can anyone do at least 750 words summary assignment on book called Religion its Core Psychological Function??

C h a p t e r 9

Religion Its Core Psychological Functions

C. DANIEL BATSON E. L. STOCKS

Here is the real core of the religious problem: Help! Help!

—WILLIAM JAMES, The Varieties of Religious Experience (1902, p. 137)

Religion may be broadly defined as whatever a person does to deal with existential questions. Existential questions are those that arise from our awareness that we and others like us are alive and that we will die. They are questions that arise from our awareness of what is sometimes called the human predicament. Examples of existential questions include the following: What is the meaning and purpose of my life? What is my responsibility to others? How do I deal with the fact that I am going to die? What should I do about my shortcomings? These questions refer to matters we care about deeply but cannot fully con- trol. Often, but certainly not always, answers to these questions invoke some higher power (e.g., God) or spiritual force. They come in the form of religious myth, ritual, and practice. They appeal to a dimension of reality beyond the everyday.

Existential questions rise out of a person–situation interaction. On the one hand, we humans have certain basic needs and desires; on the other, we live in a situation that is less than totally accommodating. Our physical and social environment poses problems as well as opportunities—hence, the human predicament. Existential questions take many different forms and reflect the range of different problems and opportunities provided by our envi- ronment. The core psychological functions of religion may, in turn, be characterized in terms of response to the existential questions raised by this range of human problems and opportunities.

Abraham Maslow (1954, 1970) provided one of the most comprehensive descriptions of human problems and opportunities. He proposed a hierarchy of basic conative (motiva- tional) needs, including physiological, safety, belongingness, esteem, and self-actualization

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needs. He also described basic cognitive needs to know and to understand. Maslow believed that as lower-level needs are met, higher-level needs emerge, although he did not consider this pattern invariant. Maslow’s analysis went well beyond the existing empirical evidence; it still does. We invoke his analysis not as an accurate and exhaustive description of human needs but as a broad heuristic frame on which to stretch our thinking about the psychological functions of religion.

We propose that religion in its various forms can function to address each of Maslow’s needs because each of these needs can raise existential questions. Table 9.1 presents exam- ples of the existential questions raised. We also propose that religion can function to chal- lenge the individual to transcend all of these needs through subjugation of oneself and one’s personal needs to a higher purpose or cause.

RELIGIOUS RESPONSES TO QUESTIONS RAISED BY HUMAN NEEDS

Physiological Needs

At the base of Maslow’s hierarchy of human needs are physiological needs, including needs for food, drink, warmth, sex, and so on, as well as the need to avoid pain. These needs are a product of the interaction between our biological nature and an environment that may pro- vide insufficient food and shelter, the chance for injury, and the possibility of disease.

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TABLE 9.1. Basic Psychological Needs and Resulting Existential Questions, Which Religion Can Function to Address

Psychological needs arising from person–situation interactiona Existential questions raised by these needs

Conative needs

Physiological needs—Needs for food, drink, warmth, sex, etc.

How do I satisfy my hunger and thirst? What if the crop fails? How do I stay warm and dry? How do I deal with this injury or disease?

Safety needs—Needs to keep oneself and one’s possessions safe.

What can and should I do to protect myself? Are there powerful forces that I can and should appeal to for safety? How can I control the future?

Belongingness and love needs—Needs to have a place in the social world, to be loved, and to love.

Where do I belong? Who are my people? Who loves me? Whom do I love? What is my responsibility to others?

Esteem needs—Needs for a sense of strength and competence, as well as for reputation, status, and appreciation.

Am I a person of worth? Am I valued by others? How am I to live with my shortcomings, mistakes, and inabilities?

Need for self-actualization—Need to become everything one is capable of becoming, to express one’s true nature.

What is my true nature? What will make me truly happy? How can I be fulfilled?

Cognitive needs

Need to know and understand—Need to have a sense of meaning and purpose in one’s life.

What is the meaning and purpose of my life? What will happen to me when I die? What should I do, given my inevitable death?

aAdapted from Maslow (1954, 1970).

Maslow (1970) considered these needs to be “the most prepotent of all needs” (p. 36). That is, “a person who is lacking food, safety, love, and esteem would most probably hunger for food more strongly than for anything else. . . . All other needs may become simply nonexis- tent or be pushed into the background” (Maslow, 1970, p. 37).

