Religion and the Difference Between Possible and Plausible, or, Why You Shouldn't Jump Out of Windows

Does it make sense to live your life on an unsupported premise, simply because you can’t disprove that premise with absolute certainty?

And is it reasonable and right to try to talk people out of their unsupported beliefs, even if you can’t disprove those beliefs with absolute certainty?

100_percent
For some reason, I’ve been running into the “You can’t disprove religion with 100% certainty, therefore it’s reasonable for me to believe in it, and therefore you atheists are being intolerant for trying to talk me out of it” argument a lot more than usual lately. I’ve pointed out the glaring flaws in this argument before, more than once, as have many other atheists. And yet, people keep making it. (What’s the matter with them? Don’t they read my blog?)

So today, I want to get at this argument in a different way.

There’s a point that a lot of atheists make about this argument, which is this: Believers don’t apply this sort of thinking in any other area of their lives. In most other areas of their lives, believers base their actions, not on what might be hypothetically possible, but on what is most likely to be plausible. Their car might start running on sugar water, the rocks in their backyard might have turned into candy, if they jump out the window there might be invisible fairies waiting to gently carry them down to earth… but they don’t act as if these things are true. But with religion, people will happily argue that it might hypothetically be true… and therefore, it’s reasonable for them to act as if it were true, and the rest of us have to take it seriously.

So here’s the argument I want to have with the invisible theist in my head.

Fairy 2
It is hypothetically possible that, if you jump out of a fourth- floor window, invisible fairies will catch you and carry you gently down to earth.

Are you, therefore, going to jump out of a fourth- floor window, based on that slim but not 100%- dismissible fairy hypothesis?

Or are you, instead, going to go with the far more plausible hypothesis that you should probably take the stairs or the elevator, since if you jump out the window, the chances are excellent that you will plummet to a squishy death?

And if you don’t go with the fairy hypothesis just because “you can’t absolutely prove that it’s not true”… then why should you go with the God hypothesis?

Now. At this point, the invisible theist in my head is arguing, “But why do you care what other people believe?” (Unless they’re trying to argue that the God hypothesis is more plausible than the fairy hypothesis, because lots of other people believe it or something. In which, I direct them here, and then go watch Buffy reruns.)

But assuming that my invisible theist is in fact arguing, “But why do you care what other people believe?”… here is my answer.

If you saw someone getting ready to jump out a window because they believed that invisible fairies would carry them to the ground… wouldn’t you try to stop them?

People are jumping out of the religion window every day.

And they’re pushing other people out.

911
There are the blindingly obvious cases: the suicide bombers, the people flying planes into buildings, the Pope telling people in Africa that condoms make Baby Jesus cry. There are the less obvious cases: the children who are taught to reject and despise science and evidence and reality in general; the wives who are told by their preachers to stay in abusive marriages; the sick people who put their lives in the hands of faith healers.

And there are the cases that are so woven into the fabric of our society we often don’t even notice it. The children who are traumatized by visions of the horrible tortures of Hell. The ministers and other religious leaders dispensing life advice with no training in counseling, based only on the dogma of their faith. The families who barely talk to each other, or don’t talk to each other at all, because of religious differences. The teenagers who are taught that God thinks sex is sinful and disgusting and they should therefore save it for the person they marry. The gay teenagers who are taught to hate themselves.

I could go on, and on, and on. I have.

That is an awful lot of misery and death to be inflicting, on the off-chance that there might be invisible fairies carrying you to the ground when you jump.

Windows_1
So I ask again: If you saw someone about to jump out of a window — or about to push someone out of a window — because they believed that fairies would carry them to the ground… wouldn’t you try to stop them?

That’s what the atheist movement is doing. That’s why we care what other people believe. We care what other people believe because people act on their beliefs… and with many of those actions, people are hurting themselves, and each other. We see people jumping out of the religion window, and pushing other people out of it, on a daily basis.

Now, if you think we’re mistaken — if you think God really exists and there’s good evidence to support that theory — then by all means, convince me. Show me the money.

But if all you have is “My holy book says it” and “Lots of other people believe it” and “I feel it in my heart”… then I’m sorry, but what you have on your hands is invisible fairies who are going to carry you down to the ground if you jump out the window.

Staircase
And it is not intolerant for atheists to try to talk you out of it. It is not intolerant for atheists to try to show you why there are almost certainly no invisible window fairies. It is not intolerant for atheists to try to persuade you that the fairy hypothesis, while not absolutely unproven, is far less plausible than the “plummeting to your death” hypothesis… and to try to persuade you to take the stairs instead. It is not intolerant for atheists to try to show you that you may be hurt if you jump… and that you may hurt other people if you push them.

Religion and the Difference Between Possible and Plausible, or, Why You Shouldn't Jump Out of Windows
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Why Do Queers Leave Religion?

Gay atheist
So why do queers leave religion?

Is it because religion has let us down? Is it because so much traditional religion is so grotesquely homophobic? Is it because priests molest children and the Catholic Church blames it on gays; because the Mormon Church spent millions to block same-sex marriage in California; because the evangelical Christian Right has used revulsion and fear of homosexuality to advance their political agenda?

Or is there, perhaps, another reason?

Advocate
There was a recent article in The Advocate from out lesbian deacon Lisa Larges, arguing that LGBT people should not leave their religion and treat it as an enemy, but should instead stay in the churches and other religious organizations and fight for gay rights within them.

Much of what she writes I agree with (I certainly don’t object to the idea of fighting against homophobia in organized religion). And some of it I take issue with, but am willing to let slide for the purposes of this post.

But this has really stuck in my craw:

Let’s also say, while we’re still here in the first paragraph, that whatever the church or its representatives did to you — whatever abuse, whatever violation of trust, whatever was said to make you believe that you were not a child of God in your whole beautiful queer self, whatever the silence in which you did not hear how infinitely and immeasurably God loves you — whatever drove you out of the church is simply inexcusable.

Okay. Deep breath. Calm blue ocean, calm blue ocean.

Here is the problem.

Shaun the Sheep
I am sick unto death of non-believers being treated like sad lost sheep or wounded birds. I am sick unto death of my atheism being treated like an illness to be cured. I am sick unto death of my atheism being treated like a tragedy.

You want to know why I don’t believe that I am a child of God? You want to know why I don’t believe that God infinitely and immeasurably loves me? It’s not because I was abused or my trust was violated. It’s not because I was wounded or stunted by my religious upbringing (I didn’t have one). It’s not because so much traditional religion is so hateful and damaging to queers.

It’s because I don’t believe in God.

Period.

Theres probably no god
And you know what? My atheism is not a source of weakness or sadness. In fact, it is a source of great strength and joy. I was able to leave religious belief when I became strong enough to stop hanging onto ideas simply because I found them comforting, even though they weren’t supported by any good evidence. I was able to leave religious belief when I was able to say that the joy of this life is enough, and that I don’t need to believe in an eternal after-life to find more than enough meaning and happiness in this ephemeral one. And being part of the growing atheist community has become one of the great joys of my life: a source of education, insight, friendship, mind- expansion, and just flat- out giggles.

Mcc
Besides — it’s just not that hard to find queer- positive churches. A quick Google search on the phrase “gay churches” turns up over seven million hits, with two separate directories of gay- friendly churches coming up in the top three, and the MCC coming right behind that. Any LGBT believer with a computer who’s mad at their conservative church has access to these resources. It’s harder if they’re in Rural Nowhere, to be sure; but it’s just not that hard to figure out that you don’t have to hate queers to be Christian. If somebody really wants those options, they’ll find them… or at the very least, they’ll find that they exist.

The idea that people become atheists because they’re angry at God or religion is one of the most insidious myths that are held about us. (In fact, it’s Number 7 on my Eleven Myths About Atheists.) It’s the kind of thing that people like Rick Warren say about us. And it’s flatly untrue. Atheists — queer, straight, whatever — aren’t angry with God, any more than we’re angry with Zeus, unicorns, or the Tooth Fairy. We don’t believe in God. That’s the whole point of being an atheist. You can’t be angry with something that you don’t believe exists.

