The Rabbi Who Believes in Zeus: Popular Myths About Religion, Faith, and God

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INTRODUCTION

Absurdities and Atrocities

Those who believe absurdities will commit atrocities.

Voltaire

Causeless Hatred

In 2006, Reverend John Hagee, the founder and senior pastor of Cornerstone Church in San Antonio, a megachurch with more than 20,000 active members, told his audience,

It is a war of light vs. darkness, of Christ vs. antichrist, the Word of God vs. secular humanism. There will be a winner and a loser! There is no compromise with the enemy. There is no neutrality in this war!

In Hagee’s apocalyptic vision, our world is a battleground between two irreconcilable forces: those who are righteous and belong to one select group, and those who are evil and belong to another. In this vision, these two clearly divided groups represent inherently opposing worldviews, leading to inevitable conflict where only one side can win. At stake is the future of all creation, and so there can be no common ground, no dialogue, and no mutual understanding - only victory or defeat.

Most of us are deeply disturbed by such a vision of divisiveness, and its blanket condemnation of others as the cause of all the evil in the world. We recognize the danger in this kind of extremism, and we know that such extremism comes not from facts or knowledge, but from fear and insecurity. And so, in our modern age of reason and science, religious extremism has rightly been the target of much intense criticism, and in the wake of 9/11 several very popular books by high-profile authors who harshly condemned religion, faith, and the very idea of a Creator, have garnered new fans. This has been labeled the God Wars.

But, as is so often the case in human history, the attempt to identify and eliminate extremism has birthed its own new extremism. And this new extremism can be as ill informed and as polarizing as that which it condemns. Just as Hagee and his followers see secular humanism as the force pulling us to the abyss, this extremism sees religion in that destructive role. This position was famously articulated in a 1999 speech by Dr. Steven Weinberg, a Nobel laureate in theoretical physics. He said,

With or without religion, good people can behave well and bad people can do evil; but for good people to do evil — that takes religion."

This pithy saying has become very popular, and for many sums up a belief about the nature of religion; that it is inherently corruptive. But, as we will see, Weinberg’s statement lacks historical or statistical evidence to support it, and, like Hagee’s, is merely a blanket condemnation that shuts off any possibility of understanding. In fact, in its simplistic categorizations, Weinberg’s comment is closer to Hagee’s than to an objective, scientific assessment, and is oddly fundamentalist – some might say religious –in its absolutist notions that there are, by some clear standard of measurement, good people and bad people, and that particular actions can be described as evil. Like Hagee’s position, Weinberg’s points to an outside entity – in this case, religion - as the sole cause of the ills in the world, and to his own group – in this case scientists – as its saviors.

As a rabbi and writer I come across this position nearly daily. If only we could rid ourselves of religion and the need for God, and embrace science instead, I often hear, the world would be a much safer and saner place. Since 2009 I’ve been writing blogs about religion, faith, and God for The Huffington Post, and I have been stunned to see that the majority of the comments in response to my blogs - which often numbered in the thousands – are typically antagonistic, and are often angry or sarcastic. This was not a reflection on my writing in particular, because most of the Religion section bloggers, especially those who write favorably about religion and profess a belief in a Creator, received similar responses. Surprisingly, these comments don’t come from right-wing religious fundamentalists, but from self-defined progressives who militantly oppose religion and faith. This is even more surprising because most of the bloggers, like me, are not traditional or dogmatic, but are generally from the most liberal side of religion, with the most inclusive view of God.

Of course anger and sarcasm are all too prevalent on the Internet, where anyone, especially those with a gripe, can vent almost anything. But these comments do represent a viewpoint that has gained strength and momentum, as demonstrated by the phenomenal sales of the recent God Wars books, and the plummeting rate of religious affiliation in Europe and America. These comments usually began with the position that religion is inevitably in conflict with science. One person wrote to me,

There is no bridge between science and religion. My opinion is that there never will be. Science is a fluid, constantly questioning, open-ended pursuit of knowledge and understanding of the universe in all its forms. Religion is the end of questioning and the acceptance of ignorance.

