That was about a year ago, and in the several sporadic posts I've written since then, my writing has progressively evolved from fiercely detailed and passionate arguments to more conversational autobiography. And now, a year later, the blog has finally become that for which it was named – a pro vita sua. I feel like this is where it really starts. Everything I've written before is prequel, something for me to look back on and chuckle at nostalgically (or perhaps with embarrassment). So now here I am, sitting down in my pj's with a mug of hot cocoa at 2 in the morning to write about my spiritual life, which the entire internet totally cares about, dangit!
I feel much more subdued at this point. Tame, almost. I think most Catholics and Protestants would find that worrisome – I'm pretty sure Christianity isn't supposed to be “tame.” (Although wouldn't “peace love and hope” seem to be more on the subdued side of the virtues, after all?) I certainly didn't start out that way – expecting fierce opposition to my conversion, I preempted with some fiercely defensive arguments. I guess opposition didn't come from as many places as I expected, or persist as much as I thought it would, so I eventually relaxed a little. I still had my reasons and arguments on reserve, but they were called on less and less.
But lately I seem to have run out of steam altogether. What was I trying to prove anyway? Was I really trying to defend a matter of faith with logical argument? I started my journey to Catholicism by asking why the Bible had to be read in a certain way. Conservative Protestants claim that the Bible has to be read in a very traditional, theological way, with an eye to doctrines and moral teachings. They claim this. Why? Catholicism gave me a satisfactory answer to that question... or did it? It solved the authority issue by claiming a direct line to Christ. By claiming this. Why should I believe their claim? At the time, I was so eager to hold onto my religious convictions that I was convinced by the simple fact that it was a more believable claim than any offered by Protestantism. At least the Catholic Church claimed a direct line to Christ.
But of course, that only pushes the question back farther. Protestants say, “The Bible is true because it just is.” Catholics say, “The Bible is true because we say so, and we can say that because Jesus told us we could.” Of course, I don't exactly get to check back with Jesus to verify their claim. I mean really, if you're going to provide me with some references, I'd appreciate it if you'd at least give me their freaking contact information!
So what's the point in arguing? We're all just accepting things on faith anyway. Of course, it becomes a little harder for me to accept something on faith when realize that there's absolutely nothing I can ultimately say in its defense. Can I really say I believe this? Why? What is the point of believing it? Because it'll make my life better? Will it, really? Not necessarily. Because of eternal consequences? Well possibly, if it's true, but that's the very thing I'm questioning. Well, better safe than sorry right? I guess, but what if it turns out that actually Islam was true? Whoops, I accidentally had faith in the wrong thing and now I'm screwed. “Well you don't have to worry about that because Islam isn't true.” Really? How do I know that? If I believe in one, it's by faith, if I believe in the other, it's by faith; if it's ultimately faith in both cases, how can I know which one to have faith in? If I can't know which one to have faith in, or even whether I should have faith in anything at all, what's the point in having faith? Isn't it just so much ado about nothing?
The oddest thing is, despite having all these doubts, I never really felt the least bit perturbed about it. Just the opposite, actually. I just stopped worrying myself about it. I stopped thinking I had to be so dogmatic about, well, anything. I didn't sink into depression or lose my sense of purpose. I was (and am) feeling quite mellow. Only slightly less odd is that I don't think I ever really committed to agnosticism... I don't know if I can say I lost my faith. But if I didn't lose my faith, what do I have faith in? That's what's been bugging me. I feel I believe in something. That it isn't all a sham. That there's something, I know not what, to it. What am I to make of this?
Do humans just have a natural tendency to believe in something supernatural? Not necessarily a true thing, but something that gives them a sense of purpose? If so, maybe I should just have faith because it's a natural human response, necessary for the best kind of human life. I think I've heard something like that argument before. But that doesn't really work – if I act like I believe something just because I'm wired to, when I know that my belief is probably actually false, that's not real faith. That's just lying to myself. If I'm going to have faith, I have to actually believe in the truth of whatever I have faith in. But why should I? Now this is a real pickle! If I give a reason why I believe it, it's not really faith; if I pretend to believe it without reason, it's not really faith. No matter what angle I try to take, I end up compromising faith. And just naively accepting faith isn't really an option at this point. I can't just make myself believe something, especially once I've started questioning it like this. But I feel that I do believe something. What is it?
It's something. I know not what. That's the answer. It's mysterious... it's a mystery. I reached that point in my thought the other night, and once again I threw up my hands. Another dead end. Then I had an epiphany... I know that word! That's a theological word! A Mystery. Something that is revealed. That's what I have faith in. And I think that's what I've been getting wrong. I've been confusing the revelation with that which is revealed; the Mystery. That is the realm of faith... of course Mystery has nothing to do with knowledge, it's unknowable. That's why it requires faith.
Okay, that looks really obscure... what does it mean? Well, a mystery is something that's unknown, right? It's something you don't know. And it's revealed through revelation – which is, of course, something like the Bible. The Bible reveals to us things that are unknowable and unexplainable. Like what? Well, maybe things like this: “Jesus is fully God and fully Man.” Don't know how that's possible. Can't explain it. It's a Mystery, right? Actually, not quite. A Mystery is not just unknown-at-some-point-before-it-is-revealed, it is unknown period. It's unknowable. I can know that Jesus is God and Man. What I can't know is how Jesus is God and Man. The Mystery lies in the paradox. And that's what I have faith in – not in the bare fact that Jesus is God and Man, but in the Mystery of how he is. As it turns out, I can't put the Mystery itself into words, because it's mysterious; it's ineffable. It remains obscure even in its revealing. The words, “Jesus is God and Man”, are like an “x marks the spot.” I can't put the Mystery into words, but I can point you to it – there, where the two lines meet, where “Jesus is God” and “Jesus is Man” intersect, right at the paradox, that's where the Mystery is. If you meditate on those words, understand their meaning, and immerse yourself in the paradox, then you will experience the Mystery... call it a “Mystical experience.” And that's why I have faith. I have faith in the Mystery, because I've experienced it first-hand.
I guess my point is that the words “Jesus is Man and Jesus is God” are not the point of the words “Jesus is Man and Jesus is God.” The point is precisely that which cannot be put into words, which the words point out to us through the use of paradox. So what does all this mean? Maybe it means that all this arguing, all this debate over words and doctrines and interpretations, just misses the point of the words and doctrines. Maybe the point is not really the sort of thing that can be argued about. How can you argue about a Mystery? How can you have a debate without words?
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| LOUD NOISES! |
Heck, I dunno.
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