Contents
- The matter of truth
- At the center of everything is me and my inquiries
- Truth and hope
- A God who demands faithfulness
It’s not hard to find people on the internet who claim to be practicing multiple religions at the same time. As, for example, the author of an article on knife.media writes
“Saturday he will devote to creating a lingam, [an idol of the god Shiva], and on Sunday he will go to the center of the capital, to a Catholic temple, for a service. There is no contradiction in this — it’s just that Zhenya practices two religions at the same time. He’s a Catholic and a Shaivite.
He also does a little fortune-telling on Tarot cards and sometimes celebrates Wiccan festivals of the Wheel of the Year. People like him are called polyreligious people.”
To many, this approach seems almost taken for granted — they are willing to drink from all sources and, as it’s called, “to tap into the treasures of various religious traditions.” People are surprised — and even offended — when they are told that this is impossible. Who are we to forbid them?
We certainly don’t forbid it — and “polyreligiosity” is, in fact, impossible, not because someone forbade it, but because of the very nature of things. Not legally, but logically. If you try to practice, say, Orthodoxy and Buddhism at the same time, you are neither Orthodox nor Buddhist. You do not, in this case, have “more than one religion.” You have none. But let’s consider things in order.
The question of truth
Polyreligiosity raises a number of important questions — above all, the question of truth. Who, after all, is right? What is true and what is fantasy? What is the reality that is independent of us and our preferences?
Paradoxically, militant atheism (such as that espoused by Richard Dawkins) is even closer to Christian faith than polyreligiosity — at least Dawkins and I agree that truth exists, truth matters, and it is our moral duty to pursue it.
Being willing to “follow” different religions at the same time means refusing to find out what the truth is. In this case, one simply refuses to consider how true one’s ideas about the universe are, what really awaits us after death, or which of the mutually exclusive claims of different religions are true. This question is simply pushed out of one’s mind; even raising the question is considered inappropriate, “unspiritual,” provoking controversy and conflict.
This refusal to question the truth is due to the influence of two worldviews — archaic paganism and postmodernism. They may seem completely alien to each other — paganism is something very, very old, from the time of cave paintings, postmodernism is quite new — but they blend and complement each other perfectly.
Blessed Augustine, in his grandiose work The City of God, points out that pagan religious practices have postmodern goals — to obtain health, good luck in business or war, success in love.
The pagan thus seeks efficiency rather than truth in his religious practice. It does not matter what kind of cat it is, black or white, or whether it is a cat at all. What matters is that it catches mice.
The relationship of a pagan with the gods is like that of a peasant with a knight or a storekeeper with a mafia boss — he receives protection in exchange for tribute and homage, and he has little interest in the life of his patron. The gods are a source of possible troubles to pay off, or various benefits to pay for.
At the same time, of course, the more patrons you have in the higher spheres, the better — if you have good relations with your neighborhood boss, there’s no reason not to have good relations with the bosses of the neighboring districts.
Pagan religion is not a question of truth, it is a question of building such relationships with the supernatural world that no troubles would come from there, but instead rather earthly benefits.
It remains so to this day; but modernity has given rise to another phenomenon — religious practices maintained against the backdrop of implicit (or even conscious) atheism. People proceed from an atheistic and materialistic view of the world — God (or anything supernatural) does not exist, life ceases forever with physical death, there is really no one to pray to. But they (unlike “scientific atheists”) do not rebel against religion as such.
Modern man, who attaches great importance to his psychological state, also seeks such benefits as relief from depression, vigor, strength, and those uncertain experiences that are commonly called “mystical.”
Religious myths are considered true in the sense that they tell us something important about our inner, psychological reality; fairy tales, of course, are not true in the sense of conforming to the external world — but they help people to change, correct, or reconfigure something within themselves.
Joint participation in rituals inherited from the past, of course, does not help to get in touch with supernatural forces (they, by default, are assumed to be non-existent), but it has a beneficial psychotherapeutic or social effect.
The popularity of various meditative practices borrowed from Eastern religions has nothing to do with the fact that people seriously believe in the worldview they offer. They just want to achieve certain purely mundane goals — for example, to increase their productivity — and if this method works, good.
