Atheism, Stripping, and More: Greta on "Feast of Fools" Radio

Feast of fools
I’m on the radio!

Okay, Internet radio. But hey, this is the 21st century, and Internet radio is the new black.

The “Feast of Fools” podcast is a daily talk show hosted by Fausto Fernos and Marc Felion featuring celebrity guests, artists, musicians, actors and members of the GLBT community; a roundtable discussion of unusual news, social trends and features cocktail recipes and interviews. They recently interviewed me, in a funny, lively conversation that goes all over the map: from atheist philosophy, to religion in the LGBT community, to how to hire a sex worker.

Which I guess means I’m a “celebrity” now. News to me, but I’m not complaining. When do I get to be a judge on Project Runway?

Anyway. The podcast is titled Living Without Religion, and it’s past of Feast of Fools’ Gay Fun Show series. Come listen to me gab!

Atheism, Stripping, and More: Greta on "Feast of Fools" Radio
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On Being an Atheist Watching the Inauguration

Obama hope
Yes. Okay. Pride; hope; history; immense joy; inexpressible relief.

Yes. Sure. Absolutely.

But also this.

I was watching the Inauguration, with pride and hope and history and joy and relief. And the message I kept hearing was, “We are one country. This country belongs to everybody in it. Everybody has a voice. Everybody has a part to play. Everybody’s experience matters.

“Everybody — except you.

“Everybody except you and the roughly 15% of Americans who don’t believe in God.

“Not you. You’re not part of this. This isn’t for you.”

Yes, yes, I know. I know what you’re about to say. Yes, Obama said the word “non-believers” in his speech. He said, quote:

“For we know that our patchwork heritage is a strength, not a weakness. We are a nation of Christians and Muslims, Jews and Hindus — and non-believers.”

And yes, that was pretty neat. As far as I know (does anyone know for sure?), this was the first time that a President’s inaugural address said anything about non-believers in a positive, inclusive way. I’m not going to underestimate that. He said it, and it was pretty darned cool. A milestone, even.

He said it once… in a speech, one of a series of speeches over the inaugural ceremony, that over and over again hammered home the message, “This is God’s country.”

Rick warren
From Rick Warren’s icky opening invocation:

“Almighty God, our father, everything we see and everything we can’t see exists because of you alone. It all comes from you, it all belongs to you. It all exists for your glory. History is your story.

“The Scripture tells us Hear, oh Israel, the Lord is our God; the Lord is one. And you are the compassionate and merciful one. And you are loving to everyone you have made.”

and:

“…when we forget you [God], forgive us. When we presume that our greatness and our prosperity is ours alone, forgive us.”

and:

“I humbly ask this in the name of the one who changed my life, Yeshua, Isa, Jesus, Jesus (hay-SOOS), who taught us to pray, Our Father who art in heaven hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done on Earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us, and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil, for thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever. Amen.”

Sign
Do I need to point out what’s wrong with this? Do I need to point out how grotesquely inappropriate it is — in a massive and public government ceremony, addressed both to and on behalf of a secular nation populated by people of many faiths and many people of no faith — to assert that everything that happens comes from God and belongs to him? To assert that there’s something wrong/ needing of forgiveness about “forgetting” God and claiming our achievements for ourselves? To not only invoke a prayer on behalf of the whole country, but to do so in a specific prayer that comes from his particular religious tradition, in the name of his particular god?

Ew.

Rev joseph lowery
Okay. Moving on. We have the closing benediction from Rev. Joseph Lowery. A much, much better speech than Warren’s, and one which, when you take the God stuff out of it, I have little to argue with and a tremendous amount to be inspired by. But we still have this:

“Thou, who has by thy might
Led us into the light,
Keep us forever on the path, we pray.

Lest our feet stray from the places, our God, where we met thee;
Lest, our heart drunk with the wine of the world, we forget thee
Shadowed beneath Thy hand,
May we forever stand
True to thee, O God, and true to our native land.”

and:

“We pray now, oh Lord, for your blessing upon thy servant Barack Obama, the 44th president of these United States…”

and:

“We thank you for the empowering of thy servant, our 44th President…”

and:

“Let us take that power back to our homes, our workplaces, our churches, our temples, our mosques, or wherever we seek your will.”

Gods hand
So again, we have the message: It’s God who directs us towards goodness. It’s really bad to “forget” that. We — as a country — should stand true to God.

(Yes, I know that those words are from “Lift Every Voice and Sing,” the song considered to be the Negro National Anthem, with an important and powerful history in the African American community and the civil rights movement. I get the value and meaning of using this song in the inaugural ceremony. But there are plenty of other lyrics from this song that don’t frame the United States as a Christian nation, and that don’t chastise non-believers for their non-belief.)

Plus we have the unsettling notion that Obama is God’s servant. Sorry, but no. Obama is our servant. Yours, mine, ours. He is the public servant of the people of the United States of America. It is to us, and to the Constitution, that he owes his allegiance. Not to God.

And plus we have the very unsettling message that “we” includes people who go to churches, temples, and mosques, people who seek God’s will in an assortment of places… but “we” does not include people who don’t seek God’s will at all. “We the people” does not include people who don’t believe in God.

Obama inauguration
And then. Most importantly. From Obama’s own Inaugural address:

“…the God-given promise that all are equal, all are free, and all deserve a chance to pursue their full measure of happiness.”

and:

“This is the source of our confidence — the knowledge that God calls on us to shape an uncertain destiny.”

and:

“…and with eyes fixed on the horizon and God’s grace upon us, we carried forth that great gift of freedom and delivered it safely to future generations.”

No.

No, no, no.

The promise of equality and freedom and opportunity was not given to me by God. My confidence is not given to me by God. God’s grace is not upon me.

No.

Finally, of course, the enormous elephant in the room:

Duerer-Prayer
We have the very fact that this inauguration was opened and closed with a prayer. The fact that Sunday’s inaugural concert was opened with a prayer. The fact that the oath of office was sworn on a Bible, and concluded — unrequired by the Constitution — with the words, “So help me God.” The fact of the insistent repetition of the phrases “God bless you” and “God bless the United States.” The fact that God was all over this inauguration like a cheap suit; the examples I’ve cited here, while the most egregious, were really just a drop in the bucket.

Completely regardless of the content of these prayers and invocations, we have the unquestioned assumption that religion and prayers and repeated references to God and faith should have a significant part — indeed, any part whatsoever — in the ceremonies of our government. We have the unquestioned assumption that the prayers of a church belong in the single most important ceremony of our state.

Look. You can’t spend all day talking about how God’s grace is upon the nation, and how everything that happens comes from God, and how equality and freedom and opportunity are promised to us by God, and how the elected leader of a democratic country is God’s servant, and how forgetting God is a sin that requires forgiveness — and then mention once that some of the people making up the strong patchwork of this country are non-believers — and call that real inclusivity and recognition of non-believers.

