Read all 13,000+ words of the ongoing debate on the efficacy of profiling Muslims at airport security checkpoints between Sam Harris (We’d be crazy not to profile them!) and Bruce Schneier (You have no idea what you’re talking about).

In a nutshell, Harris argues that the suicidal terrorists who want to use airplanes to kill innocent people are obviously Muslims and we’d be foolish not to throw more security resources in their direction — and less security in the way of, say, old ladies (think Betty White).

Schneier just doesn’t think that’s possible to pull off for a variety of reasons. It adds much more complexity into the system to pinpoint “potential Muslims” (he argues that the combination of simplicity + randomness is better than what Harris proposes), there’s no real good way of doing that even if we wanted to, and the costs of implementing the (flawed) system just wouldn’t be worth it.

Some highlights:

Schneier: Honestly, I don’t care about the political correctness of this. Profiling is bad security. I understand that it intuitively seems obvious to you, and that your gut tells you it’s better, but it’s not. And I am going to continue to explain why.

…

Harris: The whole purpose of my previous articles was to suggest that we should have well-trained screeners who can use their discretion to spend less time focusing on the least threatening people — and that focusing on them purely for the sake of appearing fair could well get many people killed. I wrote the articles I would want to have written in the event that we have another terrorist incident involving a jihadist on an airplane. Of course, if a plane gets blown up by someone who looked and acted like Betty White, I will issue a public apology.

…

Harris: Do you think positive incentives would have the same effect? What if screeners won a million dollars every time they caught a real terrorist? I’m guessing they would focus on more likely suspects.

Schneier: Rewards can be a great motivational tool, but you have to be careful what you motivate. Remember, we don’t want screeners to focus on what they believe the threat is. We want them to focus on the actual threat.

Harris: Again, I would argue that a screener’s beliefs and reality can converge more than you allow.

Much like the previous installments of this series, it’s a thought-provoking conversation. As I said before, I’m less interested in who’s right and who’s wrong — it’s just really fascinating to read two intelligent people debate something so politically incorrect.

Having read the whole piece, Schneier is more convincing when it comes to the matter at hand. Even if Harris is right that Muslims deserve more selective screening at airports, Schneier makes the case that profiling would be the wrong way to go about fixing that. It may be ethically wrong, but (more to the point here) it just doesn’t work in practice.

If you don’t have time to read it all now, Instapaper the whole thing and read it later.

There’s something to be said for a debate that’s not done in front of a crowd, where emotions and sentiment can get the best of the audience and the debaters end up playing to the audience instead of to each other. Here, both sides are laid out — very fairly, I believe, to Harris’ credit — and we can decide for ourselves which side makes a better case.

…

Side note: At one point, Harris argues that we “profile” people all the time when making “threat assessments” and it doesn’t make us sexist or racist to do so. For example, even though most men are not rapists, we don’t say women are sexist for being cautious around male strangers. They’re just trying to protect themselves.

I doubt this was intentional, but this is how Harris demonstrates the point:

… imagine hearing the following story from your wife or daughter:

“I did something today that I’m very ashamed of. I was on an elevator alone, and a man got on who made me uncomfortable…”

Of all the examples he could have used…

…

I corresponded with cadets at West Point (The United States Military Academy), involved in their Secular Student Alliance (SSA). They are, like the secular group at the Naval Academy, unofficial. They too, have encountered obstacles in group formation. The following is an interview with a member of the executive board:

A few members of West Point Secular Student Alliance

Tell me about your group.

We’re affiliated with the SSA.  We were established in the Fall semester of 2011.  Last year we were fairly active, with about 4-5 members showing up to each meeting.  We made one attempt at starting a reading list, but there wasn’t much interest (largely because not many cadets have the time to read a book a week).  Other than that, we’ve had one public service trip, where three cadets spent a day at a food shelter.  Each attempt to get another trip approved was shot down by USMA leadership. 

We did have a lecture by Dave Silverman and Jason Torpy, which had great turnout (probably 30 or so people).  A lot of the attendees were religious cadets who wanted to see “the other side” and ask questions.  This year we’ve had much higher attendance at weekly meetings, but haven’t had any large events.  We made requests for trips to Rock Beyond Belief and the Reason Rally, but weren’t able to do either.

Are you recognized by the Academy? If so, how was that process? If not, why, and what has been your experience?

We aren’t.  Our first attempts at official recognition were shot down outright.  The former director of cadet activities did not want to support any secular organization, and didn’t see the point of our existence.  Our last club president described him as “blasé and a stalwart in his opposition to us forming.”  This semester, we developed a formal request for recognition memorandum and sent it to the office of the Commandant.  This memo outlined several of the ongoing instances of intolerance at the Academy, and the importance of being recognized.  Afterwards we were directed to speak with the new director of cadet activities, who has been very helpful.  Although he appears uncomfortable with us forming, he is a professional, and is not allowing his personal beliefs to get in the way of his duty.  He has given us reason to believe that we will be recognized sometime in the near future.  Currently, the Academy’s club program is being revised.  After the revision process is completed this summer, we will know if our efforts were successful.

