Review of "Apostle Paul: A Polite Bribe" (book), by Robert Orlando

            ORLANDO, Robert. Apostle Paul: A Polite Bribe. Eugene: Cascade. 2014.

         Atheists dislike Christianity, but Jesus seems to be too much of a nice guy to hate him. So, a la Richard Dawkins, they come up with silly concepts such as “Atheists for Jesus”, or some other slogan to reflect the idea that Transubstantiation or Trinity are ridiculous doctrines, but Jesus’ core message of love is worthy. In this view, Jesus was a simple, nice guy; but then, some perverse mind stepped in, and ruined everything. In most accounts, this perverse mind is the Apostle Paul. Ever since, the preacher from Tarsus has been maligned by Nietzsche and others, as the great corrupter of Jesus’ original religion.

            But, it’s time for a reality check in this “Jesus the good guy vs. Paul the corrupt” approach. If, as in Dostoievski’s tale of the Grand Inquisitor, Jesus were to return today, would he be surprised to see what has been done in his name? By all means; the cliché that the Vatican lives in exuberant riches simply cannot be avoided. But, let us play the fun evangelical game, and ask “what would Jesus do?” If historians are right, Jesus today would go to Jerusalem, and mostly likely would join the Jewish fundamentalists that are preparing for a Third Temple (although I’m not sure if he would approve bombing the Dome of the Rock, as he did not want Samaria to burn) and want to impose Halaka. Inasmuch as fundamentalists do resemble each other a great deal, I’m afraid Jesus would resemble an ISIS zealot much more than Martin Luther King or some other Kumbayah preacher.

            Jesus proclaimed that not one iota of the Law would pass. Well, although this Law was outlined by Jesus himself as “Love thy neighbor”, in fact, it consists of 613 commandments (by standard Jewish count) that include niceties such as stoning adulteresses. But didn’t Jesus save an adulterous woman from stoning? I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but no, that story is not even in the original manuscripts of the gospel of John.

            Taking this into account, maybe Paul is not the bad guy after all. Whereas Jesus was a xenophobe who called non-Jews “dogs”, Paul proclaimed himself as the “Apostle to the Gentiles”. Whereas Jesus was a fanatic that defended the imposition of Shariah-like legislation and was in favor of mutilating millions of penises, Paul actually favored a “circumcision of the heart” (urologists should have him as patron saint!).

            But, then again, it’s time for yet another reality check in this “Jesus the provincial fanatic vs. Paul the cosmopolitan intellectual” approach. Robert Orlando’s book is a most useful tool in this revision. Orlando tells the story of Paul’s life, and emphasizes his disputes with the Jerusalem community. In his portrait, Paul comes across as a very complex character, but most definitely, very alien to our contemporary world, and thus, very much as Jesus, largely irrelevant for today’s ethics.

Paul had some sort of visionary experience of Jesus on his way from Jerusalem to Damascus (Orlando aptly warns that this may not have been a sudden event, but rather a progress). He then retreated to Arabia (actually, Nabatean territory), and decided to go back to Jerusalem to meet Jesus’ inner circle. In Orlando’s account, Paul had to go to great lengths to achieve legitimacy among the members of the Jesus movement, as understandably, the Galileans and Judeans who actually met Jesus were very suspicious of a Hellenistic Jew who now claimed to have encountered Jesus in visions. This was no easy task for Paul, and he never overcame the resentment of feeling as an outsider to the group.

Nevertheless, Paul was given the opportunity to prove what he was made of, and he embarked on a preaching mission along with Barnabas, the Jewish Christian who had first introduced him to the Jerusalem hierarchy. Paul then took as his personal mission preaching Jesus’ message to Gentiles. This was also a gradual process. At first, he went to Jews in the Diaspora; then he went to the so-called “God fearers” (Gentiles who had some sympathies for Judaism), and finally, to common Gentiles. While Paul may be lauded for his universalism, and he may across as a very modern cosmopolitan reformer, in fact, his intentions were deeply ingrained in first Century Judaism. Paul assumed that Jesus’ resurrection brought forth the beginning of the end (“first fruits”, as he called it), and now, in preparation for the final apocalyptic showdown, Gentiles were to be invited to God’s Kingdom. Thus, his preaching to Gentiles was not really the product of a rational deliberation about the universality of the human species (as the “There is neither Jew nor Gentile” passage may suggest), but rather, a side effect of yet another apocalyptic fantasy. It reminds me a bit of the so-called Christian Zionists of today: they support Israel, but not out of a rational concern to avoid a new Holocaust, but rather, because the foundation of the State of Israel is seen as a prerequisite for the Rapture.  

