The Unchooseable Choice?

But we need to pause here and retrace our steps somewhat, because there’s a complication to the story – a complication I call the ‘unchooseable choice’ condition. It is true that people today speak of belief in God as something that one chooses for oneself. But there’s a contradiction here, too. People also characteristically speak of being religious or not as something about themselves that they can’t change and that just ‘is’ – like their eye-colour or race. They will say ‘I am not a religious person’. Philosopher Alain de Botton recently spoke of his unbelief as if it was inescapable fact about him that was not at all open to revision or question regardless of any choice he might make. Religious beliefs, or the lack of them, are something deeply ingrained in us from childhood to the degree that we can close off a conversation about religious matters by simply referring to this state of affairs. So, we have a choice that, ironically, many people feel they can’t choose. 

This condition is part of a deeper paradox at the heart of the culture of the west. It’s a paradox which reverberates right through western politics, science, economics and education, and which has no obvious philosophical solution. It’s this: one the one hand, we exalt the notion of human autonomous free will. It’s a fine idea, alright: liberty is an aspiration which lends the human individual dignity and enables us to talk about the rights and duties we owe each other regardless of skin colour or gender. The freedom to pursue happiness is the basis of our consumer economy, and of our system of justice, in which we hold individuals largely responsible for their actions as far as we can. We expect it from each other. And yet at the same time, various branches of human knowledge are offering powerful descriptions of the human condition as entirely and comprehensively determined by factors outside of our control – whether that be genes, natural selection, brain chemistry, our parents or whatever else. So, the whole idea of free choice may turn out to be a grand illusion. (see Sam Harris)

There’s a false dilemma here. True, the idea of picking through the various religious options, testing each as if you were evaluating the ripeness of an avocado in the supermarket, is an appealing myth, but nothing more. We’d love to think of ourselves as standing independently over all the possible choices and selecting one (or none) with a dispassionate logic and complete freedom.

But the reality is of course that we don’t do anything of the kind. We are a bundle of predispositions and preferences, marked by our experiences and relationships and shaped by our genetic makeup. When we choose, we make a decision in media res, in the middle of things, with time ticking away and with events swirling all around us. And yet, even if we can’t give a clear philosophical account of why the things we choose to do are real choices, we still have the felt experience of evaluating options and making decisions. It’s a felt experience of decision-making for which we feel (mostly) responsible – except in extreme circumstances, when someone’s drug addiction or abusive relationship with their father has distorted the choosing. In these cases it is up to the individual to explain how their experience of decision was inhibited or distorted. 

Which means: human beings are capable of evaluating their own decision-making processes – of engaging in self-reflection to the degree that people can give an account for their preferences and biases, and perhaps revising them. While our imagined ability to survey all our options from a neutral standpoint is false, to us is given the ability to reflect on ourselves as choosers and knowers. The gift of human self-consciousness bestows on us this perspective at least; and to that we should add that, as social and historical beings, we have the benefit of others to help us.

Of course, the decision for a particular faith or against it is felt by 21^st century people to be a highly personal one – as personal as one’s sexual preferences or taste in music. That is also a by-product of the Reformation period – the after-effect of a change in theological outlook. That’s not to say that the choice is simply a matter of personal preference, but that it is felt by many people to be a very private and internal matter. The old cliché about not mentioning religion, sex and politics as the three taboo subjects is very much in force – especially regarding religion. Even sex is talked about in public with less reticence. Public preachers and door knockers are the height of bad taste. It is also very much the case that the spectre of violent religious disagreement hangs over our culture. If we are to live at peace with one another, then it might be better if religion were held to be a purely private matter and not for public discussion. 

But I think  that we are greatly impoverished by this secretive and private attitude to matters of faith. While it protects us to a degree, it renders us inarticulate about some of the most profound experiences that are given to human beings. We are not challenged in the biggest questions of our lives to think more deeply because we prefer not to discuss them from fear of disagreement. We are crippled by this social convention. Personal need not mean entirely private.