Plead Your Case Before the Mountains, Or Micah's Command to "Mishpat," "Hesed," and "Halak"

God my parent, say more than I can say with these words.
Jesus, hear more in these words than any of us can hear in them.
Holy Spirit, do with these words more than we can ever dream of doing.
Bless us through your words that we might bless others with your actions through them.
In your name I pray, amen.

Micah 6:1-8
as translated by Trevar
Listen (shema) to that which Yhwh is saying.
Arise! Plead your case before the mountains / and let the hills listen (shema) to your voice.
Listen (shema), O mountains, to the legal case of Yhwh, / O the permanent foundations of earth,
because Yhwh has a legal case concerning [God's] people / because with Israel [God] will argue. (1)
"My people, what have I done to you? / And what? have I wearied you all? Answer to me.
For I caused you all to go up from the land of Egypt / and from the house of servants I ransomed you
And I sent before you Moses, / Aaron, and Miriam.
My people, remember what Balak advised the king of Moab / and what Balaam son of Beor answered to him,
from Shittim to Gilgal / for the sake of knowledge of Yhwh's righteousness."

By what means will I approach Yhwh? / [By what means] will I be bowed before the high God?
Shall I approach him with burnt offerings (2)? / With year-old calves?
Will Yhwh be pleased with a thousand rams? / With a multitude (3) of rivers of oil?
Will I give my first born [for] my transgression? / [the] fruit of my body [for] the sin of my life? (4)

[God] will declare to you, O mortal, what is good: / And what does Yhwh seeks from you,
but to do justice (mishpat) / and to love kindness (chesed), / and to walk humbly with your God? (5)

(1) Or: "and [God] will adjudicate among Israel." The verb, normally in the hiphil, means decide, adjudge, or prove. Here, it is in the Hithpael, giving it a back-and-forth connotation.
(2) The Hebrew for "burnt offerings" is a homonym for "injustices."
(3) Literally, "tens of thousands."
(4) Without the added "for" in English, this verse could suggest the people wondering if their sins will go unforgiven and, as a result, their progeny will inherit their sins and the punishment for those sins.
(5) "Kindness" can be translated as "loving-kindness" or "mercy." "Walk" can be translated as "live."

In order to approach Micah 6, we need to understand a little about the first five chapters. The author speaks to a culture not too unlike ours, describing sins that fit into two categories. The first are religious sins, sins against God. The people are worshipping idols and focusing on religious places outside of the Jerusalem temple. And even when they are faithful to the religion God gave them, they become too proud in their interpretations of it, having more fidelity in the letters of their laws than in the God behind them.

The other type of sins are social sins, those committed against neighbors. People are seizing property, which is an especially heinous sin in Israel. Israelites don't just have land, they inherit it as a gift from God. When someone takes the field of an Israelite, they have taken away a God-given right. Micah also paints the people as hungry for money, power, and luxury. It seems the rich enjoy their fancy lives by exploiting the poor. Instead of religious and political leaders doing their work for their God and their neighbors, they do it for their own gain.

With these sins in mind, the author creates a courtroom metaphor in chapter 6. By doing so, all the previously named sins are in mind. The people know they have done wrong and God summons them to plead their case before the mountains, who play the roles of judge and jury.

God summons the earth, because the earth was created before humanity and has been witness to every human deed since before it held the blood of Abel that cried out to God.

With the earth listening, God dares the people present their case, but not a case to show them innocent. Rather, they are to accuse God of breaking the covenant. At least, their actions suggest that they believe God has broken the covenant. God is fed up, asking them to present a proper accusation instead of passive-aggressive sinning.

Hearing no response from the people or, perhaps, giving them no time to respond, God speaks for the people, recounting the interactions between God and Israel, searching for a time when the people were treated wrongly. God begins with the exodus, where the Hebrew people were delivered from slavery, lead by Moses, Aaron, and Miriam.

God continues to taunt the people, asking them if they can remember their own history, asking about the time when Balak asked Balaam to curse Israel, but Balaam could not. Asking if they remember the sins they committed when they resided in Shittim, east of the Jordan river, and how God nonetheless helped them proceed, miraculously, into the Promised Land. Asking if they remember how they lived in Gilgal while they became the conquerors and slave-holders in that same land, blessed by their God despite their disobeying divine ordinances and using Gilgal as a nest of idolatry.

