In his seminal essay, “Monotheism and Its Discontents,” Gore Vidal provided readers with a perceptive definition of the word “radical.” “The word ‘radical’ derives from the Latin word for root. Therefore, if you want to get to the root of anything you must be radical,” he wrote. Much like Vidal, the late Christopher Hitchens was very radical, per this definition: a person indefatigably dedicated to getting to the root of a problem— political, historical, philosophical. Of the “New Atheists,” a term derived to describe a group of public figures whose open critique of religion took hold in the popular consciousness of the early 21st century, Christopher Hitchens was certainly the most interesting. A man of privileged background and Oxford education, he nevertheless threw himself into the jagged edges of the previous century as an iconoclastic journalist, essayist, and cultural critic. When not lambasting odious figures like former Secretary of State (and war criminal) Henry Kissinger or the habitual liar Bill Clinton, Hitchens turned his scathing eye, and pen, towards another phenomenon of deceit, control, and immorality: religion.
His book, The Missionary Position: Mother Teresa in Theory and Practice (1995), blew apart the personality cult of the nun from Calcutta. Per his investigations, Mother Teresa was a deeply problematic figure who shook hands with dictators, took money from career swindlers, and was a fanatical devotee of the principle of suffering, something she would carry into her work with the poor, sick, and dying. Regarding Mother Teresa’s impact, Hitchens wrote, “her success is not, therefore, a triumph of humility and simplicity. It is another chapter in a millennial story which stretches back to the superstitious childhood of our species, and which depends on the exploitation of the simple and the humble by the cunning and the single-minded.” His writing on Mother Teresa was seen as controversial, since most of the general public judged her by her reputation rather than by her actions— something that leaders of all stripes, whether they be religious, political, or cultural, often enjoy.
With the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001 and the rise of theocracy in America ever present in his mind, Hitchens set out to finally crystallize in print what he had been writing about all his life: how religion can degrade, defame, and dehumanize us all. The outcome of this rumination was arguably his most popular work, god is not Great (2007). I first read this book in 2009 as a freshman in college who had recently discovered the history and philosophy of atheism. Its biting prose, thoroughgoing wit, and moral center galvanized me. A lot of things have happened in the ensuing years, including Hitchens’ untimely death from cancer in 2011, so I found it exciting, as well as challenging, to revisit such an iconic work in the history of secular literature. While some of my own views on religion and politics differ sharply from Hitchens, I still found god is not Great a pleasurable and enlightening read. Despite a reputation as a prickly, confrontational interlocutor in public debates on religion, Hitchens’ deep love for humanity came through on every page, as he profoundly cared about what our potential could be when not shackled by dogmatism, superstition, and irrational thinking.
He opens the book with a bit of autobiography. His primary school teacher, one Mrs. Jean Watts was a “good, sincere, simple woman, of stable and honest faith,” whose own views on religion and nature shook nine-year-old Christopher to the core. When she attributed the colors of the trees to God’s knowledge of what would be pleasurable to the human eye, Hitchens wrote, “I simply knew, as if I had privileged access to a higher authority, that my teacher had managed to get everything wrong in just two sentences. The eyes were adjusted to nature, and not the other way about.” Even as a child, Hitchens appeared uncomfortable with simple answers to complex questions, something he would carry with him for the rest of his life. He shared this story with readers, especially those of faith, so they understood that his objections to religion came not from abuse or indoctrination, but from an earnest desire to know the truth as best as he could. Hitchens was unnerved not by what religion had done to him, but by what it had done to others.
Hitchens lays out in clear detail exactly what his issue with religion is, namely that it requires faith; as he said elsewhere, “of all the supposed virtues, faith must be the most overrated.” He expounded on the issue of faith in god is not Great:
There still remain four irreducible objections to religious faith: that it wholly misrepresents the origins of man and the cosmos, that because of this original error it manages to combine the maximum of servility with the maximum of solipsism, that it is both the result and the cause of dangerous sexual repression, and that it is ultimately grounded on wish-thinking.
