Okay: I’m a bit nervous about this, but it’s time for me to weigh in on all the commentary I’ve been seeing about the connections between theater and religion. I know these are dangerous waters, but they’re important to me.
In the main, folks seem to be eager to find ways to connect the two institutions. It’s obvious that there are clear points of similarity between theater and religion; others have written about them in great depth, and I neither can nor want to ignore or disparage them, because they’re real. What’s less clear to me are people’s motivations for making the connection. They seem to have generally positive associations with religion, and as such the comparisons they make are made as compliments. My sense is that they intend the comparison to—in some ways—legitimize theater, if you will. If performances are sacred rituals, after all, that makes them… what, special? Beyond criticism? Valuable? I’m not sure.
As a secular humanist playwright, I’m naturally more than a little bit uncomfortable with the comparison, even if (as I’ve just said) I can see where it comes from. Where others see similarities between theater and religion, I see clear and important differences; where others would like theater to be practiced as a kind of sacred enterprise, I prefer to see it as a secular mode of investigation into the human condition—a clear alternative to what gets offered in (many, but by no means all) churches and synagogues and mosques.
I think it’s probably rather straightforward: whether a person likes or loathes the comparisons between theater and religion seems to hinge, unsurprisingly, on how that person feels about religion. I know I’m not alone among theater practitioners in not feeling so great about things religious… but I’ve never seen anyone take a whack at elucidating the differences, rather than the similarities, between the two institutions. I’d like to do that now.
Before I do, however, I want to do a small bit of scene-setting.
Unlike many other non-believers, I refuse to lump all religious adherents into one ugly negative category. To do so would be to do disservice to my fellow human beings; it would also quite thoroughly undermine my argument. Instead, I will say that I believe there are three predominant modes of religious belief that deserve to be teased apart before we continue.
First, there’s what I call the Fundamentalist Mode, in which the words of sacred texts are interpreted literally and belief is dogmatic and unquestioning. Second, there’s what I call the Moderate Mode, in which the words of sacred texts are interpreted metaphorically and belief is flexible and interpretable. Third, there’s what I call the Spiritual Mode, in which practitioners read and consider multiple sacred texts and ask a great many questions about belief. Quibble, if you will, with my modes—but they’re the modes I’m using as I continue here.
So: my contention is that when most people make the comparison between theater and religion, they have in mind the Spiritual Mode, or perhaps the Moderate Mode. When I see those comparisons, however, I think Fundamentalist Mode all the way… and to my mind theater and the Fundamentalist Mode of religion could not be any more different.
In the Fundamentalist Mode, rituals are performed again and again in specific and detailed ways; that’s what you expect when you go to a church, mosque, or synagogue. In theater, the ritual of performance is slightly different every night, and audiences aren’t expected to see the same play over and over again.
The aim of a great deal of Fundamentalist Mode ritual is to cement postures of belief and obedience in the minds and hearts of believers. The aims of theater are manifold, but cementing obedience is not typically among them. (It’s not why I make theater, anyway.)
Fundamentalist Mode ritual is always in service to a single set of stories taken from a sacred text or set of texts—books or scrolls that are supposed to proscribe morality and behavior.  Theater is about creating new texts and contributing them to the cultural conversation about the world in which we live and how to live and behave morally—stories that are generally inquisitive rather than proscriptive.
Along these lines, Fundamentalist Mode texts are meant to be recited word-for-word as written and interpreted as literally as possible. Theatrical texts are typically meant to be interpreted in any number of ways—not only literally, but also metaphorically, psychologically, symbolically, politically, and so on—and they change, too, throughout the rehearsal process.
The Fundamentalist Mode is focused on dogmatic belief. Theater is the opposite of dogma.
These strike me as very important differences between theater and Fundamentalist Mode religion… the adherents of which, after all, represent approximately 25-40% of the population of the United States, depending on which survey data you believe (versus about 15% of us who are primarily non-believers). I assume they help you understand why I might find commentary noting how theater is just like religion a bit… problematic.
See, when you’re making those comparisons, they work two ways.  It’s one thing, after all, to say that religion should be more like theater: questioning and open and exploratory. That I love. It’s another entirely to say that theater, in turn, should be more deified and religious: by doing so, you open it up to those Fundamentalist Mode impulses that could serve to destroy it. If the Fundamentalist Mode ever got its hands around the neck of theater, after all, we’d have nothing but (for example) the passion play, over and over again.
And that’s why I prefer to pay attention to the ways in which theater and religion are different, rather than similar. I sincerely believe theater is, at its core, a secular practice: in conversation with religion, yes, since religion is part of our culture, but not belonging to it.
Those of you who consider yourselves both theater practitioners AND believers… please know that I’ve tried very hard not to offend in this post, even if I haven’t succeeded. I understand very clearly that there’s a broad middle of the religious spectrum—the 45-60% I didn’t mention above—and that you’re probably somewhere smack dab in that group. I don’t lump you in with your more rigid counterparts; I understand that you have nothing against secular humanism, and that we share the same values in many ways, and that (for the most part) we all like a great variety of of stories, even if you give one particular set of them more weight than I do.
What I want to ask of you, though, is this: Do your identities ever come into conflict? If so, how do you resolve them? Do you see why I might be concerned about the theater-and-religion comparisons? Do you share any of my concerns, or perhaps sympathize with them? I’d like to know.
As one of those splashing around the theatre/religion talk I want to clarify – I don’t think theatre is like religion, I think theatre is secular religion. http://blog.cambiareproductions.com/2010/01/12/fences-and-walls/
Religion is the sacred bucket for stories explaining and mining our existence for meaning, and theatre is the secular bucket for the same.
I also want to say that theatre is as dogmatic and conservative as any religious sect I’ve dealt with – and I’ve met a few.
Yours was one of the voices I most thought of when writing this. To be honest, I don’t know what the phrase “secular religion” means. Can an institution be both? I don’t see how.
Religion seems to be to be reaching into the same bucket, over and over again. (Each religion has its own bucket. And again, speaking Fundamentally, of course.) Theater has a constantly replenishing bucket.
