What I'm doing instead of looking for a job
Last week I read this opinion piece in the Philadelphia Inquirer. It was written by Richard Dawkins, otherwise known as "Darwin's Rottweiler." I've been more troubled by this piece in the past week than I ever would have expected. For a while, I wasn't sure why Dawkins got under my skin so much. After all, I've read Bertrand Russell's Why I Am Not A Christian and other atheist tracts before. I've also been following the debate over Intelligent Design for quite a while, and nothing I've previously read has caused an existential crisis.
I've decided there are at least two reasons for my malaise. The first is my social environment. When I read Russell, I was at Houghton, surrounded by a caring community of Christian intellectuals. Today, I often feel like I'm on my own. Perhaps I shouldn't feel that way, but I sense a certain casualness about the faith of my peers that domesticates the gospel. Not that I'm blaming my Christian friends by any means, because I'm certainly guilty of this casualness myself. It's a kind of de-sanctifying anti-holiness that says certain behaviors or beliefs don't really matter. For example: Do I really have to believe in Hell? Do I really have to give 10% of my money to the Church? Does it really matter what I do on Sunday mornings? These are questions that I would tend to answer in the negative. But there is a certain slippery slope at work here that leads to Antinomianism. Dawkins himself has pointed out the inconsistency of liberal Christianity. How can you believe in some things Jesus says ("blessed are the poor," "turn the other cheek" "let him who is without sin cast the first stone") and reject others (his apocalyptic eschatology)?
My point here is that the milieu of 21st century America is predominantly secular. I believe it is the task of the 21st century Church -- that it is my task -- to carve out some sacred space, and I haven't been doing it. I've been too busy conforming to the pattern of the world, making sure that everyone can see that my kind of Christianity is acceptable to modern sensibilities -- that it is comfortable, and ironically kitschy, that it asks nothing of you, that it is nothing more than another hipster accessory - a way to gain scene points. No wonder I feel shaken when confronted by a truly evangelical atheist.
The second and by far more important cause of my troubled spirit is what Dawkins' world looks like -- what if an intellectually militant, evangelical atheism were to triumph over a Christianity that has become flaccid and domesticated? The main argument of Dawkins' opinion piece is that religion causes more harm than good. Wouldn't the world be better off without religion? By itself, this is nothing more than an interesting hypothetical. The danger lies with those who would extend Dawkins' intellectual militancy into literal militancy. One could make a pretty strong argument that this is the predominant historical narrative of the 20th century -- the secular ideologies of the 19th century put into brutal practice. The result? More death and bloodshed than any other time in human history. More Christian martyrs than all previous centuries combined, many at the hands of secular Marxists. It's quite possible, in light of new historical evidence, that the Spanish Anarchists murdered more Catholic priests during the Spanish Civil War than individuals were executed during the entire course of the Spanish Inquisition.*
Dawkins' anti-humanism is perhaps as troubling as his desire to cleanse the world from religion. By "anti-humanism," I'm referring to the charges of "speciesism" which he has leveled at the rest of humanity. Since we are all made up of the same genetic material, we are no different from other species and, thus, it is wrong to think of humans as any better than animals -- so his reasoning goes. Again, he apparently fails to realize where this line of reasoning can (and has) gone. This "speciesist" argument is essentially a form of primitivism that sees humanity as nondistinct from the rest of nature. I like what Murray Bookchin (himself a secularist who is actually a humanist) says about this line of reasoning. He writes that it "denies the most salient attributes of humanity as a species and the potentially emancipatory aspects of Euro-American civilization. Humans are vastly different from other animals in that they do more than merely adapt to the world around them; they innovate and create a new world, not only to discover their own powers as human beings but to make the world around them more suitable for their own development, both as individuals and as a species." And further, "A return to mere animality...is a return not to freedom but to instinct, to the domain of 'authenticity' that is guided more by genes than by brains.... nothing could be more unrelenting in its sheer obedience to biochemical imperatives such as DNA or more in contrast to the creativity, ethics, and mutuality opened by culture and struggles for a rational civilization."
The most annoying aspect of the vegan ethic that sees humans as no different from other species is how obviously bourgeois it is. Just as there are (supposedly) no atheists in the fox holes, there are no vegans concerned about "speciesism" on deserted islands. Writes Bookchin, "Today, dabbling in primitivism is precisely the privilege of affluent urbanites who can afford to toy with fantasies denied not only to the hungry and poor and to the 'nomads' who by necessity inhabit urban streets but to the overworked employed." This also reminds me of a story Bookchin tells in another book which I unfortunately don't have. In a science museum located in a city somewhere, Bookchin once came across an exhibit showing things which have contributed to ecological destruction. The most prominently displayed item in the exhibit was a mirror. Bookchin wrote about how ironic it was to see indigent children from the urban ghetto walk by this mirror and be blamed (by self-righteous bourgeois biologists such as Dawkins, I might add) for the destruction of our environment.
