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It’s pleasure to present this guest post by my good friend Kristian Canler, hopefully the first of many to come.

My early impetus for theological reflection was the question of freewill. In elementary school I considered that perhaps everything I did was a series of causes and effects tracing all the way back to a cause I had no control over and was frightened. Could this place, the mind in which my introverted psyche spent so much of its time and attention, be a mere metastasis without independent form or merit? Yes, it must be. So I selfishly held out hope for God and Heaven. I readily admit my position is no courageous one. It is the Calvinist who throws absolutely all worth and identity directly on God, not an inch remaining. It is I who protect my insular identity so I may have enough time to think for a while longer about God, the Universe, and where my final allegiance lies if I am generous enough to grant it.

I have bared before you my original motive for mounting the ambitious project to equate Calvinism and atheism. But I do myself I disservice: I came on the synthesis by surprise after a long chain of conclusions. People presented me with Calvinism hard and soft, but the latter theories were ambiguous, arbitrary, or eventually collapsed into hard Calvinism. In short I found that if God has a motive to predestine some he must predestine all, otherwise he is creating a superior race with full right to subjugate the elect and damned that posses no freewill and thus no reason (see Aristotle’s defense of slavery), clearly contradicting imago dei. But if God controls our destinies he is also controlling our actions. Those who have received Christ will bear the fruits of conversion while the pitiful ones will remain lost. We have no choice whether to live a good or evil life, and all life on earth acts upon God’s determination. The entire Universe identical to God’s will.

Where do we fallible creatures draw the line between the sovereign God and what God wills? There is none. God is holy from beginning to end and God’s will is just a way we talk about God’s nature in the context of how it relates to the Universe. If the Universe is God’s will and God’s will is the Universe, the Universe is God. This is pantheism equating to atheism by the logic that if God and the Universe are the same thing, and the Universe is real to us and God is only an idea, then it is useless to claim anything supernatural. The most realistic way to speak about the Universe in this scenario does not require God.

My heart has softened and I realized that Calvinism intuitively feels not so much like atheism than its antithesis. What is that? Many have said theism, but that is not enough. Calvinism is as fixed, stone-faced, and absolute as atheism, but on the other end of the conceptual spectrum. The point I overlooked in my original analysis is that the Universe is by no means the entirety of God’s will, though no part of it is not God’s will. The Universe is encompassed entirely within the identity of God, though it is not the entirety of God, what we know as panenthiesm. The most realistic way to speak about God in this scenario does not require mention of the Universe because the concept of God includes the concept of Universe.

If atheism is all Universe and no God, Calvinism is all God and no Universe.

When I consider that Calvinism might not be atheism after all, a passageway opens. I used to only be on one side of the creek, hoping to group all my opponents on the other side far away from me. But now Calvinism and atheism now occupy the right and left banks, and I am plunged cold and uncomfortable in the current in between. And there is a way out.

My faith is greedy. I want to have all the glory of God and all of my own identity so that I may fully appreciate it: all God and all Universe, separate but fully realized. Though they seem in extreme contradiction, I desire both Calvinism and atheism. I want God and I want the Universe, separate but deeply connected entities in a beautiful relationship of love and teleological exchange. It is my faith that this is not a contradiction but a paradox. To ask how I can delight in both a God of Life and a Universe of formless waters is to merely ponder again the holy mystery of God’s creative power. Under the rule of atheism all is chaos. Under the rule of Calvinism all is order. Under the direction of this greedy, age old Christianity, order assembles from chaos, matter emerges from the abyss, and a simple man stands blinking in the sudden daylight of a garden after death on a Roman cross.

It is a pleasure to present a special guest post from my good friend Joan Gass, a rising junior at Yale University. Joan is one of the other Peer Liaisons in the Chaplain’s Office, and she’s spending her summer in Tunisia. She’s documenting her travels on her blog, and I’m very happy to have her permission to reproduce this insightful essay on the crucial role of modern religious artwork. And be sure to check out the version of the post on her blog for another wonderful selection of artworks.

Due to my inability to master simple stick-figure drawings, I have a huge respect for artists. Especially this one. I first encountered this painting in the Vatican Museum in the “Religious Modern Art” section. It’s a little blurry, but the painting is a depiction of the crucifixion, and the man on the right is the a painter, holding a pallet and a paint brush, looking at Jesus. I think it is a beautiful social commentary about the nature of creating art, implying that we project ourselves, our expectations, our bias, our experiences into artwork (and many other things, for that matter). This insight was particularly refreshing after the previous 2 hours I had spent in the Vatican Museum.

Walking through the Vatican Museum, which contained literally miles of art from Ancient Rome to the Renaissance, it was interesting to think about what type of situations and people were missing. In particular, there was a notable lack of people of color. Almost every figure depicted reflected the stereotypical Italian form – fairly light skin, brown hair, (and, if you are looking at the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, a particularly muscular body).

