Religion & Morality
A Contradiction Explained

French Sociologist Émile Durkheim observed that religion was the root of science. Religion, he said, was the first human attempt to systematically explain the world. Durkheim thought that religious rationality would wither away in modern times (for him, the early twentieth century) because scientific rationality would replace it, by virtue of its superior explanatory power. Alas, he seems to have gotten this one wrong.

But Durkheim was right about the genealogy of thought. Modern religion is an elaboration of a belief in magic. In the absence of a scientific explanation of events and institutions, faith in magical powers, fetishization of nature, and overinterpretation of random variation are inevitable. Durkheim expected religion to fall out of fashion as the outright belief in magic had, for the same reason. For anyone with the least education, the superior power of scientific thinking is obvious. Only a willful ignorance could lead to any other conclusion.

This is where we find ourselves. We live in a world that wants the fruits of scientific labor, but refuses the mental discipline of scientific rationality. Just like children, we want to have our cake and to eat it too.

I Am Alone, by T. Shortell. 2003.
I Am Alone, by T. Shortell. 2003.

Religions have persisted, despite their inability to explain the modern world. Here, in fact, we have a stunning reversal: religions play up the "essential mystery" of modern life. Since the world is too complex to understand all at once, in its entirety—even for the scientist—all of us will sometimes shake our heads in wonder at the turn of events in which we find ourselves. Many will find this uncertainty anxiety-provoking, and will look around for a convenient escape.

As social organizations, religions have a dramatic power that hides their essential irrationality. They persist today because they are so effective at constructing group identities and at setting up conflict between the in- and out-groups. For all religions, there is an "us" and a "them." All the ritual and the fellowship associated with religious practice is just a means of continually emphasizing group boundaries and hostility. It is no accident that the history of world religions is a history of violence, hatred and intolerance. The in-group has exclusive access to the truth, so the out-group need not—indeed, should not—be listened to; they can only deceive. And, being liars, and thus, evil, they forfeit their rights as equal members of the community. This is the poisonous logic of religious irrationality.

All modern religions are ideological: they insist on a total, though contradictory, system of beliefs and evaluations. Complete acceptance is the only way to escape the uncertainty of modernity. For this reason, religion without fanaticism is impossible. Anyone whose mind is trapped inside such a mental prison will be susceptible to extreme forms of behavior. All religions foment their own kind of holy war.

The reader might point out that some believers are more bland and mild than fire and brimstone. Those whose devotion is moderate are, perhaps, only cowardly fanatics. They want the fellowship and the security but ignore the logic of the system to which they grudgingly adhere. They may be more numerous than the overt fanatics, but they will always have less influence. This is simply the operation of the rule of the lowest common denominator; in response to uncertainty, the exaggerated sense of confidence of the zealot will win over the crowd. If you doubt that this is true, consider modern politics. The same dynamic applies. This is why our political system has given birth to the "war on drugs" and "family values."

Things Happen For A Reason, by T. Shortell
Things Happen For A Reason, by T. Shortell. 2001.

Faith is by definition not rational—that is, it is belief in the absence of verification. (If you do not think this is a fair definition of faith, look it up. I got this from the Merriam-Webster online dictionary, item 2b.) If every assertion were subject to question, the faithful would have to admit that they hold their beliefs without rational basis. If the public sphere were to promote the free contest of ideas, religious belief would wither under the scrutiny of scientific rationality, just as Durkheim expected. As with nationalism, faith is secured by appeals to emotion, not critical thinking. Emotion in crowds tends toward panic or violence. (Remember the rule of the lowest common denominator.)

In order to be protected from the harsh light of rational argument, the faithful want to make religion a taboo subject. Orthodoxy is supposed to be beyond question. Just like in totalitarian states, where criticism of the government is a capital offense, the faithful would like to enforce an intellectual gag-order so that the barbarity of their regime goes unchallenged.

In every religious tradition, there is an orthodoxy with an elite (priests, ministers, rabbis, mullahs, etc.) to enforce it, and considerable effort is made to suppress dissent. Where religion is still powerful enough to influence politics—in places such as the U.S., Iran, Israel, for example—religious leaders seek to extend the reach of orthodoxy to the public sphere. We live at a time, alas, when more and more people are demanding that unpopular ideas be suppressed. Speaking freely is now an invitation to serious trouble.

