overstepping when it claims the moral domain.

In the case, March for Life, “a nonprofit, nonreligious pro-life organization,” sued the government, “arguing that the government had violated equal protection principles by treating [March for Life] differently from ‘similarly situated employers.”[1] At the time, the Affordable Care Act required most employers to provide free contraception coverage—with exceptions for religious groups. March for Life would not qualify as a non-religious organization; hence the suit.

In the ruling, Leon writes, “The characteristic that warrants protection—an employment relationship based in part on a shared objection to abortifacants—is altogether separate from theism. Stated differently, what [the government] claims to be protecting is religious beliefs, when it actually is protecting a moral philosophy about the sanctity of life.”[2] In other words, an employer-organization need not be religious (e.g., theist) to have a legitimate basis to object to contraceptives.  Furthermore, the basis in moral philosophy is really what the government was actually protecting by the accommodation. By implication, religious organizations had gone too far in claiming that their basis in opposing contraception is religious in nature; the opposition to the use of contraceptives is a moral claim, which some theists had adopted. To claim the issue as religious in nature—foundationally—involves a failure to circumscribe religious issues to those that are based on a religious basis.

To be sure, the Roman Catholic doctrine of humanae vita has a theistic component in that preventing a human life means obstructing a soul made in God’s image. Hence the doctrine is referred to as the sanctity of life. Yet to say human life is sacred risks self-idolatry. In other words, if our lives are sacred, then by implication we should worship them—our own and those of other people. With such reasoning, moreover, religion as a domain could expand to take over practically all others. To be anti-war, for example, can be reckoned as being based on the sanctity of life. Such a trajectory leaves religion itself vulnerable to transgressing on the “sovereignty” of other domains.

A controversial issue that is really moral in nature is easy prey particularly for religions that have a salient moral component. Jainism, for instance, emphasizes the moral principle of non-violence. Jain monks go as far as sweeping in front of them so as not to step on gnats. The principle involved is moral in nature—the religion having incorporated it. Put another way, a person need not be a Jain (or even religious) to value non-violence. Just because the principle is associated with several religions does not mean that it is religious in nature. Treating such a principle as religious increases the difficulty in discerning what aspects of a religion are fundamentally and distinctively religious. By analogy, a person who spends more time at neighbors telling them how they should care for their gardens and lawns risks neglecting his or her own. Such a person might even have difficulty mentally distinguishing his or her own property from those of nearby neighbors. A religion too may have such entitlement to that which is not innately religious.

As another example, the Abrahamic religions (Judaism, Christianity, and Islam) incorporate moral principles in the Ten Commandments, which Moses delivers to the Hebrews before they entered their land promised by their god. In this case, moral principles are woven into the very fabric of the religions, yet this does not mean that the principles are religious in nature.

Making explicit the civic function of the Ten Commandments, here they are on the grounds of the Texas capitol. 

The moral principles against lying, adultery, and murder do not depend on being ensconced in a religion. The Ten Commandments served not only a religious purpose for the Hebrews, but also a civic one as well. In a theocracy, even laws oriented to maintaining order in a society are presumed to come from a divine source. This doesn’t mean that civic laws are in themselves religious in nature. Rather, such a religion extends to incorporate another domain—like the presumptuous homeowner who feels free to treat his or her neighbor’s land as if it were his or her own.

Incorporating moral or civic “land” into a religion has a serious downside in religious terms in that religionists may be tempted to devote more attention to those areas (presumed to be intrinsically religious) than to religious experience (e.g., worship) itself. Moreover, the phenomenon of religion becomes diluted. Not only can religious people have trouble identifying what is distinctly religious—that is, on religion’s native turf—the religion itself can become bloated and even compromised as it expands beyond its own domain. 

Grabbing for everything—as if a religion were not valid unless it is universal—can undermine the integrity, not to mention cohesiveness, of the religion itself. Spending a lot of time telling neighbors how to clean up their property can result in overgrown grass and parched gardens at home. Religion would be much purer, with more attention devoted to discerning its core religiousity and being “in” it, were religious leaders and clergy motivated to stick to religion’s native fauna rather than engage in empire-building. The desire to assume other domains may be from confusion about the phenomenon of religion or simply a lack of interest in it. Indeed, the habit of obfuscating the core of religiosity and other stuff—exogenous appurtenances (try these words at dinner with friends!)—can dilute a person’s interest in a religion because its native strength is being sapped or diluted.



