I just watched the last episode of the most recent season of Doctor Who. I won't reveal exactly what happened, or the climax of the episode, but some spoilers are inevitable, given that they're the jumping-off point for this post.
Is everyone who minds that gone? Good.
There's a scene in which we see the young Amelia Pond sitting in a parent-teacher conference. She's just painted a night sky with the moon and some stars and her teacher is very concerned. She takes her out to look at the sky and we see a crescent moon... and no stars. The adults tell her that everyone knows that stars are only a legend, and when she's left the room they worry about her joining a 'star cult' when she grows up.
Setting aside the sheer impossibility of this for a second (even in the show it's only possible because of a highly unusual set of circumstances) I think the writers fail to explore the implications of this setting. Besides the references to a legend of stars (somehow) and some distinct oddities in a museum, the world in which Amelia Pond lives seems very similar to our own.
But I suspect that without the stars to try to figure out, science and math would have suffered greatly. There wouldn't be as much impetus for research. And cults aside, mainstream religions would have developed very differently. Human cultures would be very different indeed, and the world would probably be largely unrecognizable.
Unfortunately for us science fiction fans, such speculation outstrips the time, and very likely the budget, available for a single hour-long episode. It's an interesting seed for a story, though.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Monday, July 12, 2010
A Step, but in which direction?
On July 3rd I chanted a portion from the Torah. It was a short portion (Numbers 27:1-5) not following any of the usual schemes for breaking readings up, but it seemed like plenty to me. It went just fine, though - I don't think I made any mistakes, or at least not any big enough to get corrected, and everyone thought I did well, including my teacher, who acted as gabbai (meaning that he would have been the one to correct me had I messed up).
The service itself was rather unusual. Once a month we have a contemplative service. I hadn't been before. Rather than going through most of the traditional liturgy with a few changes and additions to accommodate the congregation's progressive, egalitarian bent, which is what most services are like, the contemplative service focuses on a few lines from each section. The group repeats these lines several times, as a chant, which is more meditative than the regular service. Normally there wouldn't be a Torah reading, but this time there wasn't a regular service, because of the usual low attendance over the summer (this is a fairly young congregation, and many of the families are on vacation now that school's out). So I chanted for the contemplative group. This was a bit odd because I was the only reader and because we placed the scroll on a sort of over-sized cart they use to store the kids' books and games, which was in the middle of a circle of chairs, and everybody (about 20 people) gathered around to give the blessing. Perhaps if you haven't been to a Jewish service before you don't get how unusual that is, but normally it's a much more formal affair, and almost everybody would stay in their chairs. It was a warm group though, with a lot of humor.
The funniest bit was that normally there would be a section at the beginning of the service where we repeat the morning blessings, although in an egalitarian and more positive fashion (rather than giving thanks for 'not making me a slave' it's 'for making me free' and we omit the bit about not being a woman). But instead of that we said the beginning in Hebrew and added our own blessings. It started off with general stuff, but got silly pretty fast, as follows:
"...for Jewish humor."
"for amazing students." (my teacher)
"for teachers." (me)
"for subtlety."
The style of the Torah study that's part of the contemplative service is different as well. Each person speaks and everyone listens, but it's not supposed to be a dialog. And it comes from a more personal place, rather than the legalistic and technicalities of Hebrew that often are the focus in other groups.
It took me over a week to post this because I'm not quite sure I've fully processed this. My mother asked me if I felt more Jewish, and I said something like "more and less". I'm not sure if I'll chant again. But one thing's for sure, humor and religion go well together.
The service itself was rather unusual. Once a month we have a contemplative service. I hadn't been before. Rather than going through most of the traditional liturgy with a few changes and additions to accommodate the congregation's progressive, egalitarian bent, which is what most services are like, the contemplative service focuses on a few lines from each section. The group repeats these lines several times, as a chant, which is more meditative than the regular service. Normally there wouldn't be a Torah reading, but this time there wasn't a regular service, because of the usual low attendance over the summer (this is a fairly young congregation, and many of the families are on vacation now that school's out). So I chanted for the contemplative group. This was a bit odd because I was the only reader and because we placed the scroll on a sort of over-sized cart they use to store the kids' books and games, which was in the middle of a circle of chairs, and everybody (about 20 people) gathered around to give the blessing. Perhaps if you haven't been to a Jewish service before you don't get how unusual that is, but normally it's a much more formal affair, and almost everybody would stay in their chairs. It was a warm group though, with a lot of humor.
The funniest bit was that normally there would be a section at the beginning of the service where we repeat the morning blessings, although in an egalitarian and more positive fashion (rather than giving thanks for 'not making me a slave' it's 'for making me free' and we omit the bit about not being a woman). But instead of that we said the beginning in Hebrew and added our own blessings. It started off with general stuff, but got silly pretty fast, as follows:
"...for Jewish humor."
"for amazing students." (my teacher)
"for teachers." (me)
"for subtlety."
The style of the Torah study that's part of the contemplative service is different as well. Each person speaks and everyone listens, but it's not supposed to be a dialog. And it comes from a more personal place, rather than the legalistic and technicalities of Hebrew that often are the focus in other groups.
