Forever is a long time coming

Apr 21, 2006 21:53

A while ago, Tom suggested to me that some of my cynicism about religion was due to the fact that, since I was raised atheist, I hadn't had any positive religious experiences. In other discussions, people have pointed out the positive role religion can have in fostering community. All of this has made me carefully consider exactly what I genuinely dislike about religion, not merely why I, personally, am not religious.

To some extent, my overarching problem is simply with the idea of faith, fervent belief without reason or evidence (or even despite reason or evidence to the contrary). Conflicts between science and religion are, of course, one example of this (q.v. creationism, etc.). There, you have scientific theories with loads of experimental evidence to back them up, yet some people are willing to just throw them out because they conflict with religious scripture, or at least they think that they do. As a scientist, I am dismayed by this, and so I've tended to focus on this flaw of faith a lot (on this journal, for example).

But my real problem with the idea of faith doesn't have to do with science. As much as I don't like it, anti-science religious belief doesn't hurt people that much (except in the case of "Christian scientists" who deny their kids medical care; fuck them). When I think of the really bad results of religion, I think of its use to justify violence, from the Crusades to al-Qaeda. In short, I think of faith in moral precepts that decent people should reject.

I don't want to wallow in some sort of po-mo bullshit about "human nature," but I do think that most people will, ceteris paribus, hesitate to do violence on others without a good reason. Yet one hears all the time about people justifying murder in the name of religion. When I think about members of religious terrorist groups, whether militant Islamists or fundies who bomb abortion clinics or whatever, I tend not to think that every one of them does what he (and it's usually a he) does because he's fundamentally a nasty person. They're convinced that what they're doing is right because that's how they read their holy book. I suspect that part of your average suicide bomber feels deeply uncomfortable morally as he's heading to do his "duty," yet he'll still probably go ahead and splatter himself like a shrapnel-laden piñata, all in God's name.

Of course, there certainly are plenty of people who struggle for good causes whose moral convictions are backed up by an eminently plausible reading of a religous text. Consider the brave Christians who ran the Underground Railroad, or the anti-war organising by Quakers and similar sects. But what's really interesting is when a good person recognises that their decent moral convictions at least might be in conflict with their religion. Consider an article I read several years ago (I wish I could find the source), about a feminist Muslim activist who was faced by the fact that a particular section of the Qur'an lays out the guidelines as to when an man is permitted to beat his wife (and it's not "never"). She argued that a correct reading of the text indicates that the beating may be done with no implement larger than a twig, and is thus symbolic, and not actually condoning wife-beating.

So let's look at this: on the one hand, she should be praised for remaining steadfast in her belief that spousal abuse sucks, even if her religion might seem to say otherwise. On the other hand, let's be realistic. I'm hardly an expert in Qur'anic commentary, but my very strong suspicion is that the Qur'an, like many other documents of its time period, reflected the viciously sexist society in which is was written and was intended to heartily approve of wife-beating. So instead of noticing that a document endorses something abhorrent and thus rejecting it, she instead is retconning the Qur'an in order to make it more friendly.

Now if everyone did what this woman did, I wouldn't be too worried. But all too many people seem to be willing to take religious writing at face (and, perhaps, accurately read) value, and entrust their moral decisions to that writing. In effect, they're mortgaging their consciences, absolving themselves of the responsibility of ethical decision-making, and instead letting a book make the decision for them. And that scares the hell out of me. I won't pretend that I trust everyone's conscience, if followed, will lead them to the right decision, but when one is able to put the niggling voice of conscience out of their mind because a book tells them to, that's terrifically ominous.

I should add that this sort of abandonment of decisional responsibility is not limited to religion. A fair number of people act the same way about the Law, with a capital "L." They'll argue that even if a given law is wrong, it must be obeyed for the sake of keeping order in society, and thus one's only moral option to change it is through political means, not (even non-violent) civil disobedience. Even if the law one breaks is unjust, you see, the fabric of society of itself is threatened by this incipient lawlessness.

Well, consider a case study. Segregation was largely ended, not due to people voting for the right politicians, but through protest, which sometimes involved illegal actions. In a representative republican (small "r") government, major change, if it happens at all, tends to happen slowly. Mass protests, for better or for worse, are shit-disturbers; they get things done. And they increased pressure on the courts to end segregation. And, of course, the laws that were broken by civil-rights activists were not, actually, harbingers of anarchy to come. Howard Zinn, one of the premier incinerators of bullshit in American academia, has written extensively on this topic.

Summing up, my real problem with faith is when it's used as a crutch to save its possessor from having to make hard decisions. People with this kind of faith aren't worshipping any deity; they're worshipping compassionless, unyielding order. It's ethical lassitude of the worst kind, and on a large scale is how atrocities happen.
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