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Yahoo
27-02-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
The Wrong Way to Convert a Nonbeliever
I'm a hard target for Ross Douthat's evangelism. When I got a copy of his new book, Believe: Why Everyone Should Be Religious, I felt an impulse to answer, Nope: Why You Should Leave Everyone Alone. I come from a family of atheists and am a lifelong nonbeliever. At difficult times I've tried very hard to cross the river into the kingdom of faith—read the Jewish Bible and the New Testament, attended church and temple services, immersed myself in Kierkegaard, and stared at the sky for a flicker of divinity. None of it made any difference. The universe remains random, empty, cold. We're alone in the dark, nothing means anything until we give it meaning, and death is the end. These are comfortless facts, but I've come to accept and even, at times, embrace them, with no desire to disenchant anyone else. Douthat came to religion through his parents' New England Protestantism, which took a turn during his childhood from the mainline to the charismatic. His own systematic thinking and interest in the workings of worldly power led him to become a conservative Catholic. When The New York Times hired him as a columnist, he asked me for advice, which in itself showed his open-mindedness. I suggested that, as a precocious Harvard-educated blogger for this magazine, he should make sure now and then to get out of the world of precocious bloggers and talk with people unlike him—to report on the rest of the country. Douthat didn't follow my advice, and he was probably right not to. His own mind, nourished by innate curiosity and wide reading, has become the most interesting site in the landscape of Times opinion. I read him, with admiration and annoyance, religiously. But Believe suffers from the limitations of Douthat's brilliance. He has absorbed a good deal of recent literature on cosmology, physics, neuroscience, and supernaturalism, and he devotes most of the book to arguing that scientific knowledge makes the existence of God more rather than less likely. Douthat is speaking to the well-educated contemporary reader who requires a rational case for religion, and among his key words are reasonable, sensible, and empirical. Belief, in Believe, isn't a leap of faith marked by paradox, contradiction, or wild surmise; it's a matter of mastering the research and figuring the odds. If brain chemistry hasn't located the exact site of consciousness, that doesn't suggest the extent of what human beings know—it's evidence for the existence of the soul. Douthat guides the reader through the science toward God with a gentle but insistent intellectualism that leaves this nonbeliever wanting less reason and more inspiration. I can't follow him into his Middle Earth kingdom of angels, demons, and elves just because a book he's read shows that a universe in which life is possible has a one in 10-to-the-120th-power chance of being random. We don't fall in love because someone has made a plausible case for being great together. Some mysteries neither reason nor religion can explain. [Read: Why did this progressive evangelical church fall apart?] The rational, speculative approach of Believe comes to an end in its last pages, when the authoritarianism that underlies Douthat's, and perhaps all, religion, suddenly shows its face. He adopts a darker tone as he asks what you will do if you've guessed wrong—if God turns out to exist and is waiting on the other side to punish you for failing to get the point of Douthat's book. 'What account will you give of yourself if the believers turn out to have been right all along?' he demands—and then goes on to portray nonbelievers as shallow, mentally lazy, and status-obsessed, too concerned with sounding clever at a dinner party to see the obvious Truth: That you took pointlessness for granted in a world shot through with signs of meaning and design? That you defaulted to unbelief because that seemed like the price of being intellectually serious or culturally respectable? That you were too busy to be curious, too consumed with things you knew to be passing to cast a prayer up to whatever eternity awaits? This move—a dubious assumption that imputes unflattering qualities to the opposition and stacks the deck in Douthat's favor—is familiar from some of his columns, and it brings Believe closer to his political journalism. Throughout the book Douthat the divine has a reflexive habit of belittling nonbelief in the same way that Douthat the columnist disparages liberalism. He repeatedly sneers at 'Official Knowledge,' the capital letters suggesting that scientific materialism is some sort of conspiracy of the legacy media and the deep state. He accuses atheists of taking the easy way out, of claiming to be serious grown-ups when their worldview is irresponsible and childish: 'It is the religious perspective that asks you to bear the full weight of being human.' But even in Douthat's own account, religion is driven by hedonistic self-interest, for it promises an escape from the suffering of this world, and it conditions the offer on a desire to avoid pain in the next. The humanist view that we have only one another in an instant of eternity—that this life, with all its heartache, is all we're given—raises the stakes of love and imposes sacrifice beyond anything imaginable to a believer in the afterlife. Believe appears at a moment when nonbelief seems to be running out of gas. Douthat's purpose is to hasten the process. 