Tonight, our high school's spiritual life department hosted its annual debate: "Is there a God?" This is at least the third or fourth year now that they've had this debate, though I still haven't been able to attend and see what all the fuss was about. I like to imagine that one of our handful of Hindu students might be sitting there wondering "How about the debate 'are there gods?'" but that's really a digression on my part.
I just like the fact that our spiritual life department--which, after all, is made up of protestant and Catholic ministers--is committed to this event, to raising the question. The debate participants are all teachers, so there's a sense in which no matter what the actual content of the debate is, one of the messages is that there are intelligent, thoughtful, nice people on both sides of the issue--or perhaps I should say all sides because I gather at least one person on the panel answered the question as basically a believing agnostic or a deist. And a related implicit message is that it's possible to disagree about something that's fundamental to one's outlook and to still be civil and even friendly.
Now, that said, I heard some of my students talking about the debate--which, I would reiterate, I have never been able to attend--and one of them was particularly vehement about his dissatisfaction with the debate. As he said, there's nothing new, both sides just made the same arguments they always make. As I probed a bit more, there seemed to be a strong sense in what he was saying that there wasn't a lot of engagement between the two sides. One of the science teachers basically said that the scientific evidence is against God, or makes God an unnecessary hypothesis, or whatever he actually said, and the pro-God response was basically you can't prove God doesn't exist and I feel God's presence. Again, I'm paraphrasing from a 17-year-old's not-totally-coherent account of this debate. So any commentary I'm about to make--and I'm about to make some--is poorly informed. There's a good argument here for avoiding speculation until I have more information, but to meet my Holidailies obligation, I need to get something out and I've already got this much written, so....
My suspicion here is that one of the very strengths I cited earlier--the civil nature of the debate--also defangs both sides to some extent and makes for a less interesting, less convincing debate. You can argue in fairly abstract, non-confrontational terms, but when it comes down to it, the more compelling arguments are also significantly more threatening, in the sense of calling strongly into question a person's deep-held beliefs (and, for that matter, those of the student's parent, you might not appreciate a teacher precipitating a crisis of faith for their son/daughter). Also, if participants were to argue in the strongest terms, students might feel as though a teacher who is arguing the other side from what they believe is unsympathetic or even hostile to them and not just to their belief system. So I suspect it's a challenging line to walk for the participants, to make a case, but to do it in a way that tends more toward interesting than to threatening or uncomfortable.
For my part, I've always had considerable tolerance for strong argument on both sides of this subject, because I've always felt that truth was important. Weird, I know. Hearing the best arguments, the strongest arguments of people on the other side of the issue from me always seemed like an important exercise, because either result seemed positive: either I would be convinced and change my mind, presumably moving closer to the truth--whatever that is--than I was before, or else I would feel that I had refuted the opposing arguments and thus had even better reason than before to believe what I already believed. Of course, this places a lot of trust in my own judgment. The alternative--turning over responsibility for one's beliefs to someone else--seems very problematic to me (even though I could argue in the abstract that it's possible that one could be better off relying on the judgment of someone else). But I have a hard time really believing that argument.
All right, this entry has been a bit scattered and it's not really ending with much of a bang or with a bow on top, but there it is. I welcome your thoughts on any of the matters raised.
Showing posts with label atheism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label atheism. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 3, 2014
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
The Season of Disbelievin'
Our oldest daughter, at just-under-3, is still at the age where she's a believer in just about anything. Santa? Check. Minga Madinga, her Elf on the Shelf? Absolutely. The inherent awesomeness of her parents? Most of the time. Well, sometimes. If we're not denying her a toy, making her use the potty, turning off the TV/computer/iPod, trying to get her to eat, or generally engaging her when she's cranky (which, at almost-3, seems to be much of the time).
But anyway: belief. She's got it in spades. She sort of had some idea about Santa Claus last year, as being something more than just the terrifying overlord of the mall, sitting on his throne with minions taking pictures. This year, she pretty well gets it: Santa's the guy bringing toys (also, less positively, the guy who's going to take away her pacifiers and give them to younger children).
The thing I've realized as I watch her watching Christmas movies is how many of them deal actively with the subject of belief and--noticeably--disbelief. From animated Disney movies to live-action features, there's often a character saying "Santa Claus isn't real" or "There's no such thing as elves," or whatever. And, of course, like doubting Thomas, the characters on the screen get incredibly tangible proof to back up the reality of the pro-magical-Christmas crowd's claims.
I have to wonder, though: what about the kids (which is to say, pretty much all of them) who don't get to meet a talking dog who's Santa's best friend, or see a magical elf, or receive a visit from Santa himself? In other words, what I'm asking is: what's my daughter seeing in these movies? Do the disbelievers' assertions make any dent, in what is otherwise completely unchallenged belief?
Turning 90 degrees from there, I wonder if there's a sense in which Santa Claus is actually great preparation for atheism? Think about it. Most of us growing up with Santa Claus have first-hand experience with believing in a mythical being, which other people tell us is real, and then face the inevitable moment of disillusionment. We all get practice at what it's like to become an atheist, as we become an atheist with regard to Santa Claus. And the Tooth Fairy. And the Easter Bunny.
I suppose, as with any good whopper, we can always find ways to believe if we want to. "Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus..." As long as you can be as equivocal about the meaning of "is" as Bill Clinton was, then yes, there "is" a Santa Claus.
But anyway: belief. She's got it in spades. She sort of had some idea about Santa Claus last year, as being something more than just the terrifying overlord of the mall, sitting on his throne with minions taking pictures. This year, she pretty well gets it: Santa's the guy bringing toys (also, less positively, the guy who's going to take away her pacifiers and give them to younger children).
The thing I've realized as I watch her watching Christmas movies is how many of them deal actively with the subject of belief and--noticeably--disbelief. From animated Disney movies to live-action features, there's often a character saying "Santa Claus isn't real" or "There's no such thing as elves," or whatever. And, of course, like doubting Thomas, the characters on the screen get incredibly tangible proof to back up the reality of the pro-magical-Christmas crowd's claims.
