Listening to a clergyman on the radio this morning, arguing against the ordination of women bishops, it struck me that the real problem with religion from a scientific viewpoint is not religion itself, but when it strays into magic.
As I often find the case, I’ve a lot of sympathy with the wonderful medieval proto-scientist Roger Bacon who wrote the remarkable Letter concerning the marvellous power of art and nature and concerning the nullity of magic. Okay, he wasn’t one for snappy titles, but the content is excellent: he shoots down magic as fraud.
I would suggest that those in the Church of England who don’t want women bishops are motivated by magic. Their argument is that it has always been that way, that Jesus only chose male apostles, and that bishops sort of stand in for Jesus, so have to be male, as he was.
This is all an appeal to associative magic – that something works because it is like something else. It bears no place in religion, any more than it does in science (homeopathy springs to mind). Of course it’s not just Christians who have this problem. Halal and kosher meat, for example, are similarly about magic, not religion.
Note this isn’t a cry to get rid of ritual, even though that occurs both in religion and magic. As someone who is passionate about church music, I understand the human need for ritual. But that is no reason to incorporate magic in religious beliefs. Of course drawing the line is not easy, but I think it’s possible.
It’s also an exercise scientists might benefit from. Where is the unnecessary use of magic in scientific life? (Don’t fool yourself. It does exist.) How can it be expunged?
For Henry’s benefit, here’s a shot of Goldie as a Heidi stand-in:
… and for those who prefer smaller furry things:
Photos hosted by Flickr
I’m completely baffled by the Church and its hang-ups with sex and gender. At my first synagogue my rabbi was a practising lesbian, and, as they say, practice makes perfect. Nobody had a problem with this. So much so, that at synagogues since I have complained in tones that would put Disgusted Of Tunbridge Wells to shame, that my rabbi is not only a man, but not a homosexual, either.
Now, to magic. While enjoying a terrific barney on Pharyngula (which is a bear-pit, compared to the more refined surroundings of the Nature Network salon, in which the defenders of The Dog Illusion (my regards to Goldie by the way) say that it doesn’t matter that it’s a poorly argued book, because it’s done it’s job as a consciousness-raiser — I have been reading Harry Potter and the Thungummy Wossname to Gee Minima.
“The next recollection I wish to show you,” said Dumbledore, uncorking a vial of that same, strange silvery matter, and stooping over the pensieve, “is perhaps the most significant of any I’ve shown you.”
Harry felt a chill grip his arms. “Who’s it from?”
“I gathered it at great personal risk,” continued Dumbledore, “from a house-elf called Becky, who works for a very rich and calculating literary agent called Mephistopheles Fleece. We’ll be transported to his office for a meeting with Professor Dawkins, who as you know applied to be the Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts.”
“You … turned him down?” said Harry.
“Yes, I did. I felt that he would use his position to build himself an army and overturn the magical world, inconveniencing a lot of muggles too, no doubt. However, let us continue. After you, Harry.”
Harry stooped low over the basin of ethereal fluid, neither liquid nor gas, and felt the now-familiar wrenching sensation of being whirled through nothingness. He came to rest in a brightly lit, expensively furnished office. Dumbledore was standing next to him.
“So, Dickie? How’s it going?” The voice came from a rotund, dark-suited figure seated across the biggest desk Harry had ever seen.
“Not as well as I’d hoped,” came the reply. “I’ve tried everything, from The Selfish Gene to The Ancestor’s Tale, but world domination continues to elude me, alas.” Harry turned to see the speaker — a handsome man in middle years, with piercing blue eyes which, despite their prominence, seemed to be devoid of humanity. Harry was uncomfortably reminded of Lucius Malfoy.
“You know your problem, Dickie?” said the suited man — whom Harry realized was Mephistopheles Fleece — who paused to clip and light an enormous cigar.
“Enlighten me.”
“Demographics, Dickie. Demographics. Your audience is too small. Writing highbrow sience books for a lot of limp-writed Oxbridge academics — no offence, Dickie — is never gonna shift units. Science? Schmience! What really floats their boat is sex, cookery and religion. With you? I’d say, try religion. A bit of God-bothering really pushes the buttons. And there’s a whole new market coming on stream. Ripe to be tapped.”
“New Market? Tapped? What do you mean?” Professor Dawkins looked a little lost, flustered.
“Look at it this way. More than a decade has passed since Kurt Cobain shot himself …”
“Who?”