Are you able to post advertisements, host events, and travel with the same freedom as other groups of your size?

No.  We aren’t allowed access to the same resources as other clubs.  We have been denied many requests for trip sections, and are not able to take part in Club Night, where recognized clubs are able to recruit members by tabling.  We have been denied use of the mess hall slides as a means to advertise for the SSA in the past.  After some of our leadership met with the deputy Commandant, we were assured that we would be allowed to use the mess hall slides to advertise if we ever have another event to publish, but without resources or authorization to host large events, it’s not particularly useful.

What’s been the best and worst experiences you’ve had as a secular group at the Academy?

The best have been our weekly meetings and summer program.  Those of us who have taken part in weekly meetings have had great times bonding with one another, sharing ideas, watching movies and videos, and just generally being a group.  Our introduction of NTCT [Non-Theist Chaplains Time -- see next question] last year provided cadets who would otherwise be required to choose between church and humiliating work details, with the opportunity to enjoy the same environment of camaraderie and relaxation as their theist peers.  As far as I know, this is the first place that this has happened in the military.

The worst experiences we’ve had have been repeated denial of equal opportunities for travel and activity as other clubs.  We have been denied the ability to take trips, and even had a policy written as a response to our desire to advertise, which effectively made it possible for us to be formally shut out from access to the mess hall slides.  Most of our members have experienced some form of direct discrimination.  The most common was harassment during Cadet Basic Training, although there have been other instances in the classroom, and in professional situations.

You mentioned NTCT, Non-Theist Chaplains Time. What is that?

Until last year, there was no alternative to religious services during Basic Training. [Kate says: Religious services provide some kind of snacks and dessert. This is the only time during basic training for sweets or snack food, and open to only those who attend have attended the services.] In regular [non-West Point] basic, I’ve never heard of any alternative, and we had some trouble getting one set up here. There was a decent amount of resistance from the chaplain’s office, but eventually they let us have it, as long as we had a chaplain’s assistant sit in on all of our meetings. They sent a VERY Christian staff sergeant, in uniform, to oversee and make sure that the religious voice was present, and we weren’t encouraging the new cadets to be atheists. Overall it was a good program, and this summer we’re trying to make it a permanent part of cadet basic. We have one chaplain that fully supports us, but one isn’t enough in a complex bureaucracy.

What are the West Point SSA’s goals?

Our goals are to be able to provide non-theist cadets of all sorts with a community of acceptance, while ensuring that the culture of the academy at large shifts away from its current state of religious exceptionalism.

So why have students joined West Point SSA? [This question was open to all members of the SSA]

“I feel like I’m constantly surrounded by fundamentalists. I know this isn’t necessarily true, but that’s the feeling I get. I work to censor myself most of the time because I know being too vocal could be a detriment, even if it is minor.”

…

“I want to see it grow so that nontheists have a larger voice and so that they don’t feel like they can’t associate themselves with such an organization for fear of reprisal”

…

“To show a stereotypically conservative culture that atheists don’t have horns and dance around a flaming pentagram under the full moon. Also because I enjoy hearing different viewpoints and learning about why people think the way they do.”

…

More about religion at West Point can be found in this research by cadet Blake Page.

The interview with Naval Academy Atheists and Freethinkers is available here.

NOTE: A number of cadets contributed to this post, on condition of anonymity. They are not speaking in their official capacity. Statements are not intended to reflect official policy.

I bring that up because when people find out I’m an atheist, they often assume I was never a “real” Christian to begin with. They believe that all True Christians would never leave the faith. But lately I’ve found myself agreeing with them… Maybe I never really was a Christian. Maybe I really was missing something. Maybe they’re right.

On some level, my previously held beliefs are impossible to remember with absolute certainty, simply because there is no evidence beyond imperfectly-kept memories and various physical relics. And that’s ok, because I don’t really need a time machine and a Belief-o-Meter to make informed statements about past belief; my teenaged self was gracious enough to leave a paper trail of melodramatic, ham-fisted poetry, some of which are actually really interesting glimpses into a religious mindset that I no longer occupy.

Via the inimitable Drew at toothpastefordinner.com

In my mind, my de-conversion to atheism was just the slow, forward, glacial march of my intellectual curiosity leading me to increasingly difficult questions, but the catalyst for that doubt was really interesting: the commonly-used double-edged sword of authoritarian parenting.

I wasn’t even familiar with the term until I started reading Libby Anne’s excellent blog after I was already an atheist. Her insights into the Quiverfull movement were fascinating, especially since one of my closest friends growing up was raised in an eerily similar home environment. It was like a peek into the lives of the homeschooled families that always existed on the social perimeter of my soccer team, youth group, and 4-H club. But, even more horrifying, I slowly began to realize that it resembled my own upbringing, too. Both were based on the same belief system and executed with the same religious motivations. It wasn’t as quite as conspicuous as, say, the Duggars, but the parallels are creepy, and the unintended consequences are enormous.

