I find it fascinating that when Henry Gee’s blog on Nature Network dipped a toe into the subject of religion (see this and this) it got many more responses than most science-based posts. It’s also true that when New Scientist has an article about religion (something that happens surprisingly often) it tends to generate loads of letters.
Despite (or perhaps even because of) some scientists’ tendency to ridicule religion, the science community can’t leave it alone.
Religious matters often creep into scientific discussions when a religion comes up with something that seems illogical or unsatisfying. So for those who get a trifle bored with scientific religion bashing, I’d like to say how fed up I am with a humanist/atheist concept that manages to be a literary cliche at the same time.
A few days ago I was watching one of those Sunday evening dramas designed to be sufficiently non-challenging that it avoids indigestion after having too big a meal. (I won’t name it, for embarrassment that you know I watched it.) It was the final episode and in it a (female) baby was born. Instantly my cliche detector sprang into action. ’What’s the betting,’ I thought, ‘that an elderly (female) person dies before the programme has finished?’ Sure enough, towards the end the ageing female character pops her clogs.
Da-dah! It’s the circle of life, something we are supposed to find reassuring and heartwarming if we haven’t a religious belief to support us.
Well, I’m sorry, it was an awful song in Lion King and it’s a useless crutch. Both my parents have died, and neither at the time nor since have I found any solace in thinking ‘yes, but a baby was probably born around the same time.’ So what?
The circle of life might not be as irritating as creationism, but it just shows it’s not just religions that can get up people’s noses. Attempts to prop up the spirit in the absence of religion can be equally irritating. And even more cliched.
I think you’ve hit the nail on the head, Brian. People are driven to create their own mythologies, even if they claim to be rational and to eschew such primitive urges. We’re only human, after all. Remember – whenever someone says that they don’t believe in fairies, a little fairy dies. Tragic, really.
Perhaps fairies should be red-listed.
If we’re to try and make sense of life, don’t we need generalisations, to synthesise our experiences? Some of these generalisations will be better than others, and the worst ones just get covered in saccharine and sung about by an animated even-toed ungulate. Many of the best ones get transcribed into obscure academic language instead, and are then left to die alone in the philosophy curriculum.
Bob – which even-toed ungulate was that? You’ve foxed me completely.
I dunno. The only time I’ve seen the film was flying back from Canada a couple of years ago, and I didn’t listen to it.
I just think even-toed ungulates are funny.
Well, as one who did his PhD on even-toed ungulates … I’d have to agree.
Faint whimper of one whose deep philosophical point has been hijacked by even-toed ungulates.
Moo.
But seriously, Brian – this reminds me of the conversations between J. R. R. Tolkien and C. S. Lewis in which the former was trying to bring the latter back into the Christian fold. Both men were passionate (and exceedingly knowledgeable) on the subject of mythologies and how they evolve and propagate. I believe that the clincher was when Tolkien and Lewis looked at the Resurrection as a myth – but a myth that was ‘true’ (this is all documented in Humphrey Carpenter’s biography of Tolkien, and I am working from my increasingly error-prone memory). In this light, religion-substitutes are myth, but religion itself is ‘true’ myth, at least to its adherents.
If it’s any comfort, neither Tolkien nor Lewis knew a thing about even-toed ungulates.
The book version of their debate was called The Screwtape Letters, from memory — I have probably spelled it wrong. If this comment ends up with a strike-out in it, it wasn’t me.
I’m sorry, Brian. I had a serious point in there, but somewhere along the line it was invaded by an Artiodactyl.
Oh, it’s an Artiodactyl, now, is it? When did you suddenly come over all posh?