[1] Adam Liptak, “Judge Grants Moral Basis to Exempt Birth Control,” The New York Times, September 1, 2015.
[2] Ibid.

Sunday, September 6, 2015

Pope Francis On Taking In Refugees In Europe: A Basis For An Alternative Approach To Christianity

As tens of thousands of refugees from the Middle East were seeking refuge in the E.U., Pope Francis “called on every parish, religious community, monastery and sanctuary in Europe to shelter refugees.”[1] It was not enough, he said, to tell them, “have courage, hang in there.”[2] 


Hungarian officials threw bread to the refugees in holding pens like zookeepers feeding animals.  In credibly, the migrants did not fight for food. The "animals" were more civilized than the "zookeepers."  (Michaela Spritzendorfer/Ehrenhauser)

Providing the Christian basis, he said that “the Gospel calls us to be close to the smallest and to those who have been abandoned.”[3] Jesus went to those who had been abandoned by the hegemonic Temple-centric Judaism of his day, and healed them. In the Gospel of Mark, it is the strangers rather than the disciples who understand his message. I submit that this approach to Christianity could serve as an alternative to the dominant one that applies Christianity to every issue.

Pope Francis making the appeal. (Riccardo De Luca/AP)

In the Gospels, Jesus says nothing about abortion or gay marriage. Fittingly, Pope Francis chastised the bishops who obsess over these two ideological issues, trying to get them to focus on the core religious area of the religion. To be sure, those bishops could find a basis in the Church’s magisterium, or continuing teaching authority, which, unlike the Gospels themselves, can potentially touch on any issue. Opposing ideology, such as that which goes against action on climate change, may be the only pushback constraining the overreaching. Australian Cardinal George Pell, whose “lavish personal tastes” had only months earlier been leaked, said in July 2015, “The church has got no mandate from the Lord to pronounce on scientific matters.”[4] Too late for Galileo, but significant nonetheless as a potential precedent for constraining the reach of the magisterium.
One problem with applying the Gospels to every issue is that the leaps of inference required can result in positions at odds with Jesus' example and teachings in the Gospels. For example, the pastor of largest Catholic Church in my hometown fired the music director because he was gay. Whereas Jesus is mute on homosexuality in the Gospels, he does preach on reaching out to people who are marginalized in society as well as by a religion! For a religion presumably based on Jesus Christ to abandon the marginalized bears the sting of hypocrisy. That the pastor moved on to become the bishop of North Dakota when Joe Ratzinger was the pope suggests that acting antithetically to the Jesus in the Gospels was laudatory “all the way up,” in terms of the human chain of command. Perhaps the leaps of inference involved in coming up with a Christian position on virtually any issue are antithetical to the leaps of faith required for the courage to embrace the abandoned as Jesus does in the Gospels.
Moreover, the presupposition that Christianity should be applied to any issue may be ripe for critique. Jesus did not have a position on every issue of his day, and if he did, the writers of the Gospels chose not to include Jesus’ various stances. Rather, Jesus of the Gospels focuses on a theme, or particular approach, as a way into the kingdom of God. Healing the sick, feeding the poor, loving those who are marginalized or abandoned by society—these coalesce into a distinctive approach. The pope’s call for Christians to take in the refugees resonates. In fact, we can take the call as a potential new direction for Christianity. In place of being “all over the map” on issues, Christian clergy and laity could try to limit themselves to what Jesus exemplifies and preaches in the Gospels. Such an approach would not only be in line with following Jesus; it would also avoid unintended hypocrisy.


[1] Alison Smale, “Pope Calls on All of Europe’s Catholics to Shelter Refugees,” The New York Times, September 6, 2015.
[2] Ibid.
[3] Ibid.
[4] Anthony Faiola, “Conservative Dissent Is Brewing Inside the Vatican,” The Washington Post, September 7, 2015.

Wednesday, August 26, 2015

Is God the Father Marginalized in Christianity?

