After reading Karen Armstrong's defense of theism in an age of Darwin, one is tempted to moan, "With friends like this, who needs enemies?" As it turns out, sometimes we do need enemies, honest enemies who see right through the meretricious hand-waving of contemporary theologians like Armstrong bent on dressing up self-defeat as victory. Richard Dawkins, our world-village atheist, turns out to be the hero of the debate, the unwitting witty champion of God. Bless Dawkins!—he at least knows a shoddy idol when he sees it tottering in front of him, and he destroys it with admirable verve.
The interesting thing about the pseudo-debate was that neither Armstrong nor Dawkins knew what the other would write. That makes Dawkins' flourish at the end even more delicious. After dismissing God, Dawkins dismisses the sophistry of sophisticated theologians who treat the annihilation of belief as a blessing:
"Now, there is a certain class of sophisticated modern theologian who will say something like this: 'Good heavens, of course we are not so naïve or simplistic as to care whether God exists. Existence is such a 19th-century preoccupation! It doesn't matter whether God exists in a scientific sense. What matters is whether he exists for you or for me. If God is real for you, who cares whether science has made him redundant? Such arrogance! Such elitism.'"
Dawkins couldn't have described Armstrong more accurately if he'd had her in front of him sitting for an intellectual portrait! As Dawkins rightly concludes, such sophistry is only suicide posing as progress. ("You can't kill me! I'm already dead! Hah!") It is also the creed of a very small sect. In Dawkins' stinging words, "if that's what floats your canoe, you'll be paddling it up a very lonely creek. The mainstream belief of the world's peoples is very clear. They believe in God, and that means they believe he exists in objective reality, just as surely as the Rock of Gibraltar exists."
Dawkins, unlike Armstrong, at least has the merit of knowing what he doesn't believe. That is why he informs such sophisticated modern theologians that they are, in fact, really atheists.
What, then, did Armstrong say? And even more important, why did she say it? Here, a history lesson would help (especially as a corrective to Armstrong's erroneous historical account).
In the 17th century, reductionist materialism and modern atheism arose together as fast friends. The goal of the atheists was to describe the universe in such a way that God, the soul, and pesky religion could be systematically eliminated from the cosmos. Like their great, great, great, great grandson Richard Dawkins, the early Enlightenment atheists believed that God was a delusion, and a harmful one at that. For them, religion was not only false but the cause of bloody political conflict. If that weren't enough, it ruined our chances for a good time in this world by focusing our attentions solely on the next.
These materialist-atheists therefore asserted that nothing exists except lifeless, inert, mindless atoms randomly and eternally jostling about, and that's where everything came from. It gave them a God-proof cosmos. They defined both science and rationality accordingly. That is, to be scientific, you had to be a strict, card-carrying materialist; to be rational, meant you had to give up any and all belief that immaterial beings (God, the human soul, ghosts, etc.) existed.
Once this view of science and rationality became generally accepted as definitive (roughly, the 19th century, the century of Darwin), then one was faced with two choices: either give up belief in God as irrational and unscientific, or fashion one's theology so that one's religion was entirely irrational and unscientific. So it is no accident at all that the 19th century was filled with "sophisticated" attempts by theologians to create various versions of irrational and unscientific faiths. Most of them boiled down to saying that faith wasn't about objective facts (like the existence of God, the Incarnation, or the resurrection), but about subjective feelings. Redefining faith as a merely irrational internal feeling seemed a safe way to guard it against militant atheism that demanded that religion be entirely dismissed as unscientific and hence unworthy of the bright new age of Enlightenment.
Of course, it was not safe, but merely a laughable capitulation of theologians. It created an enviable win-win situation for the materialist atheist, the very situation that defines the Armstrong-Dawkins "debate." Dawkins has given up belief in God as irrational and unscientific, and Armstrong glories in refashioning her religion as entirely irrational and unscientific. As Dawkins cheerfully points out, Armstrong's glory is merely gussied up self-defeat.
So we are not surprised that Armstrong begins by thanking Richard Dawkins profusely for killing of the notion that God is an Intelligent Creator. She thinks it much better to accept that "life itself is the result of a blind process of natural selection," and that human beings in particular are "not the pinnacle of a purposeful creation" but "like everything else, they evolved by trial and error and God had no direct hand in their making." Indeed, "Darwin may have done religion—and God—a favor by revealing a flaw in modern Western faith."
Oh really? What is that flaw? What is that favor? As it turns out—and this is all very sophisticated, mind you—the flaw is the belief that God exists. And apparently we have Darwin to thank for doing us the favor of disabusing us of that silly notion. By knocking God out of the cosmos, we may finally realize, with a sigh of relief, that "what we call 'God' is merely a symbol that points to an indescribable transcendence, whose existence cannot be proved but is only intuited by means of spiritual exercises and a compassionate lifestyle that enable us to cultivate new capacities of mind and heart." In short (very short), religion is therapeutic. It is a handy symbol that somehow or other helps "us live creatively with realities for which there are no easy solutions and find an interior haven of peace;…" Away with "the idols of certainty and back to the 'God beyond God.' The best theology is a spiritual exercise, akin to poetry."
To quip from Dawkins, that is "so 19th-century." As with Armstrong, the capitulating theologians of the 19th-century thought they could find refuge from the acids of materialist-defined science, by lapsing into a kind of dogma-less romantic reverie of emotion, something that made them a little warmer in the cold, law-governed, meaningless cosmos of the materialists. They thus tended toward a kind of western-washed Buddhism that tried to deny any significance to the cold reality described by materialist scientists. So it was that they closed their eyes to reality and with a Buddha-like smile, turned inward to a safe and happy haven of subjective feeling. The problem with worshipping one's own irrational feelings, however, is that it makes one's own feelings into a God—and that is the worst and most dangerous idol of all.
What Armstrong should have done—what the 19th-century theologians should have done—was examine more critically the materialist-atheist presuppositions that defined the age, especially those that defined Charles Darwin's particular version of evolutionary theory. She (and they) might have discovered that both reason and science were much larger and more expansive than the shrunken editions proposed by reductionists bent on squeezing God out of the picture. |