MB Civic

Most scientists studying the matter believe that humans have a built-in mechanism for religious belief. For instance, anthropologist Scott Atran sometimes conducts an intriguing experiment with his students:

His research interests include cognitive science and evolutionary biology, and sometimes he presents students with a wooden box that he pretends is an African relic. “If you have negative sentiments toward religion,” he tells them, “the box will destroy whatever you put inside it.” Many of his students say they doubt the existence of God, but in this demonstration they act as if they believe in something. Put your pencil into the magic box, he tells them, and the nonbelievers do so blithely. Put in your driver’s license, he says, and most do, but only after significant hesitation. And when he tells them to put in their hands, few will. If they don’t believe in God, what exactly are they afraid of?

Or rather, why are they afraid? One possible reason is that humans are conditioned to be on the lookout for “agents” and we tend to find them even when they’re not there:

So if there is motion just out of our line of sight, we presume it is caused by an agent, an animal or person with the ability to move independently. This usually operates in one direction only; lots of people mistake a rock for a bear, but almost no one mistakes a bear for a rock.

What does this mean for belief in the supernatural? It means our brains are primed for it, ready to presume the presence of agents even when such presence confounds logic. “The most central concepts in religions are related to agents,” Justin Barrett, a psychologist, wrote in his 2004 summary of the byproduct theory, “Why Would Anyone Believe in God?” Religious agents are often supernatural, he wrote, “people with superpowers, statues that can answer requests or disembodied minds that can act on us and the world.”

Another reason for the instinctive religious impulse may be that people are able to put themselves in other peoples’ minds, to think about how another person might be feeling or thinking:

Folkpsychology, as Atran and his colleagues see it, is essential to getting along in the contemporary world, just as it has been since prehistoric times. It allows us to anticipate the actions of others and to lead others to believe what we want them to believe; it is at the heart of everything from marriage to office politics to poker. People without this trait, like those with severe autism, are impaired, unable to imagine themselves in other people’s heads.

The process begins with positing the existence of minds, our own and others’, that we cannot see or feel. This leaves us open, almost instinctively, to belief in the separation of the body (the visible) and the mind (the invisible). If you can posit minds in other people that you cannot verify empirically, suggests Paul Bloom, a psychologist and the author of “Descartes’ Baby,” published in 2004, it is a short step to positing minds that do not have to be anchored to a body. And from there, he said, it is another short step to positing an immaterial soul and a transcendent God.