The name of Jesus (or Christ) is common on Christian lips. “Jesus saves” is a typical expression, whereas expressions highlighting the Father or the kingdom of God are much less frequent, and explicit references to the Holy Spirit (or Ghost) are essentially missing. As the three manifestations, or “persons,” of the Trinity are consubstantial (i.e., of the same substance), the hypertrophy (i.e., maximizing one part of a system) is worthy of investigation. This is not to say that equal attention to all three is optimal; Jesus himself says in the Gospels that he came to preach the mysteries of his Father’s kingdom. This statement implies that followers of Christ should focus most on the Father and his kingdom. That this is not the case suggests that historical and contemporary Christianity has missed the point. This should hardly be surprising, for throughout the Gospel of Mark, strangers get Jesus’ point whereas the disciples tend to miss it.

This church has an explicit Christocentric focus. (Maliz Ong) 

The default, or “party-line,” which is hardly ever questioned within Christianity, goes something like this. “Concerning Christ’s life the Creed speaks only about the mysteries of the Incarnation (conception and birth) and Paschal mystery (passion, crucifixion, death, burial, descent into hell, resurrection, and ascension). . . . ‘All that Jesus did and taught, from the beginning until the day when he was taken up to heaven,’ is to be seen in the light of the mysteries of Christmas and Easter.”[1] Along this line, Jesus is focused on himself, which implies that he is not just the intercessory means to the Father, but also the end-point. Unfortunately, this assumption is one that Jesus himself does not hold in the Gospels. Accordingly, the nearly monopolistic focus on Jesus Christ is problematic.  

The Logos became man “in order to do his Father’s will.”[2] The incarnation is thus a means; the focus should rightly be on the Father’s will.  “Jesus came to Galilee, preaching the gospel of the kingdom of God.”[3] In Luke, Jesus says, “I must preach the kingdom of God to the other cities also, because for this purpose I have been sent.”[4] He views himself and his life as a means to something else—I dare say, something that he views as more important than himself. Were the kingdom of God synonymous with Jesus, he would say he must preach about himself. I came to preach the mysteries pertaining to myself. In saying he came to preach the kingdom of God, Jesus distinguishes himself from his Father’s kingdom.

Lest it be construed that Jesus is the king of the kingdom, as per the “Christ the King” feast day at the end of the liturgical calendar, Jesus refers to the kingdom as his Father’s rather than his own.[5] We know from the ancient Greeks that deities cannot die; this is the main way in which the Greek gods and goddesses differ from humans. Presumably immortality holds in the case of Jesus’ Father (as well as Jesus Christ). So the king of the kingdom cannot be the Son because the Father always exists. That Christians regard Jesus as a king (the Romans do so to taunt the Jewish leaders) suggests that the focus on Jesus is exaggerated. Reason itself should not be so offended, as if the mind goes on holiday when it comes to religion.

A more troubling problem pertains to the Christ-centric historical approach ensconced in the typical Christian mindset. Both the kingdom of God and its king, Jesus’ Father, are marginalized. That is to say, scant attention is devoted to them—the obsession on Jesus Christ crowding them out as the go-between is treated as an end in itself. To treat a means as an end is deeply problematic in itself, especially if the means views itself as a means. In coming to preach on the mysteries of his Father’s kingdom, wherein his Father’s will is done, Jesus is not focused on himself. Ignoring this point, however, his followers have focused on him, and thus ironically deviate from following his lead. It is reasonable, I submit, to posit that a follower should be focused on what the leader says is his focus. If this focus is not on the leader himself, then a follower goes against the leader in focusing on the latter.

Lest it be argued that the invisible kingdom and its king are too far removed from human perception and cognition to be grasped—hence the mediator is necessary—the presumed knowledge of divine revelation undermines the claim. In other words, that the religious, theologians, and laity tend to assume that they cannot be wrong about revelation being revelation (and even on how it must be interpreted!) undermines the claim that the Father and his kingdom are too distant theologically to be petitioned and entered, respectively, directly. Put another way, the sheer declarativeness in typical statements pertaining to revelation belie the claim that a Christian’s focus cannot be on the Father or his kingdom.