As Paul gained notoriety for his preaching (and maybe Barnabas’ informing the others about Paul’s bald openness to Gentiles), he was called by James (Jesus’ brother) in Jerusalem. Very much as his brother, James wanted to keep the movement within the boundaries of Judaism. There was some tension at the meeting; Paul brought Titus, a Gentile who was on the brink of being circumcised, and some hardliners (the so-called “false brethren” described by Paul) apparently pressured James not to be taken by Paul’s influence. Nevertheless, they worked out a deal: Paul would be allowed to preach to Gentiles, but he should collect money for the poor of Jerusalem (Orlando aptly clarifies that the “poor” may have actually been Nazirites, such as James himself). But, given the tension of the meeting, some things were left unsolved, and this would come later to haunt the unity of the movement. Later on, Paul would say something like, “Hey, but I thought we had a deal!”, and James would reply something like “Tough luck, homeboy!”

Paul, then, went off on a new religious and financial mission. His goal was to collect the money and come across as the great benefactor of the Jesus movement, and dissipate doubts about his claims to apostleship. He may have never met the actual Jesus, but now he would surely be respected: the great irony was that, whereas Jesus said no one can serve God and Mammon, Paul now had the implicit expectation that Mammon and God could actually be friends! Liberal Christians today complain that the so-called “prosperity gospel” is a corruption of Christianity, but in fact, Paul may very well have been the first Christian salesman. Those Master Card publicists who say that “there are things that money can’t buy” surely don’t have in mind religion, and Paul probably knew this. His plan was to offer James a “polite bribe”, so large, apparently, that in Vito Corleone’s infamous phrase, “James could not refuse it”. But, the tragedy for Paul was that, in fact, James did refuse it.

Friction began when Peter refused to dine with Gentiles in Antioch. Peter proved to be a tremendously weak character, as he originally did dine with Gentiles. But, being concerned about Paul’s influence, James began to send delegates to make sure that the Jews still observed the Law. So, when Peter saw James’ delegates arrive, he decided to eat no more with Gentiles. Even Barnabas joined Peter in his decision. The issue of table sharing had never been settled in the original meeting. And, from then on, begins a cat-and-mouse game. Paul travels to preach and gather money for the collection, and James sends delegates to counter Paul’s influence.

I simply cannot find any virtuous character in all this drama (or, at any rate, I find them as vicious as any regular human being). These are no saints. Paul is the briber, who thinks that money can indeed buy leadership. James is the person bribed, who is willing to modify his message as long as he is provided with money in order to keep an archaic religious vow (I do not buy the argument that, if you are the President of a College, you may put a rock with a benefactor’s name no matter his business practices; if that were the case, it would be O.K. for the Vatican to accept Michael Corleone’s donations). Worse still, after assuring Paul they have a deal, now James deliberately breaks it by sending delegates to counter Paul’s influence. Peter and Barnabas seem to be people who keep their word, but then, when authority comes, they succumb to it and abandon their convictions (they become ‘little Eichmanns’ who just can’t handle peer pressure, and deliver their consciences to their boss’ commands).
Maybe it was not as sinister as it seems, perhaps the deal was just a necessary compromise at the time. But, it seems to me that, no matter how polite and understandable it may have been, a bribe is a bribe. 

At any rate, Paul’s new mission was tortuous. Paul was placed in jail in Ephesus for sabotaging the cult to Artemis (Ephesians, very much as Paul, also knew that religion was a big business, and Paul’s preaching meant bankruptcy for them). In Orlando’s account, it was in prison where Paul most identified with a suffering Jesus. Sure, the early disciples were already reinterpreting Jesus as the Suffering Servant of Isaiah 53, but Paul’s prison experience gave it the final touch. Here, I can’t help but sympathize with Nietzsche’s critique: Paul consummated a sickly masochist worldview (he even came up with the idea of stigmata, although surely he did so in a more metaphoric sense, and not in the sickening way of Father Pio and other self-mutilators).

