How easily are people manipulated? How quickly can someone change a complete stranger’s will? Just how fragile are we, mentally speaking? A few videos from skeptic Derren Brown shows just how easily someone with skills can manipulate people.
But by far, the best (a tie):
I sometimes go to Mass with my wife for companionship, and today, I was certainly glad I did. Before I get into the reason why, some theology.
Catholics of course believe in something they call the “Real Presence,” which is the belief that the bread and wine are the actual body and blood of Jesus. It’s based on an Aristotelian concept of accident and essence — what a thing looks like and what it really is. So the Catholic explanation of why it still looks suspiciously like bread and wine is that the outward appearance has remained, but the essential reality has changed.
This is why there’s all the genuflection in churches and especially before monstrances, because if that really is God in the flesh flour, then it only makes sense to bow.
This also goes a long way in explaining the controversy about how a parishioner can take the host: standing, kneeling, on the tongue, on the palm of the hand. I think the variety is strictly American. In Poland, the issue is vastly simplified: stand or kneel. There’s no way a priest will give it to your hand in Poland.
“Real Presence” also explains why some might be a little uneasy with the idea of anyone other than a priest handing out the host. In the States, members of the congregation hand out the blood and wine (though the priest has consecrated it and all that). Again, this is probably a completely American thing.
All this is to explain the significance of why I’ve always wondered what would happen if someone tripped and — whoosh — there’s God, all over the floor.
At this morning’s Mass, my question was answered.
An elderly woman, serving as Eucharistic minister, was heading back up to the altar (and so her chalices were probably almost empty) when suddenly there was a stumble, shuffle, and crash. I saw the whole thing out of the corner of my eye, and I immediately directed all my attention there — as did everyone else in the basilica.
The priest kept right ongoing, but not many people were giving him their undivided attention. Everyone was looking at the aisle, watching the lady pick up the hosts as another Eucharistic minister helped her. Then a deacon came with a cloth that had been dampened, I’m assuming with holy water, and wiped the spot.
The woman was obviously quite shaken. She said some words to the priest, and he sympathetically comforted her. Returning to her seat, she muttered something to her husband, and that was that.
It highlights how atypical Catholicism is in modern culture, where all sense of the sacred has disappeared. “And so much the better” many of us would add, but sacredness fosters a certain respect that I’m not sure you can get any other way. It’s simplistic to explain it, “Well of course it’s respect — born out of fear, a terror that some deity will toast you.” There’s certainly an element of truth in that.
Communism tried to foster some sense of the sacred — the working masses were the vessels for salvation. The working man is the communist messiah. Marches, songs, flag-waving, speeches — all these things to foster a sense of the sacred in the people. Yet it didn’t work. My wife grew up in that culture, and it was all a joke for everyone. Why?
It lacked mystery.
Without mystery, without an element of the unknown and inexplicable, nothing can be sacred. Indeed, sacredness could be defined as a sense of mystery about something thought to be of divine origin. If you see the little old man putting together the wizard show, hanging the curtains, preparing the control panel, it is only through an act of supreme wishful thinking that you can put your faith in the Wizard.
Thud challenged that my comment “The belief in a soul becomes increasingly more difficult to maintain in the light of evolutionary psychology and advances in cognitive science” is “an unfounded assertion”:
How does it become increasingly difficult to believe in a soul? It may be increasingly difficult to believe that one’s sense of self is entirely separable from the physical form, but that doesn’t mean there’s no soul. There’s an enormous chasm between saying “who we are is changed by what we are” — I think that’s a safe statement — and saying “we are nothing but meat.”
It’s increasingly difficult because there are increasingly fewer things we can attribute to “the soul.” Thud himself admits “who we are is changed by what we are,” but how is that logically possible if who we are intrinsically is spiritual? How can the physical affect the spiritual? The supposed miracles of the Bible show the reverse is generally the accepted view, but the belief in the soul requires the opposite to be true. A few questions then:
First, how could the soul be affected by the body? Simple — memory. Memory and memory alone is what makes human identities possible, and if the soul is in any way equated with our “identity” (and if it’s not, what’s the point?), the memory will be a necessary component. So neurons firing a certain way in the hippocampus, the amygdala, or the mammillary somehow deposit a copy of activity in the soul? The soul is an all-in-one card reader? How does it work without stepping outside the boundaries of logical and basic scientific principles?
Second: we’re talking about the soul without even considering where it came from. If we believe in a God, then we’re his creation; if we believe the theory of evolution is a better explanation than the Book of Genesis, then we’re the products of millions of years of cosmic chance; if we want to hold both beliefs at once, we call ourselves proponents of intelligent design. I hold to option two. It’s the option that has the most scientific evidence. Now, if I hold to that option and assert that there’s a soul, then where the hell did it come from? How did millions and millions of years of cosmic bumper ball create something spiritual?
Third: What effect do sudden changes in a person’s identity have on the soul — indeed, how is that even possible? What sort of “sudden changes” do I have in mind?
Phineas Gage, with his famous three-foot-seven-inch railroad spike through his head.
Some months after the accident, probably in about the middle of 1849, Phineas felt strong enough to resume work. But because his personality had changed so much, the contractors who had employed him would not give him his place again. Before the accident he had been their most capable and efficient foreman, one with a well-balanced mind, and who was looked on as a shrewd smart business man. He was now fitful, irreverent, and grossly profane, showing little deference for his fellows. He was also impatient and obstinate, yet capricious and vacillating, unable to settle on any of the plans he devised for future action. His friends said he was “No longer Gage.” (Source)
But we don’t have to look to 19th-century tragedies. Think lithium, anti-depressants, Prozac. I recall meeting with my grad school advisor and discussing this. “How many Kierkegaards have we destroyed with Prozac?” Indeed — Kierkegaard, Mahler, and how many other manic-depressives would never have created their classics if they’d been born in the late twentieth century.
All the way back in 1979 there was an article about this. The abstract:
Twenty-four manic-depressive artists, in whom prophylactic lithium treatment had attenuated or prevented recurrences to a significant degree, were questioned about their creative power during the treatment. Twelve artists reported increased artistic productivity, six unaltered productivity, and six lowered productivity. The effect of lithium treatment on artistic productivity may depend on the severity and type of the illness, on individual sensitivity, and on habits of utilizing manic episodes productively. (Source)
But we don’t even have to look at medication for drastic changes. Watch some of your friends when they’re drunk.
So it’s not that I’m suggesting that there isn’t a soul. I’m simply saying that logic and science combine to show that there are, as Steven Pinker expressed it, fewer and fewer hooks on which to hang the soul.
The will to believe. Choosing to believe. Avoiding error. Seeking truth.
It all seems so simple from the outside.
I once chose to believe. At a point in my life, I went through the motions, hoping unconsciously that I could cultivate a belief (like a gay friend I had who was vaguely attracted to a girl, a feeling he hoped to “cultivate” into bisexuality) and knowing that I was fooling myself (much like my gay friend eventually admitted to himself).
And I did try. I wrote in my journal about belief and faith and the wonder of God’s love. I talked to friends at university about the marvel of forgiveness and what God did for us through Jesus. I prayed.
In early 1995, I began acknowledging in my personal journal the doubts I was having.
What is this thing, Christianity? It is the worship of a Jewish carpenter who lived two millennia ago. It is a religion based on a book, allegedly written by God’s inspiration. Was Christ more than a radical social reformer? Were his miracles more than a fictional construction of the gospel writers?
No matter how much I want to believe, to feel the fervor that others experience, I cannot.
Could Christ be the creation of a codependent society? The ultimate father-figure who provides the love a fleshly father should give?
The lingering adolescence in my writing style aside, I was filled with clichés. Perhaps that was the problem.
Another few weeks passed and a faculty member of the college I was attending died from cancer. During the memorial chapel, I scribbled the following in my journal:
Death — and my thoughts are again turned to religion. God is such an abstraction that I read about him and never feel him; not even death brings any real, any substantial emotion of which God is the source. The only feeling I get is doubt. Is that from God?
Doubt from God? It doesn’t seem possible, but from a liberal theology, it makes some sense. After all, if we can have Harvey Cox in The Secular City saying that God wants us to outgrow him and the whole “Death of God” theology of the sixties, why not divine doubt? Descartes, turned on his head.
Still later, again from my journal:
I find myself thinking of the whole God issue still. I am frustrated by the whole thing. I sit now in the library and just a moment ago I looked up at Rev. [Smith] and peered at his forehead, wondering what was in his mind, what books, what learning, what lectures. But mainly what beliefs. He firmly believes in God. He would stake his life on it, I would imagine. Yet that means nothing to me. No matter how important God is to him, God is still a mere abstraction to me. He’s a blurred, hazy idea, and little more than that. I can read Barth and Schleiermacher until I’m sick of them and yet it makes God no less concrete. I don’t believe in God. Not in a personal, substantial way. I read theology, talk about Christian ethics and doctrine, yet I don’t really believe in the basis of it all. It’s not that I am an atheist. It’s not that I choose not to believe in God – I just can’t believe in God.
Many Christians would read that and respond, “You read only theology? What about reading the Bible?” Indeed – what about reading the Bible? The more I read, the less I found that I liked. &(insetL)I learned in graduate school that “Schleiermacher” means “veil maker” in German. Appropriate, most seem to think.%
Doing produces believing? Yes, and no. From my personal experience, I see that for me it was impossible. But I was “playing” (for lack of a better term) in the Protestant tradition, and there’s not much “doing” there. The “smells and bells” for the Catholic tradition bring all the senses into ritual. Indeed – who can really talk of Protestant “ritual” or “liturgy?” Perhaps that’s why charismatic churches are so attractive to some – full body contact.
Yet the ritual can be without meaning – empty repetitions. Jesus, according to the Gospels, found that in first century Judea.
It does seem to reduce down to the will. People choose to believe often by choosing not to challenge those beliefs. I’ve always found it odd that it seems more non-believers read theistic apologetic than believers read The Case for Atheism. It’s tempting to be smug about that, to say that, “Well, that just shows we non-believers are more open, more willing to challenge our worldviews.”
I’m not sure how I’d explain it, though.
Most everyone knows Pascal’s Wager, drawn from a single paragraph in Pensces: belief in God is, in short, the safest bet. (“Read more on the Wager.) It’s interesting that people still apply it in earnest.
Most recently, I’ve heard Catholic philosopher Peter Kreeft use it in his 1995 Texas A&M Veritas Forum lecture.
One of the objections is the supposed inability to chose one’s beliefs. Pascal foresaw such an argument:
You would like to attain faith, and do not know the way; you would like to cure yourself of unbelief, and ask the remedy for it. Learn of those who have been bound like you, and who now stake all their possessions. These are people who know the way which you would follow, and who are cured of an ill of which you would be cured. Follow the way by which they began; by acting as if they believed, taking the holy water, having masses said, etc… But to show you that this leads you there, it is this which will lessen the passions, which are your stumbling-blocks.
Action precedes faith. Praying, meditating, going to Mass, all lead to faith. Crazy as that might sound, Pascal might indeed have a point. Polish writer Czesław Miłosz made the same point in The Captive Mind:
The Catholic Church wisely recognized that faith is more a matter of collective suggestion than of individual conviction. Collective religious ceremonies induce a state of belief. Folding one’s hands in prayer, kneeling, singing hymns precede faith, for faith is a psycho-physical and not simply a psychological phenomenon.
Every Mass Catholics cite the Apostles’ Creed in one voice:
I believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and earth:
I believe in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord; Who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried; He descended into hell; on the third day He arose from the dead; He ascended into heaven, and is seated at the right hand of God the Father Almighty; from thence He shall come to judge the living and the dead.
I believe in the Holy Spirit; the holy catholic church; the communion of saints; the forgiveness of sins; the resurrection of the body; and life everlasting. Amen.
“I believe; I hear my neighbor beside me state that he believes; I am aware that my neighbor in front of me believes – we all believe. We all support each other in these beliefs.” That’s what I hear behind the words.
In that believing environment, which must be at least similar to Pascal’s environment, willing yourself to believe seems not only possible, but almost inescapable. Even as a “staunch” non-believer, I feel sometimes that tug toward belief, that desire not simply to fit in for the sake of fitting in, but to have what the parishioners around me seem to have.