You can’t explain the existence or origin of something, so you believe God must have done it. Once, we didn’t know the cause of a lot of things. Today, the last few remaining questions seem to be “how did the universe come to be” and “what is the origin of life”. This is the God of the Gaps, of course. Much like ancient people believed that Zeus or Thor created lightning, and were wrong, it’s quite likely that these last two questions also have a natural explanation – and, yet, we still make the same mistake that our ancestors did: come up with supernatural explanations, instead of simply admitting that we don’t know, yet.
The universe seems too complex, too ordered, too beautiful, to have appeared naturally. A variant of the above, really. Things seem much too interconnected to have appeared randomly, and we have everything we need in this world to survive; it almost seems like the universe was made for us. A universe with billions of stars, and we’re on this infinitesimal planet… made for us, indeed. 🙂 I may write more about this point in the future; it would make this post too long.
You’ve been educated that way. I was, myself. But we shouldn’t accept “knowledge” on authority. Parents and teachers can lie (e.g. Santa Claus) or simply be wrong (the Earth being in the center of the universe, whites being superior to blacks, etc.). It’s always a bad idea to lose the ablity to question. Besides, as Richard Dawkins says, most people have the religion of their parents, which makes one’s religion a matter of chance – if you’d been born in Saudi Arabia, you’d be a muslim; in India, you’d be a hindu, and so on. If you accept your parents’ religion, it was randomly selected, in a way – so why be so sure it’s the “real” one?
You feel that your faith in something greater than yourself gives your life purpose and meaning. This is a very common one. Life seems so random, so ephemeral, and so pointless… surely, there’s got to be something more, doesn’t it? Trouble is, this is no more than wishful thinking. We want it to be true, therefore it must be true. Besides, life – wordly life, in our reality – is much more fascinating and meaningful than these people believe.
You’ve “felt” the presence / touch of God. Another common one. Feelings or sensations, as we know, are subjective. Quite often, we feel what we expect to feel, or what we want to feel – it’s either a placebo effect, or wishful thinking, again. Besides, if the only thing God does is to make us feel “warm inside” from time to time (if you believe in him for just this reason, that’s what you’re implying), then does such a God deserve worship? He’s no more than a “spiritual foot warmer”, after all…
It’s comforting to believe that someone is taking care of you. It is, indeed – but, if the reason for such comfort doesn’t exist, it can actually be dangerous. It’s like convincing yourself that you have Superman-like powers, or that your (perfectly common) shirt is bullet-proof. If you behave according to those beliefs, you’ll probably injure yourself, or even die. If you don’t, then you don’t really believe, right? Anyway, this is – once again – wishful thinking. Believing (whether it’s true or not) feels good, so you believe.
You’re afraid of death, and want to believe that it’s not the end, that you simply go to a better place. Wishful thinking, once again. In reality, things don’t become true just because we want them to be true. Alternatively, it may not be about you: sometimes, the death of a loved one causes you to need to believe that the essential part of them isn’t really dead, it’s just gone to a better place, where there is no more suffering, and where you’ll meet them someday.
You feel that (finite) life in this world is meaningless unless there’s something afterwards. In other words, if, no matter what you do, you die and turn to dust, what difference does it make whatever you do in your life? So you have to believe that there’s something more. However, not only is this wishful thinking (again…), but it’s a limiting view of life. If you believe that the purpose of life is something “exterior”, then this view makes sense; however, if you instead believe that the purpose of life is life itself – that is, that life needs no external justification, and is worth it on its own – not to mention that it can be utterly enjoyable, and that you actually can make a difference while you’re here -, then you can easily see what’s wrong with this view of existence.
You want to believe that there’s some kind of absolute, perfect justice in the universe, even if only after death. I’d like that, too. Really. You can’t imagine how strongly I wish that was true. I’ve seen monsters living in luxury their entire lives, and never paying for their crimes, and I’ve seen terrible things happen unfairly to good people – sometimes randomly, sometimes caused by the monsters I mentioned. I wish that both would get what they deserve. It would be so… comforting to believe so. Unfortunately, wishing doesn’t make it so. The best thing we can do is try to make things better here, not resign ourselves and hope for some kind of “justice” later.
You’ve had some unusual experience that made you believe. Not necessarily a miracle (that’s the next one), but an “amazing coincidence”. Say, you prayed for something that was quite improbable, and it happened. The problem here is usually referred to as “counting the hits and ignoring the misses”. I’ll write more about it in the near future.
You’ve witnessed an apparent miracle. Now, this should be it, right? I mean, if you witness an actual miracle, it means, at least, that the supernatural exists – not necessarily God (or gods), but at the very least there’s something out there, right? So, what are those miracles? Oddly enough, they are always one of the following:
A disease goes into remission, or actually vanishes, even though doctors were pessimistic;
Someone “speaks in tongues”, or acting as if they were possessed;
Something, by random chance, looks like a religious entity (such as Jesus or the Virgin Mary in tree bark, or in a slice of pizza);
Statues or pictures of religious entities, usually in a church, appear to “cry” or “bleed”;

And that’s it. All but the first are so absurd that they don’t deserve consideration (if all that God does is appear on slices of pizza, then that’s not a god I’d want to worship anyway…). And that one, well, doctors can make mistakes, and there’s still much about the human body and diseases that we don’t know. Still, if it was actually God doing it, and since God has no limits, then why doesn’t he heal amputees? Are those “beyond” God? Does God hate them for some reason?
You’re desperate for a miracle. Similar to the previous one, but in this case the “miracle” hasn’t happened yet. But you’re desperate, and ready to try anything, including becoming religious – or, possibly, changing religions.
You see your death getting closer and closer. You don’t really want your existence to end. If something – anything – promises that it won’t, that there is an afterlife, you grab it.
The example of another believer or believers inspired you. I’d say that this is actually more common in less religious societies, like in Europe, than in more fundamentalist ones, like the US or Muslim countries. I’ve seen it happen myself. Some of the best people I knew in my youth were devout believers (though not fundamentalists), and they radiated happiness and love wherever they went. It’s quite natural for others to be inspired by them. But I’d say that they weren’t good people because of religion; they’d be good people anyway.
Other believers were there for you when you needed it. Similar to the above, and, again, I know cases like that. Say, you were going through a bad phase, your close family rejected you for some reason, you didn’t have any real friends, and the only people who really cared and tried to help were members of a church. It’s understandable that you may start to believe, too. Still, I maintain that you don’t need God or religion to be a good, caring human being. There are good and bad theists, and good and bad atheists.
You like the sense of community that comes from belonging to a church. Again, similar. In this particular case, curiously, you don’t even need God; it’s the group itself, and its activities, that makes you feel like a part of something.
Being told what to do and what to think comforts you. Sad, but true. A lot of people don’t want the burden and the responsibility of having to think and decide for themselves, and anyone or anything who relieves them of that burden and responsability will have their hearts and minds. This doesn’t happen only with religion, of course. Many people join groups – religious or otherwise – just so they can be told what to do and think.
While reading the Bible, something made you believe. I almost didn’t include this one, as I’m convinced that reading the Bible, critically and dispassionately, and in its entirety, will unconvert at least ten people for each one it helps converting. Almost everyone who reads the Bible already believes; I’ve never heard of someone believing just because they read the Bible. Even most Christians are forced to ignore most of it.
Recently, blogger Andrew Sullivan put up a post called “The Scientific View of Man.” He ended it with an aside, saying, “If I could disbelieve in God, I would,” and two days later, one of his readers wrote back: “Funny, I’m the exact opposite; if I could believe in God, I would.”