Growing up, church attendance was mandatory at least twice a week (sometimes two services on Sunday and Wednesday night youth group). The intended consequence, of course, was for me to be steadfast in my faith and grow in my “walk with the Lord” (still not sure if that is actually in the Bible or just that obnoxious, pithy “Footprints” poem that every Christian household has hanging in their bathroom), but they went about it all wrong. The church suppressed dissent and encouraged conformity; even the kind of Christian music I listened to at the time wasn’t “godly” enough. We were encouraged to leave our doubts “at Jesus’ feet,” specifically discouraging doubts about the Bible. Instead of acting like the Jesus I kept being told about, the members of the youth group were cut from the same cruel, adolescent cloth as the other kids in my high school.

I considered myself a believer as a teen, but between the anti-intellectual church culture and the strict behavioral limitations at home, my doubts and curiosities had nowhere to go except to escape through cheap poetic metaphors. No one in a position of authority would take my questions seriously, or even allow me to ask them… but in poems, I could write whatever I wanted. Specificity was to be avoided at all cost (resulting in a groan-worthy amount of abstractions and clichés) because specificity meant risking someone finding out. Which meant inevitable punishment. So, even though I had moral and intellectual qualms about my professed beliefs, and serious doubts about serious parts of it, I had to maintain a Christian identity where I wore modest Christian clothing and only listened to Christian music and only hung out with other Christians and only participated in social events that both the church and my parents approved of.

Without further ado, here is one product of the intellectual binds I found myself in, grammar and spelling errors included:

I can't believe the whole world can see this...

Ignorance and Apathy

Lately myself’s the only one
That I can stand to hate
This vapor taking far to long
Jesus, I’m ready to come home
Thus making the forward assumption
Of something past the now
The bloody tedium of rut routine
Relinquish it? Not for the world
Squint past the skies
To see where I am headed
This ignorance
This apathy
These obstacles I fail
To even stumble over
What am I?
But easily
Bruised
Broken
Corruptible
Flesh
Blood
I am nothing but human
and thats what’s killing me.

Ironically, it was the very fact of being subjected to constant, unflinching indoctrination that made me skeptical and suspicious of religion. I slowly realized that we didn’t study the Bible like I studied any other book; many non-denominational Christian churches focus more on the power of personal revelation, so sermons are issued microscopically instead of telescopically. Churchgoers were encouraged to read verses “for themselves,” and a typical devotional was structured to include just a handful of verses and lots of space for personal interpretation. I was keenly aware that I didn’t know anything about the Bible at all -– who wrote it, when, what the writers meant in a historical context, nothing. I couldn’t explain why there were so many different denominations, or where they came from, or why exactly my church taught that Catholics weren’t “really” Christians. I couldn’t figure out why, if everything in the Bible was true and factual, it included tales of talking snakes and donkeys and global floods and miracles and lots and lots of smiting. It didn’t seem like a very trustworthy book, and some of the moral components were confused, at best, but a quick coat of “faith” and “patience” buried these concerns quickly, even if none of the concerns were actually addressed.

Instead, I agonized internally, and the poems I wrote thematically reflected my despair over my lack of knowledge and my perceived inability to “get it.” There are scads more examples of poetry just like this, long-forgotten in a dusty accordion file, and they all abstractly talk about my struggle to self-define in a culture that gave me a very narrow range of expression, and all of them make me rather sad.

Sad because I was never allowed to be uncomfortable in my own skin; instead, I was de facto required to assume an identity that I didn’t want. Being a teenager is already hard, and it’s made all the more difficult by limiting a child to certain identities or beliefs and explicitly disallowing certain kinds of expression or questioning. I’m sad that I was required, in essence, to live a lie. (Of all the people who can understand that concept, it would be the atheists who are forced to remain closeted for any number of reasons.)

If there’s any lesson in this, it may be a cautionary tale about the influence of mainstream Christian churches that, from the outside, don’t look nearly as cult-like as the Quiverfull movement or as outrageous as Mark Driscoll‘s Mars Hill. It may serve as a good reminder as to why we need to be out and visible, if possible. It’s why we need to support organizations like the Secular Student Alliance, who are paving the way for much-needed community and public discourse in secondary education settings.

I may have since shortened the “really bad amateur poet” part of my identity to “amateur poet,” but the desire for critical examination and creative expression that my oppressive religious upbringing started will stick with me for the rest of my life. I’m a much better poet, thinker, and reader as an atheist than I ever was as a Christian. Most importantly, I am finally myself, and no person or ideology or institution will ever take that away from me.

Never again.

…

Biola University, an evangelical Christian school in southern California, is one of those schools that will expel you if they find out you’re gay. (Because, you know, they love everyone.) In fact, they just put out a Statement on Human Sexuality (PDF).

Biola University affirms that sexual intimacy is designed by God to be expressed solely within a marriage between one man and one woman. This view of sexuality and marriage is rooted in the Genesis account of creation, reflected in the teachings of Jesus Christ himself, and is maintained consistently throughout Scripture. It is a view based on the biblical teaching of monogamy — that God designed sexual union for the purpose of uniting one man and one woman into a permanent, lifelong, one flesh union in the context of marriage.