Paul was eventually released from jail. He had big plans. He was hoping to go to Rome to prepare everything for the arrival of the Kingdom. In his apocalyptic fantasy, the powers that be were to be replaced by Jesus himself upon his return, and that is why, in Orlando’s account, Paul had the intention of going to the imperial city to preach “under Caesar’s nose”. His plan would then be to go to Spain, the edge of the known world, to preach in the final preparation for Jesus’ return.

But, Paul learned that James was playing the cat-and-mouse game by sending delegates, and became aware that his deeds were heavily questioned in Jerusalem. So, he decided to go himself to Judea to deliver the collection and reclaim his authority. He obviously had great doubts about what the outcome would be, but was determined nevertheless. He had some difficulties reaching Jerusalem, and on the way there, wrote his letter to the Christians in Rome.

Here again, Paul proves to be a great salesman that dances to the music of his clients, or rather, someone who knows how to flip-flop when it’s necessary to do so. Up to this point, Paul had been quite aggressive in his stand against Judaism. But now that he was on his way to Jerusalem to attempt reconciliation with hardcore Jews, he softened his positions when writing to the Christians of Rome, who were mostly Gentiles. In his epistle to the Romans, he speaks more positively of the Law.

In Orlando’s view, it may also be that, after Emperor Claudius’ death, Jews were going back to Rome (they had been expelled by Claudius), and now, there were new ethnic tensions in Christian communities between Jews and Gentiles. Paul was hoping these problems would be solved, and this time, he felt that the Jews that were coming back needed to be defended from the Gentile majority that showed hostility towards them.

Paul finally arrived in Jerusalem. The fact that the book of Acts makes no mention of the collection makes one think that it was rejected by James. Or, at any rate, James performed what Orlando (quoting scholar Robert Jewett) describes as a “primitive money-laundering scheme”: he urged Paul to use the money to finance the vows of other Nazarites. In that manner, the money would be impure, as it came from Gentiles and was a sort of bribe, but it could be cleansed by using it as finance for a Nazarite vow.

            But, in Orlando’s estimation (and other scholars), we must not rule out it was all a trap. James knew Jews had no sympathies for Paul, so he tricked him into going to the Temple, so that a riot would erupt and Paul would be killed. James, who had great influence in the Temple, arranged everything so that the doors of the Temple would be closed, and Paul would be left alone when all hell would break loose. The plan worked: some Jews from Asia identified Paul, accused him of bringing Gentiles into the Temple, and the riot erupted. Paul was not killed (he was rescued by Roman guards), but at least, he was cleared out of the way for James, so the plan did work.

            Orlando speculates that James could have played some sort of trial by ordeal (very similar to the witches being thrown to the river): if Paul’s mission was indeed sanctioned by God, he would be saved; if not, he would “soak in his own juice”. I do not think that was the case. James’ own brother, Jesus, had apparently been mocked in the cross (although we cannot be sure if this is historical, or rather, the evangelists’ midrashic account to fulfill prophecies of Psalms). And, part of the mockery consisted in people saying that, if Jesus were truly a prophet, he would save himself (again, some sort of trial by ordeal). Jesus did not save himself, and yet, he was considered not just a prophet, but the Messiah. In Jesus’ case, the trial by ordeal obviously did not work. So, I’m a bit doubtful that James would apply a similar trial by ordeal to Paul. Rather, I would venture to say that, all along, James considered Paul a nuisance, and he was determined to get him out of the way.

