Imagine the movie disaster scenario of a huge asteroid approaching the earth. In this case, however, assume that there is nothing we can do about it. The earth is doomed and within a few months all higher forms of life will be destroyed. What would we do? How would we feel?
Overwhelmingly, we would turn to our families and the people we care about, almost always with regret that we had not taken more time to demonstrate our love to them. The entire world would have the insight that people close to the end of their lives have: What matters most are the people who love us and whom we love. A collective cry would spread over the planet: “I wish I had been more loving to those around me.”
Some would spend time thinking about the significance of our species as a whole. We would search for meaning in the 100,000 years or so that homo sapiens has existed. We might ask: Is it a disaster for the universe that the human species is about to become extinct? We would realize that our extinction is no more disastrous than the extinction of intelligent species on other planets, an event that may have already occurred many times.
Could we leave behind something meaningful? For example, we might consider trying to communicate with intelligent civilizations and to contribute our scientific achievements to them. However, our scientists would tell us that the vast distances of the universe mean that other civilizations will probably never hear from us. Even if they receive our signals millions of light years from now, they will probably be so far advanced that we can teach them nothing.
The most likely audience for whatever lessons we could teach is the future intelligent species that might evolve on our own planet if anything is left of it. Perhaps we could bury books deep in the earth to give this civilization a head start on scientific advancement. But is that all we would have to leave behind? Is our technology our greatest achievement? Couldn’t we teach this future species something about a way of living that is most meaningful?
Perhaps we would hit upon the same insights in reflecting on our species that we do in reflecting on our own life: What is most important is to love others in our world. But we are also likely to have the same reaction about how well we have lived up to this principle. We would consider what our collective human community has done, how it has used its vast resources, what our governments spend time doing, and what motivates us to vote for political candidates. We would surely have our regrets.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Monday, May 18, 2009
Does God have a Divine Mind?
There is a powerful, perhaps instinctive, desire to imagine a God that has a human-like divine mind. Even those who have rejected an anthropomorphic, “personal” God still have a difficult time abandoning the idea that God is conscious of us. This conception of God as having the characteristic of consciousness is an ancient one. Pre-scientific humans conceived of the gods as spirits with human-like personalities. The gods of the ancient Greeks tended to toy with humans and use them for their own selfish purposes, but these gods certainly paid attention to what humans were doing. The Old Testament describes a God who listens to people and becomes angry with them, even when God appears as a pillar of fire or burning bush. Even Deists, who are willing to accept the idea of a God who sits on the sidelines of the universe and does not intervene in history, hold on to the notion that God is conscious of us and, at least in some sense, “loves” us.
In The Uncertain Believer, I suggest that we abandon the notion of a God that has a human-like awareness of us. I suggest that the most persuasive conception of God, the one that is most consistent with what science has shown us, is a God that we can love but that does not love us back. That is because this God is an idea, a central, unifying idea that can be shared throughout the world, and the universe if there are other intelligent beings who are capable of sharing it.
The implications of such a God are far-reaching. On the one hand, it means we that we have to give up the idea that God listens to our prayers and answers some of them. I suspect that loss may not be so devastating for most of us, since real life has taught us that most prayers, even by the worthy, appear to go unanswered. At the same time, this intellectual step is enormously liberating because we need no longer struggle with the conflicts between science and religion. We do not need to tie ourselves in intellectual knots trying to fathom the purposes of a divine mind. There is no need to compete with other religious traditions on the grounds that we are the true followers of God but others are not. Paradoxically, perhaps, God can be more meaningful to us if we stop trying to understand God’s purposes and concentrate on our own.
In The Uncertain Believer, I suggest that we abandon the notion of a God that has a human-like awareness of us. I suggest that the most persuasive conception of God, the one that is most consistent with what science has shown us, is a God that we can love but that does not love us back. That is because this God is an idea, a central, unifying idea that can be shared throughout the world, and the universe if there are other intelligent beings who are capable of sharing it.
