How Air Conditioning Created Atheism

Or How Insulation is Slowly Killing Us

The other day, I was listening to a podcast that talked about how air conditioning is tricking us into thinking we can basically inhabit any environment we want, manipulate it to our needs and preferences, and suffer no repercussions. More people live in uninhabitable environments than ever before, and it’s taking its toll on the earth. The problem is, we’ve become so accustomed to having a perfect 68-70 degree temperature, the hosts argued, we see this now as a basic human right. As a guy who just can’t catch a wink without that perfect temperature, I’d say that’s pretty accurate. But I didn’t grow up with air conditioning. The cool summer air of Michigan made air conditioning a luxury for the ultra-rich/ultra picky. In fact I can remember the two or three times I walked into a house with air conditioning and thought, “Golly, these folks are filthy rich, what a life!” So how did I become a guy who tosses and turns and sweats just THINKING about trying to sleep without my perfect 68 degree room? Note the phrase: air CONDITIONING. I’ve been conditioned to need this perfect temperature, it’s true. I’m spoiled.

This got me thinking about conditioning in the broader sense of the word. What else do I now see as a basic human right because of my WEIRDER (Western, Educated, Industrialized, Rich, Democratic, Ex-Christian, Romantic) conditioning? I see it as a basic human right to watch any movie I want, anytime I want, anywhere I want. Wow. I see it as a basic human right to have whatever meal I want, whenever I want. I see it as a basic human right to communicate with whomever I want, whenever I want, however I want. I see it as a basic human right to have the world at my fingertips. That, I’m told, is the historic church’s classical definition of gluttony: folks who feel they should have whatever they want, and now. So, what I am saying is: I’ve been conditioned - air conditioned, maybe - to be a glutton.

But what of it? Who cares? Well, as it happens I was reading a fascinating book earlier this year that focused on the lives of tribal cultures around the world. They do not have air-conditioning. They spend half of their day foraging for whatever food they can find. They communicate with the people they happen to be standing around at some given moment. And one other thing: none of these tribal cultures, even in modern times, are atheistic. Why is that? The classic Western answer to that question is: “It’s because they’re not educated. If they only knew…” But the naturalist Craig Foster’s (creator of the “My Octopus Teacher” documentary) book, “Amphibious Soul” challenges that claim. Tribal cultures aren’t educated the way Westerners are educated: through textbooks. But these tribal cultures, he argues, are deeply educated. They know how to track animals in the wild by intuitively tracing their paths. They understand every plant, root and tree surrounding them not merely as a concept in a textbook but as a trusted friend. They are, by and large, and this is Craig’s big point, far healthier and happier humans than Westerners. So we can say they don’t have a western education, but we can’t say they lack an education: these tribal cultures have access to an entire world (the world we live in, by the way) in ways that we don’t. Why?

No air conditioning.

Interestingly, this means tribal cultures tend to see the world in entirely different terms than Westerners. We tend to think not only that the world is there to be manipulated, but that the world exists to make us the center of it. If the temperature doesn’t suit us, the temperature is wrong, not us. On the one hand, the kind of world we’ve created gives us free access to all sorts of wonderful knowledge about history and science and mathematics. Wonderful. Nothing wrong with that - all parts of God’s good creation. But something we often don’t recognize is that while educated, we Westerners are incredibly insulated from the world around us. This, maybe, is why it’s so jarring and arresting to see footage of hurricanes and floods and other natural disasters on Western soil. It’s like being reminded that we’ve been living in a dream. There are occasional hints that bob to the surface: we are not in control. The world isn’t tameable. Death comes to us all.

There is something about this truth that both repels and attracts us. 2023’s academy award best picture nominee “Triangle of Sadness” is all about this Western paradox of wealth and insulation: a group of hyper rich passengers, including some sexy influencers, get caught in a storm and stranded on an island. Suddenly, everyone looks like a total dolt except the woman who’s been massaging everyone’s feet all week: Abigail, the maid. As an Islander herself, she navigates the wilds and manipulates the newly tribal political situation in ways that baffle, and ultimately destroy, her shipmates. What in the world is this movie doing winning academy awards? Well, there’s something to it: it’s a wake up call. Ours is not the only kind of wisdom. We can’t go on like this forever. The world doesn’t exist to keep us all at 68 degrees.

So, back to the atheism thing. I think it’s fascinating that we find no tribal cultures who are atheistic. Tribal cultures are under no illusion that the world can be manipulated by us. They are under no spell that somehow, the world is made for our individual comfort. They see, day in and out, that the natural world is beautiful beyond compare, terrifying beyond comprehension, and that we are utterly dependent creatures bound to the earth on a delicate thread, which will one day snap. Tribal cultures cannot be atheistic, because to be an atheist is to deny the very earth you’re living in. On the other hand, here we are in the West, plucking food from a local grocery mart. Did you know someone planted those potatoes? Did you know they might not always grow? Did you know that four-walled grocery store is naturally black as night, without fluorescents? It’s okay to have all of these luxuries, really. But do we know recognize what it’s doing us to be so incredibly insulated from the world?

It’s making us atheists.

This whole train of thought brought to mind my favorite line from Trevin Wax’s book, “The Thrill of Orthodoxy”:

When someone says the adventure of life is in discovering or speaking their truth, it’s like being enamored with the thermostat, excited to set the temperature that will produce the mild comfort of an air-conditioned home. The bigger adventure of orthodoxy calls us outside, away from the domesticated doctrines and palatable heresies of our time, and into a wild and glorious world of wonders. Orthodoxy invites us out of our stuffy cells of predictability and into a wider world of weather that doesn’t adapt to personal preference. It’s a world both beautiful and scary—bound not by artificial constraints but by a variety of conditions to which we must adapt.

So heresy, too, comes from air conditioning. If this or that doctrine or ethical standard of historic Christianity doesn’t suit me, well…let’s turn down the temp, shall we? Now Christianity can be my own perfect 68 degrees. But, as the spiritual-but-not-religious naturalist Craig Foster reminds us: this insulation from a purely naturalistic view is killing us. It’s barely even human to live in these conditions. We are the most anxious and depressed nation in the world, and I’m sure in history. So we need to do something - anything, he argues - to get back in touch with the earth. With ourselves. With God. The same is true in the life of the church. The more we lose touch with the wildness of the earth, and our own history of untameable and always (initially) offensive faith, the more we lose touch with ourselves.

But maybe the first step is simply this: turn off the air conditioning. I mean this literally. This is why some of my most common advice to folks deconstructing their faith, or feel like they’re losing it, is simply: go outside. Read a Psalm. Notice the connections. Insulated king though he is, David is always running out to the mountains and woods to reflect on the Divine. He sings about its wonders and terrors. The early church fathers, some scholars have argued, had a far more sacramental view of creation: everything on this earth is a symbol and pointer to the Divine. So to stay inside is to lose touch with God. The neo-puritan Jonathan Edwards always describes his sweetest moments of prayer happening in walks through the frost New England woods.

All this to say, I’ve been trying to get outside, every day, as often as I can. If I don’t, gluttony creeps on me. Atheism creeps on me. It’s a way to decenter myself.

But of course, I still sleep at a steady 68 degrees.