There are two kinds of views on religion, wrote William James in The Varieties of Religious Experience:
For those who seek truth, the choice is obvious – bet on God. I’ve always been more the type to avoid error.
Regarding my recent post on the soul, Isabella commented,
What loaded questions. That nobody can answer. I don’t know if you’re a reader of fiction (heck, I barely know you at all), but your entire post reminds me of an SF novel – Terminal Experiment, by Robert J Sawyer. I don’t think he’s a very good writer, but he grapples with some very interesting ideas, starting with the 21 grams that leave the body when you die.
Twenty-one grams that leave the body when you die? I’d never heard of this. Being a skeptic, I immediately thought, “Urban legend,” but I thought I’d poke around on the internet a while and see what turned up.
In an article entitled “Soul Man“, I found that the the 21-gram idea can be traced back to an early-twentieth century physician, Duncan MacDougall of Haverhill, Massachusetts. He did a relatively crude experiment in which the beds of six terminally ill patients were put on scales to check for weight loss at the moment of death. He claimed to have accounted for evaporation of any sweat that might be on the patients skin, and reasoned that the effect of bowel movement or urine elimination would be negligable because it would remain on the bed. His results were far from uniform, but they indicated some weight loss at death. (The full text of the 1907 AMA paper is here.)
From this, it’s safe to say:
Urban Legend.
But were the questions I asked really “unanswerable?” That depends on what we mean by “unanswerable.” Science is not usually about “definitely” answered questions, and after all, it is science than can answers this question for us while we’re still alive.
All bets are off once we’re dead, though.
The saddest part about not believing in a soul, though, is that we’re right, we’ll never know.
I began reading The Case for Christ by Lee Strobel this week. My parents brought it to me in addition to the two books I’d requested. I’d read some reviews of it on Amazon, and the common complaint against it is that it doesn’t present the other side of the issue. There is a short chapter on the issues raised by the Jesus Seminar, but that’s about it other than occasional objections raised here and there by skeptics. I’ve no problem with this in a way, for the book is The Case for Christ and not Christ on Trial. In other words, even in the title it makes it clear that it’s presenting one side of the story.
One thing I do have a problem with is how much of the argument is based on something being “reasonable” or the alternative being “unlikely.” For example, “Given that Jesus’ followers looked upon him as being even greater than a prophet, it seems very reasonable that they would have done the same thing [(i.e., record his words accurately)]” (41, emphasis mine).
It’s often just conjecture. For example, concerning the casting of the demons into the swine, Strobel points out that Mark and Luke say it happened in Gerasa, with Matthew putting it in Gadara. After the scholar (Blomberg) suggests that one was a town and the other a province, Strobel adds, “Gerasa, the town, wasn’t anywhere near the Sea of Galilee.” Blomberg responds:
There have been ruins of a town that have been excavated at exactly the right point on the eastern shore of the Sea of Galilee. The English form of the town’s name often gets pronounced ‘Khersa,’ but as a Hebrew word translated or transliterated into Greek, it could have come out sounding something very much like ‘Gerasa.’ So it may very well have been in Khersa — whose spelling in Greek was rendered as Gerasa — in the province of Gadara (46, 47).
Goodness — proper understanding of the Bible requires knowing how people could have transliterated or misspelled words! Isn’t the Bible of divine origin? How could this happen?
This issue of divine origin comes up again when discussing the consistency between the gospel accounts. Blomberg says,
My own conviction is, once you allow for the elements I’ve talked about earlier — of paraphrase, of abridgement, of explanatory additions, of omission — the gospels are extremely consistent with each other by ancient standards, which are the only standards by which it’s fair to judge them (45).
The only standards? How about the standard of them coming from a supposedly omnipotent, omniscient source? Of course, apologists like to conjecture that if there was perfect consistency between the gospels, that would be suspect in itself. Perhaps, but there is such a level of inconsistency on basic issues (who saw the resurrected Jesus first, for example).
In some ways, the book is strangely persuasive. I guess it comes from this strange, nonsensical desire to believe again. A childish desire, I suppose — and Christians wouldn’t deny that. “Unless you become like a child” and all that.
What is this thing, faith? I’ve been giving it a lot of thought lately. It seems that in the twenty-first century, it is, among other things, faith that science hasn’t figured it all out and won’t, and that will leave room for demons, souls, and other metaphysical entities. It’s a trust that you can believe the Bible, even though there are scores of contradictions in it, and it’s clearly rooted in archaic thinking.
Take demon possession, for instance. In the New Testament, there’s a lot of exorcisms going on, and most of it seems for things like epilepsy:
Just then a man from the crowd shouted, “Teacher, I beg you to look at my son; he is my only child. Suddenly a spirit seizes him, and all at once he shrieks. It convulses him until he foams at the mouth; it mauls him and will scarcely leave him. I begged your disciples to cast it out, but they could not.”
Jesus answered, “You faithless and perverse generation, how much longer must I be with you and bear with you? Bring your son here.”
While he was coming, the demon dashed him to the ground in convulsions. But Jesus rebuked the unclean spirit, healed the boy, and gave him back to his father (Luke 9.38–42).
Today we look at this and think, “Very clearly the boy had epilepsy.” But that’s not what the Bible says. So we can take a liberal interpretation and say, “Well of course Jesus, even though he knew, would not have said, ‘Your son has epilepsy,’ because no one would have understood him or believed him. He simply healed the boy, and explained in language they could understand.” The other extreme is what my father said once: most of the people in mental hospitals today probably just have demons.
There’s also the question of the soul, which eventually could be shown to have very little to do with our personality and very little room in which to do it. Of course you can’t prove there’s not a soul, and scientists are not out to do that. What you can do, though, is show that all the things formerly associated with the soul—personality, memory, etc.—are in fact chemical reactions in the brain and nothing more.
It’s the question of faith in what, also. I know if I went through the motions, if I pretended to believe, I might eventually believe. But is that “the spirit working in me,” or a result of psychological and sociological phenomena?
Suddenly spring arrives in full force. The snow has just about all disappeared—all that remains is the big mountains of it. Birds are singing outside, and I’d forgotten how the first birds of spring sound. I just lay in bed this morning for a little while listening to them.
Returning to the quote from Romans above: “The one who is not circumcised physically and yet obeys the law will condemn you who, even though you have the written code and circumcision, are a lawbreaker.” When I read that, I think, “You know, Armstrongites have a point: it wasn’t just all love this love that.” And further I wonder if Christians (Catholics included) don’t just pick and choose the things they want to obey.
The problem is in the Bible itself, for after having made such a big deal out of keeping the law, Paul writes in Romans:
Do you not know, brothers—for I am speaking to men who know the law—that the law has authority over a man only as long as he lives? For example, by law a married woman is bound to her husband as long as he is alive, but if her husband dies, she is released from the law of marriage. So then, if she marries another man while her husband is still alive, she is called an adulteress. But if her husband dies, she is released from that law and is not an adulteress, even though she marries another man. So, my brothers, you also died to the law through the body of Christ, that you might belong to another, to him who was raised from the dead, in order that we might bear fruit to God (7.1–3).
This is the kind of stuff that the new WCG points out to the old Armstrongites and says, “See, the law doesn’t count now!” And yet the author of this had just finished going on and on about the law. So the problems arise from people trying to interpret a faulty book that contradicts itself at every turn.
Later, we find this:
What shall we say, then? Is the law sin? Certainly not! Indeed I would not have known what sin was except through the law. For I would not have known what coveting really was if the law had not said, “Do not covet.” But sin, seizing the opportunity afforded by the commandment, produced in me every kind of covetous desire. For apart from law, sin is dead.
Once I was alive apart from law; but when the commandment came, sin sprang to life and I died. I found that the very commandment that was intended to bring life actually brought death. For sin, seizing the opportunity afforded by the commandment, deceived me, and through the commandment put me to death.
So then, the law is holy, and the commandment is holy, righteous and good.
Did that which is good, then, become death to me? By no means! But in order that sin might be recognized as sin, it produced death in me through what was good, so that through the commandment sin might become utterly sinful.
All I can say is, “What the hell is he trying to say?!” Paul is supposes to be this erudite but this is just nonsense. “Through the commandment sin might become utterly sinful?” Has he personified sin, like he personifies death sometimes? That’s like saying, “So that black might become utterly black.”
I swear, I try to read the Bible with an open mind, I try not to take preconceptions to it, but it continually shows itself to be nonsense.
I was reading this morning, of all things, the Bible. I found an interesting passage in Romans:
Circumcision has value if you observe the law, but if you break the law, you have become as though you had not been circumcised. If those who are not circumcised keep the law’s requirements, will they not be regarded as though they were circumcised? The one who is not circumcised physically and yet obeys the law will condemn you who, even though you have the written code and circumcision, are a lawbreaker.
A man is not a Jew if he is only one outwardly, nor is circumcision merely outward and physical. No, a man is a Jew if he is one inwardly; and circumcision is circumcision of the heart, by the Spirit, not by the written code. Such a man’s praise is not from men, but from God.
What advantage, then, is there in being a Jew, or what value is there in circumcision? Much in every way!
First of all, they have been entrusted with the very words of God (2.25–3.2).
It is very clear here that Paul is not talking about starting a new religion but expanding an old one. Judaism is a religion passed on by blood with the surrounding culture—there aren’t many converts and there’s no effort at proselytizing. But here’s Paul, out converting people not to anything called Christianity (when did they get that name, anyway?) but to be Jews!
Second, he mentions that Jews are the ones who “have been entrusted with the very words of God.” No mention of anything that would eventually become the New Testament “words of God,” and here is a good opportunity at least to mention the oral traditions, if not the gospels if they were being circulated in some fashion. Proof? Of course not—and proof of what? That the gospels were written later? That’s widely acknowledged. It’s simply indications of the ordinariness of Christianity, of it’s non-divine nature.
And I didn’t set out looking for this—I just decided to read for a while, as I drank my coffee.
“Efekt konicowy.” That’s what Kinga’s dad is always talking about, and I’m starting to wonder if there’s any way I can get baptized without lying and saying I believe this and that.
And I find myself asking, “Why does anyone believe in the first place?” What does it give them? Then this morning I read something I’d taken from the internet some time ago:
Once I learned this way of making an examination of conscience. At the end of the day ask, What things did Jesus and I do together? For example, when I called that person who needed to hear from me, it was Jesus acting with me and thru me. But then later, I brushed someone off. Face it, I was acting on my own. Our life is a constant struggle to allow Jesus to take more authority, to extend his rule further in our hearts. (Secularism and the Authority of Jesus)
In this case, Jesus is simply—or even “just”—an ethical ideal. And I think, “Why not just ask yourself, ‘What good things did I do?’” And the answer from this priest would clearly be that “I, of my own accord, did nothing good. The good comes from Jesus.” I find such an attitude insulting to all those people who are not Christian and yet manage to be decent people.
Peter Kreeft was talking at KC about the logical impossibility of religious pluralism, that all religions are true. “Either Mohammed was a prophet of God or he wasn’t,” he reasoned. I find it increasingly difficult to believe that he said that. As a Catholic, he believes, for example, that even though the host looks like bread, tastes like bread, feels like bread, and would be shown under scientific tests still to be bread, that it’s actually the body and blood of Jesus. That Jesus can be completely two different things.
It’s a question of faith, and I read an article on a Catholic website that took this even one step further. The author argued that only Jesus’ disciples — those who believed — could have seen him after his resurrection. In other words, if Jesus had appeared before Pilate, Pilate wouldn’t have seen him because he didn’t believe. That sounds suspiciously like willful self-deception.
Recall that Pieper writes that the chief obstacle to belief is the question, “Why should man be dependent upon information which he himself could never find and which, even if found, is not susceptible to rational examination?” Exposure to religion is a cultural experience, and it’s not something various individuals have independently worked out as they tried to figure out what this weird Unknown is that they’ve been experiencing. In other words, the seed is sown by cultural exposure to the idea of a crucified and risen god.
I wonder why that Franciscan bloke never wrote back. Perhaps he didn’t receive the email? Perhaps he thinks there’s no point? Perhaps he realizes that there’s no hope for me?
Just before Christmas, I sent a letter to “Ask a Franciscan” on a Catholic website. I’m not sure why. Silly thoughts of conversion that I’ve since (or rather “sense”) put aside. The original letter:
I’m an American living in Poland, and I’ve been thinking about conversion lately. A lot of it has to do with the fact that I’m marrying a Polish woman in a few months (June) and everyone is asking me why I don’t convert. “It’s simple,” I say. “I don’t believe.”