            Sure, all of this seems like some sort of conspiracy theory, some secret hidden by the Church. But, Orlando’s book is no Da Vinci Code. In the New Testament there are no plain statements describing James’ conspiracy, but there are quite a few discrepancies between Paul’s letters and the book of Acts, and an adequate analysis of these discrepancies does lead to the conclusion that, if James did not eagerly deliver Paul to his own arrest, at least he wanted him out of the way. There are no secret documents hidden in some basement of the Vatican; but, the author of Acts, writing to Gentile audiences, wanted to conceal the truth about the early schism in the Church (Orlando assumes that the author of Acts is Luke the physician; while I agree that Luke and Acts come from one single author, I very much doubt he is the physician postulated by Irenaeus). The great irony highlighted by Orlando, however, is that even if Paul failed miserably in his personal mission and probably died in great desperation (Orlando assumes Paul died in Rome, although he could have considered the hypothesis that he was eventually released and did reach Spain), his branch of Christianity was to become prevalent, if only by a fortuitous event: the destruction of the Temple in 70 CE, and hence the impossibility to continue the Judaism practiced by James.

            This is a great book, and I highly recommend it. I would only express dissatisfaction with two minor and one major point. First, Orlando believes that the “thorn in the flesh” mentioned by Paul are actually James’ delegates; although Orlando provides plenty of Biblical references where “thorns” are actually human adversaries, I still hold on to the theory that the thorn may actually have been eye disease, otherwise, I cannot make sense of the big letters mentioned in Galatians 6:11. Second, Orlando assumes that the passage where Paul holds the Jews responsible for Jesus’ death is authentic (1 Thess 2:14-16), but this has been severely disputed by many scholars: although the passage is not absent in the earliest manuscripts, it does not seem to fit well with Paul, and may have been interposed by some Anti-Semitic scribe.

Third, towards the end of the book, when discussing Acts’ historical objectivity, Orlando mentions with sympathy “postmodernist” hermeneutics (among many other approaches) and even goes as far as to quote Jean Francois Lyotard. In my view, postmodernism is the greatest academic fraud of the 20^th Century, and I seriously doubt Lyotard had even the slightest idea about Biblical scholarship (I have published a book, El posmodernismo ¡vaya timo!, where I refute many of the ridiculous claims made by postmodernists, and review Alan Sokal’s affair). But, my greater point is this: the author of Acts certainly knew he was not writing objective history, but at the beginning of Luke’s gospel, he claimed he was indeed an objective historian (and, not in vain, evangelicals today consider him a very objective historian). So, this author was, plain and simple, a liar. Aesop knew he was telling fictitious tales about talking animals to teach us moral lessons, but he never claimed these stories were real! That was not the case with the author of Acts.

Orlando tries to save Luke’s face by comparing his work with Virgil’s Aeneid. Well, the Aneid, very much as Acts, is an epic work of great literary value. But, in many ways, the Aeneid is, also as Acts, an immoral book: it is widely accepted by scholars that Virgil composed his poem to legitimate Rome’s imperial power, in other words, as Augustan propaganda. Acts is heavily propagandist as well. Propagandist works, by their very nature, are dishonest, and that makes them immoral. We could go on discussing whether or not propaganda writing is as bad as I think it is, but at least one thing is sure: if Acts was inspired by the creator of the universe, I do not think He would have chosen a dishonest historian to be its author.

Books as Orlando’s, in my view, do constitute a blow to faith. I do not think it is tenable to keep playing the liberal Christian game (as some scholars interviewed by Orlando do, i.e., Candida Moss), of acknowledging the very human origins of the New Testament and Christianity, and yet, somehow still affirming that God is behind it all. I think Orlando’s mentor, Gerd Ludemann, is much more honest about it: as far as I know, he simply could not continue being a Christian after his work as a scholar (although, of course, one may continue being a cultural Christian, as is also my case).

Review of "Our Political Nature", by Avi Tuschman

Human races, anthropologists tell us, do not exist. There are two basic arguments for this. First, between one racial type and another, there is a long continuum, and it is impossible to abruptly point out where one race begins and the other race ends. Second, there is weak concordance among racial traits; black skin needn’t match curly hair, racial packages simply do not exist.

            For these reasons, race is not a very useful category when classifying human beings. And, it seems to me that, for similar reasons, it is not very adequate to place political opinions in the great dichotomy of liberals vs. conservatives. And yet, this is what, roughly, Avi Tuschman pretends to do in Our Political Nature.

