By Selwyn Duke

In this age of media insolvency
and newsroom job cuts, I sometimes think that restaurant reviewers are doubling
as religion writers.  After all, both
today seem to treat their subjects as matters of taste.  In fact, I expect to soon open a modern
newspaper’s religion page and read something akin to the following:

The
steeple was sufficiently impressive, although there were obvious stress cracks
in the paint.  As I entered the church, I
was greeted by an all too obsequious usher whose fawning attempts to please
were rendered quite unwelcome by his dollar-store shoes, mismatched tie and sport
coat, and noticeable dandruff.  I was
secondly accosted by the aroma of incense, which, although vaguely reminiscent
of a potpourri, was overpowering and gratuitous.  I entered a pew and found it had been
finished with a dark stain wholly ill-suited to the pine of which it was
constructed.  My kneeler rotated easily
on its hinges but emitted a perceptible squeak, and, more egregiously, its
cushioning would probably be found wanting by someone suffering from patella
tendonitis or another debilitating physical condition.  Certainly, if your spirit is willing but your
flesh weak, this may not be the church for you . . . .

What brings this to mind is an article
I stumbled across today about Tiger Woods, his Buddhism and his reaction to
Brit Hume’s January recommendation that the golfer explore Christianity to
remedy his woes.  It was penned by David
Gibson, a “religion” writer who says that he is, as I am, a convert to
Catholicism.  If I seem suspicious of his
Catholicity — of, in fact, his religiosity — it’s because I am.  His biography states, “Gibson won the
Templeton Religion Reporter of the Year Award, the top honor for journalists
covering religion in the secular press. In November he will receive the top
prize for opinion writing from the American Academy of Religion,” and both are quite
fitting.  His writing seems more secular
than religious and reduces Truth to opinion.

That is to say, Gibson seems to
embrace the relativism that defines our age. 
I have read two articles he has written on the Hume/Woods story, and in
neither one does he exhibit the slightest understanding of the concept of
Absolute Truth.  I’ll explain.

I know a man who is an orthodox
Jew.  He walks the walk, following all of
the 613 Judaic laws he must and praying at the appointed times of the day,
regardless of where he finds himself. 
Now, because he is authentic, he believes his religion contains the full
deposit of faith. 

Of course, a corollary of this
is that he believes mine does not. 

Does this bother me?  Not really. 
In fact, while I disagree with his ultimate conclusion, I expect nothing
less than his absolutism.  Why sacrifice
for a faith — constraining your impulses based on its teachings — if you think
it’s just a flavor of the day?  Heck, if
I thought religion was just a fancy name for opinion, I’d become a hedonist —
or at least a Unitarian.

In contrast, in Gibson’s
commentary, there is never an acknowledgment that Hume is behaving in precisely
the way a true man of faith would expect a true man of faith to behave.  Instead, it smacks of secularism.  Gibson acts as if Hume seeks to impose a
taste, as if he has had the temerity to ask someone with a distinctively
different palate to adopt his favorite flavor ice cream.  

Yet, this piece isn’t about
Hume or Woods; in fact, it’s not even about Gibson.  The reality is that if Gibson is the
relativist he appears, he simply reflects contemporary America.  And the statistics are staggering.  In 1994 already, a poll
showed that 72 percent of Americans agreed that there is no such thing as
Absolute Truth.  Even more to the point
here, 64 percent of born-again Christians
agreed.  Some sources
even claim that by 2002 that number had risen among born-again church youth to
91 percent.  But whatever the exact
figure, that it touches the heavens is no surprise.  I’ve long understood that moral relativism is
the characteristic spiritual disease of our time (and the worst of all
time).  I’ve also long known that this
portends rapid moral collapse and, consequently, the civilizational
variety.  But right now I’ll limit my
commentary mostly to the impossible marriage between Christianity and
relativism.  (Non-Christians will find
plenty here for them as well, however, so read on.)