In this picture of the world, there can be no objection to combining practices from different religions — doctrine, mythology, different ideas about the universe — it is in any case something conditional, these are the rules of the game, and nothing prevents you from playing several games at the same time.
The question of truth is politely forgotten here — you won’t declare at a meeting of role-players who pretend to be, say, elves of Middle-earth, that they are not elves at all, and Middle-earth is a literary fiction. They know as well as you do that it is fiction. That doesn’t stop them from enjoying the game.
I and my demands are at the center of everything
Both of these approaches are close in that they place the individual and his or her demands, practical or psychological, at the center of religious activity. This attitude is energized by comsumerism and the ubiquitous advertising in which we live.
Countless suppliers of goods and services compete for our attention and our money, offering us the best way to fulfill our needs.
When vendors want to sell us something, asking the question “does it fit me?” is appropriate. After all, I am the one who will be wearing these clothes or using this device. I might aswel take into consideration how comfortable and pleasant it is for me — on a psychological level aswel.
The same attitude carries over to religion — am I getting the experience I want? Have I found a crowd where I feel like I belong? Does it spark my interest? Does this religion “fit” me? Have I grown bored with it and become disillusioned with it, have I satisfied my psychological needs in it?
Questioning the truth of religion in this context turns out to be as obscure as questioning the truth of a particular brand of cell phone or, say, a health diet. A diet may suit your body, your capabilities, your habits, or your tastes, but it makes no sense to ask about its “truth.”
Truth and hope
But the main reason for the atmosphere in which the question of truth is neglected is the lack of hope. If we have nothing ahead of us but inevitable death that marks the end of our personal existence — regardless of how we have lived our lives — then truth is really not important. No matter what you believe, your hopes will not come true; it doesn’t matter, though, because you, as an individual who would be capable of grieving it, will no longer exist.
If religions are, by default, fantasies with which people console themselves in the face of their inevitable and meaningless demise, treating them as playful practices that can be combined at will is understandable.
In this case, it is pointless to ask the question “which path leads to eternal salvation”. There is none. There is no “eternal salvation.” As a character in Turgenev’s Fathers and Children said, “After you’re burried, a burdock will grow on your grave.” There is no point in fearing to fall into error — you cannot get lost on the road to the City that does not exist.
Christianity differs from both ancient paganism and the new atheism in that it decisively — even militantly — proclaims hope.
We start from the premise that there is a God who loves us and an eternal salvation that we can attain. This is the truth, and it is beautiful and incredibly comforting
Christ has literally, bodily, physically risen from the dead; He has indeed given us eternal and blessed life, which we receive by repentance and faith.
Heavenly Jerusalem, paradise, is no less real than Moscow or London, or rather, much more real, alive, intense, authentic. Compared to the saints in heaven, we are pale shadows. The most wonderful, exciting, and vibrant things we can experience on earth — weddings, the birth of our firstborn, astounding scientific discoveries, or journeys to amazing places — are but pale reflections of the true, heavenly, endless life to which we are called. All the goodness, truth, beauty, and joy of this world is the light that struggles to break forth from there, from our heavenly Fatherland. When we are settled there, we will find true and eternal happiness. Our earthly life is given to us to travel and come to the home of our heavenly Father.
And hope makes truth very, very important. If earthly life is a unique chance, an opportunity to gain eternal and blissful life, it becomes very important how we take that chance.
It can be compared to the situation of a seriously ill person — if he thinks that he has no hope of getting better, he can only think about how to brighten his last days. But if hope appears — it becomes very important to find the right way of treatment. A hopeless person has nothing to lose; but when hope appears, it is very important not to lose it.
And the first thing a person asks when a dangerously ill person has hope of recovery, (or a prisoner has hope of release) is, “is it true?” What if it’s a mirage and a hoax? If we put our last hope on the line, we need to know that we put it right.
