Religion in Three Views

"A thoughtful and elegant writer once observed that religion can be considered in three different ways.

As a system of opinions, its only goal is truth. Reason is the faculty involved here, exercised through the freest and most impartial inquiry.

As a principle regulating conduct, religion is a habit. Like all habits, it grows slowly and gains strength only through repeated practice.

But religion can also be seen as a taste—an affair of sentiment and feeling. In this sense, it is properly called devotion. It resides in the imagination and the passions. Its source is that natural relish for the sublime, the vast, and the beautiful—the same sensibility that lets us enjoy poetry and other works that speak to our finer emotions. This feeling is heightened by a sense of gratitude for personal blessings.

 Devotion is to a large degree constitutional; it is not found in exact proportion to a person’s moral virtue.

It is this third view of religion—the devotional, affectionate side—that the following observations address. 

While almost everyone acknowledges religion’s value as a rule of life and its teachings have been defended with plenty of zeal, its emotional side is languishing. The spirit of devotion is at a very low ebb among us. 

Surprisingly, it has fallen into a kind of contempt and is treated with indifference by many people who pride themselves on the purity of their beliefs and the sweetness of their morals.

Religious affections rise and fall with our moods and are strongly influenced by anything that affects the imagination. They can therefore run into strange excesses. When shaped by a melancholy or overly enthusiastic faith, they can overwhelm a weak mind or delicate constitution. For this reason, many genuinely pious people have almost banished strong emotion from religious worship. Our age tends to allow little room for sentiment. All warm and generous emotions are dismissed as romantic by the supercilious gaze of a cold-hearted philosophy. 

The man of science, with an air of superiority, leaves such matters to florid preachers who stir up the passions of the lower classes—where devotion is so mixed with noise and nonsense that it naturally disgusts more refined and better-informed minds.

Yet there exists a noble devotion—generous, liberal, and humane—that springs from higher feelings than narrow minds can grasp. It raises human beings toward higher natures and lifts them “above this visible diurnal sphere.” Its pleasures are of the highest kind. 

When cultivated early, they remain vivid even in later life, when some passions have cooled, imagination has faded, and the heart begins to contract. Those who lack this taste are missing a genuine sense—a part of their nature—and should not presume to judge feelings they can never experience. 

No one claims to be a judge of poetry or the fine arts without both a natural and a cultivated appreciation for them. Why, then, should the narrow-minded children of earth, absorbed in low pursuits, dare to dismiss as visionary those things they have never taken the trouble to understand? Silence on such subjects would suit them better.

The present purpose is not to defend the pleasures of devotion to those who have neither taste nor knowledge of them. Instead, it is worth asking: what causes have weakened religious impressions among people who hold steady principles and are well disposed toward virtue?

The Damage Done by Constant Disputation

Nothing is more harmful to the feelings of a devout heart than the habit of arguing about religious subjects. Free inquiry is certainly necessary to establish a rational belief. But a disputatious spirit and fondness for controversy give the mind a skeptical turn, making it quick to question even the most established truths. It is impossible to maintain the deep reverence we ought to feel toward the Deity when all His attributes—even His very existence—are tossed about in familiar debate. Candor requires that we grant an opponent complete freedom of speech, yet in the heat of discussion it is hard to avoid careless or irreverent expressions. As a result, people who think about religion less often, often treat it with more respect than those whose profession keeps it constantly before them. A plain, serious person would likely be shocked to hear religious questions handled with the casual ease common among practiced theologians or lively young academics fresh from logic and metaphysics classes.

Just as the ear loses its delicacy when constantly exposed only to coarse language, so our veneration for religion wears away when we hear it treated lightly—even when we ourselves are defending it. This explains why many who have strengthened their intellectual belief in religion have never recovered the strong, affectionate sense of it they once possessed. They are surprised to find their devotion weaker precisely when their faith is better grounded.

Strong reasoning powers and quick, deep feelings rarely coexist in the same person. Those of a scientific turn seldom open their hearts fully to impression. Preoccupied with their own systems, they may attend religious services, but they remain on guard, constantly checking whether every sentiment aligns with their particular tenets.

The spirit of inquiry is easily distinguished from the spirit of disputation. A state of doubt is painful, anxious, and distressing. It naturally produces humility and modesty. Anyone who has not yet settled their opinions on important matters, if they are seeking truth honestly, will proceed with deep humility, genuine earnestness, and serious attention to every argument. Such a person will prefer to ponder ideas privately rather than use them as ammunition for debate.

Even with these good dispositions, it is fortunate when a person does not need to make sweeping changes to the religious system they have embraced. A total revolution in belief usually shocks the religious feelings so severely that they seldom regain their original strength and tone."

Anna Letitia Barbaund.