I find that American "Atheism" is similar to an overzealous and essentially pointless Crusade. For one, it is preaching its absolutism in its reasoning against the existence of God. Another is its highly fanatical closed beliefs; for example, its attitude towards religion being the bane of human progress.
As this anti-religion "Atheist" movement has great roots in Christianity (if I am wrong in this regard already, ignore the rest of the paragraph), I would like to ask the theologian in residence (1) as to how wrong I was in the previous paragraph (better to ask a question and look the fool than to never ask and stay a fool forever
)
You're pretty spot-on in the first paragraph. However, beware of tarring them all with the same brush. The high-profile anti-religion crusading atheists we hear so much of right at the moment - and we all know who we're talking about here - are not representative of atheists in general, just as insane right-wing fundamentalist American Christians are not representative of Christians in general. They are in fact just as ignorant and irrational, with the added quality of thinking they are the reverse. There's nothing worse than an idiot who thinks he's a genius, as perhaps we can sometimes see on this very forum.
(2) what is the history of the line of thought that led to the widely common held definition of "Atheist" as "being opposed to religious practices and beliefs?" Unless, of course, my own held belief that "atheist" simply means "godless" is wrong, of course, but language evolves and it might be changing for the meaning of the word "atheism" in this day and age.
I have to say that I have never heard "atheist" defined as "being opposed to religious practices and beliefs". I think such a definition would be extremely misleading. But I can see how people would think it appropriate.
The word "atheist" was first commonly used in early modern times to mean someone who leads an extremely immoral life. It had no connotations of belief or lack thereof. The archetypal "atheist" was the famous John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester (1647-80), the same chap who wrote those incredibly rude poems (can't give you a link to any here, because it would be against forum rules to link to sites full of such naughtiness, but they are well worth Googling for). Rochester led a very profligate life and wrote about it at length, and for this he was known as an "atheist", but there was never any indication that he didn't believe in God.
By the middle of the eighteenth century, the word had come to mean someone who does not believe in God. It still had connotations of immorality. This is why people could not understand how David Hume, a notorious atheist, appeared to lead an extremely moral life. The word was still changing meaning. Perhaps ironically, the word "atheist" during this period had similar overtones to "Christian" in the second century AD: a subversive character with dangerously innovative beliefs, who probably engaged in extremely debauched behaviour, and might undermine society as we know it. In fact, in some quarters "atheist" might have similar overtones to "terrorist" today. At the same time, however, it was fashionable in some circles. There's a story of David Hume at a party with Baron d'Holbach and other notable philosophers in Paris. Hume commented that he'd never met a real atheist, to which d'Holbach replied that of the eighteen people at the party, fifteen were atheists, and the other three hadn't made up their minds. D'Holbach himself was of course a vociferous atheist at a time when it was still not wise to declare oneself as such (Hume never did, and there is still controversy over whether he was actually an atheist or just a deist).
So the word "atheist" came to mean someone who does not believe in God. Now today it retains that meaning, but it can also mean someone who believes that there is no God. Clearly the two are not quite the same thing: someone could not believe in God, while also not being certain that there is no God. Such a person would be an atheist in the first sense but not in the second. In the nineteenth century, Thomas Huxley coined the word "agnostic" to mean someone who hasn't made up their mind. "Agnostic" literally means "not knowing". But this again is ambiguous. It might mean someone who
believes in God, but doesn't think that they
know God exists. Or it could mean someone who doesn't believe either way.
So we have two words, both with a complex array of overlapping meanings. Antony Flew used the word "atheism" in his famous paper
The Presumption of Atheism to mean a position of neither theism nor atheism. He rather disingenuously claims that "atheist" is a better word for this than "agnostic" because, in his view, an "agnostic" is someone who hasn't considered the matter at all. Unfortunately it seems that, at the popular level, everyone misunderstands Flew's argument because of his odd terminology, and thinks he is arguing that the default position should be atheism in the sense of belief in no God, and that the burden of proof is wholly upon the theist. Which would be a ridiculous position (although that doesn't stop certain fundamentalist atheists from insisting upon it). I think that it's best to use "athiest" to mean someone who believes that there is no God - that is, someone who thinks that theism is factually false. And an "agnostic" is someone who has no belief either way, although they may be inclined one way or the other.