Any more than you can spend all day talking about how same- sex couples shouldn’t be allowed to marry, and non- discrimination laws shouldn’t be expanded to cover sexual orientation, and LGBT people shouldn’t be allowed to serve in the military — and then say, “Oh, no, I’m not homophobic.”

Am I being churlish?

Dont worry be happy
Should I just be happy about the mention of non-believers? Should I just be happy about this little baby step towards full recognition of atheists as actual citizens of this country, citizens with the same rights and responsibilities, the same expectation of respect and passion to contribute, that everyone else in this country has?

Maybe. For the record: I am thrilled that Obama is President. I’ve said it before, and I will say it again: Thrilled. I’m thrilled because I care about torture, and global warming, and the economy, and the war, and education, and science, and our standing in the world at large. I’m thrilled because I care about our country’s history and future, and I’m awestruck at what Obama’s election means about who we’ve become and what we can be. And I am thrilled because I care about secularism; because Obama is a Constitutional scholar, and I think he has potential to be one of the best advocates for secularism and separation of church and state that the White House has seen.

But I am done with this. I am done with repeated references to God and religion in official government events.

I’m not just done with it because this is supposed to be a secular, non- sectarian country, founded on (among other things) the idea of the separation of church and state. I’m not just done with it because I think the very presence of religion in politics makes for a toxic mess, with policy debates based not on observable evidence, but on unsubstantiated dogma.

No atheists usa
I’m done with it because, when Presidents and other official representatives of our country and our government insist that this is God’s country, the implicit — if unintentional — message is that, if you don’t believe in God, this is not your country.

Screw that.

This is my country, too.

On Being an Atheist Watching the Inauguration

Conspiracies and Unshakeable Faith: What Would Convince You That You Were Wrong? Part 2

What is it about conspiracy theories that’s so problematic?

Manson family
I mean, it’s not as if conspiracies don’t happen. The Mafia is a conspiracy. The Manson murders were a conspiracy. The Sarin attack on the Tokyo subway was a conspiracy. Two people getting together to buy an ounce of weed is a conspiracy. It’s not like it never happens that two or more people get together to break the law. Obviously it does. It’s probably happening right now, in hundreds or thousands of places around the country.

So it’s not as if it’s completely wacky to think that conspiracies might happen.

All_the_President's_Men
And big conspiracies among powerful people happen as well. Watergate was a conspiracy. Iran/ Contra was a conspiracy. The history of Chicago politics is loaded with conspiracies. The Gunpowder Plot was a conspiracy. I could go on and on.

So it’s not as if it’s completely wacky to think that conspiracies might happen among powerful people in government or business. The history of the world is littered with well- documented instances of conspiracies, both large and small, by the puny and the powerful.

So what is it about conspiracy theories that’s so aggravating?

Why are they typically as stubbornly irrational, as resistant to evidence and argument, as the most extreme varieties of religious faith?

I’ve been thinking about this. And I realized something.

Your typical conspiracy theory shares a very irritating quality with your typical religious belief: There is literally no possible piece of evidence that could convince the believer that they’re mistaken.

Faith
As I’ve written before — or rather, as I’ve stolen outright from Ebonmuse before — a defining feature of religious belief seems to be that, when asked the question, “What would convince you that you were wrong?”, the answer is almost always, “Nothing. Nothing would make me lose faith in my god. That’s what it means to have faith.” It’s one of the things that makes debating with believers aggravating: many believers will begin a debate thinking that their belief is based on sound reasoning and evidence, but by the end of the debate, they typically wind up saying some version of, “I feel it in my heart,” or, “Well, that’s just what I believe.”

And I see much the same thing with conspiracy theories.

AmericanCancerSociety
Any argument that you make against a particular conspiracy theory — any piece of evidence that counters it, any line of reasoning about whether it makes sense, any questions about whether it’s even plausible — will almost inevitably be met with an assortment of maddeningly unfalsifiable retorts. “That evidence was manufactured.” “The conspirators are exceptionally good at secrecy and at hiding evidence of the truth.” “The media’s in on the conspiracy.” (As is anybody at all who objects to the conspiracy or provides evidence against it, from NASA to the American Cancer Society.) And, of course, the ever-popular, “Or have they gotten to you, too?”

But, of course — as I and countless other atheist writers have pointed out when talking about religion — if a theory or a belief can’t possibly be falsified, if there is no possible evidence imaginable that could prove it wrong, then it’s not a useful theory. It has no power to explain the past, or to predict the future.

And when you start looking at it this way, you realize that conspiracy theories have a lot in common with the more irrational aspects of religious belief.

Nutmeg
There’s the fact that conspiracy theories tend to be based, not on direct positive evidence, but on what seem to be suspicious patterns. The problem with that, of course, being that our brains are hard-wired by evolution to see patterns even where none exist… and we can find conspiratorial patterns pretty much anywhere we look. (“How likely is it that every single store in our neighborhood would be out of nutmeg? That can’t possibly be a coincidence!”)

There’s the fact that conspiracy theories tend to be based on the assumption that there must be intention behind every phenomenon. Another logical fallacy hard- wired into our brains for very good evolutionary reasons… and another logical fallacy shared by religion.

Flying_Spaghetti_Monster
And there’s the fact that conspiracy theories are often bolstered by the “You can’t prove it didn’t happen” argument. Currently my least favorite piece of rhetorical stupid floating around the Interweb. As if every single proposition that can’t be disproven with 100% certainty, from Zeus the Thunder God to the Flying Spaghetti Monster, deserves to be taken seriously.

JFK
I have other problems with conspiracy theories, too. I’m particularly entertained/ exasperated by just how huge many of these supposed conspiracies are, and just how many people would have to be in on the secret… completely ignoring how lousy most people are at keeping secrets. (The conspiracy delineated in the movie “JFK” is my favorite example; the one which, if it were true, would have required both the involvement and the silence of approximately one fifth of the American population.)

But my biggest problem really is this: If nothing at all could convince you that your theory is wrong… then what you have on your hands there is a truly lousy theory. In fact, it’s not really a theory at all. It’s an article of faith: unshakeable, irrational, unconnected with reality.

So with people who believe that 9-11 was a conspiracy on the part of the U.S. government (as opposed to a conspiracy on the part of, oh, say, Al-Qaeda); that vaccines are a conspiracy to keep the drug companies rich; that the medical profession knows about a cure for (cancer, AIDS, achy breaky heart) but is in a conspiracy to keep it a secret… I want to ask the same question I want to ask religious believers:

“What would convince you that you were wrong?”