It took me over a week to post this because I'm not quite sure I've fully processed this. My mother asked me if I felt more Jewish, and I said something like "more and less". I'm not sure if I'll chant again. But one thing's for sure, humor and religion go well together.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Ethics and Technology
Last Wednesday I had dinner with a friend, and the subject of electronic piracy came up. This is something of a hot-button issue among most of my friends, so I always like to gauge where people stand on it.
The issue as I see it is this: electronic piracy is very tempting and very easy, especially with streaming sites and direct download everywhere. It used to be that the technology wasn't at a level that made downloading movies (for example) either affordable or practical, but over the course of the last few years that has changed. Wed hosting is cheaper and high-speed access is readily available. The degree of policing varies a lot, of course, but it seems that it is often possible to get away with it, especially since uploaders are often prosecuted, not downloaders. And legal distribution does not quite keep up with demand, especially for those of us with somewhat niche tastes.
Of course all of this is against the law in most parts of the world. But is it unethical? This, I think, is a much more serious consideration.
My idea of ethics is that we should avoid causing harm to others as best as we can while trying to alleviate harm that has already been done. So does piracy cause harm? The issue I struggle with is that some of us (perhaps a lot of us) wouldn't have bought the product we pirated. Or what if it's something that is unavailable (or very rare) through legal channels, like a movie that has only been released in another country or a book that's been out of print for twenty years? I mean, the harm that might conceivably be caused is that of the legitimate producers (creative talent, distributors, etc.) not getting a profit, which is a tenuous kind of harm at best.
At the same time, as I told my friend, it seems to me that the urge to download illegally comes from a somewhat ugly bit of entitlement - I want it, so I should have it. And this bothers me, even if no one's much harmed in the process.
Fan works, on the other hand, I fully support, including the ones like music videos that take bits of the original material and remix or re-envision them.
I try to stay in the gray area of things that are unavailable, and I have bought some that later became available, but I remain quite conflicted on this issue.
I think it's hard to have an ethical system that isn't laid out for you ahead of time, and no matter your ethical or moral system, it's hard to follow the rules.
The issue as I see it is this: electronic piracy is very tempting and very easy, especially with streaming sites and direct download everywhere. It used to be that the technology wasn't at a level that made downloading movies (for example) either affordable or practical, but over the course of the last few years that has changed. Wed hosting is cheaper and high-speed access is readily available. The degree of policing varies a lot, of course, but it seems that it is often possible to get away with it, especially since uploaders are often prosecuted, not downloaders. And legal distribution does not quite keep up with demand, especially for those of us with somewhat niche tastes.
Of course all of this is against the law in most parts of the world. But is it unethical? This, I think, is a much more serious consideration.
My idea of ethics is that we should avoid causing harm to others as best as we can while trying to alleviate harm that has already been done. So does piracy cause harm? The issue I struggle with is that some of us (perhaps a lot of us) wouldn't have bought the product we pirated. Or what if it's something that is unavailable (or very rare) through legal channels, like a movie that has only been released in another country or a book that's been out of print for twenty years? I mean, the harm that might conceivably be caused is that of the legitimate producers (creative talent, distributors, etc.) not getting a profit, which is a tenuous kind of harm at best.
At the same time, as I told my friend, it seems to me that the urge to download illegally comes from a somewhat ugly bit of entitlement - I want it, so I should have it. And this bothers me, even if no one's much harmed in the process.
Fan works, on the other hand, I fully support, including the ones like music videos that take bits of the original material and remix or re-envision them.
I try to stay in the gray area of things that are unavailable, and I have bought some that later became available, but I remain quite conflicted on this issue.
I think it's hard to have an ethical system that isn't laid out for you ahead of time, and no matter your ethical or moral system, it's hard to follow the rules.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
A faith for space travelers
My interest in science fiction has lead me to wonder what our descendants will believe. Some authors seem to believe (or hope, I'm not sure which) that in the future, religion will disappear. Anne McCaffrey, whose fictional world of Pern has no religion, comes to mind. I think that while a colony group with no religious members is entirely possible, eventually someone would invent a religion. I think that religion will be with us for a long time yet, although it may lose influence or change dramatically. And in a society that started out with no religions, it might be harder for a religion to take hold.
So with that in mind, what kind of religions would flourish in a society of space travelers?
Religions reflect the society that gave them birth. I think we can agree, for instance, that the gender roles espoused by various religious groups not only affect the broader cultures they are part of, but spring out of that background. So an egalitarian society would likely have clerics of all genders and backgrounds in any homegrown religion, whereas one with strong social barriers such as ours would reject some people (women, homosexuals…) from participating fully. Of course in our society this is changing, but I don't think we can take it as a given that the people of the future will be more open-minded.
People also have a tendency to worship natural forces (or the supposed controllers of natural forces) that affect them. So I think some people, especially on generation ships might worship a god of the void, for example. Or say that their god lived in the nearest black hole or quasar. What if they stayed on their ship so long that they forgot what a planet was like? Can you imagine their surprise upon landing? Or upon meeting planet-bound societies?
Aliens might very well not produce religions as we recognize them. Even if they did, they would probably worship beings that looked like them and the creatures they knew. Would any humans join their sects? Would they join ours?
It's also important to note that aside from very new colonies, it's unlikely that any planet would have a single homogeneous culture. Even if there was a world government, there would probably be pockets of resistance and non conformity, and this would go for any intelligent aliens (except for hive minds) just as much as for humans.