Let us be blunt: It is simply
not possible to espouse relativism — which holds that right and wrong are
opinion — and be a true Christian. 

Why?  It’s simple: Jesus did not die for our
opinions.  Jesus did not say that His
blood was the blood of the new and everlasting covenant and that it would be
shed for you and for all so that opinions may be forgiven; He did not say, I am
a way, a truth, and a life; He
did not say, let he who is without opinion cast the first stone; He did not say
to that dark tempter, “It is said, ‘Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God,’”
but, hey, Satan, whatever works for you.

There are many doctrinal differences
among the denominations, and good people could debate them ad nauseam and still
not settle every one.  Yet, if anything is
central to Christianity, it’s the belief that Truth is spelled with a capital
“T,” that it is absolute, universal and eternal.  And also central is a corollary of this
belief: that there is an absolute, universal and eternal answer to every moral
question; that right and wrong are not a matter of opinion, that they don’t
change from time to time and place to place (although the perception of them certainly can. 
Ergo, swords lopping off heads). 

In fact, understand that moral
relativism does nothing less than render the foundational act of Christianity,
the sacrifice on the cross, incomprehensible.  Why? 
Simply because Jesus died for our sins, and this presupposes that sin
exists.  However, if what we call
morality is simply opinion, then there can be no such thing as sin.  For who is to say?  “Hey, I have my truth, you have your
truth.  Don’t impose your values on me!” protests
the relativist.  And if there is no such
thing as sin, there was no reason for Jesus to sacrifice himself.  After all, what does anyone need to be
forgiven for if there is no sin?

Now we come to why this piece
isn’t just for Christians.  The concept of
Absolute Truth lies at the heart of Judaism, Islam and, in fact, philosophy
itself.  Why philosophy?  Because, properly defined, philosophy is the
search for Truth.  Now, some — including
many philosophy professors — would dispute this, but they are not only babies
in philosophy but also have adopted the endeavor of a madman: searching while
claiming there is nothing to find.

If there is no Truth, only
opinion, then there are no answers to be found. 
But then why ask questions?  It is
like setting out with ship and sail in search of treasure while convinced no
treasure exists.  It is like the Wright
brothers having sought the secret of heavier-than-air flight while believing
such a thing impossible or scientists seeking to split the atom while believing
fission could only be fiction.  Thus, it’s
no wonder college students roll their eyes at their philosophy requirement.  They enter class and hear, in essence, “Side
with Aquinas and believe Jesus is the living God and the life, or with Nietzsche
and believe God is dead and that, by extension, there is no reason to
live.  Believe in the Ten Commandments
or, as occultist Aleister Crowley said, that 'Do what thou wilt shall be the
whole of the law.'  Pick your
flavor.  And, if you can still find a
reason to rise in the morning, I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”  Instilled with the idea that there is no
treasure, students just aren’t illogical enough to want to search anyway. 

Of course, it’s tempting to
embrace religious-equivalency doctrine in a multi-religious society because
it’s thought that it enables us to get along. 
Like two little boys in a schoolyard who each agree to relinquish any
claim that his daddy can beat up the other’s, we make the following unwritten
pact: “I won’t say my faith is better than yours if you don’t say your faith is
better than mine.  Deal?”  And it does work.  Except, there then is not only no reason to
fight about religion, there is no reason to even discuss it.  There is, in fact, no reason to even adopt
it.  That is, unless it somehow makes you
feel good.  But adherence to the
principle “If it feels good, do it” is a pathway to something. It’s called sin. 

Through his embrace of
relativism modern man has made Christianity incomprehensible.  He has made philosophy incomprehensible.  He has, in fact, made civilization itself
incomprehensible.  For, if there is no
right or wrong, it can be no better than barbarism. 

Relativism also makes the
existence of religion writers incomprehensible — and, increasingly, the writers
themselves uncomprehending.

                  © 2010 Selwyn Duke — All Rights Reserved

         This piece was originally published at American Thinker