The Fountain. Don Cupitt

      Introduction

      The subtitle of this book is a deliberate tease, for it is certainly not a theology in the traditional sense. In recent years I have, among other things, been attempting to create a new kind of secular and non-metaphysical religious thought. The aim here is to show how great swathes of our experience can be brought together and unified under a single powerful reconciling symbol in a way that can help us greatly by consoling us, by helping us to make overall sense of life, and by showing us how we would do best to live. The central unifying symbol in this present account is the Fountain, but a number of others would also do the trick. They include the Sun, the Fire and Life. Some may wish to argue for the symbol ‘God’, but for our present purpose the Fountain is very cool and clear.

      The main reason for this is that modern scientific theory and modern communications technology have combined to create in all of us an acute awareness of our own, and of everything else’s, rushing transience. Everything - the cosmos, communications, life in general, and the self in particular - pours out and passes away. It is not surprising that so many people (especially men) are acutely aware of death; and that so many others (especially women) put a great deal of effort into combating the passage of time.

      In such a culture, acutely aware of time, death, and metaphysical lack, what form might religion take? In this book I suggest that there cannot be One True Religion in quite the old way, but we may be able to unify our experience and find religious happiness in the midst of pure rushing transience by contemplating the old religious symbol of the Fountain. Whether in a city square or in a garden, the Fountain is a focal symbol, sited at a point where many ways meet. As an object, it is all foaming transience; but it is surprisingly calming and peaceful to contemplate. It is living water, a symbol of life’s ceaseless self-renewal. It is associated with healing and repose. Although it is only a symbol, and there is nothing metaphysical about it, perhaps it may be able to do for us some of the things that God used to do?

      Some knowledgeable Roman Catholic theologians may recognize in this the heresy that they call ‘dogmatic symbolism’, an extremist and impermissible version of the well-established principle that all theological statements are symbolic (or ‘analogical’). Maybe: but please give me a hearing first. If my account makes sense, it could have very wide application. And at least it will have shown us what religion can still be nowadays, and how a fully self-aware and critical religion might work.

      In the account I give, you will notice that at least some elements of the traditional Christian scheme of thought do remain. The most obvious one is the attempt to combine a general account of the human situation (cosmology/the doctrine of Creation) with a general account of how we human beings should learn to live (ethics/the doctrine of reconciliation or redemption), the two being held together by a single unifying symbol, the Fountain.

      In the text that follows you will, however, find that I am wary of using the words God or Jesus. In fact, I am now very doubtful about both. In the case of God, there is the very strong association between the basically masculine, transcendent, legislating God of our Abrahamic’ group of religions and the historic subjection of women: the transcendent lawgiver God rules over Nature and over the human soul, in a way that makes it seem only natural that man should correspondingly rule over woman (she being closer to Nature) and that man should also have the right to lay down the law about what she may and may not do. But today it seems clear that, for reasons Darwinian, environmental and feminist, we need a purely immanent religious vision that can reconcile us to our own complete immersion in time and contingency, and to our own mortality The Fountain does very well for that purpose, because of the way it combines rushing contingency with life’s consoling perpetual self-renewal, while also avoiding any excessive masculinism and transcendence.

      As for Jesus, my first problem is that I find it hard now to call myself a Christian, because the word Christian presupposes acceptance of the title ‘Christ’, or Messiah, which in its turn presupposes a complex supernatural theology of history that nobody should believe in nowadays. I do not care for messianism of any kind. As a result, I’m in an awkward position. I very greatly admire Jesus, but for his sake I must not give him any special supernatural status. Like the Buddha, he was an ordinary man who just happened to be an intensely committed and gifted ethical thinker and teacher. Each of them found and taught a very important and attractive way of life and path to happiness. But Buddhists like Nagarjuna have recognized that in theory there may well have been other unknown Buddhas who have made the same discovery quite independently; and similarly there may well be other human beings who have made an independent discovery of Jesus’s ethical Way. So my updated version of Christianity, while it does mention Jesus and has learnt a great deal from him,