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When we were in elementary school, my friends and I loved to go on the swings at recess. Few playground thrills could rival that sensation of whipping through the air, light and fast, creating a rush of wind in our ears even on still days. We would swing up really high, high enough to get that little "roller coaster dip" in our stomachs when we dropped back down. And then, when the playground monitors weren’t looking, we would jump. We went for it. We said yes to that joy of soaring through the air, abandoning ourselves to the sense of openness and flight, even if only for a brief moment.
If we weren’t careful, though, all of this fun would be rudely interrupted. We would be spotted by one of the safety monitors on the playground. They would come over looking all mad and mean, and they would yell at us and tell us not to jump off the swings. Shamed and sulking, we would comply, at least for a while. But in our minds, the battle lines had been drawn. Those playground monitors were our enemies—enemies of our freedom. They didn’t want us to have any fun.
For some people, religion feels like one of those uptight playground monitors. It comes with rigid and arbitrary rules, threats of punishment, and abundant opportunities for shame. In religious services, we learn that we have to be quiet and still. Sit when others sit and stand when others stand. Memorize these doctrines. Recite this. Don’t do that. Don’t think that. Don’t feel that.
No wonder so many people experience religion as a heavy burden. Why put yourself in a situation where you’re going to be straitjacketed by rules, guilt-tripped for any failure to conform, and shushed for expressing an opinion? What a drag. Under these conditions, religion could start to seem like the ultimate wet blanket, one that has the aim of dampening and souring our enjoyment of life. Mercy and salvation we can hope for, but probably not freedom and fun.
Rules are usually designed to help us regulate or control our behavior. And there does seem to be a link between being religious and showing greater self-control, as shown recently in a major Psychological Bulletin review article by Michael McCulloughand Brian Willoughby. But does a strong link with self-control imply a problem with religion, or might it also point to a potential benefit? Within the field of psychology, self-control has gotten a pretty good name for itself these days. For example, Roy Baumeister and John Tierney recently wrote a book entitled Willpower: Rediscovering the Greatest Human Strength, which became a New York Times bestseller. This book, based on decades of research, shows how self-control can help us to focus our energies, protect ourselves from harm, and reach important goals.
Some parts of religion, then, may help people by providing guidelines to help them cultivate self-control. At their best, religious rules won’t merely bind people and strip them of their power. Instead, they can serve as signposts, leading people toward lifestyles that are virtuous, meaningful, and satisfying.
Yet despite their potential perks, rules probably don’t form the deep core of religious faith. When traced back to their source, many religious guidelines, rituals, and teachings stem from dynamic spiritual encounters. At some point, a person had an experience of transcendence. This person saw, heard, or sensed something or someone that seemed truly beyond this world: mysterious, boundless, infinite. This experience came first. The rules came later.
I also wonder whether devoted pursuit of what is infinite could actually increase our freedom rather than taking it away. If we choose to chase after the source of life, the ground of our existence, the very origin of our freedom, then aren’t we actually saying yes to freedom? Perhaps, in a sense, freedom might even become the rule.
In response to the infinite, saying yes wouldn’t have to feel like that grudging submission to the playground monitor. It might actually be more like accepting an invitation to leap, to soar, to fly.
I can feel that rush of wind in my ears.
