@boagie,
boagie;50450 wrote:I suspect a little dishonesty here
I'm being serious. If you're repeatedly using a term that no one else is using, or you're using it in a different way, then one way to bridge the gap is to use different terminology. I *think* I know what you mean, but it's hard to agree or disagree when the 'mystery' and 'metaphor' hammer is beaten again and again.
boagie wrote:the word is not the thing, god is not the thing, the word god is not the thing, we do not even know what the thing is, the word is a shot in the dark
So you've displaced the terms I objected to onto two other terms, "word" and "thing".
Look, I know that
you know what you mean. And I think I probably know what you actually mean. But for you to argue your point effectively, you need to start with concepts and words that we can all latch onto.
Do you watch Lost? You know how lately people have been having headaches and nosebleeds and dropping dead because the Island is skipping around through time and they don't have an anchor? Think of that as a, well, a metaphor (
) of what's going on here. If we're not anchored in terminology or concepts that we agree with, then how can we follow you down a path of reasoning?
Here's what I'd say if I were you (this is not
my argument -- this is my interpretation of
your argument):
1) Life is mysterious, grand, sublime. We have an infinitesimal experience of this universe. There is an emptiness beyond the edge of our knowledge. And there is some natural human drive to look beyond that edge, to push the fog and the darkness farther away, to see how we as evanescent little things somehow connect to everything else.
2) Throughout history, and before science allowed us to light up that darkness, stories arose and took hold. Stories of us as a people, stories of our ancestors, stories that knit our world with our lives, and our lives with our morals. These were the stories of powers greater than us, and of course we often projected human attributes onto these powers. And because our lives were indeed at the mercy of forces bigger and stronger, we developed traditions to curry favor with these forces, to somehow find a way to live a good and happy life, and if nothing else find happiness in whatever lies
beyond this life.
3) Science has paved a stepwise path between our experience and things that in the past we never could have known for sure. And because of this, we should now see that many of the stories we used to tell are not actually the Truth, though they served that function for aeons and ages. Rather, we can now reinterpret them as metaphors for what lay beyond that darkness.
4) Science builds on itself, it produces practical rewards, and it's in our interest to foster and cultivate it. But adherence to old traditions
despite the advances of science could be considered willful ignorance, and it could hold us back.
Is that a good way of encapsulating your argument? I have to say that it's not a bad series of points, and many people will largely agree with it. Points 3 and especially 4 are going to resonate differently with people based on their points of view, and point 4 is where you want your conversation to land.
I'd generally support your point of view
except that I think that even the symbolic value of cultural traditions is extraordinarily important to us. You see, there is
more than just that "mystery" out there. There is celebration, there is togetherness, there is the sublime, there is artistic expression, and there is the comfort of identifying with a group. Science may tell us
about these phenomena, but it's not going to tell us what to do.
You know my background somewhat, but I'll try it out on you just to illustrate where I'm coming from (and perhaps my point of view is a bit idiosyncratic -- but you have to acknowledge that it's a cool kind of postmodern):
1. I'm a first generation Jewish American. My dad was born in Hungary and my mom in Germany in the years after WWII ended
2. I practice Judaism, albeit not super-actively. We light Shabbat candles every once in a while, we celebrate Passover and Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur and Hannukah. I had a Bar Mitzvah, we had a Jewish wedding, my son had a Bris.
3. I don't believe in God. At least not the literal existence of God or the literality of his actions as described in our tradition. [Maimonides, the greatest Jewish philosopher of the Middle Ages, wrote in Guide for the Perplexed that belief in God was absolutely required to be a Jew]
4. I DO believe in the critical centrality of God to the tradition I come from, and I believe in the relative
reality of God to many people in my family and in my family's history. What is relative reality? Think of it as the fact that these people have lived their entire lives
knowing that God is real. It doesn't matter if they're incorrect in a cosmic sense, because no one lives their life in a cosmic sense.
5. Most of my family died in the Holocaust, and my grandparents (all four) were among the only survivors of their families. Their stories are as horrible as anything you'll read anywhere. My grandmother once recounted hiding in the wall in the Lodz ghetto with her family during the liquidation, reciting the Shema (the holiest Jewish prayer) over and over.
6. To be a practicing Jew
honors what they went through. It connects me with my ancestry who lived in a world far different from mine. It affirms that I will never lose sight of where I came from. And it guarantees that my son, who is lucky enough to know 2 of his great grandparents, will ALSO know where he came from and perhaps pass it down to his own children. A friend of my father's from Hungary had the same story as my dad's family. They converted to Catholicism after the war. His kids, who are my age, don't identify at all with what their family survived. If they were Jewish, they probably would -- it would be there to remind them.
And yet close that drawer in my brain and you get me -- a fully American, rather atheistic / rather postmodernist / rather existentialist / rather liberal guy, who is embroiled in medical science and medical education and clinical care in the ivory tower of American academia. Pretty modern, pretty progressive, etc.
How is religion an impediment to me? It's not -- it's an inspiration -- because sometimes there is beauty, even tragic beauty, in the mystery.