I have to wonder, though: what about the kids (which is to say, pretty much all of them) who don't get to meet a talking dog who's Santa's best friend, or see a magical elf, or receive a visit from Santa himself? In other words, what I'm asking is: what's my daughter seeing in these movies? Do the disbelievers' assertions make any dent, in what is otherwise completely unchallenged belief?
Turning 90 degrees from there, I wonder if there's a sense in which Santa Claus is actually great preparation for atheism? Think about it. Most of us growing up with Santa Claus have first-hand experience with believing in a mythical being, which other people tell us is real, and then face the inevitable moment of disillusionment. We all get practice at what it's like to become an atheist, as we become an atheist with regard to Santa Claus. And the Tooth Fairy. And the Easter Bunny.
I suppose, as with any good whopper, we can always find ways to believe if we want to. "Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus..." As long as you can be as equivocal about the meaning of "is" as Bill Clinton was, then yes, there "is" a Santa Claus.
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Religion: more harm or more good for humanity?
One of my atheist Friends on Facebook likes to post questions and links that stir the pot between believers and non-believers (full disclosure: I don't actually know him in real life, but a mutual friend connected us, and I do enjoy reading his posts and the conversation they provoke).
Last night, he raised the question "Has religion done more harm or good for humanity?" I put some serious thought into this question a little over six years ago, and haven't really touched it since, but now seems like as good a time as any to do so. I have often argued the "more harm" side, but perhaps that's just because so many believers seem so reluctant to acknowledge the dark side of religion. But the more I think about the question as a whole, the more ambivalent I become.
Let's start with a back-of-an-envelope argument that religion has done more harm than good. The crusades, the inquisition, the persecution of the Jews, modern Islamic terrorism the world over, religious persecution of gays or those seeking (or providing) abortions, to say nothing of electing and re-electing George W. Bush: All of these things could reasonably be attributed to religion, along with all kinds of more personal atrocities.
Believers could point to such things as the end of slavery in America or the progress of civil rights as progress inspired by religion. Or, conversely, they could make the analogy that overtly-secular forces such as Soviet Communism are responsible for massacres as horrendous as anything religion has set up; atheists would respond that those atheists aren't representative of all atheists, to which believers might respond: "precisely, and the believers who committed the other acts you cite don't represent all believers, either."
A book--or, perhaps, an encyclopedia--could be written on this argument (from the "harm" side, at least one has been--God is Not Great by Christopher Hitchens). But ultimately, that's simply a catalog of atrocities committed in the name of religion. It should give pause to those who consider religion to be an unalloyed good, but it doesn't answer the question.
What can religion take blame and credit for?When we talk about such things as the Crusades or the conflict in Palestine, or the conquest of the Americas (which were frequently seen in religious terms), it could reasonably be argued that such events were in reality political conflicts of one sort or another which were simply justified by religion and that, absent religion, they would still have been "justified" by other rationales (racial inferiority, simple hatred of "the other," whatever). Many of these things can also be seen as reactions to population pressure, to economic forces, or simple avarice on the part of leaders, with religion simply the icing on the cake that made it palatable to the people. This function of religion can't be neglected, because it's still a negative that religion can be used this way, but--to use a metaphor--religion might simply be chocolate icing which could have been replaced with vanilla or cream cheese or what have you (much as Maxism or racism was used elsewhere and otherwhen).
By the same token, however, the positives of religion could reasonably be taken away from religion. If it helped end slavery in the US, we can also remember that religion helped justify that same slavery in the south and historically. And we could argue that secular forces (industrialization making slavery less necessary, a higher standard of living raising the consciousness of the suffering of others) also played into such movements and that secular forces might have done the job just as well (for instance, if the Enlightenment project hadn't been set back by religious forces).
Thus it seems like the arguments that help absolve religion of blame can also be turned around to absolve it of virtue. Call it a push?
When it comes down to it, the two positives that religion might legitimately be said to offer are hope and morality.
The Case for Hope
Religion offers at least two kinds of hope. One, of course, is the hope of life after death (which helps enforce morality, whether that morality includes being nice to children and puppies or slaughtering infidels) which for some people seems to make life seem more meaningful, even though its effect is actually frequently to de-value this life. More, though, it offers hope that life is inherently meaningful, that there's a reason to go on living. Likewise, though, the belief in religion allows people to believe in ultimate justice of all sorts: that bad people are punished and that our good actions will be justified. It gives us hope that our small contributions to larger movements will be successful: either God will help us or God will ensure that our contribution to a cause is justified in the long run. Consider, for example, people struggling against oppression. An unbeliever might not participate in resistance because of a belief that they can't make a difference, whereas a believer might find courage in their belief that God will support them or, at the very least, make their suffering and/or death not be in vain.
Now, of course, there are some arguments against these points. Religion isn't needed to make life meaningful. Or, on the other side. people may rely on God to solve their problems rather than acting themselves. And, likewise, a person following secular beliefs could realize that seemingly impossible things have been accomplished by collective action, justifying their risk to contribute. Nonetheless, believing that God will help a just cause is far different than believing that people could succeed against the odds. Flip that around though: history shows us that people also can die based on religious beliefs in the service of losing causes and unjust causes, and in these cases religion gave them the strength and confidence to do things which might have been better off not being done!
How about morality?
In the first place, it's certainly possible to be moral without believing in religion--or to be immoral while believing in religion. Perhaps religion does do a better job of enforcing moral codes--the beliefs so engendered tend to stick better and be more deeply held.
None of this is particularly surprising, when we considered how religion developed alongside more complicated social structures. The rise of "civilization" over tribal living is deeply tied to the rise of religion. In tribal life (small communities with close ties among its members), morality is relatively easy to enforce. Shaming is very effective in such groups and, if worse comes to worse, the community at large can physically force adherence to rules.
In larger social grouping such as cities and states, this sort of community no longer exists. People no longer necessarily know their neighbors and they come in contact with all sorts of people. In this case, the enforcers of morality become two-fold: laws which are backed up by the state and morals which are backed up by religion. Laws suffer from the limitation that no government can effectively police all of its citizens; plus, the state is essentially reactive in enforcing its laws, and imperfect at that. Thus, the importance of religion. If people believe that something is wrong, if they believe that breaking a rule will not just be punished by their community or state if they're caught but instead will be punished by their god(s), they are somewhat more likely (though not assured) of following these rules.
