A research group has developed a fancy-pants mathematical model (nonlinear dynamics) demonstrating that religion will eventually die out completely in nine Western countries--they demur on when.
For the eggiest of heads out there, there's the actual study. (I notice they control for perturbation, using a normalized coupling kernel for spatial coordinates. Which is totally what I would have done.)
To establish kairos, the researchers write in the intro that
people claiming no religious affiliation constitute the fastest growing religious minority in many countries . . .
which just might be true, for all I know. It is misleading, however, when talking about religious affiliation in the U.S. to use the phrase "those claiming no religion" to describe this group, since even our "nones" remain spiritual if not denominational. They may not relish in the joy of sects, but U.S. nones generally believe in divine beings and the afterlife. No idea whether this is true also for the nones in Australia, Austria, Canada, the Czech Republic, Finland, Ireland, the Netherlands, New Zealand and Switzerland.
Most fascinating to me about the study is the emphasis on group dynamics and fitness. Religion dies in these countries because religious groups aren't as strong as other social groups people can join. So religious belonging becomes self-fulfilling: the more people belong, the more people will belong. And the opposite.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Thursday, March 10, 2011
hearings on radical muslims in process . . .
. . . live here.
And in the interest of fairness, the list of witnesses called to testify is more well-rounded than I had supposed, as reported by WaPo.
The WaPo's Fact Checker, however, gives Rep. King two Pinnochios for his persistent leaning on the "80% radical muslim" statistic--discredited by now two important studies. Seems that before you'd hold a hearing on something so important that you'd get yourself in command of the facts. Sometimes personal narratives, for all their emotive strength, seem like lazy dialogic tricks to create misguided perceptions. Right now on C-Span, Rep. Tim Walberg (R-MI) is telling a story about how he has a Muslim friend--a "very dear friend"--who almost died in a restaurant bombing in Somalia. Somehow this is supposed to tell us something about American Muslims.
Joanna Brooks draws a fascinating historical analogy with the anti-Mormon congressional hearings when Reed Smoot was elected to the U.S. senate in 1903.
And in the interest of fairness, the list of witnesses called to testify is more well-rounded than I had supposed, as reported by WaPo.
The WaPo's Fact Checker, however, gives Rep. King two Pinnochios for his persistent leaning on the "80% radical muslim" statistic--discredited by now two important studies. Seems that before you'd hold a hearing on something so important that you'd get yourself in command of the facts. Sometimes personal narratives, for all their emotive strength, seem like lazy dialogic tricks to create misguided perceptions. Right now on C-Span, Rep. Tim Walberg (R-MI) is telling a story about how he has a Muslim friend--a "very dear friend"--who almost died in a restaurant bombing in Somalia. Somehow this is supposed to tell us something about American Muslims.
Joanna Brooks draws a fascinating historical analogy with the anti-Mormon congressional hearings when Reed Smoot was elected to the U.S. senate in 1903.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
identification and division: the muslim factor
To follow up on the last post, I saw this new website recently launched by the "What Unites Us" campaign. If you look at the pics they have on the site, it seems that what unites us is that we're all really grouchy.
The rhetorical stance of the site is fascinating: It's a counter-response to anti-Muslim rhetoric that appeals to commonality against divisiveness. Yet the role of the site so far is to out politicians for participating in anti-Muslim rallies (like this disgraceful one in Yorba Linda, CA) and/or rhetoric. So instead of focusing specifically on the admirable qualities that unite us, the site unites us against those who divide us.
Uncle KB (not this one, but this one) taught us that in the rhetorical act of identifying our cause with our audience's, we imply division. It cannot be helped. Identification and division are in natural counterpoise in a them/us dialectic whose resolution depends on whether the competing terms or parties can discover that elusive third term that will, in KB's words, "bridge the gulf."
It is disheartening to see Christian/Muslim tension erupt in violence in Cairo at the moment when there was some hope for pluralism.
