Hellish Pronouncements...and Biblical Comfort for Voting Day

Thanks to my friend Arni Zachariassen giving me the heads-up on these matters, I've learned that as a philosopher I'm uniquely vulnerable to eternal damnation, and that as someone with a propensity to vote Democratic I'm pretty much doomed to the writhing agonies hell (primarily, it seems, because of the Democratic Party's growing support for same-sex marriage).

Actually, the article about philosophers and hell is a clever little piece by a pair of atheist philosophers--Scott Aikin and Robert Talisse--that aims to be a kind of reductio ad absurdum argument against anything like the traditional doctrine of hell.

Tragically, it appears that the article about Democratic voters going to hell, written by a guy named Dennis Marcellino, is not a satirical Onion piece but is meant in all seriousness--a kind of scare-you-to-vote-my-way article which, while it isn't likely to sway Democratic-leaning voters to rush out and vote for Romney, might actually inspire some of them to stay home on election day (operating on a better-safe-than-sorry mentality).

I think a philosophical refutation of Marcellino's absurd argument is actually laid out in the clever little piece by Aikin and Talisse. I defy you to find someone who chooses to vote Democratic (or Republican for that matter) because they correctly believe that the party they are voting for is the party of satanic evil bent on defying God and undermining all that is good and true--and so, out of a love for evil and mayhem, they vote for the party they judge to be most evil. And can eternal damnation really be warranted if a vote is cast out of a sincere belief that in an imperfect world, forced to choose between imperfect political parties (or not vote at all), the party one is voting for is perhaps a little bit more on track? If not, then your eternal fate isn't likely to rest on what you do on voting day.

But such philosophical arguments won't impact those who look to the Bible for all their answers. And Marcellino's case for the damnation of Democratic voters rests on a Biblical argument (albeit a very bad one that makes huge, utterly unwarranted interpretive leaps at every single step).

So, for those biblicists who suddenly find themselves hesitant to vote Democratic out of fear that Marcellino might be right, I offer the following words of comfort: At least according to what Paul says in the Bible, you won't be eternally damned for voting how you do. And why do I think that? Well, consider these statements made by Paul:

"Consequently, just as the result of one trespass was condemnation for all men, so also the result of one act of righteousness was justification that brings life for all men. For just as through the disobedience of the one man the many were made sinners, so also through the obedience of the one man the many will be made righteous" (Romans 5:18-19).

"For God has bound all men over to disobedience so that he many have mercy on them all" (Romans 11:32).

"For as in Adam all die, so in Christ all will be made alive" (1 Corinthians 15:22).

"For God was pleased to have all his fullness dwell in him [Christ], and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether things on earth or things in heaven, by making peace through his blood, shed on the cross" (Colossians 1:19-20). 

I've italicized the relevant "alls" here in order to make it obvious that Paul clearly thinks everyone is going to be saved--regardless of how they vote--on account of Christ's reconciling and justifying work on our behalf. So go vote as your conscience sees fit, without fear that God will smite you for it.

(Yeah, yeah, I know this is proof-texting, and that my proof texts can be interpreted in slightly different ways than what I offer here...but if Marcellino can claim that Democratic voters are all damned based on a few biblical texts taken out of context and then lavishly interpreted to force them to say what he wants them to, then I can take a series of biblical texts and assert that what they clearly seem to be saying is what they really are saying).

Moral One-Upmanship, Psychological Health, and Avoiding Hypocrisy

I just finished reading two blog posts back-to-back. The first, by Sarah Hippolitus on Secular Perspectives, focused on "The Psychological Harms of Traditional Christian Belief." The second, by my friend Arni Zachariassen, made an impassioned case against opportunistic moral one-upmanship in the debate between atheists and theists.

After I'd finished reading the post on Secular Perspectives, I found myself immediately wanting to write a series of blog posts addressing each of her six main claims about how Christian teachings damage psychological health--arguing, in effect, that for each of the teachings she brings under the crosshairs, much hinges on how the teaching is understood or interpreted. Her claims strike me as identifying dangers realized to greater or lesser degrees in some Christian communities--but not as identifying problems that are endemic to every expression of the Christian faith.

