What We Can’t Claim Credit For

In light of the two most recent posts (on atheism’s weakness as philosophical movement and my inability to rebut a Ross Douthat thought experiment), it’s about time I got around to discussing the keynote at the DC Center for Inquiry fundraiser I attended a few weeks back.

The featured speaker was Greta Christina and she spoke on the similarities between New Atheism and the LGBT movement.  I’m sure you can think of plenty of them already: both distrusted groups that are numerically in the minority.  Both movements that put a big emphasis on coming out because if people know us personally, they tend to soften some of their judgments.  Both movements with fierce internal debates about how to engage with the mainstream and prone to worry about accommodationists.

I could guess most of the above, but Greta had another parallel that really caught my attention.  There have been historical periods where being publicly known as queer or atheist could put you in serious danger.  And in some parts of the world, and the United States, that is still the case.  But what Greta chose to focus on was what changes once it’s safe to be queer or to be an atheist.

It used to be that being out, whether as LGBT or as an atheist, was a good proxy variable for having a lot of spunk and for having put a lot of thought into the issue.  But today, being out is low-cost for a lot of people.  I grew up atheist on very secular Long Island and didn’t have to a lot of heavy lifting to defend my beliefs.  Just knowing I’m an atheist doesn’t give you that much help in guessing how smart I am or how well I can defend what I believe.

Greta Christina explained that a strong sense of exceptionalism persisted in the LGBT community, even when many queer folks could exist comfortably within the mainstream.  And in a movement like atheism, where a lot is made of being less wrong than other people, this kind of confidence and complacency can be dangerous.

Atheism isn’t the goal.  The goal is to have a correct-as-possible model of the world to guide our actions, and we believe atheism is one of the components of that map.  But if plenty of people can stumble into atheism, we need to do more to focus on the process of rational inquiry, not just celebrate it’s byproducts.

Someone in the comments section of my response to R. Hoffman asked who my favorite atheists were.  Among living atheists, I’d definitely say Eliezer Yudkowsky fits the bill.

Is Atheism Ever Not Boring?

 

R. Joseph Hoffman, a professor at the New England Conservatory and blogger at The New Oxonian has some harsh words for the New Atheists in a recent essay “Atheism’s Little Idea.”

I mention Skepticon because to my mind the meeting is further evidence of the crisis that besets atheism. It cannot quite embrace humanism at the margins, the solution to which for certain ecumenical atheists is to fiddle with the definition of humanism by rolling out the dough ever thinner. It cannot represent skepticism in a methodological way because science and philosophy and even theology have been there and do it. It cannot lay claim to helping people in a direct and positive (as opposed to a merely rhetorical way) because it isn’t, after all, a social welfare movement.

It wants like Pirandello’s lost characters, a cause, an author, something that defines it and sets it apart: science, reason, empathy, concern for human health, but ends up sounding like a nightmare version of a Miss America contestant prompted to give her world peace response.

What atheism and humanism have needed for a long time and once came close to having was a think tank to deal with the theoretical issues of these different movements. It may say worlds about the nature of atheism that this project failed, under the name of secular humanism.

I agree with Hoffman that the resurgent atheist movement has spent a lot more time debunking religion than offering their own philosophical and ethical ideas for the other side to critique.  And I agree with Hoffman that this weakness seems to be baked in to the new skepticism.  But I don’t think his demands that the atheist movement be other that what it is make much sense.

Expecting a unified atheist or humanist movement to build up interesting philosophical ideas is like expecting libertarians and social conservatives to construct a coherent Republican Party.  Having a common enemy might strengthen a coalition, but it doesn’t mean everyone who’s found their way under the big tent will be able to work together when they’re given an opportunity to do something besides resist the foe.

Great. So let's get moving.

Here are a couple of the things I’ve turned out to majorly disagree with some other atheists about: morality is objective, transhumanism (and gnosticism) are awesome, putting tight constraints on your future self (possibly through covenant marriage) is a pretty good idea.  That’s just off the top of my head.  As a result, I’d be more likely to heed advice from some Christians than from some intensely relativist atheists.

Atheists do have ideas about philosophy and ethics, but, if you want to talk about them, you need to identify yourself with some other adjective beyond ‘atheist’ or ‘skeptic’ (or ‘humanist’ too, since I’ve never heard the same definition twice for that word).  And I’m all in favor of individual atheists putting their cards on the table and giving other people the opportunity to hold their feet to the fire.

But, as a group, we’ve got about as much in common as the members of Mensa or Ravelry, so it makes just as little sense to interrogate us and expect us to contribute en masse as it does to expect a single, coherent moral theory from the knitters of Ravelry.  That rules out the purpose that Hoffman expects the New Atheist to fulfill, and I’d like to suggest a different telos.

Atheism does have some pretty significant similarities to the LGBT movement.  For many people, outing themselves as an atheist means losing their connection to their families and communities (cf the NYT’‘s recent feature on African-American atheists).  An atheist community offers support while people deal with the upheaval, but this doesn’t require a unified moral philosophy.  The LGBT movement has plenty of internal divisions about the ideal form of sexual and emotional relationship, but that doesn’t stop groups like PFLAG from doing a lot of good.

