Reviews for John Stuart Mill and the Religion of Humanity

The average rating for John Stuart Mill and the Religion of Humanity based on 2 reviews is 5 stars.

Review # 1 was written on 2018-05-04 00:00:00 Qwertyuiop Qwertyuiop This is the book I've been waiting to read my whole life on 'why be Jewish'

Review # 2 was written on 2017-12-07 00:00:00 Lynn Robinson I dove into this book not expecting to be persuaded by it, but rather with the intent to understand why Jews retain their identity as Jews. I was brought up in a modern, secular (Conservative) Jewish family and, unlike most with a similar upbringing, I now do not consider myself Jewish—I don’t subscribe to its religious beliefs, nor do I find any value in so-called “Jewish” values (I prefer a reason- and evidence-based moral foundation, i.e., secular humanism), and I certainly don’t wish to be part of a Jewish community (why would I, when I’d share little with those in that community other than ancestry?). So, at the recommendation of my parents who still retain their Jewish identities, I gave this a read in part to help understand Judaism’s appeal. Unfortunately, I found this to be a very sloppily argued book. The first quarter explores possible answers to the question “Why be Jewish?”, ultimately highlighting the apparent allure of continuing a very long tradition that one feels connected to (an argument from antiquity / appeal to tradition). Sacks remarks that “Judaism is a religion of continuity. It depends for its very existence on the willingness of successive generations to hand on their faith and way of life to their children, and on the loyalty of children to the heritage of their past” (p. 20). But doesn’t every tradition depend on this sort of continuity? This reasoning presupposes that said tradition is worth continuing, a point which Sacks poorly defends throughout the book. Another reason Sacks offers to be Jewish is that those who attempt to assimilate “would still be called Jews against their own will…” (quoting Arama; p. 22). That is, the attempt to renounce one’s religious identity would not be accepted by others. It’s very bizarre (and rather sad) to accept an identity based on what others impose on you—not to mention it reinforces the essentialist, anti-Semitic propaganda (propounded by the Nazis and others) that to be Jewish is an immutable trait, like, say, sex. To me, it seems like a much more formidable indication of character to reject such external impositions, and instead to forge one’s own sense of identity based on values that are based on a dispassionately rational foundation. Sacks reaffirms later in the book that “That is one reason why I am a Jew. A world, a nation, a religion that does not have room for Judaism or Jews is a world, a nation, a religion that does not have room for humanity.” Again, Sacks is allowing intolerance towards Judaism to bolster his sense of Jewish identity—a sort of martyr or victim complex, in which you feed on persecution to fulfill a psychological need. (Curiously, Sacks contradicts this claim later in the book, asserting that Jews should “never let it [anti-Semitism] affect our idea of who we are” (p. 213). So which is it?) More rationally, one can and should stand firm against bigotry (including anti-Semitism); but we ought to question why the pervasiveness of such bigotry should motivate or reinforce the need to be part of that targeted group. The two aforementioned reasons (appeal to tradition and external imposition) may have contributed to the longevity of the Jewish people (or at least of Jewish traditions), but they are certainly not compelling reasons in themselves for why a set of ideas ought to be preserved. The second part of the book discusses, in Sacks’ view, what Judaism has contributed to the world and what characterizes Jewish values and ideas. I didn’t find the historical part of this section very engaging, but I was interested to understand what supposedly constitute Jewish values. The latter commentary was frustrating for me. Sacks subscribes to what many religious critics call “cafeteria religion”; that is, they pick and choose certain elements of what they like from their religious scriptures, using an interpretation that appears totally unprincipled. What methods exactly are being used to determine what are Jewish values and what are antithetical to Jewish values (more on this point soon)? There is a lot of horrendous content in the Torah / Old Testament that does not get discussed at all in this book (e.g., that homosexuals ought to be stoned to death, that rape victims should marry their rapists, that slavery is OK, etc.), yet most secular Jews thankfully ignore this stuff in favour of more modern secular values that we arrived at through secular reasoning processes. Many Jewish scholars / teachers have often castigated these abhorrent values, and that is great—this clearly sets the modern characterization and practice of Judaism far ahead of other religious practices that still attempt to defend such morally indefensible values. But it’s difficult to say that this is a uniquely Jewish phenomenon; rather, Jews have been quicker than adherents of other religions to shed the antiquated values enshrined in their holy books. The real triumph here is our science- and reason-based modern world that has continually expanded its circle of moral concern outward. Moreover, as an aside, there is often a nebulousness with respect to what “Jewish” means—it is too often conflated to refer to either/or/all of: a) “Jewish, the religion”; b) “Jewish, the (so-called) ethnicity”; c) “Jewish, the cultural values” associated with a) and b). And it’s a conflation that Jews often exploit to make it seem like being Jewish is something immutable. Clearly, one can opt out of a) and c); for b), “Jewish” isn’t really an ethnicity—Ashkenazi, Sephardic, etc. denote ethnic distinctions, but they are too often conflated with “Jewish”. This book is