We've also seen science fiction in which one race worships another, one with vastly better technology, that passes itself off as a race of gods. I think that one Star Trek episode even had the characters become objects of worship when they interfered with another society. And some people even think that ancient religions on our own planet can be explained by alien intervention, which just goes to show that people refashion old beliefs to fit new needs and trends.
Anyone read any good books that address this?
So with that in mind, what kind of religions would flourish in a society of space travelers?
Religions reflect the society that gave them birth. I think we can agree, for instance, that the gender roles espoused by various religious groups not only affect the broader cultures they are part of, but spring out of that background. So an egalitarian society would likely have clerics of all genders and backgrounds in any homegrown religion, whereas one with strong social barriers such as ours would reject some people (women, homosexuals…) from participating fully. Of course in our society this is changing, but I don't think we can take it as a given that the people of the future will be more open-minded.
People also have a tendency to worship natural forces (or the supposed controllers of natural forces) that affect them. So I think some people, especially on generation ships might worship a god of the void, for example. Or say that their god lived in the nearest black hole or quasar. What if they stayed on their ship so long that they forgot what a planet was like? Can you imagine their surprise upon landing? Or upon meeting planet-bound societies?
Aliens might very well not produce religions as we recognize them. Even if they did, they would probably worship beings that looked like them and the creatures they knew. Would any humans join their sects? Would they join ours?
It's also important to note that aside from very new colonies, it's unlikely that any planet would have a single homogeneous culture. Even if there was a world government, there would probably be pockets of resistance and non conformity, and this would go for any intelligent aliens (except for hive minds) just as much as for humans.
We've also seen science fiction in which one race worships another, one with vastly better technology, that passes itself off as a race of gods. I think that one Star Trek episode even had the characters become objects of worship when they interfered with another society. And some people even think that ancient religions on our own planet can be explained by alien intervention, which just goes to show that people refashion old beliefs to fit new needs and trends.
Anyone read any good books that address this?
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
God is Human (and he could not be otherwise)
Atheists who have read the Bible (or parts of it, like me) often say that God's actions are inconsistent (especially when reading the Christian Bible) but what strikes me the most is that whatever theologians say about the folly of anthropomorphizing God, he is a very human figure as portrayed in the Bible. This is especially true if you don't buy that the inconsistencies in his actions are due to greater knowledge. If you treat him as a petty and sometimes foolish character, it makes sense. But this is not an interpretation that works well in a monotheistic framework, at any rate not a conventional one.
However, there is some evidence that early Jews believed in more than one god, and that many didn't even confine their worship to their own tribal god (the god of the Bible). Modern Judaism, of course, doesn't support this view, but I am rather fond of it - I like the drama of a group of quarreling deities, as in the Greek and Roman myths, rather than the comparatively boring idea of a single benevolent creator, or the frightening one of a single strict or even vindictive deity.
But the reason I think that God has to be human (by which I mean that as a character he is humanlike) is that we only know one intelligent species capable of communication - Homo Sapiens. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to imagine an intelligent being that was not humanlike (which is also part of why most science fiction aliens look a lot like us). He has to either be a humanlike character or a non-character.
However, there is some evidence that early Jews believed in more than one god, and that many didn't even confine their worship to their own tribal god (the god of the Bible). Modern Judaism, of course, doesn't support this view, but I am rather fond of it - I like the drama of a group of quarreling deities, as in the Greek and Roman myths, rather than the comparatively boring idea of a single benevolent creator, or the frightening one of a single strict or even vindictive deity.
But the reason I think that God has to be human (by which I mean that as a character he is humanlike) is that we only know one intelligent species capable of communication - Homo Sapiens. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to imagine an intelligent being that was not humanlike (which is also part of why most science fiction aliens look a lot like us). He has to either be a humanlike character or a non-character.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
More reflections on religion in fantasy worlds
Lately I've been working on a new story. It's fantasy, but set in a sort of alternate-history version of the real world, so I don't have to do as much world building as if I was starting from scratch. For example, the geography is the same, aside from the location of borders and man-made features such as canals. But the historical change is big enough that I can't just use real-world governments or religions.
All this got me thinking about fictional religions again. In spite of the obvious influence of real-world religions on fiction, I can't think of a fantasy world that simply uses a real religion. In fact, though the writers are often Christian, or at least live in largely Christian societies like the United States, and although the model for a lot of fantasy is medieval Europe, fantasy religions are often polytheistic. Perhaps this is because fantasy religions are taken to be true for the world in which they are set, with gods whose clerics possess real powers, which might be less plausible if it was a real religion that we knew about. I think the nostalgia some people have for the polytheistic faiths of Europe that were replaced or subsumed by Christianity also plays a role.
Urban fantasy, of course, uses real religions for the most part, but what I'm mostly interested in is fantasy set on a different world or a very different version of this one.
So how do writers create religions, from a psychological point of view? In my case, the story I'm working on takes Gaulish beliefs, about which we know very little, as a jumping-off point. I've created a national myth, a sort of collective origin story, for the culture from which the main character comes, a story that explains why many in that society exhibit magic powers. From there, I'm trying to work out how that would affect religious belief and practice, and how other societies would react to my characters and their powers. I'm finding that it takes a lot of work to dream up a culture, even starting from something that really existed.
