PaulS

I don't see it as a problem, but are you suggesting inquisitivity should simply be shut down because it's perceived as not a problem that needs answering? Well I guess one could perseverate until they determine an answer they find acceptable or explanatory enough. No harm in proposing possibilities - but determining their accuracy is another challenge altogether. You've obviously given it some thought yourself to land at a position where you 'like' pantheism as a theology. I like it too, and panentheism. Are either of these views accurate - I don't know. Will I continue to mull it over and discuss it framed against any new information I receive or experience I undergo - probably. Does is really matter? - I suspect not. Will I ever answer it? Who knows.

How is good too, but when it comes to the pre-existence of existence prior to the big bang, 'how' is just as unanswered as 'why' in my opinion. Well, like I said, I'm not anxious about finding an answer, more just curious, so I'm not feeling any stress about how long I may have to find out. Indeed there is a plethora of religions, philosophies and other beliefs that are adamant they have answered the question. I'm not aware of any that answer things for me at this point in time. Again, I don't think this thought process of mine is holding me back from moving on in my life. A small percentage of my waking time may involve thinking about related matters, but to tell myself to 'stop' thinking about it seems more like quitting. Probably like you, I don't expect much (if anything), but I'm not sure there's any issue with thinking about it.

'Enough' in what sense, Rom? Sure, it's enough for me in a day-to-day sense. I don't stay awake at night in anxiety of not knowing. But I am still curious and have an interest in what we don't understand. Indeed the universe is unfolding - but I am curious if there is a 'why' to this unfolding. Science shows us there was a big bang that initiated the existence of time and space. Before that there was no universe unfolding. So what was before the universe, space, and time, and why did the universe come into being. Maybe there is a scientific answer, but I haven't found a satisfactory one as yet. Or possibly panentheism. I think the odds are certainly in favor of these experiences being chemical reactions, but I simply can't rule out the 'other', whatever that may be. I am curious. Undoubtedly drugs and chemical reactions result in all sorts of experiences. Are 'spiritual' experiences limited to these causes - I simply don't know.

For me, ancient texts point to the conundrum that I think has existed throughout the ages and through to now - the feeling, or is it just a question, about the being something 'more' to this earthly existence. Maybe there is, maybe there isn't. I do know there have been many things that science hasn't discovered until much, much later in our history, so maybe any concept of God might still yet to be answered by science. Maybe science will discover God one day. I do know that I have had 'spiritual' experiences in my life that I can't explain other than to say that maybe they are just chemical reactions in my brains that make me think I am experiencing something other than this physical world, but then again, maybe they're not.

That's about the only way that I can imagine God - that somehow maybe 'we' are all part of God, that we are God experiencing existence. I'm not saying that is the way it is, but I do wonder.

It could all be nonsense, but then again..... For me personally, if our existence is only a result of our brain growing and developing and having chemical reactions, to me that doesn't explain the 'why' we exist. Why did our atoms decide to come together as they have to evolve to what we are today? What drives atoms to do that? Why do plants and animals want to exist? Maybe it is consciousness that creates matter.

Hi Jake, Welcome to the Forum. Glad you found us. I hope you enjoy participating here. Cheers Paul