And so religion, when it rises above primitive pagan witchcraft, is about our last hope. You will not scatter your efforts in an area that is critically important to you. You will not be treated (or treat someone you love) by two doctors at once who give different (and yet incompatible) diagnoses, and prescribe different treatment strategies. You will make an effort to figure out which one is right. You will not entrust your life to someone who is obviously wrong.
If the Celestial City is real — it becomes very important which road leads there and which road does not. If we embark on a journey, it becomes very important for us not to get lost. We discover that truth matters. If you are walking through a snowy desert and you want to come out to a shelter, it is very important for you to choose the right path. It is literally a matter of life and death.
When we examine religions — not the primitive worship of the gods of fertility and success, but the great traditions such as Buddhism, Islam or Christianity — we find that they have something in common with each other. They say that the purpose of our journey, salvation, lies beyond earthly life. But they diagnose the plight of the human race in very different ways — and prescribe very different treatments.
They cannot all be true all at once. Of course, people would like to put off arguing about truth — as if truth could be put the scope of our lives, pushing the issue to a safe distance. But this is impossible. We inevitably proceed from some notion of truth — even if we believe that truth is unimportant or does not exist. Our actions give away what we believe (or don’t believe). In taking some action (or refraining from taking some action) we are inevitably guided by some notion of reality and how we should behave. Therefore, the question of truth is inevitable.
The first and second commandments of the Decalogue say “I am the Lord thy God, which have brought thee out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage. Thou shalt have no other gods before me. Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of any thing that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth. Thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them” (Exodus 20:2-5).
If a person erects an idol and performs a ritual of Shiva worship in front of it, he proceeds from the implicit belief that the categorical biblical prohibition against worshipping idols (and foreign deities) can be disregarded.
If he seeks different paths to God in different religions, he clearly does not assume the truth of Christ’s words “I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me” (John 14:6) to be true.
You cannot believe — in the sense of “accepting as true” — mutually exclusive statements. Such belief is not “forbidden.” It is simply logically nonsensical. Much less can you follow mutually exclusive commands — to erect a lingam in honor of Shiva, as Hinduism indicates, and obey the categorical prohibition against doing anything of the sort — which is found in the Bible.
A God who demands fidelity
Christianity is not just a set of statements about reality that are incompatible with those of other religions. It is a personal relationship that the Bible defines by the word “covenant,” a union that can be compared to marriage, citizenship, or military service. God loves his people, and each individual as Father, Spouse, or Brother. The Old Testament prophets speak of His deep, tender affection for people. This love reaches its climax when God himself becomes human in the person of Jesus Christ — and through his death and resurrection gives us eternal life.
God is absolutely faithful to each of us — faithful to the end, to death on the Cross. And unfaithfulness to Him — the willingness to turn to “other gods” is not just a delusion. It is a grievous personal offense.
The prophets compare the relationship between God and His people to marriage — God will not tolerate relationships with other gods any more than a husband will tolerate his wife’s relationships with other men.
In Scripture, God compares Himself to a man who loved and drew close to an abandoned orphan, became a kind and caring husband to her — and she betrayed Him, betrayed His love, and gladly took up arms (Ezekiel 16) As the prophet says, “Surely as a wife treacherously departeth from her husband, so have ye dealt treacherously with me, O house of Israel, saith the Lord.” (Jeremiah 3:20).
God also compares Himself to a Father who is offended by his ungrateful sons: “Hear, O heavens, and give ear, O earth: for the Lord hath spoken, I have nourished and brought up children, and they have rebelled against me.” (Isaiah 1:2)
Idolatry in the Bible is an outrageous insult to God. The Creator of heaven and earth came down to you, made a covenant with you, and you chose soulless and meaningless idols over Him.
The Bible continually emphasizes that God demands faithfulness, and the Church reiterates this by glorifying martyrs — people who accepted agony and death — just to avoid worshipping “gods other than their own.”
Worship of other deities is totally incompatible with the Christian faith; if you practice it, you are out of covenant with God. You are absolutely not a Christian — no matter what you call yourself. Fortunately, like any sin, this sin can be forsaken, and you can turn “to God from idols to serve the living and true God” (1Thess.1:9).
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