As Maslow noted, for the chronically hungry person, his or her vision of Utopia be- comes a place where there is plenty of food. In this observation, one catches a glimpse of the nature of existential questions raised by physiological needs and of the religious response. Existential questions raised by such needs are typically concrete and pointed: How do I sat- isfy my hunger and thirst? What do we do if the rains do not come and the crop fails? How do I stay warm and dry? How do I deal with this injury or disease?

If a person is confident that the environment is so benign that such problems can never arise, or that when they arise resources are at hand to meet them, then such questions are not existential; they are only practical. If, however, one believes that satisfaction of these needs is not fully under one’s control, these questions can become existential.

The religious response to such questions is often as concrete and pointed as the ques- tions themselves. Consider the prayer of a Native American chief:

Great Sun Power! I am praying for my people, that they may be happy in the summer and that they may live through the cold of winter. Many are sick and in want. Pity them, and let them sur- vive. Grant that they live long and have abundance. May we go through these ceremonies cor- rectly, as you taught our forefathers to do in the days that are past. If we make mistakes, pity us!

Help us, Mother Earth! For we depend upon your goodness. Let there be rain to water the prairies, that the grass may grow long and the berries be abundant.

O Morning Star! When you look down upon us, give us peace and refeshing sleep. Great Spirit! Bless our children, friends, and visitors through a happy life. May our trails lie

straight and level before us. Let us live to be old. We are all your children, and we ask these things with good hearts. (Burtt, 1957, p. 42)

In early civilizations, when the food supply was far from certain, planting was a time for religious rituals, a time to ask God or the gods for a successful crop. Harvest was a time for religious celebration and prayers of thanksgiving. If during the growing season rains did not come, people turned to priests and shamans to appeal for divine intervention. (In many farm communities, prayers for rain continue today, perhaps because the efficacy of such prayers is quite difficult to confirm or disconfirm—if one prays long enough, rain will fall.)

For nomadic herders and early farmers living in arid stretches of the Middle East, the Promised Land was often described as “a land flowing with milk and honey.” And who had promised this land? It was promised by Yahweh (God), the One who could provide manna in the Wilderness. The initial petition in the famous prayer Jesus taught his disciples, the Lord’s Prayer, is “give us this day our daily bread” (Matthew 6: 11). Offering a prayer of thanks to God before meals is less common today than a century ago, but the practice often reappears when disasters strike and food becomes scarce. Thanks to God for meeting our need for food was the basis for Abraham Lincoln’s proclamation that established Thanksgiving Day as a holiday in the United States.

Religious responses to sexual needs have been far less simple and direct. They run the gamut from (1) praying for God to provide a sexual partner to (2) asking God to help one resist sexual urges to (3) renouncing sex as a sign of religious devotion to (4) fulfilling one’s sexual desires either literally or symbolically in a religious context. In early religions it was not unusual to incorporate sexual activity into sacred ceremonies or to offer virgins to the

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gods. In the Middle Ages, nuns were consecrated as “brides of Christ.” Nor have seemingly incompatible responses to sexual desires been mutually exclusive, as is highlighted by recent revelations of the sexual activities of some celibate Catholic priests.

Psychologists studying religion have given some but not extensive attention to the role of religion in enabling individuals to address existential questions raised by physiological needs. Freud (1927/1964, 1930/1961) recognized this function of religion, even though he focused his attention more on religion as a response to safety needs. More recently, Pargament (1990, 1997; Pargament & Park, 1995), McIntosh and Spilka (1990), Koenig (Koenig & Cohen, 2002), and others have provided correlational evidence that at least some forms of religious activity and belief can help people cope with illness, disease, and disaster, and may promote physical health. Even when some of the more obvious confounds are con- trolled (e.g., demographic factors, socioeconomic status, social stress, and health status), modest positive correlations have been found (for a thoughtful review, see George, Ellison, & Larson, 2002).

What about those of us who are fortunate enough not to have to worry about where our next meal will come from, about where we will sleep, about staying warm, or about our health—at least for now? To the extent that we find our physiological needs satisfied, a ma- jor psychological function of religion becomes moot. This does not, however, mean that reli- gion ceases to serve important psychological functions. Rather, new needs arise that raise new existential questions. In Maslow’s (1970) words:

It is quite true that man lives by bread alone—when there is no bread. But what happens to man’s desires when there is plenty of bread and when his belly is chronically filled? At once other (and higher) needs emerge and these, rather than physiological hungers, dominate the organism. And when these in turn are satisfied, again new (and still higher) needs emerge, and so on. (p. 38, em- phasis in original)

Safety Needs

As soon as our stomachs are full and we have enough for the days to come, as soon as we have something to lose, concerns may arise about keeping our something and ourselves safe. Unless we are confident that we can forestall all threats—and who is, if we stop and think— we may find ourselves asking existential questions such as: What can and should I do to protect myself? Are there powerful forces that I can and should appeal to for safety? How can I control the future?

