Huxley’s Human Potentialities, Part 2: The Way to Realise Our Potential (1).

To be meaningful, hope must be attainable. In ‘Human Potentialities’ Aldous Huxley says that we really can establish a future for humanity in which we ‘…actualise the many and great potentialities which in most individuals still remain latent’. We can do so, first of all, by establishing the right environmental conditions. As a Humanist Huxley believes that people have a natural desire, or even need, to strive towards the realisation of their potential. Nevertheless, we cannot trust that they will do so until their more basic requirements are met.

Describing Abraham Maslow’s concept of a ‘hierarchy of needs’, Huxley says that our physical needs (for food, and safety) and certain psychological needs (for belonging, and esteem) must be satisfied before we can realise the ‘most specifically human of our needs’; that is, before we can satisfy our need of knowledge, meaning, ‘self-expression through the manipulation of symbols’, and our need of ‘self-transcending development’.

It is necessary to concede that there are exceptions: some people realise potentialities in spite of, or even because of, isolation and a lack of love. In one song, I Found Out, John Lennon had this to say of his parents: “They didn’t want me, so they made me a star”. And yet in defence of Huxley’s argument, tortured geniuses like Lennon tend not to fulfil their potential in terms of being happy, or being happy with themselves.

So, the satisfaction of people's needs is a necessary first step, and a prerequite for their going on to fulfil their promise in multiple areas of their lives. But there are further ways and means to consider beyond that, as I will show in coming posts.

Huxley’s Human Potentialities, Part 1: Hope and a Direction for the Future Without Faith.

I admire Aldous Huxley, and all his work. His earlier, satirical and dystopian work tore down all hypocrisies and inequalities with piercing intelligence and wit. The novel Brave New World famously shows the possible dehumanising consequences of advancing science, and of advancing the fortunes of only a genetically ‘superior’ few. In that world dominant powers act like the religions and totalitarian regimes we know: they do not allow people to accept or respect difference – the quality of difference that we all share ¬– and they attempt to make everyone to follow the one same path to fulfilment whether they like it or not. But Huxley didn’t simply take the easy route of one who only criticises others, without offering positive alternatives; he didn’t simply show us an impending road to hell, without suggesting an alternative route.

After years of preparation Huxley wrote Island, a novel published the year before his passing in 1962. He sought to show how a community can choose to adopt practical and pragmatic systems in order to prioritise happiness, deeper present moment awareness, and love; he tried to describe a system which enables individuals to cultivate their own unique gifts, perspectives, and paths to happiness, to the benefit everyone. Equally, in an essay called ‘Human Potentialities’ (1961), which I will focus on here, Huxley outlined a positive direction for the future. He offered us something to strive for now, and an alternative to locating our hope in the consolations of an afterlife. In ‘Human Potentialities’ he criticises wealthy nations, where they envisage their futures in terms of more military might and more consumption. Rather, we should orient ourselves toward meeting everyone’s basic human needs, so that we might create a world in which everyone will have a chance to actualise their desirable potentialities. If we will it, or if we choose it and aspire to it, says Huxley, we do have the capacity to share our resources so that every human being will be nourished, secure, and valued; so that every human being will then be in a position to develop their capacities for intelligence, creativity, contentment, and love.

Aldous’ ‘Human Potentialities’ appears in a volume called ‘The Humanist Frame’ (1961), which was edited his elder brother Julian. Julian Huxley was a biologist, Humanist, and he had been the first director-general of UNESCO – his preface is worthy of mention. It is preface which centres on ‘Evolutionary Humanism’, as a way of giving humanism a set of principles and a ‘movement in a certain definable direction’. This ‘Evolutionary Humanism’ gives us hope and meaning, when it relates every kind of human activity to evolutionary movement. Evolution, Julian Huxley says, is not simply a biological process, but a psychosocial process which – particularly now, following recent strides in our knowledge and technologies – we can and should direct: "Today, in twentieth-century man, the evolutionary process is at last becoming conscious of itself and is beginning to study itself with a view to directing its future course. Human knowledge worked over by human imagination is seen as the basis of human understanding and belief, and the ultimate guide to human progress."

Linking in to his brother’s piece, Julian describes ‘Evolutionary Humanism’ as an aim for human species ‘…in the shape of greater fulfilment through the realisation of potentialities.’ In my next post I will show how Aldous Huxley thought we might practically go about realising human potentialities.

If homosexuality is natural, Christianity is wrong.