I haven’t seen the dogma and conservatism of theater to the degree you’ve seen it, but I have seen some, and my hope is that we can flush it out by talking about this sort of thing… but perhaps that’s quixotic.
Religion is simply vocabulary for me that means codified system of beliefs. Theatre (in America in the last century) is a stack of beliefs on top of a canon that has tried to become more industrialized and repeatable.
I think the truth of that gets clouded when you sit on the fringe creating new work. For a LOT of theatre-makers nothing has been written since Arthur Miller except maybe August Wilson. The canon is real for them and all powerful.
In religion you have true ossified conservationism that repeats the ritual week after week like the Roman Catholic Mass – but even that Mass underwent Revolution only 50 years ago. The canon exists but every week a new voice elucidates on it giving it context for today and for the congregation they serve.
But you also have sects like the Home Church movement or the Vineyard churches of 20 years ago that are scandalous in the radicalism of their practice their approach to the Gifts of the Spirit and modern Prophecy and to church hierarchy and empowerment of the laiety.
Ain’t no different from Phantom and Taffety Punk
I don’t think we need to flush conservatism out of theatre, some audiences need Phantom and Les Mis like some people need the comfort of dogmatic ritual, we need to steal some of the covers back for the radical edge to allow for more widely recognized growth.
Very well said, and I hear you vis a vis the ossified conservatism. But I disagree that we don’t need to flush that out: I think that if we don’t at least beat it back a bit — more than stealing the covers — our art form will continue to degrade into quaint irrelevance.
We’ll never get rid of it, but we may be able re-define what conservatism stands for in theater. I am reminded of a conversation I had with several French right-wing senators prior to our most recent presidential election. These were members of Sarkozy’s party — France’s conservatives. I asked them which American candidate was the most appealing, and they all chose Obama. They wouldn’t even consider McCain, whom they considered radically right-wing and scary… and that was before he chose Palin. To them, Obama is a conservative (and in some ways, I agree). So I think we need to become French in our thinking about politics… and in our thinking about theater.
Religion doesn’t necessarily refer to beliefs of the supernatural. It also means “the body of persons adhering to a particular set of beliefs and practices,” and “something one believes in and follows devotedly; a point or matter of ethics or conscience: (example) to make a religion of fighting prejudice.” (Both definitions taken from dictionary.com). In this sense, theater can be a secular religion, as different schools of theater adhere to different beliefs on how theater should be presented. Look at the dogmatic principles of Neoclassicism: that plays must adhere to the ideals of decorum, verisimilitude and the unities of time, place and action. And the neoclassicists insisted on forcing these rules upon Renaissance dramatists. Furthermore, if you look at the history of women in theater and women playwrights, they were prevented from participating fully until well after the Elizabethan age. Such a rule was very dogmatic on the part of the theater elite and lasted well over a thousand years. If anything, theater is a secular religion, and can be compared to fundamentalist beliefs on the grounds that the comparison is a matter of principle, and not subject matter.
I certainly appreciate this reasoned commentary, Carmen, particularly your dissection of the definition of religion. My thoughts in response:
Yes, those are definitions of religion; I think would be disingenuous, however, to assert that those are the only definitions. (I’m not saying you ARE making that assertion, merely warning against it.) There are, in addition, more colloquial definitions that clearly entangle religion with belief in the supernatural, and those are the definitions on which I’m relying in making my argument.
However… if we rely on your non-supernatural definitions, I’m persuaded somewhat by your argument. I do think the resulting implication is that schools of theater — and perhaps certain theaters in particular — are religions (again, by your definition, not mine). But I still maintain that the practice of the theater as a whole art form, with all of its varied implementations, is not a religion even by your definition. At most (once more, by your definition) it’s a collection of religions, contradictory and ultimately irreconcilable. The “dogma” of Neoclassicism and the “dogma” of, say, avant-garde are — you will certainly agree — as distinct as (for example) Islam and Buddhism.
Finally, a closing response: the entire point of my post was to elucidate the differences between the two institutions, not the similarities. I even conceded the similarities in my second paragraph. In fact, by eliminating the element of supernaturalism from the comparison, you’ve undermined one of the very reasons I make the distinctions in the first place… which leads me to think that I need to write a future post about the relationship between theater and the supernatural, perhaps as compared to the relationship between religion and the supernatural. I thank you for the idea.
Thank you for this post. This is kind of a rant, though, so I apologize if I go off topic.
“Unlike many other non-believers, I refuse to lump all religious adherents and practices and ideas into one ugly negative category.” Really? Not me.
I think the number one problem in the United States is our outdated notion that we must be respectful to religion no matter what. The truth, though, is that religion has proved dangerous to our society. We see Americans becoming more and more anti-reason, anti-intellectual, anti-science and we see the religious chipping away at the separation of church and state. We have people running for high office who don’t believe in evolution, who believe that the world is only 6,000 years old. Hell, I don’t even have civil rights in my own country, which we also have the religious to thank for. People everywhere must start loudly, proudly saying that a belief in the supernatural is not legitimate. And I’m sorry, but so-called “moderate” folk are complicit in this coo-coo craziness.
So, no. Theater is not like religion. One is medicine and one is poison.
Ugh. Sorry. Rant over.
First of all — totally excited to hear from you. We have mutual Twitter-friends, and I get the impression that, well, you’re awesome.
As for your rant: I’ve ranted the same things myself, many times over. And think America’s religious right-wing has earned it (and much more). I also agree with your assertion that, on balance, religion has proven to be a significant hindrance to human progress and freedom and development and that it has been considered beyond critical analysis for far too long. Also: the anti-reason, anti-intellectual, anti-science dopes who’ve been running for (and winning!) office are dead scary. No question. There’s a third (or so) of the country that really frightens me.
Where I differ from you is how to address the moderates. I do agree that they are in some ways complicit in the actions of their more radical co-religionists… but of late I have taken to a more civil strategy of honest (if difficult) dialogue with them, rather than outrage. (I save my outrage for Michelle Bachmann and Christine O’Donnell.) After all, I want to bring them over to my secular humanist side… and yelling at them doesn’t seem to be the way to do that.
