Darwin's Essays

I'm very pleased to be able to present you with an exciting new opportunity today courtesy of Pete Darwin. All the information is at this website address but, in Pete's own words, this is the deal:

Dear all young non-theists! I am Pete Darwin and I’m an avid secular humanist atheist and have been all my life. I’m currently completing a Masters of Science at the University of Melbourne in the area of evolutionary genetics and zoology. Anyway, I am working at putting together a book of essays regarding the younger generations’ rise to atheism. 

The idea for this book was brought about when I decided I wanted to tell my story about how I became an atheist, as well as share a bit about my personal life with religion and numerous fundi family members. It’s been a bumpy and interesting ride to say the least. However, while reflecting on my own history with religion and atheism I knew there must be numerous other interesting, amazing, scary, and even heartbreaking stories out there that should also be told.

And the details?  

To write 2000-5000 words: 

Firstly, on their rise to atheism (the when, where, why, how), and any other interesting personal stories with religion or supernatural belief. 

Secondly, on the role atheism plays in your life. 

Thirdly, on at least one thing that brought them to atheism or solidifies there position there.

This is a great opportunity and I hope many of you will submit your essays. 

Belief vs Non-Belief

The journalist Andrew Zak Williams has recently conducted a quite interesting survey of Britain’s public figures over belief in God. Williams asked believers why they believed, and non-believers why they didn’t. It makes interesting reading and you can find the articles by following the links embedded above.

On the side of the believers, many of the arguments appeal to religious experiences and most refer to some kind of emotional as well as intellectual fulfilment. Occasionally, the atheistic alternative is seen as too dreadfully morbid to accept. Stephen Clark, for example, wrote that...

I believe in God because the alternatives are worse. Not believing in God would mean that we have no good reason to think that creatures such as us human beings (accidentally generated in a world without any overall purpose) have any capacity - still less any duty - to discover what the world is like.

I’d hope for more from a professor of philosophy than ‘I don’t like the alternative answer, so I’ll choose this one’. Moreover, it seems to be a common misunderstanding that just because we are an evolved primate, we are unable to understand the world. In fact, our evolutionary advantage stems from the fact that we can and do understand the world, albeit our own little corner of it.

Still more strange was this answer from Hugh Ross, an astronomer:

Astronomy fascinates me. I started serious study of the universe when I was seven. By the age of 16, I could see that Big Bang cosmology offered the best explanation for the history of the universe, and because the Big Bang implies a cosmic beginning, it would require a cosmic beginner. It seemed reasonable that a creator of such awesome capacities would speak clearly and consistently if He spoke at all. So I spent two years perusing the holy books of the world's religions to test for these characteristics. I found only one such book. The Bible stood apart: not only did it provide hundreds of "fact" statements that could be tested for accuracy, it also anticipated - thousands of years in advance - what scientists would later discover, such as the fundamental features of Big Bang cosmology. 

My observation that the Bible's multiple creation narratives accurately describe hundreds of details discovered much later, and that it consistently places them in the scientifically correct sequence, convinced me all the more that the Bible must be the supernaturally inspired word of God. Discoveries in astronomy first alerted me to the existence of God, and to this day the Bible's power to anticipate scientific discoveries and predict sociopolitical events ranks as a major reason for my belief in the God of the Bible. Despite my secular upbringing, I cannot ignore the compelling evidence emerging from research into the origin of the universe, the anthropic principle, the origin of life and the origin of humanity. The accumulating evidence continues to point compellingly towards the God of the Bible.

The Bible showing the correct sequence of events in creation? Is that why the Earth, water, grass and trees all occurred before the creation of stars according to Genesis? Presumably then, our planet is made of no element heavier than helium, as stars are required for such a task? It’s really quite silly of Ross to say such a thing. I gather he does it a lot.

On the other side of the fence we find AC Grayling in a nicely cutting mood with:

I do not believe that there are any such things as gods and goddesses, for exactly the same reasons as I do not believe there are fairies, goblins or sprites, and these reasons should be obvious to anyone over the age of ten.

Bravo.

Daniel Dennett too gives a characteristically straightforward and thoughtful answer:

The concept of God has gradually retreated from the concept of an anthropomorphic creator figure, judge and overseer to a mystery-shrouded Wonderful Something-or-Other utterly beyond human ken. It is impossible for me to believe in any of the anthropomorphic gods, because they are simply ridiculous, and so obviously the fantasy-projections of scientifically ignorant minds trying to understand the world. It is impossible for me to believe in the laundered versions, because they are systematically incomprehensible. It would be like trying to believe in the existence of wodgifoop - what's that? Don't ask; it's beyond saying. 

But why try anyway? There is no obligation to try to believe in God; that's a particularly pernicious myth left over from the days when organised religions created the belief in belief. One can be good without God, obviously. 

Many people feel very strongly that one should try to believe in God, so as not to upset Granny, or so as to encourage others to do likewise, or because it makes you nicer or nobler. So they go through the motions. Usually it doesn't work. 

I am in awe of the universe itself, and very grateful to be a part of it. That is enough.

