Humanism, atheism and other freedoms

New York atheists are taking their message to the streets with a poster campaign. The signs will read: “A million New Yorkers are good without God. Are You?”. The campaign was inspired by a similar one in the UK, backed by the British Humanist Association, in which posters on buses read, “There’s probably no God. Now stop worrying and enjoy your life”.

It will be interesting to see how long the New York posters last. Elsewhere, the atheist message is coming under attack – and in a very unchristian fashion.

The American Humanist Association has had a poster defaced. Perhaps the most disappointing aspect of this particular graffito was its complete lack of wit or intelligence. But perhaps it was too much to expect anything more than mindless vandalism.

More worrying, perhaps, is a concerted Distributed Denial of Service (DoS) attack on atheism websites in Australia. The Atheist Foundation of Australia and the Global Atheist Convention were both knocked offline.

In both cases, the attackers may have no religious axe to grind: it’s possible they’re simply vandals who happened to pick on atheist targets. Let’s hope so: this is hardly turning the other cheek, is it?

All in the Mind: a farewell to God

Ludovic Kennedy, who died today aged 89, was a great freethinker who championed civil liberties and campaigned against the harmful influence of religion.

His book, All In The Mind: A Farewell To God, published in 1999, detailed the harm he believed Christianity had done to society. The book was developed from his Voltaire Lecture, given in 1984 for the British Humanist Association – an organisation for which he was a staunch advocate.

‘Ludo’ was also was also frequently in the front line in fighting against miscarriages of justice, and believed that the adversarial approach used by the UK and US legal systems inevitably leads to corruption and errors.

He was a skilled journalist and TV presenter, and outstanding writer and, above all, an outstanding humanist. He will be missed.

The BBC series ‘Around the World in 80 Faiths’ has come to an end, and it seems like it was not a moment too soon.

Not that it was a bad series. Far from it. As a whirlwind tour of all varieties of mankind’s credulity, it was highly entertaining. The problem was that it was (perhaps necessarily, given the number of faiths) disappointingly superficial.

The presenter, Anglican vicar Peter Owen Jones, seemed to do his best to engage with each faith, though it was easy to see how he was predisposed to like some more than others. However, it was hard to shake the impression that this was little more than religious tourism of the most shallow kind.

Even when Owen Jones seemed to attempt to pursue a more profound question, it was usually done and dusted within a couple of minutes of airtime. Take, for example, his acknowledgement in the last programme of Martin Luther’s vile anti-semitism – a model that the Nazis referenced and on which they built. Owen Jones made a show of being guilt-ridden by this dark and shameful part of his own faith, because he was, that evening, to share a meal with Jews. When he brought up the subject over dinner, his Jewish host gave a generous response – that acknowledging the problem was the first step to solving it. This was, perhaps, more indicative of traditional Jewish hospitality than a highly developed philosophy. Owen Jones’ response was to treat the camera to one of his trademark gormless smiles and a statement to the effect that ‘that’s alright then’.

This was typical both of the programme’s superficiality and Owen Jones’ tendency to be easy on both himself and spirituality in general. He never really asked tough questions or delved with any seriousness into the causes or motivations of the faiths he briefly visited.

As the series progressed, he seemed in more and more of a rush. Perhaps his year-long odyssey was exhausting him, but by the last episode he seemed to be doing little more than name-checking faiths, with little attempt to explain their significance. His coverage of the Sami people in Finland, for example, amounted to little more than sitting in a tent with a shaman, grunting a little and banging a drum. He seemed unaware that joiks, the Sami’s unique musical form, is far more complex and rich than the simple chanting in which he momentarily indulged himself. Ray Mears covered this fascinating culture in far greater depth and with much more empathy, and did so as just part of a single programme.

The last programme was also marred by a naked display of prejudice. Predictably, the target of this bias was atheism.

In a series about faith, presented by a priest, I wasn’t expecting to see much coverage of atheism – let alone to see it presented as one of the 80 ‘faiths’. The only mention I’d seen so far (I missed one episode) was a rather sneering reference in the first programme which made the mistake of assuming that atheism is inherently reductionist and hostile to a sense of wonder. It is, of course, quite the reverse: but shedding the blinkers and restriction of religious dogma, it gies one the freedom to enjoy the full splendour, complexity and mystery of the universe.

Atheism, of course, is not a faith in that in does not require the suspension of rationality to believe in something for which there is no evidence. So counting it as one of the 80 faiths was, at best, a misrepresentation – one is tempted to use the word ‘lie’, and I’m not sure that I shouldn’t. Worse, Owen Jones decided to represent atheism by conflating it with communism, or more specifically, Stalinism.

