The end of the world (sleepy musings on religion)
That's an odd subject line even for me. It's not something that I normally think about. When the rest of the US seemed to have lost its collective mind over the Y2K hype...my family prepared by....
Doing absolutely nothing. We had enough faith in the ability of our civilization to propel itself. Besides, we figured that the lines at the supermarkets would be annoyingly long.
The end of the world as I know it...simply doesn't normally compute in my mind.
Normally.
The History Channel (a favorite of mine, along with TLC and Discovery Channel) is running in the background as I'm doing some midnight baking (biscotti--the last batch I made is already gone. Apparently, it was popular with my family). There's an show about Nostradamous and his prophecies. It's something that I normally dismiss as superstition (As a history major, I'm all too aware of our human tendency to interpret things as we want them to be interpreted--look hard enough, and you'll always find the mysteries that you seek even if you have to write most of the code yourself). Yet it brings up some interesting questions...questions that I feel belongs more to theology or cosmology rather than history.
When will this world end? What does it even mean...for the world to end?
4 years ago, I was wavering in my religious conviction, on the brink of making a break from my old church. I wouldn't make the official announcement to my parents (thus, cementing my decision) for another two years...but seeds of my doubt were already striving. My old church taught, among other things, that the end of the world was close at hand. Quite literally--while they had the foresight not to mark the year 2000 as a firm "deadline," they made it clear that my generation would very likely be the last one. As you might guess, that breeds religious fervor like nothing else. Looking back, it's hard for me to remember if I truly believed it. The possibility of it thrilled me, for according to the teachings that I believed a half decade ago, my own Christian faith would save me from the devastation that awaited the rest of the world at the End. Yet it's like the anticipated thrill of going to college--it's something that I believed would happen, yet doesn't feel at all real...or possible. Or perhaps I convinced myself that the End, like college, is an event that I'd be ready for once we "get there."
Four years ago, I thought I knew the answer. As a well-trained evangelical (yes, one of those annoying folks who knock on your door on Sunday mornings), I turned to the bible to find the answer to every theological question (or occasionally, to a "knowledgeable" adult to help me read through the verses). Looking back, it's the equivalent of a first-semester Greek student attempting to write a new translation of the Iliad from scratch--Given an eternal of trial and error, it's technically possible...just not very probable. In the Church's summer camp, we were also given lessons on the end of the world...I vaguely remember (not a good sign--my memory of lectures are rarely vague) listening to a 6-hour lecture about the 7 branches of the candlestick in Revelations. The guy giving the lecture should have been a grad student--trying to explain "God's Economy" (their term, not mine) to a bunch of 10-18 year olds is like me trying to teach my dog philosophy. He's adorable and brilliant for a dog, but simply doesn't work.
I'm getting side-tracked. It's sufficient to say that the answers I thought I knew quickly vanished once I lost faith in my old religion. I was left with this strange sense of unease--everything that I understand tells me that something which exists in this form as I know it--this world--has to have a beginning, and thus it has to have an ending. This brings me to my old question: what existed before the world? If the universe is expanding as the mathematics suggest, then what the hell are we expending into? I read cosmology for fun. I know the raison-bread theory by heart...but one cannot truly picture that theory without picturing the oven...and supposedly, such a medium that our space is expending into doesn't exist. My imagination fails here--I trust the mathematics (like any decently-trained philosophy major, I've learned that mathematics is among the few things that isn't up for quips), but I can't follow it. Science, though fascinating for me, fails to answer the questions that go beyond space and time.
In the old days, before science slowly conquered modern sensibilities, humans turned to religion for answers. There are many nowadays (Russell among them) who would scoff religion as being out-dated, even an obstacle to progress. Though I'm much more comfortable with the solidity of mathematics, or the dependability of the scientific method (though I am more cautious towards trusting specific scientific theories), I don't agree with those who claim that religion or spirituality has no place in our lives. There are question that I think science can never answer...questions that mathematics can never illuminate. There are the questions that philosophy has touched, but for the most part passed over for the lack of "proof." These are the questions that often haunt us late at night, even when our taxes are down, and finals are over. Who are we? Why are we here? What is this world, and why are we part of it? When will this world end--and how?
Though I've made little progress towards the answers, I've asked myself these questions so many times that I'm starting to take the entire process for granted. I ask, and I fall sleep...and I forget why I ask in the first place. Most of the time, it doesn't matter. Knowing the secrets to Life and the Universe won't help me finish the Neiman paper, or return the library books...or figure out how to make the negative sign on my checking account disappear. These "ultimate questions" are pushed aside by everyday life...it's only when the gripping stress of the day releases me, that I find myself asking again.
