The Intruder in the Closet

It’s 10 pm. You’re watching TV. You’re alone in the house.

At a commercial break, you push the mute button on the remote. Then you hear it. A rhythmic sound is coming from the closet door behind you.

“Thump, thump. Thump, thump.”

Your throat tightens. Your heart skips a beat. You recognize the sound. Someone is inside the closet, rapping their hand on the closet door.

“Thump, thump.”

A hundred different scenes from late-night slasher films flash through your mind. Is it Jason hiding my closet? (No. That’s silly.) Is it a Ted Bundy wannabe?

“Thump, thump.”

With fear deep in your throat, you decide to confront the intruder. You throw open the closet door. And you see a small, wooden bar stool. It’s red, illuminated by a pale, red indicator light that sits atop the small seat. As your eyes adjust, you realize that the glowing, red dot is attached to the front of a  tape recorder. Now you can see the exact source of the sound.

“Thump, thump,” rings out from the tape recorder’s speaker. You click the off switch, shudder and close the door.

Up to this very moment – right before you flung open the closet door – you had a very different belief about the reality about to unfold. Your belief was that there was a person inside the closet. Was that a rational belief? Absolutely.

And at this very moment in time, this is a scene that millions of people are stuck in. People who believe in a god.

If you’re not convinced of the analogy, let’s take a closer look at the evidence theists cite:

• Their religion has been embraced for thousands of years
• Their parents, whom they love and trust, assures them of the truth
• The physical universe, to their naked eye, seems as if it were created especially for them and other humans

The conclusion derived from these support points – there must be a god – is a completely rational position. Just like your belief in the intruder in the closet.

But what if you never opened that door? What if you ran out of the house as fast as you could? What if the initial evidence you experienced was so compelling that it felt like it would be irrational to ignore it?

This is the condition of the modern-day, Western-world theist. They are not, as atheists so often accuse, being irrational. Theists arrived at their conclusions using demonstrably strong support points. Their religion’s antiquity, ubiquity and authenticity, as shared by trusted friends and family members, are perfectly credible sources of evidence.

Was there better evidence that no one was hiding in the closet? Are there demonstrable, testable genetic and neurological dispositions that make humans susceptible to believing in detached consciousnesses?

Certainly. But those who understand that evidence must have dared to look inside to consider it.

The person who runs from the house, and the theists of the 21st century, are one in the same. They are not irrational.

They are scared.

Why I won’t call myself an atheist again

I’ve never been comfortable calling myself an “atheist.” It’s too negative, too provocative and too limiting. There are many things I am not. A theist is simply one if them.

But after watching this brief video featuring co-monikered research physicist, Sean Carroll, I realized two things. One, I think I’ll be much more comfortable calling myself a naturalist than an atheist.

Two, when someone else articulates your beliefs far better than you ever could, it’s time to start talking about something else.

Why many atheists needs a hug

Hey there, champ. Your mom tells me that you broke up with your beliefs.

I can’t say that we know exactly what you’re feeling, but we know you’re angry. We know it hurts to be mislead. We know how much we can invest into our beliefs, and how much they can matter to us.

Now that you’ve found out what your old beliefs really are, you’re bitter. Your beliefs let you down and you want them, and all its friends, to suffer, too. You want them all to suffer for all the pain, conflict and dissonance they caused in your life.

But, honey, this bitterness will only hurt you, not your old beliefs.

You’ve just made an amazing discovery in your life. You’ve realized who you really are. You’ve used your head and walked away from an abusive relationship. You’ve grown up.

Now it’s time to keep growing.

Your old beliefs, and all its friends, may have hurt you, but if you continue to carry the resentment, they will continue to hurt you.

You have a new life now. A new relationship. And, let me tell you, son, she’s a beauty. Thoughtful, clear-headed and honest. She’s a keeper. And she deserves your full attention.

So let your bitterness go. If you see your old beliefs and start to feel that old pain, think about the beliefs you’ve come to accept. And remember just how fortunate you are that the two of you met. You’re a different person now. A wiser person.