Please consider the following extract from a recent post on A Penitent Atheist (see links). In the context of the theme of my own blog (Shared Difference) I will just add this: although we may all share a capacity for love, we all require the freedom to pursue in the way we choose and with whom we choose (provided we do not cause unjustifiable harm). If one man finds love and happiness with a consenting thin female, so be it; if another man finds love and happiness with a consenting large male, so be it! Too often a terrible wrong has been perpetrated, when people have been forced, whether overtly or more incideously, to suppress their natural impulses for love and relationships...

"The title of my blog, A Penitent Atheist, indicates a degree of regret, even remorse, that exists in me because of the things I taught and preached as a Christian minister. One of the things I regret the most is my persecution of homosexuals.

When anyone attempts to find that Christianity is tolerant of homosexuals, they must choose to admit that certain parts of the Bible are wrong. Because the Bible is unequivocally anti-homosexual. And therefore, as a preacher, so was I.

As it turned out, the issue of homosexuality, among others, helped me see that the Bible, and Christianity, were false. It is very simple, really. If homosexuality is not a choice, then Christianity is wrong. And it is patently clear that homosexuality is not a choice; it is no more a choice than is heterosexuality."

Why Religion Still Makes Me Cross, Part 10: Go In Peace to Love and Serve...?

Anglican congregations rise to close their services with a hymn, and so they are already standing tall – perhaps invigorated by the imminent prospect of coffee and then Sunday lunch – when the Reverend exhorts them to “Go in peace, to love and serve the Lord”. But I feel obliged to exclaim “by Jove, isn’t that rather a lot to ask?”, having established (see parts II, VII, and VIII) that the Lord of the Bible - in His transcendence - cannot be anything other than unknown in every strict or verifiable sense. Good luck to individuals who undertake to guess what kind of “service” He wants, especially if they hope to come up with an answer and achieve a consensus; pity them, given the persistent inability to agree (ranging from petty bickering to out-and-out discord) which explains why religion makes religious people cross!

So then, with no solution, no resolution, and therefore with no clear Way to serve Him in sight, why do Christian solders march on? They’re hampered to the point of being ineffectual – incapable of coming together to choose between a frontal assault and a pincer movement, or even agree on which hill to take in the first place – so why don’t they demob? Well, perhaps that’s mostly because there is a security that comes with the expectation of a pending capital-T Truth; that can appear to outweigh the insecurity associated with the inability to define that Truth now, or agree on the Way to realise it. Unless… it could be that all the schisms and long-winded disputes conceal a hidden purpose: the Anglican Communion alone − without even needing to enlist other sects, or make anything of their divergences − may one day create enough hot air to fill a giant balloon so that they can float to Heaven. Why else sit there in General Synod and, straight faced, situate antagonised arguments about the “problem” of homosexuality alongside moral debates concerning poverty and climate change?

Another thing, the Godhead doesn’t need serving, or praising, or prayer. He’s ok, up there being sung to sleep every night by heavenly hosts. Surely He’s big enough to take care of Himself, and I see no reason to single Him out for special treatment just because He’s rumoured to be Older, Wiser, and more Powerful than the rest of us. (The that Humans are ‘lesser beings makes “Humanist” start to sound like a form of discrimination, like “sexist” or “racist”! Are Christian’s “Humanist” in that sense?) No, if we are to serve at all lets stay focussed on helping one another, because life isn't easy for us mortals. (Not that we can care for each other without also caring for ourselves, for no one would be happy and all our efforts would be wasted if everyone were to confuse “goodness” with misery and self-sacrifice!)

Of course the mystery of God is still there – distracting, perplexing, and generally getting in the way – somehow secure within a cultural milieu which politely accepts long-standing fallacies. Clearly I don’t like it, and yet you know, for now I do myself some favours if I can accept and come to terms with it, rather than become angry or demoralized (and as such ineffectual). Life goes on, even though we cannot be sure that life will offer us what we want, or anything at all: we cannot be sure that life will always give us secularism any more than health, money, or status, just as Christians certainly cannot be sure of God or Heaven. But I say to you: there is still always meaning in what you can give or offer – through your attitudes and actions – and in the love that you (uniquely, like no other) can feel or create even if the harshest and most hopeless circumstances. That’s everything, and that’s enough.

Why Religion Still Makes Me Cross, Part 9: Why Religion Doesn't Always Make Me Cross.

