Why religion is here to stay and science won’t destroy it

Peter Harrison in The Wire.In



In 1966, just over 50 years ago, the distinguished Canadian-born anthropologist Anthony Wallace confidently predicted the global demise of religion at the hands of an advancing science: ‘belief in supernatural powers is doomed to die out, all over the world, as a result of the increasing adequacy and diffusion of scientific knowledge’. Wallace’s vision was not exceptional. On the contrary, the modern social sciences, which took shape in 19th-century western Europe, took their own recent historical experience of secularisation as a universal model. An assumption lay at the core of the social sciences, either presuming or sometimes predicting that all cultures would eventually converge on something roughly approximating secular, Western, liberal democracy. Then something closer to the opposite happened.

Not only has secularism failed to continue its steady global march but countries as varied as Iran, India, Israel, Algeria and Turkey have either had their secular governments replaced by religious ones, or have seen the rise of influential religious nationalist movements. Secularisation, as predicted by the social sciences, has failed.

To be sure, this failure is not unqualified. Many Western countries continue to witness decline in religious belief and practice. The most recent census data released in Australia, for example, shows that 30 per cent of the population identify as having ‘no religion’, and that this percentage is increasing. International surveys confirm comparatively low levels of religious commitment in western Europe and Australasia. Even the United States, a long-time source of embarrassment for the secularisation thesis, has seen a rise in unbelief.

The percentage of atheists in the US now sits at an all-time high (if ‘high’ is the right word) of around 3 per cent. Yet, for all that, globally, the total number of people who consider themselves to be religious remains high, and demographic trends suggest that the overall pattern for the immediate future will be one of religious growth. But this isn’t the only failure of the secularisation thesis.

Scientists, intellectuals and social scientists expected that the spread of modern science would drive secularisation – that science would be a secularising force. But that simply hasn’t been the case. If we look at those societies where religion remains vibrant, their key common features are less to do with science, and more to do with feelings of existential security and protection from some of the basic uncertainties of life in the form of public goods. A social safety net might be correlated with scientific advances but only loosely, and again the case of the US is instructive. The US is arguably the most scientifically and technologically advanced society in the world, and yet at the same time the most religious of Western societies. As the British sociologist David Martin concluded in The Future of Christianity (2011): ‘There is no consistent relation between the degree of scientific advance and a reduced profile of religious influence, belief and practice.’

The story of science and secularisation becomes even more intriguing when we consider those societies that have witnessed significant reactions against secularist agendas. India’s first prime minister Jawaharlal Nehru championed secular and scientific ideals, and enlisted scientific education in the project of modernisation. Nehru was confident that Hindu visions of a Vedic past and Muslim dreams of an Islamic theocracy would both succumb to the inexorable historical march of secularisation. ‘There is only one-way traffic in Time,’ he declared. But as the subsequent rise of Hindu and Islamic fundamentalism adequately attests, Nehru was wrong. Moreover, the association of science with a secularising agenda has backfired, with science becoming a collateral casualty of resistance to secularism.

Turkey provides an even more revealing case. Like most pioneering nationalists, Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, the founder of the Turkish republic, was a committed secularist. Atatürk believed that science was destined to displace religion. In order to make sure that Turkey was on the right side of history, he gave science, in particular evolutionary biology, a central place in the state education system of the fledgling Turkish republic.

As a result, evolution came to be associated with Atatürk’s entire political programme, including secularism. Islamist parties in Turkey, seeking to counter the secularist ideals of the nation’s founders, have also attacked the teaching of evolution. For them, evolution is associated with secular materialism. This sentiment culminated in the decision this June to remove the teaching of evolution from the high-school classroom. Again, science has become a victim of guilt by association.

The US represents a different cultural context, where it might seem that the key issue is a conflict between literal readings of Genesis and key features of evolutionary history. But in fact, much of the creationist discourse centres on moral values. In the US case too, we see anti-evolutionism motivated at least in part by the assumption that evolutionary theory is a stalking horse for secular materialism and its attendant moral commitments. As in India and Turkey, secularism is actually hurting science.

In brief, global secularisation is not inevitable and, when it does happen, it is not caused by science. Further, when the attempt is made to use science to advance secularism, the results can damage science. The thesis that ‘science causes secularisation’ simply fails the empirical test, and enlisting science as an instrument of secularisation turns out to be poor strategy. The science and secularism pairing is so awkward that it raises the question: why did anyone think otherwise?

