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cygna_himeThis is kind of the bastard child of a book review and an essay.
Like most of the political books I read, The Devil in Dover by Lauri Lebo after my mother got it out of the library. There it was, sitting in the library basket, nice and slim, and so I picked it up. I wish I could say that I couldn't put it down, but that isn't true--between getting ready for dinner and dinner itself, I didn't exactly have a choice on the subject. I did, however, pick it up again very quickly.
The Devil in Dover is an account of the 2004 court case in Dover, PA, in which Tammy Kitzmiller and almost a dozen other parents sued the Dover Area School District on the basis of the school board's insistence on "making students aware of" intelligent design in ninth-grade biology. Lebo was not only a reporter on the case, but also a resident of the area, the daughter of a fundamentalist Christian, who describes both the details of the court case and her own quest for understanding. And in just 200 pages, that's full value for your money. Her account is both personal and accurate, emotional and informative, equal parts scientific research and personal description. It stands as an indictment of a prevalent belief that the meaning of "objectivity" in journalism is "never say that anyone is wrong, even when they are".
I tried to understand the defendants in the case. I tried to get my mind around one that believes, not only that anyone who does believe exactly as they do is damned, but that faith in God cannot coexist with knowledge of evolution's validity. I couldn't do it. I believe in things which I know are not supported by any scientific theory, from angels on down to dwarves, but I have never thought of my beliefs in the same way as my scientific knowledge. I don't know how to merge them, how to make my knowledge contingent on my belief. I don't know why they do so, why what is impossible for me is for them the way of life.
I also don't understand how people can profess to be good and faithful Christians while lying deliberately under oath, while impugning the reputations of journalists in order to cover their own lies. Surprisingly enough, there was no indictment in the Bible of those who believe in evolution, but I seem to recall something about "bearing false witness", and that you shouldn't. I probably remember it so clearly because it was in such big letters.
Lebo did an excellent job, however, in showing if not the defendants' side of the case (there isn't one capable of standing up to scrutiny), then at least their humanity. She does not demonize them; she describes seeing them and speaking to them as fellow human beings who are otherwise good people. She befriends at least one of them. Therefore, the book portrays them as two sets of people, the ones who take care of their children and chat with the neighbors and the ones who lie in support of a so-called theory none of them even understand. This is consistent with Lebo's personal experience, as she tries and fails to reach out to them and make them understand why what they have done is wrong, as she tries and fails to make her father understand that in judging these people who lie in God's name, the lie counts more than the name.
I finished the book with a lump in my throat, because Lebo portrays an deep division in American society. The fundamentalist "Christians" who will hear only what they wish to hear, who will discount the statements of anyone who does not fit their criteria for salvation--how is anyone from the outside supposed to reach them? How can I speak to them? Are the principles by which I guide my life--the respect and care due from and to all of us by simple virtue of our common humanity, the necessity of truth, the conviction that in the heart of the Other is someone like me--too different from the principles by which they guide theirs? Is this gap truly impassable?
I don't want it to be. I don't want to have to spend the rest of my life in a world where good people can have no common ground. And, on the other hand, I want even less to believe that so many people aren't good people, that far too much of humanity is malicious, petty, and blatantly hypocritical at heart. But how can I talk to these people, when for them faith is at the start of all discussions? How can I make them see that, for me, faith is private and intensely personal, not something one discusses casually? How can I explain that to me faith is truest when it is silent? That being a good person is enough? That loving others is the command of Jesus that means the most? That if all good things come from God, then all who do good things, whether they invoke God's name in the doing or not, are blessed? That it doesn't matter if their faith is mixed with others, because if theirs is the true faith, then it will win out naturally? That not everything has to be a battleground; that in fact the fewer battlegrounds there are, the better for everyone?
What words can I use to reach their hearts without lying about mine? I have so many words, and I can't think of any.
I'm lucky, I realized reading this book. I'm very lucky indeed. I am lucky, because no one in my family has ever told me that my religion or lack thereof is wrong. I am lucky, because although my parents are not devout, some of my other near relatives are, and they have never made me feel bad because I am not.
