The End of Faith by Sam Harris

Dividing people into groups for simplicity's sake is a dangerous practice. Phrases that begin with "There are two kinds of people in the world..." usually result in either a punch line or a punch thrown. However, Sam Harris's book The End of Faith is relevant to three different groups of people: those who believe in a god (or gods), those who do not, and those who aren't sure. That covers nearly everyone, except for maybe the Heaven's Gate cult, who believed in a cocktail of Star Trek and cyanide.

If you've already heard about this book--and you might have, as it spent thirty-three weeks on the New York Times Bestseller List and many weeks more Making People Angry--you may have already passed judgement, no matter to which of the above three groups you might belong. If this is the first you've heard, the title has probably already provoked a rejoinder of sorts. I urge you to suspend judgement for long enough to read the book--the entire book--because Harris will surprise you, especially toward the end.

Around the same time that The End of Faith was published, several other books on the topic of non-theism were released, books that some refer to as works of "New Atheism." Harris's book is different from other books in that grouping in a couple of ways.

Harris quotes Sayyid Qutb: "The Koran points to another contemptible characteristic of the Jews: their craven desire to live, no matter at what price and regardless of quality, honor, and dignity" (p. 123).  Harris calls this statement "a miracle of concision," a statement that is, in itself, a miracle of concision, as is Harris's entire book. It's as clear, honest, and well-argued as a book can be. While reading, I had the sensation that Harris had gathered the loose threads of my stray thoughts and handed them to me in a bunch. Not only that, but he tied balloons to the ends of those threads, so not only did I have a bunch of balloons where I'd had nothing, but buoyancy as well.

The second way in which The End of Faith stands apart from other books of the sort is that, while Harris does argue that reason and faith are adversaries, he's a proponent of spirituality. He writes at some length about meditation and Buddhism in a way that is neuro-scientific instead of new age-y, and what he has to say about consciousness may change yours.  If the thesis of this book seems too contrary to your own position, this--Chapter 7--may be the easiest starting place.

I don't want to do Harris the disservice of poorly reconstructing his argument, or of poking about the incredible structure of that argument with this blog's flimsy stick, but I hope you read the book. The subject may be a touchy one, but it's important to almost all of us, no matter which "kind of people" we are. Even if you think Mr. Harris has climbed aboard the hell-bound handbasket, there's no harm in reading an argument that challenges your own perspective. If he can't persuade you on at least a few points, he may push you to be more thorough in your own argument. If you're thinking about killing yourself next time a comet passes, perhaps Harris can shake your faith in that belief before you pour the cyanide syrup on your pancakes.

Overall Chainsaw Rating:

   

Some Explanation is Required

There was a time in my life when I was more OCD than I am now, and during that time I kept lists for practically everything. In fact, one summer I kept a list of everything I did each day, and at the summer's end I tallied those lists and combined them into a single master list of summer activities. Then I knew that I'd eaten ice cream twenty-seven times, jumped in the lake sixteen, watched fireworks once, etc. I came across this list a few years ago and had the good sense to perceive its meaninglessness--its utter dedication to form and disregard to content--and to throw it out. At the same time I threw out a list I wish I'd kept; a list of all the books I read from middle school through college. This list was more a memory aid, which I wish for more and more often as my memory gets worse and worse.

I said all of that to say that during many of those years in which the book list was kept, I read an average of eighty books per year. I would finish books like Atlas Shrugged and Infinite Jest in less than two weeks. Well, things have changed, and I spend a lot more time drinking beer now than I did when I was young, so sometimes a week passes without the turning of a single page. This has something to do with how the flow of this blog has slowed. However, I'd also like to blame some of that on this:

The pencil is included in this photograph a) for scale and b) because it's what I use to prop the pages open so I don't throw my back out holding them apart manually. 

This is Joseph McElroy's Women and Men, and I've been reading it since last I posted. I'd tell you where my bookmark is if it weren't so embarrassing. Let's just say I'm closing in the end of the first sixth.

In any case, as a kind of breather, I began this book this week:

I plan to say more about it later, but you're welcome to read some first impressions of it by clicking here.

Just so you know, Women and Men isn't bad or dull, it's just so heavy that my commute to the coffee shop is now forty minutes instead of ten, so I barely have time to read before I have to come slog back home.