Not just “What evidence do you have that you’re right?” (although I want to ask that too) — but “What would you accept as evidence that this conspiracy really didn’t happen?”

And if the answer is, “Nothing — any evidence against this conspiracy would simply bolster my belief in it”… then I say once again: That is one lousy theory. It doesn’t even deserve the honorable name of “theory.” And you shouldn’t expect anyone else to take it seriously.

Also in this series:
What Would Convince You That You Were Wrong? The Difference Between Secular and Religious Faith

Conspiracies and Unshakeable Faith: What Would Convince You That You Were Wrong? Part 2

Stupid Design: Rube Goldberg Brains and the Argument for Evolution

If you think the astonishing complexity and functionality and internal balance of living things is sure evidence for our design — if you think living bodies are intricately- tuned machines that simply had to have been put together by a conscious hand — then how do you account for the parts of the machine that are just… well, goofy?

Kluge
I’ve just finished this book, Kluge: The Haphazard Construction of the Human Mind. Written by psychology professor Gary Marcus, this “evolutionary neuropsychology for the layperson” book explores how the human brain and mind evolved — not by looking at how the mind works, but by looking at how it doesn’t; by looking not at its astonishing achievements, but at its laughable failures. And along with being a fascinating and funny look at how the human mind works (always one of my favorite topics), it offers one of the best arguments for evolution — and against any sort of belief in intelligent design, or indeed any sort of interventionist god that tinkers with evolution — that I’ve read in a while.

The main point of the book: The human brain is a kluge.

And it’s a kluge because evolution is a kluge.

South_High_School_addition_1911
Pronounced “kloodge” (it rhymes with “stooge”), a kluge is an engineering term for an ad hoc solution that’s inelegant and imperfect but basically functional. It’s a solution that’s required because you can’t start over from scratch: you have to work with an existing design. You need more space in your house, say, and you don’t want to tear the whole house down and start over — so you stick on an extra room at the side. It’s clumsy, it looks funny, it doesn’t have good access to the bathroom… but it’s cheaper and less disruptive than tearing down the house and building a whole new one with an extra room. And it’s fine. It’ll do.

Evolution is a kluge. It’s the klugiest kluge that ever kluged.

Human_evolution_scheme
The process of evolution happens gradually, with small changes being made on a previous arrangement. So it can’t wipe the slate clean and start again. It’s way more constrained even than an engineer. An engineer can say, “You know, it’ll be more expensive, but if you tear out these cabinets and move your stove to the other side of the kitchen, you’d have a much better setup. The basic shape of your kitchen is still gonna be weird… but it’ll be a lot better than if you leave the layout as is.” Evolution can only take the cabinets out one shelf at a time; it can only move the stove an inch at a time… and it can only do it if each step of the process, each removed shelf, each inch that the stove moves across the floor, confers a selective advantage over the previous step. (Or at least, doesn’t confer a disadvantage.) There are arguments among evolutionary biologists about exactly how big those steps can be (can the stove move one inch at a time or four inches at a time?)… but the basic principle is the same. Each generation is a modification of the previous one.

OCD_Knee_WalterReed-1
So if evolutionary forces are pressuring a four-footed species to stand upright, for instance, it’ll have to happen by gradual alterations to the all-fours setup. And if that means bad backs and bad knees and bad feet… tough beans, pal. (I am somewhat bitter on this point, having just turned 47.) Evolution is both callous and lazy: if you survive long enough to reproduce with fertile offspring who can also survive long enough to reproduce, then evolution doesn’t give a shit about anything else. There’s no evidence of any guiding hand coming in and fixing things so they work a little better. In fact, there’s plenty of evidence to suggest otherwise.

And this isn’t just true of our knees and our backs and our feet. It isn’t just true of our eyes, wired backwards and upside-down; and our vagus nerve, wandering all over hell and gone before it gets where it’s going; and our vas deferens (well, not mine, but you know what I mean), ditto.

It’s true of our brains, and our minds.

Brain.svg
You have to read the book to get the full details. I’m not going to recount the whole thing here. But our memory, our language, our decision- making processes, our mental health, the way we pursue happiness and pleasure, the way we decide what to believe and what not to believe… none of these work optimally. We can remember a face from a 30- year- old yearbook, but we can’t remember what we had for breakfast yesterday. We make choices based on shoddy cost- benefit analysis, poor understanding of probability, and immediate satisfaction over long- term gain. Our languages are beautiful and expressive… but they are also imprecise and confusing, often wildly so, and sometimes with serious consequences. Our pursuits of pleasure and happiness are often not just counter- productive in the long run… they often don’t even give us much pleasure or happiness in the short run. Our mental health is fragile and easily disrupted.

And don’t even get me started on belief.

Cro-Magnon
These systems work pretty darned well, all things considered. We wouldn’t be such a thumping evolutionary success if they didn’t. But all of them show clear signs of having been kluged onto previously existing mental systems. We are living in a complicated, highly technical, deeply interconnected civilization… with minds that evolved on the African savannah, to find food and shelter, and have sex, and escape from predators, and generally survive just long enough to produce the next generation. Our minds evolved to escape from tigers, not to prevent global warming. And the minds on the African savannah evolved from previous forms, which also evolved from previous forms. The human mind was kluged onto the mind of its monkey ancestors, which was kluged onto the mind of its tetrapod ancestors, which was kluged onto the mind of its fish ancestors, and so on, and so on, and so on.

Which brings me back to intelligent design. And indeed to theistic evolution: the idea that evolution proceeded the way scientists describe it, but that this process was and is guided by the hand of God.

The klugey, ad-hoc, cobbled- together, Rube Goldberg nature of so many biological systems — including the systems of the human mind — throws the whole idea of any sort of all- powerful, all- knowing, interventionist god into a cocked hat.

God half baked
If we really were designed by a perfect God, why would our bodies and minds be so klugey? If God is so magic that he can invisibly tinker with our DNA and make our legs just a skosh longer than our parent’s generation — or our minds just a skosh better at risk-benefit analysis — then why isn’t he magic enough to do a full-scale overhaul? Why wouldn’t God reach into the fetuses of the next generation and go, “You know, this generation isn’t having so much trouble with immediate survival, and at this point they really need better long-range planning abilities instead. Let’s just reach in there, and turn the volume way down on the short-sightedness. And while I’m at it, this vagus nerve is bugging me. I know it had to look like that for the fish, but… okay, there we go. Much better. And let’s seriously re-think those knees. For a quadruped, sure… but for a biped? What was I thinking? Makeover time!”

There is no evidence that this has ever happened. Even to the smallest degree.

There is, instead, ample evidence to the contrary. There is ample evidence for the idea that evolution is an entirely natural process: descent with modification, from one generation to the next, with each generation being a modification of the one before it.