These comments also posit that God is merely the projection of our unconscious fears and desires, or a judgmental sky-tyrant created by unscrupulous conmen in order to control or milk the masses. One reader wrote,

Fear of the unknown and religious upbringing drives the need for this imaginary creature [God]. Greed for more life is another major driver of this imaginary quest! All religious beliefs are just reasons to be Cash Cows for their leaders. Wake up, people!

And regarding faith, many people wrote to say that faith is, by its nature, absurd and harmful. One typical commenter wrote,

Faith is irrational, immutable, and subjective. It is the enemy of mankind. It isn’t worth the paper it’s written on.

These exchanges demonstrate the level of intensity that surrounds the current conversation about religion, faith, and God. Clearly, much of this intensity is reasonable. Many people have been, and continue to be, deeply hurt by religion. And many others have difficulty encountering faith and God in ways that are consistent with the realities of their lives. But is this all there is to religion, and am I, and others who value religion and believe in God, simply wrong?

There are many intelligent, thoughtful people who seem to think so. In his bestselling 2005 book, The End of Faith, Sam Harris, who received a degree in philosophy from Stanford University and a Ph.D. in neuroscience from UCLA, wrote,

Religious faith represents so uncompromising a misuse of the power of our minds that it forms a kind of perverse, cultural singularity – a vanishing point beyond which rational discourse proves impossible.

And there are many others who simply aren’t very knowledgeable about religion, and who assume that the criticisms of religion are true. And so, the divide widens, and unfounded accusations lead to demonization ending in hatred - between people of different religions and sects, and between those who are religious and those who oppose religion.

This causeless hatred is a disease of consciousness that afflicts humanity, and is at the root of much of our communal and personal suffering. The cure for this disease is found in objective exploration, as free as possible from personal agenda, with the intent to seek understanding, not victory. This requires that we carefully evaluate and, if necessary, discard some of our most deeply held beliefs if they prove to be inconsistent with facts. And the cure takes hold when we muster the courage and humility to see people as they are, with the desire to help, not to convince, knowing that all of us share a common humanity, that we all struggle in some way, and yet all of us seek wholeness and love.

Reconciliation

We begin the exploration with three essential questions:

What is the purpose of religion?

What is the meaning of faith?

What is the nature of God?

Simple, unchallengeable answers to these questions have been proposed by loud voices on both sides. For some critics of religion the answers are as follows:

Religion is a collection of archaic superstitions that were created long ago to ease the fear of death and explain natural phenomena not yet understood by science. Religion remains compelling today because people continue to suffer from these ancient insecurities.

Faith is the blind acceptance of codified dogma that must be fully adopted and never questioned so that religious authorities can retain control. Believers are deliberately kept from exposure to reason and science, because such exposure would naturally lead to challenge, and the end of faith.

God is the name given to a fictitious being created by religious authorities to judge, reward, and punish us for our actions, to enforce religious dogma, and to maintain blind faith. Just as there have been many gods that we now reject as ancient mythology - such as Zeus, Mithra, Thor, or Ba’al - so should any intelligent individual reject God, YHWH, Jesus, Brahma, Allah, and other fictitious deities that are worshipped today.

For some defenders of religion there are also fixed, but apparently very different, answers:

There is only one true religion – my religion -, which is the only path to eternal life. All other religions are false, and if one truly cares about the salvation of human souls, believers of these false religions should be shown the truth, and converted.

Faith is the submission of individual will in full acceptance of the absolute truth found in the holy books and doctrine, which are the literal and unchangeable word of God as revealed to a select few.

God is a being fully described in these holy books alone, Who demands that we follow the commandments and principles found therein, reap the reward, or suffer the consequences, which are eternal and irrevocable.