Now, this is all historical, of course. I've already asserted that atheists can be moral, and I have no reason to go back on that statement. But it's equally clear that they may very well not be. The common "If there's no God, then anything is allowed" is too easy to accept by those who have not particularly thought on the matter. Here's where our beliefs about human beings will ultimately come into play. A pessimistic view would suggest that, in fact, the majority of human beings (or, at least, a significant number) can't (or won't) be moral without the fear of God hanging over them. Thus, for society, religion might be a good thing. This isn't to say that it is good for all members of society, just for society as a whole, to keep people good and to unify a large, diverse population. A more optimistic view would hold that the reason that it seems like people can't all (or mostly) be good have to do with their education and beliefs, and so can be corrected. This is a pretty big question--bigger, in fact, than I want to try to dig into today, even though it's essential to the question. If people are basically bad, then religion (or something like it?) might be necessary for social order; if people are basically good, then religion might not be necessary and therefore not necessarily good.
Less good or bad than inevitable?
In response to a similar post some six years ago, my friend Matt wrote:
Perhaps that's true--in a way, it anticipated Alain de Botton's Atheism 2.0, which has the basic premise that, because of human nature being what it is, atheists can learn a thing or two from religion, which after co-evolved socially with human beings. We might be able to imagine other ways of dealing with the problems that religion deals with, but in a way it's difficult to see what the options were because, in a sense, the weight of history is saying that they weren't--for one reason or another--viable options, which is particularly true because "organized religion" wasn't chosen by King So-and-So in 10,000 BCE or whatever: it was "chosen" on a cultural level over and over.
That said, it's still an open question whether organized religion should continue to be an important force in the world, and it may very well be a question which our culture is answering in the negative--look at all of the "spiritual-but-not-religious" folks out there. The relevance of the question, really, is whether the good of religion outweighs to evil of religion such that it should continue in the present and future. Or could other belief systems do as well or better?
Religions don't kill people; people (with religions) kill people
A virtual friend who's long since disappeared made an analogy that clarified my thinking a bit, likening religion to a loaded gun, she suggested that it's not religion which is at fault so much as it is what people do with religion that raises difficulties. To her conclusion that "religion is unquestionably good, in the hands of GOOD PEOPLE," I feel compelled to add that religion is unquestionably bad in the hands of bad people. That's the thing: religion is incredibly powerful. Likening religion to a gun may have been an understatement--try a missile or even a nuke!
What gives religion so much power is its absolute nature: when a priest or pope or imam says "this is the right thing to do," it is theoretically God saying that it's the right thing to do. Rules are backed up with infinite punishment or infinite reward, and thus can trump everything, including--or especially!--common sense. Thus do people fly airplanes into buildings or strap bombs on as they head to the subway; thus do people Crusade to take back "holy lands" or torture those who disagree and get away with it. They get away with it because they're seen as fundamentally and absolutely right. This is religion's great power for good and evil. Not its only power, but probably its greatest.
That doesn't happen just in religion, of course, but it seems to me that religion is a more powerful force as a justifying motivation. In Soviet Russia or Communist China, there was significant resistance--overt, covert, and silent--because the secular regimes couldn't justify their abuses beyond the naked use of power to do what they wanted. Religion seems to be a more believable uniting fiction, in the sense that it more easily turns off critical thinking and resistance.
De-fanging religion?
In more recent times, we have seen religions which acknowledge human fallibility and limitations, religions based on democratic and individualistic premises, even--liberal Christianity and the UUs come to mind. The effect of this is to curb religion's capability for evil without much injuring its capacity for doing good. Believers who can accept that--whoops!--their beliefs might be wrong, that a book might not be the ultimate Truth, that they might be misinterpreting "God's will"--such people aren't too likely to make the grand acts that harm others and can't be taken back. They're more likely to act with more consideration and tolerance. And that's all to the good.
Hierarchy
There's another characteristic of religion (if we're defining religion as "organized religion") that's worth looking at for its goodness and badness--also, for that matter, as an additional source of that power of religion that I referred to earlier. I'm speaking now of hierarchical organization. Throughout most of history it's been a feature of religion and to some extent continues in anything that can be called organized religion. Churches work primarily in top-down ways. The Pope says "this is so" and his bishops make sure that everyone on down the line through priests and the Catholic laity get in line, at least to the extent that they can and are willing to do so. Even churches without the rigid hierarchy still have echoes of it if they have a minister/pastor/priest, because almost by default they become an authority figure.
This hierarchical structure, of course, isn't limited to churches. It is, however, both pernicious and powerful wherever it exists. Just as nations wiped out tribes with the power of their more rigid organization, Christianity wiped out less structured pagans too, often in conjunction with the hierarchical power of the State. I think it's a fair characterization to say that non-hierarchical organizations are better for the individuals in them, while hierarchical organizations are better for the stability of the organization itself and the power structures that exist within them--that is, it helps the people on top and it perpetuates itself.
That said, some churches in the modern day have moved closer to a balance between the organization and the autonomy of the individual. This started, of course, with protestantism itself back in the 16th century, as it brought "the word of God" into the vernacular and gradually lessened the importance of a mediator between God and the individual. The church in which I grew up, the United Church of Christ (UCC) is something of the par excellence as far as this goes, and outside Christianity, the Unitarian Universalists similarly embrace democratic governance. Both are governed at their highest levels not by a leader but by democratic gathering of representatives from congregations. It acts democratically to express the majority will, but even this expression is not binding in terms of belief or behavior (though, of course, certain things like spending money are binding by the fact of being actions taken rather than things said)--local churches have complete control over their own finances, hiring and firing, and even theological and political stands.
Contrast this to, say, Catholicism. Or fundamentalist religions. These are far more dangerous than something so liberal (or Liberal, actually) as the UCC. While a less-hierarchical denomination like the UCC may have less power to do evil, it arguably also has less strength to do good, but that's okay because it actually still has a lot of strength which is mostly only good for good.
