The Contradiction of Faith and Reason

George Santayana writes, “The Bible is literature, not dogma.” I could say, perhaps, that the Bible, and all religious texts are literary works to learn from, to be inspired by, not to craft a framework for living from. This is a misuse of literature. On this, Santayana has to say: “Religion remains an imaginative achievement, a symbolic representation of moral reality which may have a most important function in vitalizing the mind and in transmitting, by way of parables, the lessons of experience. But it becomes at the same time a continuous incidental deception; and this deception, in proportion as it is strenuously denied to be such, can work indefinite harm in the world and in the conscience.”

And what is this “harm in the world and in the conscience” that he speaks of? That is, once again, the looming beast of religious fundamentalism. It is close-mindedness, it is ignorance, it is a shutting out of the entire world and all its myriad sources of inspiration.

It is foolish, I think, to disregard or label ineffective and useless anything that has the potential to broaden the experience and creativity of man. If it is faith in God that inspires, then so be it. Imposing limitations, stating one thing is better than the next, is only, in itself, another form of sanctification.

In this post-modern age, the most important thing of all is choice. Through choice comes freedom, comes expression, liberation of the human spirit. It is choice that binds us and choice that separates us. For Rushdie to limit choice, to elevate one convention over another, the latter being perceived as outdated and ineffectual, is a self-contradiction. How can he preach the doctrine of literary supremacy and yet concurrently preach the virtues of absolute freedom of expression in literature, as in, “The geniuses of the novel are those whose voices are fully and undisguisably their own, who, to borrow William Gass’s image, sign every word they write.” These writers he praises could be inspired by anything. Perhaps childhood experiences; perhaps novels; movies; religion, even?

It reminds me of something E.M. Forster wrote in his “Raison D’etre of Criticism in the Arts”: “We shall tend to slip about on the surface of masterpieces, exclaiming with joy, but never penetrating. “Oh, I do like Bach,” cries one appreciator, and the other cries, “Do you? I don’t. I like Chopin.” Exit in opposite directions chanting Bach and Chopin respectively, and hearing less the composers than their own voices.” Is this battle between religion and literature, and ultimately literature above all other art forms, not just the cry of one appreciator over another? A true totemization of language, such as Arthur Koestler predicted?

The answer, as always, lies in choice. In the postmodern age, the individual is the judge. The unique, uninhibited expression of the artistic mind remains most important. The “postmodern man”, if you will, is the man who remains open to all forms of art and experience. He is ready to learn, to create, to be inspired by anything in this wondrous age of new ideas. To choose what inspires him most, if there even is such a thing for him, and yet remain receptive to other sources of inspiration.

All art can be worthwhile. Fantasy novels and the Old Testament, The Godfather, Monet, Picasso, Bach and Chopin.

What might your inspiration be?