In a correspondence dating back to 1911 from my forefather residing in Japan, to his mother in Cork, he asserted that if Christianity’s resurrection was not a factual occurrence, then Christianity can be considered the finest hoax. This was quite some time before Richard Dawkins introduced his book ‘The God Delusion’ to the world – almost ninety years prior, in fact.
After embarking on a voyage to Japan five years earlier with the intention of advancing the truths he felt compelled to share, my grandfather made some headway as an Anglican missionary. His unique strategy of persuading people about Salvation was effective to an extent, and those who opted to abandon his sermon prematurely were met by his associate, Robinson. This bloke had another crack at convincing them to stay.
However, unlike his forerunners, who seemingly had a smooth journey in their missionary tasks, my grandfather was beset by rivals. He was agitated by the extensive distribution of agnostic and Unitarian literature, which presented contrasting versions of truth – some questioned the fundamentals of religion, such as the Resurrection and all other miracles.
In this day and age, how many folks genuinely hold onto the belief of the resurrection being an actual reality? In all likelihood, the number is dwindling. But then, were Christians even supposed to perceive this as a factual event, or was it merely an allegorical representation?
This further rouses the question regarding religious truth and falsehood. Why do religions, which are designed to uphold the pillar of truth, anticipate their disciples to profess faith in elements they probably lack belief in, and perhaps were never required to believe in the first place?
I come from a profoundly Christian family, full of love, and we were followers of the Church of Ireland. As was the norm, I regularly attended Sunday school and church services. I was educated in a Church of Ireland primary school, where I memorised the Lord’s Prayer and other common segments of church liturgy, which we would repeat every Sunday.
The Creed was a central component of the Sunday church ceremony; it was a time when the attendees stood up, expressing their unflinching faith with a solemn air. As a fervent teenager, I started to dissect the meanings of these familiar expressions, which I had chanted since my early years. I had to acknowledge that these words did not reflect my true beliefs, and morally I couldn’t bring myself to utter them.
Engendering substantial unease, I was cautioned to reiterate these phrases since they were essentially vital for my Christian evolution. Further discourses led to the proposition that perhaps I shouldn’t interpret these words so presently. However, I was unsure of another way to perceive them.
The Irish Constitution initiates with nods towards a Trinitarian, Christian God and pairs this with a mandatory religious oath for influential positions; inevitably ostracising a significant sector of society.
These declarations were unambiguous: “I have faith in God, the Father Almighty, creator of the heavens and the earth; as well as in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our saviour, born miraculously of the Virgin Mary, and conceived by the Holy Spirit…”
I couldn’t accept these ideas. The belief that God sculpted the heavens and the earth, the virgin birth, the resurrection, or even the ascension were concepts I couldn’t endorse. So why was it anticipated that I would profess my faith in them?
Progressively, as my knowledge of the universe and human evolution expanded, the realisation that the Genesis account featuring Adam and Eve was merely a tale struck me. Nobody genuinely believed this tale, but it was presumed you would accept the remainder of it. But was it really?
People frequently question why I pay significant attention to these topics. Why concern myself with individuals’ beliefs? Personally, it has no importance; everyone should be free to uphold their own unique belief system. However, issues arise when these beliefs start shaping the state’s framework, it is truly unacceptable.
The Irish Constitution’s outset refers to a Trinitarian, Christian God and imposes a religious oath for elevated positions, thus isolating a large segment of citizens.
Despite bringing this issue to various administrations’ notice, it perplexes me that no action has been taken to resolve this. Ireland has seen considerable progress on various social matters in recent times, but other aspects remain overlooked, the most prominent being our Constitution’s non-inclusive terminology.
It appears that Ireland sustains a duplicity of existence where locals who don’t adhere to any religious philosophy are obligated, in some situations, to feign adherence to these philosophies. A comparable scenario could be those who participate in church services, who are often anticipated to vocalise their underlying Christian convictions, whilst being aware that these assertions are not genuinely represented.
In my view, both the church and the government fall short in their authenticity in this situation. They each devise a scenario where dishonest affirmations are expected. Painting this scenario merely as part of tradition or culture won’t suffice. It’s high time for a transformation.
Brian Whiteside is a humanist, performing ceremonies for funerals without religious context.