This is a cheap trick, not uncommon among believers. Yes, Stalin both espoused and enforced atheism. But that does not make his actions or beliefs atheist. They were Stalinist. Stalinism was a totalitarian regime that, to aid its own survival, had to stand in conflict with other totalitarian regimes – notably, religion. Stalin’s repression of religion was ideological – and that ideology was communism, not atheism.

To use the excesses or characteristics of Stalinism to describe atheism – to equate the two – is not just logically and intellectually absurd, it is deeply dishonest. One might just as easily characterise and represent Christianity by the burning of witches.

Atheism is a philosphical (not religious) viewpoint – it is not a ideology. (And it should be noted that the richness of humanism, its history and philosophy, received only the curtest of passing mentions.) The tawdry trick employed by Owen Jones was the most obvious example of his prejudices coming to the fore. Of course, he wasn’t always called to the cloth: he is, in that respect, a convert. And it is typical of converts to turn their hate on what they may perceive as their own former inadequacies and on what they fear most.

Owen Jones also raved about the resurgence of spirituality in Russia (though not necessarily the old established faiths) without ever really questioning why this should be so. As presented, the implication was simply that, once the enforcement of atheism was lifted, people naturally return to religion. His interview with the token atheist went a very small way to suggesting an alternative – but not far enough.

Religion feeds on fear and uncertainty, and there has been plenty of both in post-communist Russia. People crave the stability of ceremony and community, and churches are happy to provide both. Hence people turn to the church – whatever church – not because the religion is offering something that is right or profound, but simply for the protection and comfort it provides. In this environment, an invisible pink unicorn or Flying Spaghetti Monster will function as well as Christ or Mohammed.

It would have been interesting if Owen Jones had thought to question the political and sociological forces at work. But his brief was very narrow and, being a believer, he is deeply biased towards believing that the embrace of supernatural ideas and submission to religious dogma are natural and right and trump everything else. This unwillingness to look further is a characteristic of the fundamental problem religion has with truth.

This series would have been so much more interesting, so much more valuable and profound, if Owen Jones had made his voyage alongside a humanist, or scientist, or psychologist. Then we could perhaps have had some answers to the key question, ‘why?’. But I don’t think Owen Jones would have had either the courage or honesty to do this.

A Guardian article about how marriage rates are plummeting contained one minor but, for me, highly significant detail. Even among those people who do say ‘I do’, an ever-reducing proportion of them are doing so in church.

According to the article:

…perhaps understandably, given the number of empty pews across the nation’s churches each Sunday, far fewer weddings include a religious ceremony nowadays. The number of couples saying their vows before God has halved since 1991.

Now, an apologist for religion might claim this as evidence of increasing godlessness. They will say that it’s evidence of moral decline. That is, of course, nonsense.

What it shows is that many of those people who did get married in church, both prior to and after 1991, did so for reasons that have nothing to do with religion or faith. Many of them, in fact, were almost certainly functional atheists.

I’ve known many people with no real faith – people who can’t be bothered to think about god from one year to the next and, if pushed, would confess that they are at most vaguely deistic or agnostic – who insisted on getting married in church.

Why? Because it’s traditional. Churches provide a picturesque and appropriately serious setting for the couple’s most important day. A wedding is an event and requires a suitable stage. Many people get married in a specific church because it’s part of the local community’s infrastructure, or because their parents got married there. I’ve known non-believing people to get their children baptised for similar reasons.

So why are people now turning away from the church? Well, the date of 1991 is significant. A new law was introduced around that time that allowed weddings to take place in approved locations other than registry offices and churches. Hotels, castles, stately homes – all manner of beautiful and impressive locations applied for and received licences that allowed marriage ceremonies to be carried out there. The only main provisos were that the location had to be a permanent structure (so still no weddings in hot air balloons) and must be accessible to the public.

Suddenly, couples discovered that they could have all the benefits of a church wedding (beautiful surroundings, etc) without any of that religious nonsense.

I’m sure that, even among those people still getting married in church, there are many who are not really believers but are doing so for the reasons already explained. Many churches, after all, still provide an attractive atmosphere. And there are plenty of people who are, at heart, deeply traditional, without being genuinely religious.

I’ve said before, and will say again, that the apparent religiosity of a society is, in many important ways, an illusion. People will continue to hang on to the rites and ceremonies of religion long after true belief has vanished. This is a cultural phenomenon, not a spiritual one.

