Up@dawn 2.0

Tuesday, December 31, 2019

Being 97

Herbert Fingarette (1921-2018) -
...He enrolled at the University of California intending to major in chemistry, but most of his experiments were flops. He was drafted into the Army and, after serving during World War II, mostly at the Pentagon, returned to the university. There he was captivated by a Bertrand Russell lecture on David Hume and decided to major in philosophy, earning a bachelor’s degree in 1947 and a doctorate in 1949...
“Never in my life will I experience death,” he wrote. “I will never know an end to my life, this life of mine right here on earth.” He added: “People hope never to know the end of consciousness. But why merely hope? It’s a certainty. They never will!”
In other words, he agreed with Epicurus. (Being an Epicurean to the end, though, is not so easy.)

In this film by his grandson he admits that it's harder, at age 97, to be consoled by the Epicurean dismissal of death...



An aging philosopher returns to the essential question: ‘What is the point of it all?’

‘Being 97 has been an interesting experience.’

By the time of his death, the US philosopher Herbert Fingarette (1921-2018) had lived what most would consider a full and meaningful life. His marriage to his wife, Leslie, was long and happy. His career as professor of philosophy at the University of California, Santa Barbara was both accomplished and controversial – his book Heavy Drinking (1988), which challenged the popular understanding of alcoholism as a progressive disease, was met with criticism in the medical and academic communities. In a later book, Death: Philosophical Soundings (1999), Fingarette contemplated mortality, bringing him to a conclusion that echoed the Epicureans: in non-existence, there is nothing to fear. But as Being 97 makes evident, grappling with death can be quite different when the thoughts are personal rather than theoretical. Filmed during some of the final months of Fingarette’s life, the elegiac short documentary profiles the late philosopher as he reflects on life, loss, the many challenges of old age, and those lingering questions that might just be unanswerable.


Director: Andrew Hasse

Producer: Megan Brooks

Website: FTRMGC18 February, 2019

Exiting religion, finding a life

Michael Shermer with Amber Scorah — Leaving the Witness: Exiting a Religion and Finding a Life

Leaving the Witness: Exiting a Religion and Finding a Life  (book cover)
In this revealing conversation Amber Scorah opens the box into the psychology of religious belief to show how, exactly, religions and cults convince members that theirs is the one true religion, to the point, she admits, that she would have gladly died for her faith. As a third-generation Jehovah’s Witness, Amber Scorah had devoted her life to sounding God’s warning of impending Armageddon. She volunteered to take the message to China, where the preaching she did was illegal and could result in her expulsion or worse. Here, she had some distance from her community for the first time. Immersion in a foreign language and culture — and a whole new way of thinking — turned her world upside down, and eventually led her to lose all that she had been sure was true. As a proselytizer in Shanghai, using fake names and secret codes to evade the authorities’ notice, Scorah discreetly looked for targets in public parks and stores. To support herself, she found work at a Chinese language learning podcast, hiding her real purpose from her coworkers. Now with a creative outlet, getting to know worldly people for the first time, she began to understand that there were other ways of seeing the world and living a fulfilling life. When one of these relationships became an “escape hatch,” Scorah’s loss of faith culminated in her own personal apocalypse, the only kind of ending possible for a Jehovah’s Witness. Shunned by family and friends as an apostate, Scorah was alone in Shanghai and thrown into a world she had only known from the periphery — with no education or support system. A coming of age story of a woman already in her thirties, this unforgettable memoir examines what it’s like to start one’s life over again with an entirely new identity. Scorah and Shermer also discuss:
  • the legals and logistics of writing a memoir
  • the rise of the nones and disbelief and why stories like hers provide social proof for living without religion
  • what Jehovah’s Witnesses believe and why they believe it
  • what it’s like to go door-to-door witnessing for a religion
  • Armageddon and what doomsayers do when the world doesn’t end
  • the mindset of the fundamentalist
  • why religions are obsessed with female sexuality
  • why religions forbid homosexuality
  • the psychology of deconversion
  • the problem of evil, or why bad things happen to good people
  • how she would try to talk someone out of joining ISIS
  • what it’s like to be expelled from a religion and be an apostate, and
  • how to start your life over when you’ve lost everything.
Amber Scorah is a writer living in Brooklyn, NY. Her articles have been published in The New York TimesThe Believer, and USA Today. Prior to coming to New York, Scorah lived in Shanghai, where she was creator and host of the podcast Dear Amber: An Insider’s Guide to Everything China. Leaving the Witness is her first book.
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Monday, December 30, 2019

Our material

I'm reading "A Thousand Small Sanities: The Moral Adventure of Liberalism" by Adam Gopnik...

