Jonathan Iwry | Deus ex metro

The Faithless Quaker | What is it that makes people so defensive about their religious views?

By Jonathan Iwry 10/12/14 11:30pm

I was on my morning comm ute to work two summers ago when my Metro car experienced technical difficulties. We were temporarily stuck underground.

I noticed a lady across from me looking upward, almost as if through the ceiling. Stuck motionless in the dark, she fixed her eyes on the heavens.

I wondered what was going through her mind. Did she think a humongous hand would reach down and scoop her out of the car? Was she hoping that god would command the brakes magically back to working order?

Then the brutal honesty of her situation hit me. Whatever promises she was preparing to make to the Prayer Receptacle, she probably knew that they wouldn’t last. Neither did she likely know or care about the mechanics of the Metro. It wasn’t about the details; those were all just the furnishings of a simple, honest calling out.

I had all but forgotten that morning until earlier this week, when I watched Ben Affleck duke it out with philosopher Sam Harris on Bill Maher’s s how . Harris argued that we shouldn’t let fear of offending religious people prevent us from speaking out against the dangers of organized religion, especially when they call for the return of political and religious totalitarianism.

Having barely given Harris the chance to speak, Affleck seemed to consider himself qualified to call Harris “racist.” He argued that we shouldn’t judge an entire religion based on a couple of crazies (despite the fact that they might technically be the most faithful observers of their sacred texts). Apparently, to be troubled by the fundamentalist implications of a religious sect is tantamount to bigotry.

Affleck missed his opponent’s point, though. Harris wasn’t saying that all practitioners of Islam are evil. He was saying that their religious ideology is conducive to radical interpretation and therefore dangerous.

It’s a little baffling that debates such as these are so controversial. If I were to criticize college football or even a political party, it would seem odd to scold me for being “bigoted” against athletes or Republicans. There’s something deeply personal about religious belief that sets it apart from other kinds of views. For better or worse, it’s a response to the deepest anxieties of the human condition.

As I watched Affleck bare his teeth, I saw glimmers of the lady on the Metro so many months back. In that moment, her faith didn’t rest on justification. It wasn’t about reasons. She just wanted comfort. She was scared.

People believe in god in spite of the evidence, not because of it. They don’t care if it’s sensible or not; it’s a matter of what reassures them. Trusting in a supernatural guardian shields people from uncertainty and death. It offers simple and palatable answers to complicated questions. It paints the universe in personal shades.

When the faithful are told that their beliefs are frivolous, they believe that their sincerest needs and fears are being undermined. Fear of death and the desire for meaning are raw, human instincts and we should recognize and approach them with compassion as best we can.

That said, the personal nature of religious belief doesn’t excuse it from the hot seat of free expression and intellectual discourse. To witch-hunt people who criticize religion is to say that an opinion is more valuable than the freedom to express one’s discontent — and no idea should ever be put before a human being.

To be a bigot means to give less moral consideration to one or several people based on demographics. Criticizing someone’s beliefs doesn’t mean I consider them morally inferior. If anything, the fact that I expect them to listen to my reasons and debate with me reflects a certain respect for them as an individual.

Supernatural attempts at finding a solution aren’t themselves sacred. We must instead drop the barriers, acknowledge our collective struggle and commit to finding answers as honestly as possible.

I still think about that lady from time to time. Beneath her silent prayer was something true and relatable. I didn’t have to pray with her, and I don’t have to admire her piety. But perhaps I should have offered her my hand.

Eventually there was a jolt, and we rolled on.

Jonathan Iwry is 2014 College graduate from Potomac, Md. His last name is pronounced “eev-ree.” His email address is jon.iwry@gmail.com. “The Faithless Quaker” usually appears every Monday.

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