Part of the Divine Plan?, by T. Shortell. 2002.
Part Of The Divine Plan?, by T. Shortell. 2002.

It is no wonder, then, that those who are religious are incapable of moral action, just as children are. To be moral requires that one accept full responsibility for oneself. In order to act in the world as an adult, one must be able to recognize that the world is structured and the situatedness of all individual action. The choices that present themselves in the course of day-to-day living are influenced by social forces over which we have no control. Moreover, there is an element of randomness in the flow of events that prevents any of us from being able to predict fully what will happen next. Morality is a basis for making choices, in the context of a probabilistic world, embedded in a particular political economy.

Faith, like superstition, prevents moral action. Those who fail to understand how the world works—who, in place of an understanding of the interaction between self and milieu, see only the saved and the damned, demons and angels, miracles and curses—will be incapable of informed choice. They will be unable to take responsibility for their actions because they lack intellectual and emotional maturity.

This is why Friedrich Nietzsche hated religion so much. Nietzsche despised weakness. He did not think of weakness primarily in terms of physical strength. Rather, he was referring to quality of character. In this regard, it is hard to imagine that anyone could disagree. Who would argue in favor of the virtue of bad character?

Well, we know who: priests, cops and psychiatrists. We must be weak in order to be controlled. Like it or not, religion is one of the most effective institutions of social control. Though organized religions are sometimes at odds with governments, in a larger sense, the faithful are merely foot soldiers of the Spectacle. (This is Guy Debord's term to describe the form of modern consumer capitalism. It is an apparatus that encompasses capital and all superstructural institutions, such as religion and the media. In the Spectacle, we exist only as consumers. We are marketed products—consumables or ideas—based on our identities; to the Spectacle, we are nothing more than demographic targets.)

As foot soldiers, their job is to instigate widespread fear. This is why they see sin everywhere. Sin will bring punishment. An angry god is an effective rhetorical tool. Why fear? Because fear prevents us from being open to the varieties of beauty and pleasure around us. When we are afraid, we seek comfort in warm, enclosed spaces—literally and figuratively. The fear mongers hope to send us scurrying towards the safety of their prison. The strategy works, too. We can now understand why so many people turn to religion or shopping as a refuge from complexity. Both function, albeit by different rituals and with different ideologies, to create the illusion of security. Like shoppers, believers are protected from the ugly truths of the real world.

They're Coming For Me, by T. Shortell
They're Coming For Me, by T. Shortell. 2002.

The cost, of course, is the opportunity to explore what the world has to offer. Children must do what they are told. So, too, the faithful. At least children know that the power exercised over them keeps them from enjoying themselves. Those who surrender responsibility for their own moral action lack even that insight; to them, slavery is freedom.

Oh, dear reader, I know the argument: choosing to be servile is not the same as being forced to be servile, therefore, religious faith really is liberating. This is utter nonsense. Rationalists see this example of mental gymnastics for what it is, self-delusion.

In contrast to the believer is the artist. (I am referring here, of course, to ideal types, in the manner of the great German social scientist, Max Weber.) The artist is an exemplar of courage. Creativity requires a boldness and fortitude that can be fruitfully applied to everyday living. The artist must have a scientific rationality—in the sense of using experimentation to discover—otherwise, his work will be insipid or trite. This rationality brings one, also, to a new manner of living in the moment. It engenders a skepticism that reduces the shrill hysteria of these henchmen of the Spectacle to background hiss. Thus, one can concentrate on the humanizing qualities of beauty and pleasure. In this way, true morality is possible.

The artist as an ideal type has two meanings, and it is important to distinguish between them. The first refers to a kind of person who produces art—that is, paints a painting, writes a poem, composes a musical piece, and so forth. This is the artist as a technician, someone who is skilled in technê, or craft of artistic design. When I refer to the artist, this is not the meaning I have in mind.