But I still have to wonder. Does the creation of a fictional religion parallel in any way the creation of a real-life new religious movement? I mean, I suspect most religious leaders are in earnest, but even so, do the same tendencies come out in fiction as in religious belief? The same ideas about what is and is not religion, about what kind of truth-claims one can credibly make? I suppose these questions are as much sociological as psychological, and they are rather beyond the scope of this blog.
All this got me thinking about fictional religions again. In spite of the obvious influence of real-world religions on fiction, I can't think of a fantasy world that simply uses a real religion. In fact, though the writers are often Christian, or at least live in largely Christian societies like the United States, and although the model for a lot of fantasy is medieval Europe, fantasy religions are often polytheistic. Perhaps this is because fantasy religions are taken to be true for the world in which they are set, with gods whose clerics possess real powers, which might be less plausible if it was a real religion that we knew about. I think the nostalgia some people have for the polytheistic faiths of Europe that were replaced or subsumed by Christianity also plays a role.
Urban fantasy, of course, uses real religions for the most part, but what I'm mostly interested in is fantasy set on a different world or a very different version of this one.
So how do writers create religions, from a psychological point of view? In my case, the story I'm working on takes Gaulish beliefs, about which we know very little, as a jumping-off point. I've created a national myth, a sort of collective origin story, for the culture from which the main character comes, a story that explains why many in that society exhibit magic powers. From there, I'm trying to work out how that would affect religious belief and practice, and how other societies would react to my characters and their powers. I'm finding that it takes a lot of work to dream up a culture, even starting from something that really existed.
But I still have to wonder. Does the creation of a fictional religion parallel in any way the creation of a real-life new religious movement? I mean, I suspect most religious leaders are in earnest, but even so, do the same tendencies come out in fiction as in religious belief? The same ideas about what is and is not religion, about what kind of truth-claims one can credibly make? I suppose these questions are as much sociological as psychological, and they are rather beyond the scope of this blog.
Friday, May 14, 2010
An atheist, chanting the Torah?
Last night I went to Torah chanting class. This is something I'm rather fond of, even though I don't believe (much) of what it says in the Bible. That is to say that I don't treat it as probably true. I treat it as a collection of stories, which say more about the authors' conceptions of human nature and the world than anything else. If some bits turn out to have some basis in reality, so much the better! It must be said, though, that I am capable of adopting a more traditional view from a "what-if" perspective for the sake of services and Torah study.
But going back to the chanting, the second time I went to a Jewish service (the first being a friend's bat mitzvah, which I don't remember very well) I was very impressed that they chanted the Torah. So when I heard about a free, once-a-week class, no Hebrew knowledge necessary, I decided to go.
As it turns out, the entire Hebrew Bible is full of cantillation marks (or trop(e) marks), as seen on the right in Genesis 3:17-19 (from the JPS Tanakh) which indicate the placement of the emphasis in the word, the tune to which each word should be sung, and the way the sentence is broken up. There is at least one such mark per word, but occasionally there are two. There is no widespread agreement on the set of tunes to use - it isn't like musical notation - and there are different sets for different texts and certain holidays. The class I'm in focuses on the Torah set for everyday (non-holiday) use, because of course that's the one that gets the most use.
I've been at this for a while, on and off, and I've studied Hebrew to the point where I can almost, but not quite, keep up with the Hebrew chanting in class, and am thus no longer forced to study in English (it is very unusual to chant in English, but at this synagogue some people do). The teacher, who is not officially a synagogue employee but plays an active role in many services and makes money tutoring bar and bat mitzvah students, has been suggesting for a few sessions now that I should chant a short portion of three to five verses in a few weeks. This time I told him I was a little uncomfortable with chanting something I don't believe, even if it is in Hebrew, but it turns out that my classmate, the Israeli atheist, isn't the only person who's involved with this group without believing, and of course a lot of them believe in unconventional versions of the religion, so it's a bit of an oddball group. I'm still on the fence about chanting, but apparently I'm Jewish enough for them. I just might do it, but the idea of chanting from the Torah, which not only lacks cantillation marks but also vowels, and which would involve several other things I haven't done before, such as putting on a tallit and possibly saying my own blessing, makes me nervous.
Why do I like it? There's a certain solemnity to the whole procedure, which really makes it feel special. It's oddly musical, even haunting, especially once you get to know it, and chanting can be a very meditative practice. It's also very intellectually demanding, especially because of the Hebrew, unless you take a pure memorization route. That, and I'm all for any excuse to sing. I also like the teacher and many of the people who come to class. It's drop-in, so you never know what to expect, although the more advanced students who come in are almost always there to practice a specific portion that they're going to chant within the next few weeks. It's nice to hear them work on it, and some weeks I feel up for the class, with its academic air, but not for Saturday morning services.
But going back to the chanting, the second time I went to a Jewish service (the first being a friend's bat mitzvah, which I don't remember very well) I was very impressed that they chanted the Torah. So when I heard about a free, once-a-week class, no Hebrew knowledge necessary, I decided to go.