Scream
It’s true that anger is sometimes a starting point for a journey out of religion. Like I said in my Eleven Myths piece: The realization that religious leaders were lying to them; the growing awareness that religion doesn’t deliver on what it promises; the sense that if an all- powerful God really existed he’d be a sadistic bastard… any or all of this can be the first crack in the foundation of religious belief. And it’s certainly true that LGBT people have more reasons than most to be royally pissed about religion. If anger about religion’s cruelties and hypocrisies is sometimes the first step to the understanding that the emperor has no clothes, it shouldn’t be surprising to find disproportionate numbers of queers in the Naked Emperor Brigade. (If indeed we are… which I’m not at all sure of.)

But people who leave religious belief don’t generally leave it because they’re angry. People who are angry with religion, but who still believe? They tend to look for a different religion. Anger may be the starting point for rejecting religion… but from my observation and experience, it is rarely the final straw. People don’t leave religion because they’re angry. They leave because they’ve become convinced that religion isn’t supported by any solid evidence, and doesn’t really make any sense. They leave because they no longer believe.

You want to know how the churches have failed us? They’ve failed to provide convincing evidence for God’s existence.

You want to know what the churches can do to bring us back? Come up with some better evidence, or some better arguments.

And in the meantime, please stop treating us like sad, wounded victims, who don’t understand that God loves us.

Similar posts:
Being an Atheist in the Queer Community
How To Be An Ally with Atheists

Why Do Queers Leave Religion?

Religion and Creepy Celebrities, or, The Tom Cruise Phenomenon

Disgust mask
Has anyone else had this happen to them?

There are certain actors and musicians and other celebrities — not many, but a handful — who, solely because of their religious beliefs and the way they choose to express them — I can no longer stand to watch.

And I’m not sure if I’m okay with that. I’m trying to parse out the difference between religious bigotry (which I have serious problems with), and being grossed out by someone’s ideas and opinions and general demeanor (which seems pretty reasonable). Then you add in the whole “should an artist’s personal beliefs affect your opinion of their art, and if so, how and to what degree” question… and the whole thing gets very complicated indeed.

Tom cruise scientology
The most obvious example of this, for me, is Tom Cruise. I used to like Tom Cruise a fair amount: my take on him was that he did a lot of dreck, but when he sunk his teeth into a decent script and got a director who didn’t give a shit about his boyish charm, he could do seriously good work. I found him compelling in “Eyes Wide Shut,” I thought he was the one genuinely interesting thing about “Rain Man” (a movie that I generally loathed), and his performance in “Magnolia” was nothing short of masterful. I knew he was a Scientologist, and I found that ooky…. but if you refuse to see any movies or TV or music made by Scientologists, you’d be pretty cut off from American popular culture. So I managed to not care about it all that much.

But ever since his fabled series of icky Scientological outbursts, I’ve been unable to look at his smug little face without feeling nauseous. If I’m flipping channels and come across “Jerry Maguire” or “Interview with the Vampire” — movies I used to like a fair amount — I now just keep on flipping. I have a moment of thinking, “Oh, yeah, I like that movie, I could watch that for a while”… and then I remember that Tom Cruise is in it, and I flinch, and I walk on by.

Passion-of-the-Christ
Another example is Mel Gibson. I never liked him as much as I liked Tom Cruise… but I’ve always cited the first “Lethal Weapon” movie in my list of “action movies with some genuine substance,” and I always remembered that he used to be a real actor, back in the days of “Gallipoli” and “The Year of Living Dangerously.” He pretty much had already lost me with the “open incitement to gay- bashing” that was “Braveheart,” not to mention his other examples of vile homophobia… but the grotesquery of “The Passion of the Christ,” and his drunken anti-Semitic rant, have made me unable to contemplate his visage without wanting to yak.

Expelled poster
And finally, before I move on: Ben Stein. Again, it’s not like I loved the guy. I knew, for instance, that he was a rabid anti-choice advocate, not to mention a speechwriter for Nixon, and any project he was at the center of (like that show “Win Ben Stein’s Money”), I would have no truck with it. But if he had a bit part in some movie, I could cope. Now, ever since he got involved in the “Expelled” fiasco, I can’t. I can’t even see his face without being viscerally repulsed. I’ve never seen “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off,” and now I think I probably never will.

And I’m trying to figure this out.

The thing is… it’s not really consistent. There are plenty of actors/ musicians/ other celebrities and artists with religious beliefs I find appalling or just silly, and I can enjoy their work with a minimum of retching. John Travolta, for instance. I know that he’s a big-time Scientologist. I don’t love this fact. But it doesn’t get in the way of my enjoying “Pulp Fiction” or “Primary Colors.” And I didn’t stop watching “The Simpsons” when I found out that Nancy Cartwright was a Scientologist.

So what’s the difference?

John travolta hairspray
For me, a lot of it is how hard-core the icky religious beliefs are. John Travolta, for instance, is a pretty high- profile Scientologist — he even made that stupid L. Ron Hubbard sci-fi movie — but he also apparently does that inconsistent compartmentalization thing that drives atheists nuts when we’re debating believers but that also makes peaceful co-existence possible. (Scientology has pretty strict strictures against homosexuality… and yet Travolta made “Hairspray.” And has insisted in interviews, despite all evidence to the contrary, that Scientology isn’t really homophobic. Which makes me want to smack him across the head and scream, “It is so!”… but given a choice between a believer who submerges their own moral compass and lets it be subsumed by their religion, and a believer who relies on their own functioning moral compass and tries half-assedly to contort their religion around it, I’ll take the latter any day.)

Nancy cartwright bart simpson
But a lot of the difference is how central someone’s icky religion is to their public persona. Nancy Cartwright, for instance, hasn’t become the central spokesmodel in a documentary about how criticism of Scientology is de facto bigoted censorship, the way Ben Stein did. She hasn’t produced a movie putting the vilest aspects of Scientology on gruesome display as if they were something to be proud of, the way Mel Gibson did. And when I’ve seen her do interviews, she doesn’t talk at length about Scientology and how it proves that psychiatry is a fraud. She talks about The Simpsons.

I’m not sure that’s fair, though. Is it really right to punish consistency and adherence to one’s ideals, and to reward fickleness and crass “I don’t want to piss off the public” pragmatism? This is a question I often face with religion, and I haven’t yet come to any resolution about it.

And my list of “flaws that make me retch irrevocably and that I can tolerate” is definitely not fair or rational. Why will icky religious opinions turn me off an artist now, in the same way that icky opinions about women or homosexuality have done for a long time? It’s probably nothing more than the fact that I’m thinking about religion more these days. And that’s not being consistent, either.

Low-The-Great-destroyer
Of course, part of this issue, as Ingrid points out, isn’t about how gross the religious beliefs are. It’s about how gross the people’s behavior is about those beliefs. It’s not just that the beliefs of Cruise and Gibson and Stein are repugnant; it’s that they’ve behaved so repugnantly about them, in ways that are dishonest and hateful and contemptuous of others. And that’s going to turn me against somebody, regardless of anything to do with religion. As an example in the other direction: Right now, pretty much my favorite band in the world is Low. The members of Low are Mormons. I have pretty strong negative feelings about the Mormon religion, both its tenets and its organization. And yet, I don’t transfer those negative feelings onto Low… because to the best of my knowledge, they aren’t jerks about their faith. (The last time I saw them play, they used the word “shit” and said they wanted to kill George W. Bush, which makes me [a] like them and [b] think that whatever their religious beliefs are, it’s not your garden- variety Mormonism. Of course, I’ve found myself shying away from finding out more about the detail’s of Low’s religious beliefs, for this very reason — because I don’t want to find out something that’s going to make me dislike them — but that’s a topic for another post.)

Wagner_ring_cd
But the problem with that — the problem with this whole snarly issue, in fact — is that, as a general theoretical principle, I do think that critique and appreciation of art should usually be separated from opinions about the artist. It’s not always possible, and I can think of instances where it’s not even desirable… but on the whole, I think it’s a goal worth reaching for. It’s different when the artist in question is still alive — when it comes to Wagner, for instance, there’s not that soiled, complicit feeling you get from knowing that your money is financing an anti-Semitic creep. But as a rule, I think that rejecting art because you don’t like the opinions of the artist is an inhibiting minefield at best, and a serious missing of the point at worst. One of the whole points of art is that it opens your mind to different ways of seeing the world… and that doesn’t work if you’re only willing to be opened to perspectives you already agree with.