Still, my reason for this post is because I agree with you that theater is very different than religion, and we need to keep drawing the distinction, rather than focusing on the similarities, which happens all too often for my tastes.
P.S. You’d probably love my play THE FAITHKILLER.
Do your identities ever come into conflict? If so, how do you resolve them?
No, they don’t – not internally, at least. Generally speaking, I just don’t talk about it because most people (secular and religious) have neither the interest nor ability to engage with me about that in a way that I feel is worth my time.
Do you see why I might be concerned about the theater-and-religion comparisons?
Yes.
Do you share any of my concerns, or perhaps sympathize with them? I’d like to know.
Hate to say it, but not really.
For me, fundamentalism is not what people believe but how. In my experience, evangelical Christianity and militant atheism has more in common with each other than either has with progressive Judaism or Vajrayana Buddhism. One group I can have certain conversations with because they know how to listen, the other I can’t because they don’t.
Because theatre is the most interactive art, the inability to listen is a serious hindrance.
A few questions in response.
What do you mean when you say that fundamentalism isn’t what people believe, but how? I find that a curious statement, but I’m having difficulty parsing it. Are you suggesting that the difference is simply that fundamentalists aren’t willing to question their beliefs, but moderates are? Or are you saying they express themselves differently? I’m confused.
In response to your suggestion that you can converse with one group, but not the other — are you saying that you can talk to believers, but not to non-believers? Or are you saying that you can talk to moderates, but neither to fundamentalists nor athiests?
With regard to the comparison between fundamentalists and athiests: I’ve heard it before, and I don’t find it compelling. You can reason an athiest into a new idea, in my experience; you cannot easily do the same with a fundamentalist. If they share any qualities, it’s difficulty listening, or compassion in listening, and that — I agree with you — is a very serious hindrance.
Or are you saying that you can talk to moderates, but neither to fundamentalists nor athiests?
I have to go in a few minutes, so I’ll have to put it as succinctly as I can. Simply put, at the end of the day, I cannot have this type of conversation with someone who’s going to tell me I’m going to burn in hell nor with someone who’s going to tell me what I believe.
I get the first half of that — it is hard to dialogue with someone who sincerely believes I’m going to burn in hell — but I’ve not met an athiest who wants to tell anyone else what they believe, which strikes me as impossible. As a secular humanist (the term I prefer), I’m fascinated by what other people believe (and why they believe it). I don’t presume to know (at least not any more); I ask. That’s why I’ve asked you for clarification…
Permit me to throw in a bit of historical context apropos of the “Theater vs. Religion,” debate as it applies to Western Civilization. Understanding how this debate has shaped Theater’s role in the past may inform the thesis here and also, shed some light on how Religion often impedes the Theater in the West. Allow me to predicate my response with the caveat that what I am about to write will not provide citations and also, welcomes any scholar of history to counter my response with their opinion or challenge the facts at hand.
St. Augustine’s (354 – 430 A.D.) wrote THE CITY OF GOD (413 -426) exploring the dynamic of the theatre as he understood it in the context of Christian morality. Note, his understanding came from reading, in Latin, the Ancient Greek and Roman canon of philosophy and studying Rhetoric and Oratory. Also, from experiencing the pagan and “popular entertainment” of his day in cities like Carthage. The theatre he experienced was a direct reflection of the Roman variance, as opposed to the Ancient Greek tradition based more on ritual rather than distracting the population with Gladiators and lewd comedies, as the Roman and Pagan theaters did. Essentially, his conclusion found the theatrical tradition immoral and Anti-Christian. Thus, the foundation for the perception of theater was laid and practice was banned during the Medieval Era. Skip forward to the 13th century, when the Christian Morality Plays or Cycle of Miracle Plays (apropos of the Passion play reference) revived the theatre. It has always been a platform for communicating the values of a community and realizing this, these plays were used for spreading the Christian ideology across the West. Once the Low-Renaissance began, the seeds for Neoclassicism were in place. Unless a play or performance adhered to the Aristotelean Ideal, they were censored or worse, those involved tortured and executed. Elizabethan Theatre came forward with a fresh breath of air, as the introduction of moveable type in the mid-14th century by Johannes Gutenberg (c.1398-1468) provided for the foundations of the Christian Reformation and Scientific Revolution. However, it would be another two centuries before theatre practitioners started to break away from the rigidity of the Aristotelean traditions. We arrive at the 20th Century to see a new beginning, unprecedented innovation in the practice and theory of theatre. This happened outside of the Religious sphere, but most importantly, honored the role of ritual and spiritual value.
Theater vs Religion today? Let’s hope we can continue the innovations of the 20th Century and not get confused by bringing the two together. Great post, love love love the chance to discuss and comment. Thank you, Gwydion!
Wow: there is so much here that I simply don’t know where to begin, except perhaps to say thank you for sharing so generous a response.
Of the history you’ve given, what I find particularly compelling is the notion of theater as a platform for communicating the values of a community. I wonder if communicating is the right word there — perhaps it is, actually, but I think the question is worth asking. Was it communication that was happening, or was it encoding and transmitting, or was it transforming? I don’t know.
Today, however, with so many other cultural artifacts in which values may be embodied or taught, theater can no longer possibly play that role on its own. It can only claim a piece of that effort… whatever that effort might be.
I do think we’re living in a time of theatrical innovation, as you suggest; in addition, I think we’re also living in a time (and in a place) of fractured and disparate ideas about morality. Theater has to show us how to live… how to accommodate ourselves to the scientific advances of the last two hundred years. As a culture, we have not yet come to terms with the three most important thinkers of the last two centuries: Einstein, Darwin, and (to a lesser extent) Freud. (We’ve barely caught up to Galileo, frankly; Newton, at last, seems to be in the rear-view mirror.) Theater has to be able to help solve that problem…
… a problem that religion does not seem to be able to help with at all, or not much. It wants to keep telling stories with characters and moral arcs that are increasingly dated and ineffectual. We need new stories to keep up, as much as possible, with the times in which we live.