"What Smith took from Hume’s demonstration of the limits of reason, the absurdity of superstition, and the primacy of the passions was not a lesson of Buddhist-Stoical indifference but something more like a sense of Epicurean intensity—if we are living in the material world, then let us make it our material."

Start reading this book for free: http://a.co/0Zm39FO

Sunday, December 29, 2019

Joyce's "Portrait"

James Joyce's (books by this authorA Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man was published on this date in 1916. It tells the story of Stephen Dedalus, Joyce's alter ego, as he grows up and eventually rejects his religion and his culture.
Early in the book, Dedalus is a young schoolboy, and by the novel's end, Stephen Dedalus has grown up, and grown cynical, and is about to leave his Dublin home for Paris. He tells a friend: "I will tell you what I will do and what I will not do. I will not serve that in which I no longer believe, whether it call itself my home, my fatherland, or my church: and I will try to express myself in some mode of life or art as freely as I can and as wholly as I can, using for my defense the only arms I allow myself to use — silence, exile and cunning."
Finally, Dedalus writes in his journal: "Welcome, O life! I go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience and to forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race."

Wednesday, December 25, 2019

Merry tilt

Thursday, December 19, 2019

The art of dying

New Yorker art critic Peter Schjeldahl has written an affecting rumination on life, in the shadow of his terminal cancer diagnosis. ("The Art of Dying," Dec. 23 issue).

It includes an insight into his own charitable approach to "uncongenial" art works that might be usefully applied to his personal religiosity as well.
I retain, but suspend, my personal taste to deal with the panoply of the art I see. I have a trick for doing justice to an uncongenial work: “What would I like about this if I liked it?” I may come around; I may not. Failing that, I wonder, What must the people who like this be like? Anthropology.
A few short paragraphs later,
“I believe in God” is a false statement for me because it is voiced by my ego, which is compulsively skeptical. But the rest of me tends otherwise. Staying on an “as if” basis with “God,” for short, hugely improves my life. I regret my lack of the church and its gift of community. My ego is too fat to squeeze through the door.
Disbelieving is toilsome. It can be a pleasure for adolescent brains with energy to spare, but hanging on to it later saps and rigidifies. After a Lutheran upbringing, I became an atheist at the onset of puberty. That wore off gradually and then, with sobriety, speedily.
I don't like this. But, out of respect for the dying and for the vaunted varieties of religious and scientific experience, I suppress my initial uncharitable impulse  and ask: What would I like about this if I liked it? And, What must the people who like this be like?

People who find disbelief "toilsome" and "adolescent" have obviously had a different experience than I. But I'm prepared to respect it, and them, if only they can evince just a little more respect for people like me.

Let's all stop talking about outgrowing either religion or irreligion, respectively, and admit that it takes all kinds. Neither attitude necessarily implicates the (dis)believer as an excessive egoist or rigid dogmatist.

In his penultimate paragraph Schjeldahl says
God creeps in. Human minds are the universe’s only instruments for reflecting on itself. The fact of our existence suggests a cosmic approval of it. (Do we behave badly? We are gifted with the capacity to think so.) We may be accidents of matter and energy, but we can’t help circling back to the sense of a meaning that is unaccountable by the application of what we know. If God is a human invention, good for us! We had to come up with something.
One of the themes of our Atheism & Philosophy course this coming semester will be the search for meaning, and the thesis that we didn't have to come up with God to come up with it.

The final paragraph I can wholeheartedly endorse:
Take death for a walk in your minds, folks. Either you’ll be glad you did or, keeling over suddenly, you won’t be out anything.

Wednesday, December 18, 2019

Monday, December 16, 2019

How Should 21st-Century Readers Approach the Bible?

Faith and Reasons

To the Editor, nyt:

In his review of Karen Armstrong’s “The Lost Art of Scripture: Rescuing the Sacred Texts” (Dec. 1), Nicholas Kristof includes a quote from Armstrong: “Because its creation myths do not concur with recent scientific discoveries, militant atheists have condemned the Bible as a pack of lies, while Christian fundamentalists have developed a ‘Creation science’ claiming that the Book of Genesis is scientifically sound.”

As an atheist who dealt repeatedly with creationists as they attempted to force their myth into the science curriculum, I can attest that I have never viewed Genesis as “a pack of lies.” Rather, I view it as ancient fiction.