Considering all that, it’s pretty damn amazing that a group called The Biola Queer Underground has formed in spite of all the risks.

They’ve already responded to the school’s Statement:

The recently published policy, eighteen months in the making, did not bring change except to make it clearer that Biola views “any acts of sexual intimacy between two persons of the same sex as an illegitimate moral option for the confessing Christian.” It did not even attempt to address those with transgender or other non-conforming gender identities. Nor did it speak to the consequences for those who do not view their own or other’s homosexuality as “a struggle to maintain sexual purity.”

…

Biola claims to want a dialogue. However, unless LGBTQ students who don’t view homosexuality or transgender identity as sinful are allowed to speak openly without threat, this conversation will continue to be one–sided. Without inviting Christians speakers who have a different view of homosexuality, fruitful dialogue will not happen. In the past, your monologues on homosexuality have not been good or fair to us. We understand your interpretation of scripture; please hear ours.

In creating this group, they’re following in the footsteps of other similar groups that have also formed (or are trying to form) at Christian schools.

The obvious question is: Why do they remain at Biola? Why not transfer to a more accepting school? They’ve answered those questions here.

Christian blogger John Shore did a phone interview with one of the group’s founders and offers a bit more insight into how and why the group formed.

For anyone who attends Biola and may be questioning or hiding their sexuality, here’s what the group suggests:

If you would like to be apart of what we are doing, or want a safe place to be yourself, we would love to talk to you. Because of the nature of our community however, we cannot simply post a time and a place for you to meet with us. If you are truly interested in joining or talking to us please email us at: biola.underground@gmail.com

Here’s hoping they stay hidden from the university — but known to (and able to find community with) their fellow LGBTQ classmates.

…

I asked the founders what the response has been like from the other students. They said:

This has caused quite a stir at Biola, more than I think most of us had expected. By the second day we had one thousand Facebook likes and a dozen tweets on our website. The Chimes, our school newspaper, was very quick to get a story on us, and it is now the most popular in their history. Many students are angered over the group, but we have been pleasantly surprised at how many students are completely supportive of us. And not just in a “love the sinner hate the sin” type of way, a lot of students don’t think homosexuality is morally wrong and are excited to help us as a group. This has been shocking but wonderful.

And how many members are currently in the group?

We would like to maintain a level of mystery as to how many people are in our group. We feel comfortable saying we are comprised of a few dozen individuals. (although we’re fairly certain more LGBTQ people go to Biola than exist in our group). We definitely aren’t just one or two kids, we have structure like any other group. We represent several majors, range from freshman to seniors and are happily made up of L,G,B,T, and Q’s. One thing that might surprise people is that we have a fair amount of transgender people in our group. Sadly, that is a group of people completely ignored and whose struggles and lives are dismissed at Biola.

That’s what the Winnipeg Secularists (in Canada) are offering to their local city council in an effort to stop the prayers read before every meeting:

About 300 people have signed a petition delivered to city hall on Wednesday that calls on councillors to eliminate religious exercises at meetings.

Robert McGregor, a member of the Winnipeg Secularists, said he launched the petition after he attended a recent council meeting and was asked to stand for a prayer.

“As someone who is not Christian and who’s non-religious, I felt fairly uncomfortable in that situation,” McGregor told CBC News on Wednesday.

“I thought I was there for a city council meeting, not a church service.”

So far, the only thing city council representatives are responding with is the usual, “But it’s tradition!”

There’s a poll at the CBC website asking whether the prayer should be removed. Go nudge it in the right direction:

William Swinimer (Ryan Taplin - National Post)

He returned to school today after his five-day suspension — wearing the same shirt — but his father quickly pulled him out:

The Swinimers clearly prioritize getting an education (Mike Dembeck - The Canadian Press)

John Swinimer said he wants Forest Heights Community School in Chester Basin, Lunenburg County, to only teach the basic courses, leaving religion out of it.

“He will not attend this school unless they are having reading, writing and arithmetic — good old-fashioned academics,” he said, waving a New Testament bible. “When they’re having forums, when they’re having other extra-curricular activity, he will not attend that school.”

Actually, the school was doing just fine academically… they only got derailed into this controversy after shirt-wearing William began pushing his religion on everyone in sight. (More on that in a moment.)

Or, you know, maybe the father just hates Chess Club.

John Swinimer is referring to the fact that the school held voluntary — Wait, voluntary?! Yes, voluntary! — discussions about how to express one’s beliefs in a respectful way. The discussions involved “facilitators from the education and justice departments, human rights commission, school board and the school.”

As a teacher of a subject John Swinimer considers “good old-fashion academics,” I guarantee you the students at that school would have learned more by attending that conversation about expressing yourself respectfully than any one day spent in another class.

But why teach your child something useful when you can use him as a political pawn? Taking him out of school just reinforces the idea that many Christians are unable to discuss faith in a calm, rational way. It’s their way or nothing.

