This I Believe
The below is the product of an Adult Religious Education workshop held at my church, based on the popular NPRsegment "This I Believe". It was presented at Neshoba Church on October 16th and will eventually appear on the church website, whenever I get around to publishing it.
I believe in Truth. Yes, that's "Truth" with a capital "T". I'm not speaking of some vague, spiritual notion; I mean the one objective, demonstrable reality. I don't deny the importance of more subjective, lower-case "truths", the stories and metaphors we tell ourselves and each other to make sense of our world, but I firmly believe in the primacy of the Truth we share. I have often heard it said that "there is more than one way of knowing", but I disagree. There is only one way of knowing, and that is through experience. It doesn't have to be our own, but it is only through experience, and through deliberate reflection on experience, that we can come to understand the universe and our place in it. Anything else is nothing more than wishful thinking, or, dare I say, delusion. That's not to say our delusions don't have their place, but I believe it's vitally important to remember that's exactly what they are. We should never turn our backs on what is true and real in favor of what is comfortable and convenient. I will always prefer an inconvenient, unpleasant Truth over a comforting delusion.
I believe the universe is comprehensible. Everything happens for a reason, and that reason is nothing more than the accumulation of causes and their effects, stretching back in an unbroken chain to the very dawn of time. We live in a universe of great mystery and wonder, and mystery should be sought out and celebrated. But mystery and ambiguity should never be preserved for their own sake. Mystery is an opportunity to learn, and to grow, and to discover something more about our reality. Mystery is born of ignorance, not of ineffability. There are certainly questions we don't have the answers to, and there are questions to which we'll never have the answers, and there are questions we can never answer. But there are no questions without answers. And there certainly aren’t questions we aren't meant to answer, or things we’re not meant to know. Such a notion presupposes the existence of an "arbiter of meaning" in the cosmos, and I believe there isn't one.
I believe in accidents. The universe never had us in mind, because the universe doesn't have a mind. Our world and our lives are the result of a string of quantum events, cosmological circumstance, and basic chemistry. There is no design. We might say we're insignificant in the Grand Scheme of things, but even that is inaccurate. There is no Grand Scheme. We are accidents; but we are not mistakes. And our existence is made all the more precious because of it. I believe the universe has no ultimate meaning or purpose or reason for our existence. And that means we're free to create our own. We do so, not within the boundless infinity of a cold, indifferent universe, but within the social sphere of our relationships, both with each other and with our world. It is within this much smaller arena that we find purpose and meaning and consequence. We may never have real, lasting impact on our universe-at-large, but the impact we have on individual lives, and on our world, can be profound. That's where I look for meaning and purpose.
Because I believe in people. We are all gentle, hopeful, noble creatures. And we are all selfish, greedy, savage beasts. Which aspect of our dual nature we choose to embrace and nurture is forever our choice. We have a shared responsibility for our world, our future, and for each other, and we can do far more together than we could ever hope to alone. What we do today may not resonate beyond our own insignificant little mudball, it may be forgotten in 1000 years, or in 100. So what? It may be remembered tomorrow. It may make a difference today.
Ignorance
I have a friend who is embarking on a grand experiment: to avoid all news in an attempt to reduce anxiety and be happier. My response? That the last thing we need is more Americans who are hopelessly ignorant of what's going on in the world around them. That's not entirely fair to him, and I didn't mean to be so harsh, but the whole enterprise angered me. I didn't even know why at first. Upon further reflection, I realized that I was offended. I actually found it practically immoral.
This is exceedingly odd for me. I am a deep, dark blue social liberal; I try to only make moral judgements about behavior insofar as it impacts others. Yet willful ignorance deeply offends me. How can you be an effective participant in society while remaining largely ignorant of it? Isn't an educated, informed electorate a necessary component of any healthy, functional democracy? It may be an unreachable ideal, and we may fall far short of it at the moment, but that doesn't mean we should just give up. I would actually be less bothered if he chose to withdraw from society completely, but to remain a part of society, yet refuse to engage with it completely, seems fundamentally wrong to me.
But my offense runs deeper. My friend is speaking specifically of news of politics and world affairs, but others are equally content to be ignorant of science, of psychology, of other cultures, etc. Many are quite proud of what they don't know, speaking of "intellectual elites" and speaking the word "science" with derision. You may argue that avoiding the news is not the same as refusing a few inconvenient scientific facts, and you would be right, but it is the same sort of "celebration of ignorance" that I find disturbing.
How can anyone revel in ignorance? How can anyone desire this, much less actively seek it? This is my chief problem with religion: it encourages you to stop asking questions. I am well aware of the psychological benefits of religion, and of its societal benefits, but those benefits pale when they are in service of a delusion. Truth is a virtue. Truth is the highest virtue. And curiosity is a virtue as well. Our experience tells us the universe is comprehensible; we face practical limitations in our observational and computational abilites, but, in principal, nothing is out of bounds. We must keep pressing further. I will always prefer a hard truth to blissful ignorance, or to a comforting delusion.
Truth is a virtue. Is that a spiritual belief? I concede it might be. But, if it is, it is a belief, in part, that we should not be content with spiritual beliefs. And, if I begin embracing paradoxes...well, that starts to sound like religion. And that makes me a little uncomfortable.
Which brings us full circle; I like to be a little uncomfortable. I enjoy uncertainty. I embrace ambiguity. I crave greater understanding, and I will never be satisfied. This is what drives us forward, as individuals, as societies, and as a species.
Ignorance is not bliss; it is only ignorance.
OMG! Wait…no. Yours.
