Hard-line atheists and religious fundamentalists are not
really so far apart as either side would like to believe.
I thought about this as I listened to astrophysicist Adam
Frank on a recent episode of the public radio show, “To The Best of Our
Knowledge”. Frank is an unapologetic
atheist. He is also the author of Constant Fire: Beyond the Science and
Religion Debate. He does not believe
in God—but unlike more strident and simplistic non-believers, he refuses to
reduce religion to an atavistic and irrelevant body of fanatical doctrines and
practices. Adam Frank told the
interviewer: “When you say science and religion to people, the first thing they
think of is Richard Dawkins arguing with a southern evangelist about evolution,
and that (argument) has gone on for so long and it just sucks all the air out
of the room. You know there is
absolutely nothing interesting that is going to happen in that debate.”
Why, exactly, is that old debate so stale and boring? Because each side comes across as a kind of parody
of itself. On the one hand, there is an
arrogant and fanatically-materialistic scientist, and on the other, an arrogant
and fanatically-pious preacher. The two
think that they represent polar opposites—but in fact, on the critical issue of
how to read Scripture, they completely agree.
Both are simplistic literalists. The fundamentalist takes the Bible as God’s
word, dictated letter by letter, and concludes (to quote a bumper sticker):
“God said it. I believe it. That settles it.” The atheist reads it exactly the same way—and
on this reading, dismisses it as utter nonsense.
But progressive people of faith—and open-minded
scientists—will acknowledge that there is another way, which is to interpret our
religious texts non-literally. We see
our traditions as full of irony, paradox, humor, and, above all, metaphor. We read God-language as poetry rather than as
(bad) science. The truth of our sacred
texts is not literal or historical; it is spiritual and psychological. I, for one, do not know if Moses ever
actually lived. Nor do I care. His physical existence is irrelevant to my
faith. Moses is my teacher because, as
the foremost character in my tradition’s great story, he informs me how to live
and lead. Or, as Rabbi Lawrence Kushner
puts it: “Torah is not true because it happened. Torah is true because it happens—to us.”
The philosopher Paul Ricoeur suggests that there are three
stages in a progressive approach to faith and holy texts. First we believe on a literal level. Then, as we learn more about science and
history, our sacred “myths” are broken.
But later still, as we reach maturity, we can once again embrace our
traditions’ stories—precisely as myths, which define and bring beauty to our
world. As Ricoeur puts it, “Beyond the
desert of criticism, we wish to be called again.”
Neither the fire and brimstone fundamentalists nor the
strident atheists believe in my God, who is the Source of both science and the
spirit. She is a lot more complicated
and ambiguous than many would like. She
does not speak in one voice or language.
What She asks of me is not always clear. My calling, as a person of progressive faith,
is to learn and live this.
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