Historically, two related sources advanced the idea that science would displace religion. First, 19th-century progressivist conceptions of history, particularly associated with the French philosopher Auguste Comte, held to a theory of history in which societies pass through three stages – religious, metaphysical and scientific (or ‘positive’). Comte coined the term ‘sociology’ and he wanted to diminish the social influence of religion and replace it with a new science of society. Comte’s influence extended to the ‘young Turks’ and Atatürk.

The 19th century also witnessed the inception of the ‘conflict model’ of science and religion. This was the view that history can be understood in terms of a ‘conflict between two epochs in the evolution of human thought – the theological and the scientific’. This description comes from Andrew Dickson White’s influential A History of the Warfare of Science with Theology in Christendom (1896), the title of which nicely encapsulates its author’s general theory. White’s work, as well as John William Draper’s earlier History of the Conflict Between Religion and Science (1874), firmly established the conflict thesis as the default way of thinking about the historical relations between science and religion. Both works were translated into multiple languages. Draper’s History went through more than 50 printings in the US alone, was translated into 20 languages and, notably, became a bestseller in the late Ottoman empire, where it informed Atatürk’s understanding that progress meant science superseding religion.

Today, people are less confident that history moves through a series of set stages toward a single destination. Nor, despite its popular persistence, do most historians of science support the idea of an enduring conflict between science and religion. Renowned collisions, such as the Galileo affair, turned on politics and personalities, not just science and religion. Darwin had significant religious supporters and scientific detractors, as well as vice versa. Many other alleged instances of science-religion conflict have now been exposed as pure inventions. In fact, contrary to conflict, the historical norm has more often been one of mutual support between science and religion. In its formative years in the 17th century, modern science relied on religious legitimation. During the 18th and 19th centuries, natural theology helped to popularise science.

The conflict model of science and religion offered a mistaken view of the past and, when combined with expectations of secularisation, led to a flawed vision of the future. Secularisation theory failed at both description and prediction. The real question is why we continue to encounter proponents of science-religion conflict. Many are prominent scientists. It would be superfluous to rehearse Richard Dawkins’s musings on this topic, but he is by no means a solitary voice. Stephen Hawking thinks that ‘science will win because it works’; Sam Harris has declared that ‘science must destroy religion’; Stephen Weinberg thinks that science has weakened religious certitude; Colin Blakemore predicts that science will eventually make religion unnecessary. Historical evidence simply does not support such contentions. Indeed, it suggests that they are misguided.

So why do they persist? The answers are political. Leaving aside any lingering fondness for quaint 19th-century understandings of history, we must look to the fear of Islamic fundamentalism, exasperation with creationism, an aversion to alliances between the religious Right and climate-change denial, and worries about the erosion of scientific authority. While we might be sympathetic to these concerns, there is no disguising the fact that they arise out of an unhelpful intrusion of normative commitments into the discussion. Wishful thinking – hoping that science will vanquish religion – is no substitute for a sober assessment of present realities. Continuing with this advocacy is likely to have an effect opposite to that intended.

Religion is not going away any time soon, and science will not destroy it. If anything, it is science that is subject to increasing threats to its authority and social legitimacy. Given this, science needs all the friends it can get. Its advocates would be well advised to stop fabricating an enemy out of religion, or insisting that the only path to a secure future lies in a marriage of science and secularism.

Greece crisis could be a Sarajevo moment for the eurozone

 

Franz Ferdinand Archduke of Austria and his wife Sophie, Duchess of Hohenberg moments before they were assassinated in Sarajevo on 28 June 1914. Photograph: Design Pics Inc/Rex/Design Pics Inc/Rex


Larry Elliott in The Guardian

Sunday 28 June 2015 19.15 BST

 A hundred and one years ago on Sunday, gun shots rang out in a city in southern Europe. Few at the time paid much heed to the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife as they drove through the streets of Sarajevo. Within six weeks, however, Europe was at war.

Make no mistake, the decision by Alexis Tsipras to hold a referendum on the bailout terms being demanded of his country has the potential to be a Sarajevo moment. The crisis is not just about whether there is soon to be a bank run in Greece, although there is certainly the threat of one. It is not just about whether the creditors overplayed their hand in the negotiations, although they did. It is about the future of the euro itself.