To be consistent with Jesus’ own approach, a Christian is therefore rightly focused on the Father’s will and his kingdom more than on Jesus Christ. I am assuming here that the end being served by a means is more important that the means itself; hence the use of served by. In terms of religious objects, the Christian imitating Jesus is most focused on the Father and his kingdom. The latter two would be central to the Christian’s mindset and Christian liturgy. That is to say, worship of the Father primarily, in line with, “Our Father, who is in heaven, hallowed be thy name.” In spite of this prayer taught by Jesus, “In the name of Jesus” is much more likely to be in a petition, prayer, and sermon or homily. In fact, the all-consuming gravity of this obsession has left little if any space for references to the Holy Spirit.

 Christians on the street are more likely to ask, “Have you accepted Jesus Christ?” that preach on the mysteries of the kingdom of heaven. The hackneyed question may legitimately be answered by another, “Have you?” The declarative certainty of the likely response undercuts the Christian’s premise that 1) humans are not infallible, 2) belief does not constitute knowledge, and 3) the Father (and his kingdom) are too distant theologically, or “wholly other,” for human beings to relate to, or focus on, directly rather than through an intercessor or mediator. This is not to say that following Jesus’ example and teachings is not important; rather, it is to make this point.



[1] Catechism of the Catholic Church, Part 1, Sec. 2, Ch. 2, Art. 3, para. 3, line 516.
[2] Ibid, line 512.
[3] Mark 1:14-15.
[4] Luke 4:43.
[5] Matthew 26:29.

Sunday, July 12, 2015

Pope Francis on the World’s Economy Idolizing Profit: A Theological Self-Idolatry