But sadly it seems, the fantastic Ben Goldacre seemed pretty apathetic about the entire thing. He wrote that:

I think probably the main answer to your question is: I just don't have any interest either way, but I wouldn't want to understate how uninterested I am. There still hasn't been a word invented for people like me, whose main ex­perience when presented with this issue is an overwhelming, mind-blowing, intergalactic sense of having more interesting things to think about. I'm not sure that's accurately covered by words such as "atheist", and definitely not by "agnostic". I just don't care.

I understand exactly where Goldacre is coming from, but it does portray a lack of willingness to engage in an issue that the majority of people of the planet shape their entire, or at least some of their, lives with. Justifying non-belief with a simple 'I don't care' isn't a justification at all. And not to provide one a little crass.  

If you have some spare time, give the articles a read. Also have a look at Williams’ review of the answers from believers.

Can Religion Be Beautiful?

“Lo, let that night be solitary, let no joyful voice come therein.  Let them curse it that curse the day. Let the stars of the twilight thereof be dark; let it look for light, but have none; neither let it see the dawning of the day.”

Job as de La Hyre envisaged him

These are the words of a man who has just lost all his possessions and offspring in a terrible accident. These are the words of a man who is forced to scrape the awful boils that plague his body off with pieces of pottery. These are the words of Job, lamenting the night he was born.

The Book of Job is, of course, infamous. In it God boasts to Satan that there is none holier and more righteous than the man Job. Satan wishes to test this theory by inflicting a series of misfortunes on Job, as already described, and God permits this. The book is a dialogue between Job and his companions whilst they try and understand exactly why God has acted in this way. For devout believers this story presents a challenge to their own understanding. Some might call it beautiful. What is clear, or at least what I think is clear, is that the language of the Book of Job in the King James Bible is beautiful. Balanced, metaphorical, rhythmic even cathartic. I read Job and I admire these things for their beauty. But, as an individual not tied down to dogma or holy works, I believe Job to be an abhorrent story with an abhorrent moral and an abhorrent God at its centre. It teaches us to cower under authority and respect that which governs us with apparent whim. Therefore, the question; is the Book of Job beautiful?

The story is a good one for understanding the difficulties behind the relationship between religion and beauty as a whole. There is, of course, no criteria by which we can determine beauty objectively. It has been and will be always open to discussion. However, thinking about how I look at Job, it’s clear that my mind is divided between two parts – the words and emotions, which I find beautiful, and the narrative, which I don’t. Is this kind of distinction really possible when it comes to religious art?

Christopher Hitchens’ bestseller, god Is Not Great, has the subtitle How Religion Poisons Everything. Let’s say that an individual performs a series of fantastically generous and kind deeds. I hear about such people and applaud their nature. If I hear that what motivated them to do such things was their religion, I applaud less loudly. I do so because I think obedience to a divine creed, even fear of a divine being, is no good reason for doing anything, let alone charity. Religion has poisoned the good work done. No matter what the deed is this will be the case.

Now compare. You catch on the radio a beautiful piece of classical music playing. The voices soar, the melody sonorously glides and the texture builds into something rich and rewarding. In short, it’s beautiful. The piece ends and the disc jockey proudly declares “... that was the dona nobis pacem from the Mass in B minor by Johann Sebastian Bach.” Damn and blast. It’s a Mass. A piece, not just of musical expression, but religious worship. Is it still beautiful? It would be very hard indeed to say no. But is it as beautiful? Unfortunately, I don’t think so.

Motive is the key factor here. There have been those, Roland Barthes comes to mind, who have proclaimed, as he did, ‘The Death of The Author’. An author’s or artists’ intention is less important than the work produced. However, as long as I know the author of the work did have religious intentions, I cannot remove this from my understanding of the work, at least not in any practical un-abstract sense. Even if Bach had been a Dawkensian atheist the piece itself professes a motive. It is aimed at worshiping God. Motive can, in my opinion, poison art.

The saving grace here might perhaps be the use of perspective. As I outlined in another article on a similar topic, perspective allows us to understand better the minds and actions of those whose views and outlook are vastly different from our own.

But still, the question remains: can religion be beautiful? I think the answer ought to be yes, ‘the religious’ can be beautiful – but not as beautiful as something that isn’t. 

The Foundation Beyond Belief

My attention has just been drawn to the work of a very worthy foundation whom I think it would be worth alerting you all to.  The Foundation Beyond Belief (FBB) try and promote the obvious idea that secular human beings care for the needy just as much as the religious do. Stated clearly on their website, their mission is:

“To demonstrate humanism at its best by supporting efforts to improve this world and this life, and to challenge humanists to embody the highest principles of humanism, including mutual care and responsibility.”

Sounds pretty worthy to me.

The FBB selects ten small secular charities each quarter and raises funds for them. As explained to me by the FBB, these are the reasons to join:

“...you’ll be putting your humanist values into action and benefitting people around the globe. In addition to raising money for worthy charities, with assurance that the money will be spent on programs, not proselytizing…

1.      You will have access to nominate and debate future beneficiaries
2.      You choose which charities you support each quarter
3.      You can participate in the social network areas of the site and connect with other humanists
4.      You can donate to multiple charities from one website”

Please do inspect their work further and consider donating. It could make a difference to someone out there.

