Religious people like to claim that belief in god makes people happier and that this alone makes religion a good thing, worth preserving. There are many ways to respond to this, one of which is to echo George Bernard Shaw when he said “The fact that a believer is happier than a sceptic is no more to the point than the fact that a drunken man is happier than a sober one. The happiness of credulity is a cheap and dangerous quality.”
But is it in fact true that believers are happier than unbelievers? Via Greta Christina, I read this report of a study that suggests that it is partially true, and in an interesting way. The report says that:
According to the new study of almost 200,000 people in 11 European countries, people who are religious have higher self-esteem and better psychological adjustment than the non-religious only in countries where belief in religion is common. In more secular societies, the religious and the non-religious are equally well-off. [Emphasis mine-MS]
What might be going on here? It could be connected to what psychologist Philip Zimbardo describes in chapter 12 of his 2008 book The Lucifer Effect (more about this interesting book in a future post), where he says that all of us experience the strong lure of wanting to belong to the ‘in-group’ because it confers instant status and identity, while the thought of being cast into the ‘out-group’ can lead some to feelings of rejection and alienation.
So what determines whether religious belief confers in-group status? Some time ago, I discussed a paper published by physicists last year using a computer model that suggested that there is a single parameter that predicts whether people will want to join religions or move way from it.
According to the model, a single parameter quantifying the perceived utility of adhering to a religion determines whether the unaffiliated group will grow in a society. The model predicts that for societies in which the perceived utility of not adhering is greater than the utility of adhering, religion will be driven toward extinction.
Their model predicts that religion is headed for extinction in nine countries, Australia, Austria, Canada, the Czech Republic, Finland, Ireland, the Netherlands, New Zealand, and Switzerland. Ireland is the most interesting because it is ostensibly the most Catholic of countries in the developed world. The conclusion is, of course, based on a theoretical model and thus somewhat speculative but interesting nonetheless.
But why is it that in secular societies, the non-religious do not show more psychological benefits, the way that the religious have in religious societies? I suspect it is because being non-religious is not the flip side of being religious. The non-religious do not think of themselves as ‘belonging’ to a non-religious group, any more than non-stamp collectors feel that they belong to a group. They just are.
In the UK, despite census figures of around 75% Christian, I suspect the real plurality, if not majority, is the I-suppose-I-think-there-must-be-some-sort-of-somethingists.
Interesting. I don’t know much about religion in the U.K., but I have a couple thoughts. Please steer me in the right direction if I’m wrong.
In Phil Zuckerman’s, Society without God, he focuses primarily on religious beliefs in Scandinavia, but I think his research may have some parallels to the U.K. and even the U.S. He notes that while a measurable proportion of people identify with a specific religion, their identification with their religion is more aptly described as “spiritual” compared to that hardcore, in-your-face, proselytizing kind of religiosity that I experience here in the U.S.
He also describes how religion in Scandinavia is sort of a non-issue that people just don’t talk about. Based on my reading of the book, it seemed like it was easy to label oneself as a Catholic, for example, and claim you believe there is something out there, but not believe in many of Catholicism’s central tenets.
It reminds me a lot about my parents. Neither attend church regularly, but take part in what Zuckerman describes as cultural religion. They were married in a church, baptized their children in a religious ceremony, and attend church funerals. Neither puts much thought into religion, but if you ask them, they’d say they believe in some (undefinable) thing.
I wouldn’t be surprised if something similar is happening in the U.K: a movement away from organized religion, but less thought going into the logic of what that “something” is. Thus, it might yield your I-suppose-I-think-there-must-be-some-sort-of-somethingist syndrome.
Both in the UK and the US, studies reveal that the actual practice of religion (church attendance, Bible reading, baptisms, etc.) is quite a bit less that what people say in surveys. (See here and here.)
So I tend to agree that what we are witnessing is quite a dramatic shift from traditional religious observance to a more vague spirituality.
Even “spirtual” is the wrong word. The word you’re looking for is “cultural”. Religion is simply part of the cultural background, but most people don’t give it much thought. They like the architecture and maybe the hymns, but most only go to church for big things like baptisms (which is again only done because it’s what’s culturally expected), weddings, funerals and Christmas.
It’s like that in much of Western Europe. Nearly all of the people who regularly attend church are old. Younger ones may do it for their children
Data suggestive of this trend has been around for quite some time; it is not entirely new.
