
God's Still DeadMark Lilla doesn't give us enough credit for shaking off the divine.
Posted Monday, Aug. 20, 2007, at 11:06 AM ET
Those of us in the fast-growing atheist community who have long suspected that there is a change in the zeitgeist concerning "faith" can take some encouragement from the decision of the New York Times Magazine to feature professor Mark Lilla on the cover of the Aug. 19 edition. But we also, on reading the extremely lucid extract from his new book, The Stillborn God: Religion, Politics, and the Modern West, are expected to take some harsh punishment. Briefly stated, the Lilla thesis is as follows:
- The notion of a "separation" of church and state comes from a unique historical contingency of desperate and destructive warfare between discrepant Christian sects, which led Thomas Hobbes to propose a historical compromise in the pages of his 17th-century masterpiece, Leviathan. There is no general reason why Hobbes' proposal will work at all times or in all places.
- Human beings are pattern-seeking animals who will prefer even a bad theory or a conspiracy theory to no theory at all, and they are thus (in an excellent term derived by Lilla from Jean-Jacques Rousseau) by nature "theotropic," or inclined toward religion.
- That instinct being stronger than any discrete historical moment, it is idle to imagine that mere scientific or material progress will abolish the worshipping impulse.
- Liberalism is especially implicated in this problem, because the desire for a better world very often takes a religious form, and thus it is wishful to identify "belief" with the old forces of reaction, because it will also underpin utopian or messianic or other social-engineering fantasies.
Taken separately, all these points are valid in and of themselves. Examined more closely, they do not cohere as well as all that. In the first place, it is not correct to say that modernism relied on a conviction about the steady disappearance of religious belief. Karl Marx and Sigmund Freud, to take two very salient examples, looked upon religion as virtually ineradicable—the former precisely because he did identify it with secular yearnings that would be hard to satisfy, and the latter because he thought it originated in our oldest mistake, which was (and is) wishful thinking.
In the second place, it is interesting to find Lilla conceding—though not in so many words—that religion is closely related to the totalitarian. As he phrases it when writing about Orthodox Jewish and Islamic law (and as was no less the case for Christianity in its pre-Hobbesian heyday), divine or revealed teaching is "meant to cover the whole of life, not some arbitrarily demarcated private sphere, and its legal system has few theological resources for establishing the independence of politics from detailed divine commands." How true. Now, there is one thing one can say with relative certainty about the totalitarian principle, which is that it has been repeatedly tried and has repeatedly failed. Try and run a society out of the teachings of one holy book, and you will end with every kind of ignominy and collapse. There is no reason at all to confine this grim lesson to the Christians who were butchering each other between the Thirty Years' War and the English Civil War; even the Jews who established the state of Israel and the Muslims who set up Pakistan understood the importance of some considerable secular latitude (as did the Hindus who were the majority in independent India). In other words, while it may be innate in people to be "theotropic," it is also quite easy for them to understand that religion is a very potent and dangerous toxin. Never mind for now what Islamist fundamentalism might want to do to us; take a look at what it did to the Muslims of Afghanistan.
So, when Lilla says that the American experiment (in confessional pluralism and constitutional secularism) is "utterly exceptional," he forgets that there had to be many dress rehearsals for this and that only a uniquely favorable opportunity was the really "exceptional" condition. Men like Thomas Jefferson and Thomas Paine had been eagerly studying the secular and agnostic and atheist thinkers of the past and present, from Democritus to Hume, and hoping only for a chance to put their principles into action. There are many minds in today's Muslim world who have, by equally scrupulous and hazardous inquiry, come to the same conclusion. It is repression as much as circumambient culture that prevents the expression of the idea (as it did for many, many, Christian and Western centuries).
Lilla's most brilliant point concerns the awful pitfalls of what he does not call "liberation theology." Leaving this stupid and oxymoronic term to one side, and calling it by its true name of "liberal theology" instead, he reminds us that the eager reformist Jews and Protestants of 19th-century Germany mutated into the cheerleaders of Kaiser Wilhelm's Reich, which they identified—as had Max Weber—with history incarnate. Lilla might have added, for an ecumenical touch, that Kaiser Wilhelm, in launching the calamitous World War I, was also the ally and patron of the great jihad proclaimed by his Ottoman Turkish subordinates. So, could we hear a little less from the apologists of religion about how "secular" regimes can be just as bad as theocratic ones? Of course they can—if they indulge in acts of faith and see themselves as possessing supernatural authority.