When God's statements are over, the people know they have no case. Instead, they must find a way to approach God and find divine forgiveness. Remember, their position is not unlike ours. Their search for a way to please God is our own search.

They begin with the least thing of which their minds can think and progress to the greatest conceivable sacrifice. They focus each option on whether or not it will please God and the answer to each option is no, excepting the last option. The last option is so serious, they cannot help but think of themselves.

Should they bow before God? No, that's not enough.
Would God want a year-old calf or other burnt offerings? No. Although required by divine law, it isn't enough now that the law has been broken.
Perhaps God could be pleased by a thousand rams with rivers of oil numbering in the tens of thousands? This option is beyond the requirements of the law, but, still, no, not enough.

Their next idea draws from the past. After all, Yhwh seems to be emphasizing the past a lot, from the creation of the earth, to the exodus, the law, the crossing of the Jordan river, and even the conquest and dwelling in the Promised Land. They think back to Abraham and one of the first commands Yhwh gave according to Israelite tradition: the command to kill Isaac, Abraham's son. Knowing the weight of this sacrifice, the people state the possibility twice: "Will I give my first born for my transgression, the fruit of my body for the sin of my life?"

That's a real option for the Israelites. We know as well as the people that Yhwh said no to Abraham, letting Isaac live. But another story of child sacrifice exists, one we don't remember as well as the Hebrews might have. In the book of Judges, we read a tale where Yhwh makes no effort to save the daughter of Jephthah given as a burnt offering to God (Judges 11:29-39). For the Hebrews, God is a God who sometimes accepts child sacrifice. Thousands of years later many Christians believe God required the life of his own son for the forgiveness of sin. Child sacrifice is not out of the question when it comes to Yhwh their God and Yhwh our God. The people do not know the final answer to that final question.

For us, child sacrifice is not a live option, despite our religious history. We simply don't think in those terms. At least, not exactly. Every decision a parent makes is a decision affecting their children. Those of us without children still make decisions that impact the world around us and the future of humanity's existence in this world. Most of us have heard stories in which a parent, often times a pastor, thinks they are giving something to God and that thing, be it money, love, or time, sacrifices the well-being of the children involved.

Someone responds to the people in verse 8. Perhaps the mountains themselves respond, as if the rocks and stones are crying out when no one else will. They speak in light of the history of Israel and God's righteous deeds. When the mountains make their address, they address "O mortal," using the Hebrew word "adam," a word meaning earth, people, and the Adam of Adam-and-Eve fame.

By using the word "Adam" instead of one of the other Hebrew words for "people," Micah says God's requirements are consistent. They are the same requirements for all people since before Adam and and after Jesus. They are not just Israel's requirements, they are our requirements.

As an answer to our sin, God requires us all "to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God."

The people asked how they should approach God and instead of answering their questions, they receive a vague response about what God requires of them. Micah doesn't even explicitly define what each of these requirements mean. However, our knowledge of chapters 1-5 combined with a few tidbits from chapter 7 will open up these three short requirements.

Before I proceed, be warned. I don't have the key to what Micah is talking about. Like everyone here, I have approached this book with baggage and I cannot help but place my baggage into how I read. So as we continue, remember what LeVar Burton used to say at the end of his television show, Reading Rainbow: "you don't have to take my word for it." With Burton, I encourage you to look into these words yourselves.

Justice (mishpat)

From what I can tell, Micah nuances justice two ways. The first nuance is best summarized by Deuteronomy 19:21: "Thus you shall not show pity: life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot." This is the justice in our court rooms in the robed figure of blind Lady Justice with cloth over her eyes, a sword in her left hand and scales in her right hand. Her blindness keeps her from being swayed by who is involved in a situation. She is concerned with law, "fairness," and what somebody "deserves," as symbolized in the scales. This sort of justice is consistent with our idea of "judgment."

The judgment side of justice has a place in Micah. In chapter 7, Micah begins, "Woe is me! For I am like the fruit pickers, like the grape gatherers. There is not a cluster of grapes to eat, or a first-ripe fig which I crave." Micah is harvesting, literally reaping what he sews, but not enjoying the fruit of the harvest. Like modern-day cocoa and coffee farmers, he supports the rich with his labor while the rich enjoy cheap luxuries while paying meager wages to those who provide the luxuries.