            In political terms, Tuschman believes there are two races: the left and the right. Although he does not use the word “race”, he does have something similar in mind, inasmuch as he believes that political opinions are largely determined by our genes. I do not disagree with this part of his argument. He has successfully proven that political ideologies are robust throughout people’s lifetimes, and that they are most likely due to selective pressures in human evolution. But, I do disagree with the way Tuschman classifies opinions in the political spectrum, as well as the correlation he establishes with psychological traits.

            Anthropologists do not dispute that skin color is genetically determined for the most part. But, at the same time, anthropologists do dispute that this fact permits racial classifications. In the same manner, I do not dispute that political opinions have a considerable genetic bases. But, I do dispute that they are easily placed in a left vs. right continuum.

            This continuum is well known in popular culture. The right is authoritarian, religious, nationalist, militaristic, aggressive, paranoid, opposed to egalitarianism, sexually repressed, believes human beings are not cooperative, defends capitalism, and so on. In other words, the right is Glenn Beck (an unfortunate character that seems to be Tuschman’s favorite example). The left is more libertarian, secular, cosmopolitan, pacifist, rational, egalitarian, more sexually permissive, defends socialism, etc.

            Although this book is very well written, replete with funny and interesting examples, this dichotomy reveals Tuschman’s prejudices. The reader can easily tell that Tuschman’s sympathies are with the left, as he presents multiple strawmen of what the right is. In his account, the left is progressive, the right is retrograde. The left is cool, the right is stiff.

            Well, if things were only that simple! Political opinions, very much as racial traits, do not correlate as neatly as Tuschman pretends. We will find plenty of anomalies that, simply, do not fit. Was Christopher Hitchens on the right or on the left? If you support the invasion of Iraq on the grounds of bringing secularization to religious fanatics in the Middle East, what does that make you? What does being pro-life have to do with capitalism? What does favoring gay marriage have to do with believing that the rich should pay more taxes? It seems to me this is all part of a huge stereotype (very much as racial stereotypes work): to get some order out of an immense chaos of data, we cluster political opinions in two large groups, even though this may not adequately reflect reality.

            This is even more troublesome when Tuschman explores specific psychological traits of each ideology. Apparently, rightists watch neutral face expressions, and think those face expressions are actually menacing. So, rightists are paranoid, whereas leftists are not. Yeah, right. Who thinks 9/11 was an inside job; the right or the left? The fact that, in Michael Moore’s delusional Farenheit 9/11, conservative George W. Bush was the master of this gigantic and perverse plot, should be enough evidence that left has a great taste for conspiracy theories. Who is the real paranoid? Who talks about chemtrails, Frankenfood, the Bilderberg Group, and other paranoid delusions?

In Tuschman’s account, rightists are more prone to use sticks than carrots, because they believe the world is a hostile place. Following Lakoff’s work, Tuschman comes to the conclusion that conservatives’ violent rhetoric betrays their aggressive political style. Well, of course, if you cherry-pick, and choose Glenn Bleck as a clown of whom to make fun, then you can make this argument. But, this is a very biased choice. Is (Tea Party sympathizer) Ron Paul’s rhetoric aggressive? Not at all. Furthermore, one needs not to look very hard to find very aggressive left-wing rhetoric outside American politics. Che Guevara’s speeches were eerily violent. The very concept of class struggle reveals that most on the Left are not very interested in achieving goals giving away carrots. Sure, Glenn Beck goes around with bullet-proof vests, but so did Hugo Chávez: in fact, Chavez claimed (without any evidence whatsoever) that there were plans to assassinate him, in at least 15 different occasions.

Tuschman guides his account on the basis of the Right Wing Authoritarianism Test. Well, it seems to me this reveals some of his bias. This measure is based upon Theodor Adorno’s famous work on the authoritarian personality. Needless to say, Adorno was a leftist who (understandably) was very hostile to the right, after having gone through the Nazi experience. But, his ideas (and the test that he later inspired) are somewhat biased. Authoritarianism is a trait both of the right and the left. To say that socialists cannot be authoritarians is simply mistaken. In fact, socialism requires a strong government to legislate economic and civic life, and this eventually leads to authoritarian personalities.

There are many other tests to determine political leanings, and in some ways, I think they are more useful. Take, for instance, the Nolan chart favored by libertarians. Admittedly, this is a somewhat simplistic test. But, at least, it is very useful in making us understand that both the left and the right can be strong enemies of liberty. And, in this chart, someone who favors liberty in all its spheres, will be soft on crime (a liberal stand), yet at the same, will embrace capitalism (a conservative stand).