The rhetorical stance of the site is fascinating: It's a counter-response to anti-Muslim rhetoric that appeals to commonality against divisiveness. Yet the role of the site so far is to out politicians for participating in anti-Muslim rallies (like this disgraceful one in Yorba Linda, CA) and/or rhetoric. So instead of focusing specifically on the admirable qualities that unite us, the site unites us against those who divide us.
Uncle KB (not this one, but this one) taught us that in the rhetorical act of identifying our cause with our audience's, we imply division. It cannot be helped. Identification and division are in natural counterpoise in a them/us dialectic whose resolution depends on whether the competing terms or parties can discover that elusive third term that will, in KB's words, "bridge the gulf."
It is disheartening to see Christian/Muslim tension erupt in violence in Cairo at the moment when there was some hope for pluralism.
Monday, March 7, 2011
the perpetual tolerance challenge
On Thursday Rep. Peter King (R-NY), the House Chair of the Homeland Security Committee, will hold a hearing on the radicalization of Muslim communities in the U.S. He has told CNN (here) and other sources that he believes 80% of the mosques are controlled by extremists. This out-of-the-air claim has been debunked by the Sanford School of Public Policy at Duke University (read the study here) that discovered that when Muslims attend mosques and participate in Muslim community events, they are less likely to hold extremist opinions.
The antidote for extremism, then, is to get more Muslims to go to mosque.
It is not clear what Rep. King hopes his flimsy evidence will do for homeland security this Thursday when he holds his hearings. The WaPo faith blog reports that King will call only three witnesses---with zero expertise in Islam or terrorism.
In the meantime, France and Germany are also debating the role of Islam in their countries, as if pluralism were a brand new phenomenon in the West. The strength of democracy lies in the counterpoise between sameness and difference, and we've had bad experiences when we've let difference and the fear of difference create its own reality.
The antidote for extremism, then, is to get more Muslims to go to mosque.
It is not clear what Rep. King hopes his flimsy evidence will do for homeland security this Thursday when he holds his hearings. The WaPo faith blog reports that King will call only three witnesses---with zero expertise in Islam or terrorism.
In the meantime, France and Germany are also debating the role of Islam in their countries, as if pluralism were a brand new phenomenon in the West. The strength of democracy lies in the counterpoise between sameness and difference, and we've had bad experiences when we've let difference and the fear of difference create its own reality.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
believing, behaving, belonging
I've tried several times to write a post about what's been happening this week in BYU basketball, but I can't find the words. I'm amazed at how fully I've been sucked into the drama, how much I care about the fortunes of this team, how conflicted I am about the suspension of our center for honor code violations. I should have a strong opinion, but mostly I'm just bummed.
Haven't been this bummed since a junior prom debacle in 1991. (It's true: I sat on a stone bench in my tux and never asked my date to dance. I was in la-la-la-la-love and had a tortured soul. And acne.)
My friend Jon Ogden asked me about the question I posed at the end of the last post, and I thought I'd treat it a little more here. He wondered whether the Wm. James approach left any room for faith in the metaphysical verities of religion. If you focus too much on the consequences of belief, or the "cash value" of belief, then you leave yourself open to changing belief based on its perceived consequences rather than the substance of its claims. The Rob Bells of the world question the "cash value" of believing in a hell for unbelievers because it may cause psychic pain and intolerance. One response---let's call it the Jonathan Edwards response---would be that it mattereth not how we feel about hell if hell is as real as China.
I fall back again on the useful distinction we get from argumentation studies: there are claims about what exists and there are claims about what is good. In order for an argument to be productive, it needs to be at stasis, which means the two parties need to agree to debate one or the other.
I think my point was that focusing on what people believe---what they accept as fact about life, the universe, and everything---is probably less interesting than looking at the consequences of belief in behavior. One thing I find irritating about the kind of rhetoric we get from sources like Bill Maher's documentary Religulous is that it condemns religion based on belief. To use a concept from Chaim Perelman, it forms a liaison of coexistence between what a religious person believes (that on Sunday, as Maher states at the beginning the film, "they're drinking the blood of a 2,000 year-old God") and that person's ethos and then condemns that person to idiocy.
