Chapter 5

Now to take up again the threads of our enquiry: what is the psychological significance of religious ideas and how can we classify them? The question is at first not at all easy to answer. Having rejected various formulas, I shall take my stand by this one: religion consists of certain dogmas, assertions about facts and conditions of external (or internal) reality, which tell one something that one has not oneself discovered and which claim that one should give them credence. As they give information about what are to us the most interesting and important things in life, they are particularly highly valued. He who knows nothing of them is ignorant indeed, and he who has assimilated them may consider himself enriched.

Now let us return to our inquiry: what is the psychological significance of religious ideas, and how can we classify them? At first, the question is not at all easy to answer. After rejecting several ways of defining religion, I will settle on this one: religion consists of certain dogmas. These are claims about the facts and conditions of external (or internal) reality. These claims tell us something we have not discovered ourselves and demand our belief. Because religious ideas address what we find most interesting and important in life, they are especially highly valued. Anyone who knows nothing of these ideas is truly ignorant. Anyone who has absorbed them may feel enriched.

There are of course many such dogmas about the most diverse things of this world. Every school hour is full of them. Let us choose geography. We hear there: Konstanz is on the Bodensee. A student song adds: If you don’t believe it go and see. I happen to have been there, and can confirm the fact that this beautiful town lies on the shore of a broad stretch of water, which all those dwelling around call the Bodensee. I am now completely convinced of the accuracy of this geographical statement. And in this connection I am reminded of another and very remarkable experience. I was already a man of mature years when I stood for the first time on the hill of the Athenian Acropolis, between the temple ruins, looking out on to the blue sea. A feeling of astonishment mingled with my pleasure, which prompted me to say: then it really is true, what we used to be taught at school! How shallow and weak at that age must have been my belief in the real truth of what I heard if I can be so astonished to-day! But I will not emphasize the significance of this experience too much; yet another explanation of my astonishment is possible, which did not strike me at the time, and which is of a wholly subjective nature and connected with the peculiar character of the place.

Of course, there are many such dogmas about all kinds of things in this world. Every school lesson is full of them. Let us take geography. We are taught: Konstanz is on the Bodensee. A student song adds: If you don’t believe it, go and see. I happen to have been there and can confirm the fact. This beautiful town stands beside a broad stretch of water that all the people living around it call the Bodensee. I am now completely convinced that this geographical statement is accurate. This example reminds me of another, very remarkable experience. I was already a mature man when I first stood on the hill of the Athenian Acropolis. I stood among the temple ruins, looking out at the blue sea. Along with pleasure, I felt astonishment, prompting me to say: So what we were taught at school really is true! How shallow and weak my belief in those lessons must have been then, if I can be so astonished today! But I will not place too much weight on the meaning of this experience. Another explanation for my astonishment is possible, though it did not occur to me at the time. This explanation is entirely personal and connected with the distinctive character of the place.

All such dogmas as these, then, exact belief in their contents, but not without substantiating their title to this. They claim to be the condensed result of a long process of thought, which is founded on observation and also, certainly, on reasoning; they show how, if one so intends, one can go through this process oneself, instead of accepting the result of it; and the source of the knowledge imparted by the dogma is always added, where it is not, as with geographical statements, self-evident. For instance: the earth is shaped like a globe; the proofs adduced for this are Foucault’s pendulum experiment, the phenomena of the horizon and the possibility of circumnavigating the earth. Since it is impracticable, as all concerned realize, to send every school child on a voyage round the world, one is content that the school teaching shall be taken on trust, but one knows that the way to personal conviction is still open.

All such dogmas, then, demand belief in what they say, but they also give reasons for deserving that belief. They claim to summarize a long process of thought based on observation and, certainly, on reasoning too. They show how anyone who wishes can follow that process rather than simply accept its result. They also always identify the source of their knowledge, unless the source is obvious, as with geographical statements. For example, the earth is shaped like a globe. The evidence offered includes Foucault’s pendulum experiment, what we observe at the horizon, and the possibility of sailing around the earth. Everyone concerned recognizes that sending every schoolchild on a voyage around the world is impractical. So we are content for children to take what they learn in school on trust. But we know they can still examine the evidence and reach their own conviction.

Let us try to apply the same tests to the dogmas of religion. If we ask on what their claim to be believed is based, we receive three answers, which accord remarkably ill with one another. They deserve to be believed: firstly, because our primal ancestors already believed them; secondly, because we possess proofs, which have been handed down to us from this very period of antiquity; and thirdly, because it is forbidden to raise the question of their authenticity at all. Formerly this presumptuous act was visited with the very severest penalties, and even to-day society is unwilling to see anyone renew it.

Let us try applying the same tests to religious doctrines. If we ask why we should believe these doctrines, we receive three answers that fit together remarkably poorly. First, the doctrines deserve belief because our earliest ancestors already believed them. Second, we have proof handed down from that same ancient period. Third, we are forbidden even to question whether the doctrines are authentic. In the past, such questioning was considered presumptuous and met with the harshest penalties. Even today, society is unwilling to see anyone raise those questions again.