As for why "atheism" has become associated with the rejection of religion: Alexis Khomiakov once said that all westerners are crypto-Catholics, meaning that even those who reject Catholicism still define their religious position in relation to it. Thus, a Protestant is a not-Catholic. His point, of course, was that the Orthodox avoid the whole issue and have their own tradition. I think that, in a sense, all westerners are crypto-theists. Even when they reject theism, they still define their religious or spiritual beliefs in relation to theism. To most westerners, "religion" means "belief in God", and "belief in God" means "religion". And an "atheist" must, be definition, be "not religious". The reason for that is that the west has been dominated for so long by the three Abrahamic religions, all of which revolve around monotheism.
But in Asia, of course, most religions are not monotheist - more, they don't really have a concept of "God" which relates to the western concept at all. Hinduism doesn't have one - the closest it comes is monism, which is not the same thing as theism at all. The same is true of Buddhism. And as is well known, Therevada Buddhism is broadly atheist, in the sense of not having much concept of "God" at all. I have a good friend who is a Buddhist monk, and he is an atheist.
So the equation of "atheism" with "anti-religion" has, in my view, come about because of the close relationship between theism and religion in the west. A more balanced view of things, however, will show that such an equation is completely wrong. Neither theism nor atheism is to be identified with religion or its lack (you can be a theist, but not religious, just as you can be an atheist, but religious). This is because a religion is a complex social phenomenon, which includes not simply doctrine but also liturgy, ethics, social gatherings, language, costume, politics, and all sorts of things like that. In fact for some religions, such as Judaism, doctrine isn't very important at all. And where doctrine is important, it doesn't necessarily include any reference at all - positive or negative - to God.
It seems there's a position for every interpretation. Trinity could be both multiple and singular deity, eternal or chronologically constructed; hell can exist or not; Jesus as God or not or something in-between; God can both make and not make unliftable rocks. Somewhat frustrating, as one would wish there to be a final conclusion to these things, but I guess philosophy/theology tends toward unclear answers and multiple possibilities. I suppose it would require some sort of grand unification of logic to settle all of this, which is apparently far off. I eagerly await the day when philosophy/theology and science are synonymous, but get the feeling that it will be after my time.
I don't think there's a single doctrine which all Christians have believed. That even goes for things that you might think fundamental, such as the Trinity, the divinity of Christ, or the existence of God himself. In the fifth century, Vincent of Lérins famously defined "orthodoxy" as "what has been believed everywhere, always, and by all". But if we apply that strictly, orthodoxy doesn't exist. Where I use it here, I mean it in the sense of what has been officially defined by the church. Of course, every time the church has officially defined a doctrine, it has done so because some people didn't believe it, and they wanted to make it clear what was acceptable and what wasn't. In other words, the definition of orthodoxy is generally applied retrospectively and in an ad hoc way.
By the way, did Mr. Justin Martyr meet a rather unhappy death, which is to say is there any connection with his name and the word "martyr" or is it just a coincidence?
Yes, he had his head cut off in AD 165 for being a Christian. He came to be called "Martyr" as a sort of surname as a result. I'm not sure why, as there are many other martyrs, but only Justin and Peter Martyr (a thirteenth-century Dominican preacher who was murdered by the Cathars) are commonly called "Martyr" as if a surname. (There's also a sixteenth-century theologian called Peter Martyr, but that really was his name - presumably he was named after the thirteenth-century saint.) The word "martyr" comes from the Greek for "witness".
I would say that the idea that the Holy Spirit and Jesus are somewhat psychological aspects of God made manifest makes a bit more sense than what I was taught in school (Catholic), which was basically nothing. I find that a fairly satisfactory answer, even if it is contested and unsure, not to mention the fact it would fit with the idea of man in God's image.
Is it necessary that a split of God into two or more equal parts would be two Gods, or just one God with a multiple-personality disorder, so to speak? I guess the fundamental question is whether splitting something at the level of experiential existence is a split at the most fundamental level or not, which is what I was implying by that question (which was not necessarily related to the Trinity question). To give an example: could a man simultaneously inhabit two minds without being consciously aware of both, but existing in both simultaneously? I hope it is obvious where I am going with this, but if it is not, then I am hoping to answer the question of whether or not God could ultimately be everyone, as the aspect of souls also confuses me.
I don't see any reason why the same person couldn't exist in two minds without knowing of both, at least if it weren't simultaneous. For example, I can imagine someone who, every night, dreams of a completely different life, in which he has no memory of his waking life, and when awake, he has no memory of his dreaming life. And I can imagine that the dream life is actually real. So there's a case of someone leading two lives without realising it - it's
conceptually possible even if it could never really happen. I don't think it would make sense to imagine that the two lives could run concurrently, though. Can you be in two places at once and not be aware of it? I think that would make you two people.