Rube-goldberg-cartoon
And the klugey, Rube Goldberg, “work with what you’ve got” nature of our bodies — including the part of our bodies that produces our minds — is Exhibit A.

Stupid Design: Rube Goldberg Brains and the Argument for Evolution

Is Hope Always a Good Thing?

Hope_street

“Religion offers people hope.”

I was having this argument recently with some of the theists in my head. (What — you don’t do that?) I was thinking about the way a lot of religious believers argue, on behalf of religion being a useful and positive force in human life, that religion offers people hope.

The usual atheist argument to this — and it’s one I’ve made myself, many times — is that atheists do so have hope. Do so, do so, do so. Infinity plus one more times than you could say that we don’t. We hope that our book will get published; that our children will go to college; that global warming will get handled before it’s too late; that the Cubs will win the World Series before we die; etc. Religion simply offers one particular kind of hope — hope for an afterlife. An atheist life can be filled with lots of hope, of all different kinds. We just don’t have that particular one.

All of which is true.

But something else occurred to me the other day:

Is hope always a good thing?

Let’s take a couple of non-religious analogies, so I can show you what I mean.

Heart in hands

Let’s say you have the hope that your ex will come back to you. Despite the fact that they’ve told you a dozen times they’re not coming back; despite the fact that they haven’t called you in six months; despite the fact that they’ve started dating someone else… you still sincerely hope that they’re going to show up on your doorstep, flowers in their hand and an apology on their lips.

Is that a good thing?

Is that hope going to make you happier, or help you make good decisions?

Yes, it may give you a reason to get up in the morning. But wouldn’t your life be better, in the long run and even in the medium run, if you let go of that particular hope, and got hold of some more realistic ones? The hope that you’ll meet someone else who you love even more, say? Or the hope that you’ll get over your broken heart soon and be able to be happy on your own?

Lottery

I could give a hundred examples. You might have hope that you’ll win millions in the lottery. That someday you’ll be a movie star. That someday everyone who ever looked down on you will realize just how much they misjudged you. That someday your blog about atheism and sex radicalism and progressive politics will get as much traffic as Cute Overload. I could go on and on. But I think you get the idea.

The idea is this: Hope isn’t necessarily a good thing.

False hope — hope for something that will never happen, for something that’s impossible or even just wildly improbable — is not a good thing. False hope leads to bad decisions. It keeps people hanging on to unrealistic goals and expectations, and stops them from pursuing goals and expectations that they might actually accomplish. It stops people from cutting their losses and starting over. It keeps people out of touch with reality.

Which, of course, leads me back to religion.

Paradiso_Canto_31

I think — for reasons I’ve discussed ad nauseum — that the hope religion offers is a false hope. I don’t think there is an afterlife in which our immaterial soul gets to live forever after we die. I don’t think there is an immaterial soul, period. I don’t think there’s a perfect, loving creator looking after us and guiding our actions and the things that happen to us. I don’t think any of this is likely, or even plausible.

And I think it’s a false hope that often leads to bad decisions. It leads people to focus on the next life, at the expense of this one. It leads people to pray or take part in religious rituals, at the expense of taking effective action. It leads people to put an excessive emphasis on unreliable forms of thinking that support their belief/hope in the afterlife, at the expense of learning skepticism and critical thinking skills that would help them avoid frauds and charlatans. It leads people to distort their moral compasses around imaginary crimes and imaginary virtues that they think will affect their afterlives, at the expense of focusing on crimes and virtues that might actually make a difference in this life. It leads people to focus on religious ideology at the expense of the real human lives in front of them: in ways that range from destroying ancient and beloved works of art to executing people for adultery, from voting against same- sex marriage to kicking their gay children out of the house.

Light end tunnel

Of course hope is a good thing. Hope is one of the main things that makes life worth living. Hope is what keeps us going through obstacles and setbacks, through pain and grief. But it’s much too simplistic to say that, because hope is a good thing, therefore all hope is always good in all circumstances. (Food is a good thing too, but that doesn’t mean all food in all situations is always good.)

Now. There is a really big “But” in this argument. It’s a “But” that I think atheists don’t acknowledge often enough, and I want to have the intellectual honesty to acknowledge them.

The “But” is this:

It is one thing to say, “Religion is a false hope, there are better and more likely things to hope for,” to people for whom that’s clearly true, to people who do have better things to hope for.

It is another thing entirely to say it to people who really, really don’t.

Somali_children_waiting

I am perfectly happy to say, “Why do you need an eternal afterlife? Isn’t this life enough?” to the Ted Haggards and Rick Warrens of the world. I am a lot less happy to say it to a starving child roaming the slums in Rio de Janeiro; a war orphan in Somalia; an AIDS orphan in Zimbabwe. The thought of saying, “Isn’t this life enough?” to any of these people fills me with horror.

I think that the “This life is enough, you’re incredibly lucky to have been born at all, what more could you possibly want?” philosophy of many atheists — including myself — is a philosophy that comes from a fair degree of privilege. There’s a reason that rates of atheism are much higher in countries with higher levels of prosperity and social health… and that rates of religious belief are much higher in countries that are riddled with poverty, oppression, and despair. And I think atheists — including myself — really, really need to remember that.

However. That being said.

Religion opium

I would argue that religion can, in some ways, actually make things worse for people whose lives are desperate. The false hope of religion can lead people to focus on making the afterlife better… at the expense of working to make this life better, for themselves and one another. At the risk of sounding like Karl Marx, the role of religion in justifying the wickedness of the oppressors — and helping the oppressed accept their oppression — is extensive and well- documented.

That principle is also true of the people trying to offer hope, as well as the hopeless people themselves. I know, for instance, that there are some missionaries who do actual practical work to improve people’s lives. But how much more could they accomplish if they took all that time and energy they put into saving people’s souls and put it into building vaccination programs and sewer systems?

And religion — especially the more extreme versions that seem to be so common among people with deeply fucked-up lives — can add even greater horrors to the lives of already desperate people. Can you say “clitoridectomies”? “Witch- hunting ministers”? “Execution of 13- year-old rape victims”? All inspired and justified by religion? I thought you could.

Internet

Also — at the risk of sounding totally crass — the people whose lives would offer nothing but despair if it weren’t for religion aren’t surfing the atheist blogosphere. If you’re reading this blog, then there is no way your life is so desperate that there is nothing at all left for you to hope for in this life but the possibility of eternal bliss at the end of it. (Go look at Cute Overload or the Spanking Blog. That’ll give you some reasons to live.) The “religion offers hope to people who’d otherwise have none” argument does, at the very least, need to be taken seriously… but it really only applies to the most deeply and intensely hopeless. Which kind of reveals how thin an argument it is.