I’ve sought to explain and justify my persistent vexatious feelings about religion, but now I’ve said enough. Lets move on because, well, I’ve moved on. I’m positive, excited about the future, confident that claims to exclusive religious truth will fade in time, like an empty, irrelevant, and potentially divisive rumour. It’ll happen when it finally becomes clear even to religious people that the symbols that make up our languages and texts cannot really contain or express truth – religious or otherwise. Nevertheless, for now religion remains an inescapable ‘reality’, and I chose not to remain angry or demoralised about it. I wish to avoid the kind of excessive bile which could skew my perceptions, or distort my arguments. I am striving to be fair-minded, even handed, and capable of acknowledging the provisional and limited nature of my own words and hypotheses.

In that spirit, let me concede I like some aspects of religion (just as I might like some aspects of the American government’s activity in Israel or Africa, without being fond of American foreign policy as a whole): Despite myself I still like old Church buildings, and Anglican hymns whose words I learned by heart as a young choirboy: such familiar sights and sounds reliably counteract a kind of empty “home sick” feeling, whenever my surroundings seem ‘alien’ or threatening somehow. I also like kindly old ladies who bake for Church functions and spoil little children. I enjoy Christmas carols, and for me Taizé music can be ‘heavenly’. I even have affection for parts of the Bible – notably parables like ‘The Good Samaritan’ (Luke 10), and the one with the widow who gives away her last two copper coins while no one is looking (Mark 12). Further, if I were ever truly in desperate need, I think I might go to a priest or an imam, a church or a mosque – places where I know well-meaning individuals tend to congregate.

Religious or not, people tend to grow on me, once I get passed my preconceptions and appreciate their rounded individuality. In particular, I have a lot of time for religious people who honestly ‘don’t know’. These are open people who, it seems to me, gain much from not being sure about what they believe: they’re humble, and they don’t indoctrinate or force their beliefs on others. They are spiritual people whose spirituality performs a very real function in their lives; they tend to find solace in ceremony and constancy in the services, rituals, and festivals that break up their year. Hanging onto some kind of “open belief” can provide an avenue for genuine reflection, as well as relaxation and personal development – vital aspects of a life well lived, which many of us have lost. For others, notably “non-practicing” individuals who were brought up in the faith, God remains an important notion: few of these read or attempt to defend the Bible, and, for my own part, I’m disinclined to disapprove of them. We can’t all be philosophers, and people who are happy and harmless can’t all be expected to halt their daily lives in order to critically assess their unseen assumptions.

Clearly I’m making an effort to be kind here, and as a final gesture I’d like to mention two very important words – “love” and “forgiveness”. I’ll allow those words stand there alone, because they are strong expressive words that do not need to be borne up by philosophical explication or religious structure. Love and forgiveness have been working for a long time now, occasionally loudly or publicly, but perhaps more often quietly and privately. It appears Jesus and/or the gospel writers, like Gautama and Lao-tze, chose to use these words, and for that at least lets give them a nod. And spare a bow for people down the ages who may have read the whole Bible, but have nevertheless singled out and acted upon these two words. As Victor Frankl (author of ‘Man’s Search For Meaning’) discovered in Auschwitz, love allows us rise high, far above physical life and suffering – it is our salvation.

Why Religion Still Makes Me Cross, Part 8: The Foundations of Belief 2 – Trapped Between Two Horns.

God is usually invoked to fill gaps – gaps in our knowledge, or gaps in our hearts. Yet we now find that belief in God is unsustainable precisely because we cannot find a gap between a bull’s rather worrying two horns. Christians who concede the Bible’s unreliability, when they feel burdened by the weight of deeply embarrassing and unpleasant guidance it contains, evade one of the two horns. It is, after all, just not done to say to a woman that, in certain circumstances “she is to be kept silent”; it would be asking for trouble to go on and explain that Eve was deceived, not Adam, and that, as a result, women can only be saved through childbirth. Vis-à-vis passages like 1 Timothy 2:15 liberals are frequently anxious to stress the Bible’s fallibility, and they are visibly relieved when I’m able to tell them that Paul almost certainly didn’t write it anyway. But those who evade one horn in this way (they don’t have to defend the Bible’s bigotry, nor try to explain away its contradictions any longer) can’t avoid being impaled by the other: they must accept that they don’t have a secure textual foundation for their beliefs, and possibly no foundation outside their subjective selves.

