A Review and Response to Sam Harris’ The End of Faith

(I wrote this review several years ago, and post it now, as it is as timely as ever.)

“You’ve simply got to read the book,” my friend e-mailed me. “It explains so well why we have evolved to the stage where we simply can’t afford religion anymore.”

”I haven’t read The End of Faith yet,” I replied, “though I know that it and other books like The God Delusion [by Richard Dawkins] and God Is Not Great [by Christopher Hitchens] are stirring up a lot of press and passion. I suppose I should. How about we both discuss it?”

I haven’t heard back from my friend yet, but I took him up at his recommendation and read The End of Faith by Sam Harris. If my friend wanted to “save me” or convert me to atheism, his book recommendation failed to do the trick. But I’m glad I read it.

Harris’ argument against any and all organized religion goes roughly like this:

• Religious faith effectively requires mental and intellectual suicide.
• This mental and intellectual suicide is dangerous: do this and you could do or approve of anything else (like flying passenger jets into skyscrapers)
• In a world of nuclear weapons and of economic and technological advances and interconnection, religious extremists with a 14^th Century mentality have access to 21^st Century weapons and their killing scales [nowhere does Harris question these 21^st Century weapons].
• Therefore, the human race, to survive, cannot afford the luxury of any gods, faith or religion.

To Harris, it does no good to object, “But my religious beliefs regulate my own behavior, not yours, and they are all about peace and non-violence.” Harris insists that peaceful and “moderate” religionists are just as guilty as rabid fundamentalists on a bloody jihad, because peaceful and even pacifist believers, by the very act of believing in God, are providing intellectual ammunition and cover for the jihadi and the Crusader. That strikes me a bit like saying that, since my dear, departed, Slovakian grandmother was opposed to the Nazis, she is just as guilty of the fire bombing of Dresden in 1945 as were the Allied Air Forces. I don’t hold atheists like him guilty of the crimes of other atheists like Stalin, Mao Tse Tung and Pol Pot.

Nor is Harris impressed by all the good and virtue that religious people have shown or done over the millenia. Without religious faith, he believes, humanity might have been even more virtuous and have advanced farther and more quickly than it has. And since most people in most cultures have been religious anyway, there was almost no one else around to do anything at all, either good or bad. Finally, Harris asserts, whatever good religion and the religious may have done is vastly outweighed by the evils they have committed, such as the Crusades, the Inquisition, jihads, witch-burnings, pogroms, and child abuse and its cover-ups.

I’d like to know by what measure he might possibly make such calculations.

Which is all quite sobering, to say the least. But it didn’t prove to be as scary as I had thought. I began the book with some hesitation, wondering, in the back of my mind, if this book should contain the drop-dead indisputable evidence and arguments that will prove God a lie and the Christian faith a hoax. Instead, Harris seems to assume these things, and then builds his case against religion and the religious from there. Most of his cases involve setting up the most absurd examples and outrageous caricatures of religion, and then knocking them down, verbally or logically. After so many pages of ridicule and the worst assumptions and stereotypes, you start to wonder when and how that ever got confused for critical, logical thinking.

It would be so comforting if his salvos against church, mosque and synagogue lacked any potent ammunition. But Harris has a lot of rotten fruit lying around to lob at us precisely because the church has provided so much of it. He is spot on when he asks questions like, How is that Galileo and Copernicus were excommunicated from the Church while Hitler never was? I won’t even begin to say what projectiles the mosque or the synagogue have coming back at them because, as a Christian, I have to take responsibility for what has been done in my name, or in the name of my Lord. And there’s plenty to take responsibility for. But Harris reserves his most shrill and frightening language for Islam.

At the very least, Harris builds a very strong case for separation of church and state. I suspect that he is unaware of the number of Christians, especially Anabaptists, who are with him on that one, or who even made it possible by their martyrdom. He also builds a very strong case for humility, especially within the ranks of church leadership and structure. I also felt some sympathy for his arguments against the church imposing its faith-based morality upon the wider society. As much as we might rightly decry sexual immorality, abortion and recreational drug use, do we really, as Christians, want to do everything necessary to deny, discourage and punish these things among nonbelievers? Is our witness better served by going after people for doing these things, or by people going after us for not doing them?

Harris also makes the case for secular society not giving the church a free pass and a respectable, but hypocritical, nod anymore. As someone very concerned about the church’s witness, I would much rather deal with Harris’ kind of hostile engagement than with the disdainful but polite indifference and calculated avoidance that I so often encounter. Harris repeatedly asserts that one can only arrive at religious belief by pulling the plug on your mental faculties and running in a blind panic from any and all contrary beliefs. But I have found that some of my deepest spiritual breakthroughs and insights have come from honest debate and discussion with people of other religions, or of no religion at all.

