alain de botton’s religious atheism
The dream is always the same. I awaken to find I’ve been transformed, not into a hideous insect, but into something much worse: Alain de Botton, my doppelganger.
Like me, de Botton loves Proust. Like me, de Botton likes classical and medieval philosophy, and approaches philosophy as a conversation about the conduct of life. By themselves, those facts aren’t overly remarkable. But now he’s jumped the shark. He’s on tour promoting a book on basically the exact same subject as my dissertation. His new book, Religion for Atheists, asks what a secular society can “import” from religious traditions. For four years now, I’ve been looking at Henry James, Oscar Wilde, James Joyce, and T. S. Eliot, investigating their projects for rebuilding society. Every one of these artists wanted to rebuild society by applying religious ideas and practices in creative new ways. If there was world enough and time, I would have studied even more figures, from the poet Hilda Doolittle to James’s own brother William.
In other words, the secular appropriation of religion has been underway since the 19th Century. At many points during the 20th Century, it was almost unchallenged as the artistic raison d’etre. During certain periods, “reinventing religion” is what almost every artist and intellectual was trying to do. Still, for the most part, secular religion failed. There were many reasons why, including the fact that most people were, and are, actually religious, and find this whole endeavor either amusing or offensive. The dream isn’t necessarily over, but we’re not at liberty to just shrug off those monumental attempts if we want to change anything at all.
Alain de Botton ignores the history, skipping ahead to present the world with his own eccentric mixture of commonplace advice and wild speculation. He’s getting good publicity because it makes fantastic copy. Wouldn’t it be wild if restaurants were like this? In a short newspaper column, it’s perfectly easy to stop right there. It’s an instant “think piece.” It works for every possible reader. Religious readers will appreciate de Botton’s stern reproofs to atheists who think we can do without religion. Atheists will appreciate that he says “atheist” a lot. He seems bipartisan.
Yet when you stop to consider de Botton’s actual claims and ideas, they crumble at the slightest pressure. Mostly, this is because an equivalent for what de Botton’s proposing already exists, though not always.
Secular Temples
We already have secular temples. They’re called museums, campuses, libraries, parks. I know — this is such an obvious objection that it almost feels like something must be wrong with it, but de Botton’s idea is really that empty. The fact that he’s included drawings of a “secular temple” is the sort of overreach that I’d find slightly endearing — if it wasn’t echoing the complaints of fascists who really did build new temples, enshrining their power.
Agape Restaurants
That is, restaurants where strangers “break bread” together and interact. If de Botton doesn’t think this exists, he hasn’t looked very hard. There are lots of cafeterias and restaurants that seat strangers together. I’ve been to such places in cities all over the world. Most Hare Krishna restaurants operate this way, as do many university eating facilities. There are also restaurants of all sorts, mostly quite normal, but with a slightly “hippie” mentality and thus communal seating. de Botton gets away with asking “Why don’t we eat together?” because he’s writing for middle-class professionals; after a long day of stressful interactions, the last thing they want is to be surrounded by importunate strangers. But that doesn’t mean a few people wouldn’t like a chance to do some hand-wringing about our tragically lonely eating habits. de Botton’s pitching to them.
He claims we don’t sing together. We do. It’s called “karaoke.” We get up in front of huge crowds of strangers and sing our lungs out. If that’s too technological and modern, and de Botton prefers a group of people singing without mikes, in a circle around a guitar player — that happens too. It’s rarer than karaoke, to be sure, but at some point one must ask: who are we to start imposing one condition after another on how people do their communal singing? At an earlier point in history the church organ was a technological wonder, too.
He claims we don’t go on pilgrimages — because he’s thinking of himself. Young people go on pilgrimages constantly. Youth hostels are stuffed with pilgrims. Some of them are on a religious quest. Others are just looking for culture, adventure, and romance. If older people weren’t pinned down by work and family, they would probably turn pilgrim also, much more often they do right now. Still, there are older pilgrims. They eat, pray, and love.
It’s obvious that he hasn’t gone to raves, or to the Burning Man Festival, or to countless other contemporary, thriving experiments in “intentional community.” I’m not naive about the limitations of such events, which are severe, but I also wouldn’t embark on a book about the post-religious in ignorance of them. One of their greatest limitations also goes for “agape restaurants”: they self-select. You get a group of people who are unusually willing to interact with strangers under novel conditions. That is not a representative slice of any industrialized Western society, nor is it the only community to which the participants belong. They go home, and go back to knowing nobody on their street.