The logic goes something like this: "This person believes an angel visited a Bedouin in a cave in Saudia Arabia. Therefore, this person is stupid! Or insane! Or dangerous!"
It is important to ask ourselves how much belief actually matters. It's more important, I think, than getting caught up in the beliefs in isolation of their consequences.
I turn, once again, and certainly not for the last time, to Putnam and Campbell's American Grace. In their chapter on neighborliness, the authors give us evidence from several studies that show that believing people, the highly religious, are more charitable (in terms of dollars given), more engaged in civic affairs, more likely to support so-called "secular" social projects (like book drives or Amnesty International), more likely to help strangers, and more likely to volunteer than less religious Americans. But before we can celebrate the triumph of belief, the authors make the case that when it comes to social goodness, belonging is more important than believing:
"Theology and piety have very little to do" with religious people's "edge in neighborliness and happiness. Instead it is religion's network of morally freighted personal connections, coupled with an inclination toward altruism, that explains both good neighborliness and the life satisfaction of religious Americans." (p. 492)
They conclude that it is "religious belonging that matters for neighborliness, not religious believing."
I'm not sure where to go from this point. As students of rhetoric we want to accept that ideas have consequences, that arguments change minds and thereby change behavior, that people act based on what they believe. I'm still convinced of this, mostly because it rings so true I have a hard time seeing it any other way. Maybe we can say that belief matters, but only if it circulates in social networks among like-minded people engaged in a collective project.
I love Lord Moran's take on courage: "By cowardice I do not mean fear. Cowardice is a label we reserve for something a man does. What passes through his mind is his own affair." It neither picks my pocket nor breaks my leg.
Haven't been this bummed since a junior prom debacle in 1991. (It's true: I sat on a stone bench in my tux and never asked my date to dance. I was in la-la-la-la-love and had a tortured soul. And acne.)
My friend Jon Ogden asked me about the question I posed at the end of the last post, and I thought I'd treat it a little more here. He wondered whether the Wm. James approach left any room for faith in the metaphysical verities of religion. If you focus too much on the consequences of belief, or the "cash value" of belief, then you leave yourself open to changing belief based on its perceived consequences rather than the substance of its claims. The Rob Bells of the world question the "cash value" of believing in a hell for unbelievers because it may cause psychic pain and intolerance. One response---let's call it the Jonathan Edwards response---would be that it mattereth not how we feel about hell if hell is as real as China.
I fall back again on the useful distinction we get from argumentation studies: there are claims about what exists and there are claims about what is good. In order for an argument to be productive, it needs to be at stasis, which means the two parties need to agree to debate one or the other.
I think my point was that focusing on what people believe---what they accept as fact about life, the universe, and everything---is probably less interesting than looking at the consequences of belief in behavior. One thing I find irritating about the kind of rhetoric we get from sources like Bill Maher's documentary Religulous is that it condemns religion based on belief. To use a concept from Chaim Perelman, it forms a liaison of coexistence between what a religious person believes (that on Sunday, as Maher states at the beginning the film, "they're drinking the blood of a 2,000 year-old God") and that person's ethos and then condemns that person to idiocy.
The logic goes something like this: "This person believes an angel visited a Bedouin in a cave in Saudia Arabia. Therefore, this person is stupid! Or insane! Or dangerous!"
It is important to ask ourselves how much belief actually matters. It's more important, I think, than getting caught up in the beliefs in isolation of their consequences.
I turn, once again, and certainly not for the last time, to Putnam and Campbell's American Grace. In their chapter on neighborliness, the authors give us evidence from several studies that show that believing people, the highly religious, are more charitable (in terms of dollars given), more engaged in civic affairs, more likely to support so-called "secular" social projects (like book drives or Amnesty International), more likely to help strangers, and more likely to volunteer than less religious Americans. But before we can celebrate the triumph of belief, the authors make the case that when it comes to social goodness, belonging is more important than believing:
"Theology and piety have very little to do" with religious people's "edge in neighborliness and happiness. Instead it is religion's network of morally freighted personal connections, coupled with an inclination toward altruism, that explains both good neighborliness and the life satisfaction of religious Americans." (p. 492)
They conclude that it is "religious belonging that matters for neighborliness, not religious believing."