Perhaps, in some sense, this is to be expected. Italian artists used friends and family members around them as inspiration – a fairly ethnically homogenous set of models. In many ways, it reminds me of the blue eyed, nicely combed wavy brown haired and paled skinned Jesus of my childhood. This, however, is far from a historically accurate physical representation of any first century Palestinian nomad, who would have had much darker skin, dark eyes, and most definitely less styled hair.

So clearly art reflects a particular social context in which is created, but I think that also has implications for shaping our worldview and expectations today. It concerns me that this homogenous representation of religious artwork in so many ways seems to reaffirm social hierarchies of class, race, and gender. For some, the artwork in the Vatican contains absolutely no significance. But for others, such as myself, the Vatican Museum represented some of the same problematic depictions of religious artwork throughout childhood and in popular culture.

While I was in the Sistine Chapel, my audio guided tour talked about Michelangelo’s theology, how he viewed the body as a source of hope in creation despite great brokenness (as seen in the tortured bodies of The Last Judgment). This reflects a larger trend in Christianity, to see parts of humanity as redeemable — this is present in everything from the importance of the humanity of Jesus to the common themes of transformation and renewal. But I think it does violence to these ideas when the images that are used to convey this sense of hope and renewal don’t actually reflect the diversity of human life.

After all, to represent excerpts of the life of Jesus and parts of the New Testament in a way that actually reaffirms social inequality in their physical forms seems highly inconsistent with the narrative of a God that breaks through social expectations, gender norms, religious barriers, and constantly challenges systems of domination. I’m not advocating a return to a “historically accurate” portrayal of Jesus. Scholars greatly disagree on the physical depiction of Jesus, which is probably a good thing. I’m advocating that we should embrace diverse depiction of religious figures. What better way to affirm the radical inclusiveness of the gospels?

This is why I fundamentally think modern religious art is so important.

Modern religious art provides a space to break away from expected, and at times outdated, forms of religious imagery – to allow viewers to encounter divinity in their lives and their own communities as they have the chance to see their own reflection in the artwork.

Yet there needs to be more. Chagall merely brings attention to the process of creating religious art. For more boundary-pushing artists, I highly recommend:

Janet McKenzie’s Jesus of the People, winner of the National Catholic Reporter’s competition
Crucifixion by Sandra Yagi
Kittredge Cherry’s book “Art that Dares,” a Lambda Literary Award finalist

Of course, some will consider these images blasphemous. But I think its important to remember that, historically, we have taken plenty of liberty in our traditional religious imagery, which is unquestionably reproduced because it preserves dominant power structures. If Jesus can be blue eyed and white, Jesus can certainly be depicted as black, arab, gay, female etc. And after centuries of exclusion and violence perpetuated by the church through racism, sexism, and homophobia (just to name a few), such art certainly captures the essence of the gospel by affirming the inclusion of those who have been marginalized.

While modern religious art might present new representations of old stories, such representations that break down social expectations, inequality and social injustice should certainly be celebrated, not shunned and condemned, by our religious communities.

These were my musings as I walked through the Vatican. I’d love to hear your thoughts! And below I’ve included some of my additional favorites from the modern art collection in the Vatican Museum.

Follow Joan’s travels and musings at joan-tunisia.blogspot.com.

Creeds fascinate me (I’ve even written my own). Thus, I am pleased to be able to publish a creed written by my good friend and occasional guest author, Joey Fuson.

I believe that God is love.
that Jesus is God’s love incarnate.
that through that love, we are saved.

It is because of that love, that I believe in non-violence,
in turning the other cheek,

that it’s no coincidence that Jesus is known as the other way,
that more can be accomplished by love than hate.

I believe that in order to eradicate violence, we need community;
that together, love can happen.

In order to create community, acceptance is necessary.
Christians must be accepting:
of homosexuals,
of other denominations,
of other religions,
of women,
of men,
of the possibility that we may be wrong.

Finally, community is created through sharing:
share your goods,
share your money,
share your food,
share your love,

Because God is love.

Amen.

I’m pleased to present another (probably controversial) guest article from Joey Fuson, who has previously contributed to the blog here and here. Enjoy, or hate, or ponder. And then respond.

We are all familiar with the tragic heroes of literature. They are typically initially well intentioned men who end up going astray thanks in large part to a tragic flaw (and a bad influence). A typical definition of the “tragic hero” describes a protagonist who has a fall from grace into suffering by means of his tragic flaw.

Judas Iscariot fits this definition. Think about it, Judas was a disciple. That’s typically a pretty good thing to be. He started out as a hero. He was a good man. But, his tragic flaw was greed. And this led him to sell the life of his Lord for 30 pieces of silver. This begins his “fall from grace” and also kills Jesus. However, as with all tragic heroes, he has a realization that he has screwed up, and commits suicide. This is his fall into suffering.

There is also the question of the tragedy part of it. A lot of times, we are taught to feel sorry for the tragic hero, generally because one gets the feeling it’s not always exactly his/her fault. However, this is never the case with Judas. Very few churches would herald Judas as an unlucky fellow. Even Pontius Pilate gets a better rap than Judas.