Part of my luck is that obviously my relatives are not fixated on religious differences, or I would not be here: my parents married outside their faiths, as did my mother's parents (if, as most seem to, you count Catholicism and Lutheranism as different faiths). Another part of my luck is that they all took it for granted that religion was not something to be discussed lightly, that as something intensely personal about which people feel deeply it is not an appropriate subject for the dinner table. A third part of my luck is that here, where I grew up, I only have to look around to see people of different denominations and religions. I know that what happened in Dover could never have happened here, because a great number of adults in this area are extensively scientifically educated and few are fundamentalist Christians.
My uncle is a Capuchin. On Tuesday, he showed up, as he sometimes does, for a visit, in hooded brown robe with white rope tie, like someone who walked out of the Middle Ages. And then he took his robe off and spent three days being Fun Uncle, goofing off, going for walks, playing with his nieces, teasing everyone especially his sister, and not talking about his religion (at least, not to me). I know he's been doing parish work in New York, that he's gone to various Central and South American countries, that he's going to work near Boston now with men just about to finally take vows. I know what he's been doing, more or less, but I don't know what he believes. He's never told me, he's never made it a priority to convince me I should share those beliefs. I've never felt like his affection is contingent on my sharing them.
So yes, I am lucky. I am lucky because my personal experience with religion has been positive. I am lucky because I have what I realize is a rare privilege, being uncertain in my religion without feeling guilty. I wish this didn't make me lucky.
I want to change that.
It's not something that can be changed with politics, with protests and decisions. We can only lose by them, or stand our ground. The only way to change this, to bridge this gap, is as individuals, not as organizations. One to one, meeting each other as humans. Whether born from dust or descended from apes, we are all human, and I believe we all have the same souls.
Like most of the political books I read, The Devil in Dover by Lauri Lebo after my mother got it out of the library. There it was, sitting in the library basket, nice and slim, and so I picked it up. I wish I could say that I couldn't put it down, but that isn't true--between getting ready for dinner and dinner itself, I didn't exactly have a choice on the subject. I did, however, pick it up again very quickly.
The Devil in Dover is an account of the 2004 court case in Dover, PA, in which Tammy Kitzmiller and almost a dozen other parents sued the Dover Area School District on the basis of the school board's insistence on "making students aware of" intelligent design in ninth-grade biology. Lebo was not only a reporter on the case, but also a resident of the area, the daughter of a fundamentalist Christian, who describes both the details of the court case and her own quest for understanding. And in just 200 pages, that's full value for your money. Her account is both personal and accurate, emotional and informative, equal parts scientific research and personal description. It stands as an indictment of a prevalent belief that the meaning of "objectivity" in journalism is "never say that anyone is wrong, even when they are".
I tried to understand the defendants in the case. I tried to get my mind around one that believes, not only that anyone who does believe exactly as they do is damned, but that faith in God cannot coexist with knowledge of evolution's validity. I couldn't do it. I believe in things which I know are not supported by any scientific theory, from angels on down to dwarves, but I have never thought of my beliefs in the same way as my scientific knowledge. I don't know how to merge them, how to make my knowledge contingent on my belief. I don't know why they do so, why what is impossible for me is for them the way of life.
I also don't understand how people can profess to be good and faithful Christians while lying deliberately under oath, while impugning the reputations of journalists in order to cover their own lies. Surprisingly enough, there was no indictment in the Bible of those who believe in evolution, but I seem to recall something about "bearing false witness", and that you shouldn't. I probably remember it so clearly because it was in such big letters.
Lebo did an excellent job, however, in showing if not the defendants' side of the case (there isn't one capable of standing up to scrutiny), then at least their humanity. She does not demonize them; she describes seeing them and speaking to them as fellow human beings who are otherwise good people. She befriends at least one of them. Therefore, the book portrays them as two sets of people, the ones who take care of their children and chat with the neighbors and the ones who lie in support of a so-called theory none of them even understand. This is consistent with Lebo's personal experience, as she tries and fails to reach out to them and make them understand why what they have done is wrong, as she tries and fails to make her father understand that in judging these people who lie in God's name, the lie counts more than the name.
I finished the book with a lump in my throat, because Lebo portrays an deep division in American society. The fundamentalist "Christians" who will hear only what they wish to hear, who will discount the statements of anyone who does not fit their criteria for salvation--how is anyone from the outside supposed to reach them? How can I speak to them? Are the principles by which I guide my life--the respect and care due from and to all of us by simple virtue of our common humanity, the necessity of truth, the conviction that in the heart of the Other is someone like me--too different from the principles by which they guide theirs? Is this gap truly impassable?