There’s a LOT to respond to here but I need to get some actual work done today, so for now I’ll just hone in on a part of your argument that confuses me:
“So: my contention is that when most people make the comparison between theater and religion, they have in mind the Spiritual Mode, or perhaps the Moderate Mode. When I see those comparisons, however, I think Fundamentalist Mode all the way… and to my mind theater and the Fundamentalist Mode of religion could not be any more different.”
Forgive me, but this sounds an awful lot like saying, “People often make comparisons between me and Tobey Maguire. There are 3 ways in which I might remind them of Tobey Maguire: Looks, Acting Ability, or Charm. I assume they mean my Acting Ability and Charm, but let me explain to you why I don’t look a thing like Tobey Maguire and why I think it’s dangerous to draw comparisons between my looks and those of Tobey Maguire.”
Sort of a ridiculous comparison, but I hope you see my point: you acknowledge that the theatre-religion-comparers mean it in terms of the Moderate or Spiritual Mode, yet spend this whole post refuting a comparison to the Fundamentalist Mode. This doesn’t make sense to me.
Also, theater and religion have, at different points in my life, literally saved me. In high school, I had a brilliant youth minister who encouraged laughter, questioning, and honesty. Youth group was kind of like group therapy with parlor games. Beyond youth group, I didn’t have many friends, or the ones I had were not the close kind – I couldn’t open up to them the way I could to the kids at my church. Without religion, I’m not sure how I would have ended up, but I feel positive it would have been for the worse. I imagine the other forces and people in my life might have yielded a much shallower, more bitter girl at the end of the day. (Forgive my vagueness – this gets into some personal territory that I’d rather not post in public.)
Now, at this writing, I haven’t been to church in about a year, and I am totally happy with that. But I know that growing up religious made me a better person: kinder, more patient, more willing to give people the benefit of the doubt because you don’t know their suffering, more affectionate, etc.
Are there other ways to get people to grow up to be kind? Sure. But religion can be one way. Religion as a whole is not responsible for people being anti-reason and bigoted; certain sects of it are responsible, yes, but not religion as a whole. It bears pointing out, to both the extremely right wing bigots and the people who have suffered at their hands, that Jesus never said a damn thing about gay people. But he said a LOT about hypocrisy. So what’s the problem here: the religion, or the way it’s been bastardized and manipulated?
As for the way theater has saved me, that too is a story for another day, but for now just suffice it to say that in many ways, it didn’t feel that different from the best days of youth group. Community, joy, support, devotion to and belief in a common cause (and to/in each other) – when both religion and theater are at their best, they have all these things.
Thanks, Mariah, as always.
I think what I’m trying to get at by creating the separate “modes” — I said “quibble if you must,” and you quibbled, and I trust your insight — is a separation between three different modes of belief, not practice. I find that there are those who are rigidly adherent to a set of ideas (fundamentalists) they will not question, and those who really dig a particular set of stories (the New Testament, for example) but also don’t think everyone has to take their stories quite as seriously, and those who just feel spiritual about life in the universe and may dabble in/care about a wide variety of religious stories and ideas without giving any one set of them any more merit than another. I genuinely believe those are three very distinct modes in which there’s little overlap… but they are modes of belief, not modes of practice.
Religious practice — a category in which I include everything from voting a certain way on certain issues because one’s beliefs say so to worshipping in particular ways to saying particular prayers to, yes, running youth groups for young people — is a different issue entirely. It’s not clear to me at all that religious practice follows logically or linearly from religious belief. I have seen, in my life, people of all belief modes participate in all different practices. (Likewise, I’ve seen non-believers participate in a variety of practices, too.)
It’s my assessment, however, that on balance, while religious beliefs have inspired a great deal of good — the example you’ve offered from your life being exactly that sort of thing — they’ve also inspired a great deal more harm. Now… I don’t expect everyone to agree with that statement. I’ve thought about it a great deal, and I believe it about as firmly as I believe anything, though I continue to investigate the question — but I realize many people feel differently…
Which is why I say in my post that I expect the way one feels about comparisons between theater and religion to reflect, primarily, how they feel about religion. You value religion, so you’re more comfortable with the comparisons; I don’t value it, so I’m uncomfortable.
Finally, I want to respond to your thoughts about Jesus and homosexuality. You suggest, correctly, that Jesus never said anything about gay people… but the Bible certainly does, and many Christians use the beliefs generated by that text to justify practices I find morally indefensible… all the time ignoring other Biblical passages that don’t suit their flimsy morality. You’ve decided to focus on Jesus’ words, they’ve decided to focus on Leviticus (and interpret it narrowly)… but you both seem to be cherry-picking from the narrative as a whole and seeing what you prefer (in your case, it seems to me, quite reasonably) to see in it.
You argue that religion as a whole isn’t responsible for making them behave the way they behave… but I’d argue that religious belief inspires you BOTH to behave the ways you behave, as well as the many other forces (in your case, including theater) that have shaped who you are. And since the stories in the Bible are capable of generating both kindnesss and compassion (in your case) and oppression (in their case), we really ought to be handling them with kid gloves. Not letting children read them, for example, and understanding their power to lead to brutality (the same way we think of guns). Furthermore, I think we need to offer powerful and manifold alternatives to those stories — the ones we create in our theatrical lives — to refresh and renew our minds so that the stories in the Bible (I realize I should also be mentioning the Koran and the Torah and a few others besides, but…) gradually lose their grip on us and assume a less central place in our culture.
Before I go, I’ll acknowledge that I’m sure you’ll disagree with a great deal of what I’ve written here, and I’ll also reassert that my intention is not to offend, but merely to try to think in a reasoned way about these issues. There’s much, always, to disagree and think about, and I’m sure I still have much to learn.
“It’s not clear to me at all that religious practice follows logically or linearly from religious belief.”
Amen brotha.
Again, I’ve much more to say, but will save it for a time when I am not on the clock. For now, suffice it to say that while I’ve heard the argument that religion has done more harm than good, I’d argue that because kindnesses are often small and personal and invisible to most, while wars in the name of religion make history and the news, it’s impossible to really know either way.