And finally: Even if it’s true that religion offers hope to people who would otherwise have none, some shred of comfort in an otherwise comfortless existence? Well, okay, that’s an argument for its utility. But it’s hardly an argument for its accuracy. I am endlessly intrigued by the degree to which modern religious apologists focus on whether belief in God is useful to individuals and society… without regard for the question of whether that belief is, you know, correct. It might be of some utility to humanity for people to believe in dragons, too, but I don’t see anyone seriously advocating Dragonism on that account.

I_hope

My basic point still stands. My basic point is this: It is not enough for religious apologists to say, “Religion offers people hope, and hope is a good thing.” They need to make a case for why this particular hope is not false. They need to make a case for why this particular hope — the hope that death will not be final, the hope that a good life will be rewarded with a blissful and permanent afterlife — is true, or likely, or even remotely plausible.

Or, barring that, at the very least they need to make a case for why this particular hope — even if it’s not likely or plausible or true — is, on the whole, still beneficial.

Unlike pretty much every other unlikely, implausible, almost certainly untrue hope.

Is Hope Always a Good Thing?

How Can Atheists Be Good Allies?

A couple weeks ago, I wrote a piece about how progressive, non- atheist groups can be good allies with the atheist movement.

Today, I want to follow that piece up with the flip side:

Handshake

How can atheists be good allies?

I think it behooves the atheist movement to make alliances with other groups that we have affinities with: groups that aren’t atheist- specific and that are made up of both believers and non-believers, but that have goals we support… and in some cases, progressive ecumenical religious groups who recognize the validity of atheism.

I think it behooves us for a number of reasons. Partly because our movement is too small and too stigmatized right now to accomplish what we want on our own: we’ll get more visibility and more work done if we have other people speaking for us and working with us. Partly because it shows the world that we don’t just care about how we want to be treated and what we think we deserve: we care about what we have to offer and how we want to participate in the world.

And partly because it’s, you know, the right thing to do. Because we’re not just atheists, but people, citizens of our communities and our countries and our world. Because we do care about what we have to offer and how we want to participate in the world.

So how can we be good allies? I’ve already written about what atheists are asking for from people who want to support us. What should we be doing to be good allies with people we want to support?

Goldenrule

1: Treat other groups the way you want to be treated.

All the stuff I talked about in How to Be an Ally With Atheists? All that stuff about how atheists want to be treated? It applies to how we treat other marginalized groups as well.

Learn about that group’s experience in the world. Learn what the common myths and misconceptions are about that group, and don’t perpetuate them. Learn what kind of language they prefer… and what kind of language insults them and pisses them off. Speak out against bigotry. Be inclusive — not fake, lip-service inclusive, but real inclusive. Don’t trivialize their anger, and don’t divide the group into “good” ones and “bad” ones based on who’s being angry and confrontational and who’s being polite and diplomatic. If you’re going to be critical, be very, very careful that you have both your facts and your context right. Find common ground. Be aware of your own privilege.

You know. Inclusive multiculturalism 101. Easy in principle. A lot of work in practice. Essential.

Im_with_stupid

2: Don’t assume that religious believers are stupid — and don’t talk to them or treat them as if they’re stupid.

Yes, I agree that religious believers are mistaken about their religious beliefs. But being mistaken does not make someone stupid. I guarantee you right now that every single person reading this — and the person writing this — is mistaken about something. Probably about more than one thing. Probably about more than one big, important thing.

Mistakes_were_made

It is human nature to hang onto mistaken ideas once we’ve committed to them: to come up with elaborate rationalizations for our mistaken ideas, to hang onto them more stubbornly the more they’re attacked or the more we’ve committed to them… all in ways that are obvious to people around us and completely invisible to ourselves. I agree that religious believers are doing that about religion. But atheists need to not act like we’re intellectually superior because we don’t do it about that one particular type of belief. We do it about plenty of other things. What with us being human and all.

And it is entirely possible to hang onto a mistaken belief with a less- than- entirely- rational stubbornness… and still be a smart, rational, reality-based person most of the time. It is human nature to compartmentalize: and while compartmentalization sometimes makes people want to smack us across the head, it does enable us to cordon off our mistakes and function as rational people in other areas of our lives.

Slack

3: Don’t be quick to assume malice or willful ignorance.

If someone says something ignorant or wrong about atheists and atheism, of course you should correct them. Firmly, and unapologetically.

But don’t assume right off the bat that they’re being jerks on purpose. You may have heard “How can you have any meaning or morality without God?” a hundred thousand times until you want to scream and throw pies. But the person you’re talking to may honestly have never thought about that question before, or heard any of the thousands of answers to it. They may have thought of morality and meaning in religious terms for their whole lives, and it may take a lot of conversation and soul- searching for them to understand that this isn’t true for everybody.

I agree that it’s irritating. It’s totally messed up that we have to keep repeating the same talking points and demolishing the same myths over and over and over and over and over again. But the fact remains that much of the world is ignorant about who we are. If we want them to learn, it’s up to us to do the teaching. It’s not going to happen any other way.

And “You may not be aware of this, but…” is a lot more likely to get our message across than, “You bigoted ignoramus — how dare you!”

End of faith

Remember: Our community hasn’t been raising a ruckus for very long. It’s taken the modern LGBT movement 40 years of being out and visible and vocal to get even the limited degree of understanding and de-stigmatization that we have now. The atheist movement, in its current ruckus- raising incarnation, has been out and visible and vocal for roughly five years. Education — especially in the face of not only ignorance but hostility and fear — takes time. I know it sucks. Suck it up.

Now, if you’ve corrected someone’s mistaken ideas about atheism a dozen times or more, and they’re still parroting them… then you can assume malice or willful ignorance. And then you have my permission to smack them around. Metaphorically, that is.

Tiptoe

4: If you’re going to talk about religion, tread carefully.

At the risk of getting into the framing wars: Of course I’m not saying we should never be critical about religion. Hey, I’m the one who wrote the 4,500 word screed about why atheists are pissed off.

I’m saying that we should talk differently depending on who we’re talking to, and what we’re trying to accomplish.

Are we talking about believers… or to believers? Are we trying to convince non-believers that atheism is an important issue and that they should come out and take a stand… or are we trying to persuade believers to listen to our arguments and our issues? Are we talking in a public forum to create visibility and get our ideas out into the open… or are we talking one- on- one or in a small group, with people we’re trying to work with? Are we trying to convince people that we’re right… or are we trying to temporarily set aside our differences and work together on issues where we already agree? Are we trying to stir up the troops… or are we trying to form alliances?

Scream

Strong, angry, passionate language is called for in some of these situations. Polite, measured, diplomatic language is called for in others. Example: I love PZ Myers to pieces, and I think his Pharyngula blog provides an incredibly valuable service: it provides a place for atheists to just relax and say what we think about religion without walking on eggshells… and it’s screaming, “The emperor has no clothes!” at top volume, which somebody sure as hell needs to be doing. But with all due respect, if I were forming a committee to form strategic alliances with other movements, PZ would not be my go-to guy.