“Rock singer? Nirvana? Ring any bells? No, thought not. Never mind. Anyway, all the teenagers who wasted their time feeling angsty and angry have grown up, and are now angsty and angry adults. It’s as if the My-Parents-Don’t-Understand-Me generation has grown up, anxious for a new rallying call, a new figurehead. These people have never had sex, and they wouldn’t understand a good meal if you shoved it under their snouts. But religion, though. That’s a winner.”
“That’s a thought…” Dawkins sat back, lost in inner contemplation.
“Yeah, isn’t it?” said Fleece. Blue cigar smoke filled the room. “Doesn’t have to be a very good book, either. No need to waste time researching anything. After all, what did The Selfish Gene get you in the end? Bupkes! An a man like you could probably knock it out over a weekend, in between re-reading The Protocols of the Elders of Zion and highlighting memorable passages of Mein Kampf.”
This time the glint in Dawkins’ eyes was unmistakable. “I’ll do it,” he said. “I’ll have the manuscript to you on Monday. But that’s not why I’m here. Not really.”
“No?”
“Well, it’s … you know, Fleece … it’s always been my desire to have a part on Dr Who. Nothing very big, you know. Lalla always said I’d enjoy it, and …”
“No problem,” said Fleece. “Just leave it to me. There will be one condition, though.”
“You have only to name it.”
“Sure. well, I’d like you to read the Torah portion on Saturday. And be a witness and my grandson’s bris.”
“Bris?”
“Sure, you’ll love it. You might even get a few tips.”
Henry – I’m completely baffled by the Church and its hang-ups with sex and gender.
I’m not, at least as far as gender goes – that’s the point of my post, really. It’s no more baffling than any other unnecessary confusion of magic and religion, which is entirely possible to clear up, and leave Tricky Dicky with even less legs to stand on.
The small print:
Could I, as usual, point out to J. K. Rowling’s lawyers (and Maxine) that the above spoof is not an attempt at passing off as JKR, and if anyone is to be sued, it was Henry wot done it.
I do like the pix of your small rodents. It is my sad duty to report that Nippy
shuffled of his mortal coil this morning.
And Heidi
offers a sisterly woof to Goldie
Goldie is currently too flaked out by the heat to woof back, but she waves a languid paw.
Sadly, all small furry animals pictured are now deceased (not at all at once). They are from left to right: George and Fred (the ginger-haired twins), Honey and Fudge, who was definitely posing his guinea-pig socks off for this shot.
Documentary evidence of Goldie flaked out, taken about 2 minutes ago:
This was supposed to be a serious post! It has been subverted by those furry animals!
They are from left to right: George and Fred (the ginger-haired twins), Honey and Fudge, who was definitely posing his guinea-pig socks off for this shot.
I’m amazed you got them all to stand still at once.
Hello, boys.
Brian, There have been many spoofs (books, as well as scads on the internet) of JKR – the court case was about plaigiarism, not spoofing. I did write this in your comments to your blog post about that, at the time.
I have no idea why Richard Dawkins attracts such venom, and why J K Rowling such disapproval. I think they are both good writers. I attended lectures given by Richard Dawkins when an undergraduate and they were superb compared with most of the others I had to attend. Lots of people like J K R’s books.
On the other hand, neither of them has blown anyone up, shot anyone, run a regime of terror (from the Spanish Inquisition to Mugabe), or done other of the mean things that people in the world do to each other. Personally, I prefer to read attacks on more worthy targets. Sorry if I sound po-faced, but that’s the way of it.
As for the matter in hand, the women priests, I found it very amusing when I read this story in The Times and I gather that the Roman Catholic church is on its uppers in terms of priest numbers, therefore it will generously be sacrificing its principles to allow disaffected married priests with children who leave the C of E, to ordain as RC priests. So long as they are men.
So, the fact that Dawkins hasn’t actually committed mass-murder makes him all right, does it?
More furry animal subversion, hooray!
It’s hot here too.
Double decker flaked-out cats
So, the fact that Dawkins hasn’t actually committed mass-murder makes him all right, does it?
It doesn’t follow, of course, but to my mind it does follow that there are worse things to get upset about than someone who has written a book one does not like and who has been on Dr Who for 5 secs.
I’m not very good at soothing animal pics (or any pics) but I will have a go at some rocket science:
I just noticed the book you are reading, Cath! Now there’s an author to annoy a few scientists!
Maxine – how do you know it’s Cath reading Crichton? It could be the cats (or possibly the plant in the background).