Rather, I am thinking of the second sense of the type. The artist is an aesthete. Whereas technê is a set of skills that may be acquired through practice, aesthetic awareness must be cultivated by a difficult discipline. It requires a certain habit of mind that is quite different from ordinary awareness. It is a sensitivity to the subtleties of beauty and sensual pleasure. It is a familiarity with the positive and negative aspects of stimulation, and an appreciation of the necessity of both forms. Whereas the artist as craftsman might produce a religious object of devotion, the artist as aesthete is diametrically opposed to the believer.

The artist as aesthete is fundamentally open to the full range of experiences of humanity. All religious traditions are basically anti-pleasure, which is why religious law is so obsessed with sexuality. You can't be fully human if you are unrelentingly hostile to pleasure. The aesthete is defined by openness to the sensual world just as the believer is defined by a closedness to it. Lacking the proper appreciation for humanity, believers can be motivated to commit unspeakable acts. (A mob of believers is common enough in contemporary society; we see such mobs in the news regularly. A mob of aesthetes is impossible.) This closedness to pleasure is a necessary condition for the kind of suffering that makes a young person susceptible to irrational persuasion. Those who, at their core, resent beauty and pleasure will be only too willing to engage in hatred and violence.

On a personal level, religiosity is merely annoying—like pop music or reality television. This immaturity represents a significant social problem, however, because religious adherents fail to recognize their limitations. So, in the name of their faith, these moral retards are running around pointing fingers and doing real harm to others. One only has to read the newspaper to see the results of their handiwork. They discriminate, exclude and belittle. They make a virtue of closed-mindedness and virulent ignorance. They are an ugly, violent lot.

Here again, the temperate reader might sound a note of caution. "They are not all like that," he might say. No, they are not all like that. But that is not the point. Not all racists engage in lynching, either. It only takes a few. Soon enough, you have a mob and someone ends up dead. (Remember the rule of the lowest common denominator.)

Christians, in particular, like to think that religious violence is a problem restricted to other faiths. This is, in part, because the bloodiest days of Christianity, it would seem, are in the past. Most believers conveniently forget just how much blood is on their hands, historically speaking. Don't be fooled by such amnesia. In the heart of every Christian is a tiny voice preaching self-righteousness, paranoia and hatred; the voice is louder inside the heads of the fundamentalists, of course, but it is there in the others' heads too. For theirs is a vengeful god. Those who believe that they are acting out "the divine plan" are the most dangerous sort in the contemporary world. Make no mistake.

The Problem of Anxiety, by T. Shortell. 2001.
The Problem of Anxiety, by T. Shortell. 2001.

It is curious, isn't it, how many believers are ignorant of the history of their own religion? Most know only the stories told in their scriptures, as if that substituted for genuine history. Some may even attempt to be balanced by acknowledging vague acts of wrong-doing in the distant past—so vague and distant as to be disconnected from the present. (I am reminded of George Carlin, playing the role of the Cardinal in Dogma: "Mistakes were made." Always use the passive voice to avoid responsibility!) This sloppy recollection is a clear sign that critical thinking has been banished. As a result, the blood is still flowing. Christians attack gays and lesbians because "homosexuality is a sin." Christians kill health care providers because "abortion is a sin." Lots of forms of lesser violence, too, such as child molestation. And so on.

Can there be any doubt that humanity would be better off without religion? Everyone who appreciates the good, the true and the beautiful has a duty to challenge this social poison at every opportunity. It is not enough to be irreligious; we must use our critique to expose religion for what it is: sanctimonious nonsense.

This is not a duty that we should take lightly. It will be increasingly dangerous in a society defined by fear. Those who call our attention to inconvenient facts, as we do, will be subject to special opprobrium. There will be hate-filled letters. (I've received my share.) There will be violence, too. Somewhere there is a young fanatic who thinks killing you will be his ticket to heaven.

We must not shrink from the task. It won't be easy; shifting the momentum of history never is. In a sense, ours is a fool's errand, but it is not folly. We may not actually hasten the demise of religion—that would be too much to hope for—but we can slow down the slide to the bottom. Within the Spectacle, there are only momentary spaces of freedom. This is what we fight for. Our work exposing the contradiction between religion and morality will, perhaps, preserve temporarily the freedom to think.