More stories are coming out about the shirt-wearing son’s behavior:

Students said William Swinimer has been preaching and making them feel uncomfortable, and the shirt was the last straw so they complained.

“He’s told kids they’ll burn in hell if they don’t confess themselves to Jesus,” student Riley Gibb-Smith said.

Katelyn Hiltz, student council vice-president, agreed the controversy didn’t begin with the T-shirt.

“It started with him preaching his religion to kids and then telling them to go to hell. A lot of kids don’t want to deal with this anymore,” she said.

More and more, it looks like this controversy was never about infringing on anyone’s religious freedom. The school did what any school should do — they allowed William the chance to express his religious views until they felt it crossed the line into becoming a distraction from good old-fashioned academics. Then they put a stop to it.

The other day, I was a little more sympathetic toward him. Now, he just strikes me as a little jerk. And I can tell where he gets it from.

Also, seriously, William… wash that shirt. It’s gotta be nasty by now.

Dear Richard,

I met you once when Hemant spoke at an atheist group. I shared that I had become an atheist during college, thanks to some wonderful classes and professors, but that I had been raised in Evangelical Christianity, and I was still not out to my family. I had been debating coming out to my family for awhile, but had not made the leap.

My family learned in fall of 2011 that my father has terminal cancer. He has an inoperable tumor slowly growing which will probably kill him within months. My mother and father have both retreated deeper into their faith, and it looks to me as if it is the only thing giving them comfort during this time. My relationship with my parents was severely strained when I was younger, and we have finally reached a point where we can enjoy time together (although I avoid topics of religion if possible).

My father asked me on a recent trip home if there was anything we needed to resolve about our relationship. I lied, and said no, because I don’t want to ruin what little time we have left, and I can’t imagine causing my parents and sisters pain of this magnitude while my father is dying. We are just hoping he lives to see my sister graduate from college, and me from my masters program.

Should I keep the peace and enjoy the time he has left, while knowing that he will probably never know and/or accept my views and the way I have chosen to live my life? I don’t want to create a rift in my family, but I am deeply saddened by the fact that I will not be able to have my father’s respect for the independent and successful woman I have become, because it is inextricably tied to my reasoning and my nonbelief.

I love reading your advice, and hope that you can help.

Sincerely,
Ashley

Dear Ashley,

My heartfelt wishes for your father, you, and your family to find solace and comfort in whatever forms each of you need.

When you answered your father that no, there isn’t anything you need to resolve in your relationship, you didn’t lie, you told the truth. What you needed to resolve you have already done. After a severely strained relationship, you have restored your caring and respectful bond with each other.

You say you’re saddened by the fact that you will not be able to have your father’s respect for the independent and successful woman you have become, because that is tied to your reasoning and nonbelief.

He is already aware that you are an independent person. Your youthful independence was possibly a part of the strain between you and your parents when you were younger, and I think now your more mature independence is a part of how and why you enjoy each other’s company.

He is also already aware that you are an intelligent, successful woman who can take care of herself. You will soon earn your master’s degree, and that is no small accomplishment.

He’s even already aware that you are a strongly reasoning person. The rationality that you probably apply to many things in life would be hard to miss.

It appears that he already respects you for all that, since you are getting along well.

The only thing that he doesn’t know is that you’re unconvinced of a deity. That is just one result of your independence, your intelligence, and your ability to reason, not the cause of those qualities.

Right now, the person who really needs to know where you stand on such things as religion also already knows. That’s you. So yes, enjoy the time you have left together. In this case, at this point, I think telling him would be only about giving yourself something, and not about giving him something. Let him and your mother have what ease and comfort they can find.

You can consider how you should handle this issue with your mother and sisters later, when people are not so vulnerable from anguish and grief, and in so much need of their customary comforts. You can weigh the principle of honesty versus the principle of compassion versus the principle of prudence on a person-by-person basis. As you grow, as they grow, and as circumstances change, your best guesses at the best solutions to these life puzzles will change too.

You’re sad that he will die, but there is no need to be sad that he will not know everything about you. Just make certain that he knows the most important things. Make certain that he knows you love him, and you know he loves you. He probably already knows that you are a good person who cares about people’s feelings, and who tries to find the best solutions in delicate, difficult situations. He probably already knows that you can selflessly forego your own satisfaction in order to show someone else compassion. Even though he doesn’t know you’re doing those things for him right now, I’m sure those qualities show clearly in much of your behavior. Be certain to thank him for helping to nurture those qualities in you.

Those are the essentials, the things we should be certain are clearly said and understood between us and our loved ones before we lose the opportunity. The rest are just details that we can choose to share or not share, guided by the love we have already made crystal clear.

Richard

You may send your questions for Richard to . Please keep your letters concise. They may be edited. There is a very large number of letters. I am sorry if I am unable to respond in a timely manner.

