Mike Vargo: Bad Religion, Good Religion

Trying to grasp how the world works is, literally, a trying occupation. For years I pursued it as a journalist, studying the actions of the great and the ungreat. These days, the only official “reporting” I do is occasionally reviewing live theater. The plays are scripted simulations of real life and I get to hear incisive, memorable lines spoken on stage. 

But one of the best lines came offstage, when I was invited to a cast party after a show. The house was already buzzing when I walked in. Little clusters of people stood talking here and there while the air oozed the thick, tangy aroma of marijuana smoke. 

The call of the weed didn’t excite me that night, so I decided on a short visit, limited to essential items: some gracious words for the host, and a trip to the buffet table. I loaded my plate and found a chair in an out-of-the-way spot. The area was quiet enough that I could eavesdrop on a scene in a corner of the room. Seated there like a king was a beaming, ebullient young man, declaiming to a young woman perched next to him. 

He was the king of cannabis. Earlier I had seen him passing a joint among the crowd. Now he wielded a nice fat number he’d kept for himself. Drawing on it gustily, and offering hits to the young woman, he was embarked on a kind of monologue that you don’t need to be a drama critic to recognize: a seduction pitch. Specifically, the kind of seduction pitch that invokes pseudo-transcendental philosophy. Although I didn’t take notes it went roughly like this: 

We spend so much of our lives in the dull routines that society lays down for us, he said. He said he had a day job as an I-forget-what, but it was only his day job. His real job, and the real job for each of us, is to become a fully realized human being, he said. On one level, we’re animals — you can feel your animal nature stirring inside you, right? — and the real realization comes when we let that animal nature out of the box and link it up with our galactic higher nature. Because on another level, we’re incredibly powerful spirits. [Suck, suck on the reefer.] And it’s amazing when we achieve this animal/spirit conjunction, right? … 

I observed how the young woman was taking it in. She wore a half-smile that said she’d heard it all before. Also she was ingesting a mere fraction of the THC that he offered. But she listened, perhaps amused by the sheer brio of the guy’s delivery. Finally, when the young man paused to fish another joint out of his jacket, she cut in with a question: “Do you have any religious beliefs?” 

He grinned and said “You mean, on me?”

**

At the time, the line struck me so hilariously that I almost coughed up my wedge of designer pizza. Lately, however, it feels more like a wicked allusion to current events. There seem to be lots of people going around with religious beliefs on them. And they seem to be stirring up lots of trouble and grief.

Inter-religious terror in the Middle East. The patriarch of the Russian Orthodox Church, a combative man in a Prince of Peace hat, backing Putin’s alleged holy war in Ukraine. Anti-Islamic Hindu nationalism in India. Christian conservatives in the U.S. aligning with social attitudes and political stances which, to put it diplomatically, do not seem as beneficent as one would hope. Persecution of the Rohingya in Myanmar; ISIS; the Houthi movement … when will it end? 

It will never end, say some, because it has always been thus. Within Christianity — a mega-religion that has sprouted multitudes of branches and factions — we can find a long, sad history of Christians doing unto other Christians what shouldn’t be done to anyone. Consider one case out of many, that of Marguerite Porete. During the Middle Ages in Europe, this erudite woman wrote a book of Christian mysticism still read today, The Mirror of Simple Souls, in which a dialogue between Love and Reason reveals the superior wisdom of Love. One might call the author a born-again Christian: she claimed her soul had been annihilated so she could become one with the will and the soul of God. Authorities of the Church judged the belief a dangerous heresy. After remaining silent at her trial, Marguerite was burned in Paris in 1310 C.E. 

Giordano Bruno made a career of playing with fire. Ordained a priest, he was renowned for his intellect but denounced for having risky theological ideas. Then he took up Copernican science and eagerly expounded his view of the cosmos as an infinite sphere — writing, among other things, that “the center of the universe is everywhere and the circumference nowhere.” Giordano was incinerated in Rome in 1600, with his tongue clamped to prevent him from screaming blasphemous parting words.