Jerry-maguire
But the thing is? This “I can’t stand to watch Tom Cruise” thing isn’t a carefully considered ethical and aesthetic choice. It’s an emotional response. Even if I came to the conclusion that my visceral rejection of Tom Cruise wasn’t fair and I should simply assess him on the basis of his work… I’d still flip past “Jerry Maguire” on the TV with a shudder and a desire to take a shower. The stomach has its reasons, of which reason knows nothing. And life is too short to spend watching actors who make me want to retch. There are plenty of actors who don’t. I can live a rich, full life without ever seeing another Tom Cruise movie again.

I do think it’s sort of a shame, though. I’d like to see “Gallipoli” or “Magnolia” again. I’d like to see “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off” someday. I don’t like feeling cut off from entire avenues of art and popular culture just because some of the people involved are jackasses with creepy religious beliefs.

Thoughts?

Religion and Creepy Celebrities, or, The Tom Cruise Phenomenon

Eleven Myths and Truths About Atheists

A different version of this piece was published on AlterNet. This is the slightly longer, full-length version. For space reasons, I had to keep the original list limited to 10. This list goes to 11.

Scarlet letter
Maybe you’ve read it. 10 Myths — and 10 Truths — About Atheism. Sam Harris’s famous op-ed piece for the L.A. Times. An attempt to clear up the most common misunderstandings about atheists.

The piece is a good idea. But something about it bugs me. Specifically, it bugs me how much time Harris spent dissing religion. Don’t get me wrong — I think religion deserves criticism. But here, I think it’s inappropriate. If you’re writing a piece saying, “Here’s who we are, and why the myths about us are incorrect,” IMO you shouldn’t go off on a “Here’s why the rest of you are losers” tangent. It’s not persuasive… and it’s seriously off-topic.

So I’m writing my own version. (Very much riffing off Harris’s, and with all due credit to him.)

100_percent
1: Atheists are 100% convinced that there is no God, as blindly faithful as religious fundamentalists.

Atheism means different things to different atheists. But for the overwhelming majority, it doesn’t mean being 100% certain that there’s no god. It means being certain enough. It means we’re as certain that Jehovah or Allah or Ganesh don’t exist, as we are that Zeus or Thor or the Flying Spaghetti Monster don’t exist. (I’ve read and spoken with hundreds of atheists… and have encountered exactly two 100 percenters.)

Atheists aren’t saying, “We’re 100% convinced that there’s no god, nothing could persuade us otherwise.” Atheists are saying, “We’re not convinced. The arguments for God are weak and circular; the evidence falls apart under close examination. Show us better evidence or arguments, and we’ll reconsider. Until then, we’re assuming that God doesn’t exist.”

Further reading:
The Unexplained, the Unproven, and the Unlikely
The 100% Solution: On Uncertainty, And Why It Doesn’t Matter So Much

The atheist
2: Atheists are immoral: without religion, there’s no basis for morality.

I could argue against this a hundred ways. I could argue that mature morality takes responsibility for its choices, instead of blindly following someone else’s rules… an argument many theologians also make. I could point out that even believers are selective about their religious teachings, deciding for themselves which make sense, and which are appalling or ridiculous. I could point out that religion isn’t a reliable foundation for morality… Exhibit A being gross ethical violations by religious leaders, from Jim Bakker to Osama Bin Laden. I could link to current research on the neurological/ evolutionary basis of morality.

But mostly I want to say this:

Look around you.

This myth is patently untrue on the face of it. Atheists aren’t killing, stealing, raping, cheating, at any greater rate than believers.

Look at countries in Europe, like France and England and Scandinavian countries, where non-believers are half or more of the population. They’re not disintegrating into crime and chaos. They’re doing pretty well, and they treat each other pretty well, with a strong sense of social responsibility.

And look at individual atheists. Oliver Sacks. Carl Sagan. Dave Barry. Andy Rooney. Ira Glass. Milan Kundera. Tom Lehrer. Barry Manilow. Katharine Hepburn. Richard Feynman. Barbara Ehrenreich. Ted Williams. Atheist cops, soldiers, firefighters. The person down the street from you who mows the lawn for the old lady next door. Are all these people cesspools of selfishness and immorality?

Unless you indulge in circular reasoning — unless you think anyone with different religious beliefs is immoral by definition — you have to acknowledge that atheists are as moral as anybody else.

Further reading:
Thou Shalt Not Bear False Witness Against Thy Neighbor

Depression
3: Atheists are angry and unhappy, with no meaning to their lives, and no hope.

Again, I could go on for days about why this is wrong. I could talk about how meaning doesn’t have to come from religious tradition… and how there’s plenty to hope for other than an afterlife.

But again, I mostly want to say:

Look around you.

Spend some time talking with atheists about something besides religion. Books, say. Music. Science. Their spouses or lovers. Their kids. Their friends. Careers. Hobbies. Political activism. Volunteer work. You’ll find lives every bit as rich, full, complex, connected, transcendent, satisfying, meaningful, and full of hope, as the lives of religious believers. We don’t need religion to have meaning and hope. We have hope, for our own lives and for the world. And we create our own meaning.

(Yes, many atheists get cranky when they argue with believers. Especially online. Surprise, surprise. Like no other marginalized group gets cranky engaging with the mainstream… and like losing it on the Internet is an atheist monopoly.)

Further reading:
Dancing Molecules: An Atheist Moment of Transcendence
For No Good Reason: Atheist Transcendence at the Black and White Tour
Atheism and Hope

Mean girls
4: Atheists are disrespectful, intolerant, and mean.

Sometimes. What with us being human and all.

But all of us? Even most of us? As a defining trait?

And more than religious believers? Really? (I know, I wasn’t going to get snarky about religion here… but can you really look at the grotesque intolerance so many believers have inflicted, on atheists and one another, and still argue that atheists are the big meanies?)

Okay. Snarky mini-rant over. Here’s where I think this myth comes from.

Atheists see religion as just another hypothesis about how the world works. We decline to treat it with more respect than any other opinions, theories, philosophies. We decline to treat its writings with more respect than any other books, its leaders with more respect than any other political or community figures. We think this special treatment unfairly armors religion against legitimate criticism. Besides, we don’t see any reason for it.

But religion has long been treated with special deference, getting a free ride in the marketplace of ideas. And believers are accustomed to this… so accustomed that questions and criticism seems like the grossest disrespect. As commenter Lynet wrote in another blog: People are so used to whispering around religion that an everyday voice sounds like a shout.

(I think this myth also crops up because these conversations are often on the Internet… where, alas, many people are more disrespectful, intolerant, and mean than we are in person. The next time you think atheists are being unusually disrespectful, read the conversations on the political blogs. Or, for that matter, the celebrity gossip and sports blogs.)

Further reading:
Does The Emperor Have Clothes? Religion and the Destructive Force of Asking Questions

Whine
5: Atheists are whiny.

And again: Sure, some of us. Sometimes. What with us being human.

But first, see above, re: what atheists are like when we’re not debating believers on the ‘Net. We’re mostly pretty happy, and grateful for what we have.

And second:

Demanding justice is not whining.

And progressives, of all people, should not be calling it that.

Very few people are arguing that anti-atheist bigotry is as serious as, say, racism or sexism. But atheists have legitimate grievances. And many of our biggest grievances aren’t about how believers treat atheists. They’re about how believers treat one another.

A common weapon against any social movement is trivialization. Women demanding equal rights are being hysterical; people of color are being emotional; LGBT people are being selfishly sybaritic. And atheists are being whiny.

It’s a “Shut up, that’s why” argument. It’s not meant to address atheism. It’s meant to silence it.

Further reading:
Atheists and Anger

Vogue
6: Atheists are just being trendy.

Yes, atheism is everywhere now. In bookstores, on the news, in the blogosphere.

Just like gay people were in the early ’90s. African-Americans in the late ’60s. Women in the early ’70s.

