Antony Loewenstein - For Gods Sake

About For GodsSake

Four Australian thinkers come together to ask and answer the big questions, such as: What is the nature of the universe? Doesnt religion cause most of the conflict in the world? and Where do we find hope?

We are introduced to different belief systems Judaism, Christianity, Islam and to the argument that atheism, like organised religion, has its own compelling logic. And we gain insight into the life events that led each author to their current position.

Jane Caro flirted briefly with spiritual belief, inspired by 19th century literary heroines such as Elizabeth Gaskell and the Bront sisters. Antony Loewenstein is proudly culturally, yet unconventionally, Jewish. Simon Smart is firmly and resolutely a Christian, but one who has had some of his most profound spiritual moments while surfing. Rachel Woodlock grew up in the alternative embrace of Bahai belief but became entranced by its older parent religion, Islam.

Provocative, informative and passionately argued, For Gods Sake encourages us to accept religious differences, but to also challenge more vigorously the beliefs that create discord.

The idea for this book came originally from a publisher who approached Scott Stephens, editor of the ABC Religion & Ethics website, who in turn approached me about developing a book that would compare and contrast the views of a believer (Scott) with an unbeliever (me). For all sorts of reasons, that project didnt end up going anywhere, but I was hooked. I felt that the idea mattered because it was an opportunity to demonstrate that just because people see the world very differently doesnt mean they cant debate their views in a respectful and civil fashion. In an age of growing fundamentalism at both ends of the religious spectrum, I wanted to present a more nuanced view. (And it turned out my eventual fellow authors did, too.) Apart from that, I had already done some work, and if theres one thing I hate its work that goes to waste!

Scott very kindly gave me permission to pursue the idea without him and it slowly evolved from a two-way debate into a four-way one. Once Antony, Simon and Rachel agreed to come on board, and the wonderful Ingrid Ohlsson from Pan Macmillan expressed interest in publishing the book, we thought we were off and running. We signed contracts and agreed to timings. Then cold, hard reality set in.

How were four different authors with very different world views, one of whom was based in Melbourne (and then Ireland), going to wrestle this beast of a book into shape?

Simon got the ball rolling by suggesting the list of big questions that have formed our chapters. Then we got together (Rachel via Skype) and agreed that we would rotate which author began each chapter in alphabetical order, not of surname, but of world view in other words atheist, Christian, (atheist) Jew, Muslim. This meant I began the first chapter, Simon the second, Antony the third and so on. This seemed fair because it gave each of us opportunities to set the tone, although, as you will see as you read on, we are all very good at taking the topic in the direction we want it to go, no matter where our contribution may sit. We didnt know if this simple, logical structure would work but decided the only way to find out was to get started and see.

Contrary to our expectations, it worked very well. It was easy to follow, but we didnt get rigid about it, either. If someone finished their piece early, they went ahead with the next one regardless. As time went on, we grew more relaxed and fluid about this, believing we could rearrange contributions if we needed to once it was all finished. We have not needed to. We were also open to the length of contributions each of us wanted to make. As you will see, some of us have had more to say on some questions than others, but this also felt right and reasonable.

We hope you find the structure as easy to follow as a reader as we have done as writers. We hope that, whatever your personal beliefs, you enjoy the different perspectives each of us brings to the big questions we have asked ourselves as much as we have enjoyed expressing them. We do not always agree (obviously), and each of us has been robust in making our differences clear. Respect and civility do not mean wishy-washy or timid.

We are, perhaps, an odd collection of authors but we think we have achieved a crazy kind of balance. We have two women, one a believer, one an atheist. We have two men, one a believer, one a (Jewish) atheist. We have two converts and two who have been brought up in their faith or lack thereof. We all strive to be open-minded and liberal in our approach to different perspectives. You will not find much fundamentalism here although we are all passionate believers in our different ways. It has been revealing for me personally to see just what we all agree on and where the differences in our world views seem irreconcilable.

I have learnt a great deal by writing this, and for that I thank the grace, humour, civility, flexibility and decency of my fellow authors.

Jane Caro

Jane Caro

Im an atheist for the same reason most believers are members of their particular faith: I was born into a family of unbelievers.

We are all products of our background, atheists and believers alike. At a speech by the (in my opinion) much-maligned Richard Dawkins, an audience member asked for his response to a questioners passionate affirmation of his deep and profound personal belief in the Christian God. Dawkins respectfully pointed out to him that it was very likely his questioner would have felt just as deeply about Shiva had he been brought up a Hindu.

I think that those of us who have been raised in a particular culture and remained true to the values we were taught in childhood must, in all honesty, admit we are in the main products of our upbringing. Converts, like Antony and Rachel, have had a different journey.

So, at least in part, Im an unbeliever because I was brought up that way. I have had flirtations with religious belief, however. I was a precocious reader and many of my favourite authors were profoundly religious Victorians (George Eliot, the Bronts, Mrs Gaskell). Heavily influenced by their spiritual even quasi-pagan world view, I used to try saying prayers secretly at night, waiting for some kind of momentous spiritual experience (I was also a horribly melodramatic and exceedingly morbid child). As far as revelations went, however, I experienced nothing, nada, zip, zero, and, as a result, grew bored with my own grandiosity and soon gave it up.

Many years later, as an unhappy young woman struggling with a mental illness, I sought solace in religion. I earnestly tried to believe there was some kind of higher power. (I was never much tempted by any particular brand of religion. A true child of the 1970s, I sought spirituality.) I even went to a local church once just to see what was on offer but fled in horror, never to return, when the minister announced a film night that would expose why Muslims followed a false god.

When, thanks to the skilled and compassionate help of a secular psychotherapist, I finally made the breakthrough that helped calm my irrational anxiety and dissipate my depression, I was filled with gratitude. I wanted to place this sense of grace with someone or something bigger than myself or my therapist, and so I tried to believe in some kind of supernatural force that had helped me resolve my fears. I was never quite convinced, however. In fact, I had a second breakthrough listening to Richard Dawkins explain his theory that religious faith is a misfiring of the gratitude impulse. As he explains it, as herd animals, human beings are hardwired to feel gratitude and repay debts: reciprocity holds the herd together. But good things also happen for reasons outside human agency. After a week of rain, your wedding day dawns fine, warm and sunny. You feel immense relief and gratitude, but who should you thank? Who can you repay? A God, of course, thats who. After my own experience of gratitude, such an explanation made perfect sense to me.