Lessing Liked God and Drama

The story so far...

In his quest to discover the meaning of Dramaturgy, Gareth K Vile has gone back in time to the eighteenth century. Noticing that Lessing first used the term in the 1740s, he is tracing the relationship between Enlightenment thought and the functions of Dramaturgy. He's convinced that placing Dramaturgy within the context of its genesis, he'll be able to create a working definition that allows him to further his studies. 

My suspicion is that the past is constantly in a process of revision. Rather like in those X-Men adventures when a character goes back in time to prevent a particular event, which then changes history, contemporary thinkers re-evaluate their ancestors in an attempt to prove their own position.

I've been looking up Lessing, and just discovered the other academic discipline that is still interested in his writings. Turns out that the son of a preacher-man did some theology. In 1961, Irving Louis Horowitz examined Lessing's theology (Lessing and Hamann: Two Views on Religion and Enlightenment: Church History, Vol. 30, No. 3 (Sep., 1961)). Far from being a complete religious sceptic, Lessing attempted to reconcile religious revelation and reason. He's kind of a compromise between the anti-clerical thoughts of Diderot and a more philosophical - and mystical - Christian tradition.

Apart from challenging the mythology of a 'secular Enlightenment', Horowitz's essay notes that Lessing identified God as 'immanent' rather than 'transcendental'. Roughly, his notion is that God exists within the Universe, and doesn't sit on a big throne stroking his beard. Immanence ranges across a wide set of models, from a pagan pantheism where God is the physical universe (and nothing more) to a Christian view of the divine as incarnated within the world. 

There might be a big 'so what?' about to follow, but here's the thing. The Enlightenment - say in Anthony Pagden's Big Cool Tome - is often interpreted as a break with religious thought. Kant's reply to the question 'what is enlightenment?' (TL;DR: 'grow up') is taken as a rejection of the 'authority through revelation model' encouraged by churches. But Lessing doesn't go that far. He sustains a dialogue with religious thought. 

He doesn't dethrone reason, but he does see it in collaboration with spiritual faith. His ability to integrate the two approaches makes him more Reasonable than some of the more explicitly atheistic thinkers, and while he locates religious sentiment within the personal rather than social sphere, he's not abandoning the Christian tradition for an all-new, sparkling godless universe. 

I fear we are still in the 'so what?' zone.

Well, there's the idea that continuity is important when considering the Enlightenment. Then there is the question of how a theological thinker might perceive theatre. Knowing that Lessing rejected the more Catholic notion of 'religion as social process' but accepted a personal engagement with the spiritual might help make sense of how he would then interpret various plays. It's all conjecture, but give it a chance...

St Valentine Ideas...

It's Valentine's 'weekend', apparently. While I am all for celebrating saint's days - especially if the saint happens to be a Jesuit - I'm not sure that expanding it to a weekend is going to help those of us who are 'exploring celibacy as a valid lifestyle option'. 

But I am sniffing a social media bandwagon. Here's five ways to celebrate...

Get some Cock at the Tron

Since I am already a persona non grata round the east end theatre, thanks to a series of crass headlines, I might as well keep up the vulgarity. Cock is a play about the drama that happens when identity politics collide with desire, or when the fictional idea of 'love' conflicts with lived reality.

There's a guy and his lover, and his other lover, then the lover's dad turns up and Mick Bartlett's script dissects the intersection of the public and the political. Andy Arnold directs with sparse precision. It's an uncomfortable ninety minutes, which might make you a better person.

Consider your desires at Club Noir
It's the world's biggest burlesque club, and the men dress up like me: I was there at New Year, and felt like it was a tribute to critics who like to buy suits and look like a 1950s' detective. 

But don't let that put you off: it's a party that is made by the audience. There are always great acts on stage - which are either excellent entertainment or a challenge to our prurience about sexual performance, depending on how far you want to take the critic theme. This is my concession to people who actually want to have fun this weekend. 