Those were individual cases. Intra-Christian massacres with a capital M (the Massacre of the Latins, the St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre, etc.) occurred, too. Add in the wars and mass atrocities inflicted by Christians on people of other creeds, through the years, along with countless daily acts of prejudice and hostility, and we can see why Chesterton felt moved to put forth his famous defense of the faith: “The Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting. It has been found difficult; and left untried.” 

But that is a shallow defense from an otherwise perceptive man. It reduces a monstrous matter to simplistic terms, equating the world’s largest religion with a diet that people can’t stick to. 

Of course the Christian ideal is difficult. Turning the other cheek, loving your enemies, not judging — the precepts run counter to inbred habits. Yet they can produce peace of mind, and peace in Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood, if practiced. Which is why many, including me, aspire to the ideal, knowing we are bound to slip. What’s troubling is the difference between slipping from an ideal and massive campaigns to wallow gruesomely in the opposite. How does that happen, in Christianity or any religion? And what sort of personal meaning can any of us extract from the current state of religious affairs, which is very strange?  All I can offer is an introductory ramble through observations and possible answers. Join me if you will.  

**

Every religion presents a deeper difficulty. You are expected to have faith in a Supreme Being you can’t see. This comes naturally for some persons, as it did for my late father. He was neither a Bible-thumper nor an armchair theologian. He just believed in God the way people believe in rain. But for many, faith is a struggle and for others it’s a deal-breaker. And even if you are open to a leap of faith, most religions will not equip you with a parachute for a soft landing. Instead they ask you to make the leap while carrying an apparatus of ancillary beliefs, doctrines, and rules. 

The good news: plenty of different apparatuses to choose from. Religious entrepreneurship over the centuries has created quite a market. For a bad-news view, we can turn to my skeptical friend Jim, who speaks bluntly. “I think religion is the biggest hindrance to understanding what God really is,” Jim told me. “All of that bullshit gets in the way.” 

Chances are you’ve heard people voice similar feelings, which brings us to the strange state of affairs today. On the one hand, we appear to be living in a high time for religious extremism — accompanied, in the U.S., by growing degrees of out-front religious expression, in forms that range from Christian popular music to pro athletes crediting God for their ability to read a zone defense. Evangelical megachurches have bloomed throughout the land. I know people in some of those churches who believe a great revival is under way.

But wait. While evangelicals exult, mainstream religions shrink. American cities are dotted with closed Catholic parishes and church buildings repurposed as nightclubs. And though part of what we’re seeing is a shift in the loci of religious activity, the overall result is a net loss. A big one. 

I won’t belabor you with statistics. In numerous studies and surveys — by think tanks, by pollsters and news media, by academic scholars, by the ongoing World Values Survey of people in over 100 countries — the evidence says religion is in decline. The percentages of adults who identify with an organized religion, any religion, keep dropping. Fewer attend worship services, see religion as important, or think that God or gods exist. The decline is happening in the U.S. and globally, across demographics of education and income, and it has accelerated in recent years. 

So here we have twin phenomena: religious passion peaking amid evaporation of the passion. It’s hard to know what to make of this, although one thing seems clear. When conservatives rant that America is becoming a godless nation, their trendspotting is accurate.

One observer I talked with, a deacon in a mainline church, said it shouldn’t be surprising that the twin trends are occurring at the same time — that in fact they are connected. Members of a religion, the deacon noted, feel invested and engaged in it to varying degrees. Dropouts come largely from the ranks of those who weren’t the most gung-ho to begin with; doubts or concerns can nudge them away. Therefore, increasingly, “what you have left are zealots.” 

And from there one can see how divisiveness builds. Persons who are zealous about particular aspects of their creed tend to attract each other, helping to feed schisms within a religion … while people who’ve been on the fence about religious participation become more likely to see the nitpicking as irrelevant to their needs, and to hop off the fence and head out … which feeds the decline, and so on. It all adds up to fractures within the fold and societal polarization writ large. 

**

I am watching from a position along the fracture lines. I was raised Byzantine Catholic but now consider myself a Christian deist, and practice as part of a nonsectarian community of faith. My wife is a Presbyterian minister, in a branch of Christianity that ordains women — and also ordains LGBTQ clergy. I am touched by seeing the work that my wife does and thankful to have found my own path. Yet to some Christians the two of us represent what’s wrong with Christianity today. 