Greek banks to stay closed on Monday



There will be much talk in the next few days about how Greece can be quarantined. The three people who have been leading the negotiations for the troika - Christine Lagarde of the International Monetary Fund, Jean-Claude Juncker of the European commission and Mario Draghi of the European Central Bank - can still cling to the hope that Tsipras will lose the referendum next Sunday.

In those circumstances, the Syriza-led coalition would have little choice but to hold an election. The return of a government headed by, for example, the centre-right New Democracy, would open up the possibility that Athens would sue for peace on the terms demanded by the troika.

There is, however, no guarantee of this. The troika was certain last week that Tsipras would fold when presented with a final take-it-or-leave-it offer. They were wrong. The Fund, the ECB and the European commission made a fatal misjudgement and have now lost control of events.

The immediate decision for the ECB was whether to cut off emergency funding before the country’s bailout programme formally ends on Tuesday. Wisely, it has chosen not to make matters worse.

In recent weeks, the Greek banks have only been able to stay open because Draghi has provided funds to compensate for capital flight. Sunday night’s announcement of an emergency bank holiday and capital controls demonstrates just how critical the situation has become.

Germany strongly supports the immediate end to emergency liquidity assistance (ELA), arguing that taxpayers in the rest of Europe should not be further exposed to the risk of a Greek exit from the single currency. The ECB, however, has always been reluctant to take what would clearly be a political decision to escalate the pressure on the Greek banks, and has announced that it will continue providing funding at last week’s level.



Greece crisis: a disaster for Athens and a colossal failure for the EU



Even so, Greece now faces a week of turmoil. Tsipras bowed what seemed to be inevitable on Sunday by announcing controls to try to prevent Northern Rock-style queues outside the banks and - just as importantly - money leaving the country.

The Greek government will also be making contingency plans for exit from the single currency. Tsipras and Yannis Varoufakis, his finance minister, say that is not their wish or intention, but if the result of the referendum backs the government’s stance it is hard to see any alternative. Cyprus stayed in the euro after introducing capital controls, but it was done with the approval of other single currency members and involved knuckling down under an austerity programme.

In the meantime, the blame game has begun. The creditors say they offered Greece a deal that would have secured future financing in return for reforms and budget savings which would have hastened the country’s economic recovery. Lagarde has said there is now nothing on the table and that Greece should not expect the same terms to be available after the referendum.

Tsipras said the troika was proposing an “extortionate ultimatum” of “strict and humiliating austerity without end”. A spokesman for Varoufakis said the referendum meant the end to five years of “waterboarding”.

The stance taken by the troika has been wrong-headed but inevitable. Greece has seen its economy shrink by 25% in the past five years. A quarter of its population is unemployed. It has suffered a slump of Great Depression proportions, yet the troika has been demanding fresh tax increases that will suck demand from the economy, stifle growth and add to Greece’s debt burden.

If Greece were outside the euro, IMF advice would be different. The fund would be telling Greece to devalue its currency. It would be telling the country’s creditors that they would have to take a “haircut” in order to make Greece’s debts sustainable. It would then justify domestic austerity on the grounds that the benefits of the devaluation should not be frittered away in higher inflation.

The Greeks for whom all the talk means nothing – because they have nothing



This option, though, has not been made available to Greece. It is unable to devalue and European governments are resistant to the idea of a debt write-down. So the only way Greece can make itself more competitive is to cut costs, by reducing wages and pensions.

A fully fledged monetary union has the means to transfer resources from one region to another. This is what happens in the US or the UK, for example, with higher taxes in areas that are doing well being redistributed to areas with slower growth and higher unemployment.

The euro, however, was constructed along different lines. Countries were allowed to join even though it was clear they would struggle to compete with the better performing nations such as Germany. A stability and growth pact designed to ensure a common set of budget controls was a poor substitute for fiscal union. From the start, it was obvious that the only mechanism for a country that ran into severe difficulties would be harsh austerity. Greece is the result of what happens when politics is allowed to override economics.

If Greece leaves, the idea that the euro is irrevocable is broken. Any government that runs into difficulties in the future will have the Greek option of devaluation as an alternative to endless austerity. Just as importantly, the financial markets will know that, and will pile pressure on countries that look vulnerable. That’s why Greece represents an existential crisis for the eurozone.