These two different visions of religion, faith, and God seem to be opposite and irreconcilable positions, in which only one can be right. And, as seen in the positions of Hagee and Weinberg, these two competing visions dominate much of the debate today. But are these are only choices? Do we need to choose between science and religion, logic and faith, natural causes and God, evolution and the Bible, absolute truth and subjective individual inclinations, body and spirit, physical evidence and personal experience, certainty and paralysis, this life and eternal life? And do we need to choose between the image of a dark future in which religion retains - or possibly strengthens - its corrosive grip on human intellect, and the image of a bright future in which only the clear light of reason and objective material evidence guide our every decision?

Conversely, do we need to choose between the prophetic day when all humanity recognizes the one true God’s one true religion, united in holiness and purpose, and a dystopia in which the disappearance of faith results in lives lived only in pursuit of momentary selfish desires and irresponsible power, filled with people seeking knowledge without wisdom and pleasure without responsibility?

What awful choices! Isn’t there more to religion, faith, and God than these extreme, binary choices? And isn’t there more to being human?Is any reconciliation possible, or are we faced with a dramatic spilt in humanity between these two sides?

To believe that there can be no reconciliation, as do people on both sides, is to indulge our deepest fears: our fear of uncertainty, of change, of appearing foolish, and of facing our own flaws and prejudices. This indulgence keeps us in needless conflict, and stops growth. Embedded in this conflict, though, is the seed of growth, because human intelligence evolves through the deliberate reconciliation of perceived opposites. The early 19th century German philosopher GWF Hegel called this the dialectic process, through which the reconciliation of a thesis – something believed to be true – and its antithesis – the opposite of the thesis – leads to a new, higher realization – the synthesis. And then, the synthesis takes the role of thesis, is again challenged by its opposite, and a new resolution is found. Through this process we climb the ladder of consciousness and arrive at continually higher truths.

This process begins with the willingness to accept that those with whom we disagree may have something to teach us, and to recognize that our mental conceptions are limited by the level of our own knowledge and self-awareness. This is a difficult first step, because we all have beliefs that we will stubbornly defend and that we will resist reconsidering, even in the face of facts. It doesn’t matter how objective you think you are, you do this too. While we’d all like to believe that exposure to facts naturally changes minds, this often is not the case. We all tend to avoid considering facts that threaten to undermine some of our most deeply held beliefs about ourselves, other people, and the meaning of our lives. When involving issues for which one is passionately invested, exposure to facts that contradict one’s positions can actually cause one to dig in deeper. This comes from the fear that these facts would throw us into turmoil, and that we would need to reconsider much on which we’ve based our lives and our self-image.

This phenomenon, I have discovered, is acute in the conversation about religion, faith, and God, because, whatever our experiences and beliefs, these touch on questions that are at the core of our lives: Does life have a purpose? Do I have essential responsibilities to others? Is there more to existence than materiality? What does it mean to be a human being? When confronted with information that challenge one’s beliefs in these areas– whether one is a religious fundamentalist, spiritual but not religious, agnostic, or atheist – the reaction may be to ignore, silence, or even attack the source of the information. This is all done to avoid the painful process of changing one’s mind. An ancient story of unknown origin tells this truth,

A man walks through the woods, pushing past thick brush, which scratches his face and blocks his view forward. Finally, after much effort, he reaches a clearing, and there, situated in the middle of an open field, is a modest house with one small window. The man comes to the house and peers through the window. Inside, he sees several people who appear to be dancing. Although the man cannot hear any music through the glass, he sees that each dancer seems to be moving in response to a common rhythm, although in different ways: one sways, one jumps, one twirls, one leaps…

The man comes closer and puts an ear to the glass, but still hears nothing. These people must be imagining music that does not exist, he reasons. They must be crazy.

One dancer sees him, stops moving, points to the door, and waves for the man to come in. The man shakes his head and turns back toward the woods. I do not associate with crazy people, he thinks.

As he nears the edge of the clearing, a quiet voice enters his mind. Perhaps there is real music that you do not hear. Perhaps you should open the door and find out.

The man hesitates, then quickly enters the woods. No, he thinks, There’s nothing wrong with me. Those people are crazy! Dangerous! I must warn others. As he re-enters the woods the sharp brush scrapes his cheek.