But this largely depends on your definition of "person". John Locke argued that to be the same person you must have memories in common. So I am the same person that I was yesterday because I remember being me yesterday. If all my memories had been wiped, I might be the same body and soul, but I would be a different person. So Locke would think that the person in my scenario, with one life awake and another asleep, is actually two different people sharing the same body and soul.
Getting back to the Trinity, there's another important development in that doctrine which may interest you, which I didn't mention before. This is the shift from an "economic" Trinity to an "immanent" one. The earlier theologians I mentioned generally thought of the Trinity (or whatever) only in relation to God's actions upon the world. So Justin imagined the Father generating the Logos
for the purpose of creation. And Tertullian imagined the procession of the Holy Spirit
for the purpose of the sanctification of the faithful. They weren't much interested in what God is like in himself: they were interested in how God appears, in his acts upon the world. This is known as an "economic" doctrine, in the technical theological sense of "economy", which refers to the history of God's actions upon the world. "Economy", in Greek, literally means "house law". However, by the time of the Cappadocians and Augustine, the emphasis had gradually shifted to what God is like in himself. So when Augustine wrote his immense
On the Trinity, he was interested in our experience of God and what this tells us about the Trinity, but he was also clear that that was not solely what he was talking about: he was interested in our experience because he thought it could tell us something about what God is really like. The notion that God is eternally triune perhaps inevitably leads to the supposition that he is triune not simply in the way he appears to us but in his very nature. So this approach is called "immanent", because it conceives of the triunity as fundamental to God's nature.
It may be helpful to mention, too, that the orthodox doctrine of the Trinity precludes any notion that God is "split" or "divided", or that he has parts. The idea is that there are three divine Persons, really distinct from each other, all fully divine. But they are not different substances: they share numerically the same nature and essence, and that essence is neither multiplied nor divided. The three Persons are thus one single God. Historically, Catholic and Protestant theologians have tended to emphasise the unity, and Orthodox theologians have tended to emphasise the diversity, in the Trinity. Whether it is possible to emphasise both equally, and explain the Trinity in a rational and logical way without falling into one of the many possible heresies, is a moot question. My old tutor was of the opinion that Gregory of Nyssa - and
only Gregory of Nyssa - had managed it successfully.
Which brings me to another related question, what are "souls" considered in this? Are they divine, and if so how do they fit into the Trinity? If not, what sort of hierarchical system with the Trinity.
No, from an orthodox point of view, souls are not divine, although they are the "highest" part of the human being, and the part that is made in God's image and likeness. The early Christians typically believed in a three-fold division of the human person (body, soul, and spirit). And some gnostics thought that the spirit is actually a sort of fragment of the divine, trapped in the body. Some of them believed that only a lucky few (ie, themselves) had this divine spark at all, and most people were condemned to a spiritless existence for ever.
Now Aristotle, in the tenth book of the
Nicomachean Ethics, argued that the rational part of the soul is the part of the human being that is closest to God, and he urged his readers to lead a life of contemplative reason, since that would exercise the part of themselves that is most divine. This was rather influential on many Christian traditions. For example, Origen believed that God is literally a mind, although a much more immense one than any human mind. It follows from this that the human mind is basically similar in nature to God, so although not exactly divine, it's sort of divinish. And a life of spiritual progression is one where the mind is cultivated and grows: spiritual advancement is thus intellectual advancement (which Origen believed would revolve around advanced study of the Bible). Later Origenists took this idea further. Evagrius Ponticus, a fourth-century spiritual writer who lived in the Egyptian desert, claimed that spiritual progression would involve stripping away all non-mental functions from the body and soul. That is, one must cultivate the mind only, and actually eradicate everything in the soul that is not
mental. That means emotions, so the mystic seeks to enter an entirely emotionless state (
apatheia). Only when this perfectly tranquil state has been achieved can the mind really function well, unimpeded by base passion, and begin to see God. This view also owed a lot to Plato, who once described the emotions as "encrusting" the mind like barnacles, and also to the Stoics, who also believed that
apatheia was a desirable state.