I've been at this for a while, on and off, and I've studied Hebrew to the point where I can almost, but not quite, keep up with the Hebrew chanting in class, and am thus no longer forced to study in English (it is very unusual to chant in English, but at this synagogue some people do). The teacher, who is not officially a synagogue employee but plays an active role in many services and makes money tutoring bar and bat mitzvah students, has been suggesting for a few sessions now that I should chant a short portion of three to five verses in a few weeks. This time I told him I was a little uncomfortable with chanting something I don't believe, even if it is in Hebrew, but it turns out that my classmate, the Israeli atheist, isn't the only person who's involved with this group without believing, and of course a lot of them believe in unconventional versions of the religion, so it's a bit of an oddball group. I'm still on the fence about chanting, but apparently I'm Jewish enough for them. I just might do it, but the idea of chanting from the Torah, which not only lacks cantillation marks but also vowels, and which would involve several other things I haven't done before, such as putting on a tallit and possibly saying my own blessing, makes me nervous.
Why do I like it? There's a certain solemnity to the whole procedure, which really makes it feel special. It's oddly musical, even haunting, especially once you get to know it, and chanting can be a very meditative practice. It's also very intellectually demanding, especially because of the Hebrew, unless you take a pure memorization route. That, and I'm all for any excuse to sing. I also like the teacher and many of the people who come to class. It's drop-in, so you never know what to expect, although the more advanced students who come in are almost always there to practice a specific portion that they're going to chant within the next few weeks. It's nice to hear them work on it, and some weeks I feel up for the class, with its academic air, but not for Saturday morning services.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Shabbat Observance
One of the parts of Jewish religious observance that I'm the most drawn to is Shabbat, the sabbath. And yet being Shabbat observant (shomer shabbat/shabbos) in an Orthodox sense would be very difficult, not least because there are so many commandments that I do not know!
Shabbat starts Friday evening and continues until after sunset on Saturday, in accordance with how days are reckoned on the Hebrew calendar. During Shabbat a whole host of activities are forbidden, including but not limited to: working or causing your animal (or slave) to work, starting or putting out fires, turning on or off devices that use electricity (by analogy with fire), carrying things across property lines, traveling (more than a certain distance past the edge of town), handling money, and so on. There are thus a lot of restrictions that cannot be avoided and some that can be - by setting timers to turn things on and off automatically, one can avoid turning the lights on and off, or by living within an eruv, a sort of fictional property whose edges are defined by temporary barriers of sorts, commonly wires attached to telephone poles, one can carry things within that area. And any of them can be broken - is required to be broken - in order to protect human life. But these laws are a large part of why more traditional Jewish communities tend to be concentrated to some extent around a synagogue.
All of this doesn't have that much relevance to my life - I circulate in progressive communities (Reform, Reconstructionist, and similar), I don't believe in God, and in practice I don't observe any of the commandments strictly, although I try to avoid using the computer, the television, and the telephone on Shabbat. Furthermore, I am not technically Jewish, either by the traditional definition according to Jewish law or by the Reform definition. So why does this interest me? What exactly do I like about it?
I like not feeling the pressure to be productive. I like getting advertisements and phone calls out of my face, and escaping from the sensory overload of a modern, plugged-in life. I like taking my time and doing things slowly. I like reading, one of my major Saturday activities. And I enjoy the ritual. Lighting candles reverently, ritualistically, with a blessing (here in Ashkenazi/Eastern European pronunciation), feels holy to me, whatever that can mean to an atheist. I like havdalah as well, but I rarely get the chance to participate in that. I like the synagogue services, welcoming in Shabbat in the evening service and the Torah service Saturday morning, especially the chanting (or here's some cute kids chanting). I enjoy the camaraderie over snacks or a meal afterwards.
And I suspect that if I was more strict at least about the restrictions I try to impose on myself, I'd enjoy it even more. But this is something I waffle about every week.
Shabbat starts Friday evening and continues until after sunset on Saturday, in accordance with how days are reckoned on the Hebrew calendar. During Shabbat a whole host of activities are forbidden, including but not limited to: working or causing your animal (or slave) to work, starting or putting out fires, turning on or off devices that use electricity (by analogy with fire), carrying things across property lines, traveling (more than a certain distance past the edge of town), handling money, and so on. There are thus a lot of restrictions that cannot be avoided and some that can be - by setting timers to turn things on and off automatically, one can avoid turning the lights on and off, or by living within an eruv, a sort of fictional property whose edges are defined by temporary barriers of sorts, commonly wires attached to telephone poles, one can carry things within that area. And any of them can be broken - is required to be broken - in order to protect human life. But these laws are a large part of why more traditional Jewish communities tend to be concentrated to some extent around a synagogue.
All of this doesn't have that much relevance to my life - I circulate in progressive communities (Reform, Reconstructionist, and similar), I don't believe in God, and in practice I don't observe any of the commandments strictly, although I try to avoid using the computer, the television, and the telephone on Shabbat. Furthermore, I am not technically Jewish, either by the traditional definition according to Jewish law or by the Reform definition. So why does this interest me? What exactly do I like about it?
I like not feeling the pressure to be productive. I like getting advertisements and phone calls out of my face, and escaping from the sensory overload of a modern, plugged-in life. I like taking my time and doing things slowly. I like reading, one of my major Saturday activities. And I enjoy the ritual. Lighting candles reverently, ritualistically, with a blessing (here in Ashkenazi/Eastern European pronunciation), feels holy to me, whatever that can mean to an atheist. I like havdalah as well, but I rarely get the chance to participate in that. I like the synagogue services, welcoming in Shabbat in the evening service and the Torah service Saturday morning, especially the chanting (or here's some cute kids chanting). I enjoy the camaraderie over snacks or a meal afterwards.
