We take a lot of things on faith – the balance in our bank account, the state of our health, the sense of our doctors, the faithfulness of our partners, and the magic and mystery of giants like Leonardo, Shakespeare and Mozart. Faith doesn’t only apply to religion then. To that extent I agree with Greg Sheridan in his piece ‘Idea of God is perfectly logical’ in The Saturday Australian.
My position about God is that of a God-fearing doubter. I simply don’t know. I don’t believe anyone knows about God, either way. While I have lost any belief in God, at least as that term in generally understood, I don’t seek to persuade others either way. That, frankly, would be none of my business.
It follows therefore that I too, with Mr Sheridan, don’t like Dawkins or Hitchens, although I must confess that I have not read either in depth. I don’t believe that any proposition about the existence of God is capable of rational proof. As I gather that both of these men thought that they had proved that God does not exist, they are in my view talking bullshit. And I don’t think I could be persuaded to the contrary. And certainly not by arrogant and insulting people like those two. They are to me nasty intellectual bullies, who think that they can work over people who overtly pledge their faith in that which cannot be proven.
People like Dawkins and Hitchens look to me to be evangelists of a nasty and bigoted kind. Kant knew that bigots of denial were often worse than bigots of belief, and Carlyle showed his disdain for Rousseau by calling him the ‘Evangelist.’ What right or interest do these people have in seeking to undermine the religious faith of others – a lot of whom may not have the same intellectual horsepower, but very many of whom will be far better off for taste and judgment? For that matter, why should they seek to deny to all of us the place of magic and mystery in the world – with some variety of rationalist double entry accounting?
So, I agree with Mr Sheridan that belief in God is rational. To suggest the contrary seems to me to be as silly as it is rude.
But belief in what kind of God? And how do we express it? Mr Sheridan refers to ‘the thousands of years of intellectual effort on matters of faith and belief by the best minds humanity has produced.’ The best minds would include Spinoza, Kant, Wittgenstein, and Einstein. They all professed to believe in God, but their God would be unrecognisable as such to most believers. (And both Spinoza and Kant were persecuted because their God did not conform.)
Take Einstein. Whereas some people see what they believe to be miracles as evidence of God’s existence, for Einstein it was the absence of miracles that reflected divine providence, and revealed a ‘God who reveals himself in the harmony of all that exists’. This is very much like what Kant thought. Einstein had the problem that Darwin had with people trying to get him to express views on religion. People were trying to trap him. A New York rabbi sent him a telegram: ‘Do you believe in God? Stop. Answer paid. Fifty words.’ The reply was: ‘I believe in Spinoza’s God, who reveals himself in the lawful harmony of all that exists, but not in a God who concerns himself with the fate and the doings of mankind’. Einstein never felt the need to put down others who believed in a different kind of God: ‘What separates me from most so-called atheists is a feeling of utter humility toward the unattainable secrets of the harmony of the cosmos’.
So, are we talking about the intellectual model of God, or the personal model? The personal model, which is that favoured by most believers, is that revealed by scripture. Here is another and more biting division. Which scripture? The Old Testament, the New Testament, Confucius, the Koran, and so on?
So, of course a belief in God is rational – but putting meat on the bones of ‘God’ is another matter. And that takes us to the second question. The belief is rational, but to what extent can it be expressed in words and be justified in logic?
Mr Sheridan refers to Aquinas, ‘the greatest of the Christian philosophers and theologians.’ Augustine and Aquinas took the teaching of an unlettered holy man from Asia and drenched it in the European philosophy of Plato and Aristotle. I was brought up in a Protestant sect, and on the eve of the 500th anniversary of the eruption of Martin Luther, I may be forgiven for saying that this intellectualising of the teaching of Christ may appeal to some more than others.
It is in truth no small part of why I lost my faith. God is limitless – Christ is too – and I have never understood the presumption of mere men seeking to lock God in behind the bars of a syllogism, a construct of human thought. This is, if you like, an article of faith for me. I can’t jump six feet; I can’t conceive of a thing being and not being at the same time; but I don’t say that God can’t do either. What gives us the right to say that God cannot transcend our limitations? Why can’t God be better than us?
But this intellectual elevation put up by Augustine and others, which can only be understood by about a thousand people in the world at any one time, looks to me to be part of reserving the mystery of it all to the clerics – and that is bad. This monopoly of understanding was at the heart of Luther’s protest. And the Church made a great gift to people like Dawkins and Hitchens. The people of faith were offering to play the people of logic on their own home ground. It would be like the New York Yankees offering to play the MCC at cricket at Lords. No bloody contest, mate.
In sum, there are limits to both our logic and language, and you have as much hope of explaining or justifying your faith in God as you do of explaining or justifying your faith in Leonardo, Shakespeare or Mozart – or, I may add, the divine Catherine Deneuve. Wittgenstein said:
I believe that one of the things that Christianity says is that sound doctrines are all useless. That you have to change your life.
His biographer said:
‘Russell and the parsons between them have done infinite harm, infinite harm.’ [Wittgenstein wrote.] Why pair Russell and the parsons in the one condemnation? Because both have encouraged the idea that a philosophical justification for religious beliefs is necessary for those beliefs to be given any credence. Both the atheist who scorns religion because he has found no evidence for its tenets, and the believer, who attempts to prove the existence of God, have fallen to the ‘other’ – to the idle worship of the scientific style of thinking. Religious beliefs are not analogous to scientific theories, and should not be accepted or rejected using the same evidential criteria.
That looks obvious to me. And if you want to return to the beginnings, I see that Plato believed that no philosophical truth could be communicated in writing at all – it was only by some sort of immediate contact that one soul might kindle a light in another. Good grief – from what ashram did that come? But then we recall that Einstein said that he rarely thought in words. And the great physicist Niels Bohr said:
When it comes to atoms, language can be used only as in poetry. The poet, too, is not nearly so concerned with describing facts as with creating images.
It was therefore sad to see that Mr Sheridan began his piece by saying: ‘It is more rational to believe in God than to believe there is no God.’ What might that entail? It is idle to contend that my belief in God is as secure as my belief in my parentage, and it is plain wrong to say that Mr Sheridan’s ancestry is ‘certainly not rationally proven.’ (Otherwise our judges would have to pick up their bongos). And then we get the call to arms: ‘the high points of our elite and popular culture have been colonised by a militant and intolerant atheism.’
May I suggest that making warlike claims to rational superiority about religion is not the best way to deal with intolerance? When we talk of God, those who think they have the best arguments are those who are likely to lose the war. There is a lot to be said for live, and let live.
Poet of the month: Henry Lawson
A prouder man than you
If you fancy that your people came of better stock than mine,
If you hint of higher breeding by a word or by a sign,
If you’re proud because of fortune or the clever things you do —
Then I’ll play no second fiddle: I’m a prouder man than you!
If you think that your profession has the more gentility,
And that you are condescending to be seen along with me;
If you notice that I’m shabby while your clothes are spruce and new —
You have only got to hint it: I’m a prouder man than you!
If you have a swell companion when you see me on the street,
And you think that I’m too common for your toney friend to meet,
So that I, in passing closely, fail to come within your view —
Then be blind to me for ever: I’m a prouder man than you!
If your character be blameless, if your outward past be clean,
While ’tis known my antecedents are not what they should have been,
Do not risk contamination, save your name whate’er you do — `
Birds o’ feather fly together’: I’m a prouder bird than you!
Keep your patronage for others! Gold and station cannot hide
Friendship that can laugh at fortune, friendship that can conquer pride!
Offer this as to an equal — let me see that you are true,
And my wall of pride is shattered: I am not so proud as you!