Which is another weakness of The End of Faith. He assumes that dialog and discussion with religious people are pointless and impossible. The End of Faith is, therefore, meant not so much to convert (or de-convert) believers, but to preach to the choir and dish up heaping, steaming plates of verbal red meat for any and all who have been hurt by or angry with organized religion. I say this not to frighten us but to help us prepare for the suspicious-to-hostile missional context in which are increasingly finding ourselves. There are more of such people around than we might think, judging by how quickly the newest atheist manifestos are flying off the shelves of bookstores and enjoying unexpected additional printings. The manners and politesse by which Harris, Dawkins and others might once have given us at least a respectful space are wearing thin. I occasionally run into this emerging stridency in places such as the French language conversational groups I sometimes attend, where, at least once, other non-believers were so shocked by the way someone else was verbally abusing my faith that they came to its defense without my having to say a thing. Rather than feeling aggrieved or insulted, I was glad to be out of my customary church cocoon and in contact with such beliefs.

For beliefs these are, requiring every bit as much faith on Harris’ part as do mine. For example, Harris believes that science will soon explain all things moral and spiritual, such as conversion or virtue, by way of neurobiology or evolutionary advantage, thereby rendering God and faith obsolete. He also expects reason and evolution to give us soon a workable moral code which will be self-evidently correct, at least to everyone with a university degree. Aside from being a faith statement no less hopeful than mine, what would a brain scan of meditation or an evolutionary advantage for prayer or virtue prove except that they happened in the brain and were good for our survival? A believer in God might find that quite reassuring, not challenging.

What Harris, Dawkins, Hitchens and other militant missionary atheists overlook is that they are effectively serving up another religion in place of the ones they condemn: a religion of positive scientific advance and enlightenment, with self, science and society as God. By looking for evolutionary and neuro-biological explanations for spirituality, they are also admitting that humans are incurably religious. Martin Luther even said so. And while they accuse all religions of being inherently violent, lacking any internal restraint against murder and domination (they’ve never read Mennonite theology), their own proffered religions also lack any internal restraint against violence or persecution of people who differ, whatever their faith.

But I agree with Harris and others that we have less to fear from atheists like themselves and more to fear from religions and religionists in the service of ego, power and domination. I believe it was Plato who said that there were three kinds of atheists:

1. One who says that because there is no God, we are therefore free to discover how evil we might be. They are few and are often safely in jail, having found out just how evil they might be.
2. One who says that because there is no God, we must be as good and virtuous as possible on our own power. Among these we find some very noble souls. Despite the drubbing he gave me, I’ll give Harris the benefit of the doubt, and place him in this category. He does work hard at finding an ethical approach to life. But when they find such efforts unworkable and unsustainable, such atheists are also in great danger—of becoming believers, as did Thomas Merton, C.S. Lewis and the woman who marched with Dr. Martin Luther King, and who, when I heard her story, had become a youth ministry specialist for the United Methodist Church.
3. One who says that because there is no God, we are free to make one up for our own purposes.

This third group of atheists are the most dangerous kind, for they may actually hide behind pulpits, camouflaging themselves as believers, pastors, bishops and theologians, and thus bring disaster and disgrace upon themselves, the church and the faith that they exploit. Because they are often so adept at manipulation, disguises and demagoguery, we have much more to fear from them than from outright and openly hostile atheists like Harris and Dawkins. They are the ones who will continue to pile up the most damning evidence in Harris’ favor.

If we would take seriously our witness in the world and “be ready to offer an explanation to everyone who asks of you the reason for your hope (I Peter 3:16),” then we must be ready even for an occasional outbreak of some of the hostility and contempt that Harris serves up. But just being peacefully present and available to it will itself be something of a victory, even if we don’t have all the answers to satisfy our interrogators. No one has. And its not what is asked of us as witnesses. It may even be that, by peacefully and respectfully absorbing some of the wrath that has understandably piled up over church sex abuse scandals, and the church’s historic complicity in war, segregation and the oppression of women, without returning wrath in kind, we will have provided some venue for healing and a more effective witness than any words or arguments can provide.

In the face of criticism and hostility I take comfort from the following things:

1. that we are being held accountable to the very standards and beliefs that we, our Bible and our Christ have advocated in the world, or which are logically inferred from our beliefs and standards;
2. that critics are always doing us a favor, often in spite of themselves. To the extent that they are right, we have learned something helpful. To the extent that they are wrong or exaggerated, we have an opportunity to display the patient and gracious love of Christ.