And in terms of the issue of psychological health, she completely ignores the empirical research that positively correlates religiosity (including its Christian forms) with happiness, at least in societies under stress and especially insofar as religiosity is linked to increases in religious experiences. There is little evidence, by contrast, to suggest that religiosity in general has a negative effect on happiness (in prosperous societies, the religious and non-religious seem to be comparably happy with their lives). In failing to consider such evidence, she also fails to ask crucial questions. Given here reasons for thinking that the specific doctrines she targets, interpreted as she interprets them, shouldn't be expected to promote psychological health--and given that these reasons seem quite compelling in the abstract--mightn't we conclude either that most Christians don't interpret these teachings in the way Hippolitus does, or that there are compensating psychological benefits to Christian belief and practice?

In other words, I found myself inspired to devote weeks of time and effort demostrating that her treatment is oversimplified and ends up throwing out the baby with the bathwater...something that anyone with any kind of rich understanding of Christianity already knows.

And then I read Arni's post. His post begins with what must have been a rather shocking doscovery: an internet acquaintance of his had been arrested on child pornography and child rape charges--and had confessed to at least some of these crimes. The acquaintance, as it happened, was not merely an atheist but "a bit of an atheist activist." What Arni notes is how easily and readily this latter fact might have been invoked as an opportunity for what he calls "moral one-upmanship" in the contemporary God debates. One gets the sense that, at least for a moment, Arni was tempted to do exactly this.

But the reality, as he points out, is that theists and atheists alike have been guilty of horrific offenses against their fellow human beings, and blaming someone's atheism or religion for their moral failings really doesn't capture the truth about the human condition, in which the temptation to do awful things is ubiquitous, and neither belief in God not belief in a naturalistic worldview has any special claim on making us better or worse. More significantly, Arni saw that using this horror as an opportunity for theistic one-upmanship "would represent precisely that curving in on oneself that Christian theology describes in the doctrine of sin. Because as much as I’d love to score some argumentative points and feel good about myself in all my moral superiority, doing so would be a betrayal of what morality is really about."

And what is morality about? "Morality is something you do, first and foremost. Only later is it something you talk about." Arni's point is not about moral theorizing. He is not saying that one shouldn't consider and push arguments concerning the greater adequacy of theistic (or naturalistic) accounts of morality. He finds theistic accounts of our moral experience more satisfactory, and is ready and willing to explain why.

But there is a difference between saying that a theistic worldview does a better job of accounting for morality than atheistic ones, and saying that theists are more moral than atheists. One might believe that God accounts for goodness, but it doesn't follow from this that one cannot be good without believing in God. What Arni is asking for is not the end to debates about the possibility of adequately grounding moral concepts in naturalistic worldviews. That isn't what "moral one-upmanship" is about. Moral one-upmanship occurs when a theist or atheist says, "We're morally better than you are! Nya, nya!"

Morality in the first instance is something we do. When we use moral standards more for judging others than for guiding our own behavior, we have taken the first step towards abandoning morality. And this is precisely what we do when we engage in moral one-upmanship.

So what does all of this have to do with Hippolitus's essay? It seems to me pretty clear that in secular circles, the concept of psychological health has come to occupy much of the same normative space historically occupied by moral language. Psychological health is a central action-guiding value, both in terms of self-development and in terms of the treatment of others. Now I don't make this point in order to criticize it. I think that psychological health is a very important value, one that should play an important action-guiding role. Although I don't think it can stand alone as a foundation for morality, my purpose here is not to attack secular moral theory but simply to note that there is a presumptive moral theory at work in secular circles, even when it is not named as such. Practically speaking, psychological health serves as a basis for utilitarian-style moral decision-making.

Seen in this light, Hippolitus's essay amounts to an exercize in just the sort of moral one-upmanship that Arni is criticizing. She is focused on attributing moral failings to Christians--arguing that their teachings undermine psychological health--rather than looking inward to explore how secular humanists can become morally better themselves.

But as soon as I say this I find myself confronting the specter of hypocrisy. If moral one-upmanship is itself a kind of "sin," then am I not simply focusing here on the sins of secular humanists like Hippolitus and ignoring my own? But then again, how can any of us avoid talking about the failings of others? Sometimes, at least, it seems that showing a proper respect for oneself demands that one point out the unfairness of what others are doing.

And here, then, is the lesson: It isn't that we should never point out the moral failings of others. After all, sometimes outsiders are in a better position to notice our moral failings than we are. If we want to work on being moral, we need the perspective that others can provide. And often, those who are best able to provide it are outsiders. As such, not only should I invite others to tell me when they think I've fallen short in some morally significant way (hopefully in a charitable spirit aimed at helping to lift me up morally, rather than for the sake of knocking me down), but I should also return the favor (again, in a constructive spirit, recognizing that I could be mistaken in my judgment about them).