Micah interprets this unfortunate experience as payment for his sins, as God's "judgment." In 7:9 he says, "I will bear the indignation of Yhwh because I have sinned against him." Micah mourns his situation, but sees it as just. After all, the law in Deuteronomy says God will curse sins and bless faithfulness, which is why the court metaphor is so appropriate. God has been faithful to the covenant, the people have not. Therefore, they will be punished. That's judgment. That's justice.

At least, one sense of justice. Listen again to Micah 7:9, this time in its entirety: "I will bear the indignation of Yhwh because I have sinned against him, until he pleads my case and executes justice for me. He will bring me out to the light and I will see his righteousness." According to this verse, it is just for God to deliver judgment on Micah. However, it is also just for God to deliver Micah out of judgment, out of justice into justice.

This justice is not blind. Instead of Lady Justice knowing the letter of the law, this nuance of justice looks at people, recognizes their beauty, and feels for them. Because God is just, God wants to deliver people simply because they are people and carry the image of God. We see this justice all over the Hebrew and Christian scriptures. Every time God delivers or reaches out, it is because of God's righteousness and grace, not because of the person's merit. This, too, is justice.

Since Micah has already foretold God's judgment, I think Micah is asking for the second sort of justice from us. Judgment has its place in this world, the place where Yhwh put it in Israel: in the rules of the community. But in our personal lives, Micah calls for a different sort of justice, the kind where we aren't judging and condemning, where we aren't acting based on anyone's sins against us or God. Rather, doing justice is doing justice based on the righteousness of God: loving people, serving them, letting them serve us, and letting them serve with us. When it comes to justice, no person's sins matter. The love of God matters.

Kindness (hesed)

And so we will seek to do justice, and we will do it, because of the second command, because we "love kindness." The Hebrew word "kindness," like the Hebrew word "justice," is a word that often appears in the Israelite faith and religion. Whereas "justice" addresses our relationship to the world around us, "kindness" addresses our feelings and response to God. The word evokes consistent actions from consistent feelings. To better understand it, we can see it in context in Micah 7:18: "Who is a God like you, who pardons iniquity and passes over the rebellious act of the remnant of his possession? He does not retain his anger forever, because he delights in unchanging love." Here "unchanging love" is that same word elsewhere translated as "kindness." It is this "kindness" or "unchanging love" that we are supposed to love.

We are supposed to love it, because God delights in it. It is this sort of unchanging love through which we understand God's relation to creation. This "unchanging love" is the reason for Genesis 1:1: "In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth." It is the reason for the incarnation: "for God so loved the world." It is the reason God interacts with all of creation and the reason that even the earth groans for salvation, as Paul says.

If we love kindness, love God's kindness, love God's unchanging love that inspires God to continually descend to creation and redeem it, then we will want to do justice to all, to every Adam and to every Eve, to everything created by God. When we love this "kindness" and do this "justice," they will become more than our actions and our affections, they will be who we are.

Live Humbly with Your God (halak)

It is difficult to inspire ourselves to love something. So, Micah offers us a little tip: "walk humbly with your God." Walking--or for those who cannot walk, traveling--is a metaphor for life and another word familiar to the Israelite religion. In Deuteronomy, Moses asks the people "to love the LORD your God, and to walk in [God's] ways always." Micah builds upon this metaphor, not just saying we should live and walk in God's ways, but to live and walk humbly with our God. Traveling and living with someone indicates intimacy. As we begin to know our God better, we will begin to recognize God's image where we see it. We will begin to recognize the image of God in others. And if we love our God, we will love others and delight in kindness towards them, in doing justice.

There it is, church. There is the crux of this passage and why Micah can stop at this command and move on to something else.

You see, humility in traveling means recognizing you're not the only one traveling. On an airplane, it could mean considering the person behind you before putting your seat back. On a bus or train, it might mean offering your seat to someone who might need it more. While traveling through life, humility begins by recognizing God travels with us. But it isn't just "me and God." It isn't just my family and God, my church and God, the Church and God, my country and God, or all people and God. Life is a journey all creation travels together. And God's image is everywhere on that journey and everywhere in creation. If we love God, then in humility we recognize that God's "unchanging love" is everywhere and we will want to do justice to all.

As it turns out, the only way to live and walk humbly with our God is to love kindness and to do justice. Centuries later, Jesus will say essentially the same thing when stating the two greatest commandments: we love God by loving our neighbor. We delight in God by delighting in what God delights: justice and kindness.