'Already the time of the new atheism is passing,' he writes; 'already mystery and magic and enchantment seem to be rushing back into the world.' He has been predicting this for some time, and he is almost certainly right. Large numbers of people throughout the West feel that liberal society and the bureaucratic state are failing—not just to provide practical benefits but to offer meaning and community. Secular liberalism is not the same as atheism, but disillusionment with the former seems to be driving modern people into a new period of anti-rationalism and mysticism, with a growing distrust of established science, a leveling off of the percentage of nonbelieving Americans, and a trend toward public figures making high-profile conversions—to Christianity, in the case of Ayaan Hirsi Ali, the atheist refugee from repressive Islam; to Catholicism, in the case of J. D. Vance and others. Christopher Hitchens is dead and UFO sightings are on the rise. [Read: Evangelicals made a bad trade] President Donald Trump himself, whose first 78 years were nearly unmarked by signs of faith, has sworn a newfound religiosity since his near assassination. God saved him to make America great again, he has said several times, so 'let's bring religion back.' Days before Believe was published, Trump announced the creation of a Justice Department task force to root out anti-Christian bias, as well as a White House Faith Office, led by Paula White-Cain, Trump's religious adviser, who has said that opposing him means opposing God. (This kind of theocratic edict has turned a generation of young Iranians against religion.) The president's more ardent followers regard him as a kind of mythic figure, above history and politics, leading by spiritual power that connects him directly to the people. By this light, faith is inseparable from authoritarianism. Believe is not a political book, but it would be naive to imagine that Douthat's evangelism has no political implications. He acknowledges that the book could be 'a work of Christian apologetics in disguise,' and his invitation to religion in general leads predictably to a case for Christianity in particular, preferably of the conservative-Catholic variety. In his columns he draws no bright line between religion and politics: Contemporary America is decadent, liberalism has famished our souls, and any renewal depends on faith—not New Ageism, not progressive Protestantism, but religion of a traditional, illiberal cast. Douthat has carried on a years-long flirtation with MAGA, endorsing many of its policies while hedging his personal dislike of Trump against his antipathy toward the opposition. (He refused to disclose his choice in the most recent election, which seems like a misdemeanor for a political columnist.) Douthat hasn't gone as far as the head of the new White House Faith Office, but when he calls Trump a 'man of destiny,' it isn't easy to extricate his metaphysical leanings from his partisan ones. Douthat wants you to abandon secular liberalism and become a believer at a moment when democracy is under assault from a phalanx of right-wing ideas, some of them religious. That is not a reason to believe or not to believe, for belief needs no reason. But it should make you pause and think before following Douthat on the path to his promised land. Article originally published at The Atlantic
Atlantic
27-02-2025
- Politics
- Atlantic
The Wrong Way to Convert a Nonbeliever
I'm a hard target for Ross Douthat's evangelism. When I got a copy of his new book, Believe: Why Everyone Should Be Religious, I felt an impulse to answer, Nope: Why You Should Leave Everyone Alone. I come from a family of atheists and am a lifelong nonbeliever. At difficult times I've tried very hard to cross the river into the kingdom of faith—read the Jewish Bible and the New Testament, attended church and temple services, immersed myself in Kierkegaard, and stared at the sky for a flicker of divinity. None of it made any difference. The universe remains random, empty, cold. We're alone in the dark, nothing means anything until we give it meaning, and death is the end. These are comfortless facts, but I've come to accept and even, at times, embrace them, with no desire to disenchant anyone else. Douthat came to religion through his parents' New England Protestantism, which took a turn during his childhood from the mainline to the charismatic. His own systematic thinking and interest in the workings of worldly power led him to become a conservative Catholic. When The New York Times hired him as a columnist, he asked me for advice, which in itself showed his open-mindedness. I suggested that, as a precocious Harvard-educated blogger for this magazine, he should make sure now and then to get out of the world of precocious bloggers and talk with people unlike him—to report on the rest of the country. Douthat didn't follow my advice, and he was probably right not to. His own mind, nourished by innate curiosity and wide reading, has become the most interesting site in the landscape of Times opinion. I read him, with admiration and annoyance, religiously. But Believe suffers from the limitations of Douthat's brilliance. He has absorbed a good deal of recent literature on cosmology, physics, neuroscience, and supernaturalism, and he devotes most of the book to arguing that scientific knowledge makes the existence of God more rather than less likely. Douthat is speaking to the well-educated contemporary reader who requires a rational case for religion, and among his key words are reasonable, sensible, and empirical. Belief, in Believe, isn't a leap of faith marked by paradox, contradiction, or wild surmise; it's a matter of mastering the research and figuring the odds. If brain chemistry hasn't located the exact site of consciousness, that doesn't suggest the extent of what human beings know—it's evidence for the existence of the soul. Douthat guides the reader through the science toward God with a gentle but insistent intellectualism that leaves this nonbeliever wanting less reason and more inspiration. I can't follow him into his Middle Earth kingdom of angels, demons, and elves just because a book he's read shows that a universe in which life is possible has a one in 10-to-the-120th-power chance of being random. We don't fall in love because someone has made a plausible case for being great together. Some mysteries neither reason nor religion can explain. The rational, speculative approach of Believe comes to an end in its last pages, when the authoritarianism that underlies Douthat's, and perhaps all, religion, suddenly shows its face. He adopts a darker tone as he asks what you will do if you've guessed wrong—if God turns out to exist and is waiting on the other side to punish you for failing to get the point of Douthat's book. 