This Origenist emphasis on the mind came to be condemned, however. Jerome spent a lot of time arguing against it and the excessive Origenism of Evagrius Ponticus was condemned at the second council of Constantinople in 553. This was when the systematic destruction of Origen's books began, too, which is why almost all of them are now lost, and Origen is nowhere near as well known as he deserves to be. Interestingly, the Persian church never accepted the condemnation of Evagrius (it rejected the council of 553, which also condemned the works of certain other theologians who were greatly revered in Persia), and Evagrius remained extremely influential there for centuries. This is interesting because the Persian church was otherwise not much influenced by the Origenist tradition - in fact it was much more firmly rooted in the very different Antiochene and semitic traditions, which normally rejected all that Platonic intellectualism and emphasised the importance of the
whole person, body and soul. For example, the spiritual writer Pseudo-Macarius, who lived in around 500, talked not of the soul but of the "heart", which represents the whole person conceived spiritually. For him, spiritual progession isn't about closing your eyes to the physical and ascending to God - it's about finding God within yourself, heart and soul, mind and emotions too:
Pseudo-Macarius said:
The heart itself is but a small vessel, yet there also are dragons and there are lions; there are poisonous beasts and all the treasures of evil. And there are rough and uneven roads; there are precipices. But there is also God, also the angels, the life and the kingdom, the light and the Apostles, the treasures of grace - there are all things.
I'm not sure if that historical excursus tells you anything interesting, but there you go! Of course, many Christians don't believe in the soul at all, if by "soul" you mean some kind of immaterial substance which whiffles off somewhere when you die. Many of the Protestant reformers rejected the notion, claiming (correctly) that it was an import from Greek philosophy which didn't have much to do with the Bible. Most modern theologians would also reject the idea as very implausible, given the findings of modern cognitive science and philosophy of mind. Certainly most contemporary philosophers of mind would have little time for the notion of "soul", although it's not quite as unfashionable as you might think right at the moment.
I will say that your post was very useful and enlightening. At the very least I have come to realize that many "modern" understandings of Christianity are actually born from long debates and are not to be considered "natural" understandings of the tradition, but rather as a product of a long historical process which has not necessarily reached a perfectly logical conclusion, if that makes sense.
That's exactly right. I think that in most cases, where the church has had to decide one way or the other, it's usually made a fairly sensible choice. But the Christian faith didn't appear from heaven on tablets of stone - it's been basically cobbled together on the hoof, as it were, mostly by people trying to address immediate concerns rather than leave definitive statements for the ages. Gibbon put it rather nicely:
Edward Gibbon said:
The theologian may indulge the pleasing task of describing Religion as she descended from Heaven, arrayed in her native purity. A more melancholy duty is imposed on the historian. He must discover the inevitable mixture of error and corruption which she contracted in a long residence upon Earth, among a weak and degenerate race of beings.
The point, of course, is that Religion never did descend in such a way. Today, the theologian's task is that of the historian.
I suppose that a rather large amount of my interest is in the pagan and pre-Christian beliefs, if not for the purpose of historical understanding of the Classical period and alternatives to rationalist arguments (perhaps an acceptance of the inability of man to understand and the failures of logic to comprehend the fundamental questions of existence). The dichotomy of the conceptual and experiential/sensual is probably my most pressing interest in the philosophical fields, as I am trying to understand the limits and progressive elements of both and their mutual relationship. I am also simply interested in understanding the subtext of the Greek and Roman religions and how they reflect on the ideologies of the people of the time.
That explanation of my position having been given, I'm interested in any path that the pagans you mentioned have towards "enlightenment" or "heaven", assuming they even have such a concept. Perhaps I'm mixing East with West here (quite probable), as I'm not wholly aware of their ideology(ies), assuming there even is a general consensus. Still, I find the idea interesting that perhaps rational dialogue is fundamentally limited, and something deeper is required for further progression or understanding. Maybe I am reading your answer on paganism wrong, though?
I guess what I'm asking for in these last couple of paragraphs is a fuller explanation of the pagan beliefs you mentioned, as well as any sources for a proper interpretation of the Greek and Roman religions (my university course was direly lacking in any such respect). My real interest in these is the progression from "primitive" belief systems (for lack of a better term) into the current systems, and hope to gain from this at least a little perspective on modernity.
That's all extremely interesting stuff and I wish I had the time - and the knowledge - to answer it properly. I'll try and write a fuller answer at some point. In the meantime, though, I'd say it's important to distinguish between different kinds of paganism. This is so even within the context of Greek and Roman paganism in late antiquity. On the one hand there was "popular" religion, which might consist of little more than making the occasional sacrifice to Caesar's genius (to avoid being executed) and obeisances to household shrines. But on the other hand there was "philosophical" religion, which would typically downplay the members of the traditional pantheon and tend more towards something like monotheism. The philosophical schools of antiquity were, in important respects, like religions: they had set doctrines, they were concerned with morality, happiness, and eternal life, and they didn't like each other. There was a lot of overlap between religion and philosophy, at least at one level. So by the first or second centuries AD, we find that the Platonists, for example, were spending far more time talking about God and how to find him than Plato himself ever had. The Forms, which for Plato had been primarily epistemological entities used to explain how universal terms refer, had become the objects of mystical veneration. Where Plato had been happy to suppose that even mud has an eternal Form, the Middle Platonists (as these later thinkers are now known) rejected the idea vehemently. And in the third century Middle Platonism turned into Neoplatonism, which was basically the same thing but even more mystical.