If you feel compelled to criticize religion to someone you’re trying to make alliances with, choose your words carefully. When I’m trying to be diplomatic, I generally don’t say that religion is boneheaded or ignorant or useless. I generally say that it’s mistaken. (I generally say that anyway, since I think it’s more accurate. See “Don’t assume that religious believers are stupid ” above.) And unless I’m talking about a public figure who’s exceptionally and consistently heinous, I try to remember to criticize ideas and actions rather than people. People won’t always hear the difference… but I think it’s important to make it.

Analogies

5: Be careful about making analogies.

I have a whole piece brewing about this, actually, as it’s a large and complicated topic. So for now, I’ll just say this:

Analogies are loaded, and you have to be really, really careful about using them.

If you’re trying to educate and persuade by saying, “The such- and such experience of atheists is like the so- and- so experience of (blacks, women, queers, Jews, immigrants, etc.),” you can easily make people feel like their experience is being trivialized. For instance: When white atheists compare our experience of discrimination to separate drinking fountains or sitting in the back of the bus, we aren’t helping African- Americans — or anyone else, for that matter — understand our experience. We’re making ourselves look like entitled, over-privileged white people with no sense of history and no perspective.

Thinking

Yes, analogies are a crucial tool for education and understanding. If we don’t understand what someone is going through, it’s often easier if we can compare it to something we’ve gone through ourselves, or something that someone we know has gone through. Analogies and comparisons are an essential part of how the human mind works, and how we understand the world.

But when we’re making analogies to help illuminate our experience, we need to be careful. We need to be sure that the analogy is appropriate — not just in terms of content, but in terms of scope. We need to not be getting people to understand our broken legs by comparing them to other people’s amputations.

(It’s helpful sometimes to make multiple analogies at once. That way, no one group feels singled out, and the focus is on the actual content of the analogy rather than on who the analogy is being made with. If that makes sense.)

Not about you

6: Remember that it’s not always about us.

Don’t always insist on atheist issues taking top priority. If we want allies to work with us on our issues, we have to work with them on theirs.

Atheist bloggers are pretty good about this, actually. They blog about LGBT issues if they’re straight, racial issues if they’re white, sexism if they’re male, poverty if they’re comfortably off, the war and imperialism and such if they’re American. Let’s keep it up.

And maybe we could do it in a more organized manner. A lot of us aren’t joiners — I’m sure not — but maybe the organizations we do have could do more formal, organized outreach to other groups, and to the world at large. (The Seattle Atheists, for instance, have been doing blood drives and stuff. Good for them.) Also, I keep reading reports that believers are better than non-believers at making charitable donations and doing charity work. If we really think that we don’t need God to do good in the world, we need to put our money where our mouths are. We should support organizations like SHARE — the Secular Humanist Aid and Relief Effort — and our organizations need to be doing more to advance general humanist ideals instead of just promoting atheism.

And finally, but very importantly:

Two way traffic

7: Support other atheists whose methods are different from yours.

If you can’t do this alliance stuff, or you aren’t willing to… then by all means, don’t. Every movement needs firebrands as well as diplomats. (And some of us do both at different times, and in different situations.) We should all do what we’re good at and what we feel inspired to do.

But don’t get in the way of people who do want to do this, and don’t call them names for doing it. The firebrands and diplomats in our movement need to stop giving each other shit for being too deferential or too abrasive. If we have a real difference about tactics over any given issue or situation, by all means we should air them. But the general ideological battle over whether firebreathing or diplomacy is always and forevermore the better tactic is ridiculous. We need both. Every movement for social change that I can think of throughout history has needed both, and both work better together then either one alone.

*

I’m sure there’s more, but that’s all I can come up with for now. What do y’all think? Are there any ideas that I’m missing? Do you think this is even worthwhile?

How Can Atheists Be Good Allies?

Advice to an Atheist in an Intolerant Family: Help, Please?

Intolerance

What advice would you give to a young atheist in a family that’s entirely intolerant — belligerently so — of their atheism?

I got this letter the other day from a 19- year- old atheist, asking for advice on how to deal with their family: a family who refuses to accept this person’s atheism, to the point where they have fights about it on a daily basis.

It’s a heartbreaking story, and since my counsel was asked for, I want very much to give it. But on this one, I really can’t speak from experience. I was lucky enough to have been brought up in a family of non-believers: exactly how lucky I’m just beginning to realize, as I hear more and more stories like this one. So while I do have a few thoughts, I also want to throw this one out to my readers, and see if any of you have any better advice to offer than I do. (Yes, the letter writer okayed me doing this: I’ve stripped out identifying information, including gender.)

Here’s the letter:

Pink floyd the wall scream

I am an atheist in a very Catholic family. My family prides itself on its faith, and they are quick to demonstrate it at any opportunity. I am a nineteen year old student, who ironically, attends a Catholic school (the basis behind that one was athletics, not beliefs) and I have been constantly fighting my family over the last five or six years on my beliefs. My mother is a very devout Catholic, and when every Sunday comes around, we have screaming matches and I’m getting very upset over this. Throughout the years, she has attacked me on a daily basis over what I believe, and it is impossible to argue or reason with her because she will simply will not listen. Her biggest argument is that there is, “so much evidence! What about all the miracles that have taken place over the last century” and so on and so forth. Another popular “discussion” point is the creation of the universe, to which she writes down God as creating the Big Bang (she’s not a Creationist, she believes in evolution but believes that God has a big hand in it) and citing that life could only be possible because of a Higher Deity as it’s “too complex”.

I really don’t know what to do anymore. If she cannot respect my beliefs, then how can she respect me as a person? My family has tried to shove religion down my throat, and they are relentless in their “Crusade”. I’m tired of all the fights that I have to endure on a consistent basis and I’m tired of all the “You know that deep down you
really believe in God” comments. I could go on and on about it, but in the end, I am just left with frustration.

Do you have any advice on how to approach the matter?

Money_trap

There were a couple of big questions I needed the answers to before I could even begin to tackle this. I wrote the letter- writer back, asking if they still lived with their family, or were financially dependent on them. And I asked if they’d tried the technique Ingrid used with her fundamentalist relatives. If her relatives pressed the subject of religion, Ingrid would say, in a firm but calm voice, “I really don’t agree with you” — and then she would change the subject, and just wouldn’t continue any conversations they tried to have with her about it. Here’s what the letter- writer said:

I have tried Ingrid’s approach many times, although it has never worked. My family gets too enraged and won’t let it drop not matter what you say or argue despite how much logical reasoning you use. Once the subject is raised in any context, it can take ages for the dispute to settle down. It’s impossible to win because my family just won’t stop.

