1. The soul is innately immortal.
2. The soul is innately mortal, but may receive Eternal Life as a gift.
3. The soul is innately mortal and that’s the end, or put less esoterically, there is no soul.
The religious right scares me. The liberal left frightens me. And Facebook terrifies me. O, and by the way, the world is coming to an end!
1. The soul is innately immortal.
2. The soul is innately mortal, but may receive Eternal Life as a gift.
3. The soul is innately mortal and that’s the end, or put less esoterically, there is no soul.
In a previous post I stressed my reluctance to get involved in an argument against someone that is convinced by experience. We ultimately believe what we have experienced. If I have experienced Korea first hand, and afterwards you come to me and try to convince me that Korea does not exist, there is probably no amount of persuasion you can try that would convince me otherwise.
A Time Magazine article, in July 1995 – “Glimpses of the Mind”, reduced the mind to processes of the brain. This is to the chagrin of most Christians who belief that if there is no metaphysical mind, then there is also no metaphysical soul. And to them, it means the end of the Christian religion.
“And the second angel poured out his vial on the sea. And it became like the blood of a dead one, and every living soul died in the sea” (Revelation 16:3).
“I don’t believe in death” she said. “Shortly after my father’s death I had a dream in which we strolled on the beach and talked.” My friend and I were walking towards a pizza parlour for dinner when she shared with me this intimate experience she had.
The idea of hell, where sinners burn through all eternity, balances on two pillars: the immortality of the soul and a vindictive God. Both doctrines are shaky, yet the majority of Christians believe in such a concept of hell, where an angry God keeps people alive for the sole purpose of torturing their souls without ceasing.
Nowhere does the Bible teach that people have an immortal soul. God, alone, is said to possess immortality: “…the King of kings and Lord of lords, who alone has immortality…” (1 Timothy 6:15, 16).
“Let death seize upon them, and let them go down quick into hell…”
“The sorrows of death compassed me, and the pains of hell gat hold upon me…”
“Her feet go down to death; her steps take hold on hell.”
“Her house is the way to hell, going down to the chambers of death.”
“But he knoweth not that the dead are there; and that her guests are in the depths of hell.”
“Because ye have said, We have made a covenant with death, and with hell are we at agreement…”
The second pillar is the idea that God is a vindictive, arbitrary deity that believes it is just to torture people for thousands upon thousands of years, even though they only sinned for a short lifetime. And this counts for both the adult that sinned for seventy years, as for the child that sinned for ten years. Clearly this does not make sense!
There’s one thing that we do – we accept the invitation and trust in God. And even this “faith”, is a gift from God.
Just now I received an email from John Johnson. I’m friends with a John Johnson. Yahoo! has 316,000,000 search results for John Johnson and Wikipedia refers to at least twenty John Johnsons.
Like the mystery of Jesus who was both God and human combined, so the Bible is God’s Word expressed in man’s tongue. The Bible is God’s Word, conveyed through the shortcomings of the human agent.
It’s a nice day. The sky is a rich blue foiled with cheerful puffy clouds. Although sunny, it is not too hot. Everywhere hangs the sweet pheromones of flowers.
I’m not in the mood to chitchat – this is the nth time today that I’m cycling to and fro between the institute and my home. I’ve been in a bad mood the last couple of days and don’t feel sociable. And, I wasn’t looking forward to cycling back home again, but I did look forward to spending time thinking stuff over. Not life changing subjects, nonetheless, they are my subjects.
And now I’m interrupted. He waves me to a stop from afar. There’s no way I can ignore him.
“Hmmm?”
I’m not thinking him strange. I know the type all too well. I know he is going to beg for money. He will start by first telling me some sad story. Then he willthen make some emotional appeal to help him out. Some would agree that the rich have an obligation to support the poor. Does the same rule apply for the poor to supply for the poorer?
I remember a nightmare I had years back. I’m in my house. The house is empty of furniture. I’ve probably sold everything for rent or food, or I’ve given it away to beggars. Outside more beggars are banging against the doors and windows. I’m terrified. What else do they want? The clothes of my back? The meat of my bones?
