The Tyranny of Skepticism

July 20, 2011

This afternoon I put on the audiobook for The Believing Brain by Dr. Michael Shermer for my drive from Helena to Missoula.  I hit play on my way out of town and hit stop when I crested McDonald Pass.  I'm sure there's a metaphor somewhere in that about finding truth on top of the mountain, but I'm not going to scramble for it.

From the half hour that I listened, Dr. Shermer made it clear that he is a skeptic.  Dr. Shermer's marketing materials refer to him as "the world's best known skeptic and critical thinker."  He is a true disciple of scientific method and did not have a high regard for anyone who holds beliefs that cannot be proven through scientific method.  The remaining twelve and a half hours of the audiobook appear to describe Dr. Shermer's reasoning for why people hold these beliefs without standard evidence to back them up.

I wasn't in the mood to listen to anymore or take potshots at Dr. Shermer's arguments.  In part, he's right.  I am a puppet to my faith and belief system.  I analyze the world according to those guidelines and try to act accordingly.  My faith and belief systems have the capacity to change but that requires a serious dose of education, lived experiences, reflection, and/or grace.

But, Dr. Shermer doesn't realize that he is just as much of a puppet to his faith and belief systems as I am.  It's just a different variety.  While I too believe deeply in the scientific method and gathering as much evidence as possible to guide beliefs and decisions, I feel that eventually the scientific method runs aground upon the limits of humankind's ability to perceive the compexity of existence. 

The attempts to use the scientific method to push beyond those barriers while intellectually courageous is similar to trying to teach a lizard (or me) to appreciate the opera.  At best, all you can hope to achieve is to have heads nod up and down to the right beat.  At worst, you've wasted a lot of time playing Vivaldi when the lizard (or me) should have been doing something more productive like catching flies.

It's hard to challenge Dr. Shermer's argument for this skeptical belief system in the present context, because we don't know what we don't know.  It's easier to analyze this system based upon how it would have interpreted the past based upon the evidence available at that time period.

• For the majority of human history, a scientific method-based belief system would have ruled that the world was flat.
• For the majority of human history, a scientific method-based belief system would have held that the Sun rotated around the Earth.
• For the majority of human history, a scientific method-based belief system would have ruled that it was impossible for humans to fly.
• For the majority of human history, a scientific method-based belief system would have ruled that it was impossible for people to create light at night without a fire.
• For the majority of human history, the scientific method-based belief system would have ruled that there was no such thing as atoms, molecules, or genes.

The list could go on and on.  When examined through a historical lens, it becomes pretty clear that our ability to gather evidence of massive, complex, or mind-blowing concepts is pretty limited and therefore relying upon skepticism as a tool to navigate through these challenging issues can almost guarantee failure to comprehend them.

As Thomas Aquinas described it.  "We can't have full knowledge [of complex isssues] all at once.  We must start by believing; then afterwards we may be led on to master the evidence ourselves."

On the other hand, evidence contrary to our beliefs cannot be avoided.  It must be grappled with and faced or spiritual seekers risk giving the fields of science and reason away to the Dr. Shermer's of the world.  As Aquinas counseled Catholics faced with scientific challenges from Islamic scholars, "The truth of our faith becomes a matter of ridicule among... [non-believers] if any... [believer], not gifted with the necessary scientifc learning, presents as dogma what scientific scrutiny shows to be false."

Creating a rift between science and religion would be a two-sided shame.  First, because the religious would lose the natural grounding of scientific thought and discovery.  Second, because the scientific would lose the spiritual seeker's appreciation of the divine.  They're meant to compliment each other.

"There are two ways to live your life.  One as though nothing is a miracle.  The other as though everything is a miracle." Albert Einstein

"How long will you make a drunken show of yourself?'

The Bible is generally not seen as a funny book.  Most of it isn't, but then there's 1 Samuel 1:9-18.  It may just be my twisted sense of humor, but this passage cracks me up everytime I read it.

That passage focuses on Hannah, one of Elkanah's two wives.  Elkanah loved Hannah more than his other wife, Peninnah.  Peninnah responded to this troubling state of affairs by making constantly fun of Hannah for not having any children.

The two wives' bickering was at its worse each year when the family would take a pilgrimmage to the Lord's Temple at Shiloh.  Once there, Elkanah would make a big scene of honoring Hannah in his sacrifices.  Peninnah responded to this affront to her honor, by especially humiliate Hannah.  Then Hannah would weep and refuse to eat.
 
