An Impossible Task

A friend assigned me a blog subject of World Religions, in 1000 words or less. I replied that 1000 words is either too few or way too many; glib, that, and I hoped it would suffice. It didn't, and he waits patiently.

Well, since this is my blog, here are my own conclusions on the subject: formal religion, of any stripe, that has a set of canons/rules/strictures, etc., that lays out acceptable modes of behavior, dress, diet, thought, ethics and so forth, is no more nor less than a deliberate means of social control and manipulation. This control is enforced by instilling fear (e.g., of a Jealous God, the Eternal Flames of Hell, Shunning, Karmic Payback) in the hearts of believers. The designers and the enforcers (who are the same people) are the elite, the priesthood, those who saw and seized the opportunity afforded by the impact of the arrival and teachings of an Avatar -- The Buddha, Jesus Christ, Mohammed, for example -- to create a social order with political ends, such as overthrowing Imperial Rome and setting up a second empire, the Holy Roman Church. It is cynical, it is a perversion of true spiritual nourishment, it interjects its own agenda between God and each human being, and thus religion itself is The Great Sin.

Yes, I do feel better now.

What's good about religion is that it can afford a place and time and ritual for private reflection; it offers the companionship of people of similar social leanings; it has sponsored and supported great art and music, keeping the creative class alive (albeit in the kitchen with the rest of the help), and healthy enough for long enough to produce truly transcendent works; and it can do Good Works for the poor and the unenfranchised (those often called The Unchurched). Some religions do better than others in each of these endeavors, and thereby attract similarly interested people.

What is unfortunate is that the great majority of believers (as opposed to the faithful, which I'll elaborate on in a minute) are those whose lives are predicated on fear itself (viz. Doonesbury October 2006); they find a safe haven in religion, and the more fearful they are, the more they can be directed to do unspeakable acts in the name of that religion, and if life is hell, then at least they can look forward to heaven (as rapsodically defined by the priests) once they've finished their obedience here on earth. If they vote as instructed, if they leave enough yak butter and flowers on the prescribed altar, if they bomb the designated marketplace, then they'll get their just rewards. Whew, what a relief. (And lately it seems that religion is no longer the opiate of the masses, but their crack cocaine.)

I think belief and faith are two different things. Belief is an intellectual construct; it depends on empirical data and conclusions, with supporting canon, and exhaustive parsing by theologians over centuries: Jesuits and Talmudists and scholars of the Koran spend most of their time defining and refining ever more miniscule points of reason, and when they get stuck, they cop out with the cheap "the rest must be taken on faith". Ordinary people, those living their lives, doing the best they can, and trying to fill the spiritual voids left by overweening, ubiquitous and haunting fear, just don't have the time, the strength or the curiosity to check up on the theologians' work, to challenge any of their personal motives. Usually they're just not courageous enough to take on the arrogant assertions of the priesthood.

Faith IS cheap, and it is beyond price at the same time. Faith flies in the face of reason, even denies much of what is offered as truth by established religion. Faith circumvents consensus: someone who has experienced a spiritual event -- an unexplained recovery from terminal illness, a time out-of-body, a "visit" from a loved one at the point of his death, or his own near-death experience -- knows on a cellular level the truth and value of real faith. He knows that faith is irrelevant to most of the bromides recited in a house of "worship"; while he may still attend the services, might still recite the credos (albeit with private additions and omissions), enjoy the society of those attending with him, find some peace and momentary transcendence from the music, the surrounding art and the occasional homily by an extraordinary priest, our man of faith knows exactly where truth lives, and, with some practice, knows how to get at it for comfort in times of trouble.

It is almost coincidence when a Mother Teresa, a Mahatma Gandhi, a Rabi'a al-'Adawiyya, a Dalai Lama, a Martin Luther King, Jr. emerges from within the strictures of established religion, but emerge they do, and the majesty of their lives and teachings are a reproach to the institutions of their infancy.

Personally, I cherry-pick my religion, feeling most comfortable and least judged in the Episcopal Church, and so far I have found no defensible reason to do otherwise. I admire and appreciate the teachings of the Dalai Lama (compassion as well as detachment), I strive for the wholeness of Christ, I am transported by the music composed for the Roman and Anglican institutions, I am grateful for and I revel in the love of my dear ones whether they agree with me or not. The day this established church tells me how to vote, and who is and is not worthy of love and redemption will be the day I leave for good.