View your old beliefs with compassion – not simply for them or its friends, but for yourself. We all have a few bad relationships in our life. But you’ve moved on to something far greater.

Enjoy your new relationship, kiddo. I think the two of you are going to be very happy together.

The contradiction of collectivist atheists (guest post)

This is a long(ish) comment by polpaul to an earlier story that required its own space.

I’m not looking for the universal constant (well, I am, but not here).

My only point is to concur with the thesis of the ["Why Atheists act like Creationists..."] blog post, that non-theists cannot insist upon treating politics as if it is above the very system their logic claims produced it. If natural selection begets ethics, and ethics begets politics, then one cannot object to the notion that politics is a product of natural selection. Which begs the question why the term “social Darwinism” is a term of derision. [To dive deeper, another commenter suggests to read up on sociobiology.]

Not to stray from the topic, but I would go even further in agreeing that collectivists, especially those of an atheist stripe, tend to try to have it both ways. They veer toward statist politics that tend toward collectivist (read, coerced) solutions, while claiming that nature must be free to grow into its most productive genetic coding. I see an unholy alliance here between the theistic and atheistic collectivists.

But I digress from the central point…

There is a profound practicality to understanding the nature of ethics and politics. The most immediate example would be being able to spot a politician who is trying to get away with having it both ways–claim a non-theistic ethic, but use a non-natural system to explain (or impose) his politics or ethics.

Theists have it pretty easy here. They just point to their book, or what not, and they’re pretty much done.

Atheists bear an immense burden, which I think is assisted in knowing the nature of their ethical impulses and imperatives.

Why atheists are easy pickings for politicians

"Yay, let's all worship a new idol!"

Out of the frying pan, into the camp fire.

Politicians are having a field day with atheists and secularists, in general. They’re doing it by exploiting a weakness in humans to confuse ends with means.

To explain this position, I’ll need to back up for a moment and talk about religion.

When people believe in holy books, most ethical questions are conveniently addressed within the book’s pages. For ambiguities, an industry of clergy exists to assist with “interpretation” of the book. And the people who rule the masses can then, in turn, use the religiously based ethics to justify political actions. (see Iran or Saudi Arabia for conspicuous examples, the USA for an insidious one)

For politicians, the most useful aspect of religious philosophy is based on the idea of being your brothers’ keeper. If people are born into a state of perpetual obligation, politicians could simply exploit the meme to justify any behavior “for the good of the people.”

Today’s politicians are using same old argument, but supporting it in a secular fashion. You are still born a slave to everyone around you, but not because the bible tells you so. We have a new oracle for that.

The rationale that supposedly supports the new collectivism is “reason.” But reason is a method by which one arrives at a conclusion. Not a conclusion in and of itself. But if the conclusion is already assumed (“how do we maximize good for the greatest number of people?”), how can anyone disagree with reason as the method to get there?

And there’s the trap.

Once the collectivist gets you to bite on the new categorical position of “maximizing good for all” as your goal, you get politicians who believe in imposing higher taxes on those who work to subsidize people who don’t want to work because they’d rather be poets (thanks for that gem, Nancy).

This wonderful trick, convincing you of “maximizing good for all,” hides a dark underside, the presumption that you are born in obligation to the collective good. Theists say you are born in a state of obligation because you’re bad (a flawed sinner). Progressives say you’re born into a state of obligation because you’re good, a natural-born altruist.

Proponents of this position often invoke the idea of cooperation as a proof. They observe that humans are self-interested creatures who use cooperation to thrive. But they drop the “self-interested” part and focus only on the cooperation. Humans are cooperative, they say, therefore this is our highest nature.

Again, they’re confusing means to end. Humans use cooperation because it is often reasonable to cooperate to achieve our own self interests.

Atheists, in particular, are easy pickings for this flawed argument because few have arrived at their political positions by way of a metaphysical one. The thread of the political argument is easy to see for a theist.