More from Phil on Spirituality vs Religion: I’ve been organizing my garage, getting it ready for spring, wanting to make sufficient room for my pursuits. I like motorcycles, so I left room for them. I’ve ridden motorcycles for 45 years now, and don’t think I’ll be giving them up anytime soon. I decided to make a little space for my pocketknife collection and a place to sharpen them. My Grandpa Hank once told me that a dull knife is a dangerous knife, so I like keeping my knives sharp. When I finished cleaning my garage, I realized I had freed up an entire shelf, giving me the perfect space for another of my favorite things, power tools. If you own a house, you need power tools, and now all of mine are neatly organized on a shelf in our garage. I had a little time left after organizing my garage, so I sat at my workbench and thought about motorcycles, pocketknives, and power tools and what they had in common. I decided to draw a Venn diagram. You might not know that term, but I’m sure you’ve seen a Venn diagram. They are overlapping circles intending to show similarities between distinct or different categories. Where the circles overlap is the common or shared trait these different categories possess. So, I drew three circles, one called motorcycles, one called pocketknives, the third called power tools, and I made them overlap then wrote in that little space the one trait they had in common—things that will probably kill me some day. We’ve been talking about the differences between religion and spirituality and what it means to be spiritual. The first thing we said is that religion often compels, it often insists, it expects compliance. While spirituality invites, it beckons and attracts. We’ve also said that spirituality is often a consequence of suffering, while religion is often an effort to avoid pain. You’ll remember the quote from Scott Peck, that the avoidance of pain is the beginning of unhealthy behavior. Today, I want to talk about the common place where religion and spirituality intersect, so let’s once again think of a Venn Diagram with two overlapping circles, one marked Religion and the other labeled Spirituality, for we are in both places, are we not. We are participating in a religious enterprise this morning. We’re not sitting at our home by ourselves, lost in our own thoughts. We have instead decided to gather and share certain rituals, among them prayer and singing and silence and speaking, in order to experience connection with God and one another. But we inhabit another circle we call spirituality that transcends religion. This is the sense of elation and awe and love we experience in everyday life. We can feel deeply spiritual and connected while holding a child or grandchild, while walking through a forest, while sharing a meal with people we love. Maybe some of us even feel this elation while riding a motorcycle or using power tools. It’s odd, I know, but I’ve heard it can happen. We have these two circles, religion and spirituality, and where they overlap is what I will call, the church at its best. Let’s think about that a bit. If it is the case that a segment of religion’s circle is the church at its best, it follows that the remaining segment of religion’s circle is the church at its worst. What belongs there? Those characteristics of religious life that cripple human happiness and well-being, which have everything to do with power and nothing to do with love, which concerns itself only with rules and never with mercy. Let’s look at an example of the church at its worst from just this week. When Russia invaded Ukraine, newspapers and people all over Russia spoke in protest. There are many good and noble people in Russia and when Vladimir Putin committed this horrific act, they protested at great personal cost. One group however, applauded the invasion. The Russian Orthodox Church, who has been most supportive of Vladimir Putin’s leadership, had not a word of condemnation about this grave injustice. Protestant churches, Roman Catholics churches, Jewish and Muslim communities in Russia all condemned it, all marched against it, while the Patriarch of the Russia Orthodox Church, Patriarch Kirill, praised President Putin’s “high and responsible service to the people,” sending his “hearty congratulations” to his country’s armed forces, urging them make full use of their military power. What is that, if not religion at is absolute worst? It is not unlike the Christian white supremacists in our own nation who applauded the insurrection of January 6th. Don’t ever forget that fascism and religion are often seen holding hands. Let’s put that in our segment called the church at its worst. Now let’s look at our other circle, spirituality. Are there elements of spirituality that can be harmful, dimensions of spirituality that cripple human happiness and well-being? Well, of course. It’s common to assume spirituality is always positive, but it can also be toxic. When spirituality is only concerned with the self, when it has no regard for community, spirituality can become self-absorbed, if not poisonous. In my bachelor days, I lived in my own apartment for four years. In that entire time, I never argued with anyone, never drank, smoked, or danced. I read the Bible during my lunch break, prayed every night at bedtime, and went to Quaker meeting every Sunday. I met Joan, we decided to get married, so I was talking about it with my pastor, who asked me if I were spiritually mature enough for a lifelong commitment. I told him, rather immodestly, that in the past four years I had become deeply spiritual. He cocked his head, looked at me, and asked, “You live by yourself, don’t you?” I said I did. He said, “Anyone can be deeply spiritual when they live by themselves.” I thought he was full of beans, then I got married, and stopping praying at bedtime, having found something more interesting to do. Within a month, Joan and I had a big argument. I’d gone four years without arguing with anyone, being deeply spiritual, and within a month I found myself fighting over paint colors. All the time I thought I was being deeply spiritual was actually just me getting my way all the time. Spirituality without community, without relationship, is simple. Anyone can do it. But when spirituality overlaps with community, and improves that community, then we can say it is a healthy spirituality. Religion at its best, spirituality at its best, share these things in common. They are willing to be challenged, and when challenged are still able to say, “We have left this world better than we found it.”