Hasty, tacked-on conclusion
Despite what optimistic atheists have thought at various times in history, it seems that religion isn't going away any time soon (and, in fairness, maybe there are good reasons for that, which we atheists ignore at our own peril). This being the case, it's less important to wonder whether "religion has done more harm than good" than to ask "what aspects of religion are most dangerous and which ones are most beneficial? The fact is that religion is not one stable, monolithic thing throughout eternity or even throughout the lifespan of one religion, and that being the case, it might be worthwhile to think about the question in this dissecting way. And when I say "useful," I mean for both believer and non-believer: useful for the former to choose her religion thoughtfully and--in this democratic age--to influence it; useful for the non-believer to know which religions really are enemies to you and which ones are, in many ways, allies, not to mention learning a bit more about how we work and what we need.
Last night, he raised the question "Has religion done more harm or good for humanity?" I put some serious thought into this question a little over six years ago, and haven't really touched it since, but now seems like as good a time as any to do so. I have often argued the "more harm" side, but perhaps that's just because so many believers seem so reluctant to acknowledge the dark side of religion. But the more I think about the question as a whole, the more ambivalent I become.
Let's start with a back-of-an-envelope argument that religion has done more harm than good. The crusades, the inquisition, the persecution of the Jews, modern Islamic terrorism the world over, religious persecution of gays or those seeking (or providing) abortions, to say nothing of electing and re-electing George W. Bush: All of these things could reasonably be attributed to religion, along with all kinds of more personal atrocities.
Believers could point to such things as the end of slavery in America or the progress of civil rights as progress inspired by religion. Or, conversely, they could make the analogy that overtly-secular forces such as Soviet Communism are responsible for massacres as horrendous as anything religion has set up; atheists would respond that those atheists aren't representative of all atheists, to which believers might respond: "precisely, and the believers who committed the other acts you cite don't represent all believers, either."
A book--or, perhaps, an encyclopedia--could be written on this argument (from the "harm" side, at least one has been--God is Not Great by Christopher Hitchens). But ultimately, that's simply a catalog of atrocities committed in the name of religion. It should give pause to those who consider religion to be an unalloyed good, but it doesn't answer the question.
What can religion take blame and credit for?When we talk about such things as the Crusades or the conflict in Palestine, or the conquest of the Americas (which were frequently seen in religious terms), it could reasonably be argued that such events were in reality political conflicts of one sort or another which were simply justified by religion and that, absent religion, they would still have been "justified" by other rationales (racial inferiority, simple hatred of "the other," whatever). Many of these things can also be seen as reactions to population pressure, to economic forces, or simple avarice on the part of leaders, with religion simply the icing on the cake that made it palatable to the people. This function of religion can't be neglected, because it's still a negative that religion can be used this way, but--to use a metaphor--religion might simply be chocolate icing which could have been replaced with vanilla or cream cheese or what have you (much as Maxism or racism was used elsewhere and otherwhen).
By the same token, however, the positives of religion could reasonably be taken away from religion. If it helped end slavery in the US, we can also remember that religion helped justify that same slavery in the south and historically. And we could argue that secular forces (industrialization making slavery less necessary, a higher standard of living raising the consciousness of the suffering of others) also played into such movements and that secular forces might have done the job just as well (for instance, if the Enlightenment project hadn't been set back by religious forces).
Thus it seems like the arguments that help absolve religion of blame can also be turned around to absolve it of virtue. Call it a push?
When it comes down to it, the two positives that religion might legitimately be said to offer are hope and morality.
The Case for Hope
Religion offers at least two kinds of hope. One, of course, is the hope of life after death (which helps enforce morality, whether that morality includes being nice to children and puppies or slaughtering infidels) which for some people seems to make life seem more meaningful, even though its effect is actually frequently to de-value this life. More, though, it offers hope that life is inherently meaningful, that there's a reason to go on living. Likewise, though, the belief in religion allows people to believe in ultimate justice of all sorts: that bad people are punished and that our good actions will be justified. It gives us hope that our small contributions to larger movements will be successful: either God will help us or God will ensure that our contribution to a cause is justified in the long run. Consider, for example, people struggling against oppression. An unbeliever might not participate in resistance because of a belief that they can't make a difference, whereas a believer might find courage in their belief that God will support them or, at the very least, make their suffering and/or death not be in vain.
Now, of course, there are some arguments against these points. Religion isn't needed to make life meaningful. Or, on the other side. people may rely on God to solve their problems rather than acting themselves. And, likewise, a person following secular beliefs could realize that seemingly impossible things have been accomplished by collective action, justifying their risk to contribute. Nonetheless, believing that God will help a just cause is far different than believing that people could succeed against the odds. Flip that around though: history shows us that people also can die based on religious beliefs in the service of losing causes and unjust causes, and in these cases religion gave them the strength and confidence to do things which might have been better off not being done!
How about morality?
In the first place, it's certainly possible to be moral without believing in religion--or to be immoral while believing in religion. Perhaps religion does do a better job of enforcing moral codes--the beliefs so engendered tend to stick better and be more deeply held.
None of this is particularly surprising, when we considered how religion developed alongside more complicated social structures. The rise of "civilization" over tribal living is deeply tied to the rise of religion. In tribal life (small communities with close ties among its members), morality is relatively easy to enforce. Shaming is very effective in such groups and, if worse comes to worse, the community at large can physically force adherence to rules.
In larger social grouping such as cities and states, this sort of community no longer exists. People no longer necessarily know their neighbors and they come in contact with all sorts of people. In this case, the enforcers of morality become two-fold: laws which are backed up by the state and morals which are backed up by religion. Laws suffer from the limitation that no government can effectively police all of its citizens; plus, the state is essentially reactive in enforcing its laws, and imperfect at that. Thus, the importance of religion. If people believe that something is wrong, if they believe that breaking a rule will not just be punished by their community or state if they're caught but instead will be punished by their god(s), they are somewhat more likely (though not assured) of following these rules.
