I also got a letter from C. B had showed her an early draft (the second draft) of “To Be Anointed” and she asked, “[Do] you still feel that way? Very thought provoking. I do like the way you think, the way you write. Very very much.” I reread it and I had forgotten about the final stanza. I like it, but I’m not sure about the rest of the poem. It reflects my previous flirtations with theism, and so now I think the only thing “Tugging / and pushing” was myself. I wonder how much of that was written out of an attempt to believe, an attempt to hear the things I wanted to hear myself say. We’re so often saying what we think others want to hear; how often do we do that with ourselves?

Do I still feel that way? I don’t think so. I think what I just wrote pretty much answers that question. I think theism is a dead end. I wonder what she meant by “thought provoking?” How exactly is it thought provoking? It assumes a certain theistic stance which I no longer hold, and I think if I read it not knowing who wrote it, I would find it a bit silly.

She wrote about a question on a test for her world religion class: “What aspect of your religion would you go-to-the-mat for, die for, stand up for? Why?” After defining religion, she said that she answered, “the respect Hinduism accords to believe. I told him I was brought up in a Hindu country and it teaches its adherents to live and let live. It’s a lesson I’m still learning and I hope some day to perfect. This [is] in response to your writing about evangelism.” I can’t say that there’s much of anything I would die for. I would give my life for certain people, I think, but I’m not sure there’s anything I believe so strongly that I would die for it. But what if someone held a gun to my head and say, “Profess a belief in Christ or I’ll kill you?” That’s such a silly hypothesis that I won’t even deal with it.

She talked of two theologian’s definition of religion. The first was Paul Tillich’s (I just read one of his essays a couple of weeks ago). He defined religion as ultimate concern. My text on the philosophy of religion says,

Religious faith, for Tillich, grows out of those experiences with which we invest ultimate value and to which we give our ultimate allegiance. Behind Tillich’s assertion that religious faith is ultimate concern lie two assumptions. The first assumption is that ultimate concern is common to all religions. . . . The second assumption is that no one is without some kind of faith in the sense of an ultimate concern.’

I am rather uneasy with that definition of religion. At the same time, it does encompass things like materialism which takes on a certain religious fanaticism with some people. I guess I’m uneasy with it because it implies that, despite my claims to the contrary, I am a religious person. It opens a dangerous door, for that means that all people are religious. It reminds me of D’s claim that all people have to believe in something. Am I falling into the other ditch? Some people are so theistic that it’s sickening; am I growing so anti-theistic that it’s sickening?

In that case, my ultimate concern – my religion, so to speak – must be people. I would be defined as a “secular humanist” in that my primary concern has to do with people’s lives on earth, right now. It shows its fruit in the joy I have in teaching, for I believe in some way I am indeed making a difference. Tillich holds that “faith provides unity and focus to the human personality” (Stewart 152) and this is a good description of how I feel about teaching. It gives me a focus, and it provides some hope for me. “An ecstatic experience is one that leads beyond the immediacy of the moment or, to use a parallel term, an experience that transcends the selfish tendencies of our nature” (Stewart 153). I know that sometimes while teaching I’ve had moments that seem to transcend the moment. Usually it has come at those moments when someone finally catches hold of the principle I’m trying to teach him/her and it sets their whole face aglow.

I look forward to teaching back in the States. I really enjoy what I’m doing here, but I’m working with these kids on such an elementary level that it can be a little empty at times. Of course there’s not much which is deeper than language, but I’m just teaching the very basics of English. I want to encourage students to think, to analyze and question, and teaching English to liceum kids doesn’t provide this. Of course I keep trying to convince myself that I’m not here for myself, but for the kids. Maybe I’m only fooling myself.