'What account will you give of yourself if the believers turn out to have been right all along?' he demands—and then goes on to portray nonbelievers as shallow, mentally lazy, and status-obsessed, too concerned with sounding clever at a dinner party to see the obvious Truth: That you took pointlessness for granted in a world shot through with signs of meaning and design? That you defaulted to unbelief because that seemed like the price of being intellectually serious or culturally respectable? That you were too busy to be curious, too consumed with things you knew to be passing to cast a prayer up to whatever eternity awaits? This move—a dubious assumption that imputes unflattering qualities to the opposition and stacks the deck in Douthat's favor—is familiar from some of his columns, and it brings Believe closer to his political journalism. Throughout the book Douthat the divine has a reflexive habit of belittling nonbelief in the same way that Douthat the columnist disparages liberalism. He repeatedly sneers at 'Official Knowledge,' the capital letters suggesting that scientific materialism is some sort of conspiracy of the legacy media and the deep state. He accuses atheists of taking the easy way out, of claiming to be serious grown-ups when their worldview is irresponsible and childish: 'It is the religious perspective that asks you to bear the full weight of being human.' But even in Douthat's own account, religion is driven by hedonistic self-interest, for it promises an escape from the suffering of this world, and it conditions the offer on a desire to avoid pain in the next. The humanist view that we have only one another in an instant of eternity—that this life, with all its heartache, is all we're given—raises the stakes of love and imposes sacrifice beyond anything imaginable to a believer in the afterlife. Believe appears at a moment when nonbelief seems to be running out of gas. Douthat's purpose is to hasten the process. 'Already the time of the new atheism is passing,' he writes; 'already mystery and magic and enchantment seem to be rushing back into the world.' He has been predicting this for some time, and he is almost certainly right. Large numbers of people throughout the West feel that liberal society and the bureaucratic state are failing—not just to provide practical benefits but to offer meaning and community. Secular liberalism is not the same as atheism, but disillusionment with the former seems to be driving modern people into a new period of anti-rationalism and mysticism, with a growing distrust of established science, a leveling off of the percentage of nonbelieving Americans, and a trend toward public figures making high-profile conversions—to Christianity, in the case of Ayaan Hirsi Ali, the atheist refugee from repressive Islam; to Catholicism, in the case of J. D. Vance and others. Christopher Hitchens is dead and UFO sightings are on the rise. President Donald Trump himself, whose first 78 years were nearly unmarked by signs of faith, has sworn a newfound religiosity since his near assassination. God saved him to make America great again, he has said several times, so 'let's bring religion back.' Days before Believe was published, Trump announced the creation of a Justice Department task force to root out anti-Christian bias, as well as a White House Faith Office, led by Paula White-Cain, Trump's religious adviser, who has said that opposing him means opposing God. (This kind of theocratic edict has turned a generation of young Iranians against religion.) The president's more ardent followers regard him as a kind of mythic figure, above history and politics, leading by spiritual power that connects him directly to the people. By this light, faith is inseparable from authoritarianism. Believe is not a political book, but it would be naive to imagine that Douthat's evangelism has no political implications. He acknowledges that the book could be 'a work of Christian apologetics in disguise,' and his invitation to religion in general leads predictably to a case for Christianity in particular, preferably of the conservative-Catholic variety. In his columns he draws no bright line between religion and politics: Contemporary America is decadent, liberalism has famished our souls, and any renewal depends on faith—not New Ageism, not progressive Protestantism, but religion of a traditional, illiberal cast. Douthat has carried on a years-long flirtation with MAGA, endorsing many of its policies while hedging his personal dislike of Trump against his antipathy toward the opposition. (He refused to disclose his choice in the most recent election, which seems like a misdemeanor for a political columnist.) Douthat hasn't gone as far as the head of the new White House Faith Office, but when he calls Trump a 'man of destiny,' it isn't easy to extricate his metaphysical leanings from his partisan ones. Douthat wants you to abandon secular liberalism and become a believer at a moment when democracy is under assault from a phalanx of right-wing ideas, some of them religious. That is not a reason to believe or not to believe, for belief needs no reason. But it should make you pause and think before following Douthat on the path to his promised land.