“Net ’n paar sente.” / Just a few cents. It is a straight lie. He doesn’t just want a few cents. A few cents will not be able to pay for a taxi.
“Sorry I can’t,” I repeat and I ride away. I feel guilty.
[What would Jesus do?]
So when should religion get involved in politics and how? At this very moment
The fact is countries without invested interested will not act. It is purely not to their benefit. They will publicly denounce it. Even
I don’t know if this is one of the reasons for the Buddhist monks’ protesting (the thing that really instigated their uproar was a sudden increase in fuel prices, not religious freedom!), but if the monk’s protest bears fruit, other religious communities will also benefit. The Muslim community in
I recently watched CNN’s third installment of their documentary series “God’s Warriors” [http://www.hvc-inc.com/clients/cnn/warriors/index.html]. The third installment, “God’s Christian Warriors” centered on the Religious Right in
My blood chilled.
Although many of these people are most sincere in their purpose and convictions, they are moving the country away from separation of Church and State. The strong emphasis on political rallying is scary, to say the least.
Has it been so long? Is it already forgotten that one of the great causes for the “
The only Christian on the “God’s Christian Warriors” installment that I could associate with was Greg Boyd, and a little bit with Richard Cizik. The latter is an environmental activist, saying that we are stewards of God’s creation and that this should get just as much attention as other worthy causes, like prayer in schools.
Greg Boyd is a controversial pastor that denounced the Religious Right’s political agenda. Although Boyd is conservative in his moral views (e.g. disagrees with abortion and Gay marriages), he is paradoxically critical of the Christian Right movement. Last year he authored the book The Myth of a Christian Nation: How the Quest for Political Power Is Destroying the Church as a theological response to the Christian Right agenda.
Boyd is considered a heretic by some for adhering to the idea of “open theism”. I’m yet to read up enough on the topic, but as for Boyd’s focus on Jesus Christ as our model, and condemning the marriage of Church and State, I passionately agree.
Fearful will be the day when the
The problem is of course much more complex than the Christian Right wanting control of government. The reason for their power hunger is because they are experiencing an infringement on their constitutional rights themselves. In a secular society where Christian values and beliefs are frowned upon, and the slightest mention of one’s beliefs are considered hate-speech, it is no wonder that they feel the need to fight .
I sympathize. It is crucial for me to be allowed the freedom to worship freely, to live out my convictions proudly, to share my faith openly. Permit me also the choice to learn and appreciate various models of origin, not only one state approved hypothesis. These are all civil liberties we all should have access to.
However, if I want this freedom of choice for myself, I must also allow it for others. Not only now, but even in times to come. Throwing religion and politics into the same pot is sure to bring a gloomy future.
After all, did Jesus not say that His Kingdom is not of this world?!
I feel empowered. I have accomplished something. Of course I accomplished a lot of other things during the week, but nothing as tangible as taking out the trash. Disposing of filth is very evidential. There was a bag of things both dirty and questionable in nature, but now it is gone. Dirty – Clean. Bad – Good.
I’ve made the world a better place!

* Some would have you believe that Evolution is the cause for all the variety we see. Stop and think about this. Darwinian evolution is based upon natural selection. Natural selection do not encourage variety, instead it weeds out variety. A creature with any mutation that is “less fit” goes instinct. What we see in nature is more adherent to an entropic model (increasingly fewer species are surviving), than a survival-of-the-fittest-produces-more-variety-model. The entropy principle is one of many death-strokes for traditional Darwinian Evolution. Practically no self-respecting Scientist would still admit to being a traditional Darwinist.
It happened on Friday. I slugged out of bed at around 10am. The demigod Chaos had made nest in my apartment again. Socks and other smelly objects mingled with notes, unmarked papers, trash, half read books, unsorted DVDs, dirty dishes, and I lay strewn about.
