SOBRAN'S -- THE REAL NEWS OF THE MONTH
June 2006
(page 1)
The Sins of Organized Irreligion
by Joe Sobran
Nearly every Christian, I suppose, has had the
experience of being belabored by unbelievers about the
putative sins of what is termed "organized religion" --
the Spanish Inquisition, the trial of Galileo, the Salem
witch-hunts, and so forth. What surprises me is that
Christians have been so slow to turn the argument around
and point to the record of what we may call "organized
irreligion."
Since we Christians regard faith as a gift, we
seldom resent unbelief as such. You can't very well blame
someone for not having received a gift, but there are
those who angrily reject gifts, or who resent the good
fortune of those who do receive them, or who are
otherwise something other than people who don't "happen
to be" religious in all innocence.
If religion can be evaluated as a social phenomenon,
in terms of its visible effects on human behavior, so can
unbelief. To begin with the most colossal example, the
militant atheism of the Soviet Union has resulted in the
murder of tens of millions of people on grounds of their
mere membership in so-called counterrevolutionary or
reactionary classes. Graham Greene contends that the
Inquisition might have killed that many people, had it
been technologically feasible to do so, but we may doubt
this. The Inquisition executed tens of thousands of
people over several centuries for what were at least
treated as individual crimes. Just or unjust, these
executions were judicial in form and were performed
against persons, not classes. The perversions of
Christianity are also to some extent limited by
Christianity. The perversions of atheism recall
Dostoyevsky's famous remark, "If God does not exist, then
everything is permitted."
This or that atheist may protest against
Dostoyevsky's inference, but the fact remains that many
atheists have made the same inference themselves.
Enlightened atheists sometimes sneer at Christians who
behave themselves only because they fear hellfire -- and
it may be true that there are higher motives for good
conduct -- but it is hardly consistent to make this
criticism and then to assume simultaneously that such
Christians will keep behaving themselves once they cease
believing in the afterlife.
I can imagine one kind of atheist -- let us call him
"the pious atheist" -- who arrives at his unbelief
without joy, simply as an intellectual conclusion. I
suppose such a man would regard Christian civilization
with the kind of affection and respect a Roman convert to
Christianity in Augustine's day would feel for the dying
Roman Empire, for Cicero and Virgil and Marcus Aurelius.
He would feel that, although that world had passed away,
it had left much of enduring value. We actually do see
pious atheists who may regret the Inquisition but who
also cherish Dante, Monteverdi, Spenser, Milton, Bach,
Handel, Dr. Johnson. To cease believing in the viability
of this Christian civilization is not necessarily either
to condemn it or to assume an attitude of enmity toward
it.
Yet there is another sort of atheist who does regard
himself as Christendom's enemy. Far from cherishing its
past, he condemns it and would wipe out every trace of it
in the present. He hates and fears every sign of it: the
Catholic Church, Moral Majority, the inscription "In God
We Trust." He thinks that humanity is now free at last
from dogma and superstition, and he would get on with the
business of creating a new world on progressive and
scientific principles. The difference between the two
kinds of atheists is roughly the difference between
Santayana and Sartre.
Richard Weaver wrote that a person has no right to
advocate any reform of the world unless he shows by some
prior affirmation that he does indeed cherish some
aspects of the world as it is. Our pious atheist meets
this test. He sees the passing of the Christian order as
a highly equivocal development, if a necessary and
inevitable one. He knows he lives in a continuing world,
and he has the grace and wisdom to appreciate
Christianity as an attempt to express, however
imperfectly, truths about that world. If he finds some
who still believe, he is not altogether eager to correct
them. He understands Gonzalo's rebuke to Sebastian in THE
TEMPEST:
My lord Sebastian,
The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness
And time to speak it in.
And he understands the reflection of Henry V:
There is some soul of goodness in things evil,
Would men observingly distill it out....
The pious atheist, moreover, will not be so sanguine
about what is to succeed the Christian order. For him the
mere negation of God is, in itself, no cultural
substitute for the Christian myths and symbols that have
shown their power to sustain generations of human beings.
Atheism in itself has no cohesive force. Whatever social
cohesion it has provided so far has come more from its
destructive hostility to the Christian civilization it
has totally failed to improve on. Looking at the
organized masses of his fellow atheists, the pious
atheist may prefer erring with Augustine to being right
with such as these.
The godless order has brought us Communism and
abortion clinics. It has yet to produce its Homer,
Virgil, Shakespeare, or Dante. We can understand the man
of no religious faith feeling that he at least prefers
the company of the believers to that of the current pack
of unbelievers.
It may be that the characteristic evils of the
twentieth century don't necessarily follow, in strict
logic, from the denial of God's existence. The historical
fact remains that they =have= followed. As the Marxists
say, it is no accident. If it is fair to hold believers
responsible for the actions of Christians as an
identifiable historical body -- "organized religion" --
then it is equally fair to hold unbelievers responsible,
too.