The Oxford English Dictionary defines a lie as “a false statement made with intent to deceive.” Those who constructed the Genesis account of creation could not have known that their story was false by the scientific standards we now hold. Modern religious zealots who still promulgate scriptural creation myths as true when they know better are, however, a different matter. They, indeed, are guilty of lying.

Joseph D. McInerney
Lutherville, Md.

The writer is a past president of the National Association of Biology Teachers and a former director of the Biological Sciences Curriculum Study.



To the Editor:

Assuming (whether that’s valid or not) the literal meaning of the Scriptures, Christianity is incompatible with existing class-structured societies — and capitalism. In the Acts of the Apostles, God favored the poor and socialism. But with the rise of capitalism and Calvinism in the 16th century, he changed his mind and decided it was the wealthy he favored. Try to reconcile “Blessed are the poor” with capitalism. Or “Sell all that you have and distribute to the poor.”

Roger Carasso
Santa Fe, N.M.



To the Editor:

Elaine Pagels’s review of Jack Miles’s “Religion as We Know It: An Origin Story” (Dec. 1) cites Miles’s praise of Mark C. Taylor’s contention that “what is often termed the disappearance of God, or the disappearance of the sacred, in modernity, is actually the integration of that aspect of human experience with the rest of modern experience.”

Taylor’s argument reminds me of a contention Nicholas Wade made in “Before the Dawn.” He wrote that “modern states now accomplish by other means many of the early roles performed by religion, which is why religion has become of less relevance in some societies. But because the propensity for religious belief is still wired into the human mind, religion continues to be a potent force in societies that still struggle for cohesion.”

Charlotte Adelman
Wilmette, Ill.

Wednesday, December 11, 2019

The secular faith of Martin Hägglund.

“What’s missing in the work of Richard Dawkins is social justice”

Jovial, clean-cut and impeccably tailored, Martin Hägglund has been hailed as “the most important young philosopher in America”. Born in Sweden in 1976, he is now professor of comparative literature and humanities at Yale. When I meet him for coffee at the British Library in London, he arrives exuding all the cool serenity of someone enjoying great success.

The previous evening, he had spoken before a sell-out crowd at the London School of Economics about his book, This Life: Why Mortality Makes Us Free, a philosophical tour de force. The premise of the book is simple, if unnerving: “life can matter only in light of death”, and that an eternal life is not only unattainable, it is undesirable. “Far from making my life meaningful,” Hägglund writes, “eternity would make it meaningless, since my actions would have no purpose.”

If the religious idea of salvation inhibits commitment to the here and now, displacing questions of the good life to an unknown great beyond, it is finitude – “the sense of the ultimate fragility of everything we care about” – that is at the heart of what Hägglund calls “secular faith”.

For Hägglund, spiritual questions of freedom are indivisible from economic and material conditions. To be free, he says, is not to be sovereign or liberated from all constraints, but to be able to ask ourselves what we ought to do with our time. “Only in light of the apprehension that we will die – that our lifetime is indefinite but finite – can we ask ourselves what we ought to do with our lives and put ourselves at stake in our activities.”

Elaborating his theory of secular faith through bold and original readings of thinkers ranging from Dante and CS Lewis to Marx and Martin Luther King Jr, Hägglund concludes with a compelling defence of democratic socialism that would allow us to choose what we ought to do with our time and thus be truly free.

Hägglund is part of a younger generation of thinkers eager to engage general readers. “I wanted to write a book that had maximum ambition and minimal alibis. I didn’t want to sacrifice philosophical rigour, but nor did I want to rely on arcane jargon.”

Like the existentialist works of the mid-20th century, This Life is a stirring reminder about philosophy’s power to move and disturb as well as illuminate. “Philosophy is about making explicit what is already implicit in the lives that we are leading,” Hägglund says, “to deepen and provide ways of articulating the intuitions people have about life.”

If there is a growing intuition that people have had over the past decade, it is that capitalism no longer ensures our collective happiness or individual well-being. One reason Hägglund’s book has been received so well is because of the interest in post-capitalist futures. “The book definitely became timelier as I was writing it,” he says. “When I started five years ago my editor kept saying, ‘you can’t use the phrase “democratic socialism”.’ That was telling, because we now live in a moment when fundamental questions about how we should live and work together and organise our societies are being posed everywhere.”

Although Hägglund grew up during the zenith of Swedish social democracy, he does not consider that as having influenced his thinking or political beliefs.

Nor is his notion of secular faith mounted in solidarity with the so-called New Atheists, for whom he has little regard. “What’s missing in the work of Richard Dawkins, for example, is any consideration of social injustice; of what freedom and equality demand of us. And while they want to debunk the idea of an eternal life, I’m asking: is eternal life even desirable?”