All of these phenomena are deeply problematic to thinking and empathetic people, hence why Hitchens’ tone comes off so strident. Humanity is at its worst when we give in to parochialism, credulity, and arrogance, and religion is one of the key elements that combines all of these together. Yes, there are religious traditions that are more open, tolerant, and progressive, but in mainstream society they are often pushed to the margins. It is the fundamentalists, the bible-thumpers clad in white who seek to separate you from your conscience and your last dollar, who take center stage. This is who Hitchens was speaking out against— the faithful fanatic who rejects enlightenment and welcomes darkness.
In the chapter, “Religion Kills,” Hitchens provided readers with a world tour of religious strife and violence. In response to a question posed to him by ultra-conservative radio host Dennis Prager, that of “how safe would you feel on the street if you saw a group of men leaving a religious congregation in front of you,” Hitchens replied with many real-world examples he had experienced as a journalist in cities starting with just the letter b. In Belfast, Ireland, Hitchens saw first-hand “whole streets burned out by sectarian warfare between different sects of Christianity, and interviewed people whose relatives and friends have been kidnapped and killed or tortured by rival religious death squads, often for no other reason than membership of another confession.” In Beirut, Lebanon, he saw intense religious conflict as a result of its religiously sectarian government. These clashes continued on and on in places like Belgrade, Serbia, Bombay (now Mumbai), India, Bethlehem, Israel, and of course, Baghdad, Iraq, where the tyrant Saddam Hussein “had decked out his whole rule— which was based in any case on a tribal minority of the Sunni minority— as one of piety and jihad.” While there were religious and cultural leaders in each location who stood against such barbarity, “the general reluctance of clerical authorities to issue unambiguous condemnation, whether it is the Vatican in the case of Croatia or the Saudi or Iranian leaderships in the case of their respective confessions, is uniformly disgusting.” To be fair, religion has been used since time immemorial for political ends, and the intricate and complex nature of international politics, of warring imperialisms, must be accounted for. Nevertheless, the cynical and anti-humanistic employment of religious extremism in the service of political ends is something every thinking person should denounce, as Hitchens did here.
In a later chapter, “The Metaphysical Claims of Religion Are False,” Hitchens examined the root of religion in the first place: what it claims about the universe, the earth, and everyone on it. Some detractors of Hitchens, like literary critic Terry Eagleton, argue that religion isn’t in the science business, that it’s not interested in trying to describe the cosmos. “Science and theology are for the most part not talking about the same kind of things,” wrote Eagleton in his book, Reason, Faith, and Revolution: Reflections on the God Debate (2009), “any more than orthodontics and literary criticism are. This is one reason for the grotesque misunderstandings that arise between them.” This position is generally called the “NOMA” argument, short for “Non-Overlapping Magisteria,” as coined by paleontologist Stephen Jay Gould in his work, Rocks of Ages: Science and Religion in the Fullness of Life (1999). Since theology is often in the eye of the beholder, there’s some truth to this, but there’s also evidence to the contrary, as Hitchens described. Religions have made explicit claims about the world, like the Earth being the center of the universe, and those who tried to challenge this belief, like Galileo, were ostracized or even killed for their objections. As Hitchens wrote, “Galileo might have been unmolested in his telescopic work if he had not been so unwise as to admit that it had cosmological implications.” As we grow our understanding of the cosmos, Hitchens concluded, religion’s specific claims about it become less and less credible, and god worship becomes something it hasn’t been for most of human history— optional. “What believers will do, now that their faith is optional and private and irrelevant,” Hitchens elaborated, “is a matter for them. We should not care, as long as they make no further attempt to inculcate religion by any form of coercion.”
Knowing that our existence is not left to the capriciousness of a god, we are truly left to decide for ourselves what the future holds, and with it the possibilities of human progress. “If our presence here, in our present form, is indeed random and contingent,” Hitchens declared, “then at least we can consciously look forward to the further evolution of our poor brains, and to stupendous advances in medicine and life extension, derived from work on our elementary stem cells and umbilical-cord blood cells.” The capacity to improve our lives and our societies is left open to us, and for some, this is overwhelming. Our track record as of late definitely leaves many of us wanting, but our trust in the capacity for improvement, not pollyannaish optimism but a hopeful perspective tempered by experience, is more desirable than leaving everything up to a god that likely doesn’t exist.