There’s a point in any major social movement when it reaches critical mass. It gathers adherents and sympathizers, who become more visible and vocal… a process that’s self- perpetuating. The movement picks up steam. It can no longer be ignored.

At which point the mass media has a collective “WTF?” freakout. Who are these atheists (gays, African-Americans, women), and where did they come from all of a sudden? Like we haven’t been here all along.

Does that make atheism trivial? A fad, something people do to be cool?

Of course not. No more than being queer is.

Coming out as atheist is often a big deal. It can mean losing friends, being cut off from family. It can mean getting threatened by neighbors or kicked out of school, losing job opportunities or custody of your kids. And it often means a major upheaval in how you see yourself and your life. People don’t do this to be trendy. People do it to be true to themselves.

Further reading:
Godless is the New Black: Is Atheism Just a Trend?

Angry scream
7: Atheists are just angry with God, or with religion. They’re angry about abuses in religious organizations; about actions of God that they don’t understand; or because God puts restrictions on them that they don’t like.

Uh… no.

Atheists aren’t angry with God, any more than we’re angry with Zeus, unicorns, or the Tooth Fairy. We don’t believe in God. You can’t be angry with something that you don’t believe exists.

It’s true that many atheists are angry about fraud, oppression, and brutality committed in the name of religion. (Many believers are, too.) And it’s even true that, for some atheists (although certainly not all of us), the journey out of religion started, at least in part, with anger. The realization that religious leaders were lying to them; the growing awareness that religion doesn’t offer what it promises; the sense that if God really existed he’d be a sadistic bastard… any or all of this can be the first crack in the foundation of religious belief, the first glimmer of understanding that religion is the emperor’s new clothes.

But it’s completely backwards to say that these people rejected religion because they were angry with it. It’s the other way around. They were angry with religion because they were rejecting it. Religion isn’t like a jerk boyfriend or lousy boss that you walk away from when they tick you off. People don’t reject religion because they’re mad at it. People reject religion because they become convinced that it isn’t supported by the evidence and doesn’t make sense.

As to the myth that atheist reject God and religion because we’re angry about its rules and restrictions… see #2 above, the myth that atheists have no morality. It’s just flat-out not true. Atheists have no more problem with the restrictions of morality than believers. We just want that morality to have a rational basis.

Further reading:
Atheists and Anger

Scarecrow
8: Atheists are arguing with straw men: they criticize the ugliest, stupidest, most simplistic, most outdated versions of religion, and ignore the thoughtful, complex forms of serious modern theology.

First, this isn’t true. Many atheists have read serious theology. I was a religion major in college: okay, 25 years ago, but a lot of it stuck. And I’ve read more since becoming an atheist blogger. As have other atheist writers.

But second, and more to the point:

So what?

Most atheists don’t give a rat’s ass about religion as it’s practiced by a handful of theologians. We care about religion as it’s widely practiced in the real world. And that includes many versions of religion that are outdated, simplistic, stupid, and ugly… and richly deserving of criticism.

Further reading:
In Defense of Atheist Blogging
Hypocrisy and the “Modern Theology” Argument

Stalin
9: Atheists are responsible for the worst crimes in history: Stalin, Mao, etc.

I don’t know why this keeps getting trotted out. It’s not like the so-called “new atheist” movement is running around saying, “Stalin was keen!” But I see it a lot, so I’m going to address it.

Here’s the problem. The Stalin argument basically goes, “Stalin was responsible for the murders of tens of millions of people. Stalin was an atheist. Therefore, all those murders can be laid at the feet of atheism.”

By that logic, you could argue that Nixon was responsible for the deaths of hundreds of thousands in Vietnam; Nixon was a Quaker; therefore, all those deaths can be laid at the feet of Quakerism.

It makes no sense.

A sensible version of the Stalin argument has to look, not at every death and imprisonment and such that Stalin caused, but at the ones explicitly done in the name of atheism, to suppress religion.

I’m not a Russian historian, and I don’t know what that number is. I do know it isn’t zero. I’m not arguing that atheists are immune from human evils, including brutal megalomania.

But that number isn’t sixty million, either.

The essence of the Stalin argument — apart from “guilt by association” — is that atheism inherently causes great evil. And that’s just silly. There aren’t many openly non-theistic world leaders — what with the rabid stigma against us — but there have been some. Helen Clark, New Zealand Prime Minister, 1999 – 2008: open agnostic. Robert (Bob) James Lee Hawke, Australian Prime Minister, 1983 – 1991: open agnostic. Bill Hayden, Governor-General of Australia, 1989 – 1996: open atheist. And Winston Churchill called himself agnostic.

England under Churchill. Australia and New Zealand in the last two decades. Not exactly Stalinist dictatorships.

And who knows how many other world leaders were/are non-believers, but couldn’t/can’t be open about it?

Yes, some megalomaniacal tyrants have been atheists. Many have been believers. And both atheists and believers have been decent, functioning world leaders. The Stalin argument proves nothing. It’s a red herring, and a scare tactic.

Further reading:
Red Crimes

Professor_frink
10: Atheists think science belongs to them; atheists treat science as their religion.

It’s true that believers can be good scientists. No atheist I know would argue otherwise.

But there’s a reason atheists care about science, and use it so much in our arguments. And it’s not because science is our religion, or that we follow it without question. It’s not even because we think science has disproven religion (although it has dispatched many specific religious beliefs).

Atheists care about science because science provides an alternate method for understanding reality. Science isn’t primarily a set of theories and facts: science is primarily a method, one that sorts good information from bad, useful theories from mistaken or useless ones. Science is a method for perceiving the world that relies, not on authority and intuition, but on rigorous examination of evidence, and a willingness to question any theory. When it comes to understanding the world, science offers an alternative to religion: not merely different answers, but a different way of asking questions.

Science doesn’t disprove religion. It simply makes it unnecessary.

Which is why it’s relevant to atheism… and why atheists care about it so much.

Further reading:
What Does Science Have To Do With Atheism?

Monocle-man
11: Atheists think they’re superior.

And again, I say: Some do. What with them being human. Thinking you’re better than the people you disagree with is unfortunate… but it’s hardly unique to atheists.

But more to the point:

There’s a huge difference between thinking you’re better than people you disagree with… and thinking that, on one particular issue, you’re correct, and people who disagree are mistaken.

Religion has been armored against criticism for so long, people are shocked when they hear it at all. And because religion is so personal, many believers can’t distinguish between criticism of their ideas… and insults to the core of their being.

They hear atheists saying, “You’re stupid and I’m superior”… when atheists are actually saying, “I don’t agree with you.” Or, “You haven’t made your case.” “There’s a flaw in your thinking.” “What evidence do you have to support that?” “Your evidence and arguments are weak — do you have anything better?

Thinking you’re right, and trying to convince people you’re right… that’s not arrogance. That’s the marketplace of ideas. As long as you’re willing to consider that you might be wrong — and you get that being right about X doesn’t make you right about Y and Z — thinking you’re right isn’t arrogance. It’s no more arrogant to think you’re right about religion than to think you’re right about public policies, or scientific theories.

This is just another “Shut up, that’s why” argument. It’s an attempt to make atheists look bad simply for making our case.

Further reading:
Defending the Blasphemy Challenge
“Evangelical” Atheism, Or, Is It Okay to Try to Change People’s Minds?

*

If you want to criticize atheists, individually or as a movement, please do. We’re not perfect, and the current incarnation of our movement is fairly young, with all the flaws of a young social movement.

But don’t spread lies about us. Don’t fearmonger about us. Don’t assume that you know who we are without listening to what we have to say.

And don’t criticize us in ways that are just meant to shut us up.

Thanks.

Eleven Myths and Truths About Atheists

Perpetrators and Victims: Religion and "Marjoe"

So when it comes to the harm done by religion, who are the perpetrators, and who are the victims?

Marjoe
Ingrid and I were watching the movie “Marjoe” the other day. Fascinating movie, and an absolute must-see for anyone interested in religion. It’s a documentary about an revivalist preacher, Marjoe Gortner, who had been a celebrated child preacher, gaining fame as “the youngest ordained preacher” at age four. By the time he grew up, he no longer believed any of it, and he left it behind for a while — but when this documentary was made, he was back working the Pentecostal revival- meeting circuit, whipping the crowds into a frenzy to scam them out of hundreds or thousands of dollars. He arranged for this documentary to be made, largely to expose the widespread fraud and deceit in this particular branch of religion… and, to some extent, to ensure that he could never go back to this life, a life that was easy and tempting but that he found morally intolerable.

