.Speaking of disgust, Michael Ruse was disgusted by a post I put up as part of my speculation about Christopher Hitchens, the meaning of suffering, and deathbed conversions. He seems to be especially riled by an anecdote I shared about the deathbed conversion of my late aunt.
Before I address the specifics, I should say that what I say on this blog should in no way be taken as reflective of the point of view of the John Templeton Foundation. JTF is non-partisan and non-sectarian, and works equally with people of various faiths, and no faith at all. Perhaps I'm overreacting, but it bothers me that Ruse seems to associate my point of view on something that happened to someone close to me, in my family, with the views of the Foundation.
Secondly, Ruse seems to think that I believe it was good for my aunt, who died over 20 years ago, to have suffered pain, because it may have led to her conversion. Very much to the contrary! My poor aunt had been on heavy doses of morphine, but there at the very end -- we're talking hours, even minutes, before her passing -- it no longer was working. I wish she had been able to pass without the slightest bit of pain. But what happened, happened -- and the only thing that gave her any relief (this, according to my grandmother, her mother, who was at her bedside) was that nurse coming in and witnessing to her. I agree that that behavior was unprofessional, even within a Catholic hospital. But I can also tell you that it was welcomed after the fact, at least by the rest of us. My aunt was not an atheist; she was simply religiously unobservant. From the point of view of a believing Christian, which I am, she was reconciled at the very last to the God she professed, however nominally. I have no idea whether what happened in that room was effective in the afterlife, and I can certainly see why an atheist would find the whole thing appalling. I believe as a matter of faith that it made a difference. One thing that neither I nor Ruse know is what kind of conversations my aunt and that nurse might have been having prior to that dramatic deathbed scene. I had spoken with my aunt at her bedside three days before her passing about faith and last things, and she seemed to be at peace. I don't know what words had passed between her and that nurse. As a pious Jew would be happy that his Jewish aunt reconciled in some formal sense with God before passing, so am I happy that it happened to my Christian aunt, and that it brought her a measure of peace and serenity before her death.
But that's me, talking about something that happened within my family. In case there is any confusion, let me be clear that it is not the place of the Templeton Foundation to have an opinion on my aunt's deathbed conversion, or anybody's deathbed conversion. I'm pretty sure you'd find almost as many opinions about deathbed conversions here as you would find employees. None of them represent the official thinking of the Foundation.
Anyway, addressing Ruse's second point, again, I agree that that nurse behaved unprofessionally. If I were her supervisor, I would probably reprimand her for it. Having said that, I'm personally glad she did what she did -- though if the nurse had been a believer in another religion, I would see what she did pretty much as Ruse does. And if my aunt had been a professed atheist, or a believer in a non-Christian religion, I would have been really bothered by what that nurse did, because it would have been disrespecting and exploiting the autonomy and dignity of my aunt while she was at the moment of her death. Even though I am generally pleased when anyone comes to the Christian faith, which I believe to be objectively true, I am offended when someone is compelled or hoodwinked into conversion.
Addressing Ruse's third point, I already shared my skepticism over deathbed conversions, and used the analogy before he did of these things being like confessions under torture. Where I differ from Ruse is in holding out the possibility that suffering and duress open up insights into fundamental truths that were hidden from the individual by health and wealth. But who, really, can say what an individual's mind and soul undergoes under duress? If I were God, I would not hold it against a person if he denied the faith at gunpoint. But I'm not God. I leave it to Him to judge each man's soul. I believe in the possibility of deathbed conversion, and also in the possibility of deathbed de-conversion, which is what happened to John Derbyshire's pious uncle after he contracted the cancer that would kill him. Presumably Ruse would credit the deconversion of a man like Derb's Uncle Fred, on the grounds that his suffering revealed to him the truth about God's non-existence. Frankly, I'd like very much to know how Ruse would view Uncle Fred's deconversion. If Ruse believes that Fred's deathbed deconversion is illegitimate, because it happened under the duress of cancer, then he's being consistent. If he believes Uncle Fred's deconversion is legitimate, though, then it seems to me he's applying a double standard here, based on his prior belief in the truth of atheism. Me, I believe in the possibility of deathbed conversion, and deathbed deconversion, though I also believe in the possibility that the all-knowing, all-merciful deity would not hold Uncle Fred responsible. Who can say, ultimately? We're all just guessing, based on incomplete knowledge.
On his final point, Ruse seems frustrated and angered over the idea of conversion itself. He writes:
But the flip side is this theologically and morally unhealthy obsession with conversion. Entirely forgotten is Jesus on the subject, that helping the poor and suffering is precisely to show faith in him, whatever your explicit beliefs.
Really? Entirely forgotten? I don't think that's true at all. Christians have it from Christ himself that not everyone who calls him "Lord" will be saved, but rather those who prove their faith by their acts. Still, there is a point of conversion, in which someone affirmatively embraces the religion. Islam has the same mechanism; you say the shahada, and you are a Muslim, whereas before you were not. It all starts there. Similarly, for the Christian, it begins with baptism, or, in Evangelical traditions, with the affirmation of faith. Ruse is right to complain that for some Christians, the conversion itself is overemphasized, and the further development in the faith is forgotten. I've heard many Evangelicals complain that post-conversion formation is given short shrift in their tradition, precisely because the moment of conversion itself is so strongly emphasized. Even so, there is simply no way for Christianity to be Christianity (or Islam, Islam) without holding conversion up as an ideal. Unlike Judaism and Hinduism (for example), both are proselytizing faiths. If Ruse is put out that too many Christians behave as if conversion was the whole of the Christian life, then I'm right with him. But if he's saying that Christians ought not to take conversion seriously, then he's expecting them to reject a basic tenet of Christian orthopraxy.