The alternative is to weather the storm and continue to revere the Bible, in spite of the awkward bits. But that rash and baseless course – doubtful and distasteful in equal measure – presents a very pointed horn. Even if Christians swallow their doubts and take Bible’s inconsistent content for what it is, the fact remains that can’t be weighed up or verified – we have nothing to weigh it against. Philo-Judeaus and Justus of Tiberius meticulously chronicled the first half of the first century, and they did notice various cults and figures like John the Baptist – rather strange that they didn’t notice this Jesus (lit. “the one who saves”), wouldn’t you say? (See Barker, Dan, 1992) That just leaves Josephus, born 37AD, author of The Antiquities of the Jews; Christians who give him a mention are apt to impress an easily swayed or ill-informed audience. And yet it only takes a glance at the evidence to see that scribes crudely inserted a brief reference to Jesus – “doer of wonderful works” – into later copies of Josephus’ work.

I certainly don’t want to take incredulity to reckless extremes, but if there aren’t any ‘external’ references before the second century (Suetonius and Tacitus made a couple of very vague, and critical references to the Christian movement in AD112 and AD117 respectively) then how can we be sure that the gospel writers didn’t just make it up? Paul’s Epistles, probably written in the 50s, say lots high-flown and things about “the Christ”, but entirely in the abstract. The gospels did grant this “Christ” some kind of physical life, yet even if they didn’t make things up there are good reasons to suppose that they adapted a great deal from elsewhere. After all, precedents were all around, having seeped into the culture until it was steeped in them: Jewish Talmudic literature and a pre-Christian “Joshua” cult both preceded and often paralleled the gospels. Antigonus had already borne the mantle “king of the Jews”, and been crucified, and Dionysus’ had already been a ‘saviour sacrifice’.

Then there was the popular Persian god Mithra (see Barker, Dan, 1992): now, Mithra’s birth had allegedly been witnessed by shepherds and Magi, who had brought gifts. He had performed miracles including raising the dead, healing the sick, and sighting the blind; he even ascended to heaven, after sharing a last supper with his twelve disciples. Now, here we have a most curious coincidence – well, that or the gospels writers had indeed been borrowing from here and there instead of recording real-life events. Similarly, ponder the striking similarities between Old and New Testament ‘miracles’: compare, for example, the raising of the son of Zarephath in 1 Kings 17 with the raising of the son of Nain in Luke 7. Believers who suppose that this is just chance are trapped by one of our bull’s horns, since they clearly take credulity to unwarranted excesses.

Perhaps the only option left is to make a break for it, in an attempt to sneak around the metaphorical bull rather than confront it. That means quietly putting the whole question of a verifiable foundation for belief to one side, hoping that no one will notice. And then, well, how about an unverifiable foundation for belief, religious experience? Although the religious individuals cannot offer proofs, showing that they can commune with God, they may think that it isn’t possible for anyone else to deny it – touché! Touché indeed, although not because I feel unable to deny “it” (that is the self-and-other “reality” of spiritual encounters) – I actually think it’s quite fair to assume the non-existence of “anything” if no one can show me the evidence. No, my difficulty arises when people I care for describe their experience of God to me, because I understand that, for them, this has a profound emotional, mental, and physical ‘reality’. I feel obliged to honour that, which makes remaining cross awfully difficult at times. So, they finally have me: my frustration is (temporarily) neutralised, my offensive against everything theistic grinds to a (temporary) halt, and I smile … benignly.

But wait, occasionally believers do try to affirm the genuineness of their belief experiences, and then the colour soon returns to my cheeks. They claim that their experiences must be authentic, because they spawn good works. In fairness such a view is fine and harmless most of the time, when belief in God is associated with good works. But it’s a problem when belief begets bigotry, or when prayer precedes prejudice. I’ve heard lots of testimonies, and the idea of a close union with a loving God would grab my attention, and appeal to me, if it brought forth good fruit consistently – but it doesn’t. If a group of siblings don’t turn out too well we can’t, with confidence, say that their parentage was anything special; we can’t infer the existence of an ideal cause from a less than ideal consequence.

So then, if a Basilica built on sand stays standing, it does so in spite of it’s foundations. Why invest so much time, effort, and spirit, when all those gilded depiction of heaven and hell could crumble to nothing? When Christians give their all to the love of God it’s risky, very risky: those that manage to evade torturous doubt and crises of meaning do so in spite of the absence of a basis for their belief. Acknowledging meaning in life, in real experience – in our selves and other people, as well as in things we can choose to enjoy, create, and respond to with dignity everyday – is far more secure.

Why Religion Still Makes Me Cross, Part 7: The Foundations of Belief 1 – A Basilica Built On Sand?