God exists (metaphysical position)
God said that my purpose in life is to serve him and his flock (ethical position)
Serve God and His flock (political position, justified by metaphysical and ethical presumptions)

Now let’s try that for an atheist:

There probably is no god, I am probably simply a product of nature (metaphysical position)
My purpose in life is…? (ethical position?)
Serve the state and all humanity (political position)

Many attempt to use cooperation as their purpose in life. But as we’ve already shown, cooperation is not a purpose, it is a means to an end.

Often a secularist will say, the meaning of life is that which you assign to it. Well, if this is true, what if my meaning in life doesn’t entail forced obligation to strangers?

Seems like politicians are still eager to sell you an ethical position that keeps you obligated to others from birth. The college professors are the new priests and reason is the new divination.

And it seems like plenty of atheists are becoming true believers.

Why atheists tend to act like creationists in politics

So we should base our political model on centralized power? It all makes sense now!

Few biologists give much credence to the idea of a 6,000-year-old universe that was intelligently designed by a personified deity. (When I say “few” I mean practically none.) But a funny thing happens to people on the long road from a metaphysical position to a political one. They tend to forget everything along the way.

Many atheists accept that the theory of evolution is the best explanation for biological diversity on our planet. The earth’s flora and fauna is, biologically speaking, the net result of natural selection over billions of years. Species that exhibited traits that would help them thrive, did so. Groups within each species that exhibited traits that would help them thrive, did so. And so on and so on….

The entire idea of intelligent design – of a centralized source guiding every process – is discarded as naive at best. And yet, and I promise to not take this out of context, let’s look at what bioethicist Richard Dawkins said about politics and ethics:

“Let’s intelligently design our morality rather than trying to read what’s right and wrong in a 3,000-year-old book.” (Richard Dawkins, 4/1/12, addressing a group at Newport High School.)

Now, I completely understand how Dawkins is using this phrase. He is having a bit of fun with it and trying to re-purpose it for the sake of his ethical and political beliefs. In that, I grant him great leeway due to poetic license.

But I wonder if this comment reveals a deeper contradiction in the minds of many atheists?

“It’s a reprehensible and deplorable fact that many people buy into the preposterous idea that you actually need religion in order to be good,” Dawkins went on to say.

Dawkins was, of course, speaking to the metaphysical aspects of religion. Religious fables do poorly in ring matches with sciences on the physical universe. This is why the Catholic Church long threw in the towel on the whole age of the universe/evolution thing. There was simply too much evidence to resist.

But then think about what Dawkins does suggest with his playful use of the word “intelligent design” when it comes to developing ethics (and, by natural consequence, a political system). Is he not guilty of ignoring the model of the natural world – of natural selection – when it comes to being “good?”

He is saying, for billions of years, the earth developed according to random, natural selection, thus producing the rich, healthy, evolved biodiversity we see today. Based on this, is he suggesting for us to go ahead and ignore these principles and act like a theistic god and “intelligently design” our political systems?

What happened to natural selection?

Some people use the term “social Darwinism” as way to poison the well before this question can even be seriously considered. The presumption is that the process of natural selection, applied to ethics and politics, is barbaric. But this logical fallacy is simply an exaggeration of a position. Political groups, such as early Democrats who championed classical liberalism, had a far different take on social Darwinism (though they never would call it that).

Early Democrats believed in a political process that far more resembled Darwin than Dawkins. These classical liberals believed in the wisdom of the universe and applied that to democratic principles. They fought against the elitist view that only a select, few wise people should run the affairs of a nation. Rather, we should – in as much as we can – trust the natural dynamic of group interaction, keeping power in the hands of individuals, not a centralized state controlled by a small number of sages (or one) who intelligently designed its systems and policies.

I'll do whatever POTUS says

One early Democrat was John L. O’Sullivan, the man responsible for the phrase, “The best government is that which governs least.” This wasn’t an anarchist’s position. This was someone who believed in liberal (liberty) democracy. His model wasn’t intelligent design. It was nature itself.

Democrats have changed a lot since the days of Grover Cleveland and John L. O’Sullivan. Today, Libertarians are closest to what Democrats used to be (maximum social freedoms and limited centralized government).