Go to Mass, you bloody pagan
Yep, Valentine is another example of how Christianity has defined our calendar. On Sunday morning, get along to Duns Scotus to celebrate the Eucharist in the presence of the saint's bones.

Long before he was commercially exploited, St Valentine had a feast that replaced the Roman Lupercalia - a holiday for fertility, banishing evil spirits and animal sacrifice antics. He had set up a kind of ancient Gretna Green service, He was also a doctor, so going to mass is a nice way to have a pop at Jeremy Hunt.

Support the Junior Doctors

Now I have mentioned Jeremy Hunt, to the mystification of readers outside the UK, there's a big row going on: a government minister, who has such a bad reputation that his name is now rhyming slang, is trying to impose a new contract on Junior Doctors, who are already tripping balls due to not getting enough sleep. 

Just add C-

Not sure how to show support - petitions are not my thing - but a little bit of Christian love sent out to the doctors would respect St V. Maybe you could dress up as a doctor for Club Noir.

Remember the Involuntary Celibates of Criticism

There are those among us who have given up on romance in order to take a shamanic journey to the heart of performance art. Why not send them some chocolates, or roses, or a card? The CCA on Sauchiehall Street will accept these and pass them on...

Religion in Schools; Let Humanism in!

The story so far

A random quote from the humanist association, and a statement by Nicky Morgan (education minister) that Britain is  a Christian country is challenged for being vague and slippery, and not any kind of foundation for decision making.

Coming Next
A spirited defence of the inclusion of humanism as a religious system.

Begins
The Humanist Association is correct: they represent a religious philosophy, and belong on the religious studies' syllabus. It is arguable, but this usually revolves around defining religion as having something to do with 'belief in God'.

Let me introduce you to the Dalai Lama.

Buddhism can be an atheistic religion. I define religion as 'a set of shared beliefs about the universe, and humanity's relationship to it, often characterised by a series of rituals'. It's necessary components are community, gathering together and a set of ideas (which are open to internal debate) that are considered worthy of discussion. 

Atheists who say that atheism is not a religion are right: a simple disbelief in God lacks these elements. Humanism,

yeah, that clears it up

however, offers rituals to replace Christian (or Buddhist) sacraments. It also has an affiliation strategy, just like Islam or Hinduism.

Whether Humanism has a critical mass of members, which would ensure its inclusion in schools, is another matter. But I don't care about that right now. I see a very clear case for Humanism as a religion.

Of course, an examination of the religion's history would identify its roots in Renaissance Christianity - Erasmus, those guys. A great essay question would be: How far can Humanism be understood as an attempt to express Christian values without God?

Religion in Schools: what means this 'is'?

British Humanist Association chief executive Andrew Copson said: All the usual contemporary justifications for the teaching about religions in schools ... logically also apply to the teaching of humanism.

Before I became the cult staple and voice in the wilderness, I taught in four schools - one was explicitly religious, the others promoted a form of Christianity that managed to justify the school rules, from uniform to a particularly odd piece about the appropriate distance between male and female pupils.

Guess which one was the most comfortable experience for me - even though, as it happens, I did not share its religion. Turns out that I did share the values, though.

And so, in order to keep our attention on the hard work of the state to control our minds, the education minister has made a statement. Apparently, it includes the idea that Britain is a Christian country...

At the risk of suggesting that the media reports contain an anti-religious bias, the statement that Britain is anything can be a fine example of dumbing down. Dumbing down often gets associated with the Disney versions of fairy tales becoming prominent, but here the use of the word 'is' becomes the problem. 

It doesn't mean anything much.

It could be that Christianity holds the dominant position in our state structures - it does have a bunch of bishops in the House of Lords.

It could be that the state and the legislature evolved during a period when Christianity held the affiliation of the majority, and reflect certain values and beliefs.

It could be that more people affiliate to Christianity than other religions.

It could be that Britain mirrors the Islamic State, in being a theocracy defined not by The Koran but The Bible.