The implications of such a God are far-reaching. On the one hand, it means we that we have to give up the idea that God listens to our prayers and answers some of them. I suspect that loss may not be so devastating for most of us, since real life has taught us that most prayers, even by the worthy, appear to go unanswered. At the same time, this intellectual step is enormously liberating because we need no longer struggle with the conflicts between science and religion. We do not need to tie ourselves in intellectual knots trying to fathom the purposes of a divine mind. There is no need to compete with other religious traditions on the grounds that we are the true followers of God but others are not. Paradoxically, perhaps, God can be more meaningful to us if we stop trying to understand God’s purposes and concentrate on our own.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Do We Still Need Missionary Work?
There was a time when the United States justified its involvement in the affairs of other countries, at least in part, by declaring that it wanted to advance the spread of Christianity. In explaining why the United States should annex the Philippines after the Spanish-American War, President McKinley is reported to have said: “There was nothing left for us to do but to take them all, and to educate the Filipinos, and uplift and civilize and Christianize them, and by God’s grace do the very best we could by them, as our fellow-men for whom Christ also died.” It is likely that spreading Christianity was a less important motivator than having a platform to expand commercial ties with Asia. Nevertheless, it was part of the justification for obtaining influence over the Philippines as well as many other countries, especially during the nineteenth century.
That rationale is completely gone now. I cannot recall a single Democrat or Republican trying to justify the invasion of Iraq on the grounds that some Muslims might be converted to Christianity. Sometimes we say that we want to “convert” Iraqis to democracy but that means the focus is political ideology, not religious belief. Perhaps that change reflects a good development: We are more humble about the superiority of our faith and we do not see spreading Christianity or any religion as the role of government.
Today, the role of advancing particular religions is largely left to private denominations. But what used to be thought of as the heart of “missionary work” – converting non-believers to Christianity – has declined in importance. Instead, most denominations focus on providing social services. For example, Catholic Charities is the largest private network of social services in the United States, perhaps in the world.
Is there any longer a role for organized religion to try to convert others to a particular set of doctrines? In some cases, e.g., drug addicts, religious faith may be the best road to recovery. But if others are comfortable in their own spiritual life, why are many denominations still determined to convert others to their beliefs? Are they convinced that their path is the only road to a meaningful life? Or is it because there is an inherent desire of organizations to increase membership roles and budgets? If it is the latter, is that kind of modern missionary work so different from private corporations that are intent on increasing sales?
That rationale is completely gone now. I cannot recall a single Democrat or Republican trying to justify the invasion of Iraq on the grounds that some Muslims might be converted to Christianity. Sometimes we say that we want to “convert” Iraqis to democracy but that means the focus is political ideology, not religious belief. Perhaps that change reflects a good development: We are more humble about the superiority of our faith and we do not see spreading Christianity or any religion as the role of government.
Today, the role of advancing particular religions is largely left to private denominations. But what used to be thought of as the heart of “missionary work” – converting non-believers to Christianity – has declined in importance. Instead, most denominations focus on providing social services. For example, Catholic Charities is the largest private network of social services in the United States, perhaps in the world.
Is there any longer a role for organized religion to try to convert others to a particular set of doctrines? In some cases, e.g., drug addicts, religious faith may be the best road to recovery. But if others are comfortable in their own spiritual life, why are many denominations still determined to convert others to their beliefs? Are they convinced that their path is the only road to a meaningful life? Or is it because there is an inherent desire of organizations to increase membership roles and budgets? If it is the latter, is that kind of modern missionary work so different from private corporations that are intent on increasing sales?
Monday, May 4, 2009
What Can the Uncertainty Principle Teach Us about Religious Tolerance?
In The Uncertain Believer, I suggest a world in which humanity shares a common conception of God. While that world may not exist for many centuries, if ever, there is value in imagining what such a world would be like. In the meantime, how can we move toward greater tolerance and understanding about conflicting religious beliefs?