If Richard Dawkins, or any atheist for that matter, really wants to build consensus around their metaphysical viewpoints on the nature of reality, perhaps they should strive toward more consistency. Maybe intelligent design should be ejected from both the science classroom and the civics one.

Why “The Shawshank Redemption” has something to teach atheists

What do I do now?

If you’ve read the book and/or watched the movie, The Shawshank Redemption, you no doubt recall the tragic character named Brooks. [spoiler alert] Wonderfully portrayed by actor James Whitmore, the character is, in my opinion, the most endearing of the story. In the darkest of places, he finds joy in life. In the cruelest of prisons, he finds comfort in routine. And in his eventual freedom, he meets his tragic, unexpected end.

I never really understood why this film, and this character in particular, moved me so much. Certainly it was affecting me in both a literal and figurative/archetypal level. But I never recognized the powerful metaphor of Brooks, until now. While reading one of the many stories online about a young man in the American Bible Belt “coming out” as an atheist, I made the connection.

Forget Brooks’ age. Forget his gender. Forget the literal setting. Brooks is a metaphor of a person imprisoned by his circumstance. He lives in “prison,” as all wondering theists do, and fears leaving its familiar setting. He has friends there. He knows the rules there. They tell him when he can and can’t do everything. In this structure, social network and “protection from the outside,” he is trapped – even as he loves and feeds the little bird of freedom that visits him from time to time.

This is story of every secret atheist and doubting theist in the world. They are trapped in a prison of their own custom, both internally and externally. To leave this prison is to leave everyone (and everything) they’ve ever known, abusive as it may be, behind them. And when the gates slam behind the new atheist, they know there’s no going back; not to their beliefs, and often, not to their family and friends.

This realization has made me think of theists in an entirely new way. Hate the game, but not the player.

Should we belittle the very people we hope to help?

I admit it. It’s tempting to make fun of theism. Some people, like Christopher Hitchens and Bill Maher do it so well. But it’s a very thin line that separates the critical assesment of ideas versus the mockery of individuals and their struggles with shaking off those ideas.  Taunting them, while they stand inside their prisons, looking out at the world though bars of fear, is a mean, petty, insensitive thing to do.

Much of what people have done in the name of religion will forever stain our history books. I am certainly not apologizing for any of it. But if I am to help theists embrace the rational foundation of their humanity, to step into the sometimes harsh light of day, I need to remember to be more considerate of those who may be struggling to escape from a very dark place.

Why no charms mean no chains

Look! Look! I'm defining myself!

I have about 25 charms in a small keepsake box. Crosses, Celtic crosses, anks, oms, a Seminole arrow head, a Sicilian horn, sun symbols – all piled atop one another, each representing brief periods in my life that I’ve attempted to say, “This best represents my beliefs.”

I could never find the one, over-arching belief system that allowed for my view of the world.  I know…that sounds rather presumptuous. Who am I to determine what’s right and wrong? I should just pick a medalion and then shut up and do as I’m told.

But who really does this?

With the exception of the most fundamentally religious people, like say, the Amish or Kirk Cameron, how many of us actually believe everything that little charm around our neck implies?

A.J. Jacobs took a crack at it. In his book, Living Bibalically, he spent an entire year trying to do everything the little cross on his neck told him to do. I encourage you to check out his webpage. Let’s suffice to say that, at the end of the year, Jacobs walked away with a new insight on what parts of his faith made sense, and which did not.

The bigger point here is that 99% of us don’t really represent the icon that sits on our chest. We may have family and cultural affiliations. We may participate in rituals. But “something else” guides us when we act in a manner that goes against our religion’s teachings.

What is it?

Plato had a good way of explaining it. He asked, “Are things good because god does them, or does god do them because they are good?” If you believe in the first part of the question, then anything god does (or instructs) is right, and you’re all sinners when you stray from his word in any detail.

However, evidence would suggest that most people believe the second part, which begs the question, why do we need to listen to god at all (to know what is right for us)?