The most famous figure in all this is of course Plotinus (the original, I mean...). His thought was very complex and hard to understand (he had appalling handwriting and poor eyesight, so he could never read back what he had written and correct it, which explains a lot). You can read his
Enneads here. You may be particularly interested in Ennead IV.8, where he describes the mystical experience:
Plotinus said:
Many times it has happened: Lifted out of the body into myself; becoming external to all other things and self-encentered; beholding a marvellous beauty; then, more than ever, assured of community with the loftiest order; enacting the noblest life, acquiring identity with the divine; stationing within It by having attained that activity; poised above whatsoever within the Intellectual is less than the Supreme: yet, there comes the moment of descent from intellection to reasoning, and after that sojourn in the divine, I ask myself how it happens that I can now be descending, and how did the soul ever enter into my body, the soul which, even within the body, is the high thing it has shown itself to be.
Plotinus is extremely hard to read and understand, so I won't try to explain him here. Basically, he distinguishes between three levels of existence, which roughly correspond to body, soul, and mind. Just as a human being has a body, and a soul, and an intellectual part of that soul (this is the Platonic theory), so too the world has a body (the physical world we see), and a soul that governs it, and a divine Mind that directs that world soul. The soul is actually more real than the body, and the Mind is the most real thing of all. Philosophical and spiritual contemplation consists of turning inward, closing the eyes to the physical distractions around us, and ascending to the level of Mind. But beyond this there is a higher level still, one which defies all logic and reason - the One itself, the ultimate source of the divine Mind, which is itself the source of the Soul, which itself is the source of the body. Like the body, Soul and Mind are pluriform and varied: the Mind, for example, contains all the Forms, by which the Soul orders the body. But the One is a perfect unity, beyond all dichotomy, beyond good and evil.
All of this was very influential on later Christian theologians, especially the Cappadocians and Augustine, and later on Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite. Like all sensible theologians they were very open to good ideas from any sources, even a pagan like Plotinus who disliked Christians (and even his disciple, Porphyry, who really hated Christians).
If you're interested in Plotinus, the best book I know of for explaining his ideas is
Plotinus: an introduction to the Enneads by Dominic O'Meara (Oxford: Oxford University Press 1993). There's another introduction by John Rist, which is older, but not as good or as readable, in my opinion.
One last question about Origen's understanding of the purpose of the physical world and reincarnation: would, at the end of its journey, the soul end up occupying the "Jesus" of that world, which is to say would the path to divinity and unity with God be that physical life which is the unification of God and man, the ultimate achievement of the physical world? It seems to make logical sense to me, as I have thought so for some time, assuming reincarnation and Christianity.
Origen believed that Christ's soul was the one soul which never fell from God in that primordial catastrophe. This is why Christ is both God and man: his soul remained perfectly united to God, just like iron that is plunged into fire and becomes red-hot: there is no real distinction between iron and fire any more. This was particuarly notable since when Origen was writing most theologians didn't have much of a sense of Christ having a human soul at all (it was only in the fifth century that the church declared that Christ definitely did have a human soul, since otherwise he wouldn't be properly human). Now ultimately, Origen did suppose that all souls would attain this same state of perfect union with God. But I don't think he imagined that such a state would ever be achieved in this life (or in any physical life). This is one reason why Origen was later regarded as heretical: he seems to have downplayed the notion of a
physical (and permanent) resurrection. In fact such an idea doesn't really fit in with his cyclical view of history at all. But it's not certain exactly what Origen really said on this subject: the surviving texts that deal with it are in too poor a condition.
Now interestingly, some later Origenists do seem to have taken the view you suggest. They were known as the "isochristes" because they thought that they would eventually become (or perhaps were already, now?) "like Christ". These were the post-Evagrius extreme Origenists who were condemned in 553. Of course, those who condemned them were not very clear on the difference between their views and those of the long-dead Origen himself, which is why Origen then came under deep suspicion and his works were mostly destroyed, as already noted. He was never officially condemned himself, though.