It’s a fascinating movie for a lot of reasons. (FYI, it won the Academy Award for “Best Documentary” for 1972.) But in particular, it reminded me of something I’ve been wanting to talk about for a while; one of the things that makes atheist critiques of religion so complicated and emotionally loaded.

It’s this:

The people who are perpetrating the harmful things about religion are, for the most part, also its victims.

And vice versa.

Biblefire
The people who traumatize their young children with vivid and horrific images of hell were, themselves, traumatized by those horrors. The religious leaders who fill their flocks with close-minded ignorance and hateful bigotry were, themselves, taught that ignorance and bigotry are divine virtues, dearly treasured by God. The people who are warping the sexuality of their kids and teenagers, filling them with guilt and shame over normal healthy feelings, were, themselves, warped in this same way.

And vice versa. The people who were warped and stunted and scarred are now doing the warping and stunting and scarring. The perpetrators are victims: the victims are perpetrators.

Marjoe preacher
Marjoe is a perfect example. Until he decided to leave his ministry and make this documentary, he was essentially a pure charlatan: someone who made money off religion and people’s gullible belief in it, without believing a word of it himself. And it wasn’t unconscious self-deception and rationalization on his part; it was entirely conscious. He did things like put a special ink on his forehead to make a cross appear when he started to sweat; he sold “prayer cloths” and other religious swag with the promise that they would provide miracles; and the tricks he used to get people to donate more money were 100% deliberately manipulative. He knew every angle of this scam, inside and out: he talked about it at great length and in articulate detail, and even made jokes about it. If it weren’t for the fact that he made this documentary with the intention of exposing the scam — and of making it impossible for himself to ever return to it — he’d be a thoroughly despicable character.

Marjoe child
But Marjoe himself was very much a victim of this brand of religion. He was brought up into this life; taught how to preach from age three by parents who used his talents to make millions… not a dime of which he ever saw. He was threatened and coerced by his parents into performing: not just with the threat of Satan and hell, but with physical abuse. And he never got a formal education of any kind… so by the time he decided to quit preaching, he was unqualified to do anything else. No, preaching was not a sincere calling for him, it was nothing more than a way to make a living. He didn’t know any other way. How do you switch career paths when you not only don’t have a high school diploma, but have never even gone to school?

Perpetrator, or victim?

Now, let’s look at a different example for a moment. Let’s look at someone who’s clearly closer to the “perpetrator” end of this spectrum. Let’s look at Ted Haggard. Liar. Fraud. Hypocrite. Evil bastard.

And victim.

Ted_haggard
If Ted Haggard had been born and raised into a religion that taught love and acceptance for gay people — or, for that matter, if he’d been born into no religion at all — do you think he’d be the lying, fraudulent, hypocritical, evil bastard he is today? Do you think he’d be quite so full of obvious self- loathing… so full that he had to turn it against others? Do you think he’d have become quite so skilled at mental contortions… so skilled that the contortions just seemed natural, and straightforward thinking seemed like the voice of Satan? Do you think he’d have become quite so adept at the deceit of himself and others… so adept that it became a way of life?

I don’t know. Maybe. Gay people can be brought up in gay- positive households, and still grow up to be jerks. And gay people can be brought up in hatefully homophobic upbringings, and still get themselves the hell out of Dodge. But it’s impossible for me to look at both Ted Haggard and Marjoe Gortner, and not see both of them as both perpetrators and victims. And it’s hard not to think that the main difference is simply that Haggard drank the Kool-Aid. It was Marjoe’s conscious insincerity that ultimately led him to choose moral integrity; it’s Haggard’s apparently unconscious self- deception that’s enabled him to keep living a lie… and to keep passing that lie along to others.

I’m not sure where I’m going with this. Other than the obvious, namely: What a gigantic clusterfuck. What a huge, messy, impossibly complicated moral and emotional tangle.

Responsible adult
I do think that, barring extreme circumstances like mental illness, adults are responsible for their behavior. I’d even argue that the very definition of adulthood is that you don’t get to blame everything you do on your poor sad upbringing. So I’m not saying that every instance of religious fraud, bigotry, and brutality should be forgiven simply because the perpetrator is a victim as well.

But I also think that, when atheists are talking with believers, or when we’re writing stuff that we expect to be read by believers, we need to bear this stuff in mind, and try to have some compassion and empathy even when we’re at our most critical. Especially when we’re dealing with folks who believe in the more damaging versions of belief. I’m not saying we should always play nice and never say harsh truths — far from it. I’m saying that even the worst perpetuators of hurtful religious belief aren’t cartoon villains. They’re human beings, who have been damaged by religion even as they perpetuate that damage. We won’t get far if we don’t remember that.

Circle two arrows
I’m not sure where I’m going with this. But I do know that, for me, thinking of religion this way — as a continually self- perpetuating chain of victimization and perpetration — doesn’t make me less passionate about working to persuade people out of it. If anything, it makes me more passionate. It makes me both angrier and more compassionate — angrier at religion, more compassionate with the religious — both of which fuel my passion as an atheist activist. It makes me more eager to make atheism more visible… so more people can see it as an option, earlier in their lives, when there’s a better chance for the cycle to be broken.

Perpetrators and Victims: Religion and "Marjoe"

Against Deism

Deism
I suppose it’s a little silly to spend an entire blog post arguing against deism. After all, of all the religious beliefs out there, it’s the one that’s most consistent with the evidence. And it’s almost certainly the one that does the least harm. In fact, deism pretty much is atheism — except for the “believing in God” part.

But — for reasons I’ll explain in a moment — I’m going to argue against it anyway. I don’t care about it nearly as much as I do about other religious beliefs… but I care enough to spend a blog post on it.

Deism, for those who aren’t familiar, is the belief that the Universe was created by a god; but once said Universe was created, God no longer had anything to do with it. God has a plan, but that plan is proceeding without God’s intervention. He/she/it brought physical existence and the laws of physics and whatnot into being… and stopped there.

So for any practical purposes, deism is indistinguishable from atheism. An entirely non-interventionist god — one who doesn’t intervene even with any afterlife we might or might not have, much less with this life — is, in any useful day- to- day sense, utterly indistinguishable from no god at all.

But for that exact reason, I think deism is logically indefensible.

Karl popper
Because a deistic god is essentially indistinguishable from no god at all, it is an entirely untestable, unfalsifiable hypothesis. Even more so than more common religious beliefs. Regular religious beliefs typically suffer from a great degree of unfalsifiability… but they do make some claims about how God acts on the world. Claims that tend to be slippery and goalpost- moving and heavily reliant on mysterious ways, to be sure… but claims nonetheless.

A belief in a deistic God doesn’t. Deism essentially says, “God exists… but saying that God exists implies absolutely nothing about the world. God exists, but his/ her/ its existence is completely indistinguishable from his/ her/ its nonexistence.” Totally untestable, totally unfalsifiable. With conventional religious beliefs, a world without God would be very different indeed from a world without God. With deism, there’s no difference at all.

Blake_ancient_of_days
Now, a deist god supposedly answers the question of how all this Universe stuff got here in the first place. But in fact, it really just begs that question. Any questions about the Universe that the deist God hypothesis supposedly answers — how did it get here, how did something come out of nothing, if it just always existed how is that possible — have to be asked about God as well. It doesn’t answer those questions; it just pushes them back one level, to God instead of the universe. If you can say that God just always existed, or that God somehow just came into being out of nothingness, then there’s no reason you can’t say that about the universe as well.