Hägglund’s greater preoccupation is to challenge the notion of freedom that has dominated Western thinking since it was first articulated by Thomas Hobbes in the 17th-century. “People have a negative conception of freedom,” Hägglund says. “They want freedom from things: from constraints, from dependence, from anxiety.”

For most people, to be free is about “being released from the drudgery of their everyday lives”, which explains the popularity of trends such as the wellness industry.

“Finding peace of mind through meditation – that’s fine as a means of engaging with your life,” Hägglund says, “but when it becomes an end in itself… that suggests something is wrong with how our shared lives are working out.”

Hägglund defends a more positive concept of liberty in which freedom is about “engaging, to put yourself at stake, to care about something that can be lost”. His central message, one that is strikingly apt for an age of accelerating climate catastrophe, is ultimately that “none of us can sustain our lives on our own”.

He goes on: “Mutual recognition has to commit us to sustain those who sustain us. To be free is not to be liberated from all constraints but to be able to affirm the relations with others on which we all depend.”

But are we ready to embrace finitude; to shape our lives around the fact that in the long run we are all dead? Hägglund is clear that it is not about overcoming the anxiety of death, often the aim of philosophy since the Ancients, “but owning that anxiety and seeing how it is intrinsic to anything that matters and your ability to ask yourself what’s worth doing with your life”.

Secular faith is not about embracing death but affirming mortal life. “There are no guarantees that life won’t be shattering. But a life wouldn’t be what it is without having that vulnerability attached to it.”

Friday, December 6, 2019

Neuroscience's Flummery

Defeated by the “hard problem” of consciousness, the field postulates one improbable theory after another.

I Me Mind

OUT OF MY HEAD: ON THE TRAIL OF CONSCIOUSNESS BY TIM PARKS. NEW YORK: NEW YORK HARVILL SECKER. 320 PAGES. $19.
THE SPREAD MIND: WHY CONSCIOUSNESS AND THE WORLD ARE ONE BY RICCARDO MANZOTTI. NEW YORK: OR BOOKS. 304 PAGES. $24.
RETHINKING CONSCIOUSNESS: A SCIENTIFIC THEORY OF SUBJECTIVE EXPERIENCE BY MICHAEL S A GRAZIANO. NEW YORK: NORTON. 256 PAGES. $29.
THE HARD PROBLEM, DAVID CHALMERS CALLS IT: Why are the physical processes of the brain “accompanied by an experienced inner life?” How and why is there something it is like to be you and me, in Thomas Nagel’s formulation? I’ve been reading around in the field of consciousness studies for over two decades—Chalmers, Nagel, Daniel Dennett, John Searle, Jerry Fodor, Ned Block, Frank Jackson, Paul and Patricia Churchland, Alva Noë, Susan Blackmore—and the main thing I’ve learned is that no one has the slightest idea. Not that the field lacks for confident pronouncements to the contrary.
Briefly stated, the problem is that the world appears to contain two very different kinds of stuff—mind and body, for which Descartes posited two substances, res cogitans and res extensa. The mind is not physical, not extended in space. The body and everything else are made of physical substance and located in space. Substance dualism is out of fashion these days, but some philosophers (including Chalmers) are property dualists, who believe consciousness is an emergent property, a kind of ghostly accompaniment to physical reality. Some go so far as to embrace panpsychism, the doctrine that consciousness pervades all things; others think that mind just comes along with certain complex physical objects (brains) without being reducible to them. Chalmers sees consciousness as “a movie playing inside your head,” and this first-person experience is what needs to be explained.
Most neuroscientists and many philosophers view either form of dualism as hocus pocus. How, for one thing, do the mental and physical orders interact? A complete description of consciousness will be, on this view, a physical description of brain states: the absurdly complex interactions of neurons, axons, glia, synapses, “a trillion mindless robots dancing,” as arch-physicalist Dennett has it. For Dennett, the brain produces a “user illusion” that you’re in control, but in fact it’s running the show. You’re a robot, and the movie theater is empty.
All the above positions are rejected by the Italian philosopher and psychologist Riccardo Manzotti in his theory of “the spread mind,” set forth in his 2017 volume of that title, also called “the mind-object identity theory.” The idea is easy enough to state, if not to comprehend: All experience is perception, and all perception is physical objects. Experience is not experience of something, it just is that thing. The term “spread mind” was suggested by the British novelist Tim Parks, whose new book is a ramshackle tour of Manzotti’s theory, or at least of his attempts to understand it and explain it to other people... (continues)

Friday, November 29, 2019

Jonathan Miller, R.I.P.