By now most of us have seen the results of Pew's Religious Knowledge Quiz, which finds that atheists and agnostics tend to be more knowledgeable about religion than the traditionally religious. I have seen and heard some speculation as to why this might be; from believers, the explanation seems to be some variation of "They didn't ask the questions to which I know the answers" (though the correct answer is "I don't know much about religions other than my own." There's a certain conceit in reading the phrase "Religious Knowledge" as synonymous with "Bible Knowledge". ) I might be tempted to say that atheists and agnostics are just smarter, but this is clearly not the case; to paraphrase Michael Shermer, smart people are often just better at rationalizing their non-smart beliefs (though I think it can be safely assumed that atheists and agnostics tend to be less credulous). My own analysis is simply this: serious religious study tends to lead to atheism or agnosticism.
Of course, I can only speak from my own experience, though it seems to have been mirrored by many of my peers. When I was growing up, what passed for "Bible study" was often little more than an exercise in revisionist history and self-serving rationalization. Historical and cultural context was not only largely ignored, it was often a point of pride to do so; the Bible "means what it says". Even in more liberal congregations, there was always a tendency to read scripture in light of current theological thinking, rather than in the context of the particular environment in which it was written. Some of that context can be regained by simply reading the Bible linearly, from front to back, rather than by "verse-hopping" in order to prove a certain point. Such a reading also highlights certain contradictions about the very nature of God: God is eternal and unchanging, yet the anthropomorphic, tribal war god of the Old Testament bears little resemblance to the formless, transcendent, loving God of all nations of the New (for that matter, the very existence of an "Old" and "New" testament puts lie to the notion). God is both completely good and completely moral, yet his behavior is sometimes decidedly immoral. The Jews were always strict monotheists, yet the texts indicate they were, for much of their history, monolatrists (never mind the vestiges of polytheism). God promises eternal punishment or reward, while early Jews seem to have no concept of the afterlife. Christianity is exclusive, but prior to its advent, Judaism is trending toward universalism. What's more, the change seems to be politically motivated; post-exilic Jews want to make nice with the rest of the Persian Empire by equating their gods with Yahweh, while Jewish nationalism seems to have made a resurgence by Jesus' day. How can an obviously evolving faith claim a monopoly on truth? How many times can you see yesterday's God supplanted by today's before you begin to doubt today's God as well?
But it's in their knowledge of non-Judeochristian religions that non-believers claim their edge in this survey. As knowledge of other gods and myths and cultures expands, we finally come to the ultimate question: why should I whole-heartedly accept this particular collection of story and myth, while denying this other, very similar but mutually exclusive collection of myth? We might come to the conclusion that the distinction is arbitrary; there is no real reason to prefer one over the other. Yet, they can't both be true. They can, however, both be false.
But that's my story (never mind the philosophical and scientific objections). I can also imagine further explanations of the data. A non-believer may simply have a legitimate desire to understand this "thing" that is obviously so important to so many people (I admit to a degree of this, and to a curiosity about the nature of belief in general). I will also concede that there may be a measure of "eye-poking" going on, of non-believers looking for ammunition to use against believers, though I think this is rare (most non-believers I know are not at all evangelical about it). It should also be mentioned that many self-described atheists are rejecting a particular conception of God, usually the one they were brought up with, rather than the notion of God entirely; a person dissatisfied with his own religion might be expected to do a certain amount of research. That's precisely why many religions are so insular, and hierarchical, and authoritarian; because, the more you know, the less likely you are to believe.
Persecution
"Georgia Grad Student Sues University Over Gay Sensitivity Training", the headline read. "They told me to change my beliefs or be kicked out," she said. This is, of course, a story about persecution. We hear about it all the time; in the story about the Christian bus driver who is fired for refusing to drive a woman to an abortion clinic, or the pharmacist who loses her job for refusing to fill a valid prescription for birth control.
This is an unfortunately common response among minorities and majorities-who-pretend-to-be-minorities, like Christians and white people. You don't like your black co-worker? You must be racist. Well, I have news for you; it might be because he's a dick.
But religious people often take it further, finding systemic abuses in events that ultimately have nothing to do with religion. This tendency is not exclusive to Christians; for example, the French parliament recently moved to ban the burqa in public places. The response was immediate and predictable; "France is persecuting Muslims!" But are they? What the French are really saying is,"For security reasons, we need to be able to see your face, and your religion does not exempt you from this requirement." To be honest, they're saying other things as well, but the point is the same: when Christians say they're being persecuted, what they usually mean is they're not receiving special treatment.
The grad student in question, Jennifer Keeton, is applying for a degree in counseling. If she was becoming an accountant, it wouldn't matter; however, she has chosen a career where a certain degree of sensitivity and objectivity is required. Miss Keeton has indicated that she is unable or unwilling to put her client's needs first and prevent her personal beliefs from interfering with her professional obligations. The university is not only within their rights, but they have an obligation to withhold their endorsement if they feel she will be unable to perform her job duties effectively or will be unable to adhere to her profession's code of ethics. She is not being asked to "change her beliefs"; she is being asked to behave professionally.
A person's choice of religion does not exempt him or her from the law or from professional ethics and responsibilities. And expecting him or her to abide by the same rules and adhere to the same standards as everyone else is not persecution. For that matter, neither is calling "bullshit" in a blog post. Do what you want in your private life, but, in your public life, you don't get to play with your own rulebook.
And to all my Christian friends who feel picked on and unliked, please keep in mind that the neverending persecution complex may be a large reason why. Or maybe you're just a dick.