Often our critics and opponents are working with an element of truth. In Harris’ case, he has taken the verbal equivalent of a baseball bat to a job better suited for a surgeon’s scalpel. That so much of his fear and hostility is in reaction to religiously-based violence makes this a very good time for a peaceful Anabaptist witness to Christ that is uncompromising in its love for friend and foe alike, to the point of being willing to die for our enemies and detractors, rather than to kill them. Such love is our most powerful witness, our most convincing argument.

I never jumped or squirmed so much during a movie as I did last night (Sunday, January 31) when watching Avatar, with my wife, Becky. There are other very good offerings out there at movie theaters, but some of those can wait for video rentals, online or from the store. But Avatar, I was told, needed to be seen in 3D, preferably Imax 3D. Having worn the funky glasses, and taken them off a few times to compare effects, I can agree. But there’s something about having claws and teeth and arrows coming at you in 3D that makes me glad we hadn’t bought popcorn or soft drinks. They would have ended up in my lap or all over neighboring viewers.

As important as the media is the message of the film. Several reviewers and writers have weighed in on sites more well-known than this one about the message of Avatar, especially whether or not its a gospel of sorts for pantheism (the belief that the sum of all things is God, or divine, and that all things are essentially divine) and earth goddess worship (Check out Russ Douthat, columnist for the New York Times).  I come away convinced thatAvatar indeed  has a strong pantheistic streak, that I wouldn’t be surprised if it becomes a significant religious factor in America. But pantheism is already so mainstream today, I confess to no loss of sleep over its message in the movie. In fact, the anti-colonialistic, anti-militaristic, anti-exploitation message of the movie is something I can appreciate to the point that it outweighs any objection over the pantheism and nature worship of the film. Ironically however, the anti-militarism message was conveyed with violent, military special effects that are all the more impactful and disturbing for being  3D. The solution to militarism in the movie is essentially military. Movie viewers today may be getting accustomed to increasingly graphic violent special effects, to the point of getting inured and desensitized to the very violence that Avatar decries. Indeed, we come to expect it, and might not take anything seriously that does not at least match the graphic and overwhelming nature of the last bombing and blood-letting we saw on the screen. That disturbs me.

Though, as a Christian, I do not identify with the pantheism and planetary goddess worship of Avatar, I can look beyond that and identify with the deeper hungers that such a stark juxtaposition of New Age pantheism and modern, commercial, capitalistic exploitation dramatizes. All right, its more than a juxtaposition; it may be a caricature conflict of the extremes in both tendencies. But I see beyond the plot devices a hunger for union and communion that contemporary commercial culture and technology do not address. If anything, they exacerbate this hunger. We miss the Garden of Eden, our Paradise Lost, where we were at one with ourselves, each other, and Creation. The wound of our exile remains as a memory of the race, one which haunts our dreams, our stories and our pursuits. Names like “unobtanium” and “Pandora” bear allusions to stories of our fall from innocence and paradise. When talking about the message of the movie, we could start with that point of commonality with our New Age and neopagan neighbors.

But Western Christendom, especially since the Renaissance, has tended to formulate the Christian faith and the hope of salvation in such ways as to leave Creation entirely out of the picture. So we scratch our heads in embarassment or confusion over images from the Psalms and the Prophets about how “the sea shall shout for joy” and “the trees of the field shall clap their hands,” or how “the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God (Rom. 8:21).”  Instead of wringing our hands or furrowing our brows over how pantheism is going mainstream (so that even McDonalds’ is tied in promotionally with Avatar--go figure), we might ask ourselves what it is about a full-orbed biblical faith that we have forgotten and neglected, and that neo-paganism is picking up in our stead. Like the fact that we are part of Creation, yes, the capstone to it, priests standing at the point where spirit meets matter, but children of earth nonetheless. The strong and stubborn streak of Gnostic dualism running through Western Christendom (the sense that spirit is opposed to matter, and that matter is evil, suspect or inferior) makes western Christians typically uncomfortable with their material, physical nature, as though salvation involved escaping from Creation, rather than redeeming it. It may be churchly, but its not biblical.

Neither Mother Goddess worship, nor the military prowess of the Na’vi (the inhabitants of Pandora) have gotten us back to the Garden, or there would be no hunger nor audience for such a film as Avatar. Ironically, Avatar succeeds technically and visually for the very reasons that we are feel such hunger for, and disconnect with, Creation: the increasingly powerful and all-encompassing digital and technological world we are creating and inhabiting. Ironically, Avatar has used the tools of our artificial world to lament and remind us of our estrangement from the natural one.