And I suspect that if I was more strict at least about the restrictions I try to impose on myself, I'd enjoy it even more. But this is something I waffle about every week.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Christian novels, or why I'm Aslan's homegirl
I'm reading The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe for what has to be at least the fifth time. I've also seen the movie twice, so as you can guess, I'm a big fan. I first read the book when I was a kid and my parents gave it to me, followed eventually by the other six books.
When I was a kid, I didn't notice how Christian the Chronicles of Narnia was, and I certainly hadn't heard about C.S. Lewis' religious beliefs.
But rereading the book as an adult has given me a completely different perspective. I notice the description of the children as the sons of Adam and the daughters of Eve. It no longer seems like a given to me that the creatures of Narnia should be sad because there is no Christmas. It doesn't even make sense to me that they should have heard of Christmas! And it seems clear that Aslan, the giant, majestic lion who helps the children throughout their journey, is a Christ figure - he sacrifices himself on the Stone Table to redeem Narnia and returns to life. His mane is shorn, which could be a Samson and Delilah reference (making the White Witch Delilah?) or a reference to the historical executions in which the convict's hair was cut short or shaven off, partially as a humiliating gesture, partially to make the executioner's job easier.
Aslan's appearances and disappearances in Prince Caspian could be a story about losing childhood certainty, or having to fend for yourself as part of growing up. In the later books, we see Susan lose all belief and most of her memory of Narnia over time. I think this could be a pretty pessimistic story, coming from a believer like Lewis, especially because it's portrayed as more or less inevitable. You can't be an adult and experience Narnia.
The question, then, is whether we liken belief in Narnia to belief in Santa Claus or to belief in God, which tends to come under fire in the teenage years. I found out recently that C.S. Lewis himself was an atheist in his teens and twenties, which leads me to wonder whether it is not a little bit his own story.
The Chronicles of Narnia is not the only book I love that has a strong Christian influence - the Lord of the Rings, whose author, J.R.R. Tolkien, was a good friend of Lewis' and unlike him was Roman Catholic (Lewis was Anglican). The description of the setting found in the Silmarilion (which is sort of a collection of Middle-Earth mythology, like a Bible) is interesting. The Valar and the Maiar could easily be described as gods and angels, respectively, but all are subservient to Eru/Ilúvatar ("the One"), like angels. And Melkor is a devil figure - Sauron's boss, as it were, who is cast down out of Middle-Earth, explaining why we never hear of him until the Silmarillion. So we have various mythologies (Norse, Celtic, Finish, Greek, Welsh) rolled up together to create a series of stories set in a more or less Catholic framework. Which is actually very consistent with modern Christianity - the pagan religions of Europe have been major influences, and old gods have become saints and other heroes.
I don't have a problem at all with Christian influences in my fiction, but I think there's value in making them explicit when discussing these books. I do tend to avoid books that are billed as Christian fiction, though.
And to get to the title, I'm Aslan's homegirl because Lion Jesus is awesome!
When I was a kid, I didn't notice how Christian the Chronicles of Narnia was, and I certainly hadn't heard about C.S. Lewis' religious beliefs.
But rereading the book as an adult has given me a completely different perspective. I notice the description of the children as the sons of Adam and the daughters of Eve. It no longer seems like a given to me that the creatures of Narnia should be sad because there is no Christmas. It doesn't even make sense to me that they should have heard of Christmas! And it seems clear that Aslan, the giant, majestic lion who helps the children throughout their journey, is a Christ figure - he sacrifices himself on the Stone Table to redeem Narnia and returns to life. His mane is shorn, which could be a Samson and Delilah reference (making the White Witch Delilah?) or a reference to the historical executions in which the convict's hair was cut short or shaven off, partially as a humiliating gesture, partially to make the executioner's job easier.
Aslan's appearances and disappearances in Prince Caspian could be a story about losing childhood certainty, or having to fend for yourself as part of growing up. In the later books, we see Susan lose all belief and most of her memory of Narnia over time. I think this could be a pretty pessimistic story, coming from a believer like Lewis, especially because it's portrayed as more or less inevitable. You can't be an adult and experience Narnia.
The question, then, is whether we liken belief in Narnia to belief in Santa Claus or to belief in God, which tends to come under fire in the teenage years. I found out recently that C.S. Lewis himself was an atheist in his teens and twenties, which leads me to wonder whether it is not a little bit his own story.
The Chronicles of Narnia is not the only book I love that has a strong Christian influence - the Lord of the Rings, whose author, J.R.R. Tolkien, was a good friend of Lewis' and unlike him was Roman Catholic (Lewis was Anglican). The description of the setting found in the Silmarilion (which is sort of a collection of Middle-Earth mythology, like a Bible) is interesting. The Valar and the Maiar could easily be described as gods and angels, respectively, but all are subservient to Eru/Ilúvatar ("the One"), like angels. And Melkor is a devil figure - Sauron's boss, as it were, who is cast down out of Middle-Earth, explaining why we never hear of him until the Silmarillion. So we have various mythologies (Norse, Celtic, Finish, Greek, Welsh) rolled up together to create a series of stories set in a more or less Catholic framework. Which is actually very consistent with modern Christianity - the pagan religions of Europe have been major influences, and old gods have become saints and other heroes.