Also, the Bible is so sprawling and contradictory that cherry-picking becomes necessary, as to take EVERYTHING in the Bible literally is close to impossible. The Old Testament and the New Testament, just as one example, are kind of diametrically opposed: God in OT is wrathful and jealous, while God in NT is all about love and forgiveness.
Finally (for now): “You value religion, so you’re more comfortable with the comparisons; I don’t value it, so I’m uncomfortable.” So true. And I think discussions of religion/ morality in general are inherently emotional, so while we might see each other’s point and be respectful and try to meet each other halfway, our feelings on the matter are generally unlikely to change. And I’m at peace with that.
How nice to get an “amen” out of that. As you might imagine, I don’t get many 😉
I agree that cherry-picking the Bible is the best/only option for making it useful. Our own Thomas Jefferson — who was at most a deist, if not a full-on atheist — wrote a thoroughly expurgated version that hardly resembles the current text at all. Similar arguments can be made for other “holy” books… which is what makes me wonder what objective criteria people are using to do the cherry-picking. What higher principles does one call on in deciding what to keep and what to toss? I would argue that those are ultimately secular humanist principles, ideas that can (and should) be transmitted without the trappings of religion that lead us down deadly and destructive genocidal and oppressive paths.
I’m just catching up on this post now; very sorry that I missed it the first time around especially as part of that impossible-on-twitter-chat we tried a couple of weeks ago that started with someone lumping together Catholics and the Catholic League, but did lead to some consensus about the artist’s need to be willing to examine and re-evaluate all of his/her own beliefs (including religion) constantly and fearlessly.
But I just wanted to commend this argument about the distinction between religious belief and religious practice, and how one doesn’t necessarily lead to another. It’s very hard today to identify oneself as religious, because it immediately suggests the kind of fundamentalism, closed-mindedness, and intolerance of some religious practice. But I know my religious beliefs (strongly influenced by some terrific thoughtful ministers and a great book by Marcus Borg – Reading The Bible Again For The First Time) guide me to try to be a more tolerant, understanding, generous and loving person.
In many ways, while trying to emphasize the difference, I think you (and Travis Bedard’s post above) have confirmed for me the underlying similarities of both callings. The subtext that I hear in your post is an objection to fundamentalism in theatre to which I have to enthusiastically concur. Perhaps that’s the debate we need to be having.
Thanks, Brandon, for weighing in. Honestly, this is a conversation that will almost certainly not end in either of our lifetimes, so timeliness isn’t important: honest conversation is, and I thank you for your contribution to that effort.
I do think the difference between religious belief and practice is one that frequently gets blurred by my fellow atheists, skeptics, and secular humanists all too often. Religious people are not inherently boogeymen (and boogeywomen), despite what many assert. A belief in God can definitely inspire the same sorts of practices — tolerance, understanding, generosity, love, as you’ve outlined — that I derive from a less supernatural, more evidence-based worldview. What we have in common, in that regard, is (to me) far more important than our differences.
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Gwydion,
Thank you for this – I like this post and the thread of comments.
For me, theatre is the elder of the two lions, and the more terrible; animals role play as we do, but humans alone set their watches to an unseen clock.
There is wisdom that cannot be held in words alone, but only through the sequence of actions called story; and a story told through human bodies is the oldest way of passing down that knowledge. That hunger for story evolved to be so keen that we even create meaning from a void and call it mystery; and tune our lives to that mystery and call it religion.
But theatre came first, and sometimes I think of religion as a play where the audience goes on suspending their disbelief even after the curtain falls.
I am more interested in a church of doubt; but not always. Mostly I turn to stories that expand what is possible rather than pin the butterfly to the wall; but there are times I want a simple answer to carry like a stone in my pocket to worry smooth. Mostly I want plays that shock me with a new way of seeing; but there are others times I want a story to fill me so full I sleep easy.
I understand those who prefer those kinds of filling stories; it can be exhausting to eat food that only makes you more hungry. And for those who commit acts of violence, hatred, or intolerance because of those stories; I hate the violence but recognize that hunger as my own.
Theatre is not benevolent; its power has been used to dehumanize and mock as often as it has been used to kindle compassion. And yes, one of its most effective forms, both towards violence and compassion, is the full meal of fundamental faith.
Of course, I don’t know if there is a God; and I also know for many people, religious faith is full of hunger and doubt. I think the stories I need to tell give a gnawing knowing that is not for everyone, even though I want everyone to love my stories. And I look at people of faith as the children of theatre, the same as I am, and hate violence and intolerance in whatever narrative of glory it cloaks itself in.
But I think as kinds of people, believers or not, we are far more alike than different. It’s the gulf between every unique individual that daunts and calls to me.
Gus, this is some of the most eloquent writing on this subject I have ever read. I’m incredibly thankful for your contribution to the discussion. “I think of religion as a play where the audience goes on suspending their disbelief even after the curtain falls.” Yes, that’s it exactly. In fact, I gave a talk last year — one I’ll be giving again next year, and using as the foundation for a new book — called (Susp)ending (Dis)belief: Art and Atheism.
I agree that the technology of storytelling is older and far more essential to who we are as humans than the comparably transient (in some ways) and younger institution of religion. I think of what happens in religious institutions as a minor subset of the possibilities that stories afford us… and I both resist and resent any impulse to limit storytelling to that subset.
I also agree that there are stories designed to give us that “full feeling” — which is not, I hasten to add, necessarily healthy for us, though we all want it from time to time. Most, but not all, of what I see on television and on the silver screen is exactly that. I feel the same way about some of the stories I’ve heard in houses of worship… or at least the ways those stories are abridged and repackaged and (sometimes) sanitized fore religious consumption.
Storytelling, like any technology, can be used in a variety of ways. You’ve outlined several of the possibilities in your response, which I will rephrase and expand thus: doubt-generation, sedation, meme-transmission, the maintaining of social order. As anyone who has studied the evolution of technology will tell you, it’s a relatively common occurrence for a new tool to be used in ways for which it wasn’t intended. Dynamite was developed to blast through mountains, not to fight wars; the invention of the “sticky note” is another excellent example of this sort of thing. I think of fundamentalist religious belief and storytelling as a prime example as well. That’s not how stories were intended to be used, but they are used that way.