Spirituality is religion’s last-ditch defence, the final redoute of superstition. Let me explain.

Currently in the UK, around one million people attend Anglican church services on Sundays. That’s about 2% of the population. A recent study by Christian Research, part of the Bible Society, has suggested that, by 2050, this will decline to around a tenth of that figure. The response of the church has been to say that people are celebrating their religion in different ways – at home, for example, or at car boot sales (seriously).

Even if one accepts that excuse, there’s another conculusion that flows from it – one the church authorities probably would not like to acknowledge. And it’s that the figures then clearly show a decline in organised religion, or in any kind of religion if one defines the latter as adherence to specific creeds, philosophies or dogma.

That isn’t news. Religion proper has lost its grip in all modern, advanced societies (with, perhaps, the freakish exception of the USA). Even Tony Blair, ex-Prime Minister of the UK, confessed that he had had to mask the degree of his religious belief for fear of being regarded “a nutter”.

While it is often said that around three-quarters of the UK population (precise figures vary) are ‘Christian’, we know this to be a cultural rather than spritiual phenomenon, much like non-believers being cultural Jews or cultural Muslims. This is the proportion of the population that ticks the box marked ‘Christian’ out of habit, or because of a lack of a viable alternative. Similarly, people continue to have children christened because it is one of those social events that you do. (There are many members of my extended family who were so baptised, or had their children baptised, even though there isn’t a believer among the lot of them. Luckily, that doesn’t include me.)

So, being religious is increasingly regarded as an aberration. But this decline in religion has left behind a residue.

It’s not uncommon for someone who does not adhere to any specific religious mythology to say that they are, nevertheless ‘spiritual’. What exactly does this mean?

Even those who know me, who understand that I am an atheist, a humanist, and rationalist, sometimes ask me how I nurture the spiritual side of my nature. They are surprised, sometimes offended, when I explain that I don’t have one.
Spirituality is the human flaw that leads to religion. It is a weakness. It is the metaphorical throwing up of hands and saying, “I don’t understand, therefore it must be mysterious”.

Not everything can be explained. The fantastic and ever-expanding body of knowledge that is science – mankind’s richest treasure – is and always will be partial. This is why people become scientists. They are explorers venturing into the unknown, expanding our understanding, shining light where there was darkness. And yet there will always be elements of our existence and the universe around us that will remain beyond our comprehension.

There are many reasons for this. The universe is a staggeringly complex place. No body of knowledge, however large, could possibly match this complexity. And mankind has evolved to fill a niche in this universe: our minds and our senses are designed to function within this niche. They are specialised for a tiny subset of the phenomena the universe has to offer. For example, unaided, we cannot see things that are minutely small. We cannot perceive the passage of time on a geological scale. There may be many natural processes that we are not equipped to notice, let alone explain. And there may be phenomena we will simply never encounter.

The challenge is, what do we do about this?

We already know one response: it is to say that whatever is beyond our comprehension must be the work of supernatural forces. This isn’t just feeble, it’s dishonest and arrogant.

It’s intellectually dishonest because, at the same time as saying that we don’t know, we are inventing an explanation. Ascribing phenomena to the gods is a process of saying that we do know, that it works like this. By resorting to spirituality, we are saying that we have an answer for everything – a profoundly arrogant act for a lowly mammal that has existed for so short a time.

At the same time, this approach abandons all the disciplines that underscore rational philosophies. So it’s feeble because we’re saying “this is too hard, let’s just make something up”. Explaining the universe through science and mathematics is hard. It requires intelligence, intellectual rigour and training. It demands hard work and a constant struggle to expand the concepts, laws and techniques that enable this understanding. Above all, it requires the honesty to say, “We don’t know. Maybe we’ll never know”.

We are mere mammals. There is no good reason to suppose that we could know everything. To think otherwise is an anthropocentric conceit.

Actually, some among the religious also admit these gaps in our knowledge. They say that such things are only for god to know. This sounds like humility but is, in fact, the opposite. What it’s saying is: “It’s not my fault I don’t know. Neither I nor my philosophy is at fault here: because this is something that cannot be known.” That’s like a Victorian proclaiming “heavier-than-air flight is impossible because I cannot do it”. It is hubris.

As we know, science, in the few hundred years in which it has been established, has rapidly and repeatedly chipped away at the ignorance of the faithful. It has provided explanation and understanding for much that was in the dark pool of ignorance from which religion draws. To surrender to god in this way is a response that looks less and less tenable every day.