One night after the taunts had become too much, Hannah left the family meal and went to the Temple.  Hannah prayed furiously asking the Lord to give her a son and promising that she would give the son over to God.  Hannah wept through the prayers.  Her lips moved, but no words came out.

The reader of 1 Samuel is following Hannah's moving prayers and her passionate vow the Lord.  We are fully expecting a burst of sunlight shooting through the clouds to mark God's ascent or maybe an earthquake.  Something dramatic to make it clear that this woman's prayers have been heard and her suffering is coming to an end.

Instead of that glorious revelation, the head Temple priest thinks that Hannah is drunk and comes up to rebuke her.  He says, "How long will you make a drunken show of yourself?  Sober up from your wine!" 1 Samuel 14.

Hannah explains herself and the head priest eventually tells her,"Go in peace, and may the God of Israel grant you what you asked of him."

Hannah's prayer was answered and she did dedicate her son, Samuel, to God.  Samuel would become a great prophet.  1 Samuel 20.  He was even tasked by the Lord to annoint was the one that the Lord tasked with annointing Saul and David as Kings of Israel.

There are a bounty of stories and lessons from Samuel's life, but I still can't get over the image of his plaintive, praying mother being accused by the head priest of being drunk.  She'd fled the belittling remarks of Peninnah only to be further belittled in the Temple.

I enjoy irony too much not to laugh at that story every time that I hear it, especially since Samuel's first task from God was to tell that head priest he was finished.  There's a lesson in there not expecting prayers to be answered in the way that we think they should, but I think the more powerful lesson is in how Hannah responded to the head priest.

Hannah was already at the end of her rope.  Peninnah's hurtful taunts had driven her away from the family.  She's come to the Lord for sanctuary only to have one of His servants rebuke her.  Hannah could have stormed out of the Temple and said that was the last time she was going there to pray.  How many people have done something similar after a priest, pastor, or rabbi have said something challenging or hurtful?

Hannah didn't.  She corrected the head priest.  Hannah told him what she was doing there and what she was asking of God.  She left with the head priest's blessing, not because he was a great head priest; but because she made him a better priest.

Hannah's lesson is that we cannot allow the failings of some of the practitioners of organized religion to become a barrier that prevents us from accessing the Divine.  As long as our churches and temples are manned by people, they will do things either on accident or even intentionally that will make us want to quit going. 

It's up to us not to let that happen.

The Spirit Works Through the Flawed and Incomplete

Note: This subject of this post (God's use of the flawed) was recommended by my friend Christina.  She sent me the message after a long night a long night of sitting around a campfire with friends and family talking about big issues - with the help of a little wine.  Thanks Christina.  I really appreciate the guidance.

December 2000

I looked down at the brace on my left leg then down into the trench.  It was decision time.  Take  shovel from Father David and shimmy down into the dirt or join the confirmation kids in picking mangoes with the nuns.

Father David wasn't overly concerned about my ankle's mangled ligaments and tendons.  It was pretty simple.  God had sent him two strong adults to help him shovel dirt all day so they were supposed to shovel dirt.

I reached for the shovel.

We were in-filling dirt around the foundation of Benedictine Monastary of Hawaii's new church.  The Monastery had some funds for the architect and a construction crew, but relied on Father David and volunteers to complete a lot of the work.  Our church in Waipahu sent volunteers out once a month. 

This was my first time volunteering with this group and I didn't think that they would give me anything to strenuous to do.  It had been six months since I injured my ankle in Ranger School.  While I was well on my way to proving the doctor wrong who'd said I would never walk again without the brace, I felt like I was a shell of the man that I used to be.

It had been a long six months.  That injury had destroyed my career.  My relationship with my fiance collapsed in a spectacular and humiliating manner.  Through the help of God and a wary doctor, I'd managed to avoid suicide and a potential painkiller addiction; but overall I didn't see myself as the person I was before my injury.  Weakness replaced strength.  Doubt corroded through my self-confidence and sense of purpose.

Father David didn't seem to notice or care about my inner angst.  He pointed out a dark line on the foundation.  That was the line that we had to fill the dirt up to.  The game plan was simple.  Father David would use the Monastery's small tractor to dump piles of red volcanic dirt in the hole.  Matthew, the volunteer coordinate-fellow dirt mover, and I would stand at the bottom of the trench and redistribute the dropped dirt so it gradually filled up to the line on the concrete.

