One of the things that I think Richard Dawkins has wrong is that he writes off all religions as equally irrational. I think it is worthwhile to ask why some religions spread and others don’t. Simply to write them all off as equally irrational misses an important point. It’s a mistake analogous to writing off all forms of non-reproductive sex as equally pointless.<\/p>\n\n
\nThe obvious way to approach this question is to ask why people choose one religious allegiance over another. Note that this is not the same as asking why they choose to believe one thing rather than an alternative. That seems to me a futile question until you know you are comparing like forms of “belief”. One of the huge strengths of religions language is that it enable meanings to be flipped right round while the sacred formulae which hold them remain unchanged. See the use made by Rowan Williams of Jesus’ classically exclusivist text “None comes to the Father but by me,” For centuries this has been understood to mean what it apparently says: that those who do not profess Jesus will go to hell. But the Williams interpretation simply flips it right round: that those who come to God must have known Jesus in some sense. Therefore we can’t tell anything in advance from it about who has come to God.<\/p>\n\n
Belonging is necessary to make sense of belief. Only by belonging in a particular community of believers, who are more or less agreed on the interpretation of the sacred formulae, can your belief be given given particular content. Disagreements about theological belief only make sense within particular communities of believers. This is of course an aspect of a general truth about language. But it is also a particular truth about theology. The function of theological language is not to describe the world. It defines, and calls into existence, social facts.<\/p>\n\n
In other words, we would like to believe that the purpose of religious language is to locate us in the universe. Its actual function is to locate us in the social world; and to say who is and who is not my brother. Since this is a very important question, the answers that people give when they choose or change religious allegiance are worth studying.<\/p>\n\n
Does thinking like this get us anywhere? Does it increase understanding, or is it simply a parlour game? I’m not sure yet that I can prove it increases understanding. But it passes the first, and trivial test of worthwhile theory. It helps to predict the present. It excludes some things, or it ought to.<\/p>\n\n
One nice consequence is that it supplies an explanation for the Calvinism of Scandinavia. Calvinism is a harsh religion in the sense that it makes great demands on its adherents, and requires them to think constantly of the state of their souls, which are in large measure a reflection of their standing in the community. So the Calvinist is required to think often and deeply about his commitment to the group. This is exactly the quality required to flourish in a harsh environment. The tight-knot peasant world of winter communities in Sweden is not very far from the Mormon Wyoming of Barlow’s youth. Anywhere in which your life may depend on your neighbour at any time will be hospitable to Calvinism. Sloppy, inclusive religions by contrast flourish where there is no great social cost to defection.<\/p>\n\n
Modern America, in this, as in other things, is an exception because there is no longer a social cost to defection. It is so easy to reinvent yourself in the eyes of everyone except the credit card companies. None the less, the religion of Republican America continues to preach eternal damnation. You just have to read the small print to notice that it is always eternal damnation for other people: that’s what’s changed since Jonathan Edwards.<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
One of the things that I think Richard Dawkins has wrong is that he writes off all religions as equally irrational. I think it is worthwhile to ask why some religions spread and others don’t. Simply to write them all … Continue reading