However, I can’t deny a certain pull I feel toward Catholicism – the ritual and the beauty of the faith. I’m an atheist, though, and for more intellectual reasons than anything else. I don’t know that I could ever say, “I believe this faith is true,” but I’m finding myself thinking sometimes, “It would be nice if this is true.” Or even, “I hope this is true.”
So the question is this: is it enough simply to say, “I hope these things are true?” Where does hope that something is true end and faith that it is true begin?
The response:
Thanks for writing and I do appreciate your honesty both intellectual and moral. The Catholic Church has a very strong teaching that a person’s conscience is the ultimate criteria for that person’s decisions and behavior. At the same time, it is important that the conscience be correctly and well formed.
You are correct. You could not be true to yourself if you said, “Well, I just pretend I believe, go through the motions.” You could not do that nor would any real church want you to do that.
At the same time, it might help if I explore the idea of faith just a little bit with you. As Catholics, we believe faith “is a gift” of God…..and that that gift is offered to every person. The reason it is a gift is that faith means that we believe in what we cannot see or fully understand.
Yet, from a purely human point of view, you and I live by faith every day. You believe that when you shop for food, the labels on the cans say what they mean. You don’t have to presume to have every can tested “just to make sure because you never know.”
In fact, society is based on truth for its people. That’s why perjury is such a terrible crime….if a person lies under oath, then there is no way for true justice to be accomplished. No one could trust anyone any more and society would be thrown into chaos.
When it comes to religious truth, we are dealing with great and unfathomable mysteries. But one thing to keep in mind is that a mystery is not something about we know nothing; it’s really something about which we just don’t know EVERYTHING. I’m sure the deepest human mystery you’ve experienced is your love for your fiancé and her love for you. You know what that is but still I’m sure you stand back at times and realize that “this love is bigger than the both of us.” When a mother and father hold their first child, they are stunned by what they hold in their arms and what they feel and experience may not be able to be put into words. In fact, some of our deepest experiences deal with the mysteries of life and death and of our human relationships.
In regard to faith and religion, there are three questions that come to mind:
- Where did I come from?
- Where am I going?
- What am I doing in the meantime?
In a way, the way I answer those question will determine to a very high degree the way I live my life and for that matter why I even care about how I live my life. If I say, “I came from pure chance out of nothing; in time (who knows when) I will go back into nothing; in the meantime I’ll just do what I think is right.” Those are questions, though filled with mystery, are questions your fiancé comes up with a different answer. And perhaps the best way to see what faith is, is to look at it in another person whom you love and admire. What is it that you love the most? She beautiful, loveable, and all those good things. But is there something inside her, her values, her convictions and her beliefs that make you wonder, “Why does she believe the very things I can’t make sense of?” When my Dad married my Mom in 1930, my Mom was an Irish Catholic and she jus his heart. He was a faithful man and he was an inspiration to me and my sister.
So, what I would suggest is that you ask your fiancé just for the opportunity to explore her faith, take instructions and see how it turns out. If after you are finished you are still where you are, then you have in good faith explored the faith and found it lacking. On the other hand, you never know what will happen. It’s still your conscience and you must follow it. I know your fiancé would not want you to pretend.
I liked your expression, “I hope this is true.” But the hope might well turn into faith in time as you learn more about our faith. Remember also, you don’t have to figure out everything…what you are looking for is an understanding of our view of those three questions. What from; Where to; What now?
I do hope this helps. And remember Gary, if you have any more question or issues, please feel free to write back. I’m the only one who answers on this website and I’ll remember your name.
And so after almost six weeks, I took him up on the offer and wrote this back — a desperate effort, I suppose.
Thanks for your answer to my question. I’ve been meaning to write back, but I’ve simply been too busy. And also, I’ve been working on this reply for some time — a little here, a little there.
I didn’t initially tell you the whole story, because I wanted it to be short. The thing is, I was raised in a Christian home; I studied at a private Christian college; I did a year of graduate work in philosophy of religion at Boston University; and I’m constantly obsessed with religion and theology. I’ve read Aquinas, Augustine, and Pieper among the Catholic “greats” and Luther, Niebur, Bonhoffer (sp?), and Calvin among the Protestant “greats.”
This is not to try to brag — “Oh, I’m so well read.” I know in fact I’ve barely scraped the surface. It’s simply to show that, as far as taking instruction, in some ways I don’t need it. To a certain degree, I know more about the Catholic Church and theology than my fiancé does. That sounds a little presumptuous, but she’s even told me, “You know the Bible and theology better than I do!”
I say that in response to your comment that you suggested I “ask [my] fiancé just for the opportunity to explore her faith, take instructions and see how it turns out.” Lately, I’ve read a great deal about Catholicism, its history, theology, etc. I’m currently working my way through The City of God (slow going and I only read a few chapters every few days) as well as Przekroczyć Próg Nadziei, which is the Polish translation of “Crossing the Threshold of Hope.” (I would say it’s probably not a translation in reality, since, as I understand it, John Paul writes his encyclicals and such in Polish and then others translate it into Latin and Italian.) I’ve gone from knowing little about Catholicism to knowing quite a bit, from regarding it as essentially misled (the old Protestant upbringing still lingered/lingers in me though I have considered myself a complete non-believer for years now) to having a great deal of respect of many of its teachings.
In fact, I would even say (and have said, to my fiancé, Kinga, and her family) that if I ever “re-converted,” I would be a Catholic. Indeed, I’ve even defended the Church’s theology to fundamentalist, anti-Catholics! You might say I’m the ultimate debater, able to argue positions I don’t even believe. (To be fair, I wasn’t misrepresenting myself and saying I believed any of it; I was simply arguing that these fundamentalists were misrepresenting the Church and her teachings).
All this is not to brag or anything, simply to show you where I’m coming from. I’m cerebral to the point of — well, I don’t know what. I think too much, I’ve been told; I’m a “classic intellectual,” Kinga says. She wasn’t the first to say that! That always sounded corny to me and I resisted the label, but perhaps everyone’s right. Two examples perhaps further illustrate this: First, and somewhat amusingly, I was voted the “Most Intellectual” senior superlative in high school. Secondly and more of an indictment, in college I went to the school counselor for a while after the unexpected dissolution of a close friendship, and with her help I came to the realization that even with feelings, I think. I think first — analyzing the feeling — and “feel” later!
So, all that out of the way, you see that the issue for me is — an intellectual issue, in short.
You wrote, “Remember also, you don’t have to figure out everything. What you are looking for is an understanding of our view of those three questions. What from; Where to; What now?” I wonder. The thing is, I never think about those things. Honestly. Well, I should rephrase that — I never think of the first two questions. The third — well, we’ll get to that.
Regarding the first question, it’s always dumbfounded me that people can get so upset about the thought, for example, of evolution. “I did NOT evolve from monkeys!” some cry, as if suggesting that somehow affects their self-worth now. My point of view is this: my self-worth comes from me. That’s why it’s called “self-worth.” I don’t see how the prospect of “coming from monkeys” makes me any less valuable or any less human.
It seems we can’t conclusively answer the first. Even if we say we’re created by God, that doesn’t fully answer the question, for the specter of evolution and the “how’s” of it all still linger, with their shadowy, intellectual implications.
The same goes for the second question: where am I going? Again, I can’t conclusively answer that, and neither can anyone else. (What I mean by “conclusively” is “empirically provable,” I suppose.) That is more of a question of faith than the first question, it seems to me.
More important I would say is the third: What am I doing in the meantime? Good question. But the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that it’s less what we believe and more what we do.
An improbable scenario: You’re a father, and in the country in which you live, it’s customary for the father to grant permission for the son to live beyond age eighteen. In making your decision, would you really say, “I’m afraid I’ll have to banish you or kill you, son, because you didn’t believe this or that?” Would you even take into consideration what he believes? For that matter, unless he’d committed some atrocious act — say, killing your wife, his mother — would you even consider what he’d done? And in the end, if you had to base the decision on one or the other, which would you chose? Belief or action?
Now of course, this improbable scenario is doubly so because it’s probably a false dichotomy. Neither actions nor beliefs would really come into the picture if you truly loved your son, right? You would want to say even if he’d killed a thousand innocent children, “Well, I don’t want to see him die.”
God — and I’m assuming here he/she/it (and if God is God, I don’t think any of those pronouns do justice) — is supposed to be the ultimate father. In fact, that’s what Freurbach suggested in the nineteenth century, if you recall: God is the projection of our ultimate, perfect father figure. (One of the best books I’ve ever ready is Peter Berger’s A Rumor of Angels, in which he says basically, “Even if God is a projection, atheism/the non-existence of God doesn’t necessarily follow from that premise.”) So if God is only as good as a human father, it seems fear of missing out on some eternal bliss is unfounded, that God would give us chance after chance, opportunity after opportunity.
So part of me is thinking, “What am I even considering this stuff? If God exists, he will certainly take care of me in spite of all my shortcomings and intellectual pride.”
You wrote, “At the same time, it might help if I explore the idea of faith just a little bit with you. As Catholics, we believe faith ‘is a gift’ of God…..and that that gift is offered to every person.” But how does one know that faith is from God and not simply wishful thinking? Self-deception?
One of the most useful and fruitful ways of looking at religion secularly is through the eyes of sociology, and one thing that sociology points out is the importance of plausibility structures: those things that make it easier for us to say, “I believe this.” For example, not many inhabitants of New York City believe in voodoo because there’s not support for it; in Haiti, there’s significantly more plausibility structures. Among the things that serve as a plausibility structure is Mass and the congregational recital of the various prayers. It’s visible and audible backing for our own beliefs. “What I believe isn’t so crazy! How can it be if all these other people believe it too?” Such might be an explanation of how plausibility structures work. (Forgive me if you’re well versed in all this.)
So where does this leave us? Faith in our faith? Faith that our faith is faith in God and not a form of willful self-delusion?
It seems to me faith is a faith in experience — something that happens, which some interpret as being from God. It’s not ultimately a question of logical proofs. It’s a question of experience.
Yet I lack that experience. I’ve never had anything happen that makes me think, “Undoubtedly this is from God.”
And yet I know that going to look for that experience means I’ll find it. It reminds me of what one of my professors said about Biblical interpretation: if you go to the Bible expecting to find something specific there — proof of this or that — no matter how ridiculous it is, you’ll find it. The proof of this is all the Protestant sects that derive the most bizarre beliefs out of the Bible because of their poor exegesis.
But it just brings us back to the willful self-deception question. As the devil says to Ivan in The Brothers Karamazov (probably the best novel ever written in my opinion), “What’s the good of believing against your will? Besides, proof is no help to believing, especially material proof. Thomas believed, not because he saw Christ risen, but because he wanted to believe, before he saw.”
And I’m also reminded of Kirkergaard in Fear and Trembling: “Faith begins precisely where thinking leaves off.”
And Josef Pieper in Belief and Faith: “The obstacle [to religious belief] which must be leaped rather than climbed consists in the difficulty of understanding why man’s nature and situation should be such that he cannot make do with what is naturally accessible to him. Why should man be dependent upon information which he himself could never find and which, even if found, is not susceptible to rational examination?”
So why the draw? Why did I even contact you in the first place? Why am I thinking these things which a year ago — less, even — I would have brushed aside as silliness?
The only answer I can come up with now is ritual. I go to Mass with Kinga, my fiancé, occasionally (only occasionally because we live in different villages), and I find the ritual of it all very enchanting. Hardly a reason to consider conversion, I know. And as I said, the idea is something I sort of hope is true at some level, but which I highly doubt is true
And it seems to me that no matter what I do, it would ultimately be an intellectual game for me. Or an intellectual exercise. A continual effort to justify rationally why I’m trying to believe the things I am, or even more remotely, why I want to try to believe.
All this is why I originally wrote, “I don’t know that I could ever say, ‘I believe this faith is true,’ but I’m finding myself thinking sometimes [. . .] ‘I hope this is true.’” I suppose in asking if that was enough I was more asking from a church law point of view (to which I knew the answer — don’t know why I asked) than a moral/philosophical point of view.