Welcome To The Universe

In this, rather morbid essay, regular contributor John Kubinski returns on top form with his thoughts on the "ruthless brutality" of the universe, reacting to an accident that hospitalised him. 

Following an accident in which my face free-fell to asphalt, I came to the following realization: The universe is our worst enemy. Using ruthless brutality and indiscriminate violence, it will maim and kill all of us. These are the brute facts, and they constitute premises from which no additional reasoning can be done. The destructive tyranny of the physical world is immutable and totalizing. One dreams of revolution, but there is no doubt that we are forever condemned as slaves to the indifferent order.

We use the word “accident” as though human misery is a mistake. From the physical perspective, there are no accidents. The universe, with frightening efficiency, systematically inflicts harm and loss on each and everyone of us. Every modicum of pain, every weakening of our powers, every disappearance of greatness and beauty - it’s all staged beforehand. The situation is worse than being written in stone; these hellish facts provide the stone tablet that constrains whatever it is may be written. We have access to one medium. It's crude, violent, and only permits the telling of one story: gruelling oppression. Torture and death are guaranteed in advance.

There is no greater feeling of helplessness then to realize that one has a body. (I should in fact say that one is a body.) It is to understand that we subsist on a purely material basis as a mere collection of “stuff.” Unprivileged stuff. Like the wood or metal that makes up the objects around us, we can be cut, bent, crushed, shredded, torn, sliced, shaved, ripped, broken, incinerated, frozen, or disintegrated. We find ourselves inhabiting a universe where objects move at dangerous speeds, where temperatures have been known to rise beyond the point which we can tolerate, and where magnitudes of force that our bodies cannot withstand are encountered with regularity. And if the terrain were not treacherous enough, there are other assemblages of organic matter out there who will destroy us upon contact - some small, some large, some who are just like us. (It’s amazing that in a world already as harsh as ours, people are willing to kill each other.) Don’t forget, if the impossible circumstance arises in which external threats fail to end us, there is always the certain internal degradation of our own vessel to keep us from having any hope. We are thrown into this world enchained to a carbon-based time bomb. And if you don’t hear it ticking then you’re simply not listening.

Recovery from my “accident” will not qualify as a victory. Quite to the contrary I face a very real loss. I emerge with parts of my teeth removed, and my skin irrevocably blemished. “But you’re ok, aren’t you?” For now. We are always dodging bullets; I have just been grazed by one, and more shots will be fired. Another chink accumulates in my armour. So it goes until the executioner stops fooling around.

Vulnerable. This was the word I kept coming back to. I am vulnerable with no hope of safety. The conditions which enable me to enjoy life are physical conditions, and physical conditions can always change. In the hospital I was placed next to an old man who was clearly suffering from neurodegeneration. He had trouble remembering what season it was. I could see a human being dissolving. He mentioned that he had lost his sense of smell as a result of a motorbike accident. A whole mode of experience had been seized from him. All the pleasures of olfaction were forevermore prohibited. Reality had revoked his permission to smell. It was pure violence. The joys of existence can literally be beaten out of you. A blow to the skull might rob you of sight or hearing, of memories or lucidity, of your passions and relationships. I suffered no such losses, but this was a matter of luck. I can still run and jump. I can still read and write. I can still learn and think. I can still love. This will all change.

I cannot believe I’ve gone through a fair portion of my life doubting whether there was really such a thing as “good” or “bad.” There is certainly bad, I’ve just met it. With a painfully strong hand-shake and a dismissive attitude the first thing it tells you, in a tone of bold assurance, is that you cannot win. Your rage is naturally inspired by the opponent, but with the rules of engagement so heavily biased, the urge to fight yields more frustration than progress. You get kicked in the face, you can't fight back; welcome to the universe. The narrative of course depends on an additional character in order to be compelling: good. Life only ends up being so bad precisely on account of how good it is. Our subjectivities are as rich and wondrous as the existentialists, poets, and artists have told us. Nietzsche wrote: “…in the long run there results something for which it is worth the trouble of living on this earth as, for example, virtue, art, music, the dance, reason, the mind — something that transfigures, something delicate, mad, or divine.” This quote first struck me as a reasonable proposition, but now I see it to be on the order of maxim. Good things really do spring from the human well. I no longer have to wonder what good is. I am convinced that my whole life I have been touching it with my own hands and seeing it with my own eyes; and not only have I encountered it, but I’ve taken part in its creation. I’ve performed it, written it, thought it. Like the air I breathe, there’s so much of it that I’ve failed to detect that it was there at all. If my suffering is real, then so must be the good things of which suffering deprives me. I now understand why Camus says a happy man is a tragedy.

I should add, words cannot truly capture the terror of reality. It must be felt and confronted in the midst of experience. The elegance of language obscures the fundamental ugliness of the world. I’ve mouthed many of the words in this essay before, but usually only as an abstract intellectual exercise. That I’m part of the system, and not merely an observer, has come as quite a shock. When you lose one thing, you realize you can, and will, lose everything. The universe is really as hostile as it seems.

To distill my conclusions:

Reality is ugly, life is beautiful.