Since I’m a teacher, I have an extended break for Christmas (I know, right?) To answer your question: yes, it’s awesome. Anyway, over those few weeks I began reading everything I could get my hands on by Christopher Hitchens. Although I can’t remember it now, I must have read an article that referenced him and then looked him up. Again. Because I remember reading some of his articles years ago and knew I liked this guy who publicly (and frequently) said there is no God. I remember expecting his work to be arrogant and condescending but finding out it was actually intelligent and logical. Often funny. When I came across some of his books last November, I thought I’d struck gold.
I had to admit, however, feeling a bit of trepidation as I opened the first one I chose to read, God Is Not Great. I knew Hitchens was a thorough researcher, an erudite wordsmith, and a delightful wit from reading some of his work in The Atlantic and Vanity Fair. But having earned my K—12 education in Catholic schools, I had never been able to suspend my church’s influence long enough to read more than an article or two of his at a time.
When I first encountered his writing, roughly ten years ago, I was ravenously interested in how someone could lead a life without the yoke of religion. Yet I worried that it was unhealthy to do so. Not as in God would punish me for questioning him; more like I was concerned I’d agree wholeheartedly with the atheistic philosophy, then have to reconsider everything in my worldview. Scrutinize my entire upbringing. Rethink a life’s worth of thoughts. That’s a lot of work.
But during this past Christmas (ironic that a religious holiday season gave me time to learn from him) I was ready to find out what he was made of. In the years since I first dared to consider a godless world, I had witnessed or experienced various insults that were the direct result of religion. The Charlie Hebdo shootings, the Baga massacre, ISIS cutting people’s heads off and posting the videos online, the continued sexual abuse crisis in the Catholic Church (and lots of other churches).
Even the new contracts we faculty and staff had to sign several years ago to continue employment at the Catholic school in which I teach were insults brought on by religion. Frankly, I grew tired of faith-incited violence; of the subtle but constant coercion at work. The desire to explore the ideas of the other side became a siren’s song.
I’ve met a few atheists in my day, but I never spoke to them about their ideas. I always assumed they’d be rude or bothered by my curiosity. Or insulted that I might dare ask about their philosophy. Reading a book, however, was so much easier. So my fascination with Hitchens stems not only from the absolute freedom with which he speaks and writes, but also the same freedom with which I can read his every thought. I can get to know him and his opinions without having to go public; without having to explain my curiosity to anyone else. It’s rare, if not downright unheard of, to meet someone who has thoroughly rejected the notion of god and the power of religion altogether. Rarer still is the desire of such people to lay out there beliefs in minute detail for any curious onlookers to pick at.
And that makes me a little jealous: he doesn’t have to worry about being scolded by his pastor or being excommunicated by some archbishop something or other because of his views. He gets to explore the questions and ideas many churches don’t even allow people to utter much less investigate. Church people have a way of shutting down questions with guilt and shame. So you think you can challenge the existence of god? That’s original sin. Not willing to give ten percent? That’s greed. Dare to say the devil isn’t real? Those are the exact words the devil wants you to say.
There’s no inquiry, discovery, or debate that follows logic in religion. Believers will say that doubt and questions are understandable, then shush you in the name of “faith.” You can’t ask why; you can’t ask why not. And the religious like it that way. They claim that faith is what explains the contradictions, the inconsistencies. Why do good people suffer? How can children get leukemia? Why is there so much violence in the world? Where have all the flowers gone? Religion gives no answers to these or any other important questions, except to say you just have to have faith; you just have to trust in god.
Which, as Hitchens points out, is also a contradiction. If one trusts god, then praying is essentially begging him to change his mind. Why would the faithful want to do that if god is, in fact, all knowing and all powerful? From Mortality:
‘The man who prays is the one who thinks that god has arranged matters all wrong, but who also thinks that he can instruct god how to put them right.”
Now, certainly, churches can do good things. They build schools and hospitals, provide counseling centers, food pantries, and temporary housing. Many rural and urban churches provide the only positive presence in their impoverished neighborhoods. That’s good news no matter who you are.
The problems begin, however, when the evangelization starts. When the price of that hand up or bag of canned goods is to join weekly worship or Bible classes. To accept Jesus as your Lord and savior so you can go out and preach it to others. Not all churches do that (at first), but it’s definitely on their agendas. Not such a bad thing, you say? Maybe not. Still, something about such expectations seems judgmental. Overbearing. Because why are they trying to lure you into their fold? To save your soul? Get you into Heaven? Perhaps. I have a feeling, however, it’s more about control. Building influence within the community. Oh, and of course, getting you to tithe.
I have no need to railroad others into denouncing their religions or in any way adopting my ideas on such matters. Live and let live is my philosophy. The only problem is, as Hitchens points out, most religious folks don’t return that favor. Many of them truly believe they must not only do their religion’s bidding in rituals and lifestyle, but they also must evangelize.