Father David jumped in the tractor and headed off in the direction of the dirt pile.  Matthew dropped down into the trench.  I slid, braced, and scooted down after him.  My grimace reflected my fear of that any loss of hold might lead me to fall onto my injured left ankle.  It seemed like it took me five minutes to lower myself down into the trench.

I made it to the bottom and looked up at Matthew.  He smiled in support, but that only made me feel worse about the big production that I'd just made of getting down into a hole.  I was happy to look up and see the bucket of the white tractor above us. 

Father David looked down into the trench to make sure we were clear.  Matthew gave him the thumbs up and the tractor dropped a pile of red dirt.  The fine volcanic sand hit the ground in front of us and then rose again as dust.

We coughed and wiped the grit out of our eyes then got to work leveling out the mound of dirt with our shovels.  Matthew had two shovelfuls to ever one of mine.  I was worried about my ankle.  I'd felt a few sharp pains, nothing serious yet; but enough to have me worried. 

I thought that I'd help with a two or three loads before giving up.  I didn't want to push it.  I was a lifetime away from the Ranger School student who'd hopped down Mount Jonah one leg after blowing my left ankle out.  I'd drug that left leg for three days, before my right knee gave out and I couldn't stand.  That version of me hadn't been afraid of crippling myself for life, this version was scared to set my physical therapy back a few weeks.

I heard the tractor pull up above us with another load of dirt.  Matthew and I pulled our shirts up over our noses this time.  We went after the mound of dirt with our shovels again.  We'd barely cleared it before Father David's tractor pulled back up for another drop.

The dirt kept falling.  Matthew and I kept shoveling as the sun rose higher in the Hawaiian sky.  My two or three load limit gave way to five, then ten, then was forgotten all together.  I felt the muscles stretch and flex in my shoulders and back.  Sweat dripped down my arms running through the red dust then dripping down like drops of blood.

My shovelfuls began to match Matthew's.  I forgot my fear.  I forgot my weakness.  My ankle ached, but it was from weak muscles learning how to work again - not from damaged ligaments and tendons.  I felt the blisters building on my once-calloused hands.  I smiled at the thought of how sore I was going to be on Monday. 

It was clear that despite all my doubts that this was exactly what I needed.  For some reason, I was supposed to be here helping to build this church.  I felt like the reason probably had more to do with rebuilding me than leveling dirt.

We broke for lunch around noon.  We'd filled the trench all the way to the other side of the foundation and it was clear that we'd be able to handle the rest of the in-fill later that day.

I told Matthew and Father David to go on ahead of me while I hobbled behind. I'd been so focused on my own weaknesses that I hadn't realized that Father David probably didn't feel qualified to be leading our construction crew.  Or, that Matthew, the diesel mechanic from Hickam Air Force Base, wouldn't have chosen himself from a lineup of two to be volunteer coordinator. 

They did the tasks because they had to.  God hadn't sent a skilled construction foreman to take Father David's place on the tractor.  He hadn't sent someone with a master's degree in nonprofit management to coordinate the our little church's volunteers.  God didn't need to.  The people he sent were up to the task, even if they didn't believe it.

My mind analyzed and then expanded the lesson.  I'd spent my whole life trying to build the perfect resume to qualify me to do something important for the world.  It was time to quit worrying about being qualified for some future job and to start working on the problems that the Divine had put in front of me - regardless of whether I felt capable of solving them.

The Spirit works through the flawed and incomplete.  It always has.  Moses was a murderer, but that didn't keep him from freeing the Israelites from Egyptian slavery. Exodus 2:12.  Saint Peter was a lowly fisherman whose weakness led him to deny knowing Jesus when Jesus needed him the most.  That weakness in Peter did not prevent Jesus from giving him the "keys to the kingdom of heaven." Matthew 16:19.  Saint Paul persecuted Christians and tried to destroy the early Church.  Galatians: 1:13.  That didn't prevent God from using him to spread Christianity through the Roman Empire.

Who we are is good enough to do the work of the Divine.  Where we are is the perfect spot do the work of the Divine.  It is okay to fear and it is okay to doubt, but we can't let that stop us from grabbing a shovel and getting to work.


End Note: Here's a link with a picture of the church described in this story. .  The church is the white building in the foreground.