Today, I wear no charm – or chain – around my neck. I realized that no one else will ever develop an ethos that perfectly matches my beliefs because no one has ever lived my life. And since the relativism/libertarian paradox supports the idea of a free society, that works out fine for me.

Besides, I never really had the chest hair to pull off a gold chain, anyway.

Why moral relativism might be OK after all

"Surfin' bird" serves the good, obviously.

UPDATE: In this syllogism here, I suggested a paradox, but this may be false. Humanism may take the position that there is no objective morality possible, but this condition may not cause a paradox because the net effect of this would impact politics, not morality. 

 

One of my (many) concerns with Humanism is my bias against its general assertion that no rigid, objective morality exists. In other words, there is no objective “good.”

“Ethical values are derived from human need and interest as tested by experience.” (“Humanist Manifesto III”)

As described, this begs the question of what human need is and who gets to determine it and who gets to determine who gets to determine it. Every sweat-slicked, red-faced windbag who’s donned a military beret has claimed to understand human need, and thus justify every sleazy thing they do to achieve it.

This is a very real aspect of human nature, so it’s important that any secular morality addresses it. But what if those of us who are seeking an objective good don’t really have to?

Follow this line of thinking with me:

If objective good exists, it can be quantified.

And if it can be quantified, it follows that more good is better than some good.

But what if we say that no objective good exists?

Because if no objective good exists, then good is subjective.

And if good is subjective, then it is up to the individual to determine their own good.

And if it is up to the individual to determine their own good, it follows that the condition in which people would be most free to determine their subjective good would be the best system.

Thus a rationale for liberty follows, even in a universe with no objective good.

By embracing moral relativism, the chain of logic suggests an objective moral position for government. Neat paradox, eh?

 

Why atheists should attend church

You don’t need religion to have a religious experience.

(Hold the phone, Captain Literal, there’s some truth to this potential paradox.)

For many, a “religious” experience simply means something, as my friend Paul notes, that “transcends” the moment. This transcendence can imply moving from the natural to the supernatural. Or, as I’m asserting here, the experience can merely be a gestalt — the sum of the sensory experiences of the moment, combined with the thoughts and memories of the person beholding them, that creates a new experience larger than the sum of its parts.

Whether this experience can be explained by the touch of a supernatural entity or the activation of a region of the brain is, while metaphysically fascinating, beside the point.

A moment that I recently experienced was unexpected and profound. At the end of a particularly intense work day, I went to the beach by my house. I played in the water for a few minutes, dried off and began my trek from the shore back to my car. Sunset was nearly upon us. As I walked back, I realized that 100 or so people had gathered on the beach. Some were sprawled on beach blankets, some were talking softly at picnic tables and others seemed to simply pause, as if they were waiting for something to happen.

I realized that the group was there for a shared purpose; and a shared belief. Each individual had come to this place to behold something beautiful, something special. It was the golden disc of the early evening sky sinking behind the expanse of ocean before us. In its last few moments of visibility, no one spoke. We all watched for that exact moment when the sun would disappear from our view. When it did, everyone clapped.

This event, I believe, was held in an impromptu church. Here we were, strangers, united only in our desire to experience someone bigger than ourselves, who experienced something that transcended the details of the event itself. Did we all experience the same thing? No. But by the sounds of the clapping — the physical “amens” if you will — a great many did.

It was a powerful moment. It made me think about my youth, attending Catholic masses. The mass didn’t speak to me much, to be frank. I suspect that I simply wasn’t the right audience. But I do remember that many seemed to be quite taken by the experience. So, too, are those I see on television who attend Baptist revivals or faith healings.

I wonder if all of theses people really believe the minutiae of their holy books or simply want to experience the transcendent? If the latter, it seems that gathering together, sharing an experience with others who value sharing an experience, was a helpful ingredient.

Last week’s Reason Rally, which ranged from the silly to the profound, may have hinted at the very premise of my proposition. Maybe everybody, in one form or anther, needs to attend “church” once and a while.