7 ways religion could be better

Introduction

I’ve long been struck by something Albert Einstein once said:
“I am a deeply religious nonbeliever – this is a somewhat new kind of religion.”

It’s a statement that seems paradoxical… yet perhaps not.
Einstein clearly sensed something sacred at the heart of existence,
while at the same time feeling alienated from traditional religion.

Why?
Well, perhaps he saw—like many others—that religion, for all its potential to uplift,
can at times also confuse, alienate, even wound.

Swedish philosopher Emanuel Swedenborg—himself a devout Christian mystic—openly acknowledged this.
Not that being religious in itself is the problem, he insisted,
but how we humans sometimes do it.

Religious language is off-putting to non-religious people

The very words of religion can be off-putting.
Take “God.”
For many, it conjures the image of an all-powerful male judge
watching, waiting, ready to punish.
And “sin”? That can sound like harsh moral condemnation.

But Swedenborg’s vision offers a different twist.
To him, “God” means the spiritual origin of all that is good. An infinite spirit of love and wisdom that created and so transcends gender
And “sin” is a veering away from the higher light of conscience and so blocking the divine inflow of love and wisdom. No hint of punishment or condemnation here.

Extrinsic orientation

And what about ritual?
Religion can sometimes become all surface and no substance—
prayers without heart, ceremonies without inner thought.

Psychologists speak of some people having an “extrinsic” kind of religion. One that neglects personal change. Turning to God without turning away from self. One practised for comfort, status, or social standing.
Public prayer not containing private self-reflection.
Fundraising for buildings while global need goes unmet. Is it any wonder that many are turned off
by what they see as hypocrisy or sanctimony?

Yet social science has also identified an “intrinsic” religiousness—
that quiet, inner flame where the whole of life is guided by spiritual purpose.
Here, religion isn’t a badge—it’s a path.
Not a system, but a lived orientation of the soul.

Simplistic

Another challenge is when religion is presented simplistically. The adult seeker—long past bedtime stories—
wants depth, subtlety, paradox.
But all too often religion offers certainties:
God in a box, pat answers to vast questions.

Instead, Swedenborg suggests religion should be something more flexible—
offering its doctrines as stepping-stones,
not stopping points.
Invitations to deeper wisdom, not dogma.

Religion can be difficult

Still, it’s not easy.
To pray is to address an invisible presence. A leap of faith is needed.
To ask what God wants is to risk an answer
that could unsettle everything. We might not like it.

Religion can be mistaken

And sometimes religion is just wrong.
Remember the story of the blind men and the elephant?
In turn each touches one part and insists the whole is the same:
a pillar, a rope, a fan, a pipe.
Religion can be like that.
Partial truth mistaken for total truth—
and then fiercely defended. In my view all religions have their blind spots – just like the blind men, people deny what they don’t see.

The divine is mistakenly seen as a controlling deity

Some see God as a cosmic puppet master—
one who could stop suffering, but doesn’t.
Why, they ask, does He permit cruelty, greed, war?

But would we really want a God who controls everything?
One who prevents all wrongdoing—by force?
Swedenborg suggests that our spiritual freedom
requires the possibility of doing wrong.
Without it, we wouldn’t be truly human.
And without freedom, there can be no genuine love – only a conditioned sort of doing good.

Religion can justify evil conduct

History, yes, is littered with examples of corrupted religious teaching used to control,
to exclude, to destroy.
From the Crusades to Jihad
the misuse of divine ideas has led to real human pain.

But Swedenborg’s vision reminds us:
When religion is rooted in love—
when it flows from inner goodness, reason, and humility—
it becomes a force not for division,
but for connection.
Not for control,
but for transformation.

Religion can induce needless guilt

This happens when the divine is mistakenly seen as a condemning deity

Others see God as a condemning deity.
The traditional Christian view—that mankind deserved punishment so Jesus had to suffer to satisfy divine anger—
paints God as vengeful.
But what kind of love demands pain?

Spiritually attuned people feel this doesn’t resonate.
Love, true love, seeks healing—not retribution.
Forgiveness, not sacrifice.

Swedenborg offers a radically different picture:
God as infinite love, knowing the hidden potential in every soul.
A presence that invites, uplifts, encourages.
A presence not only beyond us,
but within us—guiding, comforting, inspiring.

And yet, religion need not bind us.
At its best, it liberates.
It doesn’t demand guilt; it offers grace.

Religion can hinder rational thinking

Of course, religions can tell us what to believe before we’ve had the chance to think.
They present ancient texts in a literal way—full of cultural assumptions we don’t share —as timeless truths.
They can stifle questioning, demand conformity,
and promote doctrine as fact.

The spiritual seeker, by contrast, craves the chance to make up his or her own mind —
not to show blind obedience, but honest inquiry.
Not rigid formulas, but wisdom rooted in compassion.

One of the more challenging ideas in Christian tradition is that of a tri-personal God—a divine being described as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
Taken literally, this can seem perplexing: three distinct persons, yet somehow one God. For many thoughtful people, it feels like a theological puzzle that doesn’t quite add up.

But what if we approached this differently?

Rather than imagining three separate male figures seated somewhere in heaven, we might consider these names as symbols—metaphors for the deep structure of divinity itself.
Not a contradiction, but a reflection of something more human, more familiar.

After all, we too are complex beings.
Each of us has a heart that feels, a mind that understands, and hands that act.
Could it be that the Divine is not so different?

We might think, then, of a divine heart—the source of love and compassion.
A divine mind—offering wisdom and clarity.
And divine hands—bringing that love and wisdom into the world through action.

In this light, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit become less like a committee in the sky
and more like three dimensions of a single, living presence:
a love that has compassion, a wisdom that creates, and a power that heals.

Some call this the “Christ within.”
Others speak of “Christ-consciousness”—
that quiet voice within the soul that teaches, comforts, and inspires.
A divine source that is both beyond us and somehow, astonishingly, also within us.

Not three gods.
Not a riddle to solve.
But a mystery to live.

Conclusion

In the end, religion is a tool.
A means, not an end.
It can distort…
but it can also heal.

And perhaps Einstein’s “religious nonbelief”
wasn’t a rejection of the sacred—
but of the false images that obscure it.

There is still space, still hope,
for a faith that is wise,
compassionate,
and free.