Resorting to a spiritual explanation is to give up trying. It is as though people reach a limit to their comprehension and beyond it simply scrawl “here be dragons”. Scientists, on the other hand, reach that precipice and use it as a vantage point from which to gaze longingly into the void thinking “what sense can we make of this?”.

I can understand how this happens. Some people are afraid of the idea that there are things we cannot explain. Others prefer the trite mythologies of faith to the intellectual challenges of science – it’s an easier option. I guess some just like the stories.

This is why I say that spirituality is a weakness. It is, indeed, the basic mechanism upon which religions are built.

As organised religions lose their grip, some people still cling to more nebulous forms of spirituality – not because it contains any inherent truth or performs any valuable function, but simply because it is comforting in a complex, mysterious and threatening world. And so, as the more formalised faiths crumble, it is not surprising that their place may be taken by imported or home-grown mysticisms of various shades of woolliness and silliness.

Humankind has no destiny. We are the result of an incalculable sequence of accidents and random events. In the words of a cynical song from the World War One trenches (sung to the tune of Auld Lang Syne), “We’re here because we’re here because we’re here because we’re here”. But if one was to set us a goal, the achievement of which would be reasonable cause for pride, it would be the final eradication of the weakness that is spirituality and the summoning of the honesty to say that we can’t explain everything.

Watford Area Humanists are attempting to have Darwin Day – 12th February – made a Bank Holiday in the UK (that’s a national holiday for you foreigners).

The day marks Darwin’s birthday. But in addition to celebrating the man, the Humanists feel we should also celebrate his achievement – arguably the greatest advance in knowledge that humans have achieved. (Okay, so physicists might have a different take on this, but it’s certainly up there with the greats like relatively and quantum theory.)

The group has created a petition on the UK Government’s ‘No.10′ website. So add your voice to this call for reason. Go to: http://petitions.number10.gov.uk/Darwins-day/

No doubt some crusty old businessmen (and religious nutjobs dishonestly disguising their agenda under the mask of business concerns) will moan that the last thing the UK economy needs is another ‘wasted’ day when no work is done. But there’s a simple solution to this: get rid of one of the many religion-based Bank Holidays. Hardly anyone can remember what they’re about anyway. And why is modern society still celebrating, en masse, the fanciful notions of a minority? If we’re all going the celebrate together, let’s celebrate something that really means something and affects us all.

The ACLU in the US is celebrating a decision in Fredericksburg that it says is a victory for freedom of religion. Well maybe. But it’s a defeat for freedom from religion.

The issue, as reported on the ACLU website, revolved around the saying of prayers to open Fredericksburg City Council meetings. The decision of a three-judge panel of the Fourth Circuit Court of Appeals was that an existing policy – that the prayers be non-sectarian – should be upheld.

The ACLU statement says:

“This is a victory for religious freedom,” said ACLU of Virginia Executive Director Kent Willis. “The Supreme Court has long held that government officials are allowed to open legislative gatherings with a prayer, but that such prayers must in no way indicate a preference for one religion over others.”

“Individuals are free to express their own religious preferences, but religious equality cannot exist when the government is allowed to use its considerable power to promote one particular faith,” added Willis. “Today’s ruling reaffirms that fundamental principle.”

But Willis makes no mention of any right to be free of such religious mumbo-jumbo altogether. While the prayers may not be offered to the peculiar gods of Christianity or Islam or Judaism (or any one of thousands of other gods available to the credulous), presumably they will assume the existence of some kind of supernatural deity. Quite how this obeisance to some non-specific spirit is connected with council business is not clear.

It seems that the ‘fundamental principle’ referred to by Willis does not extend to atheism. Nor does it embrace the separation of church and state, about which Americans make so much noise and so little effort.

The religious have long claimed Albert Einstein as one of their own. It’s always been a lie, and now there is further proof.

Einstein did have an unfortunate habit of using the word ‘god’. It has always been clear – not least from Einstein’s own writings – that his definition of ‘god’ was more in line with what the rest of us might call ‘nature’ or ‘the mysterious forces of the universe’ than the all-powerful imaginary friend of religion. Nevertheless, the religious have continued to claim that the famous physicist – a man who practically defines the concept of the rational thinker – was actually one of the mindless faithful.

One of the comments they cling to is:

“Science without religion is lame, religion without science is blind.”

That blinkered (and dishonest) view has taken a major blow. A previously unknown letter written by Einstein in 1954 to philosopher Eric Gutkind, and which is now up for auction, includes the passages:

“The word god is for me nothing more than the expression and product of human weaknesses, the Bible a collection of honourable, but still primitive legends which are nevertheless pretty childish. No interpretation no matter how subtle can (for me) change this.”