Loving your neighbor is the way you love God. Doing justice and loving mercy is the way to walk humbly with your God. And although I still encourage you to look at this passage for yourself, don't forget that doing justice and loving mercy isn't just reading, studying, and praying, which are ways to deal with religious sins.. Like Micah's audience, we need to examine our sins against God. But we also need to examine our sins against God's creation and all that is in it: our neighbors. Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness are God-given rights, and many of the luxuries we enjoy today stand in the way of other people's lives, liberties, pursuit of happiness, and pursuit of God.

Remember, our situation isn't too unlike Micah's. So as we leave the sanctity of this place and enter the sanctity of the world around us, let us seek justice to do, kindness to love, and our God, with whom we can walk humbly. Otherwise, we might soon be asked to plead our own case before the mountains.

"You Can't Out-Give God"

Usually the gym I frequent has music playing on the radio. Today, however, the radio station broadcasted a preacher. At one point, he said, "You can't out-give God." I have no reason to disagree with him. In Mark 10, Jesus told his followers, "no one who has left home or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields for me and the gospel will fail to receive a hundred times as much in this present age."

I know no one else who could make such a promise, and with good reason. The promise is a bit insensitive. I don't know anyone who loses a brother or sister or mother or father who wants brothers, sisters, mothers, or fathers to replace them. If I lose my brother, I don't want one hundred different ones to replace him. I only want my brother.

Homes and fields, however, I could handle losing those and then receiving a hundred of each to compensate. Different preachers will parse this promise out different ways. The preacher on the radio said you can't expect to reap what you sew on the same day. Crops take a while to mature. Don't stop giving to God if you don't see any return after a few weeks.

I left before the sermon was over, because the man failed to say anything I hadn't heard before. Every time I've heard someone talk about "out giving God," they speak self-centeredly. If we give to God, then God gives to us. "Giving to God" usually means giving money to the church or a specific "ministry," but some preachers will emphasize giving your time to the church or certain ministries. Yadda, yadda, yadda.

Not only have I never heard a preacher emphasize the rest of Jesus' promise (viz., "persecutions"), but I have never heard anyone think giving to God could mean anything other than giving to the church.

The guy on the radio wanted people to memorize "100 important Bible verses" before transitioning into "giving to God." To him, giving to God was memorizing Bible verses out of context for the purpose of getting something in return. You memorize the Bible verses and your life will be better. Give to God so God will give to you. No matter how I see "giving to God" parsed, it is always done selfishly, done so God will give back.

Giving to God is more than tithing and more than memorizing the Bible. Nowhere in the Bible does God, Jesus, Paul, or anyone else say we should memorize anything from the Bible. Memorization is something we have extrapolated from the Bible. I'm not saying it is a bad idea. However, I don't assume it is good for everyone just because it is good for some. I also hate how it is imposed upon most Christians as a way to a better life. Knowing God's words does not necessitate memorization. Even if I am wrong on that account, memorization is certainly not giving anything to God.

Neither is tithing. Tithing is giving to the church. Yes, Christ is the head of the Church, but let us not confuse the head with the thing. And really, it is impossible to give money to God. God has no bank account and requires no money.

As for time, effort, love, praise? Those are things you might be able to give to God. You could possibly convince me that joining the choir is giving to God. Maybe I can agree that inviting people to church is giving to God. Perhaps I could agree that preparing the coffee and sugary, fatty foods at church is giving to God. Scratch that last one, actually, unless the coffee is fairly traded, no styrofoam is used, and the snacks are something that won't tempt people trying to change their unhealthy lifestyle or promote unhealthy living.

Even if those are considered giving to God, how will God give back to us? If I join the choir, will God give me one hundred choirs to join or one hundred hours of free time to make up for the football I miss singing with the choir? Will God give me one hundred times the comfort to replace the discomfort I have in inviting people to church? Will God give me one hundred cups of fairly traded coffee and one hundred ethical, healthy snacks?

According to Mark 10, you will receive what you give up. One lost home yields one hundred homes (and persecution) in this world, and eternal life in the world to come. What if giving to God is akin to Matthew 28 where what you do to the least of people in society's eyes is what you do to God? What if giving to other people is giving to God?