During his trip to South America in July 2015, Pope Francis appealed to world leaders to seek a new economic model to help the poor, and to shun policies that "sacrifice human lives on the altar of money and profit."[1] This line reminds me of the ancient Greco-Roman religious practice of sacrificing animals on altars just outside temples dedicated to particular deities. Doubtless no thought went into the animals’ suffering. In the Jewish Bible, God spares Isaac just before Abraham implements Yahweh’s command to sacrifice Isaac. Like the ancient Greeks and Romans, Abraham constructs an altar for the purpose. In Christianity, Jesus Christ is sacrificed on an altar, which typically doubles as a table given the institution of the Eucharist in the Last Supper. This sacrificed lamb personifies God as agape, or selfless divine love, which manifests as benevolentia universalis, or neighbor-love. Sacrificing the needs of others is antipodal to serving them; hence the Roman Catholic pope’s preachment. Missing, however, was the subtle bias within Christian theology ironically in favor of money. 
To be sure, the pope criticized "the idolatry of money and the dictatorship of an impersonal economy lacking a truly human purpose."[2] Idolatry is a strong word; it implies that something or someone in Creation is being worshipped—which is to say, being treated as if it were God. According to the second-century Platonic philosopher Plotinus, the nature of God lies beyond the limits of human perception and conception (even as God is immanent in Creation). Hence God is mysterium.[3] This transcendent essential quality of God is not in my view metaphysical, for otherwise theology would simply be philosophy and the sui generis (i.e., of its own genus, or type) “native ground” of religion would be as void as outer space (although even space presumably contains dark matter). At any rate, to treat anything or anyone on Earth as an idol is to overstate the object’s religious significance. Such an object need not be corporeal in nature; an idea or ideology, for instance, is not beyond the limits of human cognition.
In his The Natural History of Religion, David Hume takes an expanded view of historical religions and finds what he takes to be a natural tendency in the human mind to successively render that which is worshipped in more familiar (i.e., “earthly”) terms. Our brains have trouble holding on to a pure notion of divinity as simple and invisible, so we tend to cloth it with stuff from our world (i.e., not transcendent). By analogy, or Christmas trees become so littered with artifacts that we come to appreciate, even worship, them rather than upholding the tree as it would exist naked and natural. In other words, we fashion God increasingly in terms of our world—the world we know and experience—because it is so difficult for our minds to grasp eternity. The earthly garb can obviously be idolized, and from that it is a slippery slope to treating stuff like money as an idol.
In my view, a way out of the cycle of increasing idolatry is to shift the focus from the nature of the divine as an object to the nature of the sui generis religious experience. In other words, God as love—Augustine’s key phrase—can be taken to refer to the experience rather than to God as an object. Such loving would be transcendental rather than emotional (or eros) in nature. In his Confessions, Augustine’s love for God is sublimated lust—I pine for your scent—and is thus human, all too human.[4] Loving the transcendent is, I submit, a qualitatively different (i.e., unique) kind of love—a different kind of yearning. I further submit that such yearning naturally (i.e., automatically, without intention) renders a person more sensitive to others (i.e., compassionate), and thus more inclined to serve rather than exploit them. As Kant posits, it is ethical to treat other people as ends in themselves rather than only as means.[5]
Treated as an end in itself, economic gain functions like heroin or alcohol to an addict, who finds it easy to dismiss the needs of other people and violate their personal boundaries and even dignity. The addict treats other people as means, hence without having boundaries worthy of respect or even acknowledgement. The malignant narcissism is in Scott Peck’s view a defense mechanism that stems from an inner sense of void, or emptiness, at the person’s core. Like Aquinas and Leibniz, Peck takes the lack of being as evil—God being perfect being. Hence we are worthy of compassion, including benevolentia universalis, because we have some being. Sadly, some people feel they have none deep inside. I submit that such people are particularly inclined to treat money as an idol.
In my view, the idolatry of money reduces to idolatry of self, or self-idolatry because economic gain is none other than the person gaining, or expanding his or her reach and thus being. That is, increasing wealth is a sort of expansiveness of the self and its power. The malignant narcissism wants everything for itself—everything under its control. To treat an object within the sphere of our experience as a religious idol is convenient from this standpoint, as such an object can be controlled.
In God’s Gold, I argue that Christian thought on how greed is related to wealth (money) shifted through the centuries from the dominance of anti-wealth stances to that of the pro-wealth stances. In this shift, the sin of greed became decoupled from profit-seeking and wealth, so the latter two could be deemed even salubrious (i.e., without the taint of greed and in fact good!). I suggest that this shift completed in the Renaissance, and that the major Reformers failed to hold back the momentum of the pro-wealth theological attitude (and values). To explain all this, I posit a theological bias, which is rooted in self-idolatry, subtly fueled the shift “from within” the religion. After all, both Luther and Calvin lived in the same commercialized Europe of the sixteenth century.
Therefore, whereas the pope was pointing to profits as the idol, I contend that the idol behind the idol is self-idolatry. He would doubtless agree. However, he would not likely see a bias toward it nestled in Christian theology itself. In other words, the pope may unwittingly have been facing a headwind from both the pro-wealth stance being dominant in Christianity at the time and the underlying theological bias in favor of the corporeal, or earthly, of which wealth is a species.
Turning now to a solution to the culture of greed and the related idolatry of money, the pope was cognizant of his limitations. In place of unbridled capitalism, he called for a new economic system that puts wealth in service to humanity rather than vice versa. “Human beings and nature must not be at the service of money.”[6] “Let us say no to an economy of exclusion and inequality, where money rules, rather than service. That economy kills. That economy excludes. That economy destroys Mother Earth.”[7] Faced with this daunting problem, the pope was realistic concerning himself and his Church. “Don’t expect a recipe from this pope. Neither the pope nor the church [has] a monopoly on the interpretation of social reality or the proposal of solution to contemporary issues. I dare say no recipe exists.”[8] That is to say, humanity had become so inured to serving as the instruments of profits that scarcely any ideas existed at the time to turn the arrow around.
The reference to social reality is interesting, for the Catholic Church historically had hardly been silent in furnishing one. For instance, people were to view themselves as the center of the universe—the Earth lying at the center. Furthermore, slave-owners could cite Paul’s dictum that slaves should obey their masters. The more a religious functionary focuses on social reality, the less he or she is oriented to the transcendental experience—and thus the less he or she is naturally apt to be compassionate. Abstractly speaking, reality is metaphysical rather than religious, and the social dimension of human experience is hardly transcendent, even if regular transcendental experience, or yearning, naturally stimulates compassion as a by-product.
Regarding the reference to Mother Earth, the pope meant that humanity had no idea as to a global system compatible with solving the climate-change problem. So used are we to the international geo-political system of sovereign nation-states that even the design of a global governance infrastructure capable of enforcing reductions in CO2 emissions eludes our intellectual grasp—to say nothing of how such a system could be implemented.
In short, the pope was calling for a new world order welling up from those people whom Jesus had paid particular attention to—the poor. In the contemporary context, the people to whom the pope was addressing were much broader than the poor; he was addressing the 99 percent and asking us why we passively stand by as an evil system built around the idolatry of money, and ultimately of self, spreads around the world, taking from us the very air that we breathe. Besides people coming up with ideas and becoming politically active, Christian leaders and laity alike could take a look at how Christian theology subtly enables the idolatry of greed manifesting in money or wealth as an end in itself that encompasses not only Creation, but lends transcendent purpose as well.

