The Nature of the Sacred to a Naturalist

   The subject of “sacredness” can be confusing, subject to serious misunderstandings, particularly when trying to understand it from a totally naturalistic perspective.  To start with a repetition: a religious Weltanschauung divides the world into the secular, or day to day, and the sacred.  The secular includes most, if not all, of what we consider daily life: work, family, recreation, and so forth.  The sacred deals with the “other,” the source or center, as you will, of secular life.

   The sacred is, as I mentioned earlier, generally divided into sacred time and sacred space.  Sacred time can consist of holy days—or parts of days—based upon the seasons, historical events, or personal passages in life such as birth, marriage, death, or reaching adulthood.  Sacred space has consisted of temples, shrines, churches, synagogues, groves, mountains, rivers or even the sky.  Sacred space certainly does not need to be man made, although it certainly has been in most cultures.

   Within the sacred, man has the ability to set aside daily life, at least in its more routine aspects, and focus on what is truly central.  Theistic cultures might focus on worship of the deities or deity: thanksgiving, praise, or petitions for this or that favor.[1]   The forms of worship might be largely, or even totally, contemplative, if either the cultural traditions or the personal interest of the worshiper tended in that direction.  Usually, of course, worship was a combination of all of these, since most religions have both an esoteric and exoteric aspect, the former appealing to the intellectual or the mystic, and the latter appealing to the masses of the people.[2]  Religions that tended to be non-theistic, at least in the Western sense, would focus more on contemplation rather than prayer or sacrifice, and this works even when one’s beliefs are totally naturalist.

   What, one might ask, is the real difference between sacred time and simply time off from work?  After all, an honest examination of past cultures clearly shows that for most of human history people had to work at their occupation every day, unless the day was dedicated to religious matters.  The phenomenon of having purely secular or profane days off from work is a relatively recent one in human history.

   The biggest difference, of course, is that secular activities are usually about hobbies, sports, home improvement, social gatherings, or any other pleasurable activities that are not a part of our normal occupations, and that negative feature is precisely what they have in common: they are not work!  Even national holidays are now being co-opted into the culture of recreation.[3] They generally lack introspective, contemplative or commemorative qualities.  Now, this is not a criticism in any way; there is nothing at all improper about play itself.   We need it for healthy living, and that is justification enough.  On a personal note, I take a great deal of pleasure in certain forms of work on my yard.  My current project involves building borders of landscaping bricks around garden plots that my wife has planted.  There is absolutely nothing commemorative, introspective or contemplative about this activity, but I enjoy it and my wife—not to speak of my neighbors--approve of the physical improvement.

   Is this kind of activity rational?  Strictly speaking, it is not, but far more importantly, neither is it irrational.  An activity can be non-rational without being irrational, without being something to be avoided.  We call something irrational when it violates the rules of logic and evidence, whereas something that is non-rational simply has no relationship to such rules.  Strictly speaking, it is not rational for me to be devoted to my little dog, but neither is it irrational.  It is a perfectly natural, non-rational feeling.  On the other hand, if I were to become convinced that not only could my dog respond with affection, but that he could also discuss the finer points of Stoic doctrine with me, I would be not only irrational, but delusional as well.  We should embrace the non-rational aspects of our life at the same time that we reject the irrational.

   Since our perceptions of both sacred space and sacred time are subjective—and to a degree non-rational—either can be whatever we want them to be, whatever makes us feel comfortable.  When it comes to sacred space one person might prefer a scene natural beauty, while another might prefer a dedicated piece of architecture.  Or, for that matter, it might not even be solely dedicated to the sacred.  It need only be sacred when we wish it to be.  A Roman home might have, in its atrium, a small shrine to the household gods, the Lares and Penates, and these gods would receive offerings at every meal.  That did not mean that one was expected to treat the atrium with the reverence that one does a temple or church; the atrium was also the center of all household life.[4] 

   The origins of sacred time are also varied, and usually fall into one of two classifications.  A religious tradition could be primarily historical like those of the Semitic traditions.  Sacred times derived from events that were believed to have happened in real, not mythical, time; they were historical occurrences.  The exodus from Egypt happened once, the giving of the Torah happened once, the birth, crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus happened once, and the recitation of the Quran happened once.  To the extent that the faithful commemorate these events, their participation is virtual and symbolic, although it may also be sacramental, protestations to the contrary notwithstanding.

