During a recent discussions with my (devoutly Catholic and highly intelligent) mother, we touched on the question of proving the existence of things that cannot be observed scientifically. I wish I could recall the entire conversation for you here, but one of her questions was, “If you were asked for proof that I love you, could you give it?” Meaning that love–which she sees as a very real thing and more than just synapses and chemicals reacting in the brain–cannot be proven, but it still exists. You can guess that she wished to illustrate that God can exist while we cannot scientifically observe or test it.
All that to say … I just read a highly fascinating article called “The Science of Why We Don’t Believe in Science” on why scientific findings can be so thorough and so solid, yet there are still those who will argue against overwhelming evidence and hold tightly to anti-scientific beliefs. You may find it as enlightening as I did. I even see this behavior in myself, so don’t go thinking all atheists claim to be rational and without bias, now.
… [A]n array of new discoveries in psychology and neuroscience has further demonstrated how our preexisting beliefs, far more than any new facts, can skew our thoughts and even color what we consider our most dispassionate and logical conclusions. This tendency toward so-called “motivated reasoning” helps explain why we find groups so polarized over matters where the evidence is so unequivocal: climate change, vaccines, “death panels,” the birthplace and religion of the president (PDF), and much else. It would seem that expecting people to be convinced by the facts flies in the face of, you know, the facts.
We’re not driven only by emotions, of course—we also reason, deliberate. But reasoning comes later, works slower—and even then, it doesn’t take place in an emotional vacuum. Rather, our quick-fire emotions can set us on a course of thinking that’s highly biased, especially on topics we care a great deal about.
That’s not to suggest that we aren’t also motivated to perceive the world accurately—we are. Or that we never change our minds—we do. It’s just that we have other important goals besides accuracy—including identity affirmation and protecting one’s sense of self—and often those make us highly resistant to changing our beliefs when the facts say we should.
Modern science originated from an attempt to weed out such subjective lapses—what that great 17th century theorist of the scientific method, Francis Bacon, dubbed the “idols of the mind.” Even if individual researchers are prone to falling in love with their own theories, the broader processes of peer review and institutionalized skepticism are designed to ensure that, eventually, the best ideas prevail.
Read more on MotherJones.
Bonus: Creationist cartoons!
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photo by Rachel Ford James
The Free-for-All Bookshelf here at work is a little bit tighter now, stuffed with my newest donations. I just emptied a big white crate filled with some of my most precious possessions as a Christian: books. I’ve had this collection sitting in my car trunk for over a year. It went with me on vacations, to-and-from work, and I just tried to ignore it when I packed my groceries or stuffed my suitcases into my little Mazda.
What was I waiting for? I’d already purged a large percentage of my Christian books in 2008 when I discovered (or, more accurately, admitted) my atheism. Everything from Bible studies and self-help to fiction and humor was either tossed in the recycling for good or donated to Goodwill for people to pick through if they gave a damn.
But this crate–this generic white crate that always pinched my fingers when I carried it–was the spiritual and emotional luggage from my religious past all in one place. Some of my most beloved titles were in there:
- The Cost of Discipleship and Life Together by Deitrich Bonhoeffer. Bonhoeffer was always able to touch the part of my dreams that desired depth, thoughtfulness, community, and courage.
- A Simple Path by Mother Teresa. I always loved her writings and even considered converting to Catholicism after reading what she and Therese of Lisieux had to say about love and its purity of devotion. I was attracted to the sweetness and passion I saw in their words.
- The Ragamuffin Gospel by Brennan Manning. I’m almost embarrassed to leave this book in the hands of a stranger. I scrawled notes and highlighted so many passages of this book that it’s practically a public confessional of my most formative years as a Christian (which happened to be some of my last years, so it turns out). I dove into this book with such emotional transparency that it makes me blush just to read it again.
- Rich Christians in an Age of Hunger by Ronald Sider. I challenge all believers to get this book and take it to heart.
- Restoration and King of the Jews by D. Thomas Lancaster. I went through a long, passionate phase as a Messianic believer in what might be called the torah-observant movement when these books about the unity between “old” and “new” portions of the Christian Bible meant a great deal to me. It truly changed the kind of Christian I was.
And these are just a sampling of the types of books that influenced me in my multi-faceted religious life. I admit, I still have an emotional connection to them. Like many people who seek comfort and guidance during rough times, these types of books were a help for me when I was grieving, curious, and alone. But like many former Christians I know, I’m now able to look back on those tools and texts and see them for another perspective, with the “veil” of faith and myth pulled away from my eyes.
It was difficult placing them on the shelf today, but I am glad and relieved to have already left those old beliefs and delusions behind. Not everything that makes us feel good or helps us through a tough time is true or correct. I’m sure if I had been non-religious during those years that I would have come out just fine all the same. I’m glad I had a searching and curious mind that was fascinated by those volumes but also able to see more to life than belief in a non-existent god.
What items have been hard for you to part with over the years? Items from past relationships? Books? Habits?
This is the first Easter I will be spending apart from my family, without going to church, and without any sort of recognition whatsoever. I will miss seeing my relatives and enjoying their company, but I just didn’t want to do the traveling and have to say “no” ten times to invites to multiple masses, a special Saturday night religious ceremony my family has at dinner, and prayer times. To my family, the point of Easter was not chocolate, ham dinners, bunnies, nor eggs. It was always about Jesus’ death and resurrection. We were always very devoted and serious Christians. And easter used to be my favorite church holiday of the whole year.
I was raised semi-Catholic (never confirmed), and always kept one toe in the Roman Catholic pool. I would visit mass with my mother when she invited me, and my favorite service of any denomination was always the annual Easter vigil mass on Saturday nights (which is going on as I type this now). The late-into-the-night, 5-hour-long service was the high-point of my spiritual year. I memorized the songs as a child, knew the rhythm of the readings by the time I was a teen, and loved every single second. When other kids would be bored and restless, I was excited, attentive, and involved. And I wasn’t even Catholic!
There was a magic in the darkness of the sanctuary, a ripple of excitement when the candles were lit, and a thrumming thrill that flooded the entire church when the gospel readings were read, the lights came on, and the ecstatic songs of praise would ring out. I lived for those moments. I felt so at home, so fulfilled spiritually.
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