For those who missed it, RUN to catch the PBS Charlie Rose hour-long interview with Christopher Hitchens, recorded this month. I saw it last week, was not in the mood to install all the intellectual combat gear I anticipated being the collateral impact if I settled in to watch...But I did. And I was almost eating the screen it was so spiritually & intellectually nutricious. WATCH that interview, Rod & readers. Stunning, lovely, sensitive & scary sweet.
This discussion regarding deathbed decisions is interesting, but I find that there is an aspect missing. I hope to illustrate this with the following scenario.
Aunt Ophelia has been a rather wild person during her life, openly rejecting anything to do with religion. Now she is in hospice receiving palliative care for an inoperable and very painful form of cancer. Her two nephews, both devout in their faith and concerned for the disposition of their dear aunt's soul, have invited their minister to bedside to speak with their aunt. They leave the room to give them privacy to talk, in spite of the fact that Ophelia is clearly moving in and out of consciousness and may well pass at any moment.
Option A: They return in a bit to learn that their aunt has indeed passed on, but prior to her passing was able to give assent to an invitation to accept Jesus as her savior. They rejoice greatly with the minister that their aunt is now in the presence of Christ, and take that as great solace for their grief at being apart from her for a time.
Option B: They return in a bit to learn that their aunt has indeed passed on, but prior to her passing was able to give assent to an invitation to accept Jesus as her savior. They rejoice greatly with the minister that their aunt is now in the presence of Christ, and take that as great solace for their grief at being apart from her for a time. The minister then shows them the new codicil to Ophelia's will, in which she cuts them out of their position as exclusive beneficiaries and signs over her entire estate to the church, to be managed by the minister. Her scrawled signature and initials appear on each page of the codicil, and it looks quite legal. However, they contact their lawyer and have the document thrown out on the basis that Ophelia was under duress and unable to make such a decision at that time.
I seriously doubt that any of us would accept such a document signed at what was clearly a moment of both weakness and duress, perhaps moments before the poor individual slipped away in death. Yet for many persons of faith (and not just Christians) a decision regarding acceptance of religious belief in which the individuals soul is hanging in the balance is accepted as a miracle by like-minded family members.
Is there some positional bias or cognitive dissonance at play here? I used Christians for my example because I am most familiar with that faith, but similar questions could be asked of adherents to any religious faith that held similar conversions to be valid. Why is a person who is suffering under terrible pain with their mind clearly clouded by pain-relieving drugs capable of being taught by that pain with regards to the disposition of their immortal soul but not with regards to the disposition of their mere earthly riches?
To me neither agreement should be considered valid, which is what I think that Hitchens was getting at in his statement. If we accept that a life-long atheist can, through enduring pain and agony near the end of life, come to a realization of the truth of the nature of religious teachings, how can we at the same moment reject the notion that a similarly situated person cannot come to a realization of the truth of the nature of their family and change their will?
It seems to me that the rights of the patient should be first. If some patients want to talk about religion or irreligion with a nurse, or anyone else, that should be their prerogative, as long as it does not interfere with their medical responsibilies. Only God knows for sure if a conversion is real. If God does not exist, why should an atheist care?
I think just about "anything" can open our eyes to truths that might otherwise go unnoticed...music can do it, a remark from a child, a beautiful painting, a note from a lover, and, yes, pain and suffering. One of the lessons from Viktor Frankl's book, "Man's Search for Meaning," is that that struggle for meaning is at the core of what it means to be a human being. Some might think that trying to find meaning in chaos and randomness is just a game for misguided souls, or cowards even, but I'd rather play this game that the alternatives.
Joaquin,
"According to whom? You? Me? Who is the judge of this "merit"? Why do I suspect that you think it's you"
Of course I'm the judge of what I think has merit. Even if I bow to someone else's judgment, it's because I've judged them to merit the deference. And so it is with us all. If someone defers to scripture, it's because they've judged scripture to be worthy of that role. And of course you are the judge of what you think has merit. I doubt you think all religious views are of equal merit. No one I've ever met does. If our judgments differ, it is something for us to settle between us through reason and various appeals to our human and spiritual commonality. It is because we share some commonality at our cores that we can even have a conversation about the merits of one or another religious view. And it is that "core" that is what we might call "universal religion", and it is on that basis that we can suggest a commonality between all religions. They all have at least some relationship to our common core and source, even if one simply asserts a scientific, evolutionary commonality and rejects all super-naturalism or immateriality. We may differ on what that core is, but virtually all religions suggest there is such a core that we ought to acknowledge and live from.
"Entirely forgotten is Jesus on the subject, that helping the poor and suffering is precisely to show faith in him, whatever your explicit beliefs."
My goodness, is that 19th-early 20th century liberal Protestant wish fulfillment. A simple reading of the four Gospels will show such.
Hi Yogi,
"I'm not of the view that all personal or collective views are equal, however. Some have more merit than others, and some have almost no merit at all."
According to whom? You? Me? Who is the judge of this "merit"? Why do I suspect that you think it's you?
Joaquin,
Personally speaking, I consider everyone here only to be speaking from their personal experience and opinion. Interesting, as you say, but not cosmic. Of course, I consider religion itself to be a collective aspect of the same process, a collection of personal experiences and opinions that have evolved over time into a traditional, often multi-faceted viewpoint.
I'm not of the view that all personal or collective views are equal, however. Some have more merit than others, and some have almost no merit at all. Discussion is about finding out which have merit and to what degree, and which don't. Otherwise we are just asserting what we - or the collective we are a part of - believe is "truth" or "God's word", and not developing the discrimination necessary to separate the wheat from the chaff.
Humility is tough, Yogi. It's hard for everyone, so don't feel singled out.
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