Now, this is all historical, of course. I've already asserted that atheists can be moral, and I have no reason to go back on that statement. But it's equally clear that they may very well not be. The common "If there's no God, then anything is allowed" is too easy to accept by those who have not particularly thought on the matter. Here's where our beliefs about human beings will ultimately come into play. A pessimistic view would suggest that, in fact, the majority of human beings (or, at least, a significant number) can't (or won't) be moral without the fear of God hanging over them. Thus, for society, religion might be a good thing. This isn't to say that it is good for all members of society, just for society as a whole, to keep people good and to unify a large, diverse population. A more optimistic view would hold that the reason that it seems like people can't all (or mostly) be good have to do with their education and beliefs, and so can be corrected. This is a pretty big question--bigger, in fact, than I want to try to dig into today, even though it's essential to the question. If people are basically bad, then religion (or something like it?) might be necessary for social order; if people are basically good, then religion might not be necessary and therefore not necessarily good.
Less good or bad than inevitable?
In response to a similar post some six years ago, my friend Matt wrote:
By asking whether religion is good or bad for humanity, you're essentially asking whether humanity is good or bad for humanity. (My answer: on the whole, it's a slight negative.)
I'm not saying religion is genetically hard-wired into us, but I am saying that every single conceivable consequence of it, from holy wars to those little tiny envelopes they make for Sunday School donations, would come about in roughly the same way for other reasons in its absence. It's here, it may or may not be queer, get used to it. Human beings have a limited number of responses to stimuli, and they're always going off, all over the place, all the time. We could as easily get rid of (or more deeply ingrain) legal codes, fungi, left-handedness, or ennui.
Perhaps that's true--in a way, it anticipated Alain de Botton's Atheism 2.0, which has the basic premise that, because of human nature being what it is, atheists can learn a thing or two from religion, which after co-evolved socially with human beings. We might be able to imagine other ways of dealing with the problems that religion deals with, but in a way it's difficult to see what the options were because, in a sense, the weight of history is saying that they weren't--for one reason or another--viable options, which is particularly true because "organized religion" wasn't chosen by King So-and-So in 10,000 BCE or whatever: it was "chosen" on a cultural level over and over.
That said, it's still an open question whether organized religion should continue to be an important force in the world, and it may very well be a question which our culture is answering in the negative--look at all of the "spiritual-but-not-religious" folks out there. The relevance of the question, really, is whether the good of religion outweighs to evil of religion such that it should continue in the present and future. Or could other belief systems do as well or better?
Religions don't kill people; people (with religions) kill people
A virtual friend who's long since disappeared made an analogy that clarified my thinking a bit, likening religion to a loaded gun, she suggested that it's not religion which is at fault so much as it is what people do with religion that raises difficulties. To her conclusion that "religion is unquestionably good, in the hands of GOOD PEOPLE," I feel compelled to add that religion is unquestionably bad in the hands of bad people. That's the thing: religion is incredibly powerful. Likening religion to a gun may have been an understatement--try a missile or even a nuke!
What gives religion so much power is its absolute nature: when a priest or pope or imam says "this is the right thing to do," it is theoretically God saying that it's the right thing to do. Rules are backed up with infinite punishment or infinite reward, and thus can trump everything, including--or especially!--common sense. Thus do people fly airplanes into buildings or strap bombs on as they head to the subway; thus do people Crusade to take back "holy lands" or torture those who disagree and get away with it. They get away with it because they're seen as fundamentally and absolutely right. This is religion's great power for good and evil. Not its only power, but probably its greatest.
That doesn't happen just in religion, of course, but it seems to me that religion is a more powerful force as a justifying motivation. In Soviet Russia or Communist China, there was significant resistance--overt, covert, and silent--because the secular regimes couldn't justify their abuses beyond the naked use of power to do what they wanted. Religion seems to be a more believable uniting fiction, in the sense that it more easily turns off critical thinking and resistance.
De-fanging religion?
In more recent times, we have seen religions which acknowledge human fallibility and limitations, religions based on democratic and individualistic premises, even--liberal Christianity and the UUs come to mind. The effect of this is to curb religion's capability for evil without much injuring its capacity for doing good. Believers who can accept that--whoops!--their beliefs might be wrong, that a book might not be the ultimate Truth, that they might be misinterpreting "God's will"--such people aren't too likely to make the grand acts that harm others and can't be taken back. They're more likely to act with more consideration and tolerance. And that's all to the good.
Hierarchy
There's another characteristic of religion (if we're defining religion as "organized religion") that's worth looking at for its goodness and badness--also, for that matter, as an additional source of that power of religion that I referred to earlier. I'm speaking now of hierarchical organization. Throughout most of history it's been a feature of religion and to some extent continues in anything that can be called organized religion. Churches work primarily in top-down ways. The Pope says "this is so" and his bishops make sure that everyone on down the line through priests and the Catholic laity get in line, at least to the extent that they can and are willing to do so. Even churches without the rigid hierarchy still have echoes of it if they have a minister/pastor/priest, because almost by default they become an authority figure.
This hierarchical structure, of course, isn't limited to churches. It is, however, both pernicious and powerful wherever it exists. Just as nations wiped out tribes with the power of their more rigid organization, Christianity wiped out less structured pagans too, often in conjunction with the hierarchical power of the State. I think it's a fair characterization to say that non-hierarchical organizations are better for the individuals in them, while hierarchical organizations are better for the stability of the organization itself and the power structures that exist within them--that is, it helps the people on top and it perpetuates itself.
That said, some churches in the modern day have moved closer to a balance between the organization and the autonomy of the individual. This started, of course, with protestantism itself back in the 16th century, as it brought "the word of God" into the vernacular and gradually lessened the importance of a mediator between God and the individual. The church in which I grew up, the United Church of Christ (UCC) is something of the par excellence as far as this goes, and outside Christianity, the Unitarian Universalists similarly embrace democratic governance. Both are governed at their highest levels not by a leader but by democratic gathering of representatives from congregations. It acts democratically to express the majority will, but even this expression is not binding in terms of belief or behavior (though, of course, certain things like spending money are binding by the fact of being actions taken rather than things said)--local churches have complete control over their own finances, hiring and firing, and even theological and political stands.
Contrast this to, say, Catholicism. Or fundamentalist religions. These are far more dangerous than something so liberal (or Liberal, actually) as the UCC. While a less-hierarchical denomination like the UCC may have less power to do evil, it arguably also has less strength to do good, but that's okay because it actually still has a lot of strength which is mostly only good for good.