I'm afraid to turn towards religion for the answers. I feel trapped. I'm too much of the idealist to simply turn away from the question--carry on with everyday existence, and tell myself that finding the answer matters little as long as my current live turns out fine. Philosophy trained me out of that--if anything, it taught me to question. It also taught me that questioning is a double-edged sword, as the most difficult yet pertinent questions have no easy answers--perhaps no answers at all. Yet turning to religion questions an act of faith--an act of trust.
How do you have faith, when that faith has betrayed you before? Freddoso/Aquinas: Faith is conscious decision to believe something that is not evident. Fine words on paper...but how do you apply that to life? How do you go about making such conscious decisions? How do you deal with the voice in your head that constantly questions why you made such a decision in the first place...that reminds you that this decision, like every other decision based on faith, is arbitrary...and if untrue, the rest of it all comes crumbling down...as it has done so for you before?
I don't think it's fear that motivates me in my search. I can't really fear the Christian hell without believing in its existence...and I can't really believe in hell without believing in God--the God as presented in various forms through the bible. I think my motivation is...It's an sense of spiritual loneliness, perhaps. I feel like an exile--I left my old country, but I've yet to find a new one to call my own. In the meantime, though I'm fed and clothed and treated well on my wanderings...I'm still wandering. The wanderlust wore off a long time ago...I'm simply weary of this doubt...weary of questioning without allowing for the faith to accept any answers.
I once insisted on finding my own answers...the Protestant training runs too deeply in me for me to easily accept mysteries and miracles...or beauty that might serve as a distracting mask. Yet the distrust of evangelicalism also leaves its mark--the literal interpretation of the bible, the unyielding insistence on its own absolute righteousness frustrates me. Something has to give--with so much doubt towards everything and everyone (most of all, my own instincts), I can't move beyond these crossroads. Everything ultimately requires faith--and I hoard my faith like the last drop of water in the Sahara.
It's late and I'm exhausted...that's probably why I've resorted to using bad metaphors in place of actual thought. I'm going to bed to sleep on this some more.
Chances are, I'll dream of something entirely irrelevant.
Doing absolutely nothing. We had enough faith in the ability of our civilization to propel itself. Besides, we figured that the lines at the supermarkets would be annoyingly long.
The end of the world as I know it...simply doesn't normally compute in my mind.
Normally.
The History Channel (a favorite of mine, along with TLC and Discovery Channel) is running in the background as I'm doing some midnight baking (biscotti--the last batch I made is already gone. Apparently, it was popular with my family). There's an show about Nostradamous and his prophecies. It's something that I normally dismiss as superstition (As a history major, I'm all too aware of our human tendency to interpret things as we want them to be interpreted--look hard enough, and you'll always find the mysteries that you seek even if you have to write most of the code yourself). Yet it brings up some interesting questions...questions that I feel belongs more to theology or cosmology rather than history.
When will this world end? What does it even mean...for the world to end?
4 years ago, I was wavering in my religious conviction, on the brink of making a break from my old church. I wouldn't make the official announcement to my parents (thus, cementing my decision) for another two years...but seeds of my doubt were already striving. My old church taught, among other things, that the end of the world was close at hand. Quite literally--while they had the foresight not to mark the year 2000 as a firm "deadline," they made it clear that my generation would very likely be the last one. As you might guess, that breeds religious fervor like nothing else. Looking back, it's hard for me to remember if I truly believed it. The possibility of it thrilled me, for according to the teachings that I believed a half decade ago, my own Christian faith would save me from the devastation that awaited the rest of the world at the End. Yet it's like the anticipated thrill of going to college--it's something that I believed would happen, yet doesn't feel at all real...or possible. Or perhaps I convinced myself that the End, like college, is an event that I'd be ready for once we "get there."
Four years ago, I thought I knew the answer. As a well-trained evangelical (yes, one of those annoying folks who knock on your door on Sunday mornings), I turned to the bible to find the answer to every theological question (or occasionally, to a "knowledgeable" adult to help me read through the verses). Looking back, it's the equivalent of a first-semester Greek student attempting to write a new translation of the Iliad from scratch--Given an eternal of trial and error, it's technically possible...just not very probable. In the Church's summer camp, we were also given lessons on the end of the world...I vaguely remember (not a good sign--my memory of lectures are rarely vague) listening to a 6-hour lecture about the 7 branches of the candlestick in Revelations. The guy giving the lecture should have been a grad student--trying to explain "God's Economy" (their term, not mine) to a bunch of 10-18 year olds is like me trying to teach my dog philosophy. He's adorable and brilliant for a dog, but simply doesn't work.