In addition to the factors you mention, there may be something else at play: In religious countries, the kinds of people who nevertheless choose to eschew religion may be tend to be miserable iconoclastic contrarians. You know, like me. ;D Seriously, though, it’s not entirely crazy to suggest that the sorts of people who would think deeply enough about metaphysics to reject religion despite being raised and living in a predominantly religious nation may be the sorts of people who naturally find it more difficult to remain content. Perhaps it is a form of anti-socialism; perhaps it is simply that they tend to be perpetual seekers. Perhaps there’s not all that much difference between the two all the time.
It has certainly been my experience that there tends to be fairly little overlap between “most interesting people I know” and “happiest people I know”. I don’t think this is a coincidence. And if there is something real to that, it could help explain this effect as well.
The Irish thing is something I’ve been saying since I arrived here from the US in the early 1980’s. I had come from a country that was beginning to wage a fight back against secularism to a country that was beginning to wage a fight against the traditional entrenchment of religious power. The trend in the US, even then, was worrying to me, while Ireland was a breath of fresh air. Most Irish people are still culturally Catholic -- ie comfortable attending mass occasionally, saying a decade of the rosary at a funeral, and hiring bouncy castles for the kids’ communions, but most are extremely wary of “the bad old days” of secrecy and Magdalene Laundries, and of the religious orders running institutions for the degradation of the person, and more than happy for the Irish embassy to the Vatican to remain firmly closed.
I think it’s important to define “self-esteem and better psychological adjustment” in this scenario, and also to question what kind of self-esteem and adjustment are desirable.
It would not surprise me if a great part of the apparent confidence boost that the religious outlook bestows is due to the belief that you are the centre of the universe, deliberately created as part of a divine plan, with a guide and overseer to help you through life who always loves you and always hates the people you hate.
The flip-side to that is what many religious people find difficult about the atheistic world-view -- we have little or no problem squaring it with ourselves, but we instead see ourselves as insignificant organisms on some only-just-hospitable speck of dust in some random solar system out of billions. This outlook confers a greater amount of humility and, yes, I imagine it also shakes self-esteem a little, forcing people to question their purpose and worth.
It strikes me, however, that that is a far more preferable way of being. Big self-esteem isn’t everything, despite what our self-help culture has led people to believe.
Two further possibilities jump out from my own experiences, growing up atheist within a moderately Christian upbringing, in England and the British Army overseas.
First is that the sort of people who are most likely to challenge religion may be doing so in response to a bad situation that they’re in: theodicy wasn’t a word I learned until I was in my twenties, but it was a concept I’d formulated before I started school (in my own case, how can an all-loving etc. god be reconciled with a seriously ill mother and the unhappy home that stemmed from that). Also, that difficult environment and a mistrust of authority figures made me more able to see the cruel and manipulative nature of the god of the bible (once I was old enough to read it!) than my more naive peers. Similarly, abuse (not necessarily sexual, I hasten to add) by authority figures seems to have triggered a serious consideration of religious belief in many of my acquaintance (it was a running joke among my peers at university that the best promoter of atheism was Catholic school). On the other hand, someone who is fundamentally content is less likely to undertake the work or face the loss of advantages that will stem from challenging the belief structure and cultural values they were raised with.
Secondly, at least in the UK, religion is still privileged in many cultural contexts. For instance, it is usually considered acceptable for religious people to discuss atheism publicly, but not the reverse. Also, it is acceptable for the religious to try to evangelise, especially if the person they’re bothering has real problems, and it is seen as rude to try to brush them off. (One personal example is that, when I mentioned to my manager that I wasn’t comfortable working with a fellow-volunteer who said my mental health issues were due to my atheism, she was quite willing to rearrange the schedules so I didn’t have to work with her, but she was not willing to tell the other volunteer why I’d changed my shifts.) While these tend to be fairly small points individually, they add up to something that will exacerbate any underlying problems you have.
It is worth noting that my mother told me late last year (I’m nearly thirty!) that she isn’t religious and had been “passing” as Christian to avoid conflict with my father and with her perceived social roles outside the family (as a teacher, officer’s wife, parent, business owner etc.). Even when my atheism was causing me personal distress and conflict within the family, she felt she would lose status by admitting it or supporting me.