I don’t believe in banning guns; I don’t think that’s a realistic response to the misapplications of gunpowder technology. I do, however, believe in gun control laws. I don’t think you should be able to use a gun unless your intent is clearly established and acceptably constructive and compassionate (and without some common-sense practices to ensure safety, like training and gun locks).
At the same time, I don’t believe a strategy like that would be useful for story technology. (Require an MFA before you’re allowed to write plays?) I fear we’d disagree too greatly on what “constructive and compassionate intent” was in the telling of stories.
I do think, however, that theatrical stories, in general, are more constructive and compassionate, or more often constructively and compassionately told, than fundamentalist religious stories. The audiences who prefer those stories do not seem to me to be “full of hunger and doubt,” as you’ve eloquently described other believers. They seem to me to be afraid of their hunger and doubt, and preferring not to examine or confront or investigate it all too deeply.
Believers who aren’t afraid to do those things are, I believe, my kin. I don’t believe in God, but of course I share their hunger — which is ultimately, I would assert, a base human hunger for meaning. This is why I try to elucidate the differences between modes of belief, and why I find most of the new athiests (PZ Myers is the greatest offender) short-sighted and obnoxious: in rejecting all believers, they are rejecting part of what it is to be alive.
Thank you again, Gus.
I am late to this conversation and hesitant to speak up here at all, because I feel overwhelmed by both the intelligence and range of discourse, but I believe the Twitter conversation which eventually inspired this post was sparked by an off-the-cuff comment I made regarding goat sacrifice…
I cannot improve on Mariah’s observation that while you recognize several modes of religious observation, Gwydion, you choose to base your argument solely on one mode–the one which is most likely to be most objectionable to most people likely to read your blog, Fundamentalism. While your argument is utterly solid, I find it unlikely that many theatre artists operate in that mode.
That aside: I cannot help but observe that religions of the Book (e.g., Judeo-Christian-Muslim traditions) are the only ones referred to here–save one brief mention of Buddhism–and I would like to point out that the worldview and religious practice espoused by the religions of the Book are hardly the only ones at play in the world at present. While this in no way refutes your argument on its own, Gwydion, I think it may be worth considering that not all faiths are possessed of the same attitudes and practices, and that some specification may be in order.
Wow — this conversation keeps going on, and really keeps inspiring new ideas for me. Jax, I’m so glad you joined in.
Let me say, before responding, that I don’t remember the goat sacrifice comment… but I wish I did!
I agree with your assessment that there are likely few theater practitioners who are also Fundamentalist Mode believers… though I have known at least one. But the audience for my post isn’t those fundamentalists (though I’d be thrilled if they were reading) — it’s the (to my observation) broad middle of theater practitioners who seem to enjoy comparisons between theater and religion. This post was my response to those comparisons.
I limit the references I make to Christianity, Islam, Judaism, and Buddhism for two reasons. First, because those are the religious belief systems with which I’m the most familiar. Second, because they represent (with the exception of Judaism) three of the most populous belief systems in the world. (The top six also includes Hinduism, Confucianism and “none of the above.”) That makes my argument as broadly applicable, I hope, as possible.
To many atheists, the real division that matters, furthermore, is that one that separates naturalism (the belief that the material world is all there is) from supernaturalism (the belief that the material world can be acted on by “forces” outside of it). That separation lumps all religious believers into one camp with 5.7 billion people in it and all non-believers into another camp with 1.1 billion people in it.
By contrast, while I’m an unrepentant naturalist — one of the 1.1 billion — I believe there are useful ways to “chunk up” that other 5.7 billion that don’t correspond to different religious beliefs. (2.1 billion Christians, 1.5 billion Muslims, etc.) I think it’s more instructive to break them up into, say, 1.7 billion Fundamentalists, 1.7 billion Moderates, and 1.7 billion Spiritualists — though I can’t speak for those numbers. (Anyone have any accurate sources?) I believe, furthermore, that we 1.1 billion naturalists and the 1.7 Spiritualist believers have a lot more in common than we all realize — and, in any event, need to be learning how to play on the same team.
Please stop conflating Judaism with Christianity or Islam. They are very, VERY different.
In many ways, of course, yes, I agree with you. Very different. In others, at least to an unrepentant materialist and naturalist (rather than a supernaturalist), all religious belief systems seem similar to me.
What I find interesting in what you say here is that you seem to be offended by the comparison or the similarity. Are you?
Yes.
Well, I don’t understand that answer. Do you find other belief systems offensive? Do you believe that Jews have the only correct answer, for example? Or is there one other belief system in particular that offends you?
*sigh*
It does not work that way for me. And I’m not up to explaining it. Let’s just say that your simplistic renditions of religion does not reflect my experience. I find this offensive because it is in essence saying, “What you believe about yourself matters less than what I believe about you.”
If you’re not up to explaining yourself, surely you’ll understand why I don’t continue the conversation any further.
You are sorely misunderstanding me, however, if you call my thinking about religion simplistic. I’ve been studying (and living in and out of) religion for decades. My ideas and analyses (as opposed to “rendition”) on the subject are deeply considered, whether you agree with them or not. This is why I assure you I am making no claims about what I believe about you versus what you believe about yourself. I am discussing what I believe, period: about myself, about all of us. If you’re going to change what I believe, you’ll need to engage with me, which I’ve repeatedly invited you to do by asking a series of questions. If you’d prefer not to, of course, that’s fine by me: but I’m not likely to change my mind if you don’t.