I don't have a problem at all with Christian influences in my fiction, but I think there's value in making them explicit when discussing these books. I do tend to avoid books that are billed as Christian fiction, though.
And to get to the title, I'm Aslan's homegirl because Lion Jesus is awesome!
Thursday, May 6, 2010
When your friend thinks you're going to hell
Today, I had the nicest conversation I've ever had with someone who thinks I'm going to hell.
I'm a volunteer tutor with a literacy program associated with the local public library. Twice a week, I meet with a woman who wants to improve her reading skills. It's been going quite well as a rule - we get along and she's making progress.
I've known for quite a while now that she was brought up Catholic and has been going to a Jehovah's Witness Bible study group for about a year. This made me a little nervous, but when she wasn't much bothered that Ricky Martin came out, I figured she was okay.
But today we talked about her interest in Bible study and she mentioned that a gay guy she knows invited her to study with him, but she didn't want to because according to her, he doesn't follow the commandments. I pointed out to her that nobody manages to follow all the commandments, even if they're trying, and that he might be very knowledgeable anyway, and it came out that the reason she says she has nothing against gay people is that she figures they'll get their just desserts in the afterlife! She didn't put in quite that way though. I tried to talk to her in straightforward terms about why I support gay rights, and I don't know how much of it got through, but when she asked if I had a boyfriend, I ended up coming out as a lesbian. She didn't believe me at first, because she said I didn't look like one (I told her that most of us don't look like we are).
So now she thinks I'm going to hell, if she didn't previously think I was as a non-Christian. I also came out as an atheist, although not in so many words.
But the weird thing was that it didn't get heated at all. I could have taken offense at some of the things she said, but I didn't. How do you deal with someone who thinks you're going to hell, but who doesn't yell at you about it?
I'm a volunteer tutor with a literacy program associated with the local public library. Twice a week, I meet with a woman who wants to improve her reading skills. It's been going quite well as a rule - we get along and she's making progress.
I've known for quite a while now that she was brought up Catholic and has been going to a Jehovah's Witness Bible study group for about a year. This made me a little nervous, but when she wasn't much bothered that Ricky Martin came out, I figured she was okay.
But today we talked about her interest in Bible study and she mentioned that a gay guy she knows invited her to study with him, but she didn't want to because according to her, he doesn't follow the commandments. I pointed out to her that nobody manages to follow all the commandments, even if they're trying, and that he might be very knowledgeable anyway, and it came out that the reason she says she has nothing against gay people is that she figures they'll get their just desserts in the afterlife! She didn't put in quite that way though. I tried to talk to her in straightforward terms about why I support gay rights, and I don't know how much of it got through, but when she asked if I had a boyfriend, I ended up coming out as a lesbian. She didn't believe me at first, because she said I didn't look like one (I told her that most of us don't look like we are).
So now she thinks I'm going to hell, if she didn't previously think I was as a non-Christian. I also came out as an atheist, although not in so many words.
But the weird thing was that it didn't get heated at all. I could have taken offense at some of the things she said, but I didn't. How do you deal with someone who thinks you're going to hell, but who doesn't yell at you about it?
Monday, May 3, 2010
My Atheist Position
I took this table from this post on Triangulations. I find it interesting to look at the sheer diversity among atheists etc. so I filled it out.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Beatles Shabbat
On Friday, I went to a pretty unconventional service at a local progressive synagogue. At this particular synagogue, on months that have a fifth Friday, they do a service based around the music of a particular band. This time around it was the Beatles.
This is unconventional in that according to Jewish law, one is not supposed to use musical instruments on Shabbat. Now, this doesn't stop Reform congregations, but this congregation is unaffiliated and doesn't use instruments except on fifth Fridays.
It's also unconventional in that the musical selections mark a departure from the traditional Friday night liturgy. Now from what I hear, many parts of the tradition and especially the melodies are really not that old, and in egalitarian synagogues it is common to change parts of certain prayers to recognize the importance of women and to be inclusive. All this, however, doesn't stop some people from getting up in arms whenever anything else is changed.
But at this service, people seemed to know what they were getting themselves in for. Almost everything was replaced with Beatles music that was thematically similar, although really the connections were quite loose. Some words were changed or capitalized to indicate that they were meant (in this context) to refer to God, and a few prayers were set to Beatles music.
There were some choices I really liked, like singing Eight Days a Week ("Ain't got nothing but love babe/Eight days a week") at the beginning of the Shabbat bride part. On Friday nights, the service is meant to welcome in Shabbat, the day of rest, and Shabbat is personified as a bride.
As the service went on, however, I felt more and more disconnected from it, in part because I didn't know some of the songs, and in part because when we came to the Hebrew bits, I was paying attention to the translation, and it always feels uncomfortable to say things you don't believe. So I didn't actually say most of it this time.
For example, this is from their translation of the Aleinu, which is said towards the end of the service:
"For we bow, prostrate ourselves, and thank the Supreme Sovereign of sovereigns; the holy one of blessing..."
And there you have the rub for me. Sometimes I want to be involved with this group, sometimes I enjoy the services and other events, but when it comes to the beliefs, I can't get with it. They aren't the kind of people that would kick out an atheist, but I don't think they realize I am one. I should probably find a Jewish Humanist group instead, but the nearest one I know of is too far away to get to more than once in a great while.