What is both fascinating and eerie is the familiarity of the show — the casual nature of the camera operators, the mundane appearance of some of the participants. It could be anyone — a cousin, an old school teacher, a politician. It could be you. While I’m as much a fan of fluffy entertainment as the next, and have more than my fair share of guilty pleasures, I appreciate the questions that the show raises; perhaps, maybe, just a little, it’s made me a tiny bit more empathetic to struggles we demonize and attempt to make invisible.

Although I devoured several seasons of Intervention, I never considered that I might one day be the recipient of just such a conversation.

It’s not because I have any addictions. Not for methamphetamine or cocaine or alcohol or speed or marijuana or shopping or lying. Not for disorders like bulimia or anorexia or depression. Not for behavioral tendencies like violence or rage or deceit.

But I am an atheist, and a relatively recently-minted one at that. And for Christian households with a certain kind of doctrinal belief, an atheist child is crisis on the order of addiction — with imminent, dire consequences. And, unfortunately, you can’t get much more conspicuous than contributing to a public, self-identified atheist website. Really, I ought to have seen it coming.

All told, my personal “intervention” wasn’t nearly as emotionally wrought as many shown in said television show. There weren’t cameras or lights or sound techs. There wasn’t an “intervention specialist” or trained psychologist present. There was no threat of 90-day rehabilitation programs for my atheist-writing-addiction.

But there were some uncanny parallels. Because my family assumed I would only visit them under false pretenses, I was deliberately lied to, and despite a tight budget and precious little free time, my husband and I made the 3-hour long trip to meet with my folks at their request. I was bullied and bribed in an attempt to force me to stop writing publicly, and was so dumbfounded at the offer of “double what you make with the website” to stop writing that I couldn’t muster a cogent response. I was shamed and told I was being “disrespectful”; specifically, that it was particularly embarrassing for close Christian friends to discover my writing. I asked what some sort of compromise could be reached, where I could respect my folks’ beliefs while still doing what I want to do, and was shocked to confront glazed-over stares. Compromise was never even a possibility; it was a simple “you will stop doing X if you really respect my authority/beliefs/personal history/so on”.

When I inquired about the nature of the offense –- the specifics that had led to the need for an intervention in the first place –- I was met with dead air. The only offensive thing that had transpired was being an atheist in a very public forum, nothing more. I have encountered some tension and negativity at my newly-found godless identity (as well as many displays of grace, kindness, and good-natured curiosity), but the main issue is that PDAs (Public Displays of Atheism) are big no-nos. It’s improper to “fall away” from the church; it’s downright impudent to talk about it.

While it was painful to sit through that conversation in the first place, it was made even worse by the fact that it was from people very close to me, people whom I love very much. In most circumstances, a social sneak attack is pretty unorthodox; interventions frequently make the victims feel attacked, their trust violated, which is why interventions are reserved as last-ditch efforts in desperate situations. Most parents, I would think, would reserve interventions for their just-shy-of-a-quarter-century-old adult child for life-and-death situations, and not as a matter of course. Religious people, however, are willing to make exceptions.

There are lots of things that can potentially mess up priorities in family and friendships, but all too often religion rears its ugly head. Valuing human autonomy, intelligence, and communication gets utterly thrown out the window when someone’s eternal soul is on the line. That causes Christians to do very funny things sometimes, like stage interventions for totally-not-intervention-worthy causes instead of having an ongoing conversation. Or to preach and proselytize without the invitation to do so. Or disown or shun their own children if they don’t have “enough” of or the “right kind” of faith.

All of those activities carry a certain risk when it comes to social and interpersonal contexts; many of them require you to forego any kind of mutual respect that you might otherwise have had. All of them require that you make religious belief a higher priority than the relationships between human beings.

To my folks, I have an Amy Winehouse song with your name on it. I appreciate your (albeit confused) concern and good intentions, but know that the days of you being able to dictate what I can and cannot do without any regard for my own wishes is quite over. I mourned for a while and shed more than a few tears into more than a few pillows in frustration and anger. Now that the tear are gone, frustration and anger are fueling me.

You have no right to demand that your concern over image issues trumps my desires and talents. You have no right to unilaterally control what I do with my life based on unsubstantiated claims and perceived insult. You have no right to insist that I continue to respect you without reciprocating. You have no right to think that your religion ought to trump our relationship.

For my part, I will continue writing for this site in the foreseeable future, now that I have dragged myself out of the disappointment and lack of inspiration resulting from the intervention. I want people to hear my story, if they want, and I want to offer a measure of comfort and community to a few people who may be experiencing similar things. I will try to be as courteous as possible, but your beliefs will no longer operate as a protective shield that I am not allowed to cross. I will not pretend that Christianity stops good people from doing bad things, and sometimes things in which you participate.

I may not have needed it, but your intervention has made me a stronger person, more principled, more self-assured, and not a whit more religious. In that sense, I thank you for reminding me how naked the Emperor really is.

But even the “atheist at the breakfast table” doesn’t have it *that* easy:

It’s risky to say anything categorically about atheists — for a more individualistic bunch would be hard to find. But let’s propose that there are two kinds of atheists: the kind you hear about, and the kind you don’t.