caritas naturalis seu benevolentia universalis


[1] Philip Pullella and Daniela Desantis, “Pope Francis Condemns Corruption and ‘Unbridled Capitalism,’ in South America,” Reuters, July 12, 2015.
[2] Ibid.
[3] See Rudolf Otto’s book, Idea of the Holy.
[4] Augustine draws on Plato’s Symposium wherein sublimated lust is directed to love of the eternal moral verities. Augustine replaces them with God. I am suggesting that such love, or caritas, is too much of our world and experience to serve us in a transcendent capacity. Calvin is similarly critical of caritas.
[5] This version of Kant’s categorical imperative is known as the kingdom of ends. It is typically likened to the Golden Rule. See Kant’s Practical Critique of Reason.
[6] Jim Yardley and William Neuman, “In Bolivia, Pope Apologizes for Church’s ‘Grave Sins’,” The New York Times, July 10, 2015.
[7] Ibid.
[8] Ibid.

Saturday, May 2, 2015

The Dalai Lama’s Reincarnation: By Government Fiat?

Reincarnation is a difficult gig for Buddhists. Being reborn for yet another life is not a good thing; bad karma (i.e., residue from bad choices in life) keeps a soul on the wheel of samsara. Because life-after-life involves suffering, a Buddhist strives for Nirvana, or enlightenment, which releases a soul from the cycle of being reborn yet again. Reincarnation is a difficult gig for Buddhists also because unlike Hinduism, Buddhism denies the very existence of a soul (atman) as an entity. How, then, can something that does not exist go on to be re-clothed in another body for another life? Yet another problem for the devout Buddhist concerns government officials who claim that they can decide whether a certain soul reincarnates, and if so, into which body. In 2014, for example, the Chinese government made it known that it would pick the next reincarnated Dalai Lama—the spiritual leader of Tibetan Buddhists.

In March 2015, Chinese officials declared that the Dalai Lama would indeed reincarnate in spite of the fact that he had announced that his soul might not reincarnate. Zhu Weiqun, a Communist Party official, told reporters that the Dalai Lama had no say over whether he would reincarnate.[1] Zhu said it would be for the Chinese government to decide. “Decision-making power over the reincarnation of the Dalai Lama, and over the end or survival of this lineage, resides in the central government of China,” he said in his capacity as leader of the ethnic and religious affairs committee of the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference.[2] The decision-making power would of course be used to maintain control over the Tibetan region of China. In other words, Chinese government officials intended to install a puppet Dalai Lama after the current Dalai Lama passes; he in turn was considering not reincarnating so the government could not do so. The decision, he said, “is up to the Tibetan people.”[3] In short, the doctrine of reincarnation was at the center of a control battle between a government and a religious leader.

For a government to make such a decision and even claim the ability to find the reincarnated person after the then-current Dalai Lama’s death necessarily involves brazen presumption. Nevertheless, presumptuousness is also in the Dalai Lama’s assumption that whether he reincarnates is up to him or the Tibetan people. Implicit in the assumption is the belief that a person can know one’s own karma. Since the Buddha was aware when he was enlightened, however, the Dalai Lama could have stated that he had become enlightened and would not, therefore, reincarnate. Absent enlightenment, in other words, knowledge of what will happen after death is faulty at best. I must conclude that both Zhu and the Dalai Lama were taking religious liberties for the sake of achieving and maintaining control of an institution, the Dalai Lama. Buddhist enlightenment, in contrast, is a letting go of such a desire, as well as the suffering that undergirds it. From the perspective of a soul between bodies, what would it matter what is going on back here?  A soul in the process of transmigration would presumably be carried on by its own past karmic residue rather than internally-directed forward so as to maintain control among the living.