And what if you don't give to God in order to receive? The only true gift is the one given without the possibility to receive in return. All other gifts are not truly gifts, they are exchanges. I give a Christmas card and assume a Christmas card in return. We give birthday gifts and assume a birthday gift when our day of birth arrives. But if we give to those who cannot reciprocate, then we have truly given and our giving is aptly named "gift."

So here is my scenario: we give to the needy. To the hungry we give food, to the poor we give money, to the lonely we give time and companionship, and to the naked and cold we give clothes and shelter. Since we give without a want or expectation in return, then God will give us exactly what we want. The gift of food will be multiplied a hundredfold. The money will grow exponentially. The time and companionship will increase. The shelter and clothes will become many.

Eventually. You don't sew and reap in the same day. Sometimes it takes a while for God to multiply the loaves and fishes, for others to fulfill their calling to give of their loaves and fishes.

In this interpretation, I definitely believe we cannot "out-give God." The more we give, the more God will give through us and others. And we will truly be blessed, because our hearts will not be focused on ourselves and the return of our investments. We will receive exactly what we want: the alleviation of the suffering of others.

Now that's a gift.

Hooded, Pinned, and Missing Dr. Dan E. Goodman

I got my Bible out this afternoon. I removed the black and gold ribbons I have pinned into the inside cover. I affixed the ribbons in a loop on the lapel of my graduation gown, set the Bible on my bed, and hurried off to the School of Divinity's hooding and pinning ceremony.

The ceremony was ceremonious. For the most part, I'm quite underwhelmed with such events. Dr. T. Perry Hildreth put my pin on me, "in the name of Dan Goodman." I was moved by how many people joined me in remembering Dr. Goodman and all thanks to those Steelers colored ribbons. I shouldn't have been surprised that so many people noticed, but I didn't foresee anyone saying anything, since I didn't wear the ribbons to make a statement to anyone but myself and God.

I read recently, "Memories are small prayers to God" (Jonathan Safran Foer). After reading those words, I recalled the words I read in an e-mail from Dr. Goodman, an e-mail he sent in response to a request for prayer: "And I will remember [you] earnestly in my prayers and best wishes (I don't always differentiate between the two, you know?) in the days and weeks ahead. I promise."

I don't know if it does any good to pray for Dr. Goodman these days, although it will always be and do good to remember him. Memories and tears have come from unexpected places and gone to God as prayers comprehendible only by the Divine. I'm not sure where the prayers go after they reach God. Perhaps they are sent to his wife and children. Maybe they are further dispersed to his family and friends, including, of course, the man who fastened the pin on my gown. Maybe some of them even return to me, although I don't deserve them.

Life changes fast.
Life Changes in the instant.
You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends.
The question of self-pity. (Joan Didion)

Tenebrae.
Lacrimosa.
Maranatha.
Requiem.

Lacrimosa.
Maranatha.
Amen.

On Prayer & Memory: A Story from WWII

For the holiday, I visited a friend's family. I met a WWII veteran during the trip. I only know him as Mr. Jenkins. He is 92 years old and a neighbor to my friend's family. He was invited to join the family for Thanksgiving dinner. He already had plans for the meal, but stopped by later in the afternoon to say hello. My friend's mother gave him a piece of pecan pie to enjoy later in the day.

Mr. Jenkins is known to the family as a talker. I was sitting in the dining room, petting a puppy and listening to Mr. Jenkins and my friend's mother converse. At one point in the conversation, the matriarch said, "Trevar, Mr. Jenkins flew B-17s in WWII."

Mr. Jenkins proceeded to tell me a story. He told me he still struggles with the war in his past, at least two to three times daily. Mr. Jenkins was in WWII before the bombing of Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941. He told me he still struggles with the war in his past, at least two to three times daily. For those of you didn't just do the math in your head, the attack on Pearl Harbor happened 69 years ago. He told me he still struggles with the war in his past, at least two to three times daily.

Mr. Jenkins then recounted a story from his experience in the war. He started by telling me about his best friend in the war. He told me his name and the nicknames they gave each other. "In a group of men, you're always drawn more to one of them. I knew we would be friends when I saw Bobby. His name was Robert Brown, but I called him Bobby. He always called me Jenks."

One day, Mr. Jenkins was scheduled to go on a routine flying mission. No fighting, just flying. Bobby wanted to go, because a large portion of his men were at the other end of the flight and he wanted to see them. However, Bobby was not scheduled on this routine flight. He asked Mr. Jenkins if he could take his place. "No. The paper work is already all filled out. I'm going."