The kind you hear about are crusaders with a specific agenda: to challenge religious bigotry wherever it raises its head. Since 9/11 particularly, they have stepped up their campaign, galloping through the chapel with the guns-ablaze fervor of a persecuted minority, cataloguing the harms that have been done in the name of organized religion. That strategy, while it has definitely raised atheism’s profile — partly by polarizing the religious debate — hasn’t exactly endeared atheists to the majority of Americans. Indeed, polls consistently show that dislike and distrust for atheists goes wider than for any other identifiable group.

The kind of atheist you don’t hear about is different — in strategy or temperament or both.

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In the vast middle of the religious spectrum, a space not occupied by fundamentalists of any sort, is where millions of this kind of atheist and agnostics live, more or less quietly, with their families.

Grierson wrote quite a bit about the struggles many quiet atheists face — and who better to talk to about those struggles than our own Richard Wade? (Yay!)

Not long ago Wade received a letter from a British woman who called herself “Christmas Elf,” and described her fairly common dilemma thus: Her aging parents had asked her help putting on the Christmas Pageant at her church. Kind of awkward, as she is an atheist. Love and familial duty was suddenly colliding with an uncomfortable personal sense of hypocrisy. She was leaning toward helping with the pageant. What did Richard think?

He was with her. “You have a limited number of Christmases to spend with your parents,” he said. “You’ll have the rest of each year and the rest of your life to follow your own convictions more meticulously.” By Richard Wade’s lights, there are times to be fiercely principled, and times to be pragmatic, and you have to do the calculus case by case. When you turn pragmatism outward like that, it becomes pretty close to empathy. And that, Wade believes, is the key to dealing with anger and hurt in a family divided by faith.

Psychology Today put the full article behind a paywall… but Grierson has an unabridged version of the article up on his own site.

It’s not very often that we see an article actually humanizing Humanists in a mainstream publication. This is a good one, though. Check it out.

When asked to review Candidate Without a Prayer, I was at first concerned that it would be a three hundred page advert for the Coalition. It wasn’t.

This book doesn’t take off quickly; in fact, the first three chapters have a very slow pace. These pages, though, are packed with information that is vital to explaining the role Silverman’s home-life played in his development. Incrementally, the book progresses into an insightful look at the life of a passionate and wise gentleman.

We’re all shaped by our families. Herb Silverman’s thoughtful introversion was carved in childhood by a family shaped by the Great Depression and the Holocaust. While his mother appears a caricature, her controlling personality leads to several humorous tales.

I hadn’t realized how unusual my helplessness was. I partly blame my mother for not encouraging me to learn the rudiments of taking care of myself. However, I mostly blame myself for not being assertive or interested enough. I began trying as best I could to do things for myself. I followed Bill’s lead the first time we went to the Laundromat. I thought I was doing quite well until Bill said, “Don’t you think
you should put your clothes in the washer before putting them in the dryer?”

From an early age, Silverman questioned authoritarian leadership, and was actually “dishonorably discharged” from the Cub Scouts for such “rebellious” behaviour.  Sometimes, it’s a simple question that can lead a person to begin questioning their faith; this was very true for Silverman.  His telling of such experiences, throughout the book, is consistently concise; and it is the accumulation of these tales that gradually reveals the core of the whole man.

One of my best teachers asked, “Why does the Torah say ‘God of Abraham, God of Isaac, God of Jacob,’ instead of the more concise ‘God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob’?” His Talmudic explanation was that each had a different god, and we must search for and find our own god. I took his statement very seriously and applied Talmudic reasoning to draw my own conclusion, rather than rely on the wisdom of ancient scholars. My search beginning at age twelve eventually led me to a god who wasn’t there. I was thrilled and a little bit frightened. I didn’t believe there was a god and I didn’t know if anyone else thought as I did.

Outside of activism, Silverman had an education and career based in theoretical mathematics.  Scattered in a few places of this autobiography, his background reveals itself in dry language, but quickly recovers with rich tales of personal development.  While I enjoyed learning more about the work that Silverman has championed throughout his life, the chapter I was most enthralled by was one about the global travels that he and his wife ventured on. From Israel to India, the pair experienced a broad range of cultures, and religious mandates; Silverman acknowledges these differences, and he retells each memory with precision and wit. This was one of the few autobiographies that I would pick up again; there is much to be learned from those, like Silverman, that have been actively and positively changing the world around them for so many years.

If a finite man created infinity, perhaps a finite man created God and gave him infinite attributes. Infinity is a useful concept to help solve math problems. Was God merely a useful concept to help solve human problems?

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Image Source: Leslie A. Zukor

An interview with the author:

You say that you’re more interested in “converting” people from apathy to activism, rather than from theism to atheism.  What, have you found, is the best way to inspire people to action?

I can identify with apathetic atheists, having been one most of my life. What inspired me was finding out that I was ineligible for public office in South Carolina simply because I was an atheist, and working to do something about it. Many atheists have been active in civil rights for African-Americans, women, gays, and other minorities. Atheists are now the minority that people in this country seem to feel most comfortable openly denigrating. That has to stop, and we need reasonable people to make it more of an activist priority.