But is? Too vague, too broad. 

Going back to my own experience in an explicitly religious school - look, it was a Jesuit school, and we all know how hardcore the Jesuits are - the majority of students easily dropped religious belief by the time they hit puberty. And that's even in an environment built around regular masses, propagandist religious studies and every single piece of work having AMDG at the top of the page. 

School is a relatively poor location for 'indoctrination', if that's the worry. If anything, adding in my experience of other schools, there's no better way of destroying interest in a subject by adding it to the curriculum.

I mean, Shakespeare is pretty good, but how many teenagers hate it? 

Okay, that's anecdotal. With that level of research, I could be a columnist on The Times. Or a politician.


Is Humanism a Religion?

MUSH & ME 31 Jul - 25 Aug @ The Fringe

How do you deal with religious belief in the context of a society that is largely secular?

Karla Crome, playwright:I think that faith still plays a major part in the fabric of any society. I am an atheist myself, but i think it would be Naive to assume that religion doesn't affect me. Our newspapers and TV screens  are bombarded with conflict in Gaza,  scandals uncovered in the Catholic Church and we see increasing cases of Islamophobia and Anti- Semitism.  

Most of our earliest memories involve hymns in assembly and a moral compass formed by 'God'. When we began creating our characters in 'Mush and Me', we all agreed that they should be Londoners- day to day they are more likely to discuss work, family and 'Made in Chelsea' than their religious beliefs. However, they have an inextricable link with their respective faiths- Orthodox Judaism and Shia Islam- which complicates their relationship with one another. 

They share a mixture of guilt, pride and dependance on their religious traditions. Often these feelings conflict with the secular society they inhabit. It is that conflict that makes the characters complicated… and juicy. 

 Is the religious divide more powerful than the beliefs of the characters?

There are strong similarities between Judaism and Islam. They are both Abrahamic Religions, they both fast, they both forbid pork and recognise many of the same prophets and religious figures. Our characters are not Religious scholars, but they both recognise that their faith formulates their identity. They both have prejudices about each other which are formed more from cultural differences than religious ones- their education, family, diet, politics and routine. 

Much of the piece sees the protagonists discover their own bias and hypocrisy, especially in relation to each other.  As a result, they reassess their personal relationships with God.  So while the cultural divide remains significant throughout the play, their subjective religious experience constantly vacillates. 

What made theatre the best form to explore the ideas of the play? 

That's a good question! We never questioned whether this would be more effective as a short film, radio play or novel - theatre was our first instinct. That said, there is something very theatrical about the theme. For many of us, our feelings on Religion are incredibly strong and passionate. 

Therefore, there's merit in giving it the immediate, visceral treatment that only live theatre can offer. We also had a great deal of fun reading up on Yiddish phrases and Arabic sayings, as well as the physical conventions of prayer and worship. There is a rich physical and vocal language within religious philosophy which, in my opinion, is perfect for the stage.  

It isn't true, though, is it?

All live artists need a onesie

I am frequently entranced by the unpleasantness of the dialogue between religious and scientific fundamentalists. It is my own fault for discovering American talk radio. A nation that has more faith in freedom of speech than fear of hate speech may seem idyllic to a critic, but five minutes of vague hippy bluster being ripped to shreds by a shouty conservative is enough to make me reconsider.

Both sides in the science versus religion debate seem to have trouble with ontological categories. 

Now, I admit my grasp of science is shaky and realise that talking about scientific fundamentalists is a bit cheeky (I mean those people who use atheist as a code-word for intelligent and mistake theoretical models for physical facts – Richard Dawkins just about escapes the gang). But everyone who bellows that their version of the universe is literal, historical or physical truth is probably missing something. Probably the possibility that language is too limited to express reality, and mos def humility.

Luckily, I am a theatre critic. I get to noodle about with fictional truth all day. I’ll leave that little phrase hanging there, and rush on to pick out some hot fringe action that is never in any doubt that is not literal truth. Even verbatim theatre is not really verbatim, is it?