This is an area I question about our brains. I wonder if experiences such as awe are just chemical reactions generating responses, or if there is something else behind (beyond?) such chemical reactions. Do we maybe have a soul that 'remembers', perhaps instinctually, what real awe is?

From Phil Gulley's blog: Last week, we thought about what it means to be spiritual. We observed that while we can be compelled to participate in religious rituals, either by family or social norms, no one can compel us to be spiritual. We can never be spiritual just because someone wants us to be. Spirituality happens when we have made up our minds to be open and receptive to creation, to mystery, to Ultimate Reality, and to one another. Religion at its best can assist in our effort to be spiritual but can also impede that effort by creating obstacles and barriers to our growth. If you are interested in being spiritual and want to participate in a religious community, choose a religious community that supports your spiritual growth and doesn’t suppress it. Today, I invite us to think about becoming spiritual. How does someone become spiritual? In my experience, becoming spiritual isn’t like graduating. It doesn’t mean we’ve completed a course of study or participated in a series of required classes, then passing an exam that certifies our spiritual status. It doesn’t mean we’ve read the Bible and taken a class on discipleship, at which point a priest or pastor baptizes us, and then, lo and behold, we’re spiritual. Trust me, I went through all of that and came out the other end as indifferent and apathetic as before. Religious knowledge is no guarantor of spiritual aliveness. How do we become spiritual? Rebecca Furnish sent me a quote attributed to the singer David Bowie–“Religion is for people who fear hell. Spirituality is for people who’ve been there.” While it would be unkind to say to someone in the throes of suffering to cheer up because they will emerge from their struggle with a deepened sense of spirituality, it seems true that hardship heightens our spiritual awareness in a way ease and comfort cannot. It is the abrasive stone, not the smooth one, that sharpens the blade. I would never say to someone, “As you go through life, make sure to suffer all you can.” But I might say to someone what the psychologist Scott Peck once observed, “that the avoidance of pain is the beginning of all unhealthy behavior.” No one wants to experience any sort of pain, but our resolute avoidance of pain cripples us. It is only because of problems that we grow mentally and spiritually. I remember in my own family, when my father’s alcoholism was becoming evident, our unwillingness to admit and confront his destructive conduct, because it would be painful, accomplished two things—his drinking accelerated, as did our contempt and anger. The avoidance of pain cripples us. When we grow weary of our brokenness and seek to mend it, we have taken the first step toward healing and wholeness, which is the essence of spirituality. As an adolescent, I went to confession every week at my Catholic church. When I left Catholicism, I would occasionally hear someone criticize the act of confession, usually by pointing out that only God could forgive a sin, not a priest, and I would think, “Yeah, the nerve of those Catholics. How arrogant! Who do they think they are?” I now realize that was a gross misunderstanding of confession. I now realize confession was about facing your brokenness head-on, about carrying them out of the darkness of denial and into the light of truth so healing and wholeness could begin. Now this is important, so I’m going to say it as carefully as I can. Ironically, religion often rewards the obscuring of truth. Religion, with its fixation on moral perfection, often rewards the denial of brokenness. Religion applauds the perfect saint, the blameless disciple. Spirituality seeks the revelation of truth. It encourages self-reflection, especially when that self-reflection is painful and difficult, because spirituality realizes it is only because of problems that we grow mentally and spiritually. At our meetinghouse, we have set aside two areas for the express purpose of spiritual growth. The first area is the one we visit most often. It is the pulpit, which we hoped is always a platform for wholeness, truth, and healing. Some Sundays it is, some Sunday it isn’t. I’ve given close to 900 messages at Fairfield and not all of them have been helpful and true. But we’ve set aside another for spiritual growth, and that is our counselor’s office, which at its best, is also a platform for wholeness, truth, and healing. I have sat in that room myself on several occasions and have, almost without fail, left the room better for the experience. In that room, I have faced pain I had tried to avoid, confessed fears I was loathe to admit, and endured a level of self-scrutiny I had for years refused to endure. When I became a pastor, I was told I needed to be an example of holy perfection. There are few things more unhelpful and unhealthy than expecting perfection from a mortal being. But when I became a pastor, this is what I was told, to be a blameless disciple. But as I became more fully human, when wholeness became my goal, I simultaneously became more willing to examine not only my virtues but also my vices. Pain and difficulty, rather than something to be avoided, became my teacher. I’ll let you in on a little secret. Do you know what is most difficult for me to experience? Criticism of my ministry. Especially of my words, because I love words and spend a great deal of time selecting them, polishing them, and expressing them. Now do you want to know what helps me grow spiritually more than anything else? Criticism of my ministry. Not the thoughtless and nit-picky kind of criticism from unhappy people. I usually ignore that kind of criticism. But thoughtful criticism, careful critique, forces me to reflect on my words and actions, and almost always contributes to my spiritual growth. I stand in the pulpit week after week, encouraging you, affirming you, and sometimes challenging you. Though I am your pastor, I should in no way be exempt from the same discipline. That is how I learn, that is how I grow. I think back to my childhood, about the spiritual and relational chasm that often existed between the priests of my childhood and the congregation. We confessed our sins to them, and they confessed theirs to another priest, but never to us. They knew so much about us, and we knew so little about them. How richer that community might have been if transparency had gone both ways. If we had been permitted to see not only the virtues of our priests, but also their struggles, their temptations, their failings. Most people prefer religion more than spirituality because religion is so much easier. In religion, we can hide our imperfections, we can pretend all is well, even amid deep brokenness, for one hour a week we can put on an act, pretending to be someone we are not. But spirituality tugs us always toward the light, always toward transparency, even toward difficulty and pain, for it knows it is the abrasive stone, not the smooth one, that sharpens the blade.