Threats, whether from nature, from our peers, or from signs of illness in our own bod- ies, lead us to fear the future and to wish for a world that is safe, reliable, and predictable. As children, we may have assumed that our parents could and would protect us. Once we begin to recognize their limitations, we may long to know that someone or something even more powerful is in control and has our welfare at heart. We may look to God or gods.

Many psychologists have recognized that religion can function to meet safety needs. Freud (1927/1964), in The Future of an Illusion, focused on religion as a source of safety. He suggested that the first task of the gods is to “exorcize the terrors of nature” (p. 24). Similarly, Maslow (1954) suggested that religion often speaks to the desire to see the uni- verse as organized, coherent, and meaningful. He believed that this desire was motivated in part by basic safety needs. Allport (1966) made an important distinction between extrinsic and intrinsic approaches to religion. According to Allport, when approached extrinsically, religion functions as an instrumental means to self-serving ends. When approached intrinsi-

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cally, it functions as an end in itself and “strives to transcend all self-centered needs” (Allport, 1966, p. 455). We shall have more to say about Allport’s concept of intrinsic reli- gion shortly. For now, we can note that, according to Allport, a sense of safety is one of the most important of the self-serving ends promoted by extrinsic religion. Kirkpatrick (1994, 1999), in his applications of attachment theory to religion, noted that God often functions as a “safe haven,” much as the primary caregiver does for the secure child. Kirkpatrick pro- vided empirical evidence consistent with this suggestion. In two longitudinal studies, he found that adults with insecure attachment styles due to negative models of self were especially likely to turn to God as a substitute attachment figure (Kirkpatrick, 1997, 1998).

Once again, both as individuals and as a society we work hard to keep threats to our safety at bay. To the degree that we succeed in creating an environment in which we do not fear wild animals, severe weather or extremes of temperature, robbery or assault, or terror- ist attacks or war, we may find less relevance in reassurance that “God’s in His heaven; All’s right with the world.” We may feel that we do not need religion—at least not religion that functions to provide a sense of security in the face of the perils of life. Of course, when the perils break through our defenses, we may change our mind. As is said: “There are no atheists in foxholes.”

Belongingness and Love Needs

A full belly and a sense of safety provide the basis for a new hunger, which Maslow (1970) described graphically:

If both the physiological and the safety needs are fairly well gratified, there will emerge the love and affection and belongingness needs, and the whole cycle already described will repeat itself with this new center. Now the person will feel keenly, as never before, the absence of friends, or a sweetheart, or a wife, or children. He will hunger for affectionate relations with people in gen- eral, namely, for a place in his group, and he will strive with great intensity to achieve this goal. He will want to attain such a place more than anything else in the world and may even forget that once, when he was hungry, he sneered at love as unreal or unnecessary or unimportant. (p. 43)

The existential questions evoked by this need include not only “Who loves me?” but also “Whom do I love?” And at a more general level: “Where do I belong?” “Who are my peo- ple?” “What is my responsibility to others?”

For millenia, a core function of all the major world religions has been to respond to this need. Judaism early on focused on the special relationship between the Israelites and their God. Theirs was “a jealous god,” whom they should love with all their heart and before whom they should have no other; they, in turn, were God’s “Chosen People.” And how should they relate to other people? In the Holiness Code found in the second half of the book of Leviticus, the faithful are instructed: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself” (Leviticus 19: 18). Even at this early date (about 550 B.C.), the concept of neighbor was broad: “The stranger who sojourns with you shall be to you as the native among you, and you shall love him as yourself: for you were strangers in the land of Egypt” (Leviticus 19: 34).