Our first slot this evening goes to Humans Inc (C Venue). This one explores ‘what it means to be human’ by making up a bunch of lies about life in 2440AD. Aside from the optimism that humans are still going to be tanking about in three hundred years time, I love the way that fantasies call themselves science fiction if they have conscious computers instead of dragons. Assuming the finale doesn’t involve over-weight men pulling green skinned alien chicks and shooting phasers at each other, I am hoping this metaphorical story of the future holds the same resonance as Philip K Dick or Stanislaw Lem.

Next up, we have The Cherry Orchard (C Aquila). I like a bit of Chekov: his work might be overdue a telegram from the queen, but he provides a comprehensive and coherent theoretical model for the behaviour of a family caught between pride in status and hard financial necessity. There’s always a question – is Chekov having a laugh, or weeping? At least this one only has a family having to move out of the ancestral home, and off-stage suicide attempts aren’t being played for laughs.

I flip the page and get I’m With The Band (Traverse), a parable about the break-up of the United Kingdom. The set up is a bit like one of those 1970s’ gags: an Englishman, an Irishman, a Scotsman and a Welsh man are in a band…

I hope that this is really a prophecy about Coldplay splitting up. I know it is going to address that independence question that people who aren’t reading The Blind Watchmaker and No Man is an Island as parallel texts spend time considering. The Scotsman is the guitarist and he wants to go solo. Hey, if it’s like The Smiths, that means the English singer will become an embittered racist while the guitarist spends twenty years in sunglasses trading on memories of past glories.

Number five has to be some Shakespeare. Just to kill two fashionable birds with one stone, let’s go for a version that has a single-sex cast. It’s Titus Andronicus (Bedlam Theatre). I’m sure Titus was thought to be unperformable a decade ago, but then they made the film and, besides, the neo-brutalists (Saint Sarah, Mark Ravenhill) made theatre audiences happy to have plenty of blood on the stage. I often complain that Shakespeare is presented with little thought for contemporary relevance. This cheeky number makes plenty of sense in the twenty-first century, being excessively violent.

I can’t resist my final choice: George Galloway’s Fighting Talk (The Assembly Rooms). George is not a politician who fills me with enthusiasm for the potential of the left to provide moral guidance in a time of chaos. It isn’t that he lacks passion or belief – and I won’t blame him for that Big Brother incident. I worry that he lacks the kind of integrity that ought to match his sincerity. So, I can hardly resist the challenge to slap his serious musings into a preview full of references to fiction, suggesting that theatre might be spectacular, but it doesn’t have the monopoly on the aestheticisation of ideas.

Not a Proper Christian

Yes, I am trying to start a conversation.

Within my lifetime, science has become the dominant public intellectual paradigm. The claims of fundamentalist Christianity not withstanding, it has become the primary author on matters both ontological and social. Atheism, once a minority interest, has become a badge of pride and although its connection to science isn’t absolute, scientific thought is frequently invoked to defend it.

Unfortunately, there is a widespread misunderstanding of what science is. Contrary to popular belief, science is not a bunch of facts and theories. Science is defined by its use of a method: the investigation of the universe through experimentation. Taking the conclusions from these experiments and repeating them does not make a person a scientist, anymore than a parrot quoting Hamlet’s Great Speech is an actor.

When Christian fundamentalists attack science – ostensibly to defend their literal readings of The Bible – they complain that scientific truth is in a constant state of flux. While their alternative authority is increasingly unpalatable (as well as a very post-modern and deliberate misreading of The Bible’s intention), they are identifying the strength of science: it is constantly evolving and improving. To claim that this is a weakness only suggests that they haven’t imbibed the truth in St Paul’s claim that “the wisdom of God is the folly of Man.”