Chicago Tribune
26-01-2025
- Politics
- Chicago Tribune
Faith leaders: The religion of America's empire forsakes the whole for the sake of the few
Last week was dominated by brutal cold. It is not only the chilling and dangerous temperatures in Chicago, but also the pervasive cold of fear and callousness that lead the call for mass deportations, for separating families, for making our beloved city 'ground zero' for the 47th president's strategy to deport more than 10 million human beings. This cold is a symptom of a major shift in climate: Some call it the rise of the oligarchy, and others label it autocracy or tyranny. We witness the events of the week through different words — this is what happens when the empire strikes back. No, we are not talking about Darth Vader, Emperor Palpatine or the Sith. Instead, we speak of an important lesson taught by Wes Howard-Brook about society in general, and religious traditions in particular. Wondering how we arrived at such a place where people feed the divisiveness of society based on race, class, religion and other factors, Howard-Brook admits that even in each of our vaunted faith traditions, there are in fact two religions, each pulling in the other direction. Demonstrating how this is as true of the Jewish Bible as it is of the Christian Testaments, he explains that we are torn between the 'religion of creation' and the 'religion of empire.' The religion of creation is about all of creation. This approach to tradition, as defined in Howard-Brook's book 'Come Out My People!' is 'grounded in the experience of an ongoing relationship with the creator,' which leads people to covenantal commitment to all of creation, seeking the benefit and well-being of all people, of the entire earth. The religion of empire, conversely, forsakes the whole for the sake of the few: It is a human invention used to justify and legitimatize attitudes and behaviors that provide blessing and abundance for some at the expense of others. Let us stress Howard-Brook's point about the religion of empire — it focuses on the abundance of some at the expense of others. The expense of others, the separation of society, the punishment of the many for the aggrandizement of the few, is at the heart of the cold we have experienced in Chicago this past week. Whether you call it mass deportations or an immigration agenda, the results of a democratic election or a slide into autocracy, we see a slip into empire. Witness these attempts to advance the abundance of some at the expense of many others: The new administration represents the thinking of empire religion. This is why we wonder how we should respond to Donald Trump's threats, whether they be against immigrants in our city, the reproductive choices of women, the civil rights of the trans community or any new segment of society that becomes the target of the day. The question of how we respond in the Age of Trump is: What should we Chicagoans do in the face of empire? We say: We must respond through creation. We must respond with continuous commitment to living in covenant with all of creation, seeking the benefit of all Americans, of every human being. How do we respond to this dawning age of empire through a commitment to creation? We can start in our innermost circle and radiate outward. Our commitment to creation begins with kindness, demonstrating decency to every person who crosses our path. In an age of stoked fears and provoked hate, affirming the dignity of all people matters more than we might know. Our commitment to creation can radiate outward toward our wider community. The divisive nature of empire seeks to isolate individuals; it creates and feeds on loneliness. Whether in your place of work, community center or house of worship, seeking out other people and building a community of people concerned about the well-being of all will be of primary importance. Those of us dedicated to religions of creation must create circles and cultures constantly in contact with this central core. Lastly, our commitment to creation can expand — even amid the dangers and the justified fears of reprisals — into the world of civic action and politics. The power of organized communities speaking in unison for the rights of the many, for the protections of the few, matters in the face of empire. Shutting our doors and our hearts paves the way for empire. Instead, as the empire strikes back, may we open our hearts and our doors, standing with the rights of the many against the advantage of the few, defending minorities against purported majorities, demonstrating our commitment to all of creation. Last week, as we honored the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., we were reminded how he identified America as a 'sick nation.' And it still is. That is why we cannot afford the luxury of remaining silent, or remaining isolated from each other. Instead, standing together, we can counter that sickness, we can defeat the isolating cold and we can usher in a new era of embracing warmth.