Six centuries later Jesus repeated, elaborated, and extended the command to love neigh- bor as self. He asserted that it applied not only to strangers but even to enemies: “Love your enemies, and do good to those who hate you” (Luke 6: 27). Christian theologians have

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made much of the New Testament reference to God using the Aramaic word abba, a famil- iar form of father, more akin to daddy or poppa. As Christianity spread into the Greek world, one hears that “God is love, and he who abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him” (I John 4: 16). The Greek word used is not eros or philia but agape, selfless attention to the welfare of the other. Islam also offers the faithful an ever-present, compas- sionate, and merciful God, as well as a sense of brotherhood of believers and a special place in the social order of this world and the world to come. Religions of the East such as Bud- dhism place less emphasis on a loving relationship with God, and more emphasis on a lov- ing, compassionate relationship with all living things. James (1902) recounts a legend:

Where the future Buddha, incarnated as a hare, jumps into the fire to cook himself for a meal for a beggar—having previously shaken himself three times, so that none of the insects in his fur should perish with him. (p. 224n)

As a key defining aspect of who one is, religious identity is less important today than a century ago for people in most developed countries (the United States is a conspicuous ex- ception), but religion remains a highly important aspect of identity for people in many parts of the world. In the United States, the various New Age trends in contemporary Christianity seem especially oriented toward addressing needs for belongingness and love. As Maslow (1970) observed, “We still underplay the deep importance of the neighborhood, of one’s ter- ritory, of one’s clan, of one’s own ‘kind,’ one’s class, one’s gang, one’s familiar working colleagues” (pp. 43–44).

Given the centrality of belongingness and love in most religious traditions, it is surpris- ing that this function has not received more attention from psychologists of religion. (In contrast, sociologists of religion have long emphasized the role of religion in promoting so- cial stability and a sense of belonging; see de Tocqueville, 1835/1969; Durkheim, 1915). James (1902) did recognize this function; Freud (1930/1961, pp. 56–61) offered a provoca- tive, skeptical analysis of the religious call to universal, other-oriented love; and Allport (1966) identified satisfaction of the need to belong as a second key extrinsic benefit of reli- gion. As attachment theory has been extended beyond its initial focus on the infant’s attach- ment to a primary caregiver (Ainsworth, Blehar, Waters, & Wall, 1978; Bowlby, 1969) to include adult relationships, there has been increasing emphasis not only on the enduring need for an attachment figure to provide a safe haven but also on the reciprocal nature of adult relationships, which include caregiving as well as attachment (Mikulincer & Shaver, 2003). Thus far, however, consideration of the other-oriented side of love reflected in care-giving has not figured prominently in attachment theory analyses of religion (e.g., Granqvist, 1998, 2002; Kirkpatrick, 1994, 1999). Application of social identity theory (Tajfel, 1982; Tajfel & Turner, 1986) and self-categorization theory (Turner, 1987) may prove fruitful in analysis of religious response to the need to belong (see DeConchy, 1984, and Burris & Jackson, 2000, for initial attempts), although these theories have little to say about love.

Esteem Needs

With belongingness and love needs met, esteem needs come to the fore. According to Maslow (1970), esteem needs take two forms. First, there is a need for strength, achieve- ment, mastery, and competence. Second, there is a need for reputation, prestige, status, rec- ognition, and appreciation. Satisfaction of these needs leads to a sense of self-confidence,

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worth, capability, and value to the world. To fully satisfy our esteem needs, both forms of esteem must be achieved. Positive reputation not accompanied by a perception of true abil- ity is too fragile and lacking in stability to provide a healthy sense of self-esteem. Esteem needs can raise a number of existential questions, such as: Am I a person of worth? Am I valued by others? How am I to live with my shortcomings, mistakes, and inabilities?

At least in the United States, feeling good about oneself and seeing oneself as a person of worth and value play a major role in much contemporary religion. Historically, however, the religious response to the desire for self-esteem has been mixed at best. On the one hand, religion has offered assurance of personal worth simply because one is a person—not be- cause of anything in particular one has done—and has questioned the value of reputation. On the other hand, religion has provided an alternative set of standards of worth, capability, and value—standards based not on dominance and power but on devotion, piety, and ser- vice—and it has issued a call to excellence in this new domain. Thus, one may be assured that he or she was created by and is valued by God: “Look at the birds of the air; they nei- ther sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?” (Matthew 6: 26). At the same time, one is challenged: “For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? . . . Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect” (Matthew 5: 46, 48).

Further indicating a suspicion of the need for self-esteem, most religious traditions are harsh in their judgment of those who see themselves as especially worthy in God’s eyes or who make a public show of their devotion.

Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them; for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven.

So whenever you give alms, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, so that they may be praised by others. Truly I tell you, they have re- ceived their reward. But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your alms may be done in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

And whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you. (Mat- thew 6: 1–6)

False piety is castigated; authentic humility is extolled. To seek to excel in devotion, piety, and service is a sign that one has failed. Fortunately, one of the hallmarks of all major reli- gious traditions is that means are provided through which personal failures and shortcom- ings are forgiven—sacrifice, confession, and penance.