In short, this case demonstrates that both government and institutional religion can over-reach. From a governmental standpoint, encroaching onto the religious domain is fraught with competency issues as well as a rather blatant category mistake. From the perspective of a religious functionary such as the Dalai Lama, the challenge involves not getting suckered into a government’s obsession—that of control—at the expense of the religious aims, such as enlightenment (i.e., not suffering anymore). In fact, that the Buddha’s orientation to eliminating suffering had been dwarfed by a reincarnation-metaphysic is itself problematic, for that metaphysic can allow for considerable clutching, and thus suffering. For the Dalai Lama to let go, and thus be free of the suffering that prompts a desire to maintain control and even over-reach, he would have to transcend reincarnation and even his belief that he has a soul. Ultimately, he would need to transcend his own institutional religion; it would not even make sense for him to say that he would or would not reincarnate! 



1. Chris Buckley, “Feud with Dalai Lama Spills into the Afterlife,” The New York Times, March 12, 2015.
2. Ibid.
3. Ibid.

Saturday, April 4, 2015

Pope Francis: A Poor Church Rich in Humility

Fifty years after the Second Vatican Council (1962-1965), Pope Francis set about implementing the spirit of the letter after the two last popes had concentrated on holding the Roman Catholic Church in check lest it lose itself in accommodating itself too much to the modern world. I submit that the pope's primary objective was to change a problematic clerical attitude rather than to rid the Church of its wealth or drastically change the Church's moral stances.


On the surface, the pope’s “vision of Vatican II has translated into a dramatic shift in priorities, with an emphasis on social justice over controversial moral teachings” such as on abortion and gay marriage.[1] Calling out the clerical obsession on the “social issues,” the pope sought as he assumed the papacy to provide his colleagues with a dose of perspective. To be sure, the pope did not alter the Church’s position on those issues or on whether divorced Catholics should be allowed to take Communion. Nor did he act on his demand for a “poor church for the poor.”[2] Rather, his main concern was directed against the “theological narcissism,” as he put it, that imposes rather than proposes to the larger secular society.[3] 
Perhaps then a poor church would be one that is humble, rather than necessarily without wealth. This would dovetail with Clement of Alexandria’s “Sermon on the Rich Man,” in which the early theologian claims that a rich Christian can indeed get into heaven as long as one does not desire more than necessities (and that which is to be given to the poor).[4] What is important, that is, is which master the rich man serves—God or money. Indeed, Hermas and John Chrysostom emphasized the value of charity as a good use of wealth, and the Church could not give what it does not have.
So the poverty that the pope might have had in mind could be that of humility in spirit. As one bishop put it, the pope “is saying, ‘We have the revelation, but we don’t have the application for all times; don’t presume that we know everything and that we have every answer.”[5] Hence the pope called the Synod of Bishops to debate how the Church should regard divorced, remarried, and gay Catholics. From the pope’s point of view, being against divorce, for example, does not preempt being welcoming toward Catholics who have divorced. After all, it is difficult to imagine Jesus slamming the door on them even if he did not approve of divorce. Compassion particularly to those people who are regarded as impure was Jesus’s strong suit. Indeed, this put him on a collision course with the Jewish authorities in Jerusalem. Pope Francis’s agenda can be characterized in such terms, wherein attitude ideally checks ego at the door even among priests and bishops, for nothing is worse for a religious institution than the veneer of hypocrisy.


[1] Francis X. Bocca, “The New Rome,” The Wall Street Journal, April 4-5, 2015.
[2] Ibid.
[3] Ibid.
[5] Ibid.

Thursday, April 2, 2015

God's Gold: Beneath Shifting Sands


The book traces the historical shift in Christian attitudes toward profit-seeking and wealth. Through the centuries, the dominant position shifted from anti-wealth to pro-wealth, meaning that the coupling of greed to profiting and accumulating wealth was at first thought to be very tight, but then loosened--eventually to the extent that a camel could get through the eye of the needle. With both anti-wealth Luther and pro-wealth Calvin living in the same economic context, the commercialization of Europe cannot fully explain the shift. As one possibility, a bias in a core theological doctrine may have been subtly tilting the ground in the pro-wealth direction. If so, the implications for Christianity, and for religion more generally as a phenomenon, would be nothing short of earth-shaking.