Re earlier remarks, I know the court case is about plagiarism, but you can’t be too careful, especially where Henry is concerned. (Anyway, for all I know that might have been lifted straight from an unpublished original.)
I don’t dislike JKR, honestly! As for the Dark Doctor D, I don’t care at all about his being on Dr Who, but I do object when someone who is paid to improve the public understanding of science makes such a pig’s ear of it by alienating vast swathes of the public unnecessarily. If he wasn’t leaving the job he ought to have been fired. (Or was he?)
I ought to also stress that the reference to magic wasn’t the JKR kind of magic – I mean the belief that by carrying out real world, natural actions we can have a mechanical impact on the supernatural, something that is implicit in the assumption that priests or bishops have to be male (or that animals have to be cruelly slaughtered).
I don’t have a “side” on the Dawkins question, I like some things about him and not others. He seems to polarise responses.
For example you write that he’s alienated vast swathes, Brian — but on the other hand, his book was a bestseller on both sides of the Atlantic for about a year. Therefore another substantial part of the same public was buying him up. What was the last scientific book that sold so many copies? (Hawking?)
That is indeed my book, which I just finished. One word review – shite. Longer review will come soon, probably on my other blog.
“Where is the unnecessary use of magic in scientific life? (Don’t fool yourself. It does exist.)”
You mean the little rituals and lucky charms that scientists have? I had lucky socks for plasmid cloning days, and I know one lab that passed a little troll around depending on who was doing what that day. There was also a dreamcatcher of DOOM that would jinx any experiments done on that bench, but could not be discarded or destroyed lest the whole lab collapse.
Cath – by ‘longer review’ do you mean something like this?
Yeah, that just about covers it.
I don’t care at all about his being on Dr Who, but I do object when someone who is paid to improve the public understanding of science makes such a pig’s ear of it by alienating vast swathes of the public unnecessarily. If he wasn’t leaving the job he ought to have been fired. (Or was he?)
Hear hear.
For example you write that he’s alienated vast swathes, Brian—but on the other hand, his book was a bestseller on both sides of the Atlantic
That doesn’t make it any less a shitty book. More a cynical marketing ploy designed to appeal to the lowest common denominator (qv Crichton)
As one blockbuster writer to another, you should fraternally support Crichton, Henry!
Cath – I’ve got one of those things for The Beast. He ignores the platforms, so I have it by the balcony and keep my plants on it, where they’re safe from him. My banana plant is too large, though, so a couple of its leaves are a bit shredded.
Unsurprisingly, the culprit is currently flaked out too.
To get back to the serious matter, I wonder if the problem isn’t the interaction between religion and magic, but between religion and power. It’s all about men trying to keep power away from those pesky women, who might like to, I don’t know, use pastel robes or something equally horrid.
As one blockbuster writer to another, you should fraternally support Crichton, Henry!
Only if his books are good. Some are good. Some are … well, less good.
But back to magic.
You mention associative magic – “that something works because it is like something else”. I’m not quite sure what you mean here, but my guess is that you’d also include the sympathetic magic of, say, painting pictures of
unicycling girrafesbison on the wall of your cave as a way of encouraging a good hunting season.However, I’d say that rather than ‘having no place’ in religion, associative magic is very important in some aspects of it. One thinks in particular of transubstantiation.
I’m not sure that kosher really fits the bill. Sure, there are a lot of things in Jewish tradition that are done to commemorate particular activities. If memory serves, very religious Jews won’t eat certain cuts of the meat from the thigh and hip region because of an incident in which an angel wrestled with Jacob and dislocated his thigh (Genesis 32:33).
But some rules of kosher seem to come out of nowhere, with no rationale attached. I’m thinking particularly of the second half of verse 19 of Exodus 23 that says that one should not ‘seethe a kid in its mother’s milk’, and from which stems the prohibition on consumption of meat and dairy products at the same meal. This is strange as many other laws discussed in that same chapter are enumerated at the same time as their purposes e.g. v12, on the keeping of the Sabbath, so that people and animals might rest. This explains why many more liberal Jews regards kosher more as a cultural tradition than a divine edict. There might be some ‘magic’ in there somewhere, I suppose, but the Bible has been so heavily re-written over many centuries that there is quite a lot in it that simply baffles interpretation.
Henry – I use associative magic as a term including sympathetic magic. I think there’s a subtle difference between the idea that only male priests are viable because they represent a male figure, and because there were only male apostles (as archetypes) and the use of a cave painting to improve hunting.