Using the Straw Man of Christian fundamentalism, I move into the Straw Man of the scientist. The mistake of seeing science as a bunch of facts lead to the suggestion that science, in itself, can become a religion. And while I respect the right of anyone to live their life according to the tenets of natural selection and quantum theory, it’s not science.

If science is the application of the experimental method, religion is more difficult to define. For working purposes, I call it an interrelated collection of beliefs and behaviours that seek to explain the relationship between consciousness and the universe.

(I’ve used consciousness to avoid the gendered language of “humanity” and include the possibility of consciousness on other planets, yet undiscovered.)

It’s almost incidental, but religions tend to rely on scripture.

As soon as “scientists” goes to war with Christianity – or Islam, or Judaism – it seems to slip into being  religious. It might not have had the same violent impact on human society as its competition – aside from the eugenics movement – and the label “religion” is not an insult. It’s just a clarification of what is at stake.

To end: an anecdote from my past. It was Harrow, the 1990s. A skeptic (sic) and a street evangelist were throwing down outside the cinema. The evangelist insisted that God had made the universe in six days. The skeptic countered that there were alternative cosmologies, which more readily explained the features of the physical realm. I listened for a while: one would quote Genesis, the other the Origin of Species. I have to admit that the skeptic was more convincing, but his blanket condemnation of religion was arrogant.

I humbly suggested that their conversation was not necessarily the only one possible. Without wanting to decay their ideas into a bland Golden Mean, I wondered whether a theory describing how the variety of species had evolved really undermined a parable about how consciousness became corrupted.

They both turned on me. They agreed that I wasn’t “a proper Christian.”

Yeah, I can live with that. 

Classical, Our Contemporary

Perhaps it is my age - and the damage caused to my ears by Japanese free-form rock - but I am increasingly attracted to classical music these days. It all started when I saw a rehearsal at Scottish Opera - sitting so close to the singers, I suddenly realised that musical muscle isn't a simple question of volume.

That said, Ben Frost is going to be very loud and very intense, and I am enthusing about the return of Swans... 

Thanks to the wise advice of my sometime co-host on the Radio Hour, Matthew Whiteside, I have a slightly deeper appreciation of contemporary composition than I used to - but I can't help being thrilled by the appearance of the minimalists on a programme. Arvo Part at the weekend - Minimal 2012 getting off to a populist start - makes good my occasional claim that religion has been responsible for much of the most emotive art and a glance across to Edinburgh, where the Calton Consort are performing at Canongate Kirk, reveals a programme that includes a Hymn to Cecilia (Benjamin Britten), Arnold Bax's tribute to the Blessed Virgin Mary and James MacMillan's Strathclyde Motets. These Motets both uphold my opinion on religious music and demonstrate how even the East Coast needs a bit more Glasgow in their lives. 

Closer to home, next Tuesday sees the premier performance of Chris Hutchings' Requiem for All Souls. It's taking place at 9pm in Glasgow University's Memorial Chapel, just across from the Subcity Office on University Avenue. Since many of my friends would, in fact, explode if they crossed the threshold of a church, I am delighted to note that Hutchings has arranged for the performance to be streamed online. 

For all my sophistication, I can't resist making a joke about how part of the score includes a cover version of a Stone Roses number. 

Following that up, I am interested to revisit Arvo Part this weekend: the two evenings tell the same story from different perspectives, an appropriate response to the Gospel's habit of examining events from diverse angles. I've always enjoyed the irony of a supposedly monolithic religion - from the way Christianity is described by both atheists and fundamentalists, you'd think it only had about three chapters, and lacked the vigorous intellectual engagement with ideas and narratives that made it so influential in the first place - having a multiplicity of versions describing key events. 

This probably isn't the place to start on my rant about the Book of Genesis having two versions of creation...


Calton Consort 
7.30pm Saturday 17 November 2012
Canongate Kirk, Edinburgh 

Chris Hutchings
9pm Tuesday 30 October 2012
Glasgow University Memorial Chapel

Arvo Part
27- 28 October
City Hall, Glasgow