Here’s what I (and probably you) know: few people enjoy being evangelized. Think about it: if you wish to influence someone else, don’t piss them off, right? Don’t insist they’re wrong and you have all the answers. Hitchens states that the “certainty” of such beliefs (this is what God said; this is what will happen in heaven and hell; these people are saints) is what’s ridiculous. Not to mention sometimes dangerous. Are holy wars any less atrocious than unholy ones?
And that’s the worst problem with religion: its influence. In fact, that’s really its whole problem. Church “leaders” have always depended on the support of their faithful. They’ve not historically grown their food or built their homes. Woven fabric and sewn their garments. Cooked their own meals. They’ve always been waited on, or at least supported by, their flocks. And in return, those flocks have had to go to war, give up large parts of their meager earnings, and submit their wills to the Word of God (as interpreted by some bishop or pastor or priest) Even, and perhaps especially, in the bedroom.
Here’s an example. One of my teaching colleagues had two children in two years. Her husband’s son from his first marriage moved in with them last fall. She’s worried about making ends meet since her husband hasn’t been fully employed since the pandemic. Her Catholic school teaching salary provides the medical insurance for the whole family and those benefits cut heavily into her take home pay. Guess what her insurance doesn’t cover? Birth control methods—of any kind. The church sponsored insurance plan won’t pay for an IUD, oral contraceptives, vasectomies, or tubal ligations (nor, ironically, does it pay for fertility treatments.) I’m not sure, but I think she might be pregnant again (or soon will be, since she actually obeys the no artificial birth control dogma.)
How does that make any sense? Sure, she loves her family; she’s loves being a mom; she’s great at it. But is it really so bad for her to at least be allowed to prevent conception if she should so desire? To give herself a year or two to regroup before birthing another baby? If the church is so concerned about the lives of the faithful, shouldn’t it want families to be able to take care of themselves? How can having so many children you have to move into a shoe a good thing?
Then there was the presentation at one of our faculty meetings a few weeks ago. A member of our religion department spoke about Advent. He explained that it is a time for penance and reparation and that one action we believers could take would be to spring a soul from Purgatory (okay, I’m paraphrasing.) Purgatory, according to Catholics, is where the souls of those who died in a state of sin go until they get purified for heaven. Before they are refined enough to see the face of God. Essentially everyone goes there. No one in our current world is free from sin.
So, once people are in there, how do they get out? How do they obtain the necessary refinement and the subsequent ticket to heaven? Only God can decide. Unless… someone decides to pray them out. Yes. That’s right. The church has devised practices one can take to install what I refer to as a beleaguered souls express lane (this article explains it.) My colleague’s PowerPoint highlighted the steps and encouraged us to follow through.
Seriously? How on earth could anyone claim such certainty about something so obviously unreal? I mean, yes: I believe in spirituality. There are entire realms of existence I don’t see or understand. A god or supreme being could exist and my limited mind simply can’t fathom it. The idea of God is fine; I just don’t like people putting words in his mouth. Those who claim divine inspiration allows them to weave rituals, stories, and little rules for others to follow have a lot of nerve. To worry people’s minds with such lunacy is simply unacceptable. And in some cases actually cruel.
I hate to see people following the rules of their religions when those rules are so obviously bad for them (and others.) But I know how hard it is to break away from the way one is raised. If you grew up obediently in a church-going, God “fearing” family, you were programmed to stay put in your faith; live according to the rules. Not make waves. Even when it’s obvious that the church doesn’t have your best interests in mind at all. Never has. Hitchens shines the light on that problem:
“Many religions now come before us with ingratiating smirks and outspread hands, like an unctuous merchant in a bazaar. They offer consolation and solidarity and uplift, competing as they do in a marketplace. But we have a right to remember how barbarically they behaved when they were strong and were making an offer that people could not refuse.” (Emphasis mine.)
So what am I doing working for the church if I don’t buy into the faith? Despite my disagreement with much of what the church mandates, it still sponsors really good schools in my neck of the woods. I teach math, so I avoid the philosophical entanglements of evangelization and simply get to spend time with really good kids. Many of whom are from loving homes that are just as areligious as me. And even though my contract claims I’m a “teacher-missionary” (yuck), no one enforces that, at least not yet. So I can smile, nod, and sign my contract. Then simply ignore it.
But what about those who can’t ignore their religion? Who are still trapped in the fear of God or fear of a church paradigm? That’s up to them, I guess. I’m certainly not going to pressure anyone to see the contradictions of traditional Christian teachings (or any other faiths.) Or tell them to stop tithing and instead give money to the Red Cross, Humane Society, or St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital. Like all things personal, I guess I just have to settle for being a good example.
As in someone who’s not religious, but still striving to be good to others because, as Hitchens said, it’s natural and right to do so. Most human beings get that. They don’t need a religion to tell them that treating others with respect is worthy. That people flourish when they take care of each other and work together; respect their differences. Tolerate one another.
Religion tends to screw all that up. Maybe it’s time for it to just leave us alone.