by Ben Howard
As a writer who occasionally has opinions about Christianity I am required by divine fiat to have a definitive position on the issue of the afterlife. A footnote to this rule hastily added in recent years forces me to write about this topic at least once a year to stay in good standing with the (possibly imaginary) powers that be.
Now, before I dive into my very well thought-out, possibly genius, and definitely correct opinion, let me make one quick note: Almost all discussions about the afterlife are stupid, or at least whatever synonym of that word I need to use to both not insult the participants of the conversation and make it clear that I do not see the value in their thoughts on hell, heaven, or divine realms of puppies/ice cream/Backstreet Boys montages.
Clear? Good.
With that out of the way, I'd like to tell you my useless (but remember, totally correct) opinion. I believe in annihilationism.
If you're unfamiliar with annihilationism, be assured that you're not alone. While it was one of the beliefs about the nature of salvation and eternity that some of the Church Fathers subscribed to, it has been a minority view throughout history. At its essence, it bridges the gap between traditional beliefs in hell and universalism. There is no eternal conscious torment in annihilationism, but neither is eternal life granted to all. Instead of hell, those who are not saved are “annihilated,” which sounds a bit violent until you realize that it essentially means they die (like everybody else) and then stay dead instead of being resurrected.
To explain how I came to hold this position, let me discuss two things I hold as universal givens: sin and death. When I use the word sin, I don't mean sin as an individual’s actions or even habits and inclinations. Instead I use the word sin in a metaphysical sense, as the force that un-creates God's good creation. To my mind, this is the central crisis of the Christian story, creation vs. un-creation, existence vs. non-existence, with sin as the force which pushes us closer and closer towards the non-existent, un-created side of the equation. This act of un-creation ultimately results in death, not just the death of an individual, but the death of all existence, everything and everyone.
And while this may seem bleak, here's the kicker, in this telling of the story Christ's sacrifice doesn't save us from our sin. Instead he overcomes the consequences of our sin by resurrection and new creation. Resurrection and immortality are graciously bestowed on a grateful people rather than prizes earned by good behavior or gifts given to all without their desire or consent. Also, it eliminates the unjust punishment present in spending an eternity in hell for a finite number of crimes. We aren't punished for sin; we simply receive the natural consequences of our existence. We live and we die, just like everyone; there just isn't an infinity-length encore.
This belief is simply logical to me, it's clean and direct. It's a system wherein, if you believe in an afterlife, chances are you're right. If you don't believe in an afterlife, chances are you're right too. It treats everyone equally and we all experience the same fate for our actions. It's clear, it's to the point, and it's just.
It makes so much sense.
Which is why I'm also convinced it's completely wrong.
Think about your favorite book, or your favorite movie, or whatever fictional story happens to resonate with you. Think about how the story progresses, how it moves from point A to point B to point C, always laying down more narrative track following the route the author has laid out in advance. The author may even get a bit creative and jump around, perhaps it starts at point C and works backward, maybe it starts in the middle, exploring backstory as it goes, but it always tells an ordered story. If it's a good story you'll get little bits and pieces that explain the motivation of the characters, quick asides about their pasts, small scenes that further illuminate their personality, all of it building incrementally to the final climactic moments. All of it makes perfect sense.
But that's what fiction does; it makes sense.
In contrast, our own lives, our own stories, present us with a far less cohesive narrative structure. Of course order still holds sway over most areas of our lives, causes have their effects, questions have their answers, and crises have their resolutions, but there also exists something else: chaos. And chaos is what ushers in the unpredictability, it's what keeps things from being neatly arranged, ordered, tidy.
And it's the reason why, despite answering all the questions I may have about death and the afterlife, my own closely held beliefs are just too clean and orderly. They are fiction, not reality.
Yet I don't know what an accurate theory about the afterlife would look like with it's chaos-inflected jagged lines and logic-averse inner constructs. My mind recoils at the complexity such a theory would require, like trying to explain quantum mechanics to a child who has just mastered the ability to count to three. Reality exists to boggle the mind.
But we must believe something, and in the end I believe what I believe, all the while uncertain and almost entirely convinced that what I believe is wholly incorrect. And with this uncertainty come the seeds of humility, not fully developed, but growing, slowly. The ability to listen to others, who I'm convinced are just as wrong as I, and respond with a modicum of grace.
Universalism? No, but maybe.
Hell? No, but maybe.
Aliens? No...but maybe?
Ben
Howard is an accidental iconoclast and generally curious individual
living in Nashville, Tennessee. He is also the editor-in-chief of On Pop
Theology and an avid fan of waving at strangers for no reason. You can
follow him on Twitter @BenHowardOPT.
You can follow On Pop Theology on Twitter @OnPopTheology or like us on Facebook at www.facebook.com/OnPopTheology. If you'd like to support what we do here, you can donate via the button on the right of the screen.
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by Ben Howard
4% of your fellow citizens believe the United States government is run by “lizard people.”
For those of you who are curious about the validity of this number, it comes from a poll conducted by Public Policy Polling last April and the margin of error was 2.8%. That’s right, not only does this poll say 4% of Americans believe lizard people are running the government, it’s also within the margin of error thus making it a statistically significant portion of the population. I always knew that democracy was a bad idea.
Now, I don’t really think this number is accurate. I would be shocked to find out that 1 out of every 25 people really believe that advanced lizard people have taken control of the government in order to…well, I don’t really know what they’re doing. It strikes me as far more likely that approximately 2% of the population likes to mess around with the heads of their friendly neighborhood pollsters, and that another 2% of respondents don’t understand how polls work.