I'm getting side-tracked. It's sufficient to say that the answers I thought I knew quickly vanished once I lost faith in my old religion. I was left with this strange sense of unease--everything that I understand tells me that something which exists in this form as I know it--this world--has to have a beginning, and thus it has to have an ending. This brings me to my old question: what existed before the world? If the universe is expanding as the mathematics suggest, then what the hell are we expending into? I read cosmology for fun. I know the raison-bread theory by heart...but one cannot truly picture that theory without picturing the oven...and supposedly, such a medium that our space is expending into doesn't exist. My imagination fails here--I trust the mathematics (like any decently-trained philosophy major, I've learned that mathematics is among the few things that isn't up for quips), but I can't follow it. Science, though fascinating for me, fails to answer the questions that go beyond space and time.
In the old days, before science slowly conquered modern sensibilities, humans turned to religion for answers. There are many nowadays (Russell among them) who would scoff religion as being out-dated, even an obstacle to progress. Though I'm much more comfortable with the solidity of mathematics, or the dependability of the scientific method (though I am more cautious towards trusting specific scientific theories), I don't agree with those who claim that religion or spirituality has no place in our lives. There are question that I think science can never answer...questions that mathematics can never illuminate. There are the questions that philosophy has touched, but for the most part passed over for the lack of "proof." These are the questions that often haunt us late at night, even when our taxes are down, and finals are over. Who are we? Why are we here? What is this world, and why are we part of it? When will this world end--and how?
Though I've made little progress towards the answers, I've asked myself these questions so many times that I'm starting to take the entire process for granted. I ask, and I fall sleep...and I forget why I ask in the first place. Most of the time, it doesn't matter. Knowing the secrets to Life and the Universe won't help me finish the Neiman paper, or return the library books...or figure out how to make the negative sign on my checking account disappear. These "ultimate questions" are pushed aside by everyday life...it's only when the gripping stress of the day releases me, that I find myself asking again.
I'm afraid to turn towards religion for the answers. I feel trapped. I'm too much of the idealist to simply turn away from the question--carry on with everyday existence, and tell myself that finding the answer matters little as long as my current live turns out fine. Philosophy trained me out of that--if anything, it taught me to question. It also taught me that questioning is a double-edged sword, as the most difficult yet pertinent questions have no easy answers--perhaps no answers at all. Yet turning to religion questions an act of faith--an act of trust.
How do you have faith, when that faith has betrayed you before? Freddoso/Aquinas: Faith is conscious decision to believe something that is not evident. Fine words on paper...but how do you apply that to life? How do you go about making such conscious decisions? How do you deal with the voice in your head that constantly questions why you made such a decision in the first place...that reminds you that this decision, like every other decision based on faith, is arbitrary...and if untrue, the rest of it all comes crumbling down...as it has done so for you before?
I don't think it's fear that motivates me in my search. I can't really fear the Christian hell without believing in its existence...and I can't really believe in hell without believing in God--the God as presented in various forms through the bible. I think my motivation is...It's an sense of spiritual loneliness, perhaps. I feel like an exile--I left my old country, but I've yet to find a new one to call my own. In the meantime, though I'm fed and clothed and treated well on my wanderings...I'm still wandering. The wanderlust wore off a long time ago...I'm simply weary of this doubt...weary of questioning without allowing for the faith to accept any answers.
I once insisted on finding my own answers...the Protestant training runs too deeply in me for me to easily accept mysteries and miracles...or beauty that might serve as a distracting mask. Yet the distrust of evangelicalism also leaves its mark--the literal interpretation of the bible, the unyielding insistence on its own absolute righteousness frustrates me. Something has to give--with so much doubt towards everything and everyone (most of all, my own instincts), I can't move beyond these crossroads. Everything ultimately requires faith--and I hoard my faith like the last drop of water in the Sahara.
It's late and I'm exhausted...that's probably why I've resorted to using bad metaphors in place of actual thought. I'm going to bed to sleep on this some more.
Chances are, I'll dream of something entirely irrelevant.