Furthermore, the collapse of the Soviet Union has changed things dramatically. In the good old days of the Cold War, things resembled closer Tuschman’s account. But, this is no longer the case. Today, one of the hallmarks of the “liberal” position is Anti-Americanism. And, in this regard, anyone who shows contempt for America and the West, is welcome among the comrades. Whether it is Yasser Arafat, Osama Bin Laden or Robert Mugabe, their images are stamped on t-shirts of “liberal” youth across university campuses all over America and Europe.

In fact, the defense of traditional liberal values has come to be, paradoxically, part of the conservative mainstream. If, as a secularist, you oppose the wearing of hijabs in public schools, you are a conservative. Hence, Nicholas Sarkozy is a conservative, wehereas a sympathizer of Islamic theocracies, such as Tariq Ramadan, is part of the left. If you oppose the harrsament of homosexuals in Russia, you are a rightist, for lefitists applaud Putin’s politics as a way to challenge American imperial arrogance (Putin is someone who surely scores very high on the Right Wing Authoritarianism Test, needless to say). If you support scientific literacy in Bolivia and oppose the teaching of nonsense indigenous ideas of the same caliber as creationism (such as Pacha Mama mysticism), you are a cultural imperialist, and hence, part of the “decadent right”: Evo Morales (someone who defends pre-Columbian retrograde ideas), instead, is a “progressive leftist”.

No wonder plenty of old-fashioned leftists have flirted with neoconservatives over the last few years. No wonder Bernard Henri Levy felt “left in darkness” (hence the title of his famous book, Left in Darkness, an obvious pun) by his old comrades. A couple of decades ago, Jean Francois Revel warned that what Americans call “conservative”, is actually what Europeans call “liberal”. Despite Tuschman’s brilliance in this book (and I won’t deny it is worth reading), he commits an ethnocentric mistake (curiously enough, he accuses the right of being more ethnocentric): he has a tendency to categorize the global political spectrum in terms of American labels. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.

Language, of course, is a useful classification tool, and as Sapir and Whorf famoulsy claimed, it reflects a community’s interests: Eskimos have tens of words for “snow”, we only have one. For the most part, Americans have only two words for political ideologies, maybe because they have a bipartisan political system. But, the world is much more complicated than that. Over the last few decades, Americans have come to understand that humanity is not neatly divided among “Blacks”, “Whites” and “Orientals”. I surely hope that, soon, they will come to realize that, despite the stereotypical image of Glenn Beck, the political spectrum is much more complex than the simplistic “left-right” dichotomy.

Reseña a "La teología ¡vaya timo!". Autor invitado: José Antonio Castilla Gómez

Ya era hora. Como el propio autor señala en la introducción, la valentía que muchos han mostrado a la hora de atacar a las pseudociencias y supercherías en general ha faltado por sistema cuando se trataba de denunciar los disparates de la Teología. Esa renuencia reside, según creo, en el hecho de que la creencia en Dios y, por ende, los asuntos de la Teología han constituido una parte fundamental de la cultura occidental y en especial de su sistema educativo, sin solución de continuidad hasta nuestros días. Meterse con creencias de nuevo cuño que en nuestra cultura nunca han gozado de prestigio (el reiki, el feng shui, la homeopatía, etc.) o con otras más añejas pero nunca incorporadas a la "oficialidad" (la astrología, las distintas mancias) resulta ser una tarea tolerable y hasta desapercibida, pero atacar a quienes forman parte de aquel sistema sociocultural y de todo su entramado institucional puede equivaler a caer en desgracia. Dicho de otro modo: ridiculizar el horóscopo no importa nadie, pero mofarse de la Biblia o del Papa es una blasfemia.