But maybe a few of the people who said, “Yes, I do think Barack Obama is a reptile” really meant it, and though I may believe these people are delusional, I also envy them. I envy them in the same way that I envy the 28% of Americans who believe in the New World Order, or the 7% that believe the moon landing was faked, or even the 51% who believe that JFK was killed in a conspiracy.
I envy them because they live in a world where things make sense, where there are always people in control, and where chaos does not direct the major movements of life.
Even if all these conspiracy theories point to a kind of dystopian society, it’s still an appealing idea. While it may be a bit disheartening to think that the government deceived us all by faking the moon-landing, at least you believe in a government that has the capacity to perform to the highest level when the occasion calls for it. And while it’s a bit depressing to believe that the world is run by a secret international cabal of financiers (led by Beyonce of course), at least it means the world is manageable.
We fear chaos. We are afraid of the uncontrollable, the untamable, and the unpredictable.
It makes me wonder if we believe in God for the same reasons that some believe in conspiracy theories. It’s certainly part of the story of how God interacts with his people. In Genesis, God binds in the chaos of the waters, in Exodus she controls nature, and in Israel he directs the rise and fall of an empire. In Jesus, we see God conquering the chaos and destruction of diseases, even death. Paul tells us that Christ’s resurrection overcomes the chaos of sin.
So is God a conspiracy theory? Is God a way in which we comfort ourselves that though things seem unmanageable, there is someone with the power to control, someone to whom things make sense, someone directing the major movements of life so that chaos will not overcome us?
Or perhaps God is the chaos. When we attribute a natural disaster to the hand of God, are we just trying to make sense of of the senseless? Maybe the stories we tell about God, or more specifically, the stories we tell about humanity and God, are our way of rationalizing something that we can’t possibly hope to understand, the interaction with the divine.
What if the stories we tell ourselves, the faith we pass along, the narratives we read, the religion we profess, the Bible, the miracles, the theology, what if all of that is the conspiracy? What if it’s all an attempt to manage and reckon with the chaos of a God who will not be confined, will not be managed, and will not be tamed?
What if all the constructs of religion and faith that we’ve built are simply an attempt to make sense of something that doesn’t make sense?
What if this chaos is what we call holy?
Ben
Howard is an accidental iconoclast and generally curious individual
living in Nashville, Tennessee. He is also the editor-in-chief of On Pop
Theology and an avid fan of waving at strangers for no reason. You can
follow him on Twitter @BenHoward87.
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 |
| Fear the beard. |
by Ben Howard
I shaved my beard yesterday.
That may not mean a lot to you, but it means something to me. The only time I shave, or get a haircut for that matter, is when I'm in need of some kind of emotional catharsis. And lately, I've needed that kind of emotional release.
Let me explain. I'm terrified.
I'm terrified by this endeavor and how it's become such a huge part of my life.
I'm terrified by how much it has grown. I track my page views daily (which I realize is crazy narcissistic, but it's part of being a blogger), and I honestly can't believe how much the place has grown.
I'm terrified by how I feel things have matured, both in terms of other talented writers joining me and the way I can see my own writing improving.
But what I'm really terrified of are none of those things. I'm terrified of failing. The better I feel about this endeavor, the more I realize that it would hurt if it all turned south and went down in flames. Or even worse, if it just wasted away, starving until nothing was left but the shell it left behind.
But I am scared that in an attempt to stave off failure, I'll change, and that I won't like who I become. I want to bring you beauty, and humor, and spur your mind and your imagination about what it means to be live in this world, and what it means to seek after a better one.
But I also want you to like me. I want you to read my posts. I want you to say nice things about me. Sometimes these desires work together, and sometimes they don't. Sometimes I worry about which one is winning.
 |
| Ugh, feelings. |
Life is messy. I know it's messy, but I don't want it to be. Sometimes I pretend it's not. Sometimes I let it all show. That's why community is so useful. It's a place to let it all show.
I assume this chaotic tug-of-war is present in everyone. We battle our own emotions, desires, needs, and fears on a daily basis. Too often we seek easy answers about ourselves and others. We attempt to clarify our emotions and motivations in an attempt to explain ourselves. We attempt to uncover the motivations of others by dissecting their actions.
We assign grand narrative arcs to ourselves and those around us that look very tidy and clean and believable, but which ultimately bear little relation to the jagged, chaotic tumble of everyday life. We rarely know the whole story, even when it comes to our own interior struggles.
This is where I find the importance of community. We let people in and we let them know us, and in the process of letting them discover who we are, we attempt to know ourselves a little better.
It's scary to be that vulnerable. I'm nervous right now that you'll read this and see me as self-absorbed, or needy, and to be honest, that is who I am. I'm a chaotic mix of diverging emotions most of the time. I rarely make sense even to myself.
Through that vulnerability and through this growth within our communities, experiencing pain and joy alongside others, we learn about them and about ourselves. The discoveries we make aren't always pretty, sometimes they're quite disappointing, but they allow us to grow and develop.
These communities allow us to overcome fear and failure, insecurities and chaos, and live into a better version of ourselves and a better version of our world. Sometimes they help us to know that we just need catharsis, that we just need a release.
That's what I needed.
And that's why I shaved my beard.
Peace,
Ben
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