😜 I don't know for sure what he thinks spirituality is, but I tend to think he believes spirituality is being in touch to some degree with something of a spirit in a sense, so to speak. If I remember some of his other sermons, he doesn't commit to surety of an external 'force' but 'thinks' there is more to life than what we think we know. Maybe his next sermon will reveal his thoughts more precisely. We'd have to go back to the 1600's to understand what he actually meant. Possibly he did mean straight out duality. I didn't read it that way, but that obviously could be me and not him. But I think you will acknowledge that the issues often aren't our lack of understanding something that can be understood, but that they seem to arise when we can't understand something, yet. Like, what do we understand about before the big bang, about what caused it? Maybe that is 'limited' understanding, but nonetheless, it is yet to be thoroughly explained and/or understood. So in that sense, belief and acceptance can't be trumped by that which is not understood, can they? And I liked it. I especially found it interesting that a quarter to a third of experiences of awe are negative. They fill people with dread and a sense of alienation or meaningless. Interesting that one person's awe can be another's awe-ful. And also interesting about the exploitation of awe by politics and religion.

No apology required. Yes, I'm sure Sophisticated Theology comprises of a broad spectrum of beliefs. I think Phil has described before how he once was a 'bible-believing evangelical'. Having been raised in Christianity, I think maybe he finds it hard to cut ties completely with his beliefs and still holds onto spiritualty, where for others the same sort of emotions could be completely outside of what Phil calls spirituality. I didn't read Naylor as quite so dualist. I took his words (rightly or wrongly) to think that to do no evil meant to treat others how we would want to be treated. Less dualistic and more positive/fulfilling relationship type stuff. Yeah, I prefer 'accepting' our world too, but I was just saying I can see how people believing in something guiding them toward or in a more fulfilling life, gives many purpose and hope. But each to their own, of course. I hope to maybe read about that one day.

