We were asked this month to reflect on this piece from the Huffington Post. It addresses an issue I think Sam Harris addressed best, but was a lovely springboard for thinking about chaplaincy. Or rather, why on earth I do this work.
The actual assignment: offer a brief reaction to Stenger's article, followed by your own reflection on the question of whether your not you believe science and religion can be reconciled...and why....with some additional thoughts on the issue of professional chaplaincy as a science. What are your thoughts/feelings on the idea chaplaincy becoming an outcome oriented, evidence based practice?
***************
The premise of Stenger's article is that science and
religion are fundamentally irreconcilable because religion is based on faith
(defined as belief in the absence of supportive evidence and even in the face
of contrary evidence), while science is based on observations derived from
methodical application and testing of rules and descriptive models. Further, Stenger states that science claims
success in representing the world based on its accuracy (“practical success”)
and objective repeatability, while religion justifies its success in
representing the world by "logical deduction derived from dubious
metaphysical assumptions".
I would extend this to state that methodical application and
testing of rules and descriptive models has not provided any insight into the
afterlife or the concept of the spirit, so such things are not (presently) dealt
with scientifically. Science would
answer there is no afterlife or spirit because there is no evidence or
instructive model to support its existence.
Religion would say that evidence is derived from the tenets of faith
("dubious metaphysical assumptions") and as such do not need to be
objective or repeatable.
Thus, I find myself squarely in Stenger's camp. I believe reconciliation is neither possible
nor desirable. Most especially, I agree
with him (and his echo of my favorite atheist , Sam Harris) when he speaks of
the dangers of religion:
"Religious
faith would not be such a negative force in society if it were just about
religion. However, the magical thinking that becomes deeply ingrained whenever
faith rules over facts warps all areas of life. It produces a frame of mind in
which concepts are formulated with deep passion but without the slightest
attention paid to the evidence that bears on the concept. Nowhere is this more
evident than in America today where the large majority of the public hold on to
a whole set of beliefs despite the total lack of evidence to support these
beliefs and, indeed, strong evidence that denies them. Magical thinking and
blind faith are the worst mental system we can apply under these circumstances.
They allow the most outrageous lies to be accepted as facts."
In reading Stenger I am mindful of my fundamental discomfort
with religion. Speaking with a
considerable amount of critical judgment, I would say that I experience
religion as a chosen set of blinders, a mental burka whose dictates constrains
movement and limit vision.
By contrast, I experience Buddhist practice as a science of
mind. Faith is not engaged. Instead, a worldview is expressed and
practitioners are invited to test it out in their lives. A series of teachings (the insights from the
explorations of others), practices, and community are offered to support the
exploration. Meditation, dharma talks, student/teacher dialog, bowing, chanting
exist as tools to foster being able to
experience the mind, a mind embodied in and influenced by flesh, in a way that
is objective and repeatable, as demonstrated by Buddhist practitioners for over
2500 years.
For me the experience of Buddhist practice is an opening of
the heart, an intention to dedicate my life to being fully present for all that
it offers, and a natural movement toward compassionate action. Faith is not engaged. In fact, I am struck by a colleague's statement in a recent class that it is perhaps "imagination" that is
engaged. This may be true, i.e., that
Buddhist practice fosters the capacity to connect imaginatively to another, to
all others.
But wait. Here I find
myself on the edge of a deep hole.
Is Buddhism a religion or not?
Buddhism may not ask that I take anything on faith, but it does points
toward an experience of "enlightenment". Enlightenment implies a transcendent
experience - something that goes beyond the self, which is scholar Karen
Armstrong’s definition of a religion. I
find I am more comfortable with this definition because Buddhism does not ask
that I believe in enlightenment, just that I see if I can experience for
myself.
Whoops. I just
offered my strong discomfort with religion only to find that I am wrapped in
it. The comments
of a favorite Buddhist blogger remind me why I am rootless in this
argument: answering this question is not
the point. The point is to be mindful of
the emotional, intellectual, and physical baggage that I bring to any moment:
It's said that the only way to understand Buddhism is to practice it. Through practice, one perceives its transformative power. A Buddhism that remains in the realm of concepts and ideas is not Buddhism. The robes, ritual and other trappings of religion are not a corruption of Buddhism, as some imagine, but expressions of it. There's a Zen story in which a professor visited a Japanese master to inquire about Zen. The master served tea. When the visitor's cup was full, the master kept pouring. Tea spilled out of the cup and over the table. "The cup is full!" said the professor. "No more will go in!" "Like this cup," said the master, "You are full of your own opinions and speculations. How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup?" If you want to understand Buddhism, empty your cup.
My experience of chaplaincy is as a response to the practice
of Buddhism, i.e., an opportunity to live my vows that goes beyond and enriches
my day-to-day existence (a practical form of transcendence!). As practiced, chaplaincy is a conscious
effort to address the cheesecloth of religious consolation that is accessed by
those in the hospital. Patients, confronted with loss, change, and a
contemplation of mortality, work to shape the fabric of religion to their need;
sometimes, often, it does not serve.
Chaplains are present for that effort.
As such, I understand that chaplains do not operate as
representatives of a particular faith, but as a supportive witness to the human
effort of sense-making when confronting dis-ease. As people who understand the arguments of
many faiths, they support the patient's exploration and effort to make of their
thoughts and beliefs, a whole cloth.
So is chaplaincy a science? To the extent that we are
committed to an accurate description of what we are encountering, articulating
models of engagement that can be tested, and honing practice based on those
models - possibly. But where is that
commitment? Where is the consistent,
objective, accurate means of measurement?
And where is the proof that exercising a scientific approach in this
realm makes a difference in the lives of patients or in the effectiveness of
the healthcare team?
In truth, I feel that outcomes-oriented chaplaincy is more
of a religion asking that I take on faith that there is a model and a set of
practices that are distinct to the field of chaplaincy that apply accurately to
the religious/spiritual needs of the diverse patients I encounter.
Psychotherapy has models and evidence because its indicators
are how a patient functions in the world.
There is a comparison to a baseline normal that can be objectively
assessed. It may not exist in chaplaincy
not because we are late to the field, but because we are dealing with issues of
transcendence. How do we measure
that? What is the way we measure an
intact spirit? How do we track the
outcome or the experience of a good death?
If not a science, chaplains can still seek to operate as
professionals guided by a philosophy of practice that is thoughtful and
systematic. To do so reflects a
commitment to ethics and a willingness to be transparent about our aims and
methods. And it leaves room for what is
considerable art in this practice.
Interestingly this is not dissimilar to the challenge I
presently face in the library field – a field that tiresomely enough began
referring to itself as “library and information science” about 20 years
ago. I go about saying that good things
happen in libraries everyday. My current job, which involves seeking determining
which programs to develop and fund, requires that I prove and quantify the good.
Careful assessment of project outcomes does not make my work
a science. It makes it professional,
thoughtful, and potentially more valuable to the communities I serve. Do I need to seek for more?
The work of a chaplain can alleviate suffering. As in library science there is education,
ethics, and accepted practices. Do we
need to seek for more?
