| This may seem laughable coming
from someone born and bred in Middle America, but it only recently
occurred to me that the United States is a religious nation. Of
course I’ve always known, intellectually, that most Americans
consider themselves Christians. I’ve followed the rise of
political conservative Christianity with some trepidation, and I’ve
read the polls showing that large numbers of Americans have doubts
about the extraordinarily well-tested theory of evolution, but like
any self-respecting liberal humanist pessimist snob I’ve taken
these matters as evidence of people’s general ignorance rather
than an affirmation of belief. I assumed when our leaders said “God
bless America,” it was a point of etiquette, along the lines
of someone saying “God bless you” after a sneeze. When
the famous Time cover story asking “Is God Dead?” came
out several years ago, to my mind the only reasonable answer was,
“Of course.”
I should note I was born into a family where religion was a non-issue.
My father has been aggressively agnostic my whole life. When my
7-year-old self asked my mother what religion we were, her answer
was, “Ummmm … well ….” I’m still waiting
for the punch line. My first close contact with Christianity happened
in college, when I started dating a Baptist. At first, we amused
ourselves with debates about the literal veracity of the New Testament
gospels and the necessity of belief. Then our discussions grew less
amusing, more strident. We finally agreed to disagree and never
talked about religion again, even though we continued to date for
three more years.
Such was the extent of my religious education during the first three
decades of my life. Then, a few years ago, something strange began
to happen: Several friends, independently of one another, of different
ages and from different backgrounds—including two women I
had formerly assumed to be secular humanists to the core—started
regularly attending church or temple. Some professed to be going
for the social aspect, others for the feeling of centeredness they
gained during upheavals both personal and global, and at least one
(a former Ph.D. student) for what she characterized as “the
most profound intellectual challenge of my life.” Some have
become active participants as well as worshipers in their churches
and temples. Their beliefs are self-evidently sincere, and although
I do not share any of their various faiths, I am happy for them
all. I am also selfishly happy that not one of them has proven to
be the kind of person who would let a matter like God come between
us.
Still, this preponderance of God talk has unsettled me, the more
so because it’s cropping up not just in my book group or the
break room at work, but nearly everywhere. (I had the same sort
of feeling back when everyone but me was watching the first Survivor
and The Sopranos, but this time the stakes are a
little higher.) The culture is rather suddenly awash in religion
generally and Christianity in particular. Politicians beat their
breasts over the sanctity of marriage and the need to “defend”
it from gays, while the state of Georgia considers striking the
word “evolution” from their textbooks. Christian music
has broken into the alt-rock radio format on the backs of bands
like Creed and Evanescence, and the Evangelical Christian book business
is the fastest growing segment in the publishing industry. Many
of the major cultural magazines have established regular religion
and spirituality columns; National Public Radio, stereotyped as
a bastion of liberalism and secularism, now runs stories and commentary
on religious perspectives, often quite conservative ones, several
days a week. A recent New York Times article talked about the rise
of “emerging” or “postmodern” Evangelical
churches in hip urban centers. Even Hollywood is getting into the
act: on Ash Wednesday, Mel Gibson’s movie, The Passion
of the Christ, brings a literal Biblical interpretation of
the last hours of Jesus’ life into mainstream theaters all
over the country, with the profits going to support the actor’s
radical, pre-Vatican II Catholic church.
Understand that I have no particular animus towards religion per
se, but I can’t shake the feeling that America is becoming
a place I don’t understand on some fundamental level. While
I recognize and respect the fact that, for many individuals, including
many of my friends, religious study has pushed them to become better,
bigger-minded human beings, in the wider world something very different
seems to be happening—a retreat into the old verities, a closing
rather than opening of minds. There is a real difference between
contemplation and worship, between those who thirst for new questions
and those who hunger for answers. The 1990s held open the promise
of a new kind of morality, rooted not in tradition and authority,
but in our growing understanding of human psychology, our awareness
of our mutual interconnectedness, and the fragility of our place
in the natural world and the Universe. The prospect of that brave
new world excited me, and I still hope to see it in my lifetime.
Until then, I fear it’s going to be a long, lonely time for
us secular humanists.A2P
Email comments to deepbackground@annarborpaper.com
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