Turning his eye to the big three monotheisms, Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, Hitchens spends a sizable portion of god is not Great analyzing the most objectionable aspects of their holy texts. He started with the Old Testament, laying the groundwork with a bit of exegesis on the nature of religious “revelations”:
Since all of these revelations, many of them hopelessly inconsistent, cannot by definition be simultaneously true, it must follow that some of them are false and illusory. It could also follow that only one of them is authentic, but in the first place this seems dubious and in the second place it appears to necessitate religious war in order to decide whose revelation is the true one.
One example from the Old Testament that is almost certainly not true is the Exodus story, which archaeologists like Israel Finkelstein have debunked with thoroughgoing evidence. “There was no flight from Egypt, no wandering in the desert (let alone for the incredible four-decade length of time mentioned in the Pentateuch), and no dramatic conquest of the Promised Land. It was all, quite simply and very ineptly, made up at a much later date,” Hitchens explained. While there is evidence that Jewish people lived in Palestine at the time of Exodus, “all the Mosaic myths can be safely and easily discarded.”
So that’s the Old Testament, but what about the New Testament? Is it any better in its conclusions? In Hitchens’ estimation, the New Testament isn’t any better than the old one, and in some respects, it is worse. Alongside the composition of the New Testament ensuring that Old Testament prophecies were fulfilled (especially those related to Jesus), the Gospels often contradict one another on pertinent details, such as the crucifixion and resurrection. In regards to Jesus as a historical figure, a clear story cannot be found in the New Testament. As Hitchens wrote:
The best argument I know for the highly questionable existence of Jesus is this. His illiterate living disciples left us no record and in any event could not have been “Christians,” since they were never to read those later books in which Christians must affirm belief, and in any case had no idea that anyone would ever found a church on their master’s announcements. (There is scarcely a word in any of the later-assembled Gospels to suggest that Jesus wanted to be the founder of a church, either.)
Reputable Biblical scholars like Bart Ehrman err on the side of caution in this debate, arguing that a figure like Jesus likely existed, but the historical record is nevertheless quite muddled. Additionally, some of the most famous sayings from Jesus were likely never uttered by him. Citing Ehrman, Hitchens recalled the story of Jesus in the book of John where he says, “He this is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her,” referring to a woman accused of adultery. Based on the best available evidence, this iconic phrase from Jesus was not originally in the gospel of John and added later. Therefore, the Bible is a deeply human, and not divinely written or inspired, work of literature.
The Koran and the Hadith, the holy books of Islam, fare no better under Hitchens’ scrutiny. His core insight on these texts is that they are largely plagiarized works, copying vast stretches of the Bible and other non-canonical texts of Judeo-Christian origin. Referring to the research of Ignaz Goldziher and Resa Aslan, Hitchens noted that the Hadith contains “verses from the Torah and the Gospels, bits of Rabbinic sayings, ancient Persian maxims, passages of Greek philosophy, Indian proverbs, and even an almost word for word reproduction of the Lord’s Prayer.” This is not surprising, given that religions are not revelatory but evolutionary: new faiths often build explicitly upon old faiths to inculcate followers and obtain a bit of unearned prestige. In reference to this point, Hitchens wrote, “Islam effectively disowns the idea that it is a new faith, let alone a cancellation of the earlier ones, and it uses the prophecies of the Old Testament and the Gospels of the New like a perpetual crutch or fund, to be leaned on or drawn upon.” Once again, Hitchens implored his readers to see religious texts for what they are, as human creations full of contradiction and confabulation.