The crucial point is that all this external criticism has got to aim at motivating internal self-reflection and growth. Thus, criticism must be offered in a spirit that is likely to promote such self-refection and growth rather than promoting defensiveness; criticism should be received with an eye towards self-refection and growth even when it is delivered in a manner likely to produce defensiveness; and the criticism of others should always be subordinate to personal self-reflection and growth. This last point means not only that we should care more about our own moral condition than that of others, but that we should treat the moral condition of others as a kind of mirror. When I see someone commit a certain kind of wrong, I should ask myself, "When do I do that?"

It's not that we shouldn't criticize others. Rather, it's that all such criticism should be part of moving beyond oneself into a more communal standpoint in which the criticism serves the function of collective development. I criticize you in order to help you grow, and at the same time look inward to see how and where I might need a similar kind of growth.

If this is what we should be doing--and I think it is--then the defensive response to Hippolitus that I originally envisioned should be viewed with suspicion. Of course, there has to be a place for pointing out that attacks and criticisms are misguided. But again, this cannot be our priority. And, having already devoted a book to responding defensively (in a sense) to new atheist attacks on religion, it might be that a series of posts doing the same sort thing in response to a comparatively obscure blog post is a misdirection of my priorities.

In this case, at least, I might be better served using that obscure blog post as a mirror, or looking for that within Hippolitus's critique that isn't just confusion or overgeneralization--something that might just apply to my own brand of Christianity, or something that is a danger I might fall prey to if I don't remain vigilant.

Shattered

It is hard to think of other things. It hovered over my journey home--which, because of flight delays upon flight delays, took two exhausting days. As I started to become irate after the fourth gate change in as many hours of delays (this after missing my connection in Detroit and spending a night in a hotel), I thought about my cousin's niece, bleeding from a bullet wound in the leg, surrounded by the corpses of her friends, and listening to the killer stalking around the island, letting out whoops of glee between the crack of firing bullets.

On the phone with my mother, listening to her sympathizing about my travel troubles, I found myself thinking about the profiles I'd been reading of Norway's homegrown terrorist. I felt strangely claustrophobic as I imagined myself into his head, into the ideology and rage and paranoia that defines the violent extremist.

It is hard to feel sorry for yourself, or to feel indignant at flight delays, when there are things so much more terrible pressing in with such vividness.

It is hard to think of other things. And so I think about this, about shattered windows, about a peaceful country's shattered innocence, and the shattered innocence of kids attending summer camp. But to know what to say, how to organize one's thoughts about something so terrible--it almost feels like a kind of exploitation to reflect on the significance of Anders Breivik's crimes. And yet there are things I want to say, things which I think are important--about xenophobia, about mislabeling motivations, misdiagnosing the causes of terrorist violence, about the difference between a spirituality that years for the transcendent and an ideology of division that use religion as the basis for hate.

Thankfully, many of the things I want to say have already been said beautifully by others. Arni Zachariassen offers a powerful reflection on the connections between the recent terrorist act and issues in theology, especially as they relate to Christian-Muslim relations.  Øyvind Strømmen offers an excellent portrait of what motivated Anders Breivik.  Over at Religion Dispatches, while Mark Juergensmeyer offers a striking comparison between Breivik and Timothy McVeigh, his desire to call both "Christian terrorists" is helpfully qualified by Julie Ingersoll, who offers insight into the character of Breivik's idenitity as a Christian--without in any way undermining the force of Juergensmeyer's point that Breivik has as much of a claim on the "Christian terrorist" label as Osama bin Laden has on the "Muslim terrorist" one. James McGrath makes a similar point.

And yet there are still things to be said. Some of these are things I need to say. But not right now.

Piper's Fatal Patriarchy

Over on his blog I Think I Believe, Arni Zachariassen posted a video in which conservative evangelical preacher John Piper seeks to address the question of what a wife's submission to her husband is supposed to look like if her husband is abusing her. His answer should make anyone who has studied the dynamics of domestic abuse squirm in distress. Arni notes just how striking is Piper's lack of wisdom on this matter, and offers several incisive critical remarks.

In any event, the post inspired me to write a rather lengthy comment about what I take to be the root cause of Piper's lack of wisdom here. Readers of this blog may want to check out Arni's post both for its own intrinsic interest, and because I think it speaks to an issue that's come up on this blog before and that I want to dwell on more fully in future posts--namely, the idea that serious problems arise when religious communities and their leaders shape their ethics in terms of an uncritically embraced theology, as opposed to having their theology criticized and revised in the light of ethical insight.