Mostly, I can accept their disapproval. Provided it doesn’t go farther than disapproval. Even minor intrusions feel irksome. When someone asks me if I am saved, I’m tempted to say “How should I know? Do I look like God?” 

Since that would be a smart-ass reply, I try to steer the interaction toward common ground, which actually isn’t hard. But the question “Are you saved?” and my gut reaction reflect fundamental differences. We differ in our perceptions of the Deity and how to relate to the Deity. The questioner perceives Jesus as his/her personal savior, by virtue of a commitment that the person has made to the relationship. I don’t think I can presume to know the nature of the Deity, let alone claim to be on a first-name basis with the Deity’s son. My commitment is that I will stay open to receiving messages. 

Differences in core belief are only part of a fractious picture. Religions have codes of conduct — and by the way, you don’t need a religion to behave well. Various studies have found atheists and believers scoring virtually the same on widely accepted standards of moral behavior. However, members of a religion may see secular society (or other religions) as immoral because standards specific to their religion are ignored. Observant Muslims don’t drink or gamble and neither do Mormons. Many religions say it is wrong to have sex outside marriage or discover that you are gay. These rules are enforced, as much as they can be, in enclaves like strict religious schools and heavily policed theocracies. Enforcing them elsewhere has long been a losing battle, but that doesn’t stop people from trying. Which brings us to a very fraught sphere of religious activity. 

Religions take stands on public issues and try to influence them. By no means is all this activity repressive or reactionary. To address the subject in one uber-sentence: Every major religion — through efforts of its members, and/or through official agencies and affiliated programs — does charitable outreach work, social-justice and peacemaking work; and leads or assists initiatives in health care, economic self-sufficiency, smart environmental planning, and more.  

Of course there is blowback. Pope Francis has issued encyclicals such as Laudato si, which delivers an urgent call for environmental sustainability. Many of Francis’s fellow Catholics essentially see him as a subversive pinko libtard. Meanwhile, those of us on the libtard-to-moderate spectrum are alarmed to see evangelical and traditional Christians supporting militant, right-wing-and-a-prayer politics. 

The worry is that if the crusaders win, much may be lost, like fair and competent governance under a relatively honest executiveship. Playing amateur psychologist, I would point to a key flaw in the thinking behind this religious-right movement, and it isn’t hypocrisy. The flaw is assuming that ends justify the means. Gandhi warned against it stridently: “There is no wall of separation between means and end.” In my experience, thinking the end justifies the means is the most prolifically bad idea we humans have cooked up so far. The mother of crimes and sins innumerable. 

**

A popular theory is circulating as to why religious people do the unthinkable, like slaughtering each other. It says religion is tied in with other factors that are the real sources of contention: social differences. Disputes over land or power. Us-and-them-ness in general. As the theory goes, when people in one group (or both) set out to impose their will, they like to ennoble their cause by marching under a God flag. In this analysis, religious motivation is an act, a scripted performance. It’s people using religion as an excuse for what they want to do anyway. 

I think the analysis rings true in some cases and in others, falls short. More than an excuse, religion can be an enabler. I know a man who is in Alcoholics Anonymous. Call him Hyde, because in his drinking days he was a reckless Jekyll. Mr. Hyde once explained to me the role that intoxication played in his misbehavior: “Alcohol didn’t make me do bad things. I grabbed the alcohol and I said, ‘Help me do this.’”

Likewise with religion. Marx called religion the opium of the masses but sometimes it’s an anabolic steroid. Gets you feeling pumped. Often, it inspires people to heroic acts of goodness. However it also brings out what’s latent and amplifies it. Remember the animal/spirit conjunction. Animals can be unruly. When the animal gets pumped wrong, beware the animal. 

