... what?
I'm not sure how you got what you said from what I said; I surmise that I was much less clear than I thought, or that I am not understanding you. Attempt #2, in the hope that it's the former:
If everyone likes a thing, then asking "why do we like that thing" is of academic interest.
If some people like a thing but other people don't like that thing, then asking "why do some people like that thing" has practical use. Maybe we can bring the naysayers around. Maybe we will discover that the advocates' reasons for liking the thing are bad reasons. Maybe we'll discover something about the underlying preferences that will allow the pro-thingers and the anti-thingers to get along better. In any case we'll very likely come to understand each other better, and will be less likely to think that people of the other preference type are abnormal; at the most basic level, we'll do better at keeping in mind that people of the opposite preferences exist at all. That's a good thing.
The relevance to the discussion of rituals has to do with the fact that some participants and pro-ritual commenters have expressed sentiments such as "humans need ritual" or "people like ritual" or "people have a need for experiences of sacredness" or other things along those lines. My motivation for commenting has been largely to point out that such comments are sorely in need of having the word "some" (or, at best, "most", conditional on at least some data supporting such a claim) inserted into them.
And given that that's the situation — that some people like rituals, but some clearly do not — the question of "why do some people like ritual" acquires a more than academic interest, for the reasons I outlined above.
Sorry about the failure of communication, but as it happens you answered my question. Thank you.
To my mind, asking why everyone likes a thing that everyone likes has practical use. If we can answer that question, we can understand how we make that judgment, we can understand how we make related judgments. That's a good thing. (I do agree that it's of academic interest, though. Like many things of academic interest, it has practical use.)
That aside, though... sure, if your motivation is largely to point out that some people don't need ritual, like ritual, or need experiences of sacredness, I expect that's true.
One winter ago, twenty aspiring rationalists gathered in a room, ate some food, sang some songs, and lit some candles. We told some stories about why the universe is the way it is, and what kind of people we want to be.
I wrote some things about the experience. But here's a fairly succinct description:
Last year, we had fun. A few people reported being emotionally affected. By and large, though, the dominant conclusion was “This was good first effort, but much, much more is possible.” In truth, I considered it a dress rehearsal, more a proof-of-concept than a finished product. I spent the last year working to do something better, but worried that I wouldn’t be able to. That maybe people don’t create holidays from scratch that actually latch on because it’s just damn hard to do and I wouldn’t be up to it.
And I was worried that either I wouldn’t be able to make the experience as grim and intense as I wanted, or that I’d succeed, but then not be able to lift people back out of it. This was a problem for some people last year, and last year I didn’t push things nearly as dark as I was planning to this time.
I worried that even if I succeeded at creating the experience for other people, I wouldn’t be able to experience it myself. A year ago, I didn’t feel like a participant. I felt like an anthropologist - clinically detached from the bonding ritual I had created.
But six months ago, four friends and I acquired a large, three story house named “Winterfell.” And one week ago, fifty people squeezed into that house to celebrate humanity. The house seems a lot smaller once you crammed fifty people into the living room. But we managed to fit.
And then... I feel a desire to maintain some kind of modesty here, but honestly, I spent a year stressing about this and I think I’m just going to say that it went beautifully.
Not perfectly - nothing is ever perfect, and now more than ever it is clear how much more is possible with this endeavor. Yvain wrote a pretty good review of which parts went well and which parts needed work. But I got emphatic gratitude from people who had been merely lukewarm about it last year.
In the darkest section of the evening, people cried, and held each other, and I was one of them. And I was one of them as we watched time lapse footage of the stars from the international space station, and sang about a tomorrow that could be brighter than today.
This will be the first post of another short mini-sequence (either one or two additional posts elaborating on the design process, what comes next and what I’m concerned about). For now, I'll just note the one biggest flaw with this years was that it was too long. (Last years was too short, and I decided to err on the side of "test a bunch of ideas at once" so that future Solstices could settle into an ideal, traditional state faster).
I would like to note that I want to strongly encourage people who are weirded out by this to speak out (if for no other reason than to be counted as people who are turned off by it). If you have specific negative consequences beyond a vague dislike of the idea, I'd like you to articulate them, after looking through my post from last year - The Value and Danger of Ritual.
Below is a link to the 2012 Ritual Book, and a collection of links to online media for the songs and videos that we listened to and watched during the event, which you can follow along with as you read to get something (vaguely) resembling the actual experience. (Plus side - you’ll get to experience higher quality of music performance. Downside - you miss on the warm experience of singing with a group of people).
I couldn’t find links for all the songs, but there should be enough to give you the idea.