But what does that phrase mean, “believe in God”? I’ve most often heard it framed in terms of existence: People will often say to me, “I don’t believe God exists,” or “I have seen no evidence for God,” or “I often question whether there is a God.”

But here’s the thing: Either God exists, or God doesn’t. And we have absolutely no control over that fact. And so because there’s nothing we can do about whether there is a God, I’ve never found that question to be a particularly interesting one to ask. After all, when the question is framed in that way, there are really only three answers people can give: “Yes, I do,” “No, I don’t” or “I’m not sure.”

But there’s an even deeper reason why that question is the wrong one to ask. In my experience working in the religious world, the people who tend to ask the question, “Do you believe in God?” are the ones who hope the answer is “yes,” while the people who tend to be asked are the ones who are more inclined to say “no” or “I’m not sure.” When you’re asking a question with an expected answer — and that answer is the opposite of what you hope it will be — there’s no constructive dialogue. Instead, when someone asks “Do you believe in God?” it simply comes off as a judgmental attack.

In fact, Rabbi David Wolpe recently wrote a piece here asking “Why Are Atheists So Angry?” and while he made some accurate statements, I think he missed the main reason why atheists have problems with religion — they feel like they are being viewed as “less than” and are being judged in a harsh and negative light.

So because asking “Do you believe in God?” prompts primarily close-ended questions, and is often experienced as a condemnation, I instead prefer to ask two other questions that I have found to be more valuable to explore:

1. How can we bring more justice and kindness into this world?

Regardless of whatever particular worldview we hold, we have a responsibility to find ways to improve ourselves, our society and our world. Now, reasonable people can certainly disagree about the specifics of how we do that, and our personal outlook will obviously affect our ultimate decisions, but most people I have met are striving to create a more just and more kind world.

So by focusing the discussion around how people act more than on what they believe, we can now have a more productive dialogue. Yes, we may all be coming at this question from different ways, but now the arguments stop being attacks and counter-attacks about who is right, and instead, become an exploration about the ways we need to work together to create the kind of world we hope for.

In many ways, author (and atheist) Sam Harris got it right in his book, The Moral Landscape, when he argued that human and societal well-being are directly related to the state of the world and our own mental state, and that “morality” is about how we improve those two states. And so by emphasizing the myriad ways we can explore how to bring more justice and more kindness into this world, we can also recognize and accept the different belief systems that can all ultimately lead to the same end.

2. When have we felt moments of deep connection?

Martin Buber and Abraham Joshua Heschel were two of the most influential Jewish theologians of the 20th century, and both of them pushed us to recognize that our greatest source of joy and wonder are our relationships — Buber focusing on our interpersonal relationships and Heschel emphasizing our relationship with all of creation.

Buber taught that the most spiritual moments occur when we are truly in relationship with others. His great book describing his theology is usually translated as I and Thou, but a better description would be “you and me.” As he claims, our most powerful and most memorable moments occur when we truly feel “there” with and for another person. As Rabbi Dennis Ross explains in God in Our Relationships, “I-Thou is doing, speaking, listening and touching. Not in the I or the Thou, I-Thou is essentially the ‘-,’ the dash that connects two people” (Ross, 53).

Heschel’s theology is often called “radical amazement” — a deep sense of incomprehensibility at the wonder of sheer existence. As he argues, “We can never sneer at the stars, mock the dawn or scoff at the totality of being. Sublime grandeur evokes unhesitating, unflinching awe … Standing between earth and sky, we are silenced by the sight” (Heschel, Man is Not Alone, 25).

What both Buber and Heschel have in common is that we cannot put into words our most important and most life-changing encounters. Indeed, the more we try to analyze and explain them, the less power they have. Not only that, we cannot ever expect or plan to experience these moments that elevate our soul — we can only be open to them and hope we are aware enough to feel them and appreciate them when they arise.

These two questions, I have found, resonate with people much more deeply and create much more interesting, much more respectful and much more valuable conversations than asking “Do you believe in God?” These questions prompt people to ask together, “How should I be treating myself and those around me?” “How can we be more open to the varied experiences of life?” Rather than thinking that those who believe in God are “better” than those who don’t, each of us can examine how we can be more just and kind, and how we can create a deeper connection with ourselves, with others and with our world.

And what do I believe? For me, I find God when I am grappling with those questions — and especially when I am learning new ways to try to answer them. And while I certainly can’t prove this, I believe that when we are seeking to bring more justice, kindness and connection into this world, we are also bringing just a little more of God into this world, as well.