I suppose I've gone on for long enough, but I haven't even gotten to the worst parts of Dawkins' essay. In his distaste for the religious education of young children, he encourages further state intervention into family life. Further, he misses the more important subject of the current education debate: the horrible failure of secular public education in the West not only to teach the three Rs, but to reinforce any values beyond capitalism and statism. I could go on about that...
The most disturbing feature of Dawkins' essay is the way he co-opts the words of the Apostle Paul. You can't be a follower of Jesus, I believe, without becoming an enemy of the kind of religion I find myself falling into. Paul might even welcome some of Dawkins' criticisms of Christianity (for example, while it is absurd to blame Nazism on Hitler's "Christianity," it is a valid and scathing criticism to point out the complicity of the vast majority of German Christians during World War II. And it's impossible to justify the Inquisition, even if the Anarchists were more blood-thirsty). However, when Paul wrote to Timothy about "The root of all evil," he pointed to a different social force than religion per se. He wrote "For the love of money is the root of all evil, perhaps better translated in the NRSV: "For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil." Striking at the heart of the matter far better than by blaming religion for everything bad, Paul rather poignantly continues, "and in their eagerness to be rich some have wandered away from the faith and pierced themselves with many pains."
In light of the social prestige and monetary rewards Richard Dawkins has achieved from his spiritual rebellion, I don't think it is impertinent to question his motives. "I have been so well satisfied with the Christian religion that I have spent no time trying to find argument against it." So said William Jennings Bryan at the end of the Scopes trial. It seems to me that, in light of the insurmountable limits of human knowledge, it is only one who has been unsatisfied with his own, perhaps for more or less selfish reasons, who would dedicate his life to the destruction of another's faith.
* (There is a huge range of numbers for the Inquisition, probably greatly inflated by anti-Catholic propaganda from the post-Reformation era. The most recent studies, discussed on Wikipedia, have revised the death toll down to the range of 3250 deaths up to the year 1700. Studies sponsored by the Catholic Church -- not exactly an impartial source -- suggest an even lower death toll. Compare this to the much more efficient work of the Spanish Anarchists, whose victims included more than 4,000 priests, 2,000 monks and nearly 300 nuns, according to this BBC News article. 300 NUNS!)
I've decided there are at least two reasons for my malaise. The first is my social environment. When I read Russell, I was at Houghton, surrounded by a caring community of Christian intellectuals. Today, I often feel like I'm on my own. Perhaps I shouldn't feel that way, but I sense a certain casualness about the faith of my peers that domesticates the gospel. Not that I'm blaming my Christian friends by any means, because I'm certainly guilty of this casualness myself. It's a kind of de-sanctifying anti-holiness that says certain behaviors or beliefs don't really matter. For example: Do I really have to believe in Hell? Do I really have to give 10% of my money to the Church? Does it really matter what I do on Sunday mornings? These are questions that I would tend to answer in the negative. But there is a certain slippery slope at work here that leads to Antinomianism. Dawkins himself has pointed out the inconsistency of liberal Christianity. How can you believe in some things Jesus says ("blessed are the poor," "turn the other cheek" "let him who is without sin cast the first stone") and reject others (his apocalyptic eschatology)?
My point here is that the milieu of 21st century America is predominantly secular. I believe it is the task of the 21st century Church -- that it is my task -- to carve out some sacred space, and I haven't been doing it. I've been too busy conforming to the pattern of the world, making sure that everyone can see that my kind of Christianity is acceptable to modern sensibilities -- that it is comfortable, and ironically kitschy, that it asks nothing of you, that it is nothing more than another hipster accessory - a way to gain scene points. No wonder I feel shaken when confronted by a truly evangelical atheist.