This third point cannot but rouse our strongest suspicions. Such a prohibition can surely have only one motive: that society knows very well the uncertain basis of the claim it makes for its religious doctrines. If it were otherwise, the relevant material would certainly be placed most readily at the disposal of anyone who wished to gain conviction for himself. And so we proceed to test the other two arguments with a feeling of mistrust not easily allayed. We ought to believe because our forefathers believed. But these ancestors of ours were far more ignorant than we; they believed in things we could not possibly accept to-day; so the possibility occurs that religious doctrines may also be in this category. The proofs they have bequeathed to us are deposited in writings that themselves bear every trace of being untrustworthy. They are full of contradictions, revisions, and interpolations; where they speak of actual authentic proofs they are themselves of doubtful authenticity. It does not help much if divine revelation is asserted to be the origin of their text or only of their content, for this assertion is itself already a part of those doctrines whose authenticity is to be examined, and no statement can bear its own proof.

This third point is bound to arouse our strongest suspicions. Surely such a ban can have only one motive. Society knows very well how uncertain the basis for its religious claims is. If that were not so, the relevant material would surely be freely available to anyone seeking to become convinced for themselves. So we turn to the other two arguments with a mistrust that is hard to shake. We are supposed to believe because our ancestors believed. But our ancestors were far more ignorant than we are. They believed in things we could not possibly accept today. So perhaps religious doctrines also belong among those beliefs. The evidence our ancestors left us is recorded in writings that show every sign of being unreliable. These writings are full of contradictions, revisions, and later additions. Where these writings speak of genuine evidence, the authenticity of the writings themselves is doubtful. Claiming that divine revelation is the source of these writings, or only of their content, does not help much. That claim is itself part of the doctrines whose authenticity we need to examine. And no statement can serve as its own proof.

Thus we arrive at the singular conclusion that just what might be of the greatest significance for us in our cultural system, the information which should solve for us the riddles of the universe and reconcile us to the troubles of life, that just this has the weakest possible claim to authenticity. We should not be able to bring ourselves to accept anything of as little concern to us as the fact that whales bear young instead of laying eggs, if it were not capable of better proof than this.

So we reach a strange conclusion. The information that might matter most to us within our culture has the weakest possible claim to being true. This information is supposed to solve the mysteries of the universe and help us accept life's troubles. Yet we could not accept even a fact of little concern to us without better evidence than this information offers. Take the fact that whales give birth to live young rather than lay eggs. Even that would require better proof.

This state of things is in itself a very remarkable psychological problem. Let no one think that the foregoing remarks on the impossibility of proving religious doctrines contain anything new. It has been felt at all times, assuredly even by the ancestors who bequeathed this legacy. Probably many of them nursed the same doubts as we, but the pressure imposed on them was too strong for them to have dared to utter them. And since then countless people have been tortured by the same doubts, which they would fain have suppressed because they held themselves in duty bound to believe, and since then many brilliant intellects have been wrecked upon this conflict and many characters have come to grief through the compromises by which they sought a way out.

This situation is itself a remarkable psychological problem. No one should think the earlier remarks about the impossibility of proving religious doctrines offer anything new. People have always recognized this impossibility, certainly even the ancestors who passed these beliefs down to us. Many of those ancestors probably had the same doubts we have. But the pressure on them was too great for them to dare voice those doubts. Since then, countless people have been tormented by the same doubts. They wanted to suppress their doubts because they felt duty-bound to believe. Since then, many brilliant minds have been ruined by this conflict. And many people’s characters have been damaged by the compromises they made to find a way out.

If all the arguments that are put forward for the authenticity of religious doctrines originate in the past, it is natural to look round and see whether the present, better able to judge in these matters, cannot also furnish such evidence. The whole of the religious system would become infinitely more credible if one could succeed in this way in removing the element of doubt from a single part of it. It is at this point that the activity of the spiritualists comes in; they are convinced of the immortality of the individual soul, and they would demonstrate to us that this one article of religious teaching is free from doubt. Unfortunately they have not succeeded in disproving the fact that the appearances and utterances of their spirits are merely the productions of their own mental activity. They have called up the spirits of the greatest of men, of the most eminent thinkers, but all their utterances and all the information they have received from them have been so foolish and so desperately insignificant that one could find nothing else to believe in but the capacity of the spirits for adapting themselves to the circle of people that had evoked them.