   Pagan religions, on the other hand, are usually cyclical, often following recurring events in nature rather than history.[5]  The recurring nature of these events cannot be stressed too much.  Trees lose their leaves every year, and the days get shorter and colder, not because Demeter is remembering what once happened to her daughter Persephone, but because she must now, once again, return to her husband Hades.  The sun was believed to be literally reborn at the winter solstice, and the worshipers participated in these cosmic events.  If the women of Republican Rome did not awaken Bona Dea from her winter sleep each spring, they believed that winter would not end.  Taking part in these ceremonies was more than virtual participation, and certainly far more than a commemoration of an important event.

   To a naturalist, it really does not matter whether we find our sense of the sacred in the historical or in the cyclic, or if we blatantly combine both views.  What does matter is that it is sacred, distinguished from the secular.  Naturally, the sacred and the secular do intersect; they always did.  When ancient people honored the planting of the crops, offered sacrifices for growing, and celebrated the harvest, they were clearly aware that a successful crop meant that they had averted famine, at least for one more year.  Paradoxically, by recognizing the difference between the sacred and the secular, we are choosing to infuse the secular with the sacred throughout our lives.

    We may choose to contemplate a secular issue that has a moral component, but in the sacred we are thinking about it in a different way, or at least from a different perspective.  Suppose I wish to consider a public issue that has a moral aspect.  On the one hand, I can think about it in a totally secular, totally mundane, way.  I can consider what I can do to support my own position on the issue, with whom I should speak, how much my activities will cost, and so forth.  On the other hand, I can examine the moral aspects of the issue and their relative merits, leaving aside the more mundane considerations.  Having a sense of the sacred, of the special, serves to shield me, for a time, from the more routine aspects of my life, such as what I will do at work tomorrow, what flowers I should plant in the garden, what new electronic device I should purchase, or what to have for supper.  And, in doing so, it allows me to concentrate on what is truly central, to that which gives life meaning.        

         

                                         

    

  

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[1] It need not include all three; Roman gods, for example, were worshiped in a form that is more accurately described as magic rather than prayer.  The god had to grant the favor of the worshipper, if the request was made in the proper format, and the proper offering made.  Conveniently, if the favor was not granted, then clearly the ritual had been done improperly.  Their worship was largely of the “I do for you so that you will do for me” variety.

[2] What ancient religion usually did not include is what in Semitic traditions includes the Sermon or homily; religious education was either the function of the family, or took place outside of the normal acts of worship.

[3] If anyone would doubt this, simply ask this question: Last Memorial Day, did you go to a cemetery to leave some tribute to a deceased soldier, visit a Veteran’s Hospital, or engage in some related activity, or did you use the day off for shopping, or fishing, or some other private enjoyment?  For most people, we all know what the answer would be.

[4] The practical Romans also treated their temples in the same way; records of  state might be kept at the temple, as well as the state treasury.ce that one does a temple or church; the atrium was

[5] Of course I am speaking of two poles on a continuum rather than a rigid classification of only one or the other.

Admitting That We Are What We Are

  The "nature vs nurture" argument has been around for millenia in one form of the other, and this is one point on which I break with most of the ancient Stoics.  They tended to hold to the belief that, if we were taught properly, we could transcend our nature.  If a person acts immorally, he is simply mistaken, and needs to be taught how to act in the larger society.  The came down firmly on what we now call the "nurture" side of the debate, at least to the extent that they saw human nature as very malleable.

  I think, however, that what we have learned from the sciences compels us, if we are honest and follow the data rather than a priori ethical principles, to admit that while we might be able to control human behavior with the social unit, we cannot significantly change it.  First, the evidence tells us that we evolved from omnivorous and would-be carnivorous ancestors.  There were herbivorous hominids, yes, but they are not in our line of descent.  In fact, they were evolutionary failures. Secondly, animals that eat meat, even as only part of their diet, tend to be aggressive.  After all, the prey does not voluntarily agree to be killed for our nourishment.  it must be hunted, and the kill must be guarded from other, opportunistic predators.  A meek, peaceful animal will not make a successful hunter.

  We can look at living examples of these types of animals among the modern primates.  The gorilla, despite his size and the almost slanderous "King Kong" movies, is a relatively peaceful herbivore.  True, a silver-back male will respond quite aggressively to threats to his group, but they rarely exhibit aggressive behavior unless provoked.  By contrast, the chimpanzee, our closest genetic relative, is an aggressive omnivore.  Meat and insects are a normal part of their diet, and they exhibit the type of behavior one expects from a predator.  They even initiate raids on other groups' territories in order to capture better food resources, and their raids are not gentle and the fighting not ritualistic.http://www.nytimes.com/2010/06/22/science/22chimp.html?_r=0

  Ok, so our ancestors and our closest relative behave aggressively; what does that say about us?  I suggest that we consider one other factor.  As Sagan pointed out in his work Gardens of Eden,  as we evolved we did not lose those parts of the brain possessed by our genetic ancestors.  They are still there, along with the drives and instincts they needed to survive.  What happened is that we developed new layers of brain, capable of turning hard-wired instincts into conscious behavior.  We can direct our drives, we can focus them, yes, but they are still quite present and an inescapable part of our heritage. We are apes, just more intelligent than any of the others currently on the planet. 