I could go on, but what for? I’ve already turned myself into so many mental knots that it seems of little use, and would simply be a reiteration of what I’ve already ramble. I just thought I’d share a little more of the situation and my reaction to your response.
And the corresponding response? Well, there is none. Perhaps he didn’t get the letter, but why waste my time and risk looking like an idiot for something I don’t even believe?
And why did I even do all that? It’s like admitting I’m gay or something, but the truth is that on some level, I want to believe this nonsense. I’m convinced it’s just that, but I’m still trying. Why? That’s why I can’t figure out. Why can I logically list the reasons I don’t believe and the reasons I can’t ever believe and yet still want to believe? Childlike innocence I’m seeking in some ways. No, not innocence, but naivety.
There is no soul. Jesus apparently thought he was coming back before his disciples died and 2,000 years have passed. Religion arose from a lack of understanding of what happens to a person at death. All these things make sense. And the first two are virtually empirically provable. And yet.
Last night I spent a lot of time on the internet, and I found a lot of information about the Philadelphia Church of God. I’d found most of it before, but I hadn’t read it. It is, indeed, a cult. It is almost reminiscent of Jim Jones or David Koresh in its horror. From the account of one Sue Hensley:
March 1993 — He compared what was happening in Waco Texas to the persecution that would happen to us. He told us the Branch Davidians were an example of the persecution coming upon us because they used many of the same terms we did. David Koresh talked about a “little book,” he said the “lion roars,” he said Christ was the “Key of David,” he claimed his predecessor was “Elijah,” and he preached about the “Millennium.” Mr. Flurry also brought up Jim Jones & the People’s Temple during his examples of the persecution to come, and he said Jonestown was their “place of safety.”
Regarding the “college” he’s building, Ms. Hensley wrote:
When the announcements were made in 2000 about the land that was being bought for the college, one of the tapes from headquarters told us a great deal of what was planned for the future of this land. They are putting in their own sewage treatment system, so that, if things reach a critical stage, all the members could stay on the property; they would be capable of handling over 7000 people on site. There was also an old airstrip in the property, which they thought could be refurbished and utilized to either “further the work” or to fly people out to the place of safety when the time came. The swimming pool (announcement made in 2001) is also to serve as an emergency water supply in case of fire or other needs. Even the first time I heard these things, it gave me a chill.
And lastly, regarding Flurry’s status:
He has also lately given the ministry some very strict rulings concerning what the ministers should do if a person in the congregation talks to them about something they think is wrong. Mr. Flurry has told the ministers that even if the person is right, they should never agree with the member because it would be disloyal to God’s Prophet.
I used to think that the PCG was just a silly bunch of neo-Armstrongites who were pissed because the WCG made all these changes. On the contrary — they are a full-blown, physically dangerous cult. The WCG was mentally dangerous. Spiritually abusive, even. But it never made statements like this. It never openly compared itself to the People’s Temple. And if Armstrong had been alive to see the Waco fiasco, I’m sure he wouldn’t have compared himself to Koresh. He would have said something ridiculous about it, no doubt, but I don’t think he would have drawn a direct parallel between the two organizations.
The reason is simple: I don’t think Armstrong really ever actually believed he and his group would “flee.” Why would they? That would mean giving up the luxurious lifestyle he’d grown so accustomed to. You can’t buy prosthetic dildos in the desert; Steuben crystal is fairly impractical in the desert; a Rolls Royce doesn’t take well to the desert. He never actually believed it. It was a good way to milk people of their money. Nothing more.
People like Jim Jones, David Koresh, and, apparently, Gerald Flurry, though, actually do believe the nonsense they’re teaching. And apparently, they’re all willing to die for it.
I’ve really got to get a handle on this obsession I’ve had for the WCG and all its splinter groups. It’s really just a waste of time, I know, but I can’t help it. I can’t bear the thought of something sensational happening in, say, the PCG and me not knowing about it. Why? I guess I just want to be able to watch the fallout as it happens.
In its severest form it can lead to the formation of a new religion. In its milder forms, it creates novels and philosophies and spends much time discussing them. I’m talking about the human propensity to create worlds – castles in the air, but without the firm foundation Thoreau speaks of in Walden. Tonight was were talking about Schleiermacher again, and I was feeling the same emotions again – the same, “What the hell is the purpose of this?!”
Two hundred years ago, Schleiermacher constructed a view of religion based on what he called intuition. Tonight we spent two hours discussing our constructions of Schleiermacher’s constructions, then commenting on our constructions of others’ comments about their constructions of Schleiermacher’s constructions. The discussion – always in present simple – treated all these constructions as if they were as real as the computer on my lap. The discussion raged as if it made a difference whether Schleiermacher’s theology was of this nature or that. And the emptiness of the ivory towers reverberated with this for two hours – or some other poetic drivel.
That’s one example of world-construction. Another leads to the following absurdities:
I soon found out the reason why I had received such strict charges to keep [the plates] safe, and why it was that the messenger had said that when I had done what was required at my hand, he would call for them. For no sooner was it known that I had them, than the most strenuous exertions were used to get them from me. Every stratagem that could be invented was resorted to for that purpose. The persecution became more bitter and severe than before, and multitudes were on the alert continually to get them from me if possible. But by the wisdom of God, they remained safe in my hands, until I had accomplished by them what was required at my hand. When, according to arrangements, the messenger called for them, I delivered them up to him; and he has them in his charge until this day, being the second day of May, one thousand eight hundred and thirty-eight. . . .’
This is Joseph Smith explaining how he came into position of and learned to translate The Book of Mormon, which led the formation of an entire religion – or at least a sect. Undoubtedly Smith just pulled this buried plate nonsense from thin air! And people believe it! No one thinks it’s just a little too convenient for it to have happened this way – no one thinks that this leaves the door wide open to doubt Smith’s testimony.
When the Worldwide Church of God began reevaluating doctrines, many people within the organization were suddenly faced with a decision they thought they would never have to make: stay, or go? For the most part, people stayed when Joseph Tkach Sr. began reevaluating and modifying certain church doctrines because in making these changes, Tkach was leaving the core doctrines (Sabbath attendance, tithing, the nature of God) intact. The first changes included a new position on the use of cosmetics, a new scripture to designate the church’s commission (Matt. 28.19, “Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit,” instead of Matt. 24.14, “And this gospel of the kingdom will be preached in the whole world as a testimony to all nations, and then the end will come.”), and the decision to seek accreditation for Ambassador College. Gradually, though, Tkach and the WCG leadership turned their attention to doctrines many considered indispensable, and eventually Gerald Flurry and others decided that the WCG, in changing its doctrines and dogmas, had turned its back on God and therefore it was no longer God’s church. Flurry immediately wrote Malachi’s Message to God’s Church Today, the centerpiece of all his writings and, with his followers, formed the Philadelphia Church of God.
Little time need be spent discussing Flurry’s actual argument. His thesis is not incredibly complex and can be summed up quite succinctly: Because we are nearing the end-time, it is necessary for God to separate the true Philadelphian minority from the Laodicean majority. He accomplishes this by sending a “strong delusion” (2 Thes. 2.10-11) in the form of deceived leadership. Converted Philadelphians will see this with the aid of divine revelation (read: Malachi’s Message), thereby escaping the Tribulation and receiving their eternal reward.
The interesting thing to look at when reading Malachi’s Message is not so much the prophetic rantings and ravings, interesting as they may be, but rather the implicit revelations Flurry makes about his personal theology and the PCG’s official teachings while arguing his case. Flurry also illustrates the sociological and theological mechanisms used by cult leaders to keep their “flocks” in submission. Lastly, a close examination of several passages reveals Flurry’s definition of God to be quite heterodox with some rather unnerving aspects to it.
By and large, Flurry’s teachings are identical to those put forth by Herbert Armstrong, the Worldwide Chruch of God founder. Since many of Armstrong’s ideas are unlike anything found in mainstream Christianity and the terms and figures of speech he uses are found in traditional Christian articulations, a few explanatory comments might be helpful.
From the beginning, Flurry illustrates that this book is intended for those steeped in Armstrongian theology. This is obvious enough when we remember the full title of the book, Malachi’s Message to God’s Church Today. However, this sense is strenghtend by the fact that Flurry expects his readers to grant him several basic assumptions which are based on WCG theology. Remarking that several churches have left the WCG in recent years, Flurry argues, “Your Bible says only one of these groups can be doing God’s work” (x). The idea that God is working with only one group of people during these “end times” is a recurrent theme in both Armstrong’s work and Flurry’s own theology. That Flurry takes this as his starting point makes it clear that this book is designed to do one thing: encourage people to leave the fellowship of the WCG and join his own. To be sure, Flurry does not hide this agenda, and later in the book makes it perfectly clear that he sees the warning of God’s people as his calling. In fact, Flurry argues that Herbert Armstrong (hereafter referred to simply as HWA) “set a precedent for what the PCG is doing now” by writing to the members of the Sardis era and telling them “their Church was dead!” (149). However, Flurry provides no documentation for this, and an otherwise good point is compromised.
This assumption that all readers are thoroughly familiar with HWA’s teachings also manifests itself in the use of Armstrongian theological terms which would be completely incomprehensible to non-WCG members. Flurry tosses around “The Place of Safety,” “The Great Tribulation,” the “Laodicean Era” without defining them or proving them scripturally. They are given truths to be accepted from the beginning. you could go so far as to demonstrate your scholarship ? here and define them for the reader here.
Clearly Flurry feels that there is only one true church, and with so many to choose from, it’s critical to make the right decision, for “if you make a wrong choice, it is going to bring physical and spiritual curse. A right choice will lead to incredible physical and spiritual rewards.” The criterion Flurry initially gives for finding this church is not what most people would expect from a Christian church. Instead of saying that we must weigh carefully what these churches teach against what the Bible says, we must find the “one Church [which] truly follows in the footsteps of Mr. Armstrong” (x). This and this alone is the one true, pure Church of God. To be fair, Flurry does encourage his readers to prove scripturally his argument, but the initial criterion is whether or not the church follows Herbert Armstrong.
Additionally, it’s not enough according to Flurry simply to follow HWA’s teachings. It’s necessary to fellowship with this one true church: “We, as Christians, have the responsibility to be in that Church following Christ” (xiii). The implication is that being a member of the right church is necessary for salvation, not simply following Christ. Even if we keep all the Old Testament commandments (even the seemingly ridiculous ones about wearing clothes of two fabrics and destroying our houses when we can’t get rid of the mildew), it won’t be enough unless we’re in the right church (read: PCG).
The Philadelphia Church of God was formed because the Worldwide Church of God was not clinging to Herbert Armstrong’s doctrines. A logical place to begin an analysis of Malachi’s Message, therefore, is a consideration of how Flurry and the PCG view Armstrong and his teachings.
Flurry explains in the introduction how the WCG has gotten off track: “Why do the Laodiceans fail to see that Mr. Armstrong fulfilled all of these major end-time prophecies? Because their focus is too much on the man–not on God and his message!” (xi). Ironically enough, this serves as a perfect thesis when discussing the PCG’s view of Herbert Armstrong: The emphasis is clearly on what Herbert Armstrong taught and not on what the Bible actually states.
From his introduction onward, then, Flurry makes it clear that Herbert Armstrong’s teachings are of utmost importance. Flurry’s exaltation of HWA is, in fact, the most striking thing in the entire book. This manifests itself in several ways in Malachi’s Message.
The first thing one notices is the manner in which Flurry uses Armstrong’s writings as final authoritative proof concerning almost anything, something which is not surprising since the “true gospel ends with Mr. Armstrong” (130). Many times in Malachi’s Message, Flurry’s final recourse is simply, “Mr. Armstrong said . . . ” On one occasion, Flurry even writes that “Jesus Christ agreed with Mr. Armstrong” (91). One would think it should be the other way around, but to make that assumption is to forget that we are talking about a cult and not a healthy Christian church.
This trend really begins in the introduction when, discussing the “end-time . . . John the Baptist,” Flurry writes, “For years Mr. Armstrong said repeatedly that he fulfilled this office” (xi). No other evidence, scriptural or otherwise, is given that Armstrong did indeed fulfill this role. Yet, since Mr. Armstrong said it, it must be true. Flurry does the same thing when discussing HWA as the end-time Elijah (14) and later when trying to illustrate that HWA was the end-time Zerubbabel (59, 65, 131). In each instance, the fact that HWA said it is enough to establish it as fact.
