By Moristotle
[Originally published on September 9, 2007, not a word different, same image as then, but with an author’s note at the very end.]
I have talked approvingly of what I understood to be Kierkegaard’s view, on the question of belief in God, that it was nobler (as well as more accurate) to hang with one hand from one ledge of the narrow chasm of religious belief and with the other hand from the opposite ledge than to transfer either hand to join the other on the same ledge. Hanging precariously from both ledges symbolized doubt. Kierkegaard thought doubt nobler because it consigned the doubter to the perpetual angst of his uncertainty whether to believe or not to believe, since, as a matter of accuracy, the person could not be objectively sure which belief was right.
But I’ve now given up nobility. I’ve shifted the hand that was clinging to belief over to the other ledge and am now hanging with both hands from un- or non- or disbelief, and I feel ever so much better. And those who have done just the opposite – and cling to belief with both hands – feel better too, I assume.
I suppose that being either all in or all out of anything is more comfortable. A juror who just can’t make up her mind whether the man accused of murder is guilty or not will be in agony over it. If deliberations go overnight, she might not be able to sleep. I used to agonize over whether or not to approve of the death penalty. I feel better now that I’ve come down unshakably against it. In general, humans find relief and feel better after they stop roiling and make up their minds!
On “the religious question” (which is essentially whether God exists and can be approached through some form of worship or prayer), believers who cling to their belief with both hands usually try to fortify their position by applying to a particular “holy scripture” which they accept as containing “the revealed Word of God.” This could be The Torah, The New Testament, The Qur’an, The Book of Mormon, or whatever. A belief in a particular divine revelation, it seems to me, works this way in “fortifying” their fundamental belief: if the scripture in question is true, then of course God is...this or that, for The Book says so. But note the “if” regarding the scripture. No one can know objectively whether it’s the “Word of God” or not. A noble doubter will cling to the two opposed ledges on that question.
I said that believers in God “try to fortify” their belief through application to a holy scripture. “Try” because of course such application is no real help at all. They still have to face Kierkegaard’s question. The leap of faith has to be taken on the question whether there really was a revelation or not...
...just as the disbeliever takes his leap of faith that religion is false, that God (in the personal sense) does not exist, that Jesus was not the Son of God, that Muhammad was not a Messenger of God, that Joseph Smith’s golden plates were an elaborate hoax motivated by greed and venality, that the various similarities of religious belief and practice around the world show, not that God has revealed Himself to peoples everywhere, but that evolved man tends to project the same gods everywhere, that most of those beliefs and practices flatter neither the assumed gods nor the actual men, and so on.
And, to be honest (which I hope I always am), I admit that I make an application myself to try to fortify my nonbelief. My application is to rationality, or common sense. Thomas Paine, Bertrand Russell, Sam Harris, and Christopher Hitchens seem to me to make a very great deal more sense (in their books The Age of Reason, Why I Am Not a Christian, The End of Faith, and God Is Not Great, respectively) than the “holy books” I’m familiar with. It seems ever so much more reasonable to me that religion is a childish fantasy than that it is a serious adult vision. But some of the things said in scripture are nevertheless apt:
When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. [The First Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Corinthians, 13:11]I do have at least one remaining question. It has to do with the distinction between religion and spirituality. As a noble doubter, I felt that I could “be spiritual” even though I found it ridiculous to try to “be religious.” The question is: Now that I’ve opted for being all out when it comes to religion, is spirituality still an option for me, and what does that mean?
[Author’s note: I am bound to address that final question. Yes, of course, spirituality is “still an option” for me, not only in the sense that it is possible, even though I am not “religious,” but also in the sense that I wish to, and do, choose to “be spiritual.” For me, spirituality is essentially the exercise of love through identification with and compassion for other creatures on this planet.
I say that about choosing because I think that people can (and do) choose not to be spiritual – if “choose” is not too intentional a word here, because I think spirituality is more neglected than chosen against. It may be a consequence of secularism (Merriam-Webster’s definition of “secular”: “of or relating to worldly or temporal concerns, not overtly or specifically religious, not ecclesiastical or clerical, not bound by monastic vows or rules”), but many secular people are spiritual in some sense similar to me. Being secular need not stunt a person’s humanity, any more than being religious stunts it – even though both can and often do.]
| Copyright © 2017 by Morris Dean |
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