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Remarks from the Fray:
If we go back to the seventeenth century, we see the debate about human nature and divine law goes a little deeper than just shock and revulsion at the devastation wrought by 30 years of theo-military conflict. Besides Hobbes we have figures like Pufendorf and Grotius trying to work out a unified theory of state power; indeed, it was here that the need to justify the nation-state as an historical entity and all the corresponding political "pattern-making," in the form of natural law theory, originated. More than war, it was the rise of scientific thinking, entailing the ability not merely to reflect (upon) nature's sublime unity-in-diversity, but to manipulate it, to make it an instrument of human agency, which provided the crucial shove in the direction of a new attitude toward social power. Scientific thinking created the idea that man could be the master of his own fate, without reference to divine guidance. Hence the Faust myth, indicative of the extent to which the laboratory was wrapped up in an aura of magical potency.
Human agency is the impossible idea here, either a salve or a cruel illusion to beings seeking to "liberate" themselves from any hierarchical, "slavish" chain of blind obedience. Scientists, and both Marx and Freud considered themselves to be such an exalted type of thinker, look to nature to discover patterns, rather than to the heavens to find them revealed. But that doesn't mean that a natural pattern, once located, is any more fungible, that one is any less constrained to follow the rules derived from such patterns.
What kind of liberalism, then, would English atheism have us observe, as to our political "practices"? Hitchens' own practice seems to consist merely in raising up an indignant hand and uttering a stately "no" to whatever seems most oppressive to his own instinctive intellectual habits -- fundamentalism, totalitarianism, "theotropism." Merely negating one principle, however, does not obviate the need, indeed, the inevitability of another arising to take its place. He's enough of a dialectician to have realized that.
Science has done far more to shape the modern world than religion. Foucault, among others, tried to describe myriad ways in which "reason" has come to exert a behavioral control as thorough as anything pettifogging clericalism ever did. If "liberation" is your goal, one could almost hope to be confronted with the heavy hand of totalitarian, or at least authoritarian oppression. Then at least one knows right off what one has to say no to, where the path of rebellion lies.
Hitchens' career, and especially his recent success as Scourge of Fundie Terror, indicates a felt need to keep re-discovering and then building up the meance of a return to a pre-modern, purely religious social hierarchy. What results, paradoxically, is a remarkably complacent world view. As long as the idea of religion is out there, to counterbalance and "frame" the reality of secular modern culture, we can take comfort in the notion that we are "resisting" it by "acting a negative," by simple declarations of unbelief. It's an attitude one might therefore call "pietistic."
But it has little to do with the underlying intellectual and economic drives of modern life. Modernity, founded on scientific thought, which is absolute (even, yes, "totalitarian") in its demand that analytical thought capture and process nature's embedded data for the purpose of creating ever more powerful human-directed social "patterns," this modernity is too active, activist, busy, aggressive to be bothered with any merely moral reflection on the blessed absence of the Divine. Perhaps this goes some way to explain how it's possible for Hitchens to feel like a rebel even asmenace he espouses a politics which reaches for cultural inspiration back to an attitude of the most intensely passive reaction.
--MarkEHaag
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Liberal theology and liberation theology are two different understandings with distinct histories and views.
Liberal theology did, indeed, grow out of the late 19th and early 20th centuries and was the purview of European white males. Influenced by Darwin's theory of evolution, liberal theologians believed that humankind was continually making progress, evolving and advancing in knowledge and in conquering the unknown. Science and technology were understood by liberal theologians as the means of God toward a world where industrialization and mechanization would produce an easier life for all. Government existed to foster this progress.
Liberal theology was in many ways shattered by the first and second World Wars, in the face of which few could believe that humankind was making progress. Fragments of this turn-of-the-last-century worldview still remain, and I would suggest that atheist free-thinkers are at least cousins to the liberal theologians.
Liberation theology grew from the indigenous populations of Latin America formed into base communities who, through their study of the Bible, were formed by the Exodus story of Moses freeing the slaves from Egypt. From this, liberation theologians believe that God has a preferential option for the poor. Even in the New Testament true religion is defined as the way one treats the least, the last, the lost, and more specifically, the widows and the orphans. From this belief, communities formed by liberation theology exist to "comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable". Liberation theology is found also among African Americans, Koreans, Feminists and other groups drawn to the challenge that the worldview offers to the status quo. The Roman Catholic Church has actively sought to quash these base communities because as they sought to challenge the powers-that-be they often became tied to rebel groups influenced by Communism
--ghiarev
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