The equating of Mr. Armstrong with Zerubbabel deserves some attention in itself. As stated before, Flurry really does little to prove this thesis other than the fact that HWA said it was true. Early in the book Flurry points out, “Zerubbabel died an old man. So did Mr. Armstrong” (3). If this is meant to be taken as evidence, it is a laughably weak attempt to prove this thesis. According to this logic, the following syllogism is true: “God thinks. Humans think as well. Therefore, humans are God.” The real “proof” seems to be in the idea that HWA created a new church just as Zerubbabel was responsible for a new temple. Following that logic, though, anyone who begins a new church would be a candidate for this “Zerubbabel,” including Luther, Calvin, Smith, and Koresh (to name a few). Yet despite the fact that this is complete speculation, Flurry takes it as fact to the extent that on at least thirteen occasions he even equates HWA and Zerubbabel thus: “God says Zerubbabel (HWA) built the house with God’s Holy Spirit . . .” (61). This makes it possible to read all references to Zerubbabel as references to Armstrong.
Assigning scriptures to leaders (both religious and secular) is a favorite weapon in the Armstrongian interpretation arsenal. It is so much so that Flurry considers the WCG’s current reluctance to engage in this practice as one of its major doctrinal changes. (For more on this, see page twenty-six of Worldwide Church of God Doctrinal Changes and the Tragic Results.) Indeed, to interpret prophecy in the exacting detail that the WCG has historically done, it is necessary to assign Biblical passages to individuals, both contemporary and historic. When HWA applied names to world leaders examples? it is simply amusingly bad exegesis; when applied to you’re missing some words here HWA applied names to himself, it was not only poor Biblical interpretation but arrogance. Of course Flurry doesn’t see it this way, and names HWA as Elijah at least ten times and as John the Baptist twice, both in the same fashion as with Zerubbabel.
It’s ironic that while Flurry is perfectly willing to name HWA as certain Biblical figures, he seems reluctant to name Joseph Tkach Sr. specifically as someone from the Bible. To be sure, he hints (more than strongly) that Tkach is the less-than-ideal Joshua of Zech. 3.1-2 and “the man of sin” from 2 Thes. 2.4, but he never equates them in a “Joshua (Tkach)” manner as he did with HWA (90). (It’s interesting to note that Flurry gives two possible roles for Tkach, thereby doubling his chances of an accurate prophecy. There is a doctrinal reason for this, however, which we will explore in due course.) In addition, there is a disturbing comparison which implies that Mr. Tkach represents Judas and HWA, Christ (99), but there is no direct “Judas (Tkach)” comparison.
One major aspect of the Philadelphia Church of God’s mission is to keep the memory and teachings of Herbert Armstrong intact, untainted with accusations of personal immorality and un-Biblical doctrines.
It should, in theory, come as a surprise to discover in PCG’s theology any changes in what Herbert Armstrong wrote. In an older issue if the PCG’s magazine, the Philadelphia Trumpet, writer Dennis Leap asserts that the “Philadelphia Church of God is the only Church on earth that upholds all of the doctrines Mr. Armstrong established in the Church” (“Who Are Today’s Laodiceans?” Vol. 6, No. 8, pg. 27). If the Philadelphia Church of God follows all of Mr. Armstrong’s doctrines then there should be absolutely no changes to any doctrines or dogmas whatsoever. Doctrine for the Philadelphia Church of God should remain constant, never changing, always identical to the teachings of the Worldwide Church of God at the time of Mr. Armstrong’s death. Yet, in reality, the PCG has made several doctrinal “corrections” which, for all intents and purposes, amount to doctrinal changes.
To be sure, Flurry is not making these changes without any outside stimuli. Indeed, the very reason for his church’s existence necessitates certain changes and realignments within PCG theology. All of these changes are almost inevitable given the fact that the Worldwide Church of God has so radically changed its theology from an inward-looking, exclusive cult to an outward-looking, evangelical ministry. None of these things were prophesied to happen in quite they way that they did. Armstrong taught that there would be a lukewarm, Laodicean era which means?, but it seems doubtful that he ever imagined that this “Laodicean attitude” would be embraced by the WCG leaders and make it necessary for the “Philadelphian elect” to remove itself from the Laodicean majority. If anything, Armstrong indicated that the Laodicean’s would be the minority, and speaking from my personal understanding of the doctrines, I always believed that the Laodiceans would remove themselves from the Philadelphian majority and start a new church, not vice versa. Therefore, there is a need to update all prophecies concerning the end-time church eras and Flurry has, according to Dennis Leap (in the same article quoted above), received “new revelation [which] has corrected slightly some of what Mr. Armstrong taught prophetically concerning the Church.” So the key thing to look for is “slight corrections,” not major new teachings. However, change is change, and any “slight correction” invalidates the PCG’s claim to uphold “all of the doctrines Mr. Armstrong established in the Church.” (page number)
The most decisive change in Herbert Armstrong dogma stems directly from this Philadelphian-Laodicean relationship. As with most cults, the WCG used to love to look for significant numbers in the Bible and then, using a hodge-podge mixture of math and prophecy, figure out what these numbers mean ‘for us today.’ Concerning the alleged history of church eras in Revelation, the key number is 144,000. The WCG always taught that this is a reference to God’s chosen, the number of people who would be whisked off to Petra to be saved from the German savagery of the Third World War. any documentation? This also served as a gauge for how close we were to Christ’s second coming, for it was always implied that when church membership reached 144,000 baptized “firstfruits,” Armageddon and Christ’s subsequent return were very near at hand.
However, Flurry no longer teaches that the 144,000 represent Christ’s chosen, Philadelphian elect. Instead, he argues that the 144,000 represents the Laodiceans (43). He quotes an Ambassador College Correspondence Course from 1966 as saying, “They will be some of the modern-day descendants.”
Occasionally Flurry obscures the point that he is changing one of HWA’s doctrines by stating that “the Church” has taught such and such. Consider the following: “God’s Church has applied II Thessalonians 2.4 to the world for the most part. But it doesn’t apply to the world. There is tremendous biblical support to show it applies to God’s church” (79). While Flurry doesn’t say that Armstrong taught this, but there can be little question where this doctrine originated. Flurry is basically saying, “Herbert Armstrong taught this, but it’s not quite right. It’s close, but a little flawed.”
Is this a drastic change? In some ways, no. After all, it doesn’t involve a change in underlying assumptions and fundamental dogma. Specifically, it’s still an explicit and direct application of a prophecy to contemporary events, something quite in line with Armstrongian interpretation techniques. Flurry still teaches this is a prophecy which has a contemporary fulfillment. Since the WCG stopped looking at the Bible in such a fashion (one of the catalysts for the PCG’s formation), this is not a major change for the PCG, comparatively speaking. At the same time, it is not at all in line with what the PCG claims concerning their unwavering support of Armstrong’s doctrines. It is certainly an unqualified affirmation of his exegesis techniques, but not complete support of the doctrines themselves.seems a little redundant.
Flurry makes another slight “correction” concerning the curse of Mal 4.5-6: “This is a curse which means ‘utter destruction.’ In the past, this has been applied to the ‘utter destruction’ of the earth’s inhabitants. That is not what it means! The message of Malachi was not sent to the nation of Israel or the world. Primarily, the subject is God’s ministry” (119, 141). This is certainly not what Mr. Armstrong taught, but Flurry is careful not to acknowledge this and introduces the idea even more vaguely than the preceding example.
Surprisingly, Flurry does directly and bluntly say that HWA was wrong on one occasion. Referring to the fact that Armstrong felt he would be alive at the time of Christ’s return, Flurry says, “Mr. Armstrong didn’t live to see the end of this age as he thought he would. (So correct that little error in [The Book of Revelation Unveiled at Last].)” (110). Of course Flurry had little choice but candidly to admit that Mr. Armstrong was wrong in this case. He would look utterly foolish to try to argue that, ultimately, Mr. Armstrong was right even in this case. But doctrinal revision due to historical incompatibility is a far cry from the drastic changes within the WCG concerning prophecy. The leaders of the Worldwide Church of God had a choice concerning whether or not to disclaim Armstrongism and embrace evangelical Christianity; Flurry had no such choice in this case.
Flurry has also made slight changes in the Church’s “God-given” commission. He writes, “The major work now is getting the message of Malachi to the Laodicean Church. The Gospel has been preached. The Laodiceans must now be warned!” (133). In Worldwide Church of God Doctrinal Changes Flurry goes to great lengths to point out that the WCG has changed its commission from Matt. 24.14 to Matt. 28.19-20 (114-117), but neither verse mentions anything about warning the Laodiceans. Clearly this is a change in the primary directive (read: commission) of the Church, but it doesn’t seem to bother Flurry in the slightest. (Later still Flurry claims that Mr. Armstrong himself changed the commission and said that the primary thing now is to “get the Church ready” (137), yet he provides no documentation of this claim.)
The last change that Flurry has made in HWA’s teachings which we will consider concerns the Bible’s final warning to the people of the end-time, Flurry now states that, “The greatest warning in the end is given to God’s people–not the world” (103). Armstrong never said anything like this (to my knowledge). Indeed, he was quite often decrying the horrible condition of the world and making it known that he was God’s chosen to give the pathetic, deceived wretches of the world their final warning. Flurry, however, feels now that Mr. Armstrong wasn’t quite right concerning to whom the Bible gives the strongest warning (though of course Flurry doesn’t say it in so many words). While this is technically not a change of doctrine, it’s a slight shift of emphasis in what HWA taught.
Of course this final warning is contained in Malachi’s Message and is simple: God prophesied all this to happen, and showed the consequences of not heeding this warning. But this thesis begs the question: Why, with his prophetic acumen, didn’t Herbert Armstrong see these prophecies? He made very specific claims about Germany rising again to initiate the Third World War; he made quite detailed assertions about what would happen to God’s elect during the Great Tribulation. Why, with all his clairvoyance, wasn’t Mr. Armstrong able to see what Flurry now understands so clearly? The answer is simple: Armstrong did not have the privilege of hindsight that Flurry now has. In other words, this is a prime example of what I’ll call retroactive prophecy, a topic we’ll return to in a bit.
It is not surprising, given the preeminence accorded Mr. Armstrong and his teachings, that Flurry is gradually adapting his leadership style to a manner more befitting to someone claiming, for all intents and purposes, to be Armstrong’s true successor. Flurry gives several indications that he learned well from Herbert Armstrong how to lead a cult and has incorporated several Armstrongian techniques into his methods.
Early in the book Flurry makes a most-Armstrongian declaration: “You must prove what I say in this book!” (9) Many times Herbert Armstrong would get quite excited about this point, calling on people to “blow the dusts off your Bibles” and prove what he was saying there. However, both Flurry and Armstrong only allow certain Biblical proof. The criterion for their Biblical proof seems to be to “let the Bible interpret itself” (89). This is not a bad idea in itself, but Flurry’s application of this principle is questionable. Additionally, in telling people to look to the Bible to prove this or that, Armstrong and Flurry are calling on people to exercise rather poor exegesis.
Another example of how Flurry is becoming more like Armstrong in his leadership is shown by a subtle, egotistical claims. One such claim comes from Flurry’s view of his own writing. Mr. Armstrong several times made claims that God was working through him and inspiring all he wrote. The best example of this concerns what HWA said about Mystery of the Ages, specifically that “I myself did not write” it but rather “God used me in writing it.” (See Malachi’s Message 20-25). Armstrong tried to assure us that he viewed all his writing as being more from God’s mind than from his own. Yet sometimes his ego interfered slightly and he let things slip, like saying that Mystery was the “the best work of [his] 93 years of life!” Flurry is beginning to make the same slips. While he often declares that Malachi’s Message was directly inspired by God, he wonders why “Why does this deceived [WCG] minister [would] say it would be wrong for WCG members to read what I write?” (93).
Another claim that smacks of egotism (though in a strangely pathetic fashion) is the declaration (made originally in all caps), “It takes courage to warn the world” (75). This is a courage that neither of the Tkachs have, but clearly Flurry has it in abundance.
