Finally watched the C-SPAN (Book TV) Religion and Reason debate between Reza Aslan and Sam Harris (moderated by Jon Kirsch -- not the best choice, I found), after having the video lurking in my desktop for a good long while. What can I say? I find it intimidating sometimes, weighing in on issues like this. I have such a narrow sphere of experience, and no claims whatsoever to any semblance of relevant expertise. All throughout (over 90 minutes of squinting and nodding vigourously at my screen), I found myself just so gratified to be a spectator to this simultaneously exasperating and tantalizing conversation. Now, I've always liked Reza Aslan. I've read a bit of his work (his book and some essays), and I find his claims and arguments compelling. Not unique, surely, but compelling and cogent nonetheless. And he's pretty easy to look at, too. Let's just get that out of the way. Especially when he gesticulates and his voice rises as he gets all excited about making a point.
The thing is, I'm an atheist. It was an active and deliberate decision on my part. I didn't fall out of the Catholic bandwagon out of negligence or laziness. I didn't turn away from religious belief because of some life-changing event that completely shattered my belief in an omnipotent, omniscient god. It was gradual, yes, and sometimes sufficiently excruciating to make the idea of agnosticism (or nihilism, really) more appealing than it should be. My reasons are personal, but they had a lot to do with my perceptions of the abuse and constraints Catholicism (and most other organized religions) imposes on human agency and any form of profound inquiry. Belief in an ostensibly omniscient, omnipotent being presupposes that God is the answer to everything, all inquiry will inevitably lead to "God" (see Intelligent Design), all unexplained phenomena will inevitably be attributed to the will of the divine. Life is conditional, its worth is measured by one's allegiance to a specific set of codes and rules, its purpose reduced to serving the intangible and incomprehensible (or, really, the self-proclaimed prophets of the intangible and the incomprehensible -- but don't get me started on that). And it doesn't exactly help that religion itself is a painfully obvious human construct, one that is imperious and fragile all at once, pieced together by the contingencies of historical circumstances and charismatic and/or vicious figures.
No god but God whetted my rather reluctant interest in religious studies -- the historical and political conditions from which religions arose and gained popular recognition, if not allegiance; how ideas and scientific and metaphysical inquiry alike contributed to the formation, preservation and evolution of what is essentially glorified (sanctified) ideology; the myths and legends of societies, the cultural specificities of language and folk symbology, the primordial ways unexplained phenomena are attributed to an ostensible divinity. I liked the book. I liked it for its careful and reverent narrative of this mammoth, imagined historical circumstance; I liked it for its vigilant and critical account of how that singular, heartbreaking circumstance took root and flourished; I liked it because it made long train rides bearable. But, no, I didn't like it enough.
(I want to write about The End of Faith, but I'm afraid this will turn into a comparison of the two books, and that would be grossly unfair. Though it would seem that the two books sit on opposites sides of the same spectrum, I found that they address quite different points and issues, ones which aren't entirely consilient to each other.)
In the debate, Aslan chose to focus more on the experience and theory of religion (religion as a vehicle and language for transcendental, "spiritual" experience, and scripture as a truth constrained by conditional and rational interpretation). I found this disappointing and, at the same time, rather shrewd. By framing religion as a system of belief that can be interpreted rationally, one that allows people to experience some sense of profound elevation, and validate such experiences, one appropriates the domain of reason. His justification for religion negligibly addresses the lamentably ill-contested space of dogmatic belief that pervades people's subscriptions to religion. Bigotry stems from people, yes, but this does not condone the claim that bigotry is therefore completely removed from the sphere of religion. Religion justifies bigotry, it provides reason and grounds for bigotry and divisiveness. And for that, at the very least, people should step back from religious belief and analyze it critically. How is this reasonable? How is it rational, to meet someone of a different background, of a different sociological location, and implicitly (or explicitly) condemn them for not having the same beliefs as yours? Condemnation here can be as "benign" as condescension, that specific religious belief allows you access to answers and truths that aren't available to others by virtue of their subscription to a different god (or gods). My own father, educated to the teeth as he is and a progressive in most issues, will readily say that anyone who doesn't believe in the Catholic god is on the fast lane to hell. (I love him, but he's a bigot.) He refuses to even go into places of worship of other religions; my mother had to fight him tooth and nail to display Buddhist art (it isn't even a depiction of Buddha, it's a sculpture of a Buddhist monk) in our condo.
What makes missionary work different from the Western colonialist project? Missionary work uses interventionist discourse in constructing non-religious folk as "heathens" needing the moral guidance and theocratic expertise of a specific set of people, just as colonialism justifies itself by constructing other peoples as underdeveloped, subhuman, backward. One might say that they are set out with good intentions (helping the poor, providing medical aid and social services in underdeveloped countries; facilitating social and economic development, introducing technology and infrastructure), but they more often than not result in the distortion of local cultures and experiences, the undermined evolution of folk histories, meanings and language, the destruction of local markets and industries.
Aslan contends that religion is indispensable because it provides humanity with a space and language to describe and live out life. He contends that religious scripture, if read and interpreted in terms of its specific cultural and historical context, is a valid text to live by, a text one can draw upon for inspiration, development, affirmation, and all sorts of other shiny spiritual things. I find that wholly unsatisfying and immensely deleterious. Such a stance obscures the impossible, diametric opposition between belief in a singular, infallible god (or host of gods) and the incalculable diversity of human culture. Such a stance undercuts the need for critical inquiry, and confines such to the realm of scientific study while effectively immunizing religion from its gaze. Such a stance posits religion as fluid and conditional, which works to undermine the very premise of religion (that specific beliefs and laws are absolute, not to be contested by social and historical contingencies).
And, yes, I've just about run out of steam. I have an econometrics final next Monday, what am I doing? :(
All this is not to say that I agree wholeheartedly with Harris. Though I'm not too put off by his style like a lot of people (he's essentially "preaching to those who have left the choir" with me, after all), I find that he generalizes too much, and that his claims (especially his statistics) can stand to be a little more refined. I think people should watch this debate, take what they can -- those bits and pieces that precipitate agreement or hostility -- and just try to figure out why they trigger such reactions.
And just go from there.
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