The Core Questions
Defining Religion Is Like Playing Quidditch Blindfolded
Once upon a time I studied religion with scholars who lived in ivory towers and ate dinner in magnificent halls. Professors dressed in the fine regalia of their college gowns sat at the high tables while the rest of us sat below them at the long tables. (Just like in Harry Potter! Yes, there are such places in the world.)
Now in that magical of magical places where the oxen cross the ford, we heartily and heatedly debated the definition of religion. Some scholars wanted one definition of religion to rule them all. You should’ve seen the brawls that broke out between the historians, the psychologists, the sociologists, the theologians, and the linguists. And don’t even get me started on the philosophers. It was like Quidditch! And trying to pin religion down to a single definition was harder than trying to capture the golden snitch blindfolded and without a flying broom.
Initially I jumped into the fray and tried my hand at seeking this one ultimate definition. I traveled far and crossed many mountains and valleys, but I still didn’t find what I was looking for. The longer this went on, the less fun it got. I found that all these scholars were less interested in knowledge and far more interested in winning that quite popular “I’m right and you suck” game. Ever play one of those?
So I stopped playing, turned in my uniform, slipped into Diagone Alley for some refreshment, and started making a few…observations. Instead of searching for ultimate definitions, I thought why not just sit almost child-like and just observe how religion presents itself to me.
When I stopped chasing religion, it stopped running away from me, quickly turned around, and came to sit right beside me. My burdensome and competitive search for ultimate definitions turned into a far more enjoyable exercise in observation and conversation.
Observations and Conversations
The first observation is that religion, first and foremost, has to do with a family of core questions that live inside a family of core conversations.
What are the core questions?
- Who am I?
- Where did I come from?
- Why am I here?
- How should I live?
- Where am I going?
- What will happen to me after I die?
You may say, “I’m not particularly religious, but I think about those questions sometimes myself.”
And I say, “Exactly.”
You can walk away from the answers that other people have offered, but you can’t walk away from the questions themselves. That’s why those questions are called core questions. They are part of the human mind & heart. Even when we’re not particularly religious, we’re still having a conversation with those questions. We’re all asking those questions, in one way or another.
It just so happens that religion has been raising and answering those core questions the longest and so it holds the most information about how those questions have been raised and answered. And that is a valuable source of information we would do well not to ignore.
As you look over the core questions above, have your own conversation with them right now and ask yourself:
- Which one makes you just stop and think?
- Which one do you skip over because you don’t want to think about it right now?
- Which one would you introduce first to your children or to a young person who looks up to you?
- Which one are you struggling with right now?
- Which one are you at peace with right now?
This entry was posted on Friday, May 30th, 2008 at 7:00 am and is filed under Misc. Find similar posts by selecting any of the following tags: core questions. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
Jenn wrote on June 2, 2008 at 7:47 am:
I think you’re right in that religion has been raising and answering those questions possibly longer than any other discipline. As much as it might be strange to admit, it almost seems as if the answers religion provides v. philosophy or another similar discipline are much more satisfying. Is this because at its core religion is a belief in something bigger than us, which seems very instinctive, so the answers to these questions resonate better? Or is it just because it’s the voice screaming the loudest?
Either way, over the years I’ve come to believe that personal religion is sacred.
mohamed wrote on June 14, 2008 at 4:56 am:
In my novel, “The Poet”, I wrote:
At a point in the heart of the desert, the Poet stopped singing and began to mull over his entire life. For a time, he compared himself to a cat dropped from above, say, by an eagle or some other bird, to find itself bound to plow a way out of this sand-swept tableland. How would it manage to? His such musings brought him to wonder what could be the difference between amir and subject, lover and beloved, good and evil. He knew, as always, that such questions were only too big for him. But he believed he had answers, convincing ones, to most of the most important questions. He knew why he lived, what he ought to do and what not to do.
“I am a man,” he would always say, “created to worship God. I ought to do good and avoid evil.”
As simple as that. He hated anyone who sought for offending details. For him, things were all too clear and simple. A man needs food, warmth, shelter and peace. All the question that would trigger bombastic talk lies in the way or ways to get that. A man does not need to be a philosopher or a great thinker or poet, or whatever, to be happy. A humble shepherd could be happy, if he had enough food, enough shelter, a good wife and a heart devoted to God. An emperor, with all he would have, could not really be happy if there was no place for God in his heart… (Chapter Four)
*****
“This woman is Christian, you know,” said Assem suddenly. “She’s from Bulgaria. Her Arabic is shaky. But I think you can understand each other. I liked her, and I chose her for you.” The Poet kept quiet, and listened. Assem paused and then went on, “Sawsan will be your wife.”
“You said my wife –although a Christian?”
“And what’s wrong about it? It all depends on you!”
“Well, sir,” the Poet replied with a blush, “I can’t find words to thank you, sir.”
“It’s I who should thank you, Salman!”
The Poet turned and listened in amazement. Assem went on speaking, almost to himself:
“Yes. It’s I who should be most grateful to you. I’ve failed with my own son. I’ve failed on all counts. I’d dreamt of a son completely different from the one you’ve seen. And I’ve had to atone for that. I’ve had to bring up men like those I’d dreamt of.” He sighed deeply, paused, and resumed, “Several of my attempts have gone awry. But I’ve, nevertheless, won a few. I hope you’re one of those few I’ve won.”
“I think I’ve done what I ought to have done. I hope that others will make their own contributions toward the fulfillment of my cherished dream. But truly I count on you personally. From now on, never lean on anybody for advice. Think and think and think and then decide and you’ll be a true man. Marry and beget children and teach them if you can.”
“I shall!” the Poet replied in a tremulous voice, trying to hold back his tears. “I promise.”
“Then, now…you are free.”
“Oh, thank you, sir! Thank you very, very much!”
“No! I don’t mean that you’re no longer my servant, my slave,” Assem said. The Poet stared and his heart throbbed. Assem went on, “You are! You’re still my servant. When I said ‘free’, I meant that you’d feel the real, the true freedom within yourself. Do you think my son is free? I’ll say not. He’s not free. He’s the slave of money, of prestige, of abundance. He’s the humble slave of the affluent society. He’s the tame slave of his wives’ wishes and whims. He’s in sum the slave of Satan. A truly free man is a slave of God. And that’s what I wish you to be like: a slave of God and a king of yourself.” (Chpter Twenty-Five)
Paula Steele wrote on November 12, 2008 at 10:56 pm:
5ycyavlanrc8gfn8