Discussion Group Report

"God dies only for a few," declares William F. Schultz in an article with the same title as the present one in UU World, November-December 2003. "Over time, God may well change form for many people, from personal to vague to immanent, from transcendent to immanent, from transcendent to omnipotent to limited. But in American culture, at least, God dies only for a few. 'Whither is God?' cried Friedrich Nietzsche's madman.. I shall tell you. We have killed him--you and I.' But the people only stared in astonishment. "I came too early,' said the madman. 'This tremendous event…has not yet reached the ears of man.'"

In the third or fourth decades of the 20th century, Schultz continues, some heard Nietzsche's call and heeded his question. Their story is that of religious humanism, a religious movement that emphasized human capabilities, especially the capacity to reason; that adopted the scientific method to search for truth; and that promoted the right of all humans to develop their full potential. It tells of a movement that sought to construct what the Reverend John Dietrich called a "religion without god," shifting the focus of religious faith from divinity to humanity. Clergy and journalists, philosophers and scientists banded together, refusing to believe that human beings could not be saved and insisting that they themselves would be the instrument of salvation.

Perhaps in no denomination but Unitarian Universalism (UU), with its aversion to creeds and dogmas, could such a frankly non-theistic movement as religious humanism have arisen without provoking a schism, and even UU itself was hard-pressed to encompass the new thought. UU's debated the merits of a strictly human-centered, scientifically minded, ethically focused religion. In 1933 a group of philosophers, Unitarian ministers and other religious liberals issued A Humanist Manifesto, to articulate a coherent statement of humanist principles. It was consciously designed to encapsulate a religious faith, not just a philosophy of life, and for all its religious failings, it represented a heartfelt attempt to amalgamate intellectual integrity with religious expression.

Yet it was not just a matter of historical curiosity as far as UU was concerned. Forty-six percent of UU's reported in 1998 that they regarded themselves as theologically humanist, more than twice as many as identified with the second most common perspective, nature-centered spirituality and far more than the 13% who called themselves theists or the 9.5% who described themselves as Christian. Much nonsense passes for religion in this 21st century, as in all the preceding centuries. Religious humanism is willing to call a charlatan a charlatan, and while reason is by no means the only vehicle of religious exploration, we abandon it altogether at our own peril. "Where would we," asks Schultz, "who cherish the natural world be without religious humanism's insistence that the world is a seamless garment and that we humans are a part of the weaving? And what about the second point in the Manifesto, that human beings are "a part of nature" and have "emerged as the result of a continuous process," Or humanism's courageous faith that the future of the world is in human hands--not those of an angry God or inexorable fate. Humanism beckons us to believe that we can make a difference to history. This, says Schultz, is the source of his own passion for social justice. "Human rights themselves, as articulated in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, are grounded, not in the callings of the divine or the imperatives of natural law but in the common experience of human empathy transmogrified into a set of guidelines designed to effect a civilized world."

But Schultz says religious humanism--particularly that of the 1933 Manifesto is now outdated, as show by the fact that humanists found a need to issue Manifesto II in 1973 and Manifesto III this year.

Why does Schultz prefer present-day religious humanism to the early religious humanism of the signers of Manifesto I? He says the early humanism lacked a clear doctrine of human freedom--not political freedom, which it endorsed, but free agency, what was traditionally called free will. Hence it lacked an adequate understanding of evil. The Manifesto makes not a single mention of the human capacity for choice. On the contrary it seems to suggest a brand of cultural determinism in its affirmation that "man's religious culture and civilization…are the product of a gradual development due to his interaction with his natural environment, with his social heritage. The individual born into a particular culture is largely molded to that culture. "The religion embodied in the Manifesto is little better than a product of cultural dictation. Without a belief in some measure of free choice, the Manifesto was hard pressed to account for human evil. It had little to offer in the way of consolation from anguish. Religion was not just about insight but also about poetry. Culture was reflected, not only in its worldview, but also in its music. As George Santayana put it, "Religion is the love of life in the consciousness of its impotence," He talks of the plight of Winnie the Pooh who, when stuck in the doorway of Rabbit's house, requested, "Would you be so kind as to read a Sustaining Book such as would help and comfort a Wedged Bear in a Great tightness?" "In large measure," says Schultz, "humanism lacked such a "book." He said, "…humanism fell mute when Pooh was…stuck, in the face of evil and heartache and death, when the only response worthy of the occasion was to curse the human plight and be determined to dance nonetheless." Humanism lacked an aesthetic sense. It had little, if anything to offer to those who brooked consternation before chaos or treasured awe before vastness.