Hasty, tacked-on conclusion
Despite what optimistic atheists have thought at various times in history, it seems that religion isn't going away any time soon (and, in fairness, maybe there are good reasons for that, which we atheists ignore at our own peril). This being the case, it's less important to wonder whether "religion has done more harm than good" than to ask "what aspects of religion are most dangerous and which ones are most beneficial? The fact is that religion is not one stable, monolithic thing throughout eternity or even throughout the lifespan of one religion, and that being the case, it might be worthwhile to think about the question in this dissecting way. And when I say "useful," I mean for both believer and non-believer: useful for the former to choose her religion thoughtfully and--in this democratic age--to influence it; useful for the non-believer to know which religions really are enemies to you and which ones are, in many ways, allies, not to mention learning a bit more about how we work and what we need.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
The Motto Lotto
As though there were nothing more important to be done, Representative Randy Forbes (R-Va), along with 64 co-sponsors, has introduced a resolution in the House to "reaffirm" the official motto of the United States as "In God We Trust" and encourage its display "in all public buildings, public schools, and other government institutions" (full text here). It has been our official motto only since 1956 when, during the Cold War, the U.S. wanted to distinguish ourselves from the godless Soviets. It's our official motto, but as mottoes go, it's pretty lousy.
Why? First because of the obvious way it marginalizes non-believers and polytheists who, believe it or not, can be good Americans. Besides which, we're not truly a nation "under God." We're a secular nation under secular laws with religious freedom. That's why we have so many believers--and so many different beliefs. If you want to see "One Nation Under God," go visit an Islamic nation under Shariah Law. I'd rather live in a country where I'm free to practice a religion (or no religion) with only the most basic constraints (we draw the line somewhere this side of human sacrifice, for instance).
If we're going to talk about a national motto, we should think about truth in advertising. If we're set on "In God We Trust," we might at least add a clause to it: "All other pay cash." That would allude to our capitalist ethos. Except, of course, that we're a nation of debtors, cash-optional. "Born to Spend" captures nicely the way that we've come to think of ourselves primarily as consumers. "Greed is Good" might work for us, or if the Republicans took complete control it could be "I got mine (good luck getting yours)." Maybe "Every Man for Himself." Perhaps my readers have some ideas of their own?
If we're dead set on "reaffirming" a national motto, we could do worse than to go back to Latin motto adopted in 1782 as part of the national seal: E Pluribus Unum, "out of many, one." Doesn't that capture our ideal of who we are as a nation--a whole nation--better than "In God We Trust"?
Why? First because of the obvious way it marginalizes non-believers and polytheists who, believe it or not, can be good Americans. Besides which, we're not truly a nation "under God." We're a secular nation under secular laws with religious freedom. That's why we have so many believers--and so many different beliefs. If you want to see "One Nation Under God," go visit an Islamic nation under Shariah Law. I'd rather live in a country where I'm free to practice a religion (or no religion) with only the most basic constraints (we draw the line somewhere this side of human sacrifice, for instance).
If we're going to talk about a national motto, we should think about truth in advertising. If we're set on "In God We Trust," we might at least add a clause to it: "All other pay cash." That would allude to our capitalist ethos. Except, of course, that we're a nation of debtors, cash-optional. "Born to Spend" captures nicely the way that we've come to think of ourselves primarily as consumers. "Greed is Good" might work for us, or if the Republicans took complete control it could be "I got mine (good luck getting yours)." Maybe "Every Man for Himself." Perhaps my readers have some ideas of their own?
If we're dead set on "reaffirming" a national motto, we could do worse than to go back to Latin motto adopted in 1782 as part of the national seal: E Pluribus Unum, "out of many, one." Doesn't that capture our ideal of who we are as a nation--a whole nation--better than "In God We Trust"?
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Spirituality and Yoga and such
I love it when blogging gets going in a cycle of mutual inspiration. Thanks Hilary. In a recent blog written in response to a recent blog, she tackled the issue of yoga as spiritual practice and tried to pin down what that meant. Much as her blog started as a comment overflowing its little box, so did mine. So you'd be well advised to do any background reading you haven't already done (i.e. the blogs mentioned above), but also feel free to dive in without a net if you so choose.
She references an essay on the meaning (or meaninglessness) of the term "spiritual." While I'm not unsympathetic to what the writer is saying, and in fact largely agree, I think the question of the meaning of "spiritual" also depends on context. The context of the essay is almost exclusively the designation of how one defines one's religious beliefs, i.e. "spiritual but not religious" (which I've always, perhaps rather cynically and certainly a bit tongue in cheek, defined as "too lazy to go to church"). But what I'm getting at is a difference between "being spiritual" and "spiritual matters." To me, the latter refers to things other than physical. To some people, that would be a soul, perhaps "God," or "meaning." The idea seems to derive at least in some measure from the mind-body duality, which I believe to be bullshit--but rather useful bullshit in the right context. That is to say, I don't believe in a soul or a mind as distinct from the body... but as a practical matter, I think it can sometimes be useful to think of them as separate.
But I also think that this artificial distinction gets at the meaning of spiritual that Hilary was getting at with her idea of sacred space. Something or somewhere is sacred because of the meaning and significance that human minds attribute to it. Whether that place is a church or mosque, a hill where something happened or a quad at a school, it gains significance from our thinking of it as significant, as special.
In any case, I want to get back to the idea of yoga as a spiritual practice as opposed to just an exercise. I was thinking about the difference this morning while in a yoga class, and one of the things that occurred to me was that yoga is perhaps the only exercise routine we do where an integral part of it is laying down and relaxing. At the end of it, after we've stretched and worked our muscles to the shaking point, what do we do in yoga? We lay down and take the opportunity to relax. Even if we do not also take the opportunity to practice meditation as well, we nonetheless have changed our minds in a very real way. Hilary gets at this in her story of her experience discovering yoga in college. You've worked your muscles and tendons, ligaments and joints in such a way that you can really--really--relax them, and that can't help but alter your mental landscape. For myself, there are few times that I feel more clear-minded than right after a good yoga practice. Refreshed, focused, ready.