I'm sorry to hear it makes you feel that way, Rom. Admittedly it is not the most intellectual article, but I like some parts of it. I liked the quote used from Quaker James Naylor, “There is a spirit which I feel that delights to do no evil, nor to revenge any wrong, but delights to endure all things…”. If that's what feels like spirituality to some people, all power to them I say. And as Gulley went on to say "In that Spirit I discovered a companion for my journey, a light when the world grew dark, a guide when my way was lost" - I can see how that sort of spirituality gives hope and purpose to many. Fascinating article on awe. Thank you.

Have you ever noticed that as you age your mind returns to distant moments in your life, events that seemed unimportant at the time, but when viewed in retrospect take on significance? Perhaps it was the first time you met your spouse. When my mother was 11 and my father was 10, they played sandlot football against one another. My father was running down the field, sprinting toward a touchdown, anticipating the glory that awaited him, when my mother tackled him, causing him to fumble the ball and be covered in shame. Tackled by a girl at the age of 10 in 1943. He lie on his back, staring up in the Indiana sky, wanting to die. I would love to have been there, to have reached down and helped him to his feet and whisper in his ear, “That girl who just tackled you, Gloria Quinett, you’ll marry her in 1955 and have five children and you’ll never get the best of her, so get used to it.” But how was he to know that then? How do any of us know, when something happens to us, what it might later mean? When I was 14, I woke up one Sunday morning and told my mother, “I’m not going to church. I don’t like it. I don’t get anything out of it. I’m not going.” Then I braced myself, expecting an argument, but didn’t get one. My mom just looked at me and said, “I can’t make you be spiritual. From now on, it’s up to you.” I didn’t understand the full implications of that at the time. My only feeling was one of elation that I had escaped the dreary embrace of religion. But I still remember those words, “I can’t make you be spiritual.” What does it mean to be spiritual? I sent an email to our meeting last week asking you to define the word “spirituality,” and was inundated with your responses, which I appreciate. Remember when you were a kid and your schoolteacher would mention that something was going in your permanent record? Those of you who responded will be pleased to know I’ve made a note of your diligence in your permanent record. Your comments will be informing this sermon series, which I’m calling “What Does It Mean to Be Spiritual?” It is common these days to hear people say, “I’m spiritual, but not religious.” Some people are dismissive of that. They say being religious is the same as being spiritual, but I believe a finer distinction should be made. When someone is religious, it means they participate in the rituals of a belief system, that they’ve made a formal, often public, affirmation of faith, and have some type of membership or affiliation with a religious organization. It usually means they’ve placed themselves under the authority of a leader, doctrine, or book, and depending on the religion, any deviation from that authority can be met with shunning, penitence, or some other penalty. While religions usually require many and various rules, spirituality requires only curiosity, open-mindedness, and grace. Spirituality imposes no penalties on those who doubt or question. It demands no pledge of faithfulness, no public assent, no bowing to authority. Other people, whether our parents or government or culture, can demand our allegiance to a religion, but no one can require us to be spiritual. That is our decision and ours alone. Because religion can be compelled and spirituality can’t, it is possible to be religious one’s whole life without ever being spiritual. All that is required for someone to be religious is their adherence to the customs and standards of a religion. Religion requires no change of heart, no joy, no commitment to love. It requires only our obedience, which it often confuses for faith. Can religion and spirituality exist together? Of course, and happily so, just as long as religion remembers that belief and love can never be compelled. At its best, religion nurtures spirituality, and serves as a greenhouse to fledgling faith. At its worst, it enslaves the spirit, restricting its movement and expression. Here’s is a story analogous to that. Several years ago, I met a woman who had been in an arranged marriage. Her parents had been approached by the parents of her husband-to-be when they were quite young and arrangements had been made that when their children came of age, they would marry. The arrangement couldn’t be questioned. The weight of family and cultural traditions required compliance, so the couple married. Sometimes these things work out, sometimes the couple grow to love and cherish one another. But other times the experience is tragic and because arranged marriages are more common in patriarchal cultures, the women suffer disproportionately. In the instance of the woman I knew, as soon as she and her husband moved to the United States to pursue his education, she fled the marriage, which had become abusive, and filed for divorce. Religion can be like that. At its worst it says we must love God, we must obey God, we must obey the priest or the iman or the rabbi. Religion at is worst is an arranged marriage gone bad, it is one adult telling another what to do and who to love. Spirituality is our right to find our own way, to seek our own truth, free from compulsion and control. Unhealthy religion attempts to manage that which can never be managed—the movement of Spirit and the mystery of love. Though I didn’t know it at the time, it was a pivotal moment when my mother loosened the chains of religion so I could begin my spiritual journey. For several years, I had other priorities and passions, and contented myself with small matters and smaller thoughts. But when my best friend died at the age of 20, I found the words of religion unhelpful, even as I discovered a Spirit who spoke to the deepest corners of my heart. This Spirit demanded nothing of me before it would help. It required no holy perfection, no surrender of freedom, no oath of allegiance. It wanted only to give life and not take it. It gave me peace, and understanding, so that I could say, along with the Quaker James Naylor, “There is a spirit which I feel that delights to do no evil, nor to revenge any wrong, but delights to endure all things…” In that Spirit I discovered a companion for my journey, a light when the world grew dark, a guide when my way was lost. In the weeks ahead, we’ll be thinking about what it means to be spiritual. Let’s begin our journey by reminding ourselves that whenever religion compels, spirituality invites. It speaks of a God who is not our Lord or Master, but our Light and our Friend. Phil Gulley