What advice can you give to inspire and encourage potential and beginning atheist activists?

It’s been said many times, but the most important thing an atheist activist can do is to come out of the closet. It worked for the GLBT movement, and it can work for us. Negative attitudes will change when people learn that their friends, colleagues, neighbors, and even family members are atheists. Aside from that, follow your passion. You are more likely to join and stay active in the movement if you are having fun and meeting other activists with whom you can have fun.

Bertrand Russell’s Why I’m Not a Christian was an inspiration to you in your youth, what books have inspired you in your adult years?

I don’t think any book can inspire me like Bertrand Russell’s did, because you only lose your virginity once. Russell showed me I wasn’t alone. He had as many “nots” as I did, and described ways in which godlessness could free people to be ethical and moral. Fortunately, atheism isn’t in the closet as much as it once was, and there are many fine and inspirational books by Dawkins, Harris, Hitchens, and many others. I try to read as many as I can, and find inspiration from each I read.

Was there a time as a child that you believed the rhetoric told to you? If yes, what were the events and thoughts that changed you? If no, why do you think you were so resistant to indoctrination?

I don’t think I ever believed the God rhetoric, but there was a time I would reflexively say I was a believer without knowing what that meant. I once went along with the family belief that Jews should stick to their own kind because all Gentiles were anti-Semitic. When I began to think about and question such views, it didn’t take long for me to break free from such indoctrination.

Relationships often play a large role in shaping our personalities and life experiences; it was clear that this has been true in your life, too. What advice can you offer about forming positive and beneficial bonds, even with those who oppose your activism?

Look for things you have in common with others, not just what sets you apart from them. There may be important issues on which people can work together even though they have very different theological views. We should respect the right of people to believe whatever makes sense to them, though we need not respect the belief itself.

What does it feel like to have put all of your history down?

Great! It felt good to come out of the closet as an atheist. I’ve now taken one further step and come out of the closet with my life. If I ever run for office again, my opponent will not have to do any opposition research. He or she will only need to read my book.

In the book, you take the position that atheists “should come out softly,” as religious people accuse us of arrogance.  What are your thoughts about more aggressive forms of activism? Do you think that varied styles can co-exist in the ‘movement’?

Not only can varied styles co-exist in the “movement,” the movement will fail if we try to restrict it to a “one size fits all” approach. That had been the problem for too long. Secularists would spend an inordinate amount of time arguing about minor differences (like whether to call yourself an atheist, agnostic, humanist, etc.) and too little time cooperating on what we have in common and working on issues that would benefit all secular Americans. That’s why I helped form the Secular Coalition for America, which now has eleven cooperative national organizations that cover the full spectrum of nontheism.

Have you ever considered editing your own “Jefferson Bible”?

I think everyone who takes the Bible seriously and recognizes it as an important part of American culture should do some biblical editing. Jefferson called what remained in his edited version, “Diamonds in a Dunghill.” I’ve taken a slightly different approach. I have a section in my book about treating the fables in the Bible as we do Aesop’s fables. Both theists and nontheists can discuss what moral lessons they get out of the different fables. I do this with ten biblical fables from Genesis, with the hope of inspiring someone to write a complete book of such biblical fables.

What dangers do you foresee for the United States if we cannot maintain a separation of church and state?

To answer the question, look at any country where religion is mixed up with government and ask yourself if that’s the kind of country you would want ours to become. Look also at the first Pilgrims and Puritans who settled here and established Christian colonies, where those of the “wrong” religion were excluded from government participation and persecuted. Such church-state unions led to the Salem witch trials. The framers of our U.S. Constitution and Bill of Rights wanted no part of the religious intolerance and bloodshed they saw in Europe or in our own early theocratic colonies, which is why they wisely established the first government in history to separate church and state.

Would you encourage other atheists to run for office, if only to challenge existing laws. (If so, what would your advice be to them?)

I would encourage other atheists to run for office, but not only to challenge existing laws. The more atheists that run, the more our issues will be discussed and the more stereotypes of atheists will be eliminated. I’m hoping for a day when political candidates are judged by their character and their positions on issues, rather than on their professed religious beliefs. Atheists running for office can help bring this about.

Lastly, after participating in numerous debates, what rookie mistake do you regret most and would advise others to avoid?

I would originally focus only on making the best logical and rational argument to “defeat” my opponent. I now understand that a debate is about the audience, not about the opponent. Your opponent is likely an experienced debater who will not change his mind, no matter how good the evidence you present. You want to give open-minded audience members something to think about that they have never thought about before. They may have only heard the atheist side presented from their fundamentalist minister. So show a sense of humor, and smile a lot. Audience members will be more receptive to you if they find you a likeable person. This was hard for me to understand, since smiling is important in debates but meaningless in my career of solving math problems.

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Candidate Without A Prayer: An Autobiography of a Jewish Atheist in the Bible Belt is available online now and in bookstores soon.