The other major role for atheists-as-a-group is as defenders of science education and religious freedom.  Hoffman thinks that scientists already have the first goal covered, but it’s a mistake to expect that they’ll do all the heavy-lifting of lobbying.  Scientist don’t spend all their time on advocacy because then they wouldn’t have time to be scientists.  And plenty of the skills that make someone a good researcher don’t lend themselves to organizing or PR work.

Fighting the anti-science wing of American religious conservatism is a completely different job than just promoting and explaining science.  Scientists are used to working in a world where empiricism is a common presupposition and you don’t need to address objections of the type: “radiocarbon dating is a fraud by God to test our faith.”  Arguing with these kinds of people is difficult, exhausting, and necessary, since they tend to get elected to school boards and Congress.

I’m glad the new atheist community has organized and funded pro-science and pro-religious freedom advocacy, but I wouldn’t ever expect us-as-a-group to come up with big philosophical ideas.  That’s a task for individuals and small, more ideologically similar groups.

The only thing I’d really like to alter is instilling a strong expectation that atheists talk about what they do believe and go to the mats to defend it.  This is probably bad strategy, but good philosophy.

Feser’s Typology of Atheism (Part 2)

Today, I’m returning to Edward Feser’s typology of atheism.  Monday, I took a look at ways atheists approach religious philosophy, today the focus is on responses to religious practice.  Here’s how Feser splits up atheists:

A. Religious practice is mostly or entirely contemptible and something we would all be well rid of. The ritual side of religion is just crude and pointless superstition. Religious morality, where it differs from secular morality, is sheer bigotry. Even where certain moral principles associated with a particular religion have value, their association with the religion is merely an accident of history. Moreover, such principles tend to be distorted by the religious context. They certainly do not in any way depend on religion for their justification.

B. Religious practice has a certain admirable gravitas and it is possible that its ritual and moral aspects fulfill a real human need for some people. We can treat it respectfully, the way an anthropologist might treat the practices of a culture he is studying. But it does not fulfill any universal human need, and the most intelligent, well educated, and morally sophisticated human beings certainly have no need for it.

C. Religious practice fulfills a truly universal or nearly universal human need, but unfortunately it has no rational foundation and its metaphysical presuppositions are probably false. This is a tragedy, for the loss of religious belief will make human life shallower and in other ways leave a gaping void in our lives which cannot plausibly be filled by anything else. It may even have grave social consequences. But it is something we must find a way to live with, for atheism is intellectually unavoidable.

Last time, I thought it was reasonable to think you could assign individual religious traditions a single category, but the system breaks down here.  Unless I’m just rating religions on ‘ritual’ generically, my scores for an individual religion will whipsaw wildly depending on what practice we’re talking about.

Most individual religious practice falls into a kind of A* Feser doesn’t account for: it’s not particularly pernicious, but it is useless.  Genuflecting before you sit at Mass, crossing yourself and saying a prayer when an ambulance passes, saying a blessing over food… the worst harm you’re doing yourself is the opportunity cost of spending time on useless ritual.  No worse and no better than knocking on wood.

There are legitimate scary type-A practices.  The readiest example I have is Michael and Debi Pearl’s biblically-inspired spanking regimen that has been linked to deaths and serious injury.  Also on the list: ex-gay reeducation camps.

Then there are a fair number of type-Bs.  I can certainly imagine that requiring yourself to discuss your transgressions with someone else keeps you honest and can help you get out of the hole (provided the sins on your church’s list are actually harmful.  When I experimented with prayer, I did find it taught to be better about wanting other people’s good, not just my own.  But these salutary effects are in the B-block because I don’t think they depend on religion being true to work.  After all, as I pointed out after the Lenten prayer experience, my quasi-Kantianism was so wrong that you didn’t have to be all that correct to be able to spot my error.

I suspect Feser wants me to put ‘ritual’ broadly defined into type-C, but I don’t buy it.  Although atheists are still arguing about what atheist ritual and secular authority should look like, there’s no denying plenty of non-religious ritual has taken root and flourished.  Trust me that “I love CTY and I love the Passionfruit” will bring a certain subset of the geeky population to tears.  Secular ritual isn’t an innovation, either.  Immigrant communities and trade associations formed tight-knit societies that incorporated shibboleths and ritual.

What makes religious ritual unique is its ability to be small-c catholic.  Anyone can be Catholic and walk into a church anywhere in the world and hear the same liturgy (though, with my weak French, it was hard to pick out anything but the set-in-stone phrases when I attended Mass in Notre Dame).  That universalism is something secular ritual can’t match and is the closest anything comes to type-C practise.

But we’re already losing it.  And this isn’t a case of mo’dernity, mo’problems; the balkanization of Christianity started a long time ago.  At this point, to get into type-C, an atheist would have to wish to actively roll back the Reformation and put the Church at the center of life.  I’d like it if there were a universal center to life and if people had the kind of common frame of reference and language that the KJV used to provide, but I can’t try to build all that around something I believe to be false.

The real answer is probably that the population is too large to sustain a universal core culture.  Technically, the problem is that the population is too large and that there’s not a universal measure of distance.  I can be connected to people arbitrarily far away so it’s hard to build up communities.  I’m still not sure what the solution is.

#I’veGot99ProblemsandNisbetRepresentsaSignificantProportionofSaidProblems