"Please, Jenks."

Bobby pled and won, to the chagrin of Mr. Jenkins. When the planes returned, Mr. Jenkins immediately noticed one missing overhead. He went to the hanger and looked at the serial numbers on the planes. They would refer to the planes by the last three numbers of the serial. "Where is 813?" he asked a man walking by him.

No response.

Some of the men avoided Mr. Jenkins. He searched, but could not find 813. Mr. Jenkins didn't know why he was asking, since he knew the answer, but he kept asking. "Where is 813?" He finally stopped one of the young men and asked him where the plane was. It had gone missing.

Mr. Jenkins said he didn't cry. He dropped to the ground, but he didn't cry. He was a 23 year-old officer and most of the others were 18, 19. He found a strength outside of himself, a strength for the younger men. Sixty-nine years later, at 92 years old, the first war story Mr. Jenkins told me was the story where he lost his best friend. He didn't cry, but I could see the tears falling on the inside.

He didn't say he regret that moment. He didn't tell me it should have been him instead of his friend. He simply told the story he's been telling for sixty-nine years. After the loss of his friend, Mr. Jenkins was soon transferred to a desk job back in the states. He said he couldn't handle being in the war anymore. "I'm glad none of my boys have experience what I experienced there."

After Mr. Jenkins left, I returned to reading Everything Is Illuminated, by Jonathan Safran Foer. Early in the book, a Rabbi says, "Memories are small prayers to God." I think that Rabbi is right.

God doesn't need us to say "Dear God, ... Amen" in order for us to be praying. For me, taking prayer requests is prayer and the "Dear God, ... Amen" is a formality we partake in for tradition's sake. God knows our hearts and where our concerns lie. Making the request--remembering--is better than the ways we pray.

In remembering, we acknowledge our ignorance of how to pray, the impossibility of the prayers we pray. When we put words to these prayers, we condescend to God, asking God to watch over things God is already watching over, asking for care of things for which God is already caring. When we remember, God knows where our concerns lie. We share each others concerns and God's concerns.

I remember Mr. Jenkins.

My Silent God

Dear God,

People tell me prayer is talking to you. They also say people in relationships talk and listen, so my prayers should include speaking and listening. What do you think?

===

Dear God,

In human relationships, both participants initiate conversations. I'm sure some people would tell me the Bible is you starting a conversation. Or maybe they will say there is a "still small voice" that talks to me, if I were just still long enough and if I only listened hard enough.

Stillness isn't a problem of mine. I can easily turn off the music, the television, and the computer while sitting or lying around. Instead of finding myself undoubtedly in your presence, I feel alone. You never speak unless spoken to. I believe you're there--I believe you're here--but you never say a thing.

I've heard people say you speak through my thoughts. I think I speak through my thoughts. If you and I are having a conversations, but both of us are using my thoughts, then I feel schizophrenic, schizophrenic in what I understand as the clinical sense of the word.

Oh, if only I just had faith. If I would let go and let God. If I sought the counsel of others, then we would be able to discern your words and eventually I would just know your voice in my thoughts. Ecclesia schizophrenia?

It is no longer the eighth day. You are not at rest. Why won't you talk with me?

===

Dear God,

I am left to believe "speaking" and "conversation" are some of the worst metaphors for prayer.

I'll keep "relationship" as a metaphor for our lives together, though. I still believe in you, your love, and your action in everyday life. You are immanent. You just don't talk, at least, not with me. I don't know why, especially if you do talk with others.

If you're not going to talk with me, I'm not going to promise to listen when I pray. I'm not even going to promise to pray. I know you'll listen. I'm not sure you really have much of a choice. But if you're not going to talk and you know my thoughts, I don't see the point in talking, unless I need some cathartic expression or I want someone to overhear me or, rather, read over my virtual shoulder.

Even if we don't talk, I'm glad we will still interact. Even if we don't talk, we will still work together for love.

Love,
-t

Amen.

Believe What You Like? – A Blogersation (Part 4)

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

On Quixotic Belief

Professor Whitley has made a wonderful observation that aids my processing in this conversation. I cannot help but be swayed by his musing, "It may be, then, that we grow to 'like' that belief over time," and later, "I do like reason and logic and find my current position to be the most logical and reasonable and that also significantly adds to my present pleasure with this belief." The more convinced we are with a position, the more we are going to have some affinity for it.