Though we don’t have floating mountains or giant flying dragons to ride, we don’t have to travel to other planets to experience wonders as breath-taking as are viewed on Pandora–excuse me, at the Cineplex.  Even on this cold, grey, snowy afternoon in Minnesota there are wonders within us, among us and around us that should take our breath away, if we weren’t so preoccupied with getting, wanting, earning and doing. The cold, grey snowy afternoon is one of them. Wonder and love are our tickets to the harmony and union with God, creation and each other that we lost and long for, our route back toward our Paradise Lost. If we don’t rediscover such biblical treasures, we shouldn’t wonder that our non-Christian friends and neighbors look for them in the worship of nature and ancestors, even digital 3D nature and ancestors. So go for a walk in the snow, or when it melts, stick your hands in the dirt; they’re spiritual matters.

Mathew Swora

How does a war-scarred country like Rwanda, struggling back from the recent history of the worst genocide since Hitler's "Final Solution" and Chairman Mao's "Cultural Revolution" reintegrate 50,000 confessed and convicted murderers? What is to keep the past from repeating itself, even if in reverse, when just under the surface of society are so many broken hearts and whispers of revenge?

This story, and its aftermath in Rwanda, have been honestly and compellingly told in a recent film, "As We Forgive ," directed by Laura Waters Hinson, and narrated by Mia Farrow. I saw it at the Oak Street Theater in Minneapolis this May, as part of a series of releases. Only an hour long, don't expect it to make the usual commercial cineplex theater circuit. But many churches, institutions and organizations are finding ways to order it and host it. Check out the website at http://www.asweforgivethose.com/?page_id=15

To know more about this story, and what we all might learn from it, check out the full text of my film review at Download as_we_forgive.doc. And for any scholars of Classical literature out there, I'd love to know your take on my comparison of The Oddyssey and the gospel. Did I get it right? Why or why not?

Mathew Swora, pastor

Emmanuel Mennonite Church

A HOPELESS FIGHT TO THE FINISH!

I was stunned yesterday when Tony Schrock brought to my attention the following quote from an article in yesterday’s Minneapolis Star-Tribune ("Defendant: God ‘wants me to get rid of’ the judge"-April 22, 2008):  "God needs us to be like Gideon against the Mennonites– 300 vs. 120,000 men. We rise up and God will take care of us." I was stunned that our tiny denomination was even mentioned by a big ticket newspaper. Then I was stunned that we were mentioned in connection with tax evasion, potential murder for hire, intimidation, citizen’s courts and sentencing against duly elected and appointed civil officials, and all in the name of God. We’re about anything but all that. And, to be fair, the person who said it placed us in the opposition category. But what he meant to say, or should have said, was "Gideon against the Midianites," unless Judges chapters 6 and 7 are mistaken. As would be all the church historians who find no record of Mennonites and Anabaptism before 1525. Our unsought publicity (at least it was free) spurred the following letter to the editors of the Star-Trib, which has so far not been published (along with the other 2,378 other multi-volume tomes I have sent them–not).

Dear Editor,

As pastor and member of Emmanuel Mennonite Church in St. Paul, I was taken aback this morning to find myself in the news, when Robert Beale was quoted as saying, “God needs us to be like Gideon against the Mennonites [sic], 300 versus 120,000 men,” (“Defendant: God Wants Me To Get Rid of the Judge” April 22, 2008). I wasn’t aware of ever having had a controversy with Gideon. His beef was with “the Midianites, in chapters 6 and 7 of the Old Testament Book of Judges. Was Beale mistaken, or the reporter who quoted him, or am I, in not having known that there were fellow Mennonites that far back? If so, I’d very much like to meet all 120,000 of us, since our average Sunday morning attendance is around 65, and our particular denomination (Mennonite Church USA) is not quite as big as the Midianite army. Nor can I figure out why Gideon would go forth to battle against us since we are a historic peace church. Gideon’s army would find us praying, preaching, doing humanitarian service, sewing quilts, baking pies and building cabinets to raise money for mission and world relief; that’s our way of fighting. Sorry we can’t live up to our billing in an otherwise white knuckle front page article. But seriously, we’ll pray for everyone named therein, the judge, the accused and all their friends and family. May they all know peace.

Respectfully,

Mathew Swora, pastor

Emmanuel Midianite Church