And while Einstein was culturally Jewish (and had both Catholic and Jewish education), he clearly had little time for the idea of the Jews as god’s chosen people:

“For me the Jewish religion like all others is an incarnation of the most childish superstitions. And the Jewish people to whom I gladly belong and with whose mentality I have a deep affinity have no different quality for me than all other people. As far as my experience goes, they are no better than other human groups, although they are protected from the worst cancers by a lack of power. Otherwise I cannot see anything ‘chosen’ about them.”

As a boy, Einstein was given a religious upbringing by his largely non-religious parents. Throughout his life, he retained a respect for the cultural traditions provided by religion. But that is not the same as being religious. By the age of 12, he was questioning Biblical stories, and would later write about this awakening:

“The consequence was a positively fanatic [orgy of] freethinking coupled with the impression that youth is being deceived by the state through lies; it was a crushing impression.”

Einstein was clearly a spiritual person, in a generalised sense. He was moved and inspired by a sense of mystery. But to suggest that he believed in god, as most people understand that term, is now (and actually always has been) completely insupportable.

Scientific materialism is often condemned by religious believers as being reductionist, as though perceiving the essential truth of something were a bad thing. But does it justify this pejorative abuse of the term?

What do people of a scientific inclination see when they look at the world? They see the complex bonding of elements. They see the intricate play of physical forces. They see the comprehensible strangeness of the quantum realm, the staggering immensity of the universe, the eternal truth of natural laws, the sublime irrationality of pi.

Our accumulated scientific wisdom is vast – so huge, in fact, that no-one today can simply be a ‘scientist’, not even just a physicist, chemist, biologist. To have any chance of fully comprehending and utilising any branch of science means specialising.

But this enormous treasury of knowledge is not enough for scientists. They want more. Every true scientist is driven by what he or she does not know. The existence of science as a discipline is an acknowledgment of our ignorance, but also our desire to leave that condition. It is an assertion that ignorance is undesirable, a form of failure, a primitive state that we, as evolved life forms, should leave behind. All true knowledge is valuable, even if we can’t put it to use immediately. Talking about the curiosity that motivates mathematicians, E C Titchmarsh said:

It can be of no practical use to know that pi is irrational, but if we can know, it surely would be intolerable not to know.

Scientists are explorers, constantly expanding our horizons. So how can a discipline that is almost incomprehensibly vast and complex, and to which we are adding every day, be reductionist? Such an accusation is oxymoronic at best. In fact, you can probably drop the ‘oxy’.

What does the believer comprehend while gazing on the magnificence of nature, with all its complexity?

God did it.

This, surely, is the ultimate in reductionist thinking. As an explanation for the world and all it contains, it is disappointingly banal, feeble, simple-minded, crude, unimaginative. Frankly, it’s a bit silly.

The faithful complain when rationalists ‘explain away’ the mysteries of the spiritual realm – when they provide logical, supportable, real-world mechanisms by which apparent visions or miracles come about. But these explanations are made possible by that accumulated wisdom, acquired painstakingly by innumerable explorers after truth, collected and refined over centuries. Even the simplest assertion in science is built on a sophisticated foundation of knowledge that was hard won and required vast effort.

In this sense, no rational explanation of a supernatural phenomenon is ever ‘simple’, however easy our fund of knowledge has made it. Flying from Paris to New York is simple. All you do is sit on a plane for several hours. What could be easier? But start thinking about the effort and knowledge required to build a flying machine, jet engines, the seat-back video, and you will understand that there is nothing simple about it.

On the other hand, the believer would ‘explain away’ the miraculous (and even those things that scientists already understand) with nothing more than “it’s god’s will” or worse, “we can never understand this. It’s not for us to know”.

The so-called ‘mystery’ of religion is nothing more than glorified ignorance. Can anyone explain the benefit of not knowing something?

If you enjoy the experience of standing in awe and wonder at the magnificence of the universe, try learning some science. There is nothing so splendid as the complex truth of nature.

In our last instant of life, I have a hunch that we all have a moment of revelation. And I think it is this: it’s all over, there’s nothing else.

Even those people who might have been screaming for a priest a minute before, who might have seen the white light approaching (a common phenomenon with near-death experiences and therefore almost certainly some neurological effect), who have even uttered the name of their favourite deity or prophet – yes, even these people must know as the final few cells shut down that it is all over. No heaven. No hell. No harps or virgins. No coming face to face with Jesus.

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