I'm not sure where to go from this point. As students of rhetoric we want to accept that ideas have consequences, that arguments change minds and thereby change behavior, that people act based on what they believe. I'm still convinced of this, mostly because it rings so true I have a hard time seeing it any other way. Maybe we can say that belief matters, but only if it circulates in social networks among like-minded people engaged in a collective project.
I love Lord Moran's take on courage: "By cowardice I do not mean fear. Cowardice is a label we reserve for something a man does. What passes through his mind is his own affair." It neither picks my pocket nor breaks my leg.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
hell and who goes there
This past week Rob Bell, founding pastor of Mars Hill Bible Church in Grandville, MI, stirred up some controversy in the evangelical community by launching an ad campaign for his upcoming book Love Wins with this video:
It's an evocative video, beautifully-made, and it stands as a not-so-subtle provocation for religious folks who believe what Pastor Bell categorizes as part of a "list of endless absurdities"---specifically, that those who don't accept Jesus will go to hell and writhe in the fevered pit forever.
It's important to note what kind of argument territory we're in here. This is an argument about reality and the very real (to the arguers) consequences of behavior. The argument scholar Richard Fulkerson would categorize the issue as "substantiation" because it involves 1) questions of fact (e.g., hell), and 2) causal statements that don't involve value judgments (e.g., Gandhi has gone there because of the way he lived). My point is that as much as this debate seems like a debate about values (what's good/bad, right/wrong, moral/immoral), it is primarily a debate about what exists and what follows a particular kind of lifestyle.
Christianity Today covers the twitterstorm Pastor Bell caused by questioning the standard literalist take on hell and who goes there. The conversation reminds me of what George Marsden writes of Jonathan Edwards: To Edwards, hell was as real as China.
Establishing the structure of reality is hard enough when we want to argue about the attributes of this world (for example, its temperature); arguing about heaven or hell seems to me more about the emotional and ethical resonance evoked by metaphysical assumptions that cannot be demonstrated to the satisfaction of all believers. Maybe it's the William James fan in me, but I'd argue that the question is not "Is there a hell and is Gandhi there?" but more like "What emotional or moral value comes from our assumptions about the afterlife?"
And . . . if Gandhi's in hell, I ain't got a prayer.
It's an evocative video, beautifully-made, and it stands as a not-so-subtle provocation for religious folks who believe what Pastor Bell categorizes as part of a "list of endless absurdities"---specifically, that those who don't accept Jesus will go to hell and writhe in the fevered pit forever.
It's important to note what kind of argument territory we're in here. This is an argument about reality and the very real (to the arguers) consequences of behavior. The argument scholar Richard Fulkerson would categorize the issue as "substantiation" because it involves 1) questions of fact (e.g., hell), and 2) causal statements that don't involve value judgments (e.g., Gandhi has gone there because of the way he lived). My point is that as much as this debate seems like a debate about values (what's good/bad, right/wrong, moral/immoral), it is primarily a debate about what exists and what follows a particular kind of lifestyle.
Christianity Today covers the twitterstorm Pastor Bell caused by questioning the standard literalist take on hell and who goes there. The conversation reminds me of what George Marsden writes of Jonathan Edwards: To Edwards, hell was as real as China.
Establishing the structure of reality is hard enough when we want to argue about the attributes of this world (for example, its temperature); arguing about heaven or hell seems to me more about the emotional and ethical resonance evoked by metaphysical assumptions that cannot be demonstrated to the satisfaction of all believers. Maybe it's the William James fan in me, but I'd argue that the question is not "Is there a hell and is Gandhi there?" but more like "What emotional or moral value comes from our assumptions about the afterlife?"
And . . . if Gandhi's in hell, I ain't got a prayer.
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