There are versions of this book that might, conceivably, be good. I could imagine a good “Communalism, Humility, and Consolation for Dummies” book. It would tell you how to sing karaoke, where to find cafeterias, how to go on a modern pilgrimage, and how to approach conflict in a more humble manner. It wouldn’t be for society; it would be for you. I can also imagine a good book about lessons from underrepresented religions. Let’s hear about Zoroaster. Let’s hear about Quetzalcoatl. Let’s hear from Shinto. If we need a new approach, is it really going to come from Judao-Christianity and Buddhism, the same combination that failed T. S. Eliot? By ignoring even Islam, de Botton guarantees that his book will have very little new to say.
I have no idea why de Botton thinks his book is compatible with his Twitter feed, but it’s not, and the disconnect is instructive. I unfollowed him a while back, but checking in right now, here’s one of his latest thefts from Proust: “We should keep a diary of incidents of envy — from which to deduce what to do next.” Also this: “There are people we’d have forgotten about long ago if they hadn’t started to ignore us.” Every time de Botton posts a tweet, he’s broadcasting to a world full of strangers. The chance to be magnificent comes again, and again, and again. He’s not missing it by accident when he flatters our prickliness or envy. He’s not trying to spread light or warmth. The only reason to buy his book, or take his recycled “thesis” seriously, would be in order to do the same. To do nothing.
It’s like I sang in front of strangers the other night, while they shouted along: Well I’m sorry, but I don’t pray that way.
I’ve been following this blog for a short while now, and I’m really enjoying the posts.
I read about de Botton’s “secular temple” idea a while ago, and I had a similar reaction to yours. It seems backwards in the sense that he’s proposing to build structures that celebrate unity and reflection, when the whole world is out there to reflect upon. I think his brand of secularization is remarkably out of touch with reality.
Hey Glen, thanks for the comment! What you’re saying about Alain de Botton reminds me of a quote I really wanted to include in the post, but couldn’t quite make fit. It’s originally from H.D. — I learned it from Erin McNellis — and is the phrase “No temple but everywhere.”
Out of touch with reality is exactly right.
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I definitely see your points & have not yet read de Botton’s book, but, as a Christian who is neither afraid of dialogue or of atheists, I have found de Botton’s attitude, as far as I’ve found from interviews, etc, refreshing. He knows that not all religious people are idiots or jerks, and this is something many atheists–Hitchens- and Dawkins- types–seem rather dogmatic in their inability to see. It seems like a worthwhile discussion to have–a worthwhile question, in our current climate, to ask–and has revealed some of the militancy of (parts) of the atheist crew. Maybe the particular points he’s making are a little silly, but the heart of it is helpful? Or maybe I’m just glad to have someone engage with this without deciding ahead of time what I will think.
I enjoy your blog, by the way.
Hi Liz, thanks for the comment and compliment!
So, two things:
1) First of all, just to be real, there’s no way that books by Hitchens and Dawkins could ever outweigh the sea of evangelism that flows ceaselessly through the American media. It sometimes feels as though one is being asked not to be rude to people who, themselves, believe atheists are going to ruin the country and then burn in hellfire. Of course, that means taking all American Christianity as a lump, which is a mistake…but it’s hard to see a book like God Is Not Great as amounting to more than a mosquito bite.
2) BUT, that said, those books really hurt people’s feelings and shut down important conversations (like so much else by Hitchens, despite his reputation for starting conversations). So I agree that it’s worthwhile to change the tone, by a lot. It’s actually because I want these conversations to be intriguing and productive that I don’t want them to get sidetracked, even briefly, by de Botton’s silly version of being “concrete.” Let’s get to conversations about subjectivity, ethics, death, community — the big stuff, not proposals for theme restaurants.
Yes, I guess it is possible that I’m taking it too personally-feeling lumped in with a group I don’t identify with. Your comment was very helpful to me–I belong to a group of mostly intellectual and artistic Christians–and I’m Canadian who doesn’t get cable, so I don’t often see that particular side of things.
I love the idea of getting into conversations “about subjectivity, ethics, death, community”–and de Botton’s comment (I heard it on a radio interview) that the new atheists don’t seem to be willing to grapple with their vulnerability–something like “I always want to ask, what are you doing with your vulnerability?”–made me really excited. Because I am a skeptic and the main reason that I continue to grapple with my faith rather than reject it has to do with my own finititude and smallness (with the fact that I’ll never know everything & maybe even not much at all), this comment felt like something I had wanted to hear for a long time but hadn’t. This goes for both camps–there is a negative theology strain that appeals to me, but many of the vocal Christians are so polemical and dogmatic and that they seem to me to be entirely missing the point.