The man encountered people whose actions are totally foreign to him. He can see them, but has no insight into the reasons for their actions. All he sees is their outward appearance, but he can’t hear the music that motivates and moves them. This inability to fully share in the internal experience of others is part of the human condition, and in itself is not a problem. We must have this separation and distance from others so that we can live as distinct individuals, each with a unique purpose. What makes us each unique is that we all hear different internal music that calls us in different directions. This accounts for the great diversity of our species: some hear the music of healing, some of creating buildings, some of exploring the mechanisms of physicality, some of the call to beauty, power, justice, mercy, or service. And so we have doctors, architects, engineers, scientists, artists, business executives, judges, charity workers, philosophers, theologians, and clergy. All of these are needed, and add to a healthy society. The clarity and volume of the music varies between individuals, depending on our natural inclinations, experiences, training, and discipline.

Like the man in the story, when you encounter those who hear a different song, you are faced with the question of how to understand those who appear to experience something that you don’t share. There are two options. The first: The other person is responding to something that is not there, either because he/she has been told lies by others who wish to control him/her for various reasons, or because he/she is irrational. The second: He/she is having a genuine experience of something of which you are unaware.

For most of us, the second option is unappealing. It may make us feel that there is something that we are lacking; that we are defective in some way. Or the other person’s experience may be so far outside our normal way of understanding ourselves and the world that we can’t possibly imagine what is being experienced. Like the man in the woods, we may be disturbed by our deafness to the reality of others, and may want to run away from the encounter. When the thought enters our mind that we may be missing something, we may reject this possibility, and instead angrily conclude that not only are these other people delusional, but that, in their delusion, they are dangerous. And so, our reaction may be to mock or condemn.

At the times when we are exposed to those whose view of life is so different than our own we can explore this in humility and curiosity, or we can dismiss and avoid. We can recognize that others may have access to insights that we lack, or we can shut ourselves off from this realization, out of the inability to acknowledge that we are not perfect. If, like the man in the story, we reject what is offered, then, instead of exploring this new possibility, we negatively label the other so that we can avoid ever considering what they have to offer.

By so dismissing them we also dismiss anything that they have to say, and in doing so dismiss the message before it’s heard: Don’t listen to him. He’s crazy/wacko/anti-science/a bigot/a fascist/an infidel/a con man/delusional/brainwashed/full of shit. This outright rejection and condemnation is simply cowardly and childish, and not worthy of human beings. This attitude sends us back into the woods, only to get scratched and lost.

These negative reactions are far too common in much of the debate about religion, faith, and God, on both sides, leading us away from understanding and toward needless conflict. It takes great strength to embrace our own limitations, to see where we are lost, and to take guidance when it appears. This can feel threatening, because it means considering information that contradicts some deeply held positions, and dropping teachings from childhood that we’ve turned to for comfort but that actually keep us from exploring new possibilities and new experiences. It may mean re-evaluating the conclusions that we’ve arrived at later in life that we’ve used, usually unconsciously, to make ourselves feel smarter, holier, and wiser (or at least less foolish) than others, so that we will feel safe and valued. It may mean seeing how we use these strategies to condemn others so that we can avoid looking directly at ourselves. And it requires wading into uncertainty, which can evoke fears of all sorts. But this is the path of personal growth. And if we turn our back on it, we will only continue to widen the divide, and ultimately hurt ourselves.

Grace: A Personal Experience

Until the age of 37 – nearly twenty years ago - I was an adamant critic of religion, and a self-identified atheist. I grew up in a Conservative Jewish home with parents who encouraged religion, took us to Saturday morning service every week, and sent us to Hebrew school to learn Jewish tradition and practices. But by my Bar Mitzvah at age 13 I concluded that I wanted nothing more to do with Judaism. Religion seemed to me to be no more than a crutch for those who are too afraid to face life directly; a stuffy tradition that had nothing to do with my life. And I couldn’t imagine how any intelligent, informed adult could possibly believe in some kind of super-being who created everything, gave us texts, watches what we do, knows our thoughts, and cares about us in some way. I firmly believed that if only humanity could get past these ridiculous superstitions the world would be a much better place. And having such great minds as Voltaire, Freud, and Russell in my corner made this position feel rock solid.