Currently I do not live with my parents; I am usually at school (I am a freshman in college). However, I have a long winter break so I am back with them. I forgot how bad it was arguing and dealing with them until I got back. I actually am somewhat financially independent due to my past work experiences and academic/ athletic scholarships — while my family certainly contributes financially to me I believe I can sustain on my own. I will soon be leaving permanently though to go back to school and to live in (name of city deleted) where I will work. I don’t want to burn bridges with my family; I just want them to understand what I believe and I don’t want our relationship to potentially end on a bad note.

There are just a couple of things I can think of to say before I open up the floor. First: I am so sorry about this. You have all my sympathy. My heart breaks for you. This totally sucks.

Atheist debaters handbook

Now to actual practical advice. One: When you talk with your family about this, be sure that you aren’t making it about how their beliefs are wrong and your atheism is right. Don’t try to de-convert them. Try to make the conversations be about who you are: countering the common myths about atheists, explaining that you’re a moral person who wants to do good in the world, that you have meaning and happiness in your life, etc. Don’t let them say untrue or bigoted things about atheists without contradiction… but don’t get sucked into arguments about theology or evolution. That’s not going to get you anywhere. And anyway, it’s not the point. This isn’t about “winning” an argument. It’s about trying to have a relationship with your family.

The only other advice I can think of is this:

Coming out

If you had a gay or lesbian friend who came to you with this exact same situation, only about their queerness instead of their atheism — what advice would you give them?

I’m guessing that the advice you’d give them might be a clue as to the advice you should try to take yourself.

And based on what you’ve told me, I’m guessing you might well tell them, “If you’ve tried to explain who you are and why that’s okay, and if you’ve tried to live and let live and to just change or drop the subject when it comes up, and none of that has worked and they’re still making your life a misery… then you might have to take a big step back from your family, or even cut them out of your life entirely for a while.”

Hopefully not forever, but for a while. You can close a door without burning a bridge. You sound really anguished and frustrated, and it seems like you could use a break from this. (A break doesn’t have to be an either/or thing, btw: you can, for instance, still see your family, but only for a day or two at a time instead of for weeks, and/or less often than you currently do.)

It’s what a lot of LGBT people have had to do when their families belligerently refused to accept them. It’s extremely hard. But it’s less hard than tolerating abuse.

If you decide to take this step — and I hope you don’t have to — then do it carefully. Don’t storm out of the house in the middle of a screaming match. You might even do it in a letter (and have a friend read that letter and do a venom check on it before you send it). Make it clear that it’s a step you don’t want to take, that you hope it’s a temporary one and don’t intend to cut them out of your life forever, that you’ll keep the door open as much as possible. But until they can treat their adult child with basic respect, they won’t get to have that child in their life. (Again, don’t make it about the content of the argument: make it about your relationship with them and how they treat you, not about atheism versus theism.)

Wallet

And make sure your financial and other practical ducks are lined up first. Make sure you really can put yourself through school, that you have someplace else to stay during vacations, etc. Also: Make sure you have a good support system, especially from other non-believers. See if you can find an atheist/ secular/ humanist organization in your city. (And, of course, keep visiting atheist blogs and online forums.)

Now, if you’d said that you were financially dependent on your family, I’d probably be answering somewhat differently. I’d probably be suggesting that you temporarily disengage from your family without confronting them about why. Instead of saying directly, “I can’t talk with you when you’re screaming at me, and I can’t have a relationship with you when you’re constantly pushing me to change,” I’d suggest you simply back away from spending time with them without an explanation. But that’s just postponing the inevitable. And it’s not really fair either to you or to them: it’s not giving either of you much of a chance to reconcile down the road. If you can be independent from them, I think letting them know why you’re (temporarily) disengaging is a better option.

Perspective

Finally, I’d add this: Try to see it from their point of view. Yes, I agree that their point of view is wrong. And nothing excuses the way they’re treating you. But remember: They’re probably very worried about you. They may think you’re headed for a life of immorality and despair; even that you’re endangering your immortal soul and condemning yourself to an eternity in hell. And that has got to suck for them. If they really don’t have any sense of how life could be meaningful and valuable without religion, the fact that their child has left it must scare the crap out of them.

I don’t know if that will help in any practical sense. But it may help you feel less rancorous towards them, and more sympathetic and able to forgive. Regardless of what happens in your relationship with your family, it may help you come to terms with this situation and find some peace.

But again — none of this is spoken from experience. So I’m asking my readers: Have you had a similar experience with your family when you came out as an atheist? Or if not you, has anyone you’ve known had this kind of experience? If so, what did and didn’t work? How has it changed over time? What worked in terms of improving your relationship with your family… and if the answer to that was “Nothing,” what worked in terms of helping you come to terms with a bad situation?

Advice to an Atheist in an Intolerant Family: Help, Please?

The True Meaning of Christmas

So what does Christmas really mean?

War on christmas

Among all the traditions of the holiday season, one that’s becoming increasingly familiar is the War on the Supposed War On Christmas. In this tradition — one that dates back to the sweet olden days of overt anti-Semitism — the Christian Right foams at the mouth about the fact that not everyone has the same meaning of Christmas that they do, and works themselves into a dither about things like store clerks politely recognizing that not everyone is a Christian by saying “Happy Holidays” instead of “Merry Christmas.” Because in the mind of the Christian Right, it somehow disrespects their faith and impinges on their religious freedom to share a country with people who feel and act differently than they do.

Okay. Insert rant here about how the Christian Right isn’t actually interested in religious freedom and respect for their faith. They’re trying to establish a theocracy. They don’t care about religious and cultural plurality. They don’t care about the fact that winter holidays mean different things to different people, and that different people celebrate different ones and in different ways. They don’t care about the fact that not everyone in the country is Christian, and that lots of people who do call themselves Christian are actually pretty secular in both their everyday life and their celebration of the winter holidays.

No, scratch that. They do care about it. They think it’s bad.

But that’s not actually what I want to talk about today.

In the face of Bill O’Reilly and company screaming hatefully about the true meaning of Christmas, I want to talk — in true grade-school essay form — about what Christmas means to me.

Because I actually like Christmas.

Lights_in_the_tree

Christmas; Solstice; Hanukkah; Kwanzaa; Festivus; “the holidays”; whatever. I don’t have a strong attachment to any particular name or date or occasion. Any mid-winter holiday around the end of December will do. Lately I’ve been calling it either “the holidays” or “Santamas” (in honor of what Bart Simpson has described as the true meaning of the holiday: the birth of Santa). I was brought up culturally Christian, though, with Christmas trees and Santa and all that, and I do tend to refer to it as Christmas at least some of the time.