The second and by far more important cause of my troubled spirit is what Dawkins' world looks like -- what if an intellectually militant, evangelical atheism were to triumph over a Christianity that has become flaccid and domesticated? The main argument of Dawkins' opinion piece is that religion causes more harm than good. Wouldn't the world be better off without religion? By itself, this is nothing more than an interesting hypothetical. The danger lies with those who would extend Dawkins' intellectual militancy into literal militancy. One could make a pretty strong argument that this is the predominant historical narrative of the 20th century -- the secular ideologies of the 19th century put into brutal practice. The result? More death and bloodshed than any other time in human history. More Christian martyrs than all previous centuries combined, many at the hands of secular Marxists. It's quite possible, in light of new historical evidence, that the Spanish Anarchists murdered more Catholic priests during the Spanish Civil War than individuals were executed during the entire course of the Spanish Inquisition.*
Dawkins' anti-humanism is perhaps as troubling as his desire to cleanse the world from religion. By "anti-humanism," I'm referring to the charges of "speciesism" which he has leveled at the rest of humanity. Since we are all made up of the same genetic material, we are no different from other species and, thus, it is wrong to think of humans as any better than animals -- so his reasoning goes. Again, he apparently fails to realize where this line of reasoning can (and has) gone. This "speciesist" argument is essentially a form of primitivism that sees humanity as nondistinct from the rest of nature. I like what Murray Bookchin (himself a secularist who is actually a humanist) says about this line of reasoning. He writes that it "denies the most salient attributes of humanity as a species and the potentially emancipatory aspects of Euro-American civilization. Humans are vastly different from other animals in that they do more than merely adapt to the world around them; they innovate and create a new world, not only to discover their own powers as human beings but to make the world around them more suitable for their own development, both as individuals and as a species." And further, "A return to mere animality...is a return not to freedom but to instinct, to the domain of 'authenticity' that is guided more by genes than by brains.... nothing could be more unrelenting in its sheer obedience to biochemical imperatives such as DNA or more in contrast to the creativity, ethics, and mutuality opened by culture and struggles for a rational civilization."
The most annoying aspect of the vegan ethic that sees humans as no different from other species is how obviously bourgeois it is. Just as there are (supposedly) no atheists in the fox holes, there are no vegans concerned about "speciesism" on deserted islands. Writes Bookchin, "Today, dabbling in primitivism is precisely the privilege of affluent urbanites who can afford to toy with fantasies denied not only to the hungry and poor and to the 'nomads' who by necessity inhabit urban streets but to the overworked employed." This also reminds me of a story Bookchin tells in another book which I unfortunately don't have. In a science museum located in a city somewhere, Bookchin once came across an exhibit showing things which have contributed to ecological destruction. The most prominently displayed item in the exhibit was a mirror. Bookchin wrote about how ironic it was to see indigent children from the urban ghetto walk by this mirror and be blamed (by self-righteous bourgeois biologists such as Dawkins, I might add) for the destruction of our environment.
I suppose I've gone on for long enough, but I haven't even gotten to the worst parts of Dawkins' essay. In his distaste for the religious education of young children, he encourages further state intervention into family life. Further, he misses the more important subject of the current education debate: the horrible failure of secular public education in the West not only to teach the three Rs, but to reinforce any values beyond capitalism and statism. I could go on about that...
The most disturbing feature of Dawkins' essay is the way he co-opts the words of the Apostle Paul. You can't be a follower of Jesus, I believe, without becoming an enemy of the kind of religion I find myself falling into. Paul might even welcome some of Dawkins' criticisms of Christianity (for example, while it is absurd to blame Nazism on Hitler's "Christianity," it is a valid and scathing criticism to point out the complicity of the vast majority of German Christians during World War II. And it's impossible to justify the Inquisition, even if the Anarchists were more blood-thirsty). However, when Paul wrote to Timothy about "The root of all evil," he pointed to a different social force than religion per se. He wrote "For the love of money is the root of all evil, perhaps better translated in the NRSV: "For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil." Striking at the heart of the matter far better than by blaming religion for everything bad, Paul rather poignantly continues, "and in their eagerness to be rich some have wandered away from the faith and pierced themselves with many pains."
In light of the social prestige and monetary rewards Richard Dawkins has achieved from his spiritual rebellion, I don't think it is impertinent to question his motives. "I have been so well satisfied with the Christian religion that I have spent no time trying to find argument against it." So said William Jennings Bryan at the end of the Scopes trial. It seems to me that, in light of the insurmountable limits of human knowledge, it is only one who has been unsatisfied with his own, perhaps for more or less selfish reasons, who would dedicate his life to the destruction of another's faith.
* (There is a huge range of numbers for the Inquisition, probably greatly inflated by anti-Catholic propaganda from the post-Reformation era. The most recent studies, discussed on Wikipedia, have revised the death toll down to the range of 3250 deaths up to the year 1700. Studies sponsored by the Catholic Church -- not exactly an impartial source -- suggest an even lower death toll. Compare this to the much more efficient work of the Spanish Anarchists, whose victims included more than 4,000 priests, 2,000 monks and nearly 300 nuns, according to this BBC News article. 300 NUNS!)