“It’s Friday.” Fridays are supposed to be preparation day. I’m supposed to use it to exorcise Chaos from my space and prepare for the blessed peace and orderliness of Sabbath. But on this Friday there is an important post-graduate workshop which I need to attend. The topic is “boundaries and liminality”. And since I am planning to commence with a PhD I guess it would be good to show my face.
I dress up: White button-up shirt with striking blue tie, enveloped by a black waistcoat to hide the creased shirt, formal pants, black shoes, and black framed glasses to match. The effect will work. It will say “young, smart and confident”. It’s a lie. Today I do not feel confident. I feel like a loser, unsure about my future and my place in it.
I pad myself with sun block, mount my bicycle and leave Chaos home alone. Maybe he will have mercy on me, get bored and leave before I get back.
The workshop started hours ago. I try to sneak in, but everyone is too happy at the disturbance. It gives them something to do. It breaks the monotony of listening to one academic blah-blah after another. They all look at me. Wait for me to find a seat. Some pretentiously frown at my complete disregard for timeliness or disrespect at unsettling a highly qualified scholar in the middle of her highly academic discourse.
The literary professor seems untouched by my fashionable entrance. She quotes someone: “Die dood spreuk tog vanself.” [Death speaks for itself.] The title of her presentation is “Still lives and the still life of death; voices and silences in Memorandum by Marlene van Niekerk and Adriaan van Zyl”. If death speaks for itself why such a long discourse about it, I ponder.
Next up is an old classmate. She reports on her PhD. It is about Oliver Schreiner’s The Story of an African Farm. (Schreiner is probably best known for his quote: "There was never a great man who had not a great mother.") She quotes passages from the book and I’m struck by “only the milk bushes, like old hags, pointed their shrivelled fingers heavenward, praying for the rain that never came.”
And so it goes.
Hours go by.
We are fed.
More hours go by.
We listeners are confronted with death, nostalgia, vengeance, banality, gender issues, Apartheid. . .
“What does it all mean?” I ask myself. “In the greater scheme of things, what does this matter?” I’m frustrated with the futility of it all. “Are we changing the world? Does this help anyone? Is this of value to anybody, except us handful scholars sitting like mythological gods on a mountain, removed from reality – our only interaction with it is through the arts.”
And then, everyone is finished. There is actually some time left and I’m put on the spot. I have nothing to say about my own future studies. “Tell us about your master’s degree.”
I stand up, armed with a white board marker.
I start by explaining the difference between Literature and Creative Writing. “Literary scholars are like connoisseurs,” I flatter them. “They taste the food, dissect the flavours, discuss the qualities and write critical reviews.” I smile. “Creative Writers are like the chefs. Both the connoisseurs and the chefs work with food. They just approach it from different sides.” They nod their heads in understanding. The analogy has caught its prey.
“The creation and representation of a postmodern character identity in prose” – the title of my dissertation. I explain my research and methodology on the white board and begin a flamboyant discussion concerning the creation and representation of character, postmodernity and pop culture. I answer questions eloquently and at length. I throw my knowledge of Postmodern Identity and Creative Writing around like candy to a crowd. I make references to Nobel prize winner, J M Coetzee, to Frank Miller’s film adaptation of his comic books, to the imago’s in Dogville, to the stereotypes in The Simpsons and American Dad, to the blend of classical and contemporary music in The Matrix, to postmodern subcultures, to narrative layers, to E M Forster.
And I hear my alter-ego cry out: “What does it all mean?!”
I return home, uplifted with the endorphin rush of academic acknowledgment.
Chaos awaits me. Valiantly I put up a fight. I start in the kitchen. I wash the dishes and wipe the stove. But Chaos’ martial experience outwits me long before I reach my room.
“You think your small victory can dissuade me?” He asks. “I’m not a scholar persuaded by rhetoric. I’m not overcome by white board markers. I’m not subdued by analogies. I’m not awed by your knowledge of Postmodernism. I am the Cause of Postmodernism.”
And that . . . that was Friday.