I'm probably not much help Ashpenaz, but I resolve it myself by understanding that an ancient people, who didn't have a better udnerstanding of the world, came to the conclusion that a God or Gods was working behind the scenes, and as a way of explaining why life wasn't all beer and skittles, came up with a theology about being on the wrong side of said God. From a biblical perspective, I think the various authors over the various centuries have wrestled with this idea of sin themselves and it ranges from 'sin' being something to be saved from by a human sacrifice to something we can master ourselves (Gen 4). I think 'sin' is perhaps just a word to describe being out of sorts with what makes our lives feel worthwhile.

This is actually something you've prompted me to think about before, Rom. And really, I have more questions about following Jesus than answers. If 'sin' and 'hell' and removed from the equation (as most PC's lean toward I expect) what is it that Jesus equates to? If we understand that Jesus was a man of his times who expected a supernatural God to enter the world at any minute and essentially was wrong, what does that leave us? There is the understanding that Jesus was exceptionally kind and preached a message of forgiveness, tolerance and living in peace with one another, which of course are fantastic aspirations, and in Jesus' day were probably cutting edge and a message rarely heard, but does that warrant 'worship' of Jesus?

Hi Ashpenaz, Your are most welcome here. Whilst views here may vary widely (and there may be more questions than answers :)) it is a great place for discussing thoughts and opinions. There might be different takes on what following Jesus may mean (and indeed who or what Jesus may have been), but I expect any of those discussion will be had with respect. Cheers Paul

I like that metaphor.

Welcome GM, I hope you enjoy looking around here. Cheers Paul

Thanks GM, I'm not sure if this site has that ability, but I'll look into it. We pay a monthly fee for the software that facilitates this site and that suite is managed by them - so I can only affect that change if their product allows it. Like I said - I'll try and find out. Cheers Paul

Yes, I was probably being rhetorical somewhat (or maybe just thinking out loud) in that I don't really expect traditional Christians to consider this or have a thought-through answer. Like you say, it's a different language and you're right - some would probably look at me wondering what I'm even talking about! Yes, I expect so. I guess they could be satisfied thinking God was waiting for them (humans) and them alone. I can't imagine it that way personally. I remember for myself when I had questions and doubts, I was encouraged to dispel them as doubts and questions were 'bad'. True - belief systems exist both within and outside of religion, as does confirmation bias with what we read, observe and hear. It's good to try and remember to that there is no black or white, only shades of grey.

I don't think our egos are something 'separate' to us that can be abandoned. The ego is a product of our consciousness, so whilst we're conscious, we have an ego. I was just meaning to say that Buddhism (as I understand it) suggests we need to lose the ego vs Christianity focusing more on the ego being our soul and how we think. I too see the ego as a fiction that our minds create (as real as it seems to be 'us'). Like I said, I don't think we can ever lose them, but we could be accepting of our egos and understand they are just a product of consciousness and cannot be relied upon.