And I love it. I always have. I know it’s fashionable to hate it, and I get why people get annoyed by it — but I don’t. I love it. It’s one of my favorite times of the year.

And here’s what it means to me.

Axial_tilt

I think that holidays tend to rise up naturally out of the rhythms and seasons of a particular geographical area. And in parts of the world where winter is a big nasty deal, I think it’s almost inevitable that a winter holiday, at right around the darkest, shortest day of the year, is going to become the biggest holiday in the culture.

It’s been noted many times, for instance, that Hanukkah is far from the most important holiday in the Jewish religious calendar. What’s less well known is that Christmas isn’t the most important holiday in the Christian calendar, either. Christmas is pretty much a pagan midwinter holiday shoehorned into the Christian religious calendar for convenience. From a strictly religious standpoint, Easter is a much bigger ticket. (Getting born? Big whoop. Everybody gets born. Dying on the cross as a sacrifice for our sins, and getting resurrected three days later because he’s God? Now that’s what they’re talking about.)

Xmas shopping

And yet — in parts of the world where winter is a big nasty deal — Christmas has almost entirely eclipsed Easter, for all but the most devout. Christmas gets an entire month of frenzied eating and drinking and shopping and traveling and party-going and family drama. Easter gets — maybe — a nice dinner or brunch, plus for kids it acts as a sort of secondary candy- frenzy holiday to Halloween. If the holidays were really about Jesus, we’d be having a nice quiet dinner with friends and family in late December, maybe with a hunt for hidden chocolate Santas for the kiddies… and a massive social and economic whirl in March or April. As it’s commonly celebrated — at least in the U.S. — the meaning of Christmas is only partly about the Christian religion. And a pretty minimal part at that.

So what is the meaning of Christmas? Solstice? Santamas? The holidays? Etc.?

It’s cold. It’s dark. The days are short, and the nights are long. Life is harder than usual right now, and we’re cooped up in close quarters more than any other time of the year.

So let’s celebrate.

Whoville

Let’s sing. Let’s decorate. Let’s eat and drink. Let’s light candles and put up electric lights. Let’s have parties. Let’s visit our families and our friends. Let’s give each other presents. Let’s spend time together that’s specifically devoted to enjoying each other’s company, and take part in activities — like gift- giving and parties and big group dinners — that strengthen social bonds.

Let’s remind ourselves that life is worth living, and that the cold and dark won’t be here forever. Let’s remind ourselves that we care about each other, and remind ourselves of why.

That’s what this holiday means to me.

Happy holidays, everybody!

The True Meaning of Christmas

How To Be An Ally with Atheists: The Actual Thread

Readers of this blog may have noticed that the comment thread on How To Be An Ally with Atheists has gone both completely off-topic and completely toxic. Regrettably, I’ve had to shut the comments on that post down — which is a shame, since I think the topic is an interesting and important one, and I’d like to hear what people have to say about it. (And yes, I am all too aware of the irony of that particular post being the one where the comments went toxic.)

So if you want to discuss the actual topic of how to be an ally with atheists, I’m providing this post as a place to do that.

Please note: Any attempts to use this thread to revive the original shut-down comment thread will result in being banned from this blog. Thank you.

How To Be An Ally with Atheists: The Actual Thread

The Great Gruesome Christmas Carols

Christmas carols

And now for something completely different.

I’m one of those freakish people who actually likes Christmas carols. Not the gloppy, cutesy, “Suzy Snowflake” modern variety so much (although I do have a soft spot for “Silver Bells”), but the soaring, haunting, gorgeous classic ones. “Angels We Have Heard On High,” “The Holly and the Ivy,” “The Angel Gabriel,” that sort of thing.

And one of the things I like about them is how totally freaky some of them are.

There’s this annual Christmas party I go to every year (although I had to miss it this year, damn and blast), at which the singing of Christmas carols and other seasonal and not- so- seasonal music is a centerpiece. A few years back, I went on the Internet and pulled together a lyric sheet, so we could actually sing all the songs all the way through instead of tapering off pathetically after the first verse.

And you know what I found? Some Christmas carols are truly gruesome. Startlingly gruesome. Freakishly and hilariously gruesome.

So I thought I should share with the rest of the class.

We start with a classic: the fourth verse of “We Three Kings of Orient Are.”

Myrrh

Myrrh is mine, its bitter perfume
Breathes a life of gathering gloom;
Sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying,
Sealed in the stone cold tomb.

I love that one. It rings out so lustily — especially when a room full of eggnog- tiddly heathens is belting it out.

Then we have this gem: two little lines from the 1865 “Greensleeves” parody rewrite, “What Child Is This”:

Crucifixion

Nails, spear shall pierce Him through,
The cross be borne for me, for you.

Well, it definitely reminds you of the reason for the season. You can’t deny that.

Then we have the lesser- known, but haunting and really quite lovely “Coventry Carol” (here’s the tune, in case you don’t know it). With this charming third verse:

Slaughter of the innocents

Herod the king in his raging,
Charged he hath this day,
His men of night, in his own sight,
All children young to stay.

The fourth verse is a charmer, too, although somewhat lacking in the vivid “dead children” imagery:

Then woe is me, poor child, for thee,
And ever mourn and say,
For thy parting not say, nor sing,
By, by, lullay, lullay.

But the best — the very, very best, the King of Kings and Lord of Lords of gruesome Christmas carols — has got to be the “Corpus Christi Carol,” a.k.a. “Down In Yon Forest.” There are different versions of it, but the one I found when I was putting together the songbook goes like this:

Dead knights

Down in yon forest there stands a hall
(The bells of paradise I heard them ring)
It’s covered all over with purple and pall
(And I love my Lord Jesus above anything)

In that hall there stands a bed
It’s covered all over with scarlet so red

Under the bed there runs a flood
One half runs water, the other runs blood

On the bed there lies a knight
Whose wounds do drip down both by day and by night

By the bed there lies a hound
Who laps at the blood as it daily drips down

At the bed’s foot there grows a thorn
Which ever so blossomed since Jesus was born

(Here’s a nifty folk-Goth version of it by my friend Tim Walters and his occasional project Conjure Wife; here’s a YouTube video with a more conventional rendition, although for some reason it’s lacking the verse about the vampire dog.)

So Merry Christmas, everybody! And in the midst of this terrible, disrespectful, heathenistic War on Christmas, let’s all remember the reason for the season: a life of gathering gloom, flesh pierced through with nails and a spear, children slaughtered by a raging king, and — merriest of all — a half-blood, half-water river, blood dripping from a wounded knight, and a dog licking up the blood. Let me know if there’s any I’ve forgotten, or any I haven’t heard of yet. It’s the most wonderful time of the year!

The Great Gruesome Christmas Carols