A classic scenario involves a small child watching a
sunset. His eyes widen to embrace the
visual symphony of color and shapes. He
sits transfixed for several minutes as the scene intensifies. As soon as the sun slips beneath the horizon,
he starts to clap and calls out, “Again!”
The child is too young to understand that he will have to wait a full day before the performance repeats itself and it will be years before he grasps the scientific underpinnings of what he witnessed.
But a small child intuits that which scientific awareness sometimes dilutes, namely the inherent mystery of the natural world and of life itself.
I recommend a recent book by Karen Armstrong called The Case for God. Written in part as a response to the writings of self-described atheists like Richard Dawkins and Christopher Hitchins, it is less a defense of God than an historical overview of trends that characterize how God has been perceived.
The child is too young to understand that he will have to wait a full day before the performance repeats itself and it will be years before he grasps the scientific underpinnings of what he witnessed.
But a small child intuits that which scientific awareness sometimes dilutes, namely the inherent mystery of the natural world and of life itself.
I recommend a recent book by Karen Armstrong called The Case for God. Written in part as a response to the writings of self-described atheists like Richard Dawkins and Christopher Hitchins, it is less a defense of God than an historical overview of trends that characterize how God has been perceived.
Touching on major historical periods in the evolution of
attitudes toward God, Armstrong makes the following points, among others. It’s only relatively recently that a
scientific approach to God has emerged and, paradoxically, this approach has
yielded a less nuanced understanding of God than existed previously.
The ancient Israelites and Greeks, for example, appreciated God less literally than many people do today. They understood God to be beyond measure or comprehension. They intuited the difference between logos, literal truth, and mythos, the stories we tell ourselves to make life more meaningful and livable. The early Christians, particularly in Byzantine lands, did not take the idea of the Trinity literally. They meditated on one and three as a metaphor and as an inspiration to help them confront the ungraspable mystery of God. Centuries later, the Kabbalists used the concept of Ein Sof (without end) to express God’s boundlessness.
In response to the rapid growth of scientific discovery, thinkers like Descartes and Newton proffered scientific explanations for the nature and function of God. In describing God as orchestrating the cosmos, they sought to elevate God. The effect, albeit unintentional, was to limit God to that which could be comprehended and explained.
In the 20th century, humanity’s faith in science rose and plunged as we witnessed both the humane and the depraved uses of scientific advancement. At the beginning of the current century, we seem to have more questions than ever about the nature of the universe and our place within it.
It’s becoming increasingly clear to us that as much as scientific understanding continues to grow by leaps and bounds, it is forever limited. As many contemporary scientists have articulated, the more we know, the more we realize how little we know.
Curiously, attitudes toward God appear to be moving in three distinct directions. The fundamentalist impulse seems to be encouraging attitudes of increasing certainty when it comes to God. The atheist impulse rejects God for a whole host of reasons.
But I detect, as Armstrong describes, a third inclination. I’ll call it the “mysteryist” impulse. At the beginning of this new millennium, many are increasingly prepared to embrace the mystery of God as it seems to mirror and inform the mystery of life. Of course it’s hard to do this, since part of us craves certainty.
For the time being, I’ll try to tap into the enthusiasm of the small child with whom I began and who resides at the core of each of us, no matter our age. Not just to life’s beautiful sunsets, but also to the ancient willingness to acknowledge mystery, I’ll clap my hands and shout, “Again!” Perhaps you will consider joining me.
Originally written for the Temple Israel Voice, January 2012
The ancient Israelites and Greeks, for example, appreciated God less literally than many people do today. They understood God to be beyond measure or comprehension. They intuited the difference between logos, literal truth, and mythos, the stories we tell ourselves to make life more meaningful and livable. The early Christians, particularly in Byzantine lands, did not take the idea of the Trinity literally. They meditated on one and three as a metaphor and as an inspiration to help them confront the ungraspable mystery of God. Centuries later, the Kabbalists used the concept of Ein Sof (without end) to express God’s boundlessness.
In response to the rapid growth of scientific discovery, thinkers like Descartes and Newton proffered scientific explanations for the nature and function of God. In describing God as orchestrating the cosmos, they sought to elevate God. The effect, albeit unintentional, was to limit God to that which could be comprehended and explained.
In the 20th century, humanity’s faith in science rose and plunged as we witnessed both the humane and the depraved uses of scientific advancement. At the beginning of the current century, we seem to have more questions than ever about the nature of the universe and our place within it.
It’s becoming increasingly clear to us that as much as scientific understanding continues to grow by leaps and bounds, it is forever limited. As many contemporary scientists have articulated, the more we know, the more we realize how little we know.
Curiously, attitudes toward God appear to be moving in three distinct directions. The fundamentalist impulse seems to be encouraging attitudes of increasing certainty when it comes to God. The atheist impulse rejects God for a whole host of reasons.
But I detect, as Armstrong describes, a third inclination. I’ll call it the “mysteryist” impulse. At the beginning of this new millennium, many are increasingly prepared to embrace the mystery of God as it seems to mirror and inform the mystery of life. Of course it’s hard to do this, since part of us craves certainty.
For the time being, I’ll try to tap into the enthusiasm of the small child with whom I began and who resides at the core of each of us, no matter our age. Not just to life’s beautiful sunsets, but also to the ancient willingness to acknowledge mystery, I’ll clap my hands and shout, “Again!” Perhaps you will consider joining me.
Originally written for the Temple Israel Voice, January 2012
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