Am I a Heretic?

Sixth in a series on Revelation and Scripture.

Many religious people who read the last posting and understand its argument, may well say, somewhat impatiently, “Yes, yes—but then it isn’t real.” For them revelation is only meaningful if it is the word of God, taken more or less literally. My view of revelation is therefore seen as heretical. It pretends to be sympathetic to religion but denies it by removing its very force. The word itself, heresy, comes from the Latin meaning “school of thought, philosophical sect.” The Latin came from the Greek for “taking” or “choosing.” That very word was applied to the Sadducees, Pharisees, and Christians in the New Testament (according to the Online Etymology Dictionary accessible here), but the word is translated as “sect” in English versions of the Bible. Heresy therefore is the belief of those who do not hew to the prevailing dogma. But let’s look at the distinction here between revelation and dogma.

Dogma is determined by organized bodies, such as councils of bishops. These bodies take their de facto authority from the population of believers who appointed or elected them; the councils are a social creation and some distance removed from the experience of inspiration. Councils make law. Their rulings have an arbitrary character: Thou shalt. It is by means of dogmatic rulings that revelations, already written down, turn into scriptures. By the time that happens, an extensive consensus has already developed that the writings are holy and carry truth. They are then given additional force by an authoritative body. This is the process whereby the very mysterious experiences of individuals are transformed into writing and then, stamped by social structures, into the word of God. This phenomenon is present in one tradition only, the Western forms of religion, all based on the Judaic revelations that first touched Moses. The peculiar character of inerrancy does not attach to other scriptures produced in other parts of the world; those are not held to be literally God’s word, but they carry the authority of consensus.

When revelation turns into dogma, the inspiration that reaches humanity is on its way to being materialized, reified. Such at least is my view. The content of revelation therefore carries two kinds of authority. It carries an inherent force, that which it actually says. The words may speak to me personally. I may respond to them because my own intuition tells me that truth has reached me. In other words, at some low level, I too am sharing in the revelation. The other authority is that of an official stamp of approval. The church affirms it. In this latter case, however, I have no choice but to accept the revelation, whether I resonate with it or not. As a member of a church community, I am under sanctions if I withhold my total consent.

Revelation, once it has been socialized in this way—especially when it has become dogma—is very far removed from the situation in which it entered this world from the world next door. The problems of religious conflict arise in this process of socialization—the supercharging of an inspiration with legal implications and sanctions. Let me offer an illustration.

Many poetic works of humanity contain inspiration of high potency, but let’s just select one author, Shakespeare, widely quoted by thousands upon thousands of people to convey truth to one another. Shakespeare’s writings have never become dogma. His quotes are presented on a “take it or leave it” basis by speakers and writers. Those who have ears will hear the message. No religious wars have ever been fought, no population harmed by the sword because someone denied the truth of some Shakespearean story or fragment.

My own take on revelation, therefore, is indeed heretical in the context of dogma. But I am a heretic in two ways. On the one hand I view the religious interpretation of revelation as arbitrary law-making in a realm where personal judgment must remain sovereign. On the other I assign genuine truth and transcendental value to revelation and thus become a heretic to the dogma of materialism. The socialization of revelation, however, does have a value. It causes the high inspirations of the past, initially shared by many—because these inspirations affected many people—to be preserved, printed, and distributed widely and over centuries. Thus socialization, including dogma, acts as a channel by means of which revelation reaches me. But here I am reminded of a Sufi saying: “The channel doesn’t drink.” No, indeed. Only people can drink, and each one on his or her own; and you can lead the horse to the water, but you cannot make it drink.