He lists the following as basic principles of humanism which have come to pervade our larger culture: 1) Showing love to all humans, 2) Immortality is found in the examples we set and the work we do, 3) We gain insight from many sources and all cultures, 4) We have the power within ourselves to realize the best we are capable of as human beings, and 5) We are responsible for what we do and become.

He says most religious explorers today would want to go further, use richer language, and wrestle with deeper questions. He says the humanist-theist controversy is behind us and the religious world has largely said to such explorers, "Go to it."

What? He apparently hasn't talked to any authoritarian-dogmatic religionists lately. He advocates a willingness to employ a wider lexicon of traditional religious language than that with which the early religionists would be comfortable. He continues, "It is not particularly important to me any more whether I or anyone else uses 'God talk.' What is of supreme importance is that I live my life in a posture of gratitude--that I recognize my existence and, indeed, Being itself, as an unaccountable blessing, a gift of grace." Then he says, "Sometimes, it is helpful to call the source or fact of that gift of grace God and sometimes not." This statement contradicts his above statement that it doesn't matter whether one uses "God talk" or not. He goes on, "But what is always helpful and absolutely necessary is to look kindly on the world, to be in bold pursuit of its repair, and to be comfortable in the embrace of its splendor. I know no better term for what I seek than encounter with the Holy." Certainly I would not quarrel with these outlooks, but I question that it is necessary to be a "religious" humanist to hold to them.

Since Schultz in the article does not define the words "God," or "Holy," I can't discern what he means when he uses these terms. Do they refer to a supernatural deity, nature, or something else? Also, "grace" implies receiving some kind of gift from someone, as in divine assistance or a virtue coming from God, or some kind of approval or favor. Is being really a gift of grace or is it more simply an outcome of organic evolution? It isn't that I am not grateful to be alive and in good health, but is the fact that I am necessarily a gift of grace? Do religious humanists of today really wrestle with deeper questions than the authors of Manifesto I or, for that matter, secular humanists? Does one have to use religious lexicon to deal with the deeper questions. To most people the words "God", "holy" and "grace" in the sense used here refer to the divine; and I suggest that their use in discussing humanism confuses non-humanists, and perhaps even humanists, about what we're talking about. I suggest it is perfectly possible to talk about the deeper questions without using religious terminology. Isn't it a key feature of humanism that we question the existence of the supernatural? Then why do we have to borrow words and phrases implying the supernatural to express our human-centered outlook? The writers of Humanist Manifesto I did not reject free agency. They seem to recognize it in their call for "a new statement of the means and purposes of religion." If Winnie the Pooh's Great Tightness is that of a terminally ill person, the Sustaining Book, tragically, will not necessarily help him get out of his situation. It might give him some comfort as he faces its reality, yet there are a number of documented cases where atheists maintained their atheism even when they were about to die, as during combat in war. Don't Manifesto I and secular humanism look kindly on the world? Don't they accept the world's splendor as they ponder its wonders? Why aren't the words "religion" and "religious" used in Manifesto III? I do not feel Schultz makes a very convincing case in this article that it is necessary for humanism to be religious in order to deal with the deeper questions. Perhaps you feel differently than I do, or perhaps you feel the same. It might be interesting for you to send your views to The Utah Humanist.