[todaysdate]
By Scott Kinder-Pyle
There’s no doubt about it.
It’s a provocative question, to say the least. It’s convoluted. It seems contradictory. And it’s bound to create chaos in the average philosophy and/or religion classroom.
Okay, here’s the question: Are you willing to go to hell for the glory of God?
I’ve posed this loaded-for-bear inquiry in Hargraves Hall, on the campus of Eastern Washington University, and I’ve ventured it as well among the Jesuit students, where Bing Crosby used to tread (a.k.a. Gonzaga University). Each locale of higher education sprouts different responses, not surprisingly.
At EWU, the Christians bring up the film “God’s Not Dead,“ which I have not seen. Regardless, I tell them that I am not that guy trying to poke holes in their banner for Jesus. In fact, I assure them (in a state school kind of way) that I sympathize with their embattled predicament. Monotheists (Christians, Jews and Muslims) are under siege around the world, and in North America; it’s just that the direct assaults we often fear are not what I would regard as the most lethal to authentic faith exploration.
By contrast, those students in Cheney who have jettisoned their Sunday school lessons feel totally unburdened by my contentious pedagogy. Many of the young men sport gargantuan goatees reminiscent of Friedrich Nietzsche and seem vindicated in that hirsuite appearance. The young women, full of wit and wonder, recognize the tongue-in-cheek nature of the thought experiment and wait patiently for a punch line. Is there one?
My observations here pertain to those who have some Christendom-residue still caked on their gear-sprockets, but there are still others who wouldn’t recognize the famous Nazarene in a line-up of jelly beans. So detached are their stony faces from their emotive-nerve-endings that I’m forced to explain the paradoxical dynamic in terms of the ubiquitous quid-pro-quo relationship. With this, they are very familiar.
In Christendom, I say, a belief in Jesus has frequently been taken for granted, almost like a safety net beneath a flying trapeze artist, an insurance policy, or an Affordable Care Act for your soul (if you believe that you have a soul). Anyway, I continue, a Christian typically gets something for confessing with his or her lips: that something is, of course, free entrance into heaven. That’s the quid-pro-quo. An individual acknowledges what God has done in sending “his son” to die for her or his sins, and according to the divine contract, God must reward that person’s faith commitment with eternal salvation. But now, here’s the caveat emptor: what if the entire commodified exchange is not what the historic first-century Jesus of Nazareth had in mind? What if the process has actually reduced “God” to the cosmic seller in the largest Home Depot that you and I can imagine?
And what if the deal we’ve just made — a’la Pascal’s Wager — has transformed each Christian in Christendom into a mere customer? What if… indeed?
Well, let me break away from Eastern’s campus for a moment because, as an adjunct teacher of philosophy, I must hightail it down I-90 for my 12 noon class at G.U.
There, I must admit, the students are better dressed, better groomed, and carry themselves with more decorum. Someone in the Zag-clientele’s family has invested in these bright stars of the future, and by God, each one will endure whatever lecture or learning exercise it takes to matriculate toward that six-figure salary.
“And so,” I ask them, “you proteges of Ignatius, you Thomists in training, you apprentices of an Irish Catholic priest: Are YOU willing to go to hell for the glory of God?”
An answer, I hasten to add, is not necessary. That is, responses to rhetorical questions like that one, especially that one, do not follow with logical necessity. “Do you mean, ‘am I willing to go through hell?,'” replies a clean-shaven dude, grasping a four-foot long skateboard at his side. He’s standing there, in the doorway, after all of his classmates have vacated the premises [note the pun]. When I engage, “No, I mean to–as in, that’s the destination,” he shakes his head.
“Ah, that makes no sense whatsoever!”
“Bingo!”
“I mean, why would I believe in God… ah, become saved… according to what the Bible says, and NOT go to heaven?”
“Exactly!”
“What’s the incentive, then?”
“No incentive,” I say, disconnecting my laptop. “You believe it because it’s true… because you believe. I believe that it’s true, and the concepts of ‘heaven’ and ‘hell’ notwithstanding… I want my focus on God!”
“Yeah, but what God are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the one revealed in Jesus, whose life and death and alleged resurrection doesn’t make rational sense.”
And then, you guessed it, this hypothetical dialogue ends with us reading the poem “Saint Judas” by James Wright. (Judas, in that sonnet, holds a vagabond “for nothing in his arms.”) We stand on our tiptoes and peer over an ivy-covered wall into the dark. The eschatological kingdom is out there somewhere, but we don’t say it aloud. We just ease into the autumn greenery and marvel at the possibilities.
The possibilities of no temple, no church, no mosque, no suffering.
Alas. My student raises his voice as we make our way down the corridor and onto the plush and immaculately-conceived grounds: “I can prove it to you!” And before he rides off on his skateboard, “I can prove it to you. You can be certain of heaven. I can prove it to you.” And it was the best of times, and it was the worst of times… and all of creation seemed to groan and sigh, and the sigh was too deep for words.