While religious ideas may be outmoded and their holy books a hodge-podge of myth and poor history, many still like the appeal of religion for moral concerns. This is a compelling argument, at first glance. Religion, so this narrative goes, can nudge people to be kind, charitable, and concerned about others. Many religious figures in history certainly fill this description. Hitchens used Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. as an example of this trend. King’s commitment to a theology rooted in liberation and equality is a standard that any person of conscience can emulate. But as Hitchens adroitly noted, “many of King’s inner circle and entourage were secular Communists and socialists who had been maneuvering the ground for a civil rights movement for several decades.” Also, King’s steadfast dedication to non-violence came from Ghandi, whose religious ideas were strikingly different from King’s. In the final analysis, Hitchens argued that King’s vision was a humanistic one, guided by human universals of empathy, compassion, and tolerance. While I certainly agree that King was a humanist, he did learn his humanism through a variety of sources, both religious and non-religious. I think it is a bit of an overstep to say that King’s liberation theology had nothing to do with it. Either way, Hitchens’ broader point that you don’t need religion to be moral is well taken, and in some instances, being religious can influence people to commit horrible acts, such as slavery, genocide, and terrorism. Religions cannot be true simply through the virtuous things its believers may do, since many believers will do, and have done, the exact opposite.
As many people reject the monotheisms of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, their gazes travel eastward, in search of another form of spiritual fulfillment. Hitchens, yet again, saw this is a fool’s errand. One example of the extreme end of eastern spirituality is the cult of Bhagwan Sri Rajneesh, known to the world today by his less-pretentious moniker, “Osho.” Rajneesh, a leader who required his followers to abandon all material possessions while simultaneously maintaining an impressive fleet of Rolls-Royce automobiles, placed an emphasis on sex and transcendence. In 1983, he left India to start a community in Antelope, Oregon, which has since become the focus of an excellent documentary series on Netflix, Wild, Wild Country. As Hitchens explained, ““The local inhabitants were disconcerted to find an armed compound being erected in their neighborhood, with unsmiling orange-garbed security forces.” After attempting to take over the city council and poisoning its local inhabitants, the Rajneesh cult fell apart and many of its members became the focus of criminal investigations. The leader returned to India, where he died in 1990.
Another example of the pernicious influence of eastern religion is the connection between Buddhism, Shintoism, and fascism in Japan. In the conflict between imperial Japan and China, which then bled over into WWII, “Buddhist and Shinto priests [who] were recruiting and training the suicide bombers, or Kamikaze (‘Divine Wind’), fanatics, assuring them that the emperor was a ‘Golden Wheel-Turning Sacred King,’ one indeed of the four manifestations of the ideal Buddhist monarch and a Tathagata, or ‘fully enlightened being,’ of the material world.” Citing Brian Victoria's research into these connections, Hitchens concluded, “Japanese Buddhism became a loyal servant—even an advocate—of imperialism and mass murder, and that it did so, not so much because it was Japanese, but because it was Buddhist.” While there are certainly examples of Buddhists who weren’t fascists and actively resisted such barbarism (the monk who set himself on fire to protest the imperial war in Vietnam comes to mind), there are also instances where the supposed ‘enlightened’ faiths of the east led societies toward violence and barbarism.
At this point, the religious might ask of us secularists, “but what about Hitler, Stalin, and other totalitarian leaders who were ostensibly secular in their outlook? Shouldn’t they be held accountable for their crimes?” Hitchens clearly said, “yes.” As he wrote in the chapter devoted to this question, “secular totalitarianism has actually provided us with the summa of human evil. The examples most in common use—those of the Hitler and Stalin regimes—show us with terrible clarity what can happen when men usurp the role of gods.”
Regarding the Third Reich, its leaders interest in cultivating a relationship with the Catholic Church, in the form support from Pope Pius XII, as well as moving society towards a pagan cult of “pseudo-Nordic blood rites and sinister race myths,” demonstrated a far more religious attitude than a secular one. As for Stalin, he reinforced the “papal routine of making science conform to dogma, by insisting that the shaman and charlatan Trofim Lysenko had disclosed the key to genetics and promised extra harvests of specially inspired vegetables,” which led to the deaths of millions. Also, the cult of Lenin, wherein the Soviet Union’s founding revolutionary became almost a mystical figure in the form of statues, posters, and other forms of propaganda, appeared as a recreated form of religious inculcation.