I'm not sure whether this is just a 'post and run', or whether you want to discuss the issue Anna G, but in my opinion (and that of most biblical scholars) Revelation is about events contemporary to the author and have nothing to do with prophecy or the return of Jesus some hundreds and thousands of years later. As Bart Erhman points out, "Critical scholars insist that it is more reasonable to interpret the text within its own historical context, not as a literal description of the future of the earth, but as a metaphorical statement of the ultimate sovereignty of God over a world that is plagued by evil." Here's a bit more info from a blog post of Bart's: "It is true that to modern readers, Revelation is incredibly bizarre and mind-boggling, with its rich symbolism and strange beasts and heavenly visions coming one after the other in a tumble that is almost impossible to grasp, let alone explain. It seems unlike any other book we have ever read. But that is because most readers are not accustomed to reading “apocalypses.”. We do in fact have a wide range of Jewish and Christian books like Revelation, written from about the same time (roughly 200 BCE – 200 CE). These are all first-person narratives of visionary experiences. The visions are almost always explained to the author (who, like the reader, tends to be clueless about what he is seeing) by an accompanying angel who interprets them. The visions are highly symbolic in ways meant to mystify, but the author often provides hints (as well as angelic explanations) that provide the critical reader with clues to unpack their meaning. Apocalypses are always intent on explaining the heavenly secrets that can make sense of earthly realities. Sometimes the visions do appear to describe the course of future events. That is true, for example, of the one Apocalypse of the Old Testament, the book of Daniel – where the pseudonymous author, allegedly living in the 6th century BCE – uses a vision of bizarre beasts arising up out of the see to describe a sequence of future kingdoms that will appear and persecute the faithful people of Israel. The actual author pretending to be Daniel, however, was living four hundred years later, long after these kingdoms had appeared. He therefore had no trouble “predicting” them. Other apocalypses describe the prophet’s visions of heaven as an indication of why the realities on earth are what they are. What seems unfathomable to us down here makes sense if once we see these divine realities. The ultimate point of all these apocalypses is that as bad as things may seem here on earth –with economic disasters, oppressive governments, religious persecutors, unimaginable natural disasters – everything in fact is going according to plan. In the end, God will make right all that is wrong. He will intervene in history, destroy the cosmic forces that are wreaking havoc on earth, and bring in a new utopian age where all will be right, all will be happy, all will prosper for all eternity. These books were written to help people in their present lives. Not the people living hundreds or thousands of years later, but the people the authors were addressing, members of their own communities. The authors were trying to provide hope in the midst of suffering. The deep and puzzling symbolism of the books were necessary to show that reality is far more complicated than one would expect. God’s sovereignty is hidden and mysterious. But it is the ultimate truth. As an apocalypse, Revelation is also to be read this way. Critical scholars have had no difficulty showing that the symbols of the book have to do with what the author and his readers knew about their own context, the world of the Roman Empire, an empire that massively exploited its world through economic, social, and military power, an Empire that persecuted Christians to the death, an Empire that was aligned (for the author) with the forces of evil, but which God would soon – very soon for the author – overthrow. This understanding of the book applies not only to the macro-level, to explain its overarching message, but its detailed symbolism. And so critical scholars have long recognized that the Beast whose number is 666 actually refers to the Emperor Nero (I will be demonstrating this in the book); the Great Whore of Babylon, who is enthroned on a beast with seven heads and is drunk with the blood of the martyrs,” is the first-century city of Rome itself, built on seven hills and engaged in deadly persecutions of Christians. This is a book written for persecuted Christians at the end of the first century. It is not predicting what will happen 2000 years later."

Agreed. And I suspect that has something to do with our human consciousness and the development of our 'ego' or 'identity' via that consciousness. Whereas Buddhism encourages the recognition and abandonment of ego for the greater good, Christianity (at large) tries to hold on to the identity for what it thinks is a better outcome to come.