El_greco_the_repentant_peter_3
I suppose you could argue that a deist god answers the question of why believers believe; why people feel the presence of God even though there’s no good evidence for him. Except that it doesn’t. Given the fallibility of intuition and its tendency to tell us what we want or expect to hear, people’s personal feelings and intuitions don’t make a good argument for a deist God, any more than they do for an interventionist God. In fact, intuition is actually a less good argument for a deist God… since with a deist God, you have to ask the question, “If God isn’t intervening in any way, shape, or form, then how is it that I can feel his/ her/ its presence?” The whole “this is how our brains work, we’re wired to see patterns and intentions even where none exist, and to see what we expect and hope to see” thing makes a better explanation for these feelings and intuitions than the God hypothesis does… regardless of whether the God in question is interventionist or not.

Occams_Razor
The deistic God hypothesis isn’t necessary. It doesn’t answer any questions that the not-God hypothesis doesn’t answer. Plus it presents a whole new set of unanswered and unanswerable questions — such as how exactly God created the universe out of nothing, and why God doesn’t intervene even though he/ she/ it clearly has the power to. And when your Hypothesis A doesn’t answer any more questions than Hypothesis B, and it presents extra unanswered questions that Hypothesis B doesn’t present, and it has extra entities and layers of complexity in the mix that Hypothesis B doesn’t have… then that’s a hypothesis you probably want to let go of.

But again — why do I care? If deism is essentially indistinguishable from atheism, why do I care about it enough to bother criticizing it?

I care for the same reason I care about progressive, non-bigoted, science- positive religion.

I care because it gives legitimacy to the idea that it’s okay to believe in undetectable supernatural entities, without any evidence to support that belief.

I care because it gives legitimacy to the idea that it’s okay to believe in undetectable supernatural entities, simply because you feel it intuitively.

I care because it gives legitimacy to the idea that it’s okay to believe in undetectable supernatural entities, simply because you want to: because you find the idea of a god comforting, and because you find the idea of there not being a god weird and upsetting.

It’s not just that deism gives legitimacy to the basic concept of God and religious belief. It’s that it gives legitimacy to these faulty forms of reasoning; the ones that keep getting used to defend the more obviously indefensible forms of religion. It gives legitimacy to unfalsifiable hypotheses, and prioritizing intuition over evidence, and wishful thinking.

And I’m not okay with that.

Way_out
I do think deism is often a gateway religion; a step that people go through when they’re in the process of letting religion go. I can’t remember now where I read this, but I was recently reading some former Christian minister talking about how, as he thought about it harder and looked at it more carefully, the evidence for the God he’d been raised to believe in was looking increasingly weak and inconsistent… until finally his God had been reduced to an entirely deistic one, a God who was out there somewhere but was completely detached from human reality. At which point, he clung to his belief for a little longer… and was then finally able to let go.

It seems like this happens with a lot of people. I get that. And I’m basically okay with it. I don’t expect every fervent believer, or even lukewarm believer, to immediately relinquish every scrap of their belief the first time they hear a good argument for atheism. People need to go through their process — I certainly did — and that’s fine. And if their process stops at deism, I don’t really care very much. People who believe in deism aren’t going to inflict much harm on themselves or others trying to appease their entirely non- interventionist God.

Sunset_jump
I’m just saying: If you’ve stopped at deism — if you believe in a God who’s out there somewhere, or who was out there somewhere at one time, but whose existence is 100% indistinguishable from his/ her/ its non-existence… then I’d like to encourage you to look at whether that belief really makes sense. And I’d like to encourage you to take that final step, that leap of non-faith. Come on in. The water’s fine.

Against Deism

You Got Religion In My Porn! The Blowfish Blog

Please note: This piece, and the piece it links to, includes references to my personal sexuality: not to my sex life per se, but to my sexual fantasies and my tastes in porn. Family members and other who don’t want to read about that, please don’t.

Satan_was_a_lesbian
I have a new piece up on the Blowfish Blog. It’s about the influence of religion on porn: not religion being used to oppress or demonize porn in this case, but religion as inspiration for porn. I’ve been writing more erotic fiction lately, and a fair amount of it has religion as a major theme… something I never used to be interested in, either as a porn writer or a porn reader. So I’m trying to figure out what that’s about… and am asking other porn writers/ readers if they’ve ever found their interests shifting in this direction.

It’s titled You Got Religion In My Porn!, and here’s the teaser:

Part of it, I think, is actually the atheism. Not surprisingly, I spend more time thinking about religion now that I’m an atheist blogger than I have at any time in my life (since I was a religion major, anyway). So religion is just on my mind more… and consequently, it’s more in my libido.

Plus, being a critic of religion, the darker aspects of religion are particularly on my mind. And the erotic imagination/ porn- writing parts of my mind are pretty dark, and they tend to gobble up dark things like they were chocolates. Nom, nom, nom.

And of course, as Ingrid points out, anything that’s forbidden or taboo almost automatically becomes erotic. As an atheist, religious thinking about sex — imagining sex through the eyes of a fervent believer, putting myself and my libido into that mindset — feels kind of taboo… and thus it becomes more erotically exciting than it might otherwise be.

I think there’s something else, though; something other than the accident of what I happen to be thinking about these days. That’s probably why I started playing with it in the first place; but it doesn’t explain why I’ve been running with it so eagerly.

To find out what I think my new-found interest in religious porn is about — or to chime in with your own thoughts and experiences about it — read the rest of the piece. Enjoy!

(Note: If you decide to comment on this piece here in this blog, please consider cross- posting your comment to the piece itself on the Blowfish Blog. They like comments there, too.)

You Got Religion In My Porn! The Blowfish Blog

Free Will, Doing Good, and the "12 Policemen" Metaphor

God
There’s a common Christian apologetic: a defense for why a god who’s supposedly all- powerful, all- knowing, and all- good still allows evil to flourish. You’re probably familiar with it. It says that in order to have free will, people have to be free to choose evil… and free will is an inherently greater good than not- free- will, one that more than counterbalances the evil that’s required for this free will to exist.

Ebonmuse at Daylight Atheism was recently blogging about this apologetic: he’s written about it well and thoroughly, more than once, and I don’t have a huge amount to add. But I do have a particular take on it, and I’d like to share it with the rest of the class.

Let’s take two people: Person A, and Person B.

Julefrokost
Person A is born into relative prosperity — not stinking rich, but comfortable — to loving parents who take good care of him and teach him good values. He gets a good education, good nutrition, good shelter and health care, and has a general sense of security throughout his upbringing. He is born with relative good health, both mental and physical. His education and the relative prosperity of his family make it possible, and indeed fairly easy, for him to go to an excellent college, and to choose from any number of satisfying careers that he happens to have an aptitude for.

Make_levees_not_war
Person B is born into poverty, to parents who are abusive, neglectful, and/or absent. He is underfed, he attends lousy schools, his neighborhood surrounds him with crime and violence, he rarely if ever sees a doctor, he often wonders where his next meal is coming from. He may find himself in the foster care system at an early age. He may have mental health problems: perhaps difficulty controlling his anger. Unless he is unusually bright or gifted, his education and family situation will make it extremely difficult, if not wildly unlikely, that he’ll be able go to any college at all, and will make his career options limited to say the least.

It’s pretty well- documented that B is more likely to do bad things — to commit crimes, and make bad, even evil choices — than Person A. It’s not a guarantee, of course: Person A may wind up being a meth dealer or a mugger, or indeed a banker who bilks ordinary people out of their life savings in a mortgage scam; Person B may wind up being an epidemiologist or a social worker, or indeed a janitor who treats his neighbors and family well and volunteers at the rec center on weekends. But the odds are much more in favor of A than B. I think few people would argue with that.

Now.

Let’s get back to free will, and to God.

Roads_sign
Person B is surrounded by badness everywhere, and the choice to do evil is readily offered to him on a daily, indeed on an hourly basis. Evil is the easy choice for him, even the obvious one. Person A can certainly choose to do evil, but he has much less motivation to do so. The choice to do good is relatively easy for him.

Does that mean that Person A doesn’t have free will?

And if not — if Person A has free will — then why on earth doesn’t God make everybody a Person A?

If relative comfort and security are not incompatible with free will, then why didn’t God create a world in which all of us have that? And if evil is really necessary for free will, then why didn’t God create a world in which all of us live in poverty, violence, and hopelessness?