Oh dear.Â
Well, thank you for putting yourself out there even though you felt nervous. Since you identify as an adherent of reason/science/naturalism, I’ll engage first on those grounds:
It’s my assessment, however, that on balance, while religious beliefs have inspired a great deal of good — the example you’ve offered from your life being exactly that sort of thing — they’ve also inspired a great deal more harm. Now… I don’t expect everyone to agree with that statement. I’ve thought about it a great deal, and I believe it about as firmly as I believe anything, though I continue to investigate the question — but I realize many people feel differently…
The issue you’re discussing here isn’t a matter of “feeling.” It’s a matter of data. From which data do you make the assessment that religion has done more harm than good? Have you studied it in a systematic way throughout all of history? Can you identify and quantify the harm and the good? What are the variables involved–x number of people helped for y percentage of their lives on an objective quality of life improvement scale? What is the GUT of the effect of religion on humanity? How do you offset the equation on account of mass-murdering atheist regimes like those of Mao, Stalin and Hitler? The argument is becoming facetious, because of course, answering this question in a truly scientific sense is impossible. Your assessment is a belief. It is not a result of rigorous scientific inquiry, nor even reason.Â
This is why many in the religious studies community regard atheism as simply another religion–because their distinctions between science and religion are so lazy. Science is that which is (1) observable, (2) predictable, (3) repeatable, and (4) falsifiable. Period. Many phenomena satisfy these conditions, but many others do not. If you want to approach religious belief from a rigorous scientific standpoint, the most you can ever be is an agnostic, not an atheist, because you understand that the existence of God is not falsifiable. That is where other epistemologies (art, religion) come into use.
As for the questions…
Do your identities ever come into conflict?
No.Â
Do you see why I might be concerned about the theater-and-religion comparisons?
I see why you are, sure. But I don’t share those concerns. To describe where I’m coming from, I wouldn’t even know where to begin, except to take you to the beginning of my life and share all my experiences that have shown me what a vastly complex, beautiful, and nuanced subject religion is, completely independent of whether the student is a believer or not.Â
But I can’t. And I sense you’re not open to the suggestion that religion is vastly more complex than you’re making it. So, (truly), good luck with your agenda.
I knew that no matter how hard I tried to write about this subject without offending, I was still likely to fail. I’m sad about that, but not surprised. (If I’m reading offense where there is none, however… well, good.)
I disagree with much of what you’ve written, however, and in the interest of keeping a (hopefully civil) dialogue going, I will try to respond.
The issue you’re discussing here isn’t a matter of “feeling.” It’s a matter of data.
I sympathize with a desire to look at the issue that way… but, as you say, it seems impossible. I have, however, read quite deeply on the subject for almost thirty years, and my analysis of the meta-historical story — see, I’m a storyteller, not a scientist (much though I’d like to be a scientist), so that’s the lens I use to analyze the world — is what leads me to my conclusion.
Clearly, you’ve reached a different conclusion… which, as I wrote, does not surprise me. I think a growing number of people share my point of view, but we’re still in the minority.
While I’d like to convince you of the rightness of my opinion, however, the tone of your comment suggests that you aren’t open to the possibility, and I’m not interested in an argument on the subject: I’ve been in too many, and I don’t find them productive.Â
How do you offset the equation on account of mass-murdering atheist regimes like those of Mao, Stalin and Hitler?Â
I believe you are significantly misrepresenting those eras of history by calling them atheist. Hitler, in particular, was deeply religious at times in his life (and also thoroughly insane), and his views were influenced in great measure by Catholicism and the occult. As for Stalin and Mao… I agree with Richard Dawkins’ assessment that Marxism was, in essence, their religion. In any event, no “offset” is necessary: they’re all three on the negative side of the ledger.
Your assessment is a belief. It is not a result of rigorous scientific inquiry, nor even reason.Â
Of course it’s a belief, but it’s a reasonable and reasoned one. To suggest otherwise is insulting.
This is why many in the religious studies community regard atheism as simply another religion–because their distinctions between science and religion are so lazy.Â
Another insult. Lazy? Please. I’m sorry, but you don’t know me well enough to make that claim.
While I agree that many atheists — and please note that I refer to myself by the term “secular humanist” — underestimate the degree to which they hold their beliefs for emotional, rather than rational, reasons, atheism in the abstract bears only a passing resemblance (if any) to religion. It is wrong to mistake the passionate arguments that some atheists make for the passionate beliefs held by religious folk: the intensity may be similar, but the substance is utterly distinct.
If you want to approach religious belief from a rigorous scientific standpoint, the most you can ever be is an agnostic, not an atheist, because you understand that the existence of God is not falsifiable.Â
That’s only one way to approach religious belief. I find it trivial, at least for me. Yes, the existence of God is not falsifiable. There is, however, no evidence I’ve seen to support the claim that God exists. The onus of proof, in any event, is on those who would make the existence claim, not on me. I don’t believe God exists because I don’t believe a giant teacup is floating over my house right now. Show me evidence to the contrary, and I’ll change my mind post-haste on both counts.
Another approach: people believe in God because they need to or want to. They don’t care about evidence. That’s fine with me. I don’t need to or want to.
To describe where I’m coming from, I wouldn’t even know where to begin, except to take you to the beginning of my life and share all my experiences that have shown me what a vastly complex, beautiful, and nuanced subject religion is, completely independent of whether the student is a believer or not. Â But I can’t. And I sense you’re not open to the suggestion that religion is vastly more complex than you’re making it.
You are making tremendous (and woefully inaccurate) assumptions here. To suggest that I’m not “open” to the idea that religion is a complex, beautiful, and nuanced subject is ridiculous. Of course it is! I mean, I find I can only say “duh.” I’ve visited the world’s great cathedrals. I’ve studied religious belief my entire life. I’ve practiced a few religions, too, along the way. I’ve gone out of my way, here and elsewhere, to distinguish myself from the more “rabid” atheists that have recently become popular (though I respect them in varying degrees.) I have no animosity toward those who believe (though I do get angry when they try to impose their ethics on others).Â
I consider most religions a set of narratives (see today’s blog post for more on that subject). In some cases, those narratives are beautiful and inspiring; often, sadly, they’re horrific. I believe it’s better for us to be thinking about/writing/learning from new narratives, rather than adhering to old ones, but I understand the impulse to hang on tightly to the stories that matter to us, too: I’ve re-watched the entire run of M*A*S*H, for example, several times. So I don’t hold that against anyone.