Of course doctrinally Flurry will always be akin to Armstrong, but he also makes claims in Malachi’s Message which, while not direct quotes from Armstrong, certainly are in line with Armstrongian leadership. The first one notices when looking at Malachi’s Message is a startling claim on the back-cover abstract: “[Flurry] also preaches the wonderful news that Jesus Christ is going to intervene and save mankind in this generation.” The final prepositional phrase, “in this generation,” leaps off the page and in the minds of educated Christians sets of warning bells. This obviously enough is a direct contradiction of what Christ said concerning his own return in Matt. 24.36, 25.13, and 13.32. Apparently Flurry seems to think he is privy to information that not even God has revealed to Christ.
Flurry is only so specific concerning Jesus’ return once, but on several occasions he hints strongly that it will occur within the next few years. In the introduction he proclaims that “soon it will be obvious to everyone which group comprises the very elect” (xiii). Later, discussing “Joshua’s fellows” (Zech. 3) he declares that the appearance of “Joshua’s fellows [is] a sign that Christs return is very near” (69). As his reference he gives Zech 3.8: “Hear now, O Joshua the high priest, thou, and thy fellows that sit before thee: for they are men wondered at: for, behold, I will bring forth my servant the branch.” Even if we read the verses before and after, it’s clear that there is no way this can be seen as a sign that Christ’s return is near. Finally, while discussing the rebellion of 2 Thes. 2, Flurry claims twice that it is an indication that Christ is returning soon. This rebellion, he says, is another sign that the end “is at hand or imminent. It could be very imminent” (79). Later, concerning the same scripture, Flurry writes, “When you see this ‘falling away’ from the truth God taught through Mr. Armstrong, it’s time to think very seriously about Christ returning soon–very soon” (83).
All of these examples are clearly in keeping with Armstrongism, but tragically unbiblical. One might imagine that Flurry has learned from the abysmal historical record of setting dates for Christ’s return, to which Armstrong of course made several of his own contributions. Naturally Flurry can rightfully enough counter, “But we’re not setting exact dates!” At the same time, to say Christ will be returning “in this generation” is as close as one can come without actually setting a date.
With such special prophetic knowledge and understanding, it should be clear to all (according to Flurry’s reasoning) that he is now the sole divine messenger, passing on God’s words and thoughts to the nations for their edification. This is an idea common to almost all cults and Armstrongism is not an exception. Following in Armstrong’s example, Flurry elevates himself to prophet and prophet fulfiller. He writes, “This is [that warning to the Laodiceans]. You are holding it in your hands! It is a prophecy being fulfilled this very minute!” (31). Just in case readers don’t get the point, Flurry makes it two more times: “God is knocking–to a great extent through Malachi’s Message” (41); “God must reveal the ‘man of sin.’ God has done that through Malachi’s Message” (87). Flurry gets so carried away with the idea that he alone is God’s spokesperson that he makes two quite fantastic and egotistical claims toward the end of the book. He first argues that “all of God’s ministers are going to know Malachi’s Message came from God–whether they realize it now or in the Great Tribulation” (143). In the conclusion, though, he broadens this claim: “Malachi’s Message was revealed by God. Every human being on this earth must eventually come to see that!” (151). None of this should not come as a surprise as God is using him alone to carry on HWA’s work (99).
Since, in the eyes of the general PCG membership, Flurry is God’s sole messenger on the earth today, we should expect that if Flurry makes claims that have no Biblical support whatsoever they will remain generally unquestioned by the PCG majority. And indeed, Flurry indulges in such extra-Biblical speculation on several occasions. In doing so, Flurry is, for all in intents and purposes, speaking for God, revealing information that God previously chose to keep to himself.
Flurry first makes this mistake when referring to a passage on the famed “church eras.” “God included these verses in Revelation 14 to be an encouragement to the Laodiceans who read them during their trials in the Tribulation” (48). Of course the interpretation (re: seven prophecied church eras) Flurry applies to this scripture is subject to great debate, and many Biblical scholars, if not most, would vehemently disagree with this bit of exegesis. Yet even if this were the accepted interpretation of this passage, there is nothing here to indicate that God included this as comfort for the Laodiceans going through the “Tribulation.” Flurry is making a leap completely out of the Bible and claiming information that is not even hinted at in these scriptures.
One of WCG’s most disastrous doctrinal changes, according to Flurry, is the de-emphasis of prophecy. Flurry says that “God considers this prodigious change by the WCG to be a major sin!” (108). While there is an indication that prophecy should be a part of any ministry (Amos 2.11-12), it is certainly short of saying that not prophesying is a sin. Once again, Flurry is speaking for God.
The most striking (and tragically comic) example of this comes in the final pages of Malachi’s Message. The passage deserves to be quoted at length:
Malachi’s Message was first received by many people on January 16, 1990, the very day of the anniversary of Mr. Armstrong’s death (January 16, 1986). We didn’t plan it, but we were happy it happened that way. You are going to see the date of Mr. Armstrong’s death take on more significance as time goes on. John Amos and I were disfellowshiped on December 7, 1989–40 days before the anniversary of Mr. Armstrong’s death. The number 40 is significant in the Bible. The third 19-year time cycle of the Work of the WCG ended in January of 1991–the same month as the fifth anniversary of Mr. Armstrong’s death. In the original version of Malachi’s Message we asked this question: “Will we see some dramatic event in the world or within God’s Philadelphian and/or Laodicean Churches then?” The Persian Gulf War began on January 16, 1991! God considers the date of Mr. Armstrong’s death to be very significant (149).
After quoting Luke 13.7-9 in its entirety (referring to giving a vineyard three or four years to bear fruit), Flurry continues making wild claims.
God gave the fig tree four years to bear fruit. If it failed to produce, He cut it down. After Mr. Armstrong died, he also gave the WCG four years to bear fruit. When the WCG failed, God raised up the Philadelphia Church to do His Work. Mr. Armstrong died in January 1986. The Philadelphia Church made the first mailing of Malachi’s Message in January 1990–exactly four years later! We planned none of this–God did the planning (150).
The fact that four events of some significance can be “connected” to the date of Mr. Armstrong’s death is hardly proof that “God considers the date of Mr. Armstrong’s death to be very significant.” To begin with, it wouldn’t be very difficult to connect almost any event to Mr. Armstrong’s death using the significant numbers of the Bible (which are abundant in Armstrongian exegesis).
Not only is this an example of poor exegesis, but it is a variation of a logical fallacy known as the cum hoc ergo propter hoc fallacy. One makes this fallacy by asserting that because two events occur together, they must be causally related, and obviously enough, it’s a fallacy because it doesn’t take into account other possible factors and causes of the events. The initiation of the Persian Gulf War on 16 January had many factors, primarily logistical and political considerations.
The final point to be examined concerning Flurry’s growing Armstrongian leadership methods concerns writing style. Herbert Armstrong was an advertising man, and he took the techniques which successfully caught people’s attention in the ad business and incorporated into his theological endeavors. The result was the signature Armstrongian SMALL CAPITAL LETTERS FOR MODERATE EMPHASIS, LARGE CAPS FOR SCREAMING EMPHASIS and italics for subtly. Of course Flurry follows in Armstrong’s typographical footsteps, and so he doesn’t have to worry about writing succinctly but instead uses typography to make his point. On at least one occasion he manages to include all three styles in one sentence: “They are taking a Laodicean turn AWAY from Christ–because they ignore what CHRIST ESTABLISHED through Zerubbabel (HWA)” (62).
While the intended purpose of such uses of different type styles may indeed be emphasis, the result is something quite different. Instead, it turns the passage in question into a quite emotional cry. The huge amount of italics and all-caps when discussing the WCG’s donation to help restore the Globe Theater at Stratford-upon-Avon? (129) and when considering whether WCG considers HWA a false prophet (113) reveals a strong emotional response to these issues. One can almost hear how a WCG minister of old (or current PCG minister) would deliver this in a sermon. Good writing makes its own point and a well-planned, well-documented argument reveals its strengths without the aid of typographical stunts.
Unfortunately, Flurry has taken other aspects of Armstrong’s writing as his own, including an avoidance of documentation of any sort. This actually weakens one claim in Malachi’s Message that otherwise would have been good points. Toward the end of the book, Flurry writes, “Mr. Armstrong set a precedent for what the PCG is doing now” by writing to the members of the Sardis era and telling them “their Church was dead!” (149). This would be a good point response to the claims that HWA began the Worldwide Church of God in a way diametrically opposed to Flurry’s methods (and it was this idea that Flurry was “causing division” unlike Mr. Armstrong had which prompted his disfellowshipment), but it loses any strength by the lack of documentation.
Another example of undocumented claims is the assertion that “Mr. Armstrong’s last instructions to Mr. Tkach were, ‘I have reached world leaders, your job is to get the Church ready'” (137). It’s amusing that Flurry doesn’t see this as a change in the church’s “commission.” The first in Flurry’s list of WCG doctrinal changes is a the new commission of Matt. 28.19-20 as opposed to Matt. 24.14 (see WCG Doctrinal Changes, 16-19). The idea of preparing the church is not in either scripture, so it appears that neither the PCG nor the WCG are following Armstrong’s wishes on this matter.
It seems, in conclusion, that the relationship between HWA’s legacy and the PCG’s theology and leadership is at best troublesome and unbalanced. Flurry wants to keep the core Armstrongian beliefs in his church. However, the fact that the WCG abandoned Armstrong’s teachings and necessitated the formation of the Philadelphia Church to begin with makes it impossible for Flurry to maintain a completely static Armstrongian theology. The result is dogma and doctrine that claim to be Armstrongian but suffer from their own necessary modifications and modulations and are not as pure as Flurry claims
In his book A Rumor of Angels, sociologist Peter Berger writes that the “social psychology of fundamentalism is what Erich Fromm called the ‘escape from freedom’–the flight into an illusionary and necessarily intolerant certitude from the insecurities of being human” (“Religious Liberty–Sub Specie Ludi” in A Rumor of Angels, 177). Obviously, a cult is necessarily fundamentalist, and this psychological analysis applies to the Philadelphia Church of God. Just as the Worldwide Church of God thought of itself as the exclusive body of Christ for so many years, the Philadelphia Church of God believes it is God’s elect.
Exclusive religious tendencies provide a sense of security for believers, as Berger points out, and in the case of Armstrongian exclusiveness there is a sort of double-walled sense of protection. First, it draws from the general Christian idea “God loves me” the simple feeling that even if no one else loves us, God does. Christianity is peculiar because it makes very specific claims and provides a very intense sense of personal importance. When Christians speak of Christ and his crucifixion, they speak of his love, specifically his love for them as individuals. “Jesus loves me,” is a common refrain in Christianity which echoes a frequently quoted passage in the Bible (John 3.16). However, Armstrong’s Christian cultic ideas intensify and slightly modify this feeling. Instead of “Jesus loves me,” stressing the love, one can say “Jesus loves me,” stressing the self, the “me,” implying an elliptical, “But I’m not so sure about whether he loves you.” It hints at a superiority that is intensified in the language of Armstrongian theology: the elect, the firstfruits, and so on.
Therefore, within the PCG, this exclusiveness takes on a new dimension, a sort of triple-layered exclusiveness. At the first tier is the basic Christian exclusive doctrine that Christ is the only way to eternal life. This removes any possible authenticity (“truth,” in other words) of alternative salvational routes offered in other religions and at its extreme, removes the necessity for dialogue between these religions. In other words, it creates a sort of separate universe and states that any universe not identical (i.e., those which don’t have Christ in them) are fundamentally flawed. (Peter Berger offers an insightful analysis of this issue in “A Funeral in Calcutta,” also found within the newest edition of A Rumor of Angels.)
There is ample evidence of this in PCG theology. There is one particularly startling example of this, though: “The Jews have not been commissioned to build God’s Temple–as Zerubbabel and Solomom were anciently. If they build a temple, it will be the Jews’ temple, not God’s temple–just as it was “the Jews’ feast of tabernacles” (John 7.2), not God’s Feast of Tabernacles” (80). In this one sentence Flurry uses excruciatingly poor exegesis to illustrate strong exclusiveness while hinting at subtle yet arrogant xenophobia. To being with, Flurry takes this scripture completely out of its written context and original cultural milleu.
This scripture is not intended to juxtapose Christ’s example or view point to the Jews’. Indeed, Christ was a Jew. If it was the “Jews’ feast of tabernacles” then it necessarily was Christ’s as well.