I’d still argue that something like kosher is magic in the sense that it’s a set of rules/instructions to follow in the physical (equivalent to a spell, say, in operational magic), which is intended to have a supernatural outcome over and above the equivalent that’s purely ‘natural world’ based (e.g. food hygiene regulations).
Hmmm. I’m not sure. Kosher comes from kashrut which means ‘clean’, and is all about ritual purity, which is distinct from hygiene (though posibly connected). Lots of religions have them, though they are different on a case-by-case basis
However, there is also a sense that kosher exists to enforce a distinction between Jews and other people. Jews might say that the various dietary laws are there to remind Jews of their particular relationship with God.
However, some of the rituals themselves seem quite arbitrary (the milk-and-meat example being just one), an no different from superstitions such as not stepping on the lines on the pavement in case the bears will get you.
I think, the question of TRADITION has been underestimated during the discussion. I think the tradition is important (to define what we are, what we want, what is good or what is bad) as well as dangerous (to obstruct new ideas and fresh minds, to obstruct "evolution") for both science and religion. From this point of view, the science and religion are similar institutions as Feyerabend used to say. Moreover, there are some paradoxes, eg Luther – his reformation was against young tradition and in favour of old (biblical) tradition. Renaissance is the same. It seems that science is not such a case where the old traditions can be revived.
And magic… it strongly depends on your tradition, education etc. what you would call “magic”. In my view, all the world is magic ;-)
Ah, Tradition. At the same time so seemingly eternal, at other times so fluid. How traitions get established is one of life’s great mysteries.
The synagogue at Chelm, for example, was in crisis. Some people thought that the congregation should rise for the saying of the Shema, whereas others thought they could remain seated. The result was predictable – a disorganized riot at the most solemn part of the service, with people shouting at one other to stand up or sit down.
Eventually, the young rabbi, driven to distraction, took it upon himself to travel all the way to Vilna to consult the most learned sages on the issue. He was ushered in to the room of an extremely ancient rabbi who, as luck would have it, had been the rabbi of Chelm in his youth.
“Please, rabbi,” asked the young man in strangulated tones, “what should be the custom at Chelm? Should people stand during the Shema?”
“Yes,” said the old man, his eyes sparkling, “that is the tradition.”
But, just to make sure, the young man thought he should double-check: “But what of those who say that, no, the custom is to remain seated?”
“Ah,” the old man said. “To remain seated. Now I come to think of it, that is the tradition.”
The young man was exasperated. “But what do I do? At the moment, half the congregation is sitting, the other standing, and they just yell at one another.”
“Yes,” sighed the old man, with an air of finality. “That is the tradition.”
Of course, all traditions — like all magic — have to have the appropriate sacerdotal sanction. Otherwise they won’t ‘work’. One day, for example, a rabbi was walking along the street, his brow furrowed as he grappled with a knotty theological conundrum. Looking up, he saw Moishe the Schochet, a man who despite his trade had learning vastly superior to his own. The rabbi hurried to catch up, but before he could, he saw Moishe dive into a Chinese restaurant. A non-kosher Chinese restaurant.
A waiter showed Moishe to a seat. The rabbi hurried up. “Might I join you, Moishe?” he asked.
“Of course,” Moishe said, consulting the menu, and, after a while, placing his order — for pork spare-ribs, prawn balls, and all sorts of dreadful things that the rabbi could hardly bear even to think about.
“Now, rabbi, what did you want to discuss?” asked Moishe as he tucked his napkin into his collar and started to tuck in to his feast. By then the rabbi, white-faced with horror, had completely forgotten what he had wanted to ask Moishe. Instead, he blurted out:
“Moishe, here you are, the most devout and learned membr of our congregation, and yet you are consuming the most dreadful things — things that contravene our deepest understanding of the covenant!”
“So what?” replied Moishe, reaching for the Hoisin sauce.
“So …. what?”
“Look at it this way, rabbi,” the Schochet continued. “You followed me into this restaurant, didn’t you?”
“I … yes, but —”
“You saw me sit at this table? Order from the menu?”
“Yes, but that’s …”
“You saw the waiter bring the food? You see me now, eating it?”
“Yes, I see, but —”
“Like I said, so what? There’s no problem, rabbi: every stage was under rabbinic supervision.”
Thanks, Henry. Brilliant… :-)
Bob, our scratching post / platform thingy was an instant hit. It may have had something to do with the catnip the lady in the shop sprayed it with before we brought it home.