Among psychologists, James (1902) and Allport (1950, 1966) have been the most sensi- tive to the perverse use of religion to meet esteem needs. Allport considered the need for rep- utation and social standing to be one of the most important self-serving ends motivating an extrinsic orientation to religion. Consistent with the idea that active pursuit of esteem through religion is doomed to failure, subsequent research has indicated that measures of extrinsic religion tend to correlate negatively with measures of self-esteem. Measures of in- trinsic religion tend to correlate positively (see Batson, Schoenrade, & Ventis, 1993, for a review). Does this mean that the measures of intrinsic religion tap authentic humility that bestows esteem as an unintended byproduct (“your Father who sees in secret will reward

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you”)? This was Allport’s (1966) belief, but there is some reason for doubt. It may be that, contrary to Allport’s intent, measures of intrinsic religion actually reflect an instrumental use of religion to enhance self-esteem—one’s sense of oneself as a good, righteous person—even more than do measures of extrinsic religion (Batson et al., 1993; also see Crocker, 2002).

Need for Self-Actualization

At the top of Maslow’s (1970) hierarchy of basic conative needs is the need for self- actualization. Even if all four of the preceding needs are met, an individual may feel restless and unsatisfied unless doing what he or she is fitted for. To be at peace, “a musician must make music, an artist must paint, a poet must write” (Maslow, 1970, p. 46). One needs to “become everything one is capable of becoming” (p. 46). This may be expressed in the de- sire to be an ideal parent; it may be expressed athletically, in the arts, or in science. Maslow’s criterion for who had met this need was basically circular: People who are not only highly productive but also satisfied and at peace with themselves are self-actualized. Existential questions raised by this need include: What is my true nature? What will make me truly happy? How can I be fulfilled?

Historically, the promotion of self-actualization or expression of one’s unique, individ- ual nature has not been a function of religion. It is too self-centered. Promotion of self- actualization has, however, been a major function of the New Age mixture of Jungian and humanistic psychology that became popular in the last quarter of the 20th century among some liberal Protestants in the United States. Jung (1935) emphasized individuality and individuation:

In so far as “individuality” embraces our innermost, last, and incomparable uniqueness, it also implies becoming one’s own self. We could therefore translate individuation as “coming to self- hood” or “self-realization.” (p. 173)

For Jung (1938), religion was perhaps the most effective means of achieving individuality. We find a similar sentiment expressed by humanistic psychologists such as Rollo May (1953) and Erich Fromm (1950, 1960). For example, Fromm (1960) believed that humanis- tic religion (in contrast to authoritarian religion) holds the key to “overcoming the limita- tions of an egotistical self, achieving love, objectivity, and humility and respecting life so that the aim of life is living itself, and man becomes what he potentially is” (p. 80). Maslow’s dis- cussion of self-actualization was also an important precursor of New Age religion. It is not clear that Maslow would have been happy about this because he was quite suspicious of organized religion.

One of the reasons that Maslow doubted the value of organized religion was that he felt it provided little support for the pursuit of self-actualization. Still, he was convinced that there was often a religious dimension to the life of self-actualized individuals. They were likely to have what Maslow (1964) called peak experiences—nontraditional “core- religious” experiences of a somewhat mystical nature in which one has a sense of wholeness and integration both within oneself and with one’s world, a sense of effortless and creative involvement in the here and now. The mystical aspects of such experiences seem to have much in common with the experiences of wholeness and integration in the meditative tradi- tions of Buddhism, although Buddhism puts much less emphasis on the self. The effortless and creative involvement in the here and now has much in common with what Csikszentmihalyi (1990) has called flow.

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Cognitive Needs: The Desire to Know and Understand

At one level, Maslow (1970) viewed cognitive capacities as a set of tools used in the service of satisfying the basic conative needs. “Acquiring knowledge and systematizing the uni- verse” serves to provide a sense of basic safety in the world, and in the intelligent, serves the expression of self-actualization (p. 48). At a second level, however, the desire to know and understand forms a hierarchy of needs in its own right. “Even after we know, we are im- pelled to know more and more minutely and microscopically on the one hand, and on the other, more and more extensively in the direction of a world philosophy, theology, etc. . . . This process has been phrased by some as the search for meaning” (p. 50). Maslow (1970) cautioned against creating a sharp dichotomy between cognitive and conative needs, for two reasons. First, the desire to know and understand has a strong motivational character; it is often experienced as a passionate drive, a desperate longing for meaning and purpose, not simply as a philosophical puzzle. Second, the two types of needs are intertwined.