rarely clear about the usage. If any of the above are to be given credit for Jews’ overperformance in the sciences and arts, it’s c), and it would be interesting to see someone try to tackle this question empirically. But I digress… In the third part of the book, Sacks insists that “Everything that could be seen as the unchanging, inevitable way of things, endorsed by nature or nature’s gods, is perpetually questioned in Judaism. If it is wrong, it must be changed. If it is right, it must be sustained by a conscious moral decision, an act of the free human will” (p. 111). This oft-repeated mantra among Jewish scholars and educated secular Jews alike—that if something in Judaism is wrong, it ought to be challenged and replaced—should not be convincing to anyone, Jewish or not. This mantra is also offered as the method by which Jews determine whether to take the bible literally or metaphorically. If something in Judaism is indeed wrong (as discovered by modern scientific understandings and/or moral progress), then it indeed ought to be challenged. But there are countless Jewish traditions that are preserved that fly in the face of our best scientific and moral understandings—and many more for which there is an absence of evidence. For example, Jewish dietary laws (kashrut) have little basis in modern nutrition science, nor are they compatible with our best moral standards (e.g., animals slaughtered to make “kosher” meat are typically treated appallingly); and infant circumcision is a rather barbaric practice for which medical science does not support the routine use of, and as such, it violates moral principles of autonomy/consent for those who are circumcised against their will (almost every baby boy born to Jewish parents). Moreover, the aforementioned mantra is a God of the gaps argument (a type of argument from ignorance fallacy), whereby those religious claims that aren’t yet contradicted by science are asserted as truths—this is exactly anathema to the scientific attitude, where the burden of proof is on those making a claim, not on others to disprove it. So, it seems to be completely insincere when Sacks (and other Jewish thinkers) claim that Judaism really abides by an ethic of disputation—it may be the case compared to other religious traditions, but that’s a pretty low bar. Towards the end of the book, Sacks comments: “Only now, perhaps, can we appreciate the depth and pathos of Jewish faith. For what are the alternatives? We can deny the reality of either God or evil. Then the dissonance would disappear, and we could live at peace with the world. But if God exists and evil is an illusion, then Auscwhitz is justified. We may not know why, but this we know, that from the vantage point of heaven there was a reason for it and we must accept it as God’s unfathomable will. The alternative is that God does not exist, and thus the universe is blind to our hopes, deaf to our cries, indifferent to our existence. In such a world there is no reason not to expect an Auschwitz. Jewish faith is the principled refusal to accept either answer, because each would allow us to live at peace with the world, and it is morally impossible to live at peace with a world that contains an Auschwitz” (p. 188-189). This is some tortured reasoning surrounding what is commonly known as the “problem of evil”. Since there’s no good evidence nor compelling reasons to support the existence of a god(s), all indications are that we live in this “alternative” scenario that Sacks alludes to. But rather than despairing about a universe blind to our hopes, this can empower us to collaborate to make society better using tools that reliably work (e.g., see “Enlightenment Now” by Steven Pinker). Again, insofar as Judaism is compatible with secular humanism and science, it offers nothing unique nor valuable; insofar as it differs (because it conflicts with science and reason), it should be rejected—unless one prefers delusion and fantasy to reality. Lastly, Sacks compares the lack of Jewish faith to a lack of appreciation for humour, music, or love, asserting that “one can live a life without these things, but it will be a smaller, more circumscribed and impoverished life. How much more so in the case of faith” (p. 223). This reflects Sacks’ total lack of imagination for how to derive meaning absent unjustified beliefs in the supernatural. To claim that without faith—let alone the Jewish faith—one cannot lead a rich, fulfilling, awe-inspiring, meaningful life is both sad and empirically wrong. Personally, I derive meaning through my field of expertise (statistics), by advancing what I consider to be good ideas (based in empiricism), by helping others, through music (playing and listening), in romance, through connections with friends, and in the endless exploration of reality through reading, travelling, and communicating with people who hold divergent views. There is no necessity to believe things on insufficient evidence, or to join a community that subscribes (or professes to subscribe) to such beliefs. But that’s me. Overall, this was a very poor read. While the writing style is, at times, engaging, the reasoning is extremely sloppy—full of logical fallacies (like the aforementioned appeal to tradition) and presuppositions that are never challenged. While it offers some insight into why many Jews retain their Jewish identity and carry on its traditions, customs, and culture, it makes little effort to rationally justify the reasons Sacks and other Jews apparently find compelling enough to retain their Judaism. Thus, for a secular-minded reader, it’s difficult to derive any value from this book. It appears to mostly serve as a catharsis for Jews: to derive emotional comfort from an eloquent-sounding story of Judaism having been preserved for so long, one drenched in confirmation bias. With a little skepticism, this book shouldn’t convince a neutral reader of much beyond this purpose it serves.