If all arguments for the truth of religious doctrines come from the past, it is natural to look for evidence today. The present is better able to judge these matters, so perhaps it can provide such evidence too. The whole religious system would become infinitely more credible if doubt could be removed from even one part of it. This is where the spiritualists come in. They are convinced that the individual soul is immortal. They aim to show us that this one religious teaching is beyond doubt. Unfortunately, they have not disproved the fact that their spirits’ appearances and statements are merely products of their own minds. They have summoned the spirits of the greatest people and the most distinguished thinkers. But all the spirits’ statements, and all the information received from them, have been foolish and desperately trivial. The only thing left to believe in is the spirits’ ability to adapt to the people who summoned them.

One must now mention two attempts to evade the problem, which both convey the impression of frantic effort. One of them, high-handed in its nature, is old; the other is subtle and modern. The first is the Credo quia absurdum of the early Father. It would imply that religious doctrines are outside reason’s jurisdiction; they stand above reason. Their truth must be inwardly felt: one does not need to comprehend them. But this Credo is only of interest as a voluntary confession; as a decree it has no binding force. Am I to be obliged to believe every absurdity? And if not, why just this one? There is no appeal beyond reason. And if the truth of religious doctrines is dependent on an inner experience which bears witness to that truth, what is one to make of the many people who do not have that rare experience? One may expect all men to use the gift of reason that they possess, but one cannot set up an obligation that shall apply to all on a basis that only exists for quite a few. Of what significance is it for other people that you have won from a state of ecstasy, which has deeply moved you, an imperturbable conviction of the real truth of the doctrines of religion?

We must now mention two attempts to avoid the problem. Both give the impression of frantic effort. One is old and heavy-handed. The other is subtle and modern. The first is the early Church Father’s Credo quia absurdum. This would mean that religious teachings lie beyond reason’s authority. They stand above reason. Their truth must be felt inwardly. There is no need to understand them. But this Credo is interesting only as a voluntary statement of belief. As a command, it has no binding force. Must I believe every absurdity? And if not, why this particular one? There is no higher authority to appeal to beyond reason. And what if the truth of religious teachings depends on an inner experience that confirms their truth? What are we to make of the many people who lack that rare experience? We may expect all people to use their gift of reason. But we cannot require everyone to believe on a basis available to only a few. You have gained an unshakable conviction that religious teachings are true from a deeply moving state of ecstasy. What significance does your conviction have for other people?

The second attempt is that of the philosophy of ‘As If’. It explains that in our mental activity we assume all manner of things, the groundlessness, indeed the absurdity, of which we fully realize. They are called ‘fictions’, but from a variety of practical motives we are led to behave ‘as if’ we believed in these fictions. This, it is argued, is the case with religious doctrines on account of their unequalled importance for the maintenance of human society.[^2] This argument is not far removed from the Credo quia absurdum. But I think that the claim of the philosophy of ‘As If’ is such as only a philosopher could make. The man whose thinking is not influenced by the wiles of philosophy will never be able to accept it; with the confession of absurdity, of illogicality, there is no more to be said as far as he is concerned. He cannot be expected to forgo the guarantees he demands for all his usual activities just in the matter of his most important interests. I am reminded of one of my children who was distinguished at an early age by a peculiarly marked sense of reality. When the children were told a fairy tale, to which they listened with rapt attention, he would come forward and ask: Is that a true story? Having been told that it was not, he would turn away with an air of disdain. It is to be expected that men will soon behave in like manner towards the religious fairy tales, despite the advocacy of the philosophy of ‘As If’.

The second attempt comes from the philosophy of ‘As If’. According to this philosophy, our thinking assumes all kinds of things that we fully recognize as groundless, even absurd. These assumptions are called ‘fictions’. But various practical motives lead us to behave ‘as if’ we believed in these fictions. The argument is that we do the same with religious doctrines because nothing matters more for maintaining human society.[^2] This argument is not far from the Credo quia absurdum. But I think only a philosopher could make the claim put forward by the philosophy of ‘As If’. Anyone whose thinking is untouched by philosophy’s tricks will never be able to accept this claim. Once an idea is admitted to be absurd and illogical, there is nothing more to say, as far as he is concerned. He cannot be expected to give up the assurances he demands in all his ordinary activities when his most important interests are at stake. I am reminded of one of my children, who showed an unusually strong sense of reality from an early age. When the children were told a fairy tale, they listened with close attention. But this child would come forward and ask: Is that a true story? When told the story was not true, he would turn away with a look of contempt. We can expect people soon to treat religious fairy tales in the same way, despite the philosophy of ‘As If’ defending them.

But at present they still behave quite differently, and in past ages, in spite of their incontrovertible lack of authenticity, religious ideas have exercised the very strongest influence on mankind. This is a fresh psychological problem. We must ask where the inherent strength of these doctrines lies and to what circumstance they owe their efficacy, independent, as it is, of the acknowledgement of the reason.

But for now, they still behave quite differently. In past ages, religious ideas had the most powerful influence on humanity, despite their undeniable lack of authenticity. This presents a new psychological problem. We must ask where the strength of these doctrines lies. And we must ask what makes them effective, regardless of whether reason accepts them.