A major bit of magical thinking in science is the myth of homeostasis. There is actually no data, and no physiological explanation to justify the idea of homeostasis. Just magical thinking. Nothing in physiology actually is static. Nothing in physiology can be static.
The myth arose because they couldn’t measure anything and couldn’t explain anything so they just adopted the default position that everything was static. Not a bad default assumption when microanalysis required mLs of sample. But as a default position it kind of makes understanding the dynamics difficult.
I’m a bit late to this party, but it seems someone familiar with Christian apologetics should say something. What you describe regarding women’s ordination is not magical thinking," which is not especially rational. Rather, it is sacramental thinking. The difference is this: in “magical thinking,” women would be un-ordainable because they don’t look like Jesus, while in sacramental theology, they are un-ordainable because God consciously and purposely chose male gender as an outward symbol of the supernatural effect of ordination. I wrote a longer "rebuttal on my blog.
Thanks for that, but I think we’d have to agree to differ! I’d suggest anything that makes it impossible to do something because of a symbol is, consciously or otherwise, magic.
women would be un-ordainable because they don’t look like Jesus
And that kind of thing is only encouraging Dan Brown, who does not need any encouragement whatsoever. I would prefer to read the other “bestsellers” (any of them) than another D Brown book. I read on a blog this evening that the blogger (who had been sent one of those “1001 books you must read before you die” lists, and seen DB on it) would rather die than read another DB book.
Oh, Maxine, poor old Dan! He only wants to be loved. I quite enjoy reading his stuff a) because his technology thrillers have SO many things wrong it’s entertaining to play spot the mistake and b) because it’s educational for would-be fiction writers.
I particularly recommend Digital Fortress for the spot-the-error game. The premise of this book is that the American NSA has a supercomputer that can crack codes. Only someone comes up with a code that’s unbreakable. Panic ensues as he threatens to unleash it on the world… It would take a book in its own right to number the things Brown got wrong, but a few highlights include classifying computer ROM (read only memory) as magnetic media, totally failing to understand how public key encryption works (even though it is central to the plot) and a little lecture on the origins of the term ‘bug’ that relies more on folklore than fact.
Worst of all, though, he announces several times, with great drama, that producing an unbreakable code is “a mathematical impossibility.” What he seems to have missed is that a simple mechanism called a one time pad has been around for getting on for 90 years, and it is totally unbreakable without the key. (There are also now unbreakable quantum encryption methods, but they are, in effect, self-generating one time pads.) It’s not just difficult, it is impossible to break a one time pad code without the key, because the resultant text is literally randomized.
I also think, however rubbish his work (and to be fair they really have been bestsellers, no double blips required), it’s a great object lesson in how to write page turners. He does know how to manage conflict/tension.
But other authors do that (the page turning) so much better – Peter Temple for example.
I have not read Digital Fortress though it is the DB book that appeals the most because of its themes as you outline. But the bit of code-cracking near the start of DVC was risible (as well as the whole plot being based on nobody having noticed the “woman” in the Leonardo Last Supper), so I guess that it probably would be equally primary school level in DF also (and, worse, wrong from what you say).
By the way, when I wrote I’d rather read any of the bestsellers than Dan Brown, I meant the bestsellers we’d been referring to in the discussion here. I didn’t mean “all bestsellers in the world”. There are quite a few of those that would come in behind Dan Brown, Jordan to name but one.
My father read The DaVinci Code but gave it up as a bad job on the last page. I think that says it all really.
Henry – that is what I call control. An obsessive sense of completeness would mean, having got that far, I would have to do the last one. The furthest I’ve got before giving up (and I’ve only done it in 3 books) is about 1/3 through.
Maxine – I’ve never tried (to be honest, never heard of) Peter Temple. What would you recommend as a good title of his that exemplifies pageturningness to try?
There is not a scientific connection, but he is good on the environment.
Try The Broken Shore, which won the CWA Gold Dagger last year (the main award for this type of fiction). I loved it. And it is available in cheap paperback.
Maxine – no need to complain about the non-scientific bit, I read a lot of crime fiction. Looking forward to it!
BTW, Henry, bit of a non-sequitur but Mrs Gee might be interested: I see from my daughters’ Empire magazine that Mr V Mortensen (complete with beard) is set to star in the film of Cormac McCarthy’s The Road. Lots of pics (it is the August issue).
I’ve now posted a longer (although essentially unaltered) review of Next, if anyone’s the least bit interested.
Warning: may contain bad language