For many, the most salient core psychological function of religion is to provide a sense of meaning and purpose in life. Sharp and pressing existential questions arise from the clash between the desire to know and understand and two key characteristics of the human pre- dicament—awareness of our individual existence and awareness of our mortality. Who does not at some point face questions such as the following: What is the meaning and purpose of my life? Is my life no more than “a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing”? What will happen to me when I die? What should I do, given my inevitable death?

These questions can shake the foundation of even the most secure, successful, and seemingly self-actualized life. Tolstoy (1904) was at the height of his career as a novelist— productive, wealthy, and acclaimed—when it all collapsed in terror and despair:

I felt that something had broken within me on which my life had always rested, that I had noth- ing left to hold on to, and that morally my life had stopped. . . .

One can live only so long as one is intoxicated, drunk with life; but when one grows sober one cannot fail to see that it is all a stupid cheat. What is truest about it is that there is nothing even funny or silly in it; it is cruel and stupid, purely and simply. . . .

What will be the outcome of what I do today? Of what I shall do tomorrow? What will be the outcome of my life? Why should I live? Why should I do anything? Is there in life any purpose which the inevitable death which awaits me does not undo and destroy? (pp. 20–22)

These questions pushed Tolstoy to the brink of suicide:

It cannot be said exactly that I wished to kill myself, for the force which drew me away from life was fuller, more powerful, more general than any mere desire. It was a force like my old aspira- tion to live, only it impelled me in the opposite direction. It was an aspiration of my whole being to get out of life. (Tolstoy, 1904, p. 20)

Religion provided the answers that eventually led Tolstoy away from the abyss. Malinowski (1954) described the role of religion in providing meaning and purpose in

more general terms:

Into this supreme dilemma of life and final death, religion steps in, selecting the positive creed, the comforting view, the culturally valuable belief in immortality, in the spirit independent of the body, and in the continuance of life after death. In the various ceremonies at death, in commemo-

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ration and communion with the departed, and the worship of ancestral ghosts, religion gives body and form to the saving beliefs. (p. 51)

Among psychologists studying religion, James (1902), Freud (1927/1964, 1930/1961), and Jung (1964) all recognized the importance of religion as a source of meaning and pur- pose in life. Allport (1950), in his classic discussion of mature religion, made this function of religion central. In contrast to immature religion, Allport believed that mature religion pro- vides an overarching sense of meaning and purpose that integrates and orders the personal- ity, allows the individual honestly to face the human predicament, and provides a mas- ter-motive for living. However, when Allport (1966) translated his concepts of immature and mature religion into his later concepts of extrinsic and intrinsic religion, and especially when he and his students developed questionnaire items to provide objective measures of these later concepts, subtle but important omissions occurred. The role of religion in provid- ing meaning in life was clearly reflected in the Intrinsic scale, but the open-ended, tentative, heuristic nature of the search for meaning was not. This led Batson (1976) to propose a third dimension of personal religion to complement the extrinsic and intrinsic dimensions, religion as a quest. As a quest, religion is experienced not as a solution but as a search. Gandhi (1948) described the role of religion in his life in these words:

I worship God as Truth only. I have not yet found Him, but I am seeking after Him. I am pre- pared to sacrifice the things dearest to me in pursuit of this quest. . . . But as long as I have not re- alized this Absolute Truth, so long must I hold to the relative truth as I have conceived it. That relative truth must, meanwhile, be my beacon, my shield and buckler. (pp. 5–6)

Subsequent research has revealed that many of the social benefits that Allport (1966) thought would be associated with an intrinsic orientation to religion are associated with the quest dimension instead. Scores on the quest dimension seem to be associated with reduced prejudice and with increased responsiveness to the needy—not only on self-report measures but also in behavior (Batson, Eidelman, Higley, & Russell, 2001; Batson, Flink, Schoenrade, Fultz, & Pych, 1986; Batson et al., 1989). On the other hand, personal benefits in the form of satisfaction in life and reduced anxiety are more likely to be associated with the clear sense of meaning and purpose reflected in an intrinsic orientation than with a quest orienta- tion. Perhaps because it is associated with these personal benefits, an intrinsic orientation to religion is also more likely to be associated with rigid adherence to the religious meaning system. Religious freedom from anxiety, fear, and anomie may come at the price of bondage to one’s religious beliefs themselves (see Batson et al., 1993, for a discussion of this possibility and review of the relevant research).