Hitchens rightly noted that “humanism has many crimes for which to apologize.” He doesn’t explicitly say what these are, which is a flaw of the book, so I will attempt to outline them here. Humanism, of which I consider myself an adherent, partly led to the development of terrible ideologies that plagued the modern world, especially in the 20th century. Eugenics, race science, atomic weapons— all products of the unbridled deployment of instrumental reason— are tied to a grossly misguided, but nevertheless humanist impulse to improve the world and create a more scientifically-based society. Knowing that this is the case is vital to improving what humanism means for us in the 21st century, an age facing numerous crises, from climate change to the rise of neo-fascism. Hitchens acknowledged this, further noting that humanism “can apologize for [its crimes], and also correct them, in its own terms and without having to shake or challenge the basis of any unalterable system of belief.” Totalitarianism, on the other hand, is built upon unalterable ‘truths’ that cannot be challenged and reinforces the fundamentalist impulse towards ignorance, bigotry, and backwardness.
So, what is to be done with religion? I, for one, hope for three possible outcomes: benevolence, irrelevance, and/or nonexistence. To elaborate, religion can be benevolent, helping the marginalized and fighting for a more just world; irrelevant in that its dictates don’t influence science or public policy; or nonexistent, succumbing to the same fate as the proverbial dodo. I think any combination of these will lead towards a better world, for both believers and nonbelievers. As for Hitchens, he called for a “renewed Enlightenment, which will base itself on the proposition that the proper study of mankind is man, and woman. This Enlightenment will not need to depend, like its predecessors, on the heroic breakthroughs of a few gifted and exceptionally courageous people. It is within the compass of the average person.” What Hitchens called for is not just humanistic, but deeply democratic— imploring all people to fight back against fundamentalism, religious bigotry, and scientific illiteracy. We certainly have our work cut out for us in the United States, as our religious attitudes put us far out of the norm of industrialized countries, but Hitchens’ dogged optimism for the prospects of reason gives us a model to emulate.
To be fair, I do have my disagreements with Hitchens. His support for the disastrous War in Iraq was particularly short-sighted. How could someone who understood the pernicious influence of Christian evangelicals in the American government so enthusiastically support them when they sought to invade Iraq? The thousands of Iraqi and American lives lost and the billions of dollars wasted on that needless war show that the enemy of my enemy is indeed not my friend, and Hitchens should’ve known better. Additionally, Hitchens often analyzes religion more with passion than with persuasion. There are many religious traditions, from the liberation theology of someone like Cornel West or the secular Buddhism of Stephen Batchelor, which challenge the “religion poisons everything” paradigm. Religion, in my estimation, is a lot like technology: it can be used for good, as Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. did, or it can be used for evil, like Jim Jones did. It is vital that we make this distinction, as there are secular people who are as reactionary, racist, and retrograde as any religious believer. Hitchens often does this in god is not Great, but then retreats into the simpler binary of “religion bad, secularism good,” undermining the attempt at nuance.
While I see the aforementioned criticisms as valid, it is important to remember that polemicists like Hitchens are here to galvanize as much as enlighten; his book is a call to arms as much as it is a lecture. He’s challenging the religious status quo, which for most of human history has not been pretty, and in that task, we should applaud him. While many believers are bothered by his strident critique of religion, they should nevertheless heed his warnings about the deleterious effects of fundamentalism, especially in public life. Hitchens had far less respect for religion than I do, but his commitment to human rights and the defense of an open, free society are something to celebrate. Despite his acerbic, tactless appearance on the surface, Hitchens can be read in the best light as a humanist, dedicated to the Enlightenment project of democracy, liberty, and tolerance. At his worst, Hitchens can be read as a cultural imperialist and elitist whose sniveling disdain for religion displays actual intolerance. Like with most people, I think Hitchens is somewhere in the middle, bolstered by his better angels and hampered by his inner demons. Regardless of your feelings on Hitchens, he’s one of the most profoundly engaging, entertaining, and enlightening public intellectuals of the last half century, and god is not Great might be his most enduring work.