At least they didn't make us say the part about unbelief being no more. That's the part I dislike the most, because sometimes I can ignore the god stuff, but I can't pretend it would be a good thing for atheism and agnosticism to disappear.
Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed myself, and it was nice to see my friends, but it really highlighted what I don't like about being involved in religion.
This is unconventional in that according to Jewish law, one is not supposed to use musical instruments on Shabbat. Now, this doesn't stop Reform congregations, but this congregation is unaffiliated and doesn't use instruments except on fifth Fridays.
It's also unconventional in that the musical selections mark a departure from the traditional Friday night liturgy. Now from what I hear, many parts of the tradition and especially the melodies are really not that old, and in egalitarian synagogues it is common to change parts of certain prayers to recognize the importance of women and to be inclusive. All this, however, doesn't stop some people from getting up in arms whenever anything else is changed.
But at this service, people seemed to know what they were getting themselves in for. Almost everything was replaced with Beatles music that was thematically similar, although really the connections were quite loose. Some words were changed or capitalized to indicate that they were meant (in this context) to refer to God, and a few prayers were set to Beatles music.
There were some choices I really liked, like singing Eight Days a Week ("Ain't got nothing but love babe/Eight days a week") at the beginning of the Shabbat bride part. On Friday nights, the service is meant to welcome in Shabbat, the day of rest, and Shabbat is personified as a bride.
As the service went on, however, I felt more and more disconnected from it, in part because I didn't know some of the songs, and in part because when we came to the Hebrew bits, I was paying attention to the translation, and it always feels uncomfortable to say things you don't believe. So I didn't actually say most of it this time.
For example, this is from their translation of the Aleinu, which is said towards the end of the service:
"For we bow, prostrate ourselves, and thank the Supreme Sovereign of sovereigns; the holy one of blessing..."
And there you have the rub for me. Sometimes I want to be involved with this group, sometimes I enjoy the services and other events, but when it comes to the beliefs, I can't get with it. They aren't the kind of people that would kick out an atheist, but I don't think they realize I am one. I should probably find a Jewish Humanist group instead, but the nearest one I know of is too far away to get to more than once in a great while.
At least they didn't make us say the part about unbelief being no more. That's the part I dislike the most, because sometimes I can ignore the god stuff, but I can't pretend it would be a good thing for atheism and agnosticism to disappear.
Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed myself, and it was nice to see my friends, but it really highlighted what I don't like about being involved in religion.
Friday, April 30, 2010
My Background
My family is mostly English protestant, but on my mom's side my great-grandfather was Eastern Orthodox and my great-grandmother was Jewish. My mother's other grandparents rejected their families' religion. My mother was raised Unitarian Universalist, and explored her Jewish heritage as an adult, mostly through secular things like Yiddish and folk dancing. On the other side, my father's parents, raised nominally Presbyterian, became Quakers. My uncle married a Catholic, and so the most religious people in my family are probably Quakers and Catholics.
When I was little, I went to Unitarian Universalist Sunday School and nursery school. We celebrated Christmas and Easter, and I believed in Santa Claus but not in God. Occasionally we lit candles for Hanukkah, more to offset Christmas than because it's actually all that important. We stopped going to church when I was still pretty young, and I eventually stopped singing Christmas carols that mentioned God or Jesus. I gradually stopped all religious observance.
I alternated between atheist and agnostic over the years, and maintained no involvement with religion. Somewhere along the way, though, my mother managed to teach me a certain respect for Judaism and I ended up taking a Jewish Studies class in college, which left me with a desire to know more.
I started reading a lot of books about Judaism and Jewish history and so forth, most of the ones at my local library. I started going to services on occasion, and found myself enjoying the ritual. This raised a lot of questions, because I had always found religion boring, and I decided to try to believe.
A couple months down the road, I had a kind of epiphany. I had a dream I don't really remember, but I woke up in the morning with a sense of alarm and the thought, "What are you doing? You don't believe in God!" After that, I started reading atheist and agnostic books and I now feel more confident that God probably does not exist.
But it remains that I see value in some of the rituals and traditions, so I'm left trying to incorporate them into my life as an atheist. This blog will chronicle my attempts to do so.
When I was little, I went to Unitarian Universalist Sunday School and nursery school. We celebrated Christmas and Easter, and I believed in Santa Claus but not in God. Occasionally we lit candles for Hanukkah, more to offset Christmas than because it's actually all that important. We stopped going to church when I was still pretty young, and I eventually stopped singing Christmas carols that mentioned God or Jesus. I gradually stopped all religious observance.
I alternated between atheist and agnostic over the years, and maintained no involvement with religion. Somewhere along the way, though, my mother managed to teach me a certain respect for Judaism and I ended up taking a Jewish Studies class in college, which left me with a desire to know more.
I started reading a lot of books about Judaism and Jewish history and so forth, most of the ones at my local library. I started going to services on occasion, and found myself enjoying the ritual. This raised a lot of questions, because I had always found religion boring, and I decided to try to believe.
A couple months down the road, I had a kind of epiphany. I had a dream I don't really remember, but I woke up in the morning with a sense of alarm and the thought, "What are you doing? You don't believe in God!" After that, I started reading atheist and agnostic books and I now feel more confident that God probably does not exist.
But it remains that I see value in some of the rituals and traditions, so I'm left trying to incorporate them into my life as an atheist. This blog will chronicle my attempts to do so.
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