Over the past two decades, the psychological perspective that has focused most directly on the human response to awareness that one is destined to die is terror management theory (TMT; Solomon, Greenberg, & Pyszczynski, 1991; see also Chapter 2, this volume). TMT suggests that self-esteem and culture work together to form an anxiety buffer against the re- ality of mortality. The cultural worldview provides a system of meaning that accords value and significance to events, activities, attributes, and objects. As a result, the worldview pro- vides a framework in which one can achieve a sense of self-worth and value by participation in specified events and activities and by possession of prescribed attributes and objects. Within this framework, one can quiet those terrifying whispers that haunted Tolstoy: Why should I live? Why should I do anything? Is there in life any purpose which the inevitable death which awaits me does not undo and destroy?

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TMT accords a major role to religion both as a cultural institution and as a personal belief system. But, although there is much research consistent with various predictions of TMT, research designed to test the role of religion as an anxiety buffer remains limited and inconclusive (see Burling, 1993). The best relevant research is, we believe, an experiment done over 30 years ago by Osarchuk and Tatz (1973; also see Schoenrade, 1989; Atran, 2002, pp. 177–181).

We should, perhaps, comment briefly on our placement of TMT in our discussion of cognitive needs rather than basic conative physiological and safety needs. Solomon et al. (1991) suggested that the motive underlying terror management is a primitive and basic one, an inclination toward self-preservation. Moreover, they suggested that this inclination is common to all life forms. In making this suggestion, we believe that Solomon et al. have run afoul of a misinterpretation of natural selection common among psychologists. They have assumed that when some life form acts in a manner that promotes its survival, this life form is seeking self-preservation.

Natural selection often leads animals to act as if they were motivated to achieve some goal when, in fact, they are not. Their actions may be reflexive or in the service of another, more concrete motive. Self-preservation is a prime example. As recent work on the theory of mind underscores, it is not clear that any species other than our own has a concept of self or individ- ual existence or an ability to imagine unexperienced states such as one’s own death (the only se- rious contenders seem to be some of our nearest primate relatives—see Tomasello, 1999). Without a concept of self or individuality, and of one’s own death, it makes no sense to speak of an inclination toward self-preservation, or fear of death, or fear of annihilation. There may be relatively hard-wired fears that are likely midbrain (amygdala) based and shared with other species (LeDoux, 1996). These include fear of heights, dark places, loud noises, or certain ani- mals (e.g., snakes). But a fear of death or annihilation requires more than an amygdala; it also requires concepts that rely on the (prefrontal) cortex and are likely uniquely human. Even in humans, these concepts only develop after several years of life.

Animals (ourselves included) often act to escape or avoid pain or discomfort; these ac- tions can produce the result of self-preservation without that result being their goal. Rather than being a primitive and ancient motive shared with other species, our concern for self-preservation is almost certainly a recent evolutionary development. It is dependent on the cognitive capacities to (1) understand oneself as an existing person and (2) imagine the radically altered reality in which this person no longer exists. These capacities can, in turn, produce truly terrifying doubts such as Tolstoy’s about the meaning and purpose of life. For this reason, we have discussed terror management under the desire to know and understand.

RELIGION AS A CALL TO SELF-TRANSCENDENCE

Thus far, we have been following James’s diagnosis, that the core of the religious problem lies in the piteous cry, “Help! Help!” We have reviewed the way religion functions to ad- dress basic needs, ranging from deficiency needs (physiological, safety, belongingness and love, esteem) to the higher growth needs (self-actualization), from conative needs to cogni- tive. This review has enabled us to at least touch on the core functions of religion high- lighted by most major psychological studies of religion. Still, there is an extremely important psychological function of religion that we have not yet addressed, one that has received rela- tively little attention from psychologists. Religion may also function to promote self- transcendence. All the needs we have considered are needs of the person or individual. There

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is little doubt that religion has functioned to address personal needs that arise from the hu- man predicament. But religion can do more. It can function to call the individual to reorient priorities away from meeting one or another—or even all—of these needs. It can call the individual to place value outside oneself, to pursue some higher purpose or cause.