Finally, my agenda: I thank you for the wish for good luck, because my “agenda,” such as it is, is only enlightenment and survival and creation and exploration and knowledge for the entire human race.
One question: does your idea of enlightenment and survival and creation and exploration and knowledge for the entire human race include religion, or not?Â
Â
No time at the moment to answer your lengthier response, but this one is easy: in the long run, no; for now, sure.
Right. Which is why I wish you luck with your agenda.Â
Now, more…
I knew that
no matter how hard I tried to write about this subject without offending, I was
still likely to fail. I’m sad about that, but not surprised. (If I’m reading
offense where there is none, however… well, good.)
Â
Gwydion, if I’m offended,
it’s not because of a perceived attack on religion per se. (I don’t care who
believes and who doesn’t, and some days I don’t believe in God either.) It’s
because of the disingenuousness of the conversation. You identify as a
storyteller, and not as a scientist, but you claim evidence as the currency of
your assertions. (I’ll swap “evidence†for “data†here.) If you’re claiming
data as the currency of your assertions, you need to know what you’re talking
about. To wit:
Â
I sympathize with a desire to look at the
issue that way… but, as you say, it seems impossible.
Â
Again, it’s not a matter
of desire. It’s a question that, posited correctly, falls firmly within
scientific inquiry. You just have to define the variables, the scope of study,
and so on. But as we’ve agreed, such a study would be a massive undertaking. In
the meantime, you’ve conducted your own study on a limited scale. After having
done so, it’s appropriate to say that your representative sample shows
such-and-such a trend, and that further study is needed. But it’s not
appropriate to reach a definite conclusion. It’s even less appropriate to
present such a conclusion as a “belief†when data are your tool. Belief and
data are immiscible! So, please, be careful how you use the word “belief.† Â
Clearly, you’ve reached a different
conclusion… which, as I wrote, does not surprise me. I think a growing number
of people share my point of view, but we’re still in the minority.
Â
What are your references
on this? I’m curious.
Of course it’s a belief, but it’s a
reasonable and reasoned one. To suggest otherwise is insulting.
Â
And to suggest that the
beliefs of those who identify as religious is not is equally insulting. Your
beliefs are the result of years of study, emotion and experience. So are those
of religious people. This is the heart of why I find this conversation
disingenuous: you want to distinguish yourself from so-called believers, but
your rhetoric–and the tools you actually use to reach conclusions, as opposed
to the tools you claim to use–is indistinguishable from theirs. Â Â
Another insult. Lazy? Please. I’m sorry,
but you don’t know me well enough to make that claim.
Â
I’m not calling you lazy,
Gwydion; I’m calling the reasoning in this essay lazy. The best scientists and
thinkers in the world can lapse into lazy reasoning. I’m often guilty of that
myself, and am glad to be called out on it when it’s true. A less offensive
word: “ill-distinguished�
It is wrong to mistake the passionate
arguments that some atheists make for the passionate beliefs held by religious
folk: the intensity may be similar, but the substance is utterly distinct.
Â
How so?
Â
Atheists (or
rationalists, or secular humanists, or what have you) use “data†and “reasonâ€
to illustrate their arguments. But usually, they’ve failed to establish that
data and reason are tools that are capable of comprehensively investigating the
universe. In fact, I’ve never read anything proving as such. Want to try?
Â
Â
That’s only one way to approach religious belief.
I find it trivial, at least for me. Yes, the existence of God is not
falsifiable. There is, however, no evidence I’ve seen to support the claim that
God exists. The onus of proof, in any event, is on those who would make the
existence claim, not on me.
Â
This one is easy. The
universe exists.
Â
Â
Another approach: people believe in God
because they need to or want to. They don’t care about evidence. That’s fine
with me. I don’t need to or want to.
Great! More power to you. Â
Â
Â
I have no
animosity toward those who believe (though I do get angry when they try to impose
their ethics on others).
Â
But, according to the
substance of the original blog post, you do feel threatened. Why?
Â
I don’t know how my tone
is coming across here. What I’m trying to do is be as clear as possible about
the distinctions between reason, science, religion, belief, and so on. And to
hold you accountable for your argument as I would in a scientific seminar.
 Â
I’m sorry, Monica, but as much as you’d like to, you don’t get to put me in a box here. I get to define myself; I’m a storyteller. I’ve read the story of the last two thousand years, and my reading suggests that religion is the villain. It’s a complicated narrative, to be sure, like all of the best narratives, which means our villain is also complicated (and, it follows, certainly not *all* bad, by any means). But my assessment — rational, reasoned, but not (to your consternation) data-driven — is that religion has caused more harm than good throughout history.
Honestly, I consider the evidence in support of my interpretation rather overwhelming – genocides, Norwegian serial killers, crusades, Galileo, the killing of abortion doctors, abuse of children by priests, the covering up of the abuse of children by priests, keeping condoms out of Africa, the oppression of women in a thousand different flavors — but I’m not going to tote up a ledger for you; hell, you’d tote it up a different way than I would anyway. I’m also not going to write you an in-depth historical analysis. I’m just going to give you my conclusion, which I’ve done. And you’ve given me your opinion of my conclusion in return. (I’ll refrain from sharing my opinion of your opinion.) Clearly, we do not interpret the story in the same way.
I am confident that history — the long human history, longer than my lifetime — will bear me out. (Though as I’ve indicated, it does seem as if things are changing of late; the source of my data, incidentally, is the relatively recent study by the Pew Forum of Global Religious Futures, which indicated a doubling of the number of American unaffiliated with any religion, among other interesting conclusions.) In the meantime, I honestly *like* that there are different ways of interpreting the story. That’s what I like about stories. They inspire questions and consideration and reflection.
Finally, to our disagreement about reason: no, I do not believe than anyone can hold a belief in God “reasonably.” Belief in God — I should think this is obvious — is a matter of faith, rather than reasoning from evidence. (“The universe exists” is a fine data point; the logical steps that carry one from there to “thus God exists,” as I’ve read them, fail utterly to convince me.) This does *not* mean that I think anyone who believes in God is therefore incapable of reason. Far from it. Of course.