I had mixed feelings when picking up Alain de Botton’s Religion for Atheists. While I certainly am among the target demographic, I suspected that this might be something along the lines of “Religion for Dummies.” While I have integrated some concepts from Eastern religions into my life, I still hold some skepticism (and, frankly, ignorance) about the Christian faith. Reading this book was largely an attempt to challenge my preconceived notions about Christianity, especially after my tainted perception upon watching notoriously outrageous YouTube channels like Girl Defined and Paul and Morgan.
Religion for Atheists is divided into ten chapters, each of which introduces a new concept that can help guide everyone through life. Botton primarily focuses on Christianity and Judaism, as he (rightly so) argues that covering more religions would make for a very lengthy and confusing book. From the start, Botton states a clear thesis that “secularism is [not] wrong, but...we have too often secularized badly—inasmuch as, in the course of ridding ourselves of unfeasible ideas, we have unnecessarily surrendered some of the most useful and attractive parts of the faiths” (17). This seems like an interesting concept, though Botton goes on to argue all the facets in which secularism is, in fact, wrong. But more on that later.
Understanding the author’s background and perspective is always important (take that, new criticism!), and it’s even more vital to research the author in the context of this book. In my preliminary research, I discovered that Botton is a philosopher, went to Cambridge, began a PhD in French philosophy at Harvard, but later dropped out to become a full-time author. When trying to find out Botton’s religious affiliations, I came up short. Botton makes no mention of his religious identity in this book, which I feel is a massive overlook on his part.
The beginning of the text is innocent enough. Botton makes some overarching arguments that others corroborate: we often lack a sense of community, as we are absorbed in long work hours and social media. We rarely speak to our neighbors, and we attend dinners in public, it’s never to meet new people (unless, of course, it’s to professionally network). Beyond making the point that it’s good advice to “love thy neighbor,” Botton goes further in-depth to claim that “the book of Agape would direct diners to speak to one another for prescribed lengths of time on predefined topics” (46). While the enforced lengths and topics sound a bit like speed dating for friends, the overall idea is a positive one: religion encourages us to get out of our social shells, to be curious about others’ experiences, and to build new communities.
Among established communities, religious practices invite us maintain a sense of vulnerability and reflection about our social follies. The Jewish faith’s Day of Atonement is a time in which everyone must reflect on those they have hurt and subsequently apologize and ask for forgiveness. The word “sin” does appear in this holy day (a term that makes me deeply uncomfortable), but what makes the Day of Atonement so interesting is that the focus is on one specific sin, and offers a solution that is practical (it does not simply absolve someone for confessing) and does not punish the sinner.
For the most part, I wasn’t enthralled by Botton’s writing about this topic, and he only loosely ties this religious practice to atheists by saying we should all apologize for our past mistakes each quarter of a year. This would be an interesting practice for those who block out the past or rarely reflect on wrong-doings. Because this concept was new to me, I was delighted with this chapter. But Botton fails to connect with less introspective atheists, and leaves more questions than answers about how this secular atonement day would work. Unless he’s just saying atheists should, instead of being assholes, admit when they’ve done something wrong.
As the book progressed, Botton’s arguments seemed more of a stretch: what seems specific to religion in Botton’s mind is also present in therapy, mindfulness, and support networks. In some cases, the religious qualities that Botton advocates for might be better achieved through secular practices. Botton makes the point that looking at a saintly figurine can help us figure out what to do when we’re feeling stuck. The answer is inside us, Botton argues, but looking to a maternal figure helps us access that answer. The same thing happens with trained professionals who ask guiding questions to help us find the answers we’ve known all along. Yes, there is cost involved, but the sheer avoidance of these alternative methods of self-inquiry ultimately weakens Botton’s argument.
Then we have the chapter on education—oh boy, is this a treat. This chapter is essentially a 30 page confession that Botton has not stepped inside a classroom since the dark ages, and that his professors never once challenged him to think critically. He seems to have a personal vendetta against the humanities, and thinks that the only education worth having is one of self-reflection. His language is aggressive, his arguments are entirely unfounded, and he alienates a large demographic within the secular community: academics.
Universities, to Botton, simply churn out robots who spout meaningless knowledge and have no ethical or moral compass. Perhaps you might think that my religious and academic bias are tainting my view of Botton’s argument— “he can’t possibly be that shallow and ignorant,” you might say. But you would be wrong. He literally says things like “whatever rhetoric may be rehearsed in its prospectuses, the modern university appears to have precious little interest in teaching its students any emotional or ethical life skills, much less how to love their neighbors and leave the world happier that they found it” (105), “it would be a shocking affront to university etiquette to ask what Tess of the d’Urbervilles might usefully teach us about love, or to suggest that the novels of Henry James might be read with an eye to discovering parables about staying honest in a slippery mercantile world” (117), and “secular education will never succeed in reaching its potential until humanities lecturers are sent to be trained by African-American Pentecostal preachers” (131). These passages almost tread the line of satire, as they are so completely wrong. Botton’s perception that college courses consist of passive, lifeless students, an hour-long lecture with zero discussion or critical application, and tests that require rote memorization is so laughably off, that he damages his ethos beyond repair for the remainder of the book. This chapter is clear proof that Botton has little ground to argue that religion introduces practices that are impossible to find elsewhere. It’s alarming that despite his background in philosophy, Botton fails to bridge the connection between academic concepts and the human condition. He also seems to make these arguments based on the assumption that without a formal class or text that gave step-by-step instructions on how to be a good person, we’d all be flailing, murdering, thieving sacks of flesh.
The idea behind this book has a lot of potential, and, if executed properly, could have opened up the eyes of stubborn atheists who refuse to see the good in religious practices. Instead, this book is an attack on atheists that relies on old, unfounded arguments with gaping holes all over the place. Save yourself the drudgery of slogging through this book, and instead recognize that kindness, community, and morality are qualities we should all strive for, regardless of religion.
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