According to this apologetic, we need to be presented with the choice to do evil in order for our choice of good to have meaning. And yet, if you believe in this particular version of God, then you have to accept that he has created a world in which people are presented with these choices in wildly different degrees. For many people, the choice to do good is relatively easy; for many, many others, that choice is far more difficult. Why the discrepancy? If all these people are equally free, despite having such wildly different opportunities and motivations to choose evil, then doesn’t that put a gigantic hole in the idea that the opportunity and motivation to choose evil is necessary for free will?

Does that make any kind of sense at all?

Child abuse prevention_center
And think about this. One of the human activities that we think of most strongly as “doing good” is working to change people’s circumstances so they’re less likely to make bad choices, and to give them more opportunities to make good ones. Anti- poverty work, education, prevention of domestic violence… that’s considered doing good. Trying to shape people’s lives — and indeed, their emotions and their minds — so they’re less likely to do bad things, and in fact are less motivated to do bad things… that’s considered doing good. Pretty much a textbook definition of it.

If evil is necessary for free will, then are these people actually doing harm by reducing evil and thus diminishing free will?

And if these people are actually doing good, then why doesn’t God do good in the same way?

And don’t argue “mysterious ways” or “we have no way of understanding what ‘good’ means to God.” If you say that God is still good despite behaving in ways that we would call despicably evil in humans, you’re essentially rendering the whole concept of good and evil meaningless.

Police
I read a metaphor recently (which I now can’t find again — if anybody has a link, please let me know link found — thanks, Adele!) that explains this beautifully. A woman is brutally raped and murdered on the street, and twelve policemen stand by, watching and doing nothing. When asked why they did nothing, they each say things like, “This evil act gave some passerby the opportunity to do good by stopping it.” “This evil act is necessary for both the victim’s and the rapist’s spiritual growth.” And — most pertinent to this discussion — “People have make their own choices in order for free will to be meaningful: if I stopped this rape, it would negate the rapist’s free will.”

It’s laughable. At best. Unremittingly wicked and grotesquely irresponsible at worst.

And if it’s laughable, irresponsible, and wicked for the policeman, then why isn’t it for God?

If evil is a necessary part of God’s plan to give us free will, then we should all have roughly the same exposure to evil, and roughly the same opportunity and motivation to commit it. We clearly don’t. And the fact that we don’t makes this apologetic a complete joke.

Free Will, Doing Good, and the "12 Policemen" Metaphor

On Happiness, or, Positive Atheist Philosophy #4,626

So what does it mean to be happy?

Daylight
There’s been an interesting discussion over at Daylight Atheism. A thought- experiment, posing the question: If you could hook yourself up to a happiness machine, would you do it?

On the surface, if there’s no God to please and all we have is this life, it seems like there should be no reason not to. If there’s no ultimate exterior meaning, and we create our own meaning for our own lives, then why shouldn’t that meaning be “hooking myself up to a happiness machine until I die”?

And yet most people in the conversation wanted nothing to do with that hypothetical machine. (Or, at most, they could see using it only rarely, or only under extreme circumstances such as debilitating terminal illness.)

I was going to comment; but my comment kept going and going, and got too long for a comment on somebody else’s blog, and eventually morphed into… well, into this piece.

So. On the topic of a happiness machine.

I want to talk about my experiences with heroin.

Heroin_bottle
I’ve never been a heroin addict, or anything even close to a heroin addict. But I have taken it, more than once. In my early twenties, I took heroin about six or eight times, over the course of about three years.

And the experience was about as close to a pleasure machine as I can imagine. It was more than just the complete absence of pain and unpleasantness… although it certainly was that. It was more than just a total sense of relaxation and peace… although it certainly was that. It was more than just the dissolving into a misty darkness of all problems and worries… although it certainly was that. It felt like everything was okay, like everything was right with my life and the world. There was one point during one of my experiences when I got nauseated and threw up… and throwing up was perfectly okay. Sure, on the whole I would have preferred to be doing something other than throwing up… but throwing up was okay, too. Everything was okay. Everything was more than okay. Everything was right.

Space
It seems like it should have felt fake or plastic — it was a drug, after all — but it didn’t. At the time, at least, it felt richly, deeply satisfying. It felt like I was melting into the universe, like I was profoundly connected with the very essence of goodness. It felt like the way you feel after you’ve had unbelievably amazing sex for hours. Filled with pleasure in every pore of your body, and without any need or desire for anything more. It felt like this was how life should be, for everyone, all the time.

It was as close to a pleasure machine as I can imagine.

And I was extremely wary of it.

I was careful not to take the drug very often. Not just “never twice in the same week,” but “never twice in the same month,” and never more than two or three times a year. I was careful not to seek it out, but only to take it when the opportunity fell into my lap by chance.

And even so, it scared me. I loved it, but it scared the crap out of me. I knew it was a pleasure I had to treat with extreme caution; that if I let it become even remotely a regular part of my life, I could be in big trouble.

Sad_silhouette
I had one particular experience, in which I’d felt amazing the day that I took the drug… and really, really shitty the day after. Not physically shitty — I wasn’t going through withdrawal or anything — but emotionally shitty. I was going through a difficult time in my life, and the loss of that “everything is right and okay” feeling felt unbearable. Heroin felt right; not being on heroin felt wrong. And thank Loki in Valhalla, that spooked the hell out of me. I was able to recognize that as The Obviously Wrong Way To Look At Things. I never took the drug again after that.

I had access to a pleasure machine. And I didn’t want it. I wanted it at most maybe two or three times a year; and ultimately, I didn’t want it at all.

So this, I think, is my point:

Pleasure is not the same thing as happiness.

Potter
I can’t remember now where I read this, but I’ve seen studies showing that, while people often think that what makes us happy is lying on a beach with a drink in our hand doing absolutely nothing (or something along those lines), that isn’t in fact what makes us happy. That’s nice for a little while, but it gets boring fast. What actually makes us most happy is working on something that engages us. An activity that’s difficult and challenging, but within our capabilities. An activity that we care about, and that we can lose ourselves in. What makes us happiest is engaging in an activity that shuts up our chattering, nattering, critical inner voice, and lets us just do, and just be.

It doesn’t have to be a work activity necessarily. It can be, of course — I get it sometimes with writing, when it’s going really well, when I lose all track of time, when the pipeline between the dark pond of my brain and the bright world of words on a screen is flowing like blood through a healthy artery — but it doesn’t have to be. It can be dancing. Reading. Sex. Good conversation. Playing music. Listening to music: not passively and in the background, but really listening. Rock climbing (or so I’ve heard). Whatever. If we care about it and find it totally engaging of our consciousness, then that’s what makes us happy.

Waltzing1
I think about the peak experiences I’ve had in my life: the non- heroin ones, the moments of blissful, ecstatic atheist transcendence and peace. And while, on a purely visceral level, heroin may have been more pleasurable, the other experiences were far more satisfying. I felt replenished afterwards, not drained. I felt strengthened for the difficult and tedious tasks ahead of me, not saddened and burdened by them. I felt like something had been added to me, like I had become larger and richer and more complex; not like something had passed through me and then disappeared, leaving nothing behind but a memory and a longing for more.

Heroin gave me pleasure. These other experiences made me happy. And I’d rather be happy.

Don’t get me wrong. I’ve got nothing against pleasure. Pleasure is important, too. Pleasure can also connect us with our deeper selves and the world around us. (And for the record, I’m not anti-drug, either. While I do think drugs should be approached with caution and good information — and while I think heroin in particular is a serious minefield — I don’t think there’s anything wrong with taking the occasional vacation from your usual state of consciousness.)

And I’m not saying that I’ve found the secret key to happiness, which I’m revealing in this 1,417- word blog post. I haven’t.

Gears
I’m saying this: I think that a happiness machine, pretty much by definition, wouldn’t make us happy. Not for long. Not unless it magically replicated the experience of engaging with a meaningful and challenging activity in the world around us. The experience would begin to pall. The human brain being what it is, we’d either become addicted to it — which isn’t any fun — or the experience would lose its charm. Happiness isn’t about capturing a frozen moment of perfect time. Happiness, by definition, is about moving forward through time, and through the world.