But consider just how important Judas’s action was. What if he hadn’t turned Jesus over to the authorities? Jesus had done a pretty good job of eluding them prior to this, he probably could’ve done it for longer. Maybe he could’ve grown to be really old, and have converted lots of people, and then just died peacefully, without pain and suffering. If this were the case, I just have one question about it all.

What’s the point?

The Easter holiday is really a pretty major part of the Christian religion for a good reason. Christ rising from the dead is a pretty significant thing to have happened. The resurrection and the ascension are what makes being a Christian different from other religions, at least in beliefs. So that alone points out the importance of Judas’s actions. But even more so than that, it highlights one of Jesus’ key ministries. Forgiveness is what ultimately comes out of this. Forgiveness and sacrifice. Forgiving sinners for their crimes, for those who know not what they do, and those who know exactly what they are doing. Sacrificing all for those less well off than you. And doing so without resistance of any kind. Jesus forgave the thief on the cross next to him on the spot. Jesus forgave those who killed him. And Jesus died for our sins, in the ultimate sacrifice for those who needed it most. These lessons might have lost a major amount of their importance had Jesus not died in such a horrible and tragic manner. So, as much as it pains me to say it, and as much as it will pain some of you to read it, thank you Judas. What you did was both terrible and great.

Don’t ever do it again.

Twice Infinity is pleased to host a battle of words between Matt Shafer and guest author Joey Fuson. The topic: Ignorance versus Knowledge. Which is better? Read on, decide for yourself, and join in the debate by posting comments.

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Joey Fuson: Knowledge Causes Unhappiness

“I know, that when I put this steak in my mouth, the matrix will tell my mind that it is juicy…and it is sweet. And then I tell myself…ignorance in bliss.” -The Matrix

But, just how blissful is ignorance? And does that mean with less ignorance comes less bliss?

In my humble opinion, yes, it does. As time has moved on, with more knowledge has come more suffering, and therefore, less bliss. Lets think back to the beginning of time, if you are a christian. The story of Adam and Eve. Regardless of its truthfulness, the point of the story was that they would not suffer and die until they committed the first sin…eating of the tree of knowledge. The gaining of knowledge, having your eyes widened is what causes your death. However, I’m certain that some of you all are not christians, and therefore don’t necessarily buy this story a proof of my theory. Remember that as more knowledge has been gained, the human life span has increased, more and more. Yet all we have done is cause more suffering. Now that people live longer, they get into old age. And old age, as the saying goes, “isn’t for sissies.” Old people are cranky and are often in constant pain of some kind. While we have made some progress for diseases, most of the most painful and deadly ones, all we have learned is that we cannot cure them. God is eternally punishing humans for the quest for knowledge, if you choose to look at it that way. Consider also Plato’s allegory of the cave. For those who are not in the philosophy inner circle, the allegory of the cave can be basically summed up as: Guy is chained from birth, so that he cannot move at all. There is a great fire behind him, that he perceives as the sun. There are shadows cast on the walls by people walking along the side of the cave, and he hears their voices. He assumes that those are people, and the people look like shadows, including he himself, as he has never seen himself since he cannot move. Now, the important part is this. The man is complacent as long as he knows no better. However, if you were to take him out of the cave, the real sun would blind him. He would struggle to adapt, but, would also hate to be returned to the cave. As he gained knowledge of his predicament, he lost his bliss. He will never be the same. It is similar to when there are some things you just shouldn’t tell people. Like, when someone lies to your friend to prevent their feelings being hurt. They are happy, and nothing will come of the lie, unless you see fit to inform them of the lie, which then ruins their ignorance, gives them knowledge, which removes the bliss and replaces it with suffering.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I don’t think the gaining of knowledge is going to be the doom of society, and we should all quit school or anything. This is just something to consider.

Perhaps there was a very good reason Cipher wanted to be re-inserted into the matrix, with no memory of the outer world whatsoever.

Matt Shafer: Knowledge Is Valuable even when Painful

“What about [after he has seen what really exists,] when he reminds himself of [the cave], his fellow prisoners, and what passed for wisdom there? Don’t you think that he’d count himself happy for the change and pity the others?” -Plato, The Allegory of the Cave, The Republic

The value of truth and of knowledge is inestimable. Christ himself affirms this, declaring knowledge of truth a liberating force that frees those who have it: “And you shall know the truth, the truth shall set you free” (John 8.32).

Even so, there is no guarantee, within Christianity or outside of it, that truth leads to immediate happiness. Even in Plato’s Allegory of the Cave, the freed man is blinded and fearful of the true light with which he is presented. Though he may eventually be ‘happy,’ the transition is painful. This only goes to show that pain is essential to growth within the human condition, not that growth is bad because it is painful.

Happiness is overrated. Immediate happiness, at any rate, is certainly overrated. The trifold distinction between happiness, joy, and contentment is one that is lost in modern society; but the latter two are far more valuable than the former, and are possible (and indeed common) without it.

Knowledge can lead to unpopularity, to pain, to sadness. But ultimately, it leads to truth. There is worthin truth that goes beyond how it makes us feel, and it is a goal to be sought after even when the journey is difficult.

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