Una consecuencia inevitable de ese miedo reverencial a ofender las sensibilidades de nuestros parientes, amigos, colegas y jefes creyentes ha sido la absurda idea de que el Conocimiento (la Ciencia) y las creencias (la Teología) pueden convivir pacíficamente si uno y otras se mantienen confinadas en sus límites de actuación, como defendió Stephen Jay Gould. Muy pocos, como Gabriel Andrade, han dictaminado con la contundencia necesaria lo erróneo de ese pensamiento inerte: "Esto es ingenuo en el mejor de los casos; y en el peor, incoherente. Es ingenuo porque es sencillamente falso que la teología se ocupe sólo de lo que está más allá del mundo natural. La teología nos habla de nacimientos, vírgenes, resurrecciones, apocalipsis y regresos de Cristo. Eso concierne a este mundo, no a otro" (pág. 183). Esa idea, que en última instancia parece remontarse a las enseñanzas escolásticas acerca de la fe y la razón, está hoy plenamente en boga, y no poco entre los propios científicos, quienes llevados por la inercia y el ñoño respeto al entramado institucional, se han dejado meter ese vergonzoso gol... de un equipo francamente malo. Otros no lo han hecho por inercia, sino por la sed de preservar la validez de sus creencias. No sé cuál de las dos actitudes es más triste. El libro de Andrade, en medio de este panorama que bascula entre lo rancio y lo esnob, es una bocanada de aire fresco, una mofa en mitad de las risas enlatadas.

Una de las reflexiones más agudas y valiosas del autor (que conocemos por otras publicaciones suyas, entre ellas El posmodernismo ¡vaya timo!) es la que sostiene que la creencia incuestionada en Dios, la fe, supone una defensa del relativismo, en la medida en que, si somos consecuentes, ese mismo acto de fe debe conducirnos a creer en cualquier otra deidad y en general entidad cuya existencia se nos proponga con igual ausencia de pruebas (pág. 21).

No sólo eso. El aspecto puramente expositivo de la obra no se queda atrás. La abundancia de datos históricos referidos a creencias, disputas teológicas, concilios, herejías no sólo nos suscita fruición a quienes amamos esos temas desde la distancia del escéptico que anhela conocer, sino que además nos aporta conocimientos tan curiosos como inestimables, entre ellos, la interesante evolución de la concepción que sobre el Diablo se tuvo desde el Antiguo Testamento hasta después del Nuevo (por ejemplo, la interpretación de la serpiente como Satanás no procede de la Biblia, pág. 156).

No obstante, me gustaría oponer a algunas de las reflexiones y conclusiones del autor sendas objeciones. La primera se refiere al problema del sufrimiento como obstáculo a la creencia en la existencia de Dios (págs. 40 ss). No voy a entrar ahora en la cuestión de si al hablar de justicia, bondad y sufrimiento no estamos incurriendo en el mismo defecto de la Teología cuando se enfrasca en disquisiciones sobre ángeles y demás entes metafísicos, construcciones mentales). Me limitaré a señalar un defecto formal en el razonamiento de partida: asumiendo la existencia de Dios, ¿de dónde surge la necesidad supuestamente racional de que ese Dios sea bueno? Puede que Dios (sea lo que sea) exista y que sea malo (se entienda por esto lo que se quiera entender). La existencia de un ser omnipotente (sea lo que esto sea) no implica atributo moral alguno, ni positivo ni negativo (los griegos estaban convencidos de que Zeus era malo; luego llegaron Hesíodo y Esquilo, con su Zeus justiciero).

La segunda la dirijo a los supuestos resultados trágicos de la Teología (pág. 161), a saber, cazas de brujas, quemas de herejes, inquisición y guerras. Me parece impecable el razonamiento de que, en ausencia de indicios o pruebas, en las discusiones teológicas el único factor que inclina la balanza hacia un disparate A o su opuesto B es el empleo de la violencia, pero no estoy seguro de que el verdadero móvil de semejantes luchas sea la creencia sincera en esos disparates. ¿Es descabellado pensar que esos debates teológicos no constituían más que una comparsa de la lucha por el poder y la riqueza? ¿No se han dado y se dan esos resultados trágicos al margen de la Teología y las religiones? ¿No son éstas sino una manifestación más de la voluntad de poder, que también se da, por ejemplo, en los escépticos?