   The relevance of this to philosophy is that we have to stop dreaming about ethical or social systems that attempt to remake humanity; we are what we are, the descendent of an aggressive hominid who has learned how to control, to a limited extent, those aggressive tendencies.  Classical thought, unlike early Christian and also unlike Marxist thought, did not try to change man or reform him.  Certain behaviors might be against the law and the social contract, yes, and they would be forbidden.  The ethical and legal focus was purely on behavior, however, not on character.  No classical Roman would have had any concept, for example, of thinking in terms "committing adultery in the heart."  It would have been perfectly natural for a Roman man to look at an attractive woman and think, "I'd like to sleep with her."  As long as he refrained from committing the act, he had done nothing wrong, and the same understanding would apply to a woman as well.  There was no thought of denying normal human nature or trying to change it. 

  
  

 

"Truth" is the Enemy of Wisdom

   “With or without religion, you would have good people doing good things and evil people doing evil things. But for good people to do evil things, that takes religion.” ― Steven Weinberg.    This is a common and popular quote among those who consider themselves humanists or rationalists.   It is, however, misguided, in that it is incomplete.  Yes, any form of superstition is inimical to rational, empirical philosophy; I would have no argument on that point.  However, I would posit this: the ultimate rival for rational thought is not religion, but the belief that we have, or even can have, the “Truth.”

    Let me state right up front that I am certainly not saying that no statement is ever true; that would be a form of insanity.  If I am holding a penny in my hand, it would be a true statement, at least at this time and place, to say “I am holding a penny in my hand.”  That statement would be true.  It’s verifiable, assuming that I am not alone.  You can look and see that in fact I am holding a penny.  We can make true statements about indirect empirical observations, as long as we are clear about the context: If I step off the side of this 10 story building, I will fall.  This statement is true, albeit only on a body with sufficient gravity.  We can affirm certain statements as true in logic and mathematics; I can say, “If two lines are intersected by a third line and the opposite interior angles are equal, then the lines are parallel.”  This statement is true, at least within the framework of Euclidean geometry.

   The problem arises when we try to make absolutely true general statements about the nature of society and the universe, statements that go beyond the immediate circumstances.  There are two problems with such statements, actually.  The first is the epistemological one: do we have sufficient evidence to make a particular statement?  For example, was Tyrannosaurus Rex a scavenger or a predator?  It does appear that an adult T-Rex was too large, too slow, to hunt down prey, at least as a solitary hunter.  The prey all seem to be fleeter than he was, so how could he hunt?  He certainly did have the bulk and the power to steal a meal brought down by faster, more agile predators; a dromeosaurus certainly could not defend his kill from a hungry T-Rex.  On the other hand, perhaps he was a predator; a juvenile T-Rex was certainly faster than the adults, and perhaps they hunted in packs, not alone.  I read that a ceratopian—I think a Triceratops, if I remember correctly—was found with T-Rex bite marks that were in the process of healing when he died, so he was bitten while still alive.  The fact is, we don’t know, do we?  This is one of those situations when we have to admit that the information is insufficient for us to make a general claim of truth about a proposition, and let it go at that.

   The other, much more sinister problem with making broad absolute statements is that they tend to assume a moral aspect, particularly when they concern social issues.  To take the above example about the T-Rex: if I believe that he was, at least in part, a predator, and you accept the proposition that he was a scavenger, what is the significance of these contradictory statements?  In reality, not very much, is there?  Most people could not possibly care less about the eating style of a T-Rex or any other dinosaur; they are extinct, and the interest is only academic.  This is certainly not true when we come to social and political statements, because these can have significance for our daily lives.  If we are not careful, we can fall into the tendency to treat opinions, and even carefully reasoned judgments as if they wear the mantle of Truth.  When we become emotionally engaged in an issue, we forget that any statement we make about the external world is incomplete, because it is based only upon the data that are presently available.

    When we think that we have the Truth, then it becomes easy to treat those who disagree with us, not as having another opinion, or not even as being wrong, but as being evil.  Those who hold a different opinion are on the side of the forces of darkness, while our side is allied with the forces of light and reason.  When someone who differs from us is not just wrong but evil, it becomes permissible, or even obligatory, to engage in conduct that could only be considered as falling into the category of good people doing evil things.  This attitude certainly does not require religion in order to thrive.