Flurry also hints at anti-semitism in this passage. Xenophobia is an obvious extreme to which exclusiveness can be taken, and racism abounds in Mystery of the Ages and in Armstrongian theology in general, most obviously in the theory of Anglo-Israelism. Of course it is usually not explicit racism but implicit, as in this case.
Returning to the issue of triple exclusiveness, Armstrong added a second layer by saying, “Not only is Christ the only way to eternal life, but only my interpretation of Christ is the way to eternal life.” While there is much chaffing and back-biting ridicule among denominations about finer doctrinal points, there are not many which go to a cultic extreme and call all other denominations Satanic as Armstrong did.
With the former Worldwide Church of God Armstrongites leaving for either the Global Church of God, the United Church of God, or the Philadelphia Church of God, there exists a possible third layer of exclusiveness. All three new churches claim to be following Armstrong’s teachings more righteously and rigorously than the WCG, but there are certainly differences. One thing is common, though: There is still an exclusive tendency which sets members apart from the world, but now it does so in three ways. First there is the general Christian tendency toward exclusiveness which sets Christians apart from the rest of the world. The second is the Armstrongian exclusiveness which sets believers apart from the rest of the Christian community. Finally, there is what I’ll call the Flurryian exclusiveness, which sets PCG members apart from G/U/WCG members. As we saw before, Flurry claims that “your Bible says only one of these groups can be doing God’s work” (x): “Several different churches have been formed by former Worldwide Church of God ministers. All of these churches–including the WCG–are Laodicean, except one” (6). Flurry points out soon enough that only the PCG is made up of God’s elect Philadelphians: “The Laodiceans are comprised of the WCG and other groups that have left the WCG–except the PCG” (31). This is the doctrinal reason why Flurry gives two possible Biblical names for Tkach: Clearly, someone else (possibly David Hulme or Rod Merredith) must be the other figure. All of this serves to strengthen (for PCG members) the idea that they are the elect and so “no other group is given this understanding [of Malachi’s Message] by God” (55). Flurry summarizes this idea nicely himself: “We . . . have a ‘corner on the spiritual market'” (91).
This exclusiveness has several theological ramifications, some of which Flurry notices (and even revels in), some of which he ignores. He does realize quite clearly that he is denouncing in the strongest possible terms other people’s religion, for he states that the failure to recognize Armstrong as the end-time Elijah “condemns a person’s religion” (52). He also understands that such exclusiveness removes almost completely the possibility that God even acknowledges non-Armstrongian Christians, to the point that he implies that God refuses to witness (and, hence, sanctify) non-Armstrongian marriages (16). However, this doesn’t follow logically even if we grant that only PCG members are true Christians. There is nothing in the Bible to indicate that God ignores those who aren’t his chosen favorites. Indeed, we find just the opposite in most everything Christ does and says, but Flurry overlooks this.
One of the results of this extreme exclusiveness is an equally exclusive view of the Bible. “The WCG has taught for years that when the Bible says ‘you,’ it’s talking to God’s people” (28). The Bible is written, therefore, solely for the PCG audience only. This conclusion is allows Flurry a great deal of latitude in determining what passages are prophetic for God’s end-time elect. Verses directed to the human population in general (in as much as any passages in the Bible are directed thus broadly) can be scaled back and applied only to the PCG. A good example of this is found on page 93 where Flurry discusses the “strong delusion” of 2 Thes. 2.10-11.
Another cultic characteristic which Flurry illustrates in Malachi’s Message is the tendency to create a separate reality opposed to general society in as many ways as possible. This is related to the exclusiveness I just mentioned, but whereas said exclusivness tends to be more theological, what I have in mind now is the practial results of this mindset.
The best way to create this alternative universe is to limit contact with non-Armstrongites which would give members something to juxtapose to Flurry’s teachings. The closed-door policy of the PCG’s church services accomplishes this nicely. While Flurry doesn’t specifically comment on this policy in Malachi’s Message (see WCG Doctrinal Changes, page 73, for Flurry’s view on this topic), he does make it clear through his use of Armstrongian vocabulary that the message is intended for Armstrongites familiar with the terminology of the cult. This perptuates the need for a closed-door policy because it makes it necessary for perspective members to receive much “counciling” before they are ready to attend services. In other words, Flurry’s use the Armstrongian theological lexicon (without providing any definitions or explanations) both creates an alternative reality (theological and practical) and assures the believers’ distance from non-PCG society.
One of the tragic results of this exclusive universe is a lack of compassion for those of “the world.” Flurry declares as a waste of money the donation the WCG made to “hurricane and other disaster funds. Instead of spending money to warn people why disasters are happening, the WCG helps them financially. Soon the world is going to be literally flooded with disasters! . . . Tithes and offerings are going to be spent in vain if they continue this approach” (95). Since “only God’s people have true love” (98), we are left with the startling conclusion that true love preaches about how humanity’s sins brought these disasters upon various individual but it shouldn’t not help them.
It stands to reason that the creation of a separate reality necessitates an inherent distrust of those outside that protective reality. In this sense, Flurry continues with Armstrong’s education bias, thereby providing another assurance that nothing can challenge his teachings. This is clearly why “Mr. Armstrong taught us to avoid educational areas such as pyschology, sociology, the word’s theology and much of man’s law” (76), for each of these areas of scientific inquiry can illuminate the unhealthy, cultic aspects of Armstrongian theology as well as call into question many of HWA’s core doctrines. For Flurry, the results of “relying more on human, scholarly reasoning” (75) based on the “authorities of the world” (73) are clearly illustrated in Satan’s beguiling of the WCG’s leadership. “The Worldwide Church is too scholarly–too academic in wordly ways” (138), and the consequence is Satanic deception.
As an aside, it’s interesting to note that Flurry declares as Satanic only things from the outside world (“the scholars of the world”) which criticize or refute Armstrongian theology. When the world supports Flurry’s pre-conceived conclusions, it is a clear plus. Concerning whether the rebellion in II Thes. 2.4 is in the world or in the church, he points out that The Interpreter’s Bible Commentary says it’s within the church, concluding that “If people in the world understand this, certainly God’s people should!” (79). Later, he writes that “‘Bring ye all the tithes into the storehouse’ implies that some of the tithes are being misdirected (see almost any commentary)” (128). (I will return to this topic when I examine Flurry’s interpretation techniques.)
Any cult leader must have mechanisms to ensure that members follow whatever rigorous guidelines the particular leader imposes, and most of these mechanisms are fear and guilt based. Flurry uses both with a dexterity Armstrong would have been proud of.
Flurry’s primary tactic is simple. He writes, “God’s truth is sometimes very hard to receive. But there is no other choice when you consider the alternative” (104). Clearly, fear is used to offset the heavy obligations of the law. “You think it’s difficult to follow the law? Here’s the alternative!” he seems to be saying. This means that people are following Flurry not to gain benefits but to avoid punishment. Since Flurry rejects the idea of eternal punishment, he is writing here about the loss of eternal life. And he makes this point quite a few times. The first time he connects it through implication to Armstrong’s teachings: “Either we hang on to what we learned or we lose our eternal life!” (97). At another point, he makes the connection to the Laodicean majority: “God will destroy the work of the Laodiceans!” (86); “The Laodicean work of rebellion is destined to be smashed. It can end no other way, because God is against it” (87). Later, it evolves into a simple, general threat: “Eternal life or eternal death is at stake for many of God’s people!” (101). By the end of the book Flurry has incorporated also the fear of losing one’s physical life and makes a direct connection with Joseph Tkach: “If you follow [Mr. Tkach], nuclear holocaust awaits you!” (127).
As stated before, a common element in Flurryian exegesis is the acceptance of worldly authority which conforms to Armstrongian doctrine and a rejection of other wordly influence. A long-time King James Only advocate, Flurry has often maintained there are interpolations included in other translations (i.e., the New International Version) which are Satanically inspired. Others, like the Zerubbabel inset (Zech. 4.6-10) are seen as inspired by God (63). No criteria are given for how to determine whether it is inspired by Satan or Christ, but it seems safe to assume that all passages which support Flurry’s pre-conceived interpretations are from Christ and all which detract are Satanic. (There is, in fact, an article in an old Philadelphia Trumpet which makes a case for the KJV-Only position–unfortuantely, I don’t have the documentation for it at the moment.)
There is a deeper irony in Flurry’s KJV-Only position which he doesn’t seem to grasp. If the New International Version and others are flawed because the translators were worldly and Satanically deceived, how did King James’ scribes and interpreters escape this same pitfall? And more importantly, how does Flurry know that they weren’t, in fact, deceived by the wily devil? Surprisingly, he does maintain that King James’ interpreters were deceived in at least one area: They wrongly translated hagios pneuma as “Holy Ghost” instead of “Holy Spirit.”
Naturally, the best way for Flurry to avoid the problem of deceived translators is to read the Bible in the original Greek, Hebrew, and Aramaic. To do so, though, would require a proficiency in these ancient languages that Flurry simply doesn’t have. He could attend a university and take classes in these languages, but that would be going out into the world and receiving the instruction of worldly academics, something he’s not willing to do.
Even though he staunchly maintains a KJV-Only position, Flurry occasionally admits that other translations offer a better interpretation of a particular word or passage. Sometimes, in stating that such-and-such is a better translation, he falls into his familiar and habitual lack of documentation: “In II Thes. 2.3, ‘deceive’ should be translated ‘beguile'” (81), he writes, giving no documentation whatever. Ironically enough, not even the HWA favorite Strong’s uses “beguile” in its definition. A couple of pages later, he does the same thing, saying that “the ‘traditions’ of II Thes. 2.15 are better interpreted ‘instructions'” (83). Again, there is no indication of how he determined this.
Flurry claims that the best way to read the Bible is to “let the Bible interpret itself” (89). This is, in fact, not a bad idea, but in applying it, Flurry makes one basic mistake in doing this: Flurry’s Armstrongian dictate to look to the Bible to “prove it!” (9) necessarily entails approaching the Bible with pre-conceptions about what we will find there, and this is one of the worst mistakes we can make when interpreting the Bible. If we look to the Bible to prove a specific point, we’ll do just that. In the meantime, we will take scriptures out of their context in every way imagineable, mis-quote, and ignore contradicting passages, all of which Flurry does.
With this in mind, it’s easy to see how Flurry, bent on prophecy, easily turns anything and everything in the Bible into a prophetic pronouncement. Therefore the story of Esau and Jacob can be a prophetic description of the end-time church (122). In this case, Flurry’s reasoning seems to be thus: a) Malachi is clearly a prophecy directed to the church; b)Esau and Jacob are mentioned in Malachi; c)Therefore, all references to Esau and Jacob are at least somewhat prophetic and directed at the church. Once again this is sloppy exegesis combined with flawed logic. In this case, Flurry commits the circulus in demonstrando fallacy. This fallacy occurs if you assume as a premise the conclusion which you wish to reach. But as logic is a wordly science, Flurry can’t worry himself too much if he violates a few of its principles here and there.
Sometimes, there doesn’t even need to be a slight indication of the desired conclusion in a verse for Flurry to declare that it has some special prophectic meaning. In other words, he finds things in scripture that aren’t vaguely indicated in the passage in question. For example, he claims that Amos 6.1 (“Woe to them that are at ease in Zion, and trust in the mountain of Samaria, which are named chief of the nations, to whom the house of Israel came!”) is “a prophecy for the Laodicean church today!” (126). There is nothing in the verse itself or in the contextual verses to indicate this.
conclusion needed
While Flurry never gives a succinct definition of God and his attributes in Malachi’s Message, we can piece one together from various parts of the book. Not surprisingly, the resulting God is startlingly different than the God of orthodox Christianity in that Flurry has disallowed from his definition of God the three main assumptions of the Western world, namely omniscience, omnipotence, and complete beneficence.
One of Flurry’s worst techniques of exegesis is an indulgence in inappropriately literal interpretations of some scriptures, resulting in an incredibly anthropomorphic view of God. In short, Flurry creates an anthropomorphic God which is incapable of omnipotence and omniscience, two of the most basic components of the Western idea (and in particular, the Christian articulation) of “God.”
Scripture attributes to God a great deal of qualities and emotions, many of which are necessarily anthropomorphic. This is, of course, to be expected. As humans, we have nothing except our own experience to form frames of reference about anything. To be sure, our finite nature makes it nearly impossible for us to speak of God without resorting to anthropomorphic (or, as Peter Berger refers to it, “humanizing”) language. We must therefore speak of God in terms of analogy (specifically, through analogy of proportionality, not analogy of attribution), though this still presents certain problems. (The British philosopher H. P. Owen deals with these problems of analogy in religious language in his book The Christian Knowledge of God.)