La tercera incide en el problema de la pretendida resurrección de Jesús (y otros hechos sobrenaturales, págs.84 ss). No creo necesario recurrir a tantas hipótesis que expliquen históricamente el dato aportado por las fuentes bíblicas. Todas son harto improbables, como el propio autor se encarga de señalar. Existe tras cualquier narración inverosímil un móvil bien conocido, cotidiano, común a todos nosotros y no sólo a los mitómanos: la mentira. ¿Por qué otorgarles credibilidad a sujetos que estaban altamente interesados en transmitir noticias falsas, cuando es evidente que todos nosotros estamos mintiendo a diario y sobre cuestiones que van de lo trascendental a lo más insignificante? Por lo demás, ni siquiera sabemos si los apóstoles verdaderamente estuvieron dispuestos a morir por esas creencias.

Y la más importante de todas las objeciones, si bien Andrade en este punto también la deja caer, aunque en mi opinión sin la suficiente contundencia. Si bien parece que la Teología liberal supone un progreso con respecto a la antigua Teología, en la medida en que se aleja del estudio de ángeles, demonios y demás entidades sobrenaturales, y hace un mayor uso de la racionalidad, prescindiendo de lecturas literales de la Biblia y de conceptos tradicionales como Dios o infierno (págs. 180 ss), tengo serias dudas de que esta Teología New Age (Dios es amor) sea de algún modo preferible a la tradicional (Dios te condena al infierno). Al menos ésta se mostró abiertamente como lo que es, sin complejos, sin dobleces, y siempre, dentro de su demencial sistema de creencias, ha sido consecuente en su fidelidad a la Biblia o la autoridad (sí, con las contradicciones que queramos denunciar). En cambio, los modernos teólogos son como gorrones que, tomando de la Ciencia sólo lo que les interesa, lo aplican a las creencias, yendo de racionales, cuando su discurso resulta, además de absurdo e irracional como siempre, claramente anticientífico y, por si eso fuera poco, falaz, confuso, la nada.

José Antonio Castilla Gómez

Madrid, España.
sphakteria@yahoo.es

 

Reseña de "Materialismo y ciencia", de Mario Bunge.

BUNGE, Mario. Materialismo y ciencia. Pamplona: Laetoli. 2013.

            Thomas Nagel, un reconocido filósofo ateo, recientemente causó revuelo, al publicar un libro en el cual defendía la opinión de que la evolución cuenta con un propósito preestablecido, y que en este sentido, no puede limitarse a u fenómeno estrictamente material. Nagel ya se había hecho famoso con la opinión de que la mente no puede ser reducida al cerebro, y que por ende, hay al menos propiedades emergentes inmateriales (aunque no necesariamente sustancias) en la vida mental.

            El libro de Nagel ha sido criticado desde muchos frentes (yo mismo escribí una reseña crítica acá), pues al final, su argumento parece ser una reactualización de las hipótesis harto especulativas de Teilhard de Chardin, y otros que consideraban que la evolución es guiada por una misteriosa agencia inmaterial.

            Con todo, el libro de Nagel ha servido para plantearse nuevamente el reto de aquellos que no están conformes con el materialismo en las ciencias. Y, así, frente a posturas como las de Nagel, amerita que surjan nuevas defensas de la ontología materialista. Este libro de Bunge, si bien no pretende ser una refutación de Nagel (pues, valga decir, fue escrito treinta años antes, pero recientemente reeditado por Laetoli como parte de una valiosísima colección de las obras de Bunge), sirve para que el lector común se familiarice con una defensa del materialismo.

            Bunge oportunamente critica a aquellos que consideran que la mente no puede ser reducible al cerebro (por ejemplo, John Eccles). Lo mismo hace con quienes postulan que la historia es guiada por unas misteriosas fuerzas inmateriales (la dialéctica de Hegel), o que tras la evolución yace un proceso teleológico que empuja a los organismos hacia algo cada vez mejor y más complejo. Y, además, Bunge dedica atención a problemas que, por lo general, los materialistas han olvidado: ¿de qué constan las matemáticas?, ¿cuál es la naturaleza de los valores morales y estéticos?, etc. Al final, el libro de Bunge, prácticamente un clásico moderno, sirve para defender una postura que, al menos entre los filósofos, es cada vez más popular, pero pocas veces defendida con detalle.