William James writes: "not only as a matter of fact do we find our passional nature influencing us in our opinions, but that there are some options between opinions in which this influence must be regarded both as an inevitable and as a lawful determinant of our choice" (523). With science we achieve beliefs about the world around us (not to mention a belief in, or perhaps a love for a certain way to achieve knowledge/truth, as James points out on 523). But there are situations in which science cannot help us. In these, "faith based on desire is certainly a lawful and possibly an indispensable thing," according to James (524)

I don't think James is standing against Clifford in that last statement. James wants your beliefs to be examined. He doesn't want you to believe something on a whim, but rather on a justified desire. In this same vein, Louis Pojman says,

"I have argued that we cannot normally believe anything at all simply by willing to do so, for believing aims at truth and is not a basic act or a direct product of the will. If we could believe whatever we chose to believe simply by willing to do so, belief would not be about reality but about our wants. Nevertheless, the will does play an important indirect role in believing" (546-7).

Whether we like it or not, our likes are somehow involved in belief formation. At least, that is what I believe and I am growing to like it. On a certain level, I even like the cogitations on my continuing list of disliked beliefs.

7. I don't like believing two people who love each other cannot get married in some places of God's world.

Although I loathe this belief, I find some pleasure in believing empirical truths. I am also like hating this belief. On the one hand, I hate that people will not allow same-sex marriage. But on the other hand, I am far happier to acknowledge the fact and the resultant agony than to live in a blissful ignorance of the problem, like a Don Quixote without a Sancho Panza.

Don Quixote forced his observation of reality to conform to his beliefs about reality. He saw a windmill, but from a distance believed it to be a giant. He charged at it with his lance, attacking the windmill with a faith that would amaze the Jesus of the gospels. When Quixote finally attacked the windmill, reality hit him, and hard. Sancho Panza assumed Quixote would now realize his mistake, but instead, Quixote molded reality to his notions, saying a sorcerer had manipulated the events and put a windmill where there once was a giant.

8. I don't like believing two people who love each other cannot show their love for each other without being ostracized, yet they are continually forced to watch other couples express their love in public.

Out of context, this and other of Quixote's adventures speak to me of theology and reality. Sometimes my beloved theological positions meet reality, but match like a square peg and a circle hole. I have the option to switch out the peg, alter the hole, or pretend I have met a paradox. As much as I dislike switching out the peg (my theological position), I want the peg to fit reality and I like having a theology that doesn't have me needlessly injured by windmills.

9. I don't like believing people are not just told they are sinning, but also that who they are is a sin--an abomination before God, humanity, and nature.

I love hating this belief and I like that I recognize the reality of it. It is so easy to get caught up in a world of butterflies and rainbows, where things I don't like don't happen. But windmills pulverize me in that world.

Love of Truth or Love of Method?

This affinity for truth must not be confused with an affinity for a method to find that truth. When considering how we come to believe, I hope we "like" our beliefs based on how close we think they are to the truth, not based on how much we "like" a method for finding belief.

Consider Part 1 and Part 3 of our conversation again. In Part 1, you learn how this conversation started: people questioning the virtue of how I believe my beliefs. In Part 3, Thomas describes a shift in one of his beliefs, a belief he grew to like. Thomas' belief shift mirrored a shift in method for him. It wasn't just his belief shaken, but his belief in the method that founded the rest of his beliefs.

William James' words are apt here, too:

"[science] has fallen so deeply in love with the [scientific] method that one may even say she has ceased to care for truth by itself at all. It is only truth as technically verified that interests her. The truth of truths might come in merely affirmative form, and she would decline to touch it. Such truth as that, she might repeat with Clifford, would be stolen in defiance of her duty to mankind. Human passions, however, are stronger than technical rules" (523).

I went through a shift in belief like Thomas' once. I had to ask myself and address the following questions: Do you come to believe because of your passion for the truth, a passion that produces a liking for your beliefs? Or do you come to believe because you love to interpret the Bible without straying too far from tradition? Do you love the method (interpreting the Bible) or do you love truth? Need I even mention John 14?