It will be said in response that Greece is a small, insignificant country and that the single currency has much better defences than it had at the last moment of acute trouble in the summer of 2012. Diplomats in Europe’s capitals took very much the same view in late June 1914.

Medical intervention is not always the answer to mental health issues

by Frank Furedi

 The fifth edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders has just been published and the contents of this book should really be of interest to you. The DSM is not simply a medical handbook that provides a list of conditions worthy of the diagnosis of mental illness. It is also a secular bible that instructs people how to make sense of their predicament through the language of medicine.

With every edition of the DSM, the number of conditions diagnosed as a problem suitable for psychiatric intervention expands. You, dear reader, may be suffering from a mental illness that you never knew existed. So if like me you really get angry now and then, the DSM suggests that you may be suffering from “disruptive mood dysregulation disorder”. Or if you have the occasional senior moment, you may well be afflicted with the new diagnosis of “mild neurocognitive disorder”. And if you really feel anxious and scared about experiencing pain and discomfort, you may have “somatic symptom disorder”.

The eccentric loner, the shy stranger lacking in social skills, the naughty child, anyone who eats too much or the sexually confused teenager have all become candidates for the psychiatrist’s couch. What’s important about the DSM is that it provides a language and narrative through which the problems of existence become medicalised. And in a world where a medical diagnosis represents a claim for resources, what the DSM says really matters. The verdict of the DSM not only affects insurance and drug companies interested in their bottom line but also anxious parents who rely on a diagnosis to gain special help for their child.

Not surprisingly, the latest edition of the DSM has become a subject of controversy. Different groups of medics and psychiatrists have questioned the scientific reliability of some of the new diagnostic categories. Some have queried the dropping of the category of Asperger’s syndromeand the decision to include it under a general autism diagnosis. Others argue that the psychiatric lobby has become a captive of the pharmaceutical industry. But what is not at issue is the ethos of medicalisation promoted through this influential manual.

The term medicalisation refers to the cultural process through which a range of human experience is reinterpreted through the language of medicine. In recent decades, many everyday experiences have become redefined as issues of health that require medical intervention. Through reinterpreting existential problems such as loneliness, shyness, fear, anxiety, loss of control or grief as medical ones, the meaning people attach to them fundamentally alters.

Medical problems require treatment and rely on professional intervention to cure the patient’s illness. But why should grief or shyness or even anger be treated as a disease? And why should professionals possess a monopoly on how to interpret the pain and disappointment that people experience at different stages of their lives? The real threat posed by the expansion of mental health diagnosis is that it takes away from people the confidence that they need to make sense and give meaning to their personal experience.

The problem is not that professional advice is always misguided, but that it short-circuits the process through which people can learn how to deal with problems through their own experience. Intuition and insight gained from experience are continually compromised by professional knowledge. This has the unintentional consequence of estranging people from their own feelings and instincts since such reactions require the affirmation of the expert. In such circumstances, people’s capacity to handle relationships and to have confidence in their relationships diminishes further. In turn, this creates new opportunities for professional intervention in everyday life.

The manner in which emotional problems have become diagnosed as a form of disorder raises questions about the ability of the individual to deal with disappointment, misfortune, adversity or even the challenge of everyday life. And, sadly, when people are continually invited to make sense of their troubles through the medium of therapeutics, it severely undermines their resilience.

Once the diagnosis of illness is systematically offered as an interpretative guide for making sense of distress, people are far more likely to perceive themselves as ill. That is one reason why in Western society the number of people diagnosed as suffering from mental illness has risen exponentially. The explanation for this trend lies not in the fields of epidemiology, but in the realm of culture that invites people to classify themselves as infirm.

Recently, the British Psychological Society’s division of clinical psychology has attacked the psychiatric profession for offering a biomedical model for understanding mental distress. But its criticism was not directed at the ethos of medicalisation as such, but only at the tendency to associate mental illness with biological causes. What it offered was an alternative model of medicalisation – one where mental illness was represented as the outcome of social and psychological cause. It seems that medicalisation has become so deeply entrenched that even critics of the DSM accept its premise.

The problems of life can be painful. But this experience of existential agony must not be rebranded as an illness. Medicalisation empties experience of its creative content and assigns human beings the status of permanent patients. The promiscuous expansion of diagnosis also trivialises mental illness. Learning to distinguish between normal suffering and illness is a mark of a mature and confident culture.

Frank Furedi is a sociologist whose books include ‘Therapy Culture’