Science and Religion and the Science of Religion

Readers of this blog may be interested in some recent online essays pertaining to the scientific study of religion and its significance. The Guardian's online blog, Comment is Free, has launched a new series of essays on the question, "Is there a God instinct?", and the inaugural post in the series is by atheist psychologist Jesse Bering--who articulates a variant of the atheist argument (promulgated in different ways by Dawkins and Dennett) that belief in God can be explained away by the evolutionary adaptiveness of a propensity to believe in supernatural agency.

In an essay replying to Bering in the Guardian, evolutionary biologist Denis Alexander offers a concise response from the standpoint of his own discipline, while Arni Zachariassen, at I Think I Believe, provides a thoughtful theological response in which, among other things, he makes the following points:

(Bering) says that there are "simply no good scientific reason[s]" for theism. Well, of course there aren't! Science brackets out the question of God as a matter of principle and method, and so plainly and simply doesn't address the question, this way or the other...(T)he simple fact that we have evolved certain biases towards seeing reality as being a certain way does not necessarily mean that reality is not that way. Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. Science will not settle that question for us. Bering's research, as interesting as it is (and it is! Very!), says something about human brains, not God's existence or the validity of religious truth claims.

Arni's response reminds me of my interest in writing a review of the bestseller by journalist Barbara Bradley Hagerty, Fingerprints of God: What Science Is Learning About the Brain and Spiritual Experience. Hagerty's book offers a wonderful catalogue of diverse religious and spiritual experiences, as well as an engaging lay person's summary of the range of scientific research being done on human spirituality (I leave assessments of the accuracy of her summaries to those more versed in the relevant disciplines). 

But what I like best about the book is its potential to help defuse the reflexive suspicion and animosity that religious believers so often direct towards the scientific study of religion (and science in general). It has this potential precisely because Hagerty embodies in her journalistic inquiry the same perspective that Arni so nicely articulates in his recent post. Whatever might be said about the defensibility of this perspective (and I know there are regular followers of this blog who are inclined to challenge it), I think that from a purely sociological standpoint it is a pragmatically fruitful one: It inculcates an openness among religious believers to taking science seriously rather than treating it as an enemy to be rejected.

While new atheists like Dawkins and Victor Stenger (author of God: The Failed Hypothesis) have gotten considerable personal mileage out of promulgating the message that (a) science and religion are essentially opposed and (b) so much the worse for religion, the social reality (as far as I can tell) is that this message has not substantially reduced the number of religious believers. Rather, it has succeeded mostly in reinforcing their belief in (a)--to which they then add, "So much the worse for science."

While my own view is that (a) is false, I know there are those who take it to be true. What I want to say to them at this point is this: At best, surely, (a) is a contentious philosophical position. And given its controversial character, it may be worth treating it with caution when it can have such damaging pragmatic effects for the advancement of science. By treating it with caution, I don't mean refusing to express (a) even if it happens to be your view. I don't mean refusing to share your reasons for this view, or what you find lacking in the arguments of those with a different position. Rather, I mean adopting the kind of fallibilism that is appropriate when the costs of being wrong are high.

Suppose you catch a glimpse from a passing car of someone who, at a quick glance from a distance, you take to be your friend Joe leaving an apartment building in which you know Mary lives. It is one thing to say without qualification, "I saw Joe leaving Mary's apartment yesterday afternoon," when gossiping with friends. It is something else again to say this on the witness stand when Joe has been accused of murdering Mary. High stakes call for humility, an awareness of our fallibility. And the stakes are pretty high when it comes to the idea that science and religion are essentially opposed.

Beliefs can be "innocent" or not, and whether they are innocent or not can be a matter of context. The less innocent a belief is, the more significant our epistemic duties become.

Let me be clear about something here. I don't think that scientists should pander to religious audiences or downplay the implications of their research when that research directly challenges specific beliefs held by religious communities--such as the belief in a "Young Earth" or the doctrine of special creation (the idea that diverse species were created individually rather than evolving from common ancestors). But if one treats the new atheists' controversial and polarizing philosophical view on science and religion as if it were a matter of certainty, then one will pre-emptively alienate the great mass of religious believers, so that when scientific research does challenge their specific beliefs you can be sure they won't be listening.