I dislike beliefs 7, 8, and 9, because when reality met my theology, the method didn't win. Yes, I consulted the Bible, but I also consulted reality and the testimony of numerous people who have seen the Spirit move in GLBT Christians. In doing so, I believe I even consulted God.

And yes, I like that belief. Damn straight I like it. Not because of the method, because there wasn't exactly a method. It was a messy process of reasoning that eventual yielded in a "resonat[ion] not only in my head but in my heart" (@FemmeMinister). Some beliefs I like believing--they have a natural place in my heart. Other beliefs are resonant within me--I need them, because they convict me of truth, which I love.

With Thomas, Clifford, and Sancho Panza, I think beliefs deserve scrutiny. Beliefs should resonate with reverberations of truth, not warm fuzzies.

Works Cited
James, William. "The Will to Believe." The Theory of Knowledge: Classical and Contemporary Writings. 3rd ed. Ed. Louis P. Pojman. Belmont, CA: Wadsworth, 2003. 518-26.

Pojman, Louis P. "Believing, Willing, and the Ethics of Belief." The Theory of Knowledge: Classical and Contemporary Writings. 3rd ed. Ed. Louis P. Pojman. Belmont, CA: Wadsworth, 2003. 536-55.

N.B.: The disliked beliefs in this blog were chosen in honor of National Coming Out Day. For more information, click here.

Believe What You Like? – A Blogersation (Part 2)

My thoughts strayed to W. K. Clifford, Dr. T. Perry Hildreth, and epistemology in general when the right venerable Professor Thomas J. Whitley tweeted at me, "I'm just thinking aloud (silently?) in the twitterverse about how we come about believing what we do." He was explaining an earlier that I had first misunderstood: "I understand, on one hand, believing things you don't particularly like, but shouldn't we like/agree with most things we believe?"

We should agree with most things we believe. If someone disagrees with a belief, then I am unsure that person actually believes the belief. Of course, we might hold some beliefs unawares, especially deep-seated beliefs, latent beliefs, or beliefs leftover from a recent shift in thought. I might assume I do not "believe" monsters will come out of my closet in the dark, but I always shut the closet door before turning off the light at night due to a belief leftover from my childhood.

I might also be unable to stray from deep-seated beliefs, ones indoctrinated in me as a child. I recall Yossarian speaking with Lieutenant Scheisskopf's (unnamed) wife in Catch-22. The woman was upset at Yossarian's negative musings about God. Yossarian is surprised and says, "I thought you didn't believe in God?" She said, "'I don't,' she sobbed, bursting violently into tears. 'But the God I don't believe in is a good God, a just God, a merciful God. He's not the mean and stupid God you make him out to be.'" Sometimes we cannot stop believing in our beliefs, even if we want to.

I'm still unsure about whether we should like most things we believe. At first rub, there seems nothing particularly virtuous or laudable about liking a belief. I imagine it would be pleasant to like all of your beliefs. But I don't think we should hold them because they are likable. I don't want my beliefs to be based on desire. Hopefully, amiable feelings will accompany the belief, but I do not think it should be a criterion. Unless, of course we consider most Western persons' foundational belief in reason and the ability of reasoning to produce knowledge. In this sense, liking our beliefs is virtuous, because we are not holding beliefs willy-nilly, but rather due to examination.

In a different vein, I assume I hold a number of my beliefs about metaphysics due to pleasure. Why do I believe in one God instead of many gods or no gods? I find the differing beliefs equally plausible (I think), but I believe in one God and have developed that belief, describing God as love. Why? Perhaps it is because I can't escape the belief after indoctrination in a Western, Christian home. Maybe it is because I like the idea of a God who is Love being the only God. Of course, I also like to think I have a relationship with the God beyond, behind, and around my concept of God and Love. If you have a relationship with something, you need to believe it exists (I think).

Right now, Thomas and our other conversation partners, I am a bit ambivalent, mostly due to a lack of knowledge on the subject. I dusted off my epistemology text book today, though: The Theory of Knowledge: Classical and Contemporary Readings, edited by Louis P. Pojman. Hopefully I'll be ambitious enough to peruse the sections on beliefs and the ethics of belief. Until then, I hypothesize desire leads some of our most important beliefs, our beliefs about which I doubt we can have any sort of "knowledge"--metaphysical beliefs--whereas reason (which we believe in due to desire) determines most of our other beliefs that can be empirically verified to constitute what we might be able to call "knowledge."