Now, astonishingly, I am a rabbi, and no one is more astonished than me. I have dedicated my life to deepening faith and of service to others, although frequently falling very far short of both. I love religion, and feel God’s Presence as the ultimate reality. And I also continued to love science. I now know that nearly everything that I thought I knew about religion was factually wrong, naïve, and frankly arrogant.

The process that led to my decision to enter the clergy began with an unexpected and unplanned spiritual experience. All such experiences are very difficult to describe, and always lose their reality to the limitation of language, like reading about sex compared to having really great sex. I can say that from an ordinary state of consciousness I suddenly experienced a different, more powerful, and truer reality. This began when I made an odd decision. Although I had not been to a synagogue in over twenty years, I felt an urge to go one evening, and soon found myself sitting alone in the back of the large room, wondering why I was wasting a perfectly good Friday night. As I watched others enter I, as usual, created internal stories about who they are and why they came. All these stories were, as usual, unkind.

I was about to get up and leave when I saw a shimmering, silvery light slowly enter the room from above, glowing as it descended. Since it was dark outside I assumed that the room’s lights were being brightened, but I couldn’t see the source. As I watched the light fall into the space I soon noticed that, somehow, I could see more clearly than usual, as though I was looking through a magnifying glass. The light brightened, and so did the intensification of my vision. Although this was certainly very strange, I felt very happy and calm.

Directly in front of me sat an elderly woman, and I stared at the back of her head, seeing her hair in microscopic detail, as though each strand was the branch of a tree. This was extraordinarily beautiful, and I realized that I had never noticed how wonderful hair really is. I didn’t have time to examine this further because suddenly my entire perceptions changed.

The only way that I can describe what happened is that all the defenses that I created to separate me from others fell, like dropping a heavy coat. As I looked at the woman in front of me I felt her emotions as mine: her struggles, regrets, loves, passions, and the lovely lightness in her acceptance of a difficult life (I later got to know her well and discovered that everything that I experienced in this moment described her very accurately). I looked around, and other people’s feelings opened as well. I felt a sweet tenderness and goodness that is at the essence of everyone. And I also saw how everyone, to varying degrees and in different ways, covered this goodness with their own images and false personae, designed to feel worthy of receiving love and to keep others from hurting this deeply tender spot. I could actually see these protective devices as though they were physical objects. I saw that these devices only caused more pain by burying our deepest yearning - to be seen and loved as we are. And I saw how thick my protection was, and how deeply unworthy I felt. I cried, for the first time in decades, at the beauty and pain that we all share.

The light then gathered around me and I felt an embrace, as if the light itself were alive. I sank into its warmth, and sensed a presence that seemed to be composed of love itself. A voice that came from outside myself, but that also somehow occupied an inner place, spoke to me. It said simply, I love you. This voice had a compassion that felt endless. You love me? I asked. As if there was no need to answer such an obvious question, it simply said, You must change. You are more than this. I audibly answered, Yes.

The light immediately disappeared, and my senses returned to normal. I sat crumpled in my seat at the back of the synagogue, assuming that my drama must have been the center of attention. To my relief no one seemed to notice. Did that really happen? I thought. What/Who/Where was that? Although it would be easier to believe that this was just a neurological malfunction or delusion (an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato, as Ebenezer Scrooge proposed), I could not deny its power and reality. This experience started a process that changed me for the better. I began to see other people with more kindness and empathy, and I also began to feel that life has a purpose.

I don’t claim that I was in some way saved, or that I was a terrible, sinful person before this. I most certainly don’t claim that now I am somehow enlightened or beyond the daily egoic challenges that afflict everyone (just ask my wife!). And I don’t claim that being in a place of worship was necessary for such a revelation. Such experiences have happened to others on trains, in nature, at home, and even at the office. What I experienced is simply a state of awareness that is available