Yet we persist in treating atheism as if it were
nothing but a private cognitive matter, of no public
concern, eligible for the conventional protections we
accord to, say, the varieties of Protestant belief. For
some people it may be that, but it is time to recognize
that atheism is also a systematic, organized, and
socially powerful negation, driven by furious hostility
to religious tradition. Personally, many of its votaries
are boorish and indiscriminate in their refusal to give
Christianity real credit for anything; they have no
desire to assimilate anything of its heritage, even those
parts Christianity itself assimilated from its various
pagan heritages.
The militant-atheist animus belongs to what I have
elsewhere called the "alienist" animus, the willfully
estranged attitude toward the general society typical of
modern intellectuals and found, in various ways, among
some so-called minority groups. The fault lines of
alienism don't really coincide with obvious social lines
of division. It may occur more often among, say, Jews,
than among Mormons, it may be increasing among Catholics
as it decreases among Jews, but its occurrence can never
be predicted in the individual case on the basis of group
membership. In fact, some so-called minorities, such as
"gays," are not even minorities by inheritance.
Some numerical minorities, like Mormons, aren't even
thought of as minorities in the subtle special sense of
the word now current. That word virtually embodies a
presumption of disaffection from the general society, and
this disaffection is itself presumed to be justified by
what is termed the minority's victimization at the hands
of a more or less monolithic majority. If we look more
closely, I believe we will even find that the very idea
of a minority in this sense is largely a rhetorical
device for covertly attacking what remains of the
Christian culture.
Tension and hostility between different ethnic and
credal groups is natural, but it is also a reciprocal
affair: neither side is likely to be wholly innocent.
Still, the Christian side, as it happens, is likely to
have a certain Christian willingness to give a charitable
benefit of doubt and to assume a share of the guilt. It
is only natural for the non-Christian or anti-Christian
side to accept this favor without returning it. For this
reason Christians in the modern world have been slow to
recognize and respond adequately to their enemies -- even
their declared enemies.
When an intellectual tells us that "the white race
is the cancer of history," clearly using "the white race"
as a surrogate for historical Christendom, we are hearing
something other than the voice of the disinterested
intellect. We are hearing an expression of nihilistic
hatred. Unbelief as such does not impel this kind of
fanaticism.
It is remarkable that we have been so slow to
recognize this specific form of hatred, so much in
evidence, as a social problem or even as a social
phenomenon. The language abounds in words signifying the
hatreds, fears, and suspicions of cultural insiders
toward outsiders. We are all acquainted with "racism,"
"ethnocentrism," "xenophobia," "anti-Semitism,"
"nativism," and the like; these words have a certain
hothouse quality about them, suggesting their recent
invention to serve particular needs. Even older words
such as "prejudice," "bias," "bigotry," "discrimination,"
and "hatred" itself have taken on the same
anti-majoritarian connotations, although it is humanly
probable that there is hostility of at least equal
intensity in the opposite direction. We have no specific
vocabulary at all to suggest this reciprocal possibility.
Yet disaffection from the society one inhabits is
always an available attitude. A glance at Shakespeare
confirms this. His plays offer a gallery of characters
who, for one reason or another, have chosen an attitude
of antagonism toward their societies. Some, like Shylock,
are not without provocation; some, like Iago, indulge the
universal temptation to envy, with no real excuse.
Shylock gives his angry reasons; Iago can't explain
himself except to himself -- and he is struck dumb when,
his full villainy exposed, his society confronts him.
For our present purposes, Edmund in KING LEAR may be
the most interesting example. Presumably Shakespeare
doesn't believe in the gods Lear believes in, but he
clearly doesn't care for Edmund's cavalier attitude
toward them. The pious characters -- Lear, Cordelia,
Kent, Edgar -- are all shown as Edmund's moral superiors,
whatever their other defects. We know little about
Shakespeare's own religious beliefs, but he patently
respects a society's right to its sense of the sacred, to
the shared symbols of holiness held in common by
unreflective people -- which is to say, by most people in
their unreflective moments.
Almost without exception, Shakespeare's "alienated"
characters are villains -- enemies of social peace and
order. They are recognizably human, and they sometimes
appeal powerfully to our sympathies, but there is no
doubt of their villainy in action. Their villainy
consists precisely in their active enmity toward the
society around them. The apostate is also a social
defector.
The assumptions embodied in the very structure of
these plays are directly opposed to the assumption that
hatred and hostility are always to be imputed to society.
This imputation itself expresses hostility, and we do
well to raise our guard against those who make it.
Whatever atheism may mean abstractly, in our own world it
often means a specific and militant hatred of
Christianity, a hatred as particularist as anti-Semitism,
and as deadly.
This essay originally appeared in CENTER JOURNAL (Spring
1985) of Notre Dame University, Notre Dame, Indiana.
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