I think most exercise changes the mind, because of course I don't believe that there is a mind separate from the body. The body isn't just where the mind hangs out, it's all interconnected. And thus, what affects one (which is really one part) effects the other. We all know this, don't we? What's on our mind can make us tense or relaxed, upbeat or sluggish. And the state of our body can certainly change our mental landscape.
But I'll say again that yoga is different from other physical exercise, either because of the nature of the exercises or because of the practices that have attached to it or both. Certainly, I think the range of motion, flexibility, and work we do is an important part of it, because it offers our bodies such variety and uses the body in ways very different from the ways that daily life uses us. But so, too, is an integral part of yoga the way that yoga engages our attention and draws that attention to our breathing, to tension and relaxation, to little-used muscles, to balance. And, again, there's the relaxation at the end, which both changes our mind and opens space for using it in different ways (i.e. meditation).
Is that "spiritual"? At least in some senses of the word, I should think.
She references an essay on the meaning (or meaninglessness) of the term "spiritual." While I'm not unsympathetic to what the writer is saying, and in fact largely agree, I think the question of the meaning of "spiritual" also depends on context. The context of the essay is almost exclusively the designation of how one defines one's religious beliefs, i.e. "spiritual but not religious" (which I've always, perhaps rather cynically and certainly a bit tongue in cheek, defined as "too lazy to go to church"). But what I'm getting at is a difference between "being spiritual" and "spiritual matters." To me, the latter refers to things other than physical. To some people, that would be a soul, perhaps "God," or "meaning." The idea seems to derive at least in some measure from the mind-body duality, which I believe to be bullshit--but rather useful bullshit in the right context. That is to say, I don't believe in a soul or a mind as distinct from the body... but as a practical matter, I think it can sometimes be useful to think of them as separate.
But I also think that this artificial distinction gets at the meaning of spiritual that Hilary was getting at with her idea of sacred space. Something or somewhere is sacred because of the meaning and significance that human minds attribute to it. Whether that place is a church or mosque, a hill where something happened or a quad at a school, it gains significance from our thinking of it as significant, as special.
In any case, I want to get back to the idea of yoga as a spiritual practice as opposed to just an exercise. I was thinking about the difference this morning while in a yoga class, and one of the things that occurred to me was that yoga is perhaps the only exercise routine we do where an integral part of it is laying down and relaxing. At the end of it, after we've stretched and worked our muscles to the shaking point, what do we do in yoga? We lay down and take the opportunity to relax. Even if we do not also take the opportunity to practice meditation as well, we nonetheless have changed our minds in a very real way. Hilary gets at this in her story of her experience discovering yoga in college. You've worked your muscles and tendons, ligaments and joints in such a way that you can really--really--relax them, and that can't help but alter your mental landscape. For myself, there are few times that I feel more clear-minded than right after a good yoga practice. Refreshed, focused, ready.
I think most exercise changes the mind, because of course I don't believe that there is a mind separate from the body. The body isn't just where the mind hangs out, it's all interconnected. And thus, what affects one (which is really one part) effects the other. We all know this, don't we? What's on our mind can make us tense or relaxed, upbeat or sluggish. And the state of our body can certainly change our mental landscape.
But I'll say again that yoga is different from other physical exercise, either because of the nature of the exercises or because of the practices that have attached to it or both. Certainly, I think the range of motion, flexibility, and work we do is an important part of it, because it offers our bodies such variety and uses the body in ways very different from the ways that daily life uses us. But so, too, is an integral part of yoga the way that yoga engages our attention and draws that attention to our breathing, to tension and relaxation, to little-used muscles, to balance. And, again, there's the relaxation at the end, which both changes our mind and opens space for using it in different ways (i.e. meditation).
Is that "spiritual"? At least in some senses of the word, I should think.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Conversion, Conversation, Disagreement, Disagreeableness
Recently on Facebook, a friend of mine posted this article: "Catholic Church Issues Guide on How to Convert Witches." She is, herself, Wiccan, so it wasn't exactly a favorable notice she was giving it. To be fair, this pamphlet appears to be largely talking points and about how to have a conversation about faith with someone who believes something different from what you do--as the article notes, the booklet says "it's important to recognize that 'Wiccans are on a genuine spiritual quest,' providing 'the starting point for dialog that may lead to their conversion.'" This is genuine progress from "Burn her! She's a witch!" or even building a bridge out of her.
The comments from her friends were largely about tolerance and how the Catholic church should leave people alone, except for one mutual friend of ours who--while being respectful about it--basically said that everyone needs to accept Jesus. This got some push back initially, and though I commented there, the issues involved have continued to percolate.
Fair's fair, of course, and they should be ready to get as good as they give (or perhaps get even better, if I'm right).
When it comes down to it, I can understand why the True Believers aren't, typically, laissez-faire about the whole thing. If you believe that, as the New Testament says, that the only way to get to Heaven is through belief in Jesus, then conversion of people you like and care about (or don't like, but through some ideal of universal love care about anyway) just makes sense. If I see you with a gun that I know is loaded and you believe is not loaded, and you're about to shoot yourself in the head, I should try to stop you from doing so. For such people, there's a lot at stake.
For those who either don't believe in God or gods--or those who believe that there are many paths to a happy afterlife--the stakes aren't so high. If such people are right, then all that belief in Jesus as the only path to salvation, well, it's probably not hurting you. You'll either by just as dead and decomposing and not going anywhere as the rest of us or just as likely to be on your way to Heaven for the sake of being a good person as the rest of us, so why fight about it? As long as you're not impinging upon my rights (for instance, by pushing legislation that enshrines religious doctrine as law), then you're welcome to be wrong, no skin off my back, no reason for me to convert you.
And so I have rather mixed feelings on the whole thing. Ultimately, we're all on our own path through life, we're all more or less competent to make our own decisions, and so it comes back to me championing the right for people to express their beliefs, even if I don't like their beliefs, and to argue about their beliefs, as long as they do so with relative civility (I say "relative" because I have, myself, called a colleague a fascist in the course of heated political debate--these things happen when spirits are raised). As I said in the comment thread:
The comments from her friends were largely about tolerance and how the Catholic church should leave people alone, except for one mutual friend of ours who--while being respectful about it--basically said that everyone needs to accept Jesus. This got some push back initially, and though I commented there, the issues involved have continued to percolate.
