RELIGION FOR ATHEISTS
I read an interesting book lately, called Religion for Atheists, by Alain de Botton. It poses the question: What if religions are neither all true nor all nonsense? The author states: "... rather than mocking religion, agnostics and atheists should instead steal from it, because the world’s religions are packed with good ideas on how we might live and arrange our societies." This made me reflect on my own experience with organized religion, the Roman Catholic faith, and on how I’ve managed to piece together my own philosophy of life from science, experience and observation.
According to the dictionary, an agnostic is "a person who believes that nothing is known, or can be known, of the existence or nature of God, or of anything beyond material phenomena." An apostate is "a person who renounces a former belief", meaning a person who has abandoned the Catholic faith in favour of another, or who has abandoned organized religion altogether. An atheist is "a person who does not believe in the existence of God or gods."
De Botton’s book begins with the following paragraphs:
"The most boring and unproductive question one can ask of any religion is whether or not it is true — in terms of being handed down from heaven to the sound of trumpets and supernaturally governed by prophets and celestial beings.
To save time, and at the risk of losing readers painfully early on in this project, let us bluntly state that of course no religions are true in any God-given sense. This is a book for people who are unable to believe in miracles, spirits or tales of burning shrubbery, and have no deep interests in the exploits of unusual men and women like the thirteenth-century saint Agnes of Montepulciano, who was said to be able to levitate two feet off the ground while praying and to bring children back from the dead - and who, at the end of her life (supposedly), ascended to heaven from southern Tuscany on the back of an angel."
So, where does that leave me? Well, I’m not an apostate, since I still attend Mass from time to time but, I admit, not always for the right reasons. I attend more out of a sense of community and tradition than a spiritual need. I find churches to be peaceful, beautiful and enriching places, I enjoy the ritualism of the ceremony itself, and I enjoy a good sermon.
As for the Catholic Church, I still have the same problems I had as a child over its rules and teachings. For example, I don’t agree with the Church’s ban on contraception, its position on homosexuality, not allowing women to be ordained to the priesthood, and not allowing priests to marry. Just as importantly, I don’t, and never have, accepted the Church’s position on sin. I refuse to accept that I must feel guilty most of the time, and that the only way to relieve myself of guilt is through confession to a priest. I’m far from perfect, but I choose to deal with my failings in my own way, and to strive to better myself through my own efforts. I don’t believe a priest can absolve me of wrongdoing.
The Church’s recent trials and tribulations do not surprise me in the least. They’re just another reminder that we’re all human, and that none of us has the right to feel superior to another, regardless of how pious and upright we may appear to be.
That I’m not a fully practicing Catholic cannot be blamed on my upbringing. My mother certainly tried to set me on the right path, but I resisted her attempts from an early age, as I did the attempts of all others who followed. For example, in elementary school, the teacher taught us catechism, a summary of the principles of the Catholic religion in the form of questions and answers. Fortunately, I was smart enough to remember the right answers to the questions but, from the very start, I questioned them. Being asked to demonstrate my new-found knowledge by a priest who didn’t understand French didn’t help to strengthen my faith in the whole system.
When I arrived at École régionale Évangéline at the tender age of 11, I was placed under the guidance of the nuns. They had their own idea of how a young, apparently bright child like me should behave. Again I resisted, and things did not go well for me. I subjected myself reluctantly to their control over everything we did, just to get through high school and relieve my mother of that burden.
One time, in Grade 11, we were asked to pick a topic for a class presentation. For some reason, I ended up with the last pick, and the only topic left was La théorie des singes, essentially, Darwin’s Theory of Evolution. Secretly, I hoped that no one else would choose the topic, because it was the one I knew the most about. When my turn came, I stood up and explained how science shows that species, including our own, have changed over time, and that this does not necessarily contradict the Bible story of creation. After all, who among us could know what God considers to be a day? Six days to God may be fourteen billion years! My classmates looked at me like I had three heads!
In my first year of university, I was finally exposed to professors who were able to relieve me of the burden of my earlier, almost fraudulent, teachings, and I’ve been a more complete person since then.
I’m neither an agnostic nor an atheist. There is something in me that wants to believe that some higher being was present at the time of the big bang, some fourteen billion years ago when the universe began. In other words, I’d like to believe that something beyond material phenomena is present in the universe.
In order to better understand this, I’ve read extensively on cosmology, including Stephen Hawking’s A Brief History of Time. Cosmology is the academic discipline that seeks to understand the origin, evolution, structure, and ultimate fate of the universe, as well as the natural laws that keep it in order. Modern cosmology is dominated by the big bang theory, which brings together the disciplines of observational astronomy and particle physics.
As for the afterlife, I’m reminded that we’re the only species on Earth that believes there’s some purpose to our existence other than the imperative of passing on copies of our genes to as many descendants as possible. In other words, we’re the only species that dares to believe in life after death, perhaps because we have the capacity to do so.
The Catholic Church is especially big on the afterlife, as the following example will demonstrate. In former times, the Church encouraged the faithful to buy ‘indulgences’. One indulgence purchased from the Church was equal to one day less in purgatory. ‘Purgatory’, according to the Church, is the place between heaven and hell where one’s spirit resides temporarily, while awaiting forgiveness for venial sins. When I was a kid, people still believed this stuff. What a crock! Is it any wonder I have a problem reconciling scientific knowledge and religious teaching?
Do I believe my spirit will survive my body? Nobody knows the answer to that question. But, if it does, I’m not sure I’d want it to end up in heaven. Many of the people I know who think they’re going to heaven are dull and uptight. Theirs is a black-and-white world, dominated by rules, obligations, judgement of others, and unfathomable beliefs. I’ve always lived in the grey world, preferring to figure things out for myself. So, since purgatory is not an option, perhaps hell would be better. The souls residing there would, I’m sure, be far more interesting to spend time with!