The trick to developing a blanaced view of the Scriptural claims about God (and indeed, of forming a healthy view of God) is a balance between our necessarily human-based, limited articulations and the realization that they are such. Either extreme produces ridiculous propositions about God: On the one hand, it would be impossible to say anything about God if we limit ourselves to strictly non-anthropomorphic explanations of God. Even St. Bernard’s via negativa relies on anthropomorphic language in describing what God is not. On the other hand, if we forget that these things we say about God are necessarily flawed (contaminated with our own humanity, you might say) and indulge in a linguistic free-for-all in our descriptions of God, we will only end up looking quite ridiculous (as Tillich pointed out in his article article for The Christian Scholar entitled, “The Nature of Religious Language”).
Flurry’s explanations of God and his omnipotence cross the line and are simply too anthropomorphic. He takes a literal interpretation of what Scripture says when he says God “didn’t know” this or “couldn’t do” that, failing to keep in mind the different shades and hues language must take on when discussing God. In other words, he has greatly reduced the powerful symbolic meaning of Scripture by viewing it too literally.
Flurry’s exegesis most commonly creates a God which is decidedly not omniscient. There are almost endless examples of this in Malachi’s Message. Twice he mentions something about our actions “revealing” something to God. First he says that “your approach to Bible study helps reveal to God how nobel you are” (10). Later, “the next few months and years are going to be very revealing–to God’s people and to God” (91). It should be impossible to “reveal” anything to God, for something to be “revealed” necessitates prior ignorance While Flurry doesn’t say as much, he is implying that God is ignornant of certain things.
However, Flurry later crosses that line of implication and says specifically that there are things God doesn’t know: He argues that “we’re either going to be God, or we’re going to be nothing. God wants to know who is going to qualify for His Kingdom. That is the whole purpose of our existence” (11). Later still Flurry maintains that there is a “precise point when God will know absolutely which Laodiceans are to be saved and which Laodiceans are to be lost” (46). And lastly, “God wants to know if they love Him and His truth more than a man, a church, or even their own lives (Luke 14.26)” (94). It seems, then, that human existence is little more than a cosmic experiment, with God testing a hypothesis about free-will by creating humans, and clearly Flurry’s God isn’t quite sure of the outcome of this grand experiment.
That being said, the story of Abraham and Issac has startling implications: “God didn’t know until after the test what Abraham would do” (100). Of course the seemingly inescapable conclusion here is that God was ignorant before the temptation. However, before we reach this conclusion, we must first interpret that God said, “Now I know” in a manner identical to how we as humans would say, “Now I know.” Most theologians and philosophers would contend that this is a faulty interpretation, that God didn’t mean “Now I know” in the way that humans mean, “Now I know.” However, that’s what is written in Scripture and Flurry, taking huge liberties, interprets this and other passages literally, resulting in an almost comically unorthodox God.
Obviously these examples constitute a complete denial of God’s omniscience. How does Flurry get around it? He resorts to one of Armstrong’s most un-Biblical and illogical assertions: “God does not yet know . . . because He has chosen not to know” (87). To begin with, there is absolutely no scriptural support for this idea. It is necessary only when we interpret scripture too literally, as Flurry does and Armstrong did before him.
In addition, the contention that God “wills not to know” is logically fragile. To have a will about anything one must have knowledge of it. God would necessarily have to know what he was willing not to know, therefore creating a logical contradiction. (If Flurry were to respond by saying that “God doesn’t ‘know’ in the same way that we know,” then he would be trying to turn my argument against me without applying it to himself. In other words, he would be making my earlier argument for me and render the whole issue a moot point.)
To back up the contention that God “controls what He knows and doesn know”, Flurry might point out that God “forgets” our sins when we are forgiven. However, there is a big difference between ignorance and forgetting. For God not to have known the outcome of Abraham’s temptation requires both a priori and a posteriori ignorance. Forgetting implies a posteriori knowledge which is removed. In other words, to forget means that we know before the act of forgetting, but later lack this knowledge. This is of course quite possible, as I do it myself all the time, and while it’s impossible for us to forget intentionally, I’ll allow that God, in his omnipotence, can do such a thing. There seems to be no logical incongruity there. However, to interpret that God “forgets our sins” as proof that he controls what he knows is ridiculous because it amounts to God forgetting before he knows, which is impossible.
Not only is Flurry’s God not omniscient, but he is also not omnipotent. Toward the end of the book, Flurry declares that “if we faithfully do our part, God’s message won’t be suppressed!” (108). This implies that it could be suppressed, that God would be incapable of overcoming the obstacle of PCG’s failure. He says the same thing a few pages later: “If the Philadelphia members don’t protect God’s truth, it will perish from this planet!” (147). So impotent is Flurry’s God that it is possible for humans to overwhelm him and eradicate his “truth” entirely. It makes one wonder what would God do then? Pack up and say, “Oh well, we tried.”
The last traditional aspect of God to fall in the wake of Flurry’s inept exegesis is beneficence. As pointed out earlier, Flurry’s thesis is that God is separating the true Philadelphian minority from the Laodicean majority by sending a “strong delusion” (2 Thes. 2.10-11) in the form of deceived leadership (11, 91ff). This contemporary prophetic interpretation of 2 Thessalonians has dire implications for God’s beneficence. It means that not only can people lose their salvation by leading a sinful life, but also because God deceives them. In other words, Flurry’s God tricks people into losing salvation. Flurry all but admits this: “God is testing each of us to see what we will do. This is a carefully laid plan to reveal the quality of our character” (134). It sounds more like a carefully laid trap devised by an immature, immoral being than an act of a loving God. Obviously, this “plan” too has obviously dreadful consequences for God’s omniscience, for it also implies that God doesn’t know the quality of our character without toying with us. Additionally, this is not only dreadfully immoral but also a complete contradiction of the Bible: “Let no man say . . . I am tempted of God: for God cannot be tempted with evil, neither tempteth he any man” (James 1.13, KJV).
The God of the PCG also places conditions on his acceptance of humans. There are numerous references to “qualifying” for God’s kingdom (and therefore, escaping the horrible death that awaits humanity in the Great Tribulation). Also, Flurry makes it clear that “God remembers the Philadelphian group because they remembered him” (2) and “God is not going to take his people to a place of safety unless they support those who serve God!” (135). Not only is there no scriptural support given, but this flies in the face of all that Christ did. (It does, however, go a long way in assuring Flurry will have financial support to carry out his self-ordained mission. It is, in other words, another example of using fear to control the general membership. Also, the general lay-members are not the only ones who get this treatment: “Fellow ministers, what is God going to think of us if we fail to act?” (133).)
Since Flurry’s God is limited in knowledge, power, and goodness, it would be well to stay always on his good side. Fortunately, Flurry provides plenty of guidance concerning how to remain in good standing with God: in a word, works. God has provided a set of rules concerning everything from what meat to eat to how to spend your Saturday afternoons (though there are several portions of the Hebrew law that the PCG doesn’t follow, i.e., destroying one’s home if mildew persists or not wearing clothes of two fabrics). Through strict obedience to these laws, we make God happy and he blesses us. If we don’t follow these laws, God gets irritated and curses us.
One way we can get on God’s bad side is not following his earthly leaders. Of course since God sends out strong delusion, we might have trouble discerning who are the true elect leaders, so we must be careful: “We all have the potential to fail horribly” (135) because our “reward depends on recognizing the true representatives of God” (145). Once we find out where the true church is, we must redouble our efforts to hold onto the precious knowledge that God gave us through HWA because “we are judged by what we do with all that knowledge” (49). Ministers too must watch their backs because the “are being judged by what [they] do with God’s flock!” (144)
We are must still be vigilant once we’re in the true church because God “will allow His followers to go astray. Then He usually has to start a new era–or work with those who remain loyal to him” (8). This means that if we go astray, God essentially abandons us.
Also, our salvation is ultimately in our hands–we can mess it up to the point that God is no longer willing (or possibly not able) to help
The observation that PCG/Armstrongian theology is completely works-based is nothing new, but Flurry takes this to a frightening level when discussing the fate of the Laodiceans. After less-than-ample proof that all the Laodiceans are to die in the Tribulation (46), he says, “The Laodiceans have to prove themselves by dying for God” (47). Armstrongian theology has moved from saying that we must not eat pork to prove that we are godly to saying that some of us must die to prove that we are godly. There is really no need to comment on the frightening implications of this except to say that it raises the cult status of PCG to a level nearing Jim Jones/David Koresh intensity in some ways.
There is a practical purpose for this works-based legalism, though: It provides a measuring stick for righteousness. “God loves me . . . so much that he chose me–not you–to be among the first fruits of his coming Kingdom. What? How do I know God loves me? Because unlike you, I follow his laws! I don’t work on the Sabbath. I pay my tithes. I don’t eat pork or other unclean foods.” It gives us added security that we are in good standing with God and a strong sense of superiority over and condescending pity for the deceived masses.
As a final point it’s important to point out that Flurry has even managed to incorporate works into his definition of faith: “Faith is nothing more than acting on God’s word!” (144). Obviously enough this contradicts the Biblical definition in Hebrews 11.1: “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” While it seems impossible, Flurry has forumlated a definition of faith in which works plays a significan roll. It would seem that there doesn’t need to be a link between faith and works for Flurry as there is in other denominations–they are simply pronounced synonymous
In tracing several of the themes in Malachi’s Message, it becomes obvious that the Philadelphia Church of God is far from the Christian orthodoxy and exhibits theological and behavioral symptoms of a cult. Of course this is nothing unexpected as the WCG’s initial motions toward orthodoxy which prompted Flurry to form the PCG. What is surprising is the level this reaches and its pervasiveness. Flurry takes the already-unhealthy ideas of Amstrong and uses WCG’s doctrinal shift to construct a new layer of guilt-producing, works-based, exclussivist theology. It’s probably a good thing that Flurry teaches that the members of the Philadelphia Church of God should wear the “cult badge” with pride–unless there are incredibly drastic (and equally unlikely) changes, the membership will be wearing that label for many years to come.
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.
Like it or not, the question of God’s justice (and therefore, his existence) hinges on the problem of pain.
Imagine that you are creating a fabric of human destiny with the object of making men happy in the end, giving them peace and rest at least. Imagine that you are doing this but it is essential and inevitable to torture to death only one tiny creatures . . . in order to found that edifice on its unavenged tears. Would you consent to be the architect on those conditions?
Those really are the conditions that God, if he is omnipotent, set on himself. And while many argue that Christ avenges those tears, I cannot accept that answer. Like Ivan I cry, “I want it now or not at all.” Damn than higher justice if one innocent must suffer. The only fools who proclaim that none are innocent are those who have never really suffered. No, that is an unfair, uneducated contention, and I take it back. All the same, Christ’s sacrifice seems little compensation. Make innocent suffering alright by more of the same? Can that work?
Have I finally made up my mind that there can be no god whatsoever?
In The Search for Significance by Robert McGee, I read the following passage: “We can do nothing to contribute to Christ’s free gift of salvation . . . We are the sinners, the depraved, the wretched, and the helpless.” Does that sound like a healthy attitude? That type of thinking about oneself is at the very core of codependency. Fighting codependency with Christianity is like throwing grease on a fire. McGee goes on to write, “So then, our worth lies in the fact that Christ’s blood has paid for our sins; therefore, we are reconciled to God. We are accepted on that basis alone” (77). This means that God does not accept humanity for its own sake, but rather accepts humans through Christ. In other words, God wants nothing to do with us unless it’s through Christ. I’m worth a little more than that, though.
I keep wanting to talk to my father about this. I want to tell him that I’m not a Christian and I want to explain why. But it’s the initiation of such a conversation that frightens me. I’m not afraid of his reaction — I don’t think he’s going to do something silly and drastic. Still, I know it will disappoint him to some degree. I’m sure he already realizes it to a point, but for me simply to tell him, I think it would be a bit of a shock. I can only imagine what Mom might do. Of course they’ve both changed with the changes in WCG — perhaps they wouldn’t take it as badly as I might expect.