Entering a dialogue with any literature can offer a counterpoint, and a valuable opportunity to gauge our experiences from an alternative perspective. ‘Liberal’ Christians go somewhat further when they adapt or apply ‘authoritative literature’ – religious literature – to make it a servant of their current situation. South America’s ‘Liberation Theology’ seems to have made this work; it has acted to meet the here-and-now needs of victims of inequality, and it has made a big enough impact to antagonise the Papacy. That’s not too hard to swallow, but I can’t stomach Christians (or individuals of any religion) who elevate their text – or their Church – above their context. They attempt to bend and twist what “is” to somehow make it fit what they read, notably when they pass by what individuals do want (perhaps sex outside marriage, or even a same sex partner) and try to make them conform to what the Bible says they should want (the kind of male dominated marriage described in Ephesians 5). This is ever so unfortunate when it is clear, in so many ways, that the Bible is not even a good book.

Straddling the two worlds of academic theology and Evangelical Christianity abruptly opened my eyes, and showed me that many weighty persons who lay claim to familiarity with God frequently know little about the Bible: they call it Truth, but they don’t look into how, when, and for whom its component parts were written; they don’t ask questions – at least not without presupposing satisfactory answers – about the process by which Scripture was copied, altered, and eventually thrust together. Many six-day creationists aren’t aware that Genesis was compiled (from four sources) as late as the time of Solomon, and then without a thought or inking for “histo-scientific accuracy”; the plan was to write something stirring to rejuvenate faith in God’s Sovereignty, at a time when Israel was under threat. And still I’m acquainted with Christians – Evangelicals, Pentecostals, Roman Catholics, and others – who stubbornly maintain that the Genesis is to be taken literally; they cannot admit that the Bible contradicts itself throughout, even when I take it upon myself to point out the numerous examples.

Logically – a priori – God cannot have made Man last (Genesis 1) and created him first (Genesis 2): an obvious discrepancy, factual in character, which casts doubt on the Bible’s internal consistency and historical veracity. When events are located in history – in a time and place – inconsistencies are often most apparent, and difficult to evade without saying “black is white”; it just so happens that this is the case with the nativity stories and resurrection “accounts”. Was Jesus born before Herod died in 4BC (Matthew), or was he born after Cyrenius became governor (Luke), which would be 6AD? When “the women” (and the gospels aren’t clear on which women) are meant to have been surprised and alarmed by Jesus’ empty tomb they may’ve seen one “young man” (Mark), an angel (Matthew), two men (Luke), or two angels (John). Bewildered?

Another thing – bear with me, it’s important – in its original form the earliest gospel, Mark, doesn’t have a post-resurrection appearance or ascension. The later gospels engender confusion instead of making up for this unhelpful omission: are we expected to believe that Jesus, after coming back to life, met his disciples for the first time in “a room” in Jerusalem (Luke, John), or that he materialised before them on a mountain in Galilee (Matthew)? (Hard to verify either way, given that mountaintops and fated rooms both tend to be very private…) The point is, if there is sufficient doubt concerning fundamentals such as Christ’s birth, death, and fantastic (or incredible) conquest of death, even the most watered-down, soggy ‘Christianity’ is surely unfounded and untenable. Similarly, what about our deaths, and the terribly important question of our wondrous rebirths in the hereafter? It appears that earning redemption through good works is definitely out (Romans 4). Rather, Salvation is somehow both a blossom produced by free will, when we choose faith, and also a gift of grace, entirely predestined so that we absolutely nothing to do with it (Ephesians 1)? After two thousand years of vainly wresting with these irreconcilables, God alone knows what’s going on.

Another variety of contradiction makes things awkward for Christians when it comes to using the Bible as a guide to living: should slaves obey their masters “just as (they) would obey Christ” (Leviticus 25; Colossians 3; Ephesians 6), or break every yoke so that Christ is their sole Master (Isaiah 53; Matthew 28)? Interpreting “Thou shalt not kill” is awfully tricky since the Old Testament example really seems to be saying, “it’s okay to massacre certain groups” (Canaanites, Golden Calf Worshipers, or – heck – how about any group that has a whiff of ‘heresy’ surrounding it according to the trends of the day)? Another quandary: did Jesus bring new wine (Matthew 9), or did he really mean it when he said he didn’t want to remove so much as a pen stroke from the Law (Matthew 5)? Mind you, going wholeheartedly for the latter isn’t really an option, since we’d all be off stoning disobedient children (Deuteronomy 21) and butchering individuals who are adulterous or gay (Leviticus 20; Romans 1) – we just don’t do that sort of thing where I come from.

Here Christians necessarily face two unsatisfactory options: should they defend the Bible without a leg to stand on, or embrace its flaws and abandon the platform upon which their faith rests. There is no third way; no route for Christians between this bull’s two sharp horns .