Not to open up a new can of worms….
I don’t think it is accurate to say that Dawkins thinks or even implies that all religious people are idiots or jerks. He demonstrates respect for anyone willing to engage in a reasoned debate. He does sometimes reveal his frustration with the often unfair tactics of some talking heads and religious zealots. It is interesting that Liz says that Dawkins can appear to be dogmatic. I guess that’s true, if by that she means that he insists on always being skeptical, demanding evidence to support conclusions about the world. He objects not so much to religions’ customs but to the belief in a deity – the existence of which is highly improbable – and to the mindset of blind faith. Hitchens, in contrast, did tend to go overboard with his polemics and rhetoric and could be hurtful at times.
In the US (unlike in Canada?) a long-running battle rages over the teaching of evolution in schools, with certain religious fundamentalists continuously trying to have creationism taught as a competing theory. Part of Dawkins’ frustration, as he explains in The Greatest Show on Earth, stems from the need to fight this rearguard action; scientists must spend their time explaining that creationism is not a competing scientific theory and that evolution is a theory not in the sense of a hypothesis but rather in the sense that it is a set of principles explaining empirical phenomena supported by lots and lots of evidence. As an atheist, I grapple with my vulnerability – that is, the limits of my knowledge and the limits of human knowledge – all the time. I guess there is a fundamental divide in how humans react in the face of uncertainty; some turn to mysticism while others look elsewhere. But so long as people remain humble they can have a conversation.
As far as I can tell, what de Botton means when he talks about “vulnerability” is similar to the investigations in the Gospels and in Job about our susceptibility to loss (as well as, in Buddhism, The Parable of the Mustard Seed). Loss of love, loss of loved ones, and so on.
It’s not at all a bad question; in fact, it’s a great question. As I said in the post, the problem isn’t de Botton grappling with a trivial issue, because the issue at stake has been important to thinkers for thousands of years. Rather, it’s that his answers are so unproductive.
Not only do I believe this question is already out there — as well as many versions of the “answers” de Botton comes up with — but the proof is that de Botton’s previous two books are also about vulnerability as he defines it. How Proust Can Change Your Life and The Consolations of Philosophy were both about using text to deal with sorrow. So at this point de Botton seems less like somebody honest grappling with profound issues of sorrow, and more like somebody using the fact of human vulnerability to market one “solution” after another. It’s Proust! It’s philosophy! It’s overcoming isolation through secular community rituals! I swear to God (ha!) his next book will be about the body, and will talk about using exercise to get over the loss of a loved one.
Victor, I have no problem with Dawkins’s out-of-hand rejection of creationism; I feel exactly the same way. It’s just not clear to me that he changed minds or modified the discussion.
You do make a fair point about Dawkins. Reading his views about religion and creationism, for me, is a bit like preaching to the choir (pun intended). He may have set out to engage in a reasoned debate but ended up publishing a handbook for those who already agree with him to more effectively argue with those who do not. There is an interesting book review in today’s New York Times of The Righteous Mind by Jonathan Haidt, which according to the review argues that people base decisions on moral intuition, not reason. He contends that people employ reason not to learn about other people’s views but as weaponry to support their own conclusions.
As for Proust, whenever I think about reading him I am always reminded of the character Uncle Frank in Little Miss Sunshine, who claims he is the number one Proust scholar in the world. Sarah Lilleyman, in her article “The Ubiquitous Proust,” put it best:
“Wondering why that delicious cookie tastes so good? Proust has you covered. Sad that your mother doesn’t hug you? Proust feels your pain. Struggling to properly describe the texture, taste, color, smell and sound of asparagus? Proust is your man.”
The Haidt book sounds totally interesting; I’ll check it out. (It doesn’t sound correct, but it could be part of the way there.)
Oh yes indeed, Steve Carrell in Little Miss Sunshine. You can’t even imagine how much I heard about that. Just as I named this blog “The Kugelmass Episodes” in honor of people asking me about Woody Allen’s short story, I will probably name my next blog Uncle Frank Talks Proust.
The saddest part is that nobody reads the later volumes, about Proust’s adolescence and adulthood, which are far less precious and much more profound. The anxieties he felt as a toddler, and even the madeleine itself, pale in comparison.