Organized Cri^H^H^H Religion

It's hard to listen to, say, Brahms' "Ein Deutsches Requiem" and feel that religion is all bad.

This piece has particular meaning for me; Brahms wrote it upon his mother's death, and it expresses a lot of the emotions I've experienced on losing my mom, from despair to anger to defiance to wistfulness and at least a partial resignation; all with a haunting, dreamy quality. It's completely, achingly beautiful. I was in the Austin Civic Chorus when we performed this piece several years ago, before Mom died, and even then I had a hard time getting through parts of it without choking up.

I've been puzzling over all the beautiful and transcendent and good things that people have done while inspired by religion and wondering what it is, exactly, that's so powerful and compelling about it. And of course, for all the art and music and good works that have come out of religion, there are also the worst crimes against humanity: war, persecution, intolerance; the destruction of competing religions' cultural and historical artifacts and the revisionism of our own history; and such annoyances as not being able to go to the damn store anywhere near midwinter without being accosted by Salvation Army workers in cheap-ass Santa suits.

Which also brings up the point that "good works" are relative; and in the Church's case, often self-referential. My in-laws are devout Catholics who devote a great deal of time, energy, and money to their church. But most of the efforts in which they are involved seem to entail recruiting more members so that the church can get still more money and more workers and expand its influence.

And of course the goodness of the other "good works" in which they are involved is highly questionable: making sure that expectant mothers can't wantonly go around aborting their unborn babies on a whim (as they are so wont to do); protecting marriage by denying its sanction to committed couples if their sexual orientation happens to squick out bigots; defending religion against those who attack it just by trying not to let its practitioners shove it down everybody else's throats.

Even a culturally embraced icon of "goodness" like Mother Teresa is a pretty grim figure if you realize that she campaigned vigorously against the use of birth control among the poor and diseased people whose deaths she considered it her mission to ease, not to prevent. Suffering is beautiful in the eyes of the Lord.

I lead a privileged and comfortable life: I get to take it pretty much for granted that I and my children will live to die of old age; I barely have to work at all to support my family in comfort; I never have to worry about where the next meal is coming from; my life is filled to brimming with luxuries, so it's easy to sit here and contemplate what's wrong with the world and wonder why people need something like religion to take solace in. I can understand the appeal of believing that this world isn't all there is, and that we'll someday be reunited with the loved ones we've lost; but I can't understand being able to base what you believe on what you want to be true. I know that the fact that the worst thing that's ever, ever happened to me is the loss of my 62-year-old mother - with whom I had a close and loving relationship, and of whom I have almost exclusively happy memories - makes me a hell of a lot better off than most people in the world. Philosophy is a luxury.

Would you give up all the gorgeous and magnificent things in the world if it meant all the bad things would go away?