I don't want it to be. I don't want to have to spend the rest of my life in a world where good people can have no common ground. And, on the other hand, I want even less to believe that so many people aren't good people, that far too much of humanity is malicious, petty, and blatantly hypocritical at heart. But how can I talk to these people, when for them faith is at the start of all discussions? How can I make them see that, for me, faith is private and intensely personal, not something one discusses casually? How can I explain that to me faith is truest when it is silent? That being a good person is enough? That loving others is the command of Jesus that means the most? That if all good things come from God, then all who do good things, whether they invoke God's name in the doing or not, are blessed? That it doesn't matter if their faith is mixed with others, because if theirs is the true faith, then it will win out naturally? That not everything has to be a battleground; that in fact the fewer battlegrounds there are, the better for everyone?
What words can I use to reach their hearts without lying about mine? I have so many words, and I can't think of any.
I'm lucky, I realized reading this book. I'm very lucky indeed. I am lucky, because no one in my family has ever told me that my religion or lack thereof is wrong. I am lucky, because although my parents are not devout, some of my other near relatives are, and they have never made me feel bad because I am not.
Part of my luck is that obviously my relatives are not fixated on religious differences, or I would not be here: my parents married outside their faiths, as did my mother's parents (if, as most seem to, you count Catholicism and Lutheranism as different faiths). Another part of my luck is that they all took it for granted that religion was not something to be discussed lightly, that as something intensely personal about which people feel deeply it is not an appropriate subject for the dinner table. A third part of my luck is that here, where I grew up, I only have to look around to see people of different denominations and religions. I know that what happened in Dover could never have happened here, because a great number of adults in this area are extensively scientifically educated and few are fundamentalist Christians.
My uncle is a Capuchin. On Tuesday, he showed up, as he sometimes does, for a visit, in hooded brown robe with white rope tie, like someone who walked out of the Middle Ages. And then he took his robe off and spent three days being Fun Uncle, goofing off, going for walks, playing with his nieces, teasing everyone especially his sister, and not talking about his religion (at least, not to me). I know he's been doing parish work in New York, that he's gone to various Central and South American countries, that he's going to work near Boston now with men just about to finally take vows. I know what he's been doing, more or less, but I don't know what he believes. He's never told me, he's never made it a priority to convince me I should share those beliefs. I've never felt like his affection is contingent on my sharing them.
So yes, I am lucky. I am lucky because my personal experience with religion has been positive. I am lucky because I have what I realize is a rare privilege, being uncertain in my religion without feeling guilty. I wish this didn't make me lucky.
I want to change that.
It's not something that can be changed with politics, with protests and decisions. We can only lose by them, or stand our ground. The only way to change this, to bridge this gap, is as individuals, not as organizations. One to one, meeting each other as humans. Whether born from dust or descended from apes, we are all human, and I believe we all have the same souls.
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(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-24 07:26 pm (UTC)I told him about my straight friend, daughter of two lesbians, whose husband molested her daughter, since he started in on the "gay families are bad for children" angle.
I told him about gays unable to be in the emergency room with loved ones, so that loved ones had to die or suffer alone, because they weren't related.
I told him there were a great many examples of why stripping gay couples of legal rights was extremely harmful to many people he didn't know, and had absolutely zero impact on his life.
He fled and went to preach his Gospel to my neighbors. It was clear my words had not touched him in the slightest.
Now I feel like I should write up something and leave it on my neighbors' doorsteps. Not knock, because interruptions are annoying. But just to present another side.
But I'm so tired... and like you, I wonder if the gap can be surmounted.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-25 01:03 am (UTC)But.
There are people I don't think I can convince that their opinion could use revising, because where can I start? What basic principle can we both agree on? I feel like all my deepest beliefs, all my principles ("There's no such thing as a law of conservation of happiness", "If God wants to take back his endorsement of love, he can tell me in person", "A god who demands that I behave unethically or immorally is no god of mine") would just slide off, because "It's not in the Bible". Except for when it is, like love thy neighbor as thyself.
Maybe that's the problem. Maybe these people don't love themselves at all, so they have trouble loving anyone else.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-24 08:43 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-25 12:51 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-25 02:11 pm (UTC)PS I adore the icon you use for this post. I suspect Uncle Friar Tuck would, too.*g*
-- momz0r