We all have a right to our own beliefs and to be free from coercion. The Inquisition, burning "witches" (I put that in quotes since most of them probably weren't), a state-enforced or supported religion--all of those things are, to my mind, wrong. This pamphlet or the exchange of viewpoints such as we have in this comment thread? That's okay with me. As far as I'm concerned, S___ or the Catholic Church or whoever is welcome to tell me or P___ or anyone else that we're going to hell (or "not going to heaven") for our beliefs. I'm secure enough in my beliefs that I can handle the implied criticism of that belief system.
Fair's fair, of course, and they should be ready to get as good as they give (or perhaps get even better, if I'm right).
When it comes down to it, I can understand why the True Believers aren't, typically, laissez-faire about the whole thing. If you believe that, as the New Testament says, that the only way to get to Heaven is through belief in Jesus, then conversion of people you like and care about (or don't like, but through some ideal of universal love care about anyway) just makes sense. If I see you with a gun that I know is loaded and you believe is not loaded, and you're about to shoot yourself in the head, I should try to stop you from doing so. For such people, there's a lot at stake.
For those who either don't believe in God or gods--or those who believe that there are many paths to a happy afterlife--the stakes aren't so high. If such people are right, then all that belief in Jesus as the only path to salvation, well, it's probably not hurting you. You'll either by just as dead and decomposing and not going anywhere as the rest of us or just as likely to be on your way to Heaven for the sake of being a good person as the rest of us, so why fight about it? As long as you're not impinging upon my rights (for instance, by pushing legislation that enshrines religious doctrine as law), then you're welcome to be wrong, no skin off my back, no reason for me to convert you.
And so I have rather mixed feelings on the whole thing. Ultimately, we're all on our own path through life, we're all more or less competent to make our own decisions, and so it comes back to me championing the right for people to express their beliefs, even if I don't like their beliefs, and to argue about their beliefs, as long as they do so with relative civility (I say "relative" because I have, myself, called a colleague a fascist in the course of heated political debate--these things happen when spirits are raised). As I said in the comment thread:
I've lived long enough to know that good, intelligent, thoughtful people believe all sorts of things and that, much as I would like to think otherwise, I'm not infallible, so there's certainly room for disagreement without being disagreeable.
it's also the case that we will all, naturally enough, judge one another. From the judgment that someone else is wrong or misguided or what have you to the judgment that someone is a real asshole or a very nice, civil person for the way that they express their disagreement, we will all naturally make those judgments.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Secular Christian?
I was recently listening to an interview with Ronald A. Lindsay, the president of the Center for Inquiry (CFI). He spoke at one point about his education at Georgetown, a Catholic university, where he--then an ardent Catholic--was appalled to learn that his professor in the study of the gospels, a nun, was also an atheist. He came to respect and like her, but it's nonetheless a striking combination, is it not? It's one thing to imagine a nun--especially one of a scholarly bent--ending up an atheists, but what then compels her to stay in the Church? It could, of course, be mere inertia--easier to stick with the life you already know--especially if she'd been a nun for a long time. Anyone who's ever been in a school has probably seen some teachers like this: going through the motions, any passion they may have had for teaching apparently long gone.
But I'd like to think more positively that such a person might have a real appreciation for aspects of the lifestyle--a life of contemplation, helping people, a sense of community with the cloister... plenty of positive aspects even in the absence of belief in God (at least, if the vow of chastity is no biggie for you). Whatever the reason, there it was.
I bring this up to juxtapose it with something that came up in a conversation with a friend. Before I wrote this entry, I touched base with a conservative-leaning friend of mine who often listens to FoxNews (it was nice, incidentally, that he basically agreed with my analysis). He made a comment (I couldn't really say whether it was serious or not) that only Christians should get Christmas off as a holiday (and everyone else is welcome to their holidays too, naturally). I said that was alright, but I was claiming status as a cultural Christian--rather like a cultural or secular Jew. I mean, I grew up going to church, I get all of Garrison Kiellor's church-related humor, and I get most Biblical references that you can throw at me.
I'll probably only claim this designation, however, if only Christians get Christmas off. But it occurred to me that this was more or less the perfect designation for this nun. She's a cultural Christian, even though she's not a believer. And that's a designation that not only make sense, but it says a lot more than merely "atheist."
At the same time, I wonder how many people who call themselves Christians are, functionally, what I'm calling cultural or secular Christians--even if they don't proclaim a lack of belief in God. Agnostics who go to church, maybe? I don't know--what do you think of the category I'm proposing? How big do you think it is?
But I'd like to think more positively that such a person might have a real appreciation for aspects of the lifestyle--a life of contemplation, helping people, a sense of community with the cloister... plenty of positive aspects even in the absence of belief in God (at least, if the vow of chastity is no biggie for you). Whatever the reason, there it was.
I bring this up to juxtapose it with something that came up in a conversation with a friend. Before I wrote this entry, I touched base with a conservative-leaning friend of mine who often listens to FoxNews (it was nice, incidentally, that he basically agreed with my analysis). He made a comment (I couldn't really say whether it was serious or not) that only Christians should get Christmas off as a holiday (and everyone else is welcome to their holidays too, naturally). I said that was alright, but I was claiming status as a cultural Christian--rather like a cultural or secular Jew. I mean, I grew up going to church, I get all of Garrison Kiellor's church-related humor, and I get most Biblical references that you can throw at me.
I'll probably only claim this designation, however, if only Christians get Christmas off. But it occurred to me that this was more or less the perfect designation for this nun. She's a cultural Christian, even though she's not a believer. And that's a designation that not only make sense, but it says a lot more than merely "atheist."
At the same time, I wonder how many people who call themselves Christians are, functionally, what I'm calling cultural or secular Christians--even if they don't proclaim a lack of belief in God. Agnostics who go to church, maybe? I don't know--what do you think of the category I'm proposing? How big do you think it is?
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