Sometimes this call takes the form of a paradoxical suggestion that the way to effec- tively satisfy your needs is to quit trying to do so, to focus instead on meeting others’ needs, and to trust God. For example, concerning physiological needs, Jesus taught, “Do not worry, saying, ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ or ‘What will we wear?’ . . . Your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well” (Matthew 6: 31–33). Similarly, concerning safety needs, “So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomor- row will bring worries of its own. Today’s trouble is enough for today” (Matthew 6: 34). Or in the words of a Taoist poem:

. . . The sage puts himself last, And finds himself in the foremost place;

Regards his body as accidental, And his body is thereby preserved.

Is it not because he does not live for Self That his Self achieves perfection? (Burtt, 1957, p. 191)

At other times the call to self-transcendence takes the form of a recommendation that one shift to a new set of values. “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” (Matthew 6: 19–21). A similar value reorientation is central to Islam, a word that means “submission to God.” Muhammed’s last command to his followers was clear:

My last command to you is that you remain united, that you love, honor, and uphold one an- other, that you exhort one another to faith, and constancy in belief, and to the performance of pi- ous deeds. By these alone, men prosper. All else leads to destruction. (Burtt, 1957, p. 425)

At still other times this call takes the form of an appeal to discipline oneself to eliminate personal needs and desires. This path to self-transcendence is found in Taoism, and it is es- pecially prominent in various forms of Buddhism, where the goal of the eightfold path is Nirvana, a state of nothingness and oneness with the Universe without personal desire. Here, religion functions not to save oneself but to free oneself from oneself.

Finally, at still other times this call can take the form of an invitation to lose oneself in participation in and service to a religious community, institution, or ideal. Subjugation of self to a religious community or ideal can go far beyond a mere sense of belongingness, affil- iation, and identity. It can lead to unhesitating devotion even to the point of martyrdom, as in the Jonestown and Heaven’s Gate communities. Joan of Arc (Jeanne d’Arc, 1412–1431) heard voices that led her out of herself—and into battle and, ultimately, to the stake.

Psychologists interested in religion, especially empirically oriented psychologists, have paid little attention to the role of religion in promoting self-transcendence. James (1902) presented a long list of examples of saints and others in whom religious devotion seemed to change the value-structure away from personal needs and even from personal growth and self-preservation. But this saints’ gallery has been visited by later psychologists more as a

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one might stop by a wax museum, simply to marvel and pass on. James (1902) also consid- ered mystical self-transcendence. Maslow (1964) hinted at the possibility of transcendence, but consistent with his emphasis on personal needs, he conceived it as a “need for transcen- dence” (p. xiv). The self-transcendence to which we refer is a more radical process, one in which personal needs and the self itself are transcended. It comes through active involve- ment and subjugation to something outside oneself, not through Maslow’s passive accep- tance of being. Allport (1950, pp. 63–64) included some consideration of self-transcendence in his reflections on mature religion. But self-transcendence is not clearly represented in his later empirical work on intrinsic religion. Eric Hoffer (1951) presented an insightful analysis of the dark side of self-subjugation to a religious cause or community in The True Believer (also see Fromm’s, 1941, 1950, discussions of escape from freedom and of authoritarian re- ligion). Beyond these and similar reflections, psychologists have given little attention to religion as a source of self-transcendence.

Perhaps it is because the life of the individual is the stock and trade of psychology that psychologists have paid so little attention to the self-transcendent function of religion. This seems regrettable because it may be the self-transcendent function that holds the most prom- ise for shedding new light on the nature of the human psyche. The other functions, impor- tant as they are, fit relatively comfortably within existing psychological conceptions of hu- man nature; they point to religion as one way of meeting our various needs. Self-transcendence, however, seems qualitatively different. If self-transcendence is possible, then we must face the prospect that meeting needs, even so-called growth needs, is but one way of approaching life—and at least for some, perhaps not the best way.

CONCLUSION

We have offered an untidy melange of core psychological functions of religion. Is one of these functions the true one, or at least truer than the others? We think not. Rather, depend- ing on who one is and what needs are prepotent at the time, only one of a few functions of religion may seem deeply relevant and profoundly true. Others may seem infantile; still oth- ers, irrelevant or obscure. Which functions seem relevant and true, and which seem infantile, irrelevant, or obscure, are, however, likely to vary over time, person, situation, and culture. The matters we care about deeply but cannot fully control are not always the same. Differ- ent needs and interests raise different existential questions, which, in turn, bring different functions of religion to the fore. If the human predicament does not pose a single problem but many, then we should not expect a single religious response, but many. Nor is religion content to respond to our calls for help; it also calls us to lift our eyes from our own needs and to set our sights on higher matters, beyond ourselves.

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