We can gain some insights from the uncertainty principle. As originally formulated by Werner Eisenberg, a German physicist, in 1926, the uncertainty principle has a narrow technical meaning: It is impossible to determine precisely the simultaneous position and momentum of a subatomic particle, such as an electron. We can identify probability distributions, but we cannot be certain of both variables at the same time. If we extend this idea more broadly, we can say that there are some important aspects of life about which we can never be certain.
Tom Boyd, Professor of Religious Studies at the University of Oklahoma, suggests that this idea can be important in our understanding of God and the role religious beliefs play in our lives. I believe what he has in mind is something like the following: Imagine two categories of religious beliefs. The first includes broad unifying ideas, such as the existence of God, somehow conceived, and the fundamental ideals for which God stands, particularly the obligation to love one another. All major religious traditions share those principles and we can feel, if not absolutely certain about them, very confident. However, when we begin to examine a second category of beliefs, for example, doctrines about the afterlife, religious rituals, and the precise nature of God and Jesus, we see drastic differences among religious traditions. At the same time, as we reflect on these more specific beliefs, we should realize that we cannot be certain about the correctness of them.
For example, if we feel the doctrines of our particular faith are grounded in the Bible, are we sure we have interpreted the Bible correctly? Are we relying on the Bible or are we really adopting beliefs that were developed by authorities in the church centuries after the Bible was written? And if these beliefs really do seem grounded in the Bible, is the Bible a reliable authority for those beliefs in the first place? Or are we making the mistake of accepting value judgments made by societies that were far less morally and intellectually advanced than our own? All these problems should make us more uncertain about the “details” of our religious creeds. And that uncertainty in turn should lead to humility and restraint about the rightness of our own beliefs.
The good thing is that uncertainty about the specifics need not lessen the strength of our faith or the commitment we feel to the broad principles of our religious tradition. It can, however, lead us to be more tolerant and respectful of the religious traditions of others.
We can gain some insights from the uncertainty principle. As originally formulated by Werner Eisenberg, a German physicist, in 1926, the uncertainty principle has a narrow technical meaning: It is impossible to determine precisely the simultaneous position and momentum of a subatomic particle, such as an electron. We can identify probability distributions, but we cannot be certain of both variables at the same time. If we extend this idea more broadly, we can say that there are some important aspects of life about which we can never be certain.
Tom Boyd, Professor of Religious Studies at the University of Oklahoma, suggests that this idea can be important in our understanding of God and the role religious beliefs play in our lives. I believe what he has in mind is something like the following: Imagine two categories of religious beliefs. The first includes broad unifying ideas, such as the existence of God, somehow conceived, and the fundamental ideals for which God stands, particularly the obligation to love one another. All major religious traditions share those principles and we can feel, if not absolutely certain about them, very confident. However, when we begin to examine a second category of beliefs, for example, doctrines about the afterlife, religious rituals, and the precise nature of God and Jesus, we see drastic differences among religious traditions. At the same time, as we reflect on these more specific beliefs, we should realize that we cannot be certain about the correctness of them.
For example, if we feel the doctrines of our particular faith are grounded in the Bible, are we sure we have interpreted the Bible correctly? Are we relying on the Bible or are we really adopting beliefs that were developed by authorities in the church centuries after the Bible was written? And if these beliefs really do seem grounded in the Bible, is the Bible a reliable authority for those beliefs in the first place? Or are we making the mistake of accepting value judgments made by societies that were far less morally and intellectually advanced than our own? All these problems should make us more uncertain about the “details” of our religious creeds. And that uncertainty in turn should lead to humility and restraint about the rightness of our own beliefs.
The good thing is that uncertainty about the specifics need not lessen the strength of our faith or the commitment we feel to the broad principles of our religious tradition. It can, however, lead us to be more tolerant and respectful of the religious traditions of others.
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