**

As to why people drift away from religion, think tanks, scholars, and others are searching for reasons and finding a bunch. Drawing on global surveys, one sociologist proposes “that religious belief and activity decline when people are safe from existential risks” such as wars, civil violence, and famines — i.e, when progress reduces the felt need to be rescued. It has been said there are no atheists in foxholes, but perhaps once you’re out of the foxhole, priorities change.

Some research has yielded startling results. In an elaborate multi-part study, conducted internationally and controlled for stray variables, the research team found a strong link between loss of religion and the extent of people’s exposure to artificial intelligence and robotics. You can read an article summarizing the research or the scientific paper in full.

But ultimately, whatever the contributing causes, the decline of religion seems to revolve around a single fact. People don’t buy the teachings. In a survey of so-called “nones” — persons who declare no religious affiliation — over half said they believe in a higher power, but not the one described in Scripture or in houses of worship. Long ago, Will Rogers joked “I am not a member of any organized political party. I’m a Democrat.” The none version is “I don’t belong to an organized religion. I’m spiritual.”

In my life I often meet freelance spiritual seekers. They engage in seances and shamanic drum circles; they roam in esoteric domains galore. Do not mock these individuals. They are trying to reach higher planes of existence, beyond the mundane everyday world. And while a skeptic might  say it’s wishful thinking to believe that such things are real, maybe they are. 

Sebastian Junger, the former war correspondent and author of In My Time of Dying, moved from skepticism to the latter view after having a near-death experience. In an interview with The New York Times, Junger said there may be dimensions of reality that we utterly fail to understand when we look at the world from our normal frame of mind, “because we’re basically a dog watching a television.”

**

Some individuals make surprising choices. A dear friend of mine — call him John — would seem to fit the nonreligious stereotype. He is politically and socially progressive, a lover of good times, and about 11x more intellectual than the average college graduate. (Recently he texted me a quotation from Wittgenstein.) Yet despite not having a Catholic upbringing, he goes on Catholic meditation retreats, prays regularly, attends church, the whole package. For this essay I asked John to explain why he is drawn to organized religion.

“What am I to do with the unfathomable mystery of the universe?” he said. “I can’t pretend that it doesn’t exist. So, there are traditions of people having a conversation about it. I want to be part of that conversation. And learn from people who have thought about it more than I have.”

Why the Catholic tradition? Why not an Eastern discipline, like Zen? John said Roman Catholicism is rooted in the Euro culture he’s familiar with, and he can more easily reap from it. As an example he recited the ending of the Hail Mary prayer: “Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.” Then he gave me a this-is-profound stare. 

I stared back, not seeing the profundity of a prayer I’d been taught to mumble mechanically in childhood. John enlightened me: “Those are the only two moments that matter. Now, and death.” 

**

That is, he enlightened me partially, in a certain sense. For a while. Enlightenment isn’t a one-shot proposition for me. I keep wandering out of the light and need to be reeled back in. Furthermore I suspect that “real” enlightenment may not be a thing that rockets a person into rarefied cosmic bliss. Maybe it’s just seeing what is. 

On a weekday afternoon once, I was walking to an appointment in our city’s business district, which was a bit of a task since I had to sidle my way through crowds of people hurrying along the sidewalks. The scene felt like a microcosm of turbulent humanity: myriad animal/souls, all of them intent on missions that surely seemed of supreme importance right then. And if you looked up, you’d see office towers looming overhead, each filled with animal/souls intent on their desires — and above those, a vast expanse of blue summer sky. 

I had to temper my reverie to avoid stumbling into collisions. Eyes straight ahead. Soon I noticed, coming toward me, a robust middle-aged man in a black t-shirt. The decoration printed on it in bold white caught my attention. It was a front view of a muscular, bare-chested Jesus, wearing his crown of thorns and grinning as he performed a pushup with an immense cross on his back. Across the top were letters that read The Lord’s Gym. 

I do like to lift weights. In a flash I thought: hmm, the folks at this gym might be more militant than I am, but if it’s conveniently located, I should try working out there. So I stopped the man. I said “Excuse me. Where is The Lord’s Gym?” He spread his arms wide and he said “You’re in it!”

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Copyright 2024 Mike Vargo

Mike Vargo is a writer who lives in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.