And more to the point, I’m saying this:

One of the most common critiques of atheism is that, if there’s no God and no external meaning to our lives, then we have no reason to do anything other than selfishly pursue our own happiness. So I’m saying this: The pursuit of happiness is not selfish. Happiness is not about sucking up as much pleasure as you can. Happiness is about engaging with the world, and being intimately connected with it. The things that make us genuinely happy — work, hobbies, family and friends — are, on the whole, the things that make us good. They are the things that make life richer and better: not just for ourselves, but for the world that we’re connected with.

On Happiness, or, Positive Atheist Philosophy #4,626

Atheism and the Argument from Comfort

Comforter
“But religion offers people comfort. It makes people’s lives easier. Why is it so important to you to convince people that it’s wrong? Why are you trying to take that comfort away?”

Today — inspired by a comment from Kim — I want to take on what I call “the argument from comfort.” Or what Ingrid, who at times is a bit more of a hard-ass than me, tends to refer to as “the argument from wishful thinking.”

It’s an argument that tends to drive atheists batty… since it’s not, in fact, an argument. It’s an emotional defense for hanging onto an argument that’s already been lost.

But more on that in a moment.

Woman submit
My first response to the argument from comfort would be: Religion doesn’t universally offer comfort. In fact, it very often doesn’t offer comfort. How much comfort does religion give to abused wives who are instructed by their religious leaders that it’s their duty to stay in their abusive marriage? To girls who’ve had their clitorises cut off because their religion requires it? To twelve year old rape victims being stoned to death for adultery? To people with AIDS in Africa who were denied access to condoms because the churches think condoms are sinful? To people being driven out of their villages, and even killed, because some preacher decided they were a witch? (No, I don’t mean in the 17th century — I mean today.)

Hell
You don’t even have to go to those extremes. How much comfort does religion offer to young children who are raised in terror of being burned and tortured in Hell? To older children who are taught that their schoolmates will burn in Hell because they belong to the wrong religion? To teenagers who hate themselves because they’re gay, and they’ve been taught that God despises them for it? To troubled married couples being counseled by priests and ministers and rabbis… who have no training in counseling or therapy, and who base their advice on religious dogma? To sick people being taught that God will heal them if they pray hard enough and have enough faith… and thus, by implication, that if they don’t get better, it’s their fault? To old people near death, who live in terror that their children and grandchildren are going to burn in Hell because they left the faith? To anybody at all, of any age or situation, who’s asking hard questions about their faith and gets told by their religious leaders simply to stop asking?

But maybe I’m being too hard-assed. If someone is defending their religion by saying how much comfort they get from it, blasting its horrors is certainly fair… but it may not be the most effective rhetorical gambit in the world. It’s likely to just put the believer on the defensive, and entrench them even further in their beliefs.

So that brings me to Argument #2: Atheism has its own comforts to offer.

Read some stories of deconversion. Many atheists do go through a dark night of the soul (or rather, a dark night of the soul-less) when they’re giving up their religion. I certainly did. But they generally come through on the other side. And they generally come through happier, feeling like a burden has been lifted.

Potter
Atheism offers us the comfort of knowing that we can shape our own lives, and don’t have to rest our fate in the hands of a god whose ways can at best be describes as “mysterious.” It offers the comfort of not having to wonder what we did wrong, or why we’re being punished/ tested, every time something bad happens. It offers the comfort of experiencing the world as shaped by a stable and potentially comprehensible set of physical laws, rather than by the capricious whim of a creator who’s theoretically loving but in practice is moody, short- tempered, and wildly unpredictable. It offers the comfort of being intimately connected with the rest of the universe, rather than somehow set apart from it. It offers the comfort of being able to make our own moral judgments, based on our own instincts and experiences, rather than trying to reconcile the outdated and self- contradictory teachings of a centuries- old religious text… or trying to second- guess the wishes of an invisible and imprecise deity.

And it offers the comfort of being able to see the world as it is, to the best of our abilities, without having to ignore or rationalize every experience that contradicts our faith.

Fault_types.svg
Speaking from personal experience: The comfort I once got from my belief in an afterlife always felt a little shaky… since there was always a part of me that knew I was basing my belief on wishful thinking. Letting go of that self- deception has been a tremendous comfort. In the face of hardship and death, the comfort I get from my humanist philosophy isn’t as easy or simple as the comfort I once got from my belief in a world-soul and an afterlife… but it’s a whole lot more solid.

And I will also point, as I have so many times in this blog, to the example of Europe. Many countries in Europe — France, England, Holland, the Scandinavian countries — have very high rates of atheism and agnosticism… and they’re not all walking around in the depths of despair. They’re doing pretty well, actually (or as well as anybody is doing in the current lousy economy). They seem to have found a way to find comfort in the world, even in the face of death and other hardships, without needing to believe in God or an afterlife.

Gravestone
Now, as Ingrid points out: Death is something of a special case. The case for hard-nosed realism over comforting self-deception generally relies on the assumption that it’s better to know the truth, because then you can act more effectively to solve the problem at hand. Death, however, is a problem that can’t be solved. Death is not a problem that can be fixed or alleviated if we just have the courage to deal with its challenges head-on. Death is a problem that simply has to be faced, and accepted.

But even so, I would still argue for hard-nosed realism over comforting self-deception.

I would argue it because the way you face the unsolvable problem of death makes a difference in how you live your life. If you live according to the assumption that the single most important thing you can do in this life is to please God so you can go to Heaven when you die… you’re going to live your life differently than if you think this life is the only life we have, and we therefore have to make the most of our opportunities and create as much joy as we can for ourselves and one another while we’re here.

Pray
And if atheists are right, and there is no God and no afterlife, then all the time spent trying to appease a non-existent God and reach a non-existent blissful afterlife is just wasted time. Unless it’s time spent doing something that you’d find moral and valuable anyway, even if you didn’t believe in God… then the comfort found in religion doesn’t come free. It has a cost: the cost of wasted lives, bad decisions based on a false premise.

And if a believer is making the argument from comfort… then they are essentially admitting that the premise they’re basing their comfort on is false.

Which brings me to Number Three. Or rather, it brings me back around to where I started.

And that’s this:

The argument from comfort is not an argument.

Frayed_steel_cable
It is a sign of desperation.

It is a last- ditch effort to hang on to an argument that the believer knows in their heart — and that they even know in their head — has already been lost.

I mean, if your big argument for religion is, “Sure, it doesn’t make sense, but wouldn’t it be nice if it were true? Doesn’t it make our lives easier to believe that it’s true?”… then you have essentially conceded the argument. It’s not an argument for why religion is correct. It’s not even trying to be an argument for why religion is correct. It’s an argument for why it’s okay to believe something that you know is almost certainly not true, but that you can’t imagine living without.

So, from a rhetorical point of view: If someone is making the argument from comfort? IMO, that’s the time to stop making arguments for why atheism is more plausible than religion. They already know that. They’ve admitted as much.

Safety net
That’s the time, instead, to start softening the landing. That’s the time to start pointing out the comforts that atheism does have to offer (like the ones I talked about in #2 above). That’s the time to start pointing out positive atheist and humanist philosophies. That’s the time to start pointing out all the atheists, in history and living today, who have led happy, productive, meaningful lives. That’s the time to start talking about the different ways that atheists find meaning and joy and peace in their lives, without a belief in God or an afterlife. That’s the time to start talking, not about why religion is incorrect, but about why it’s unnecessary.

That’s the time to stop making arguments, and to start offering comfort.

Other pieces you may want to read:
Comforting Thoughts About Death That Have Nothing To Do With God
Dancing Molecules: An Atheist Moment of Transcendence
The Meaning of Death: Part One of Many
The Meaning of Death, Part 2 of Many: Motivation and Mid-Life Crises
The Meaning of Death, Part 3 of Many: Fear, Grief, and Actually Experiencing Your Emotions
Atheism, Bad Luck, and the Comfort of Reason
“Everything happens for a reason”: Atheism and Learning from Mistakes
The Sameness of Imagination, The Astonishingness of Reality: Thoughts on Science and Religion
For No Good Reason: Atheist Transcendence at the Black and White Tour
Atheism and Hope
The Human Animal: An Atheist’s View of People and Nature
A Safe Place to Land: Making Atheism Friendly for The Deconverting

Atheism and the Argument from Comfort