Monday, November 25, 2019

Science and religion need not conflict

...unless your religion contradicts the best science of the day. Thanks, Ed.

The science-versus-religion opposition is a barrier to thought. Each one is a gift, rather than a threat, to the other
by Tom McLeish

To riff on the opening lines of Steven Shapin’s book The Scientific Revolution (1996), there is no such thing as a science-religion conflict, and this is an essay about it. It is not, however, another rebuttal of the ‘conflict narrative’ – there is already an abundance of good, recent writing in that vein from historians, sociologists and philosophers as well as scientists themselves. Readers still under the misapprehension that the history of science can be accurately characterised by a continuous struggle to escape from the shackles of religious oppression into a sunny secular upland of free thought (loudly expressed by a few scientists but no historians) can consult Peter Harrison’s masterly book The Territories of Science and Religion (2015), or dip into Ronald Numbers’s delightful edited volume Galileo Goes to Jail and Other Myths about Science and Religion (2009).
Likewise, assumptions that theological and scientific methodologies and truth-claims are necessarily in philosophical or rational conflict might be challenged by Alister McGrath’s book The Territories of Human Reason (2019) or Andrew Torrance and Thomas McCall’s edited Knowing Creation (2018). The late-Victorian origin of the ‘alternative history’ of unavoidable conflict is fascinating in its own right, but also damaging in that it has multiplied through so much public and educational discourse in the 20th century in both secular and religious communities. That is the topic of a new and fascinating study by the historian James Ungureanu, Science, Religion, and the Protestant Tradition (2019). Finally, the concomitant assumption that scientists must, by logical force, adopt non-theistic worldviews is roundly rebutted by recent and global social science, such as Elaine Eklund’s major survey, also published in a new book, Secularity and Science (2019).
All well and good – so the history, philosophy and sociology of science and religion are richer and more interesting than the media-tales and high-school stories of opposition we were all brought up on. It seems a good time to ask the ‘so what?’ questions, however, especially since there has been less work in that direction. If Islamic, Jewish and Christian theologies were demonstrably central in the construction of our current scientific methodologies, for example, then what might such a reassessment imply for fruitful development of the role that science plays in our modern world? In what ways might religious communities support science especially under the shadow of a ‘post-truth’ political order? What implications and resources might a rethink of science and religion offer for the anguished science-educational discussion on both sides of the Atlantic, and for the emerging international discussions on ‘science-literacy’?
I want to explore here directions in which we could take those consequential questions. Three perspectives will suggest lines of new resources for thinking: the critical tools offered by the discipline of theology itself (even in an entirely secular context), a reappraisal of ancient and premodern texts, and a new way of looking at the unanswered questions and predicament of some postmodern philosophy and sociology. I’ll finish by suggesting how these in turn suggest new configurations of religious communities in regard to science and technology... (Aeon, continues).

Tuesday, November 19, 2019

Thursday, October 17, 2019

This year's A&P theme


Returning to MTSU
January 2020

PHIL 3310, Atheism & Philosophy
T & Th, 2:40 pm, James Union Building 202


This year’s theme: Is (neuro)science compatible with religion? Atheism, spirituality, and meaning. 


TEXTS:

· Baggini, Atheism: A Very Short Introduction

· Ruse, A Meaning to Life

· Caruso & Flanagan, Neuroexistentialism: Meaning, Morals, and

· Purpose in the Age of Neuroscience

· Hägglund, This Life: Secular Faith and Spiritual Freedom



For more info contact Phil.Oliver@mtsu.edu

Sunday, September 29, 2019

Philip Pullman

The Fallen Worlds of Philip Pullman
The author on writing fantasy, hating Tolkien, and the journey from innocence to experience.

...You’re quite famous as an atheist; the word “militant” is often used to describe your atheism. But your grandfather was a clergyman.
Yes.

I was wondering what your religious education was like growing up.
I am seventy-two years old, so I grew up before the changes in the language of the liturgy of the Church of England. My grandfather was a Victorian. He was born in 1890 something, a very old-fashioned man in many ways. I loved him dearly. And the Bible he knew was the King James. That’s the Bible I grew up with. Then the church services I went to—and I did go to church every Sunday when I was a boy, sometimes in my grandfather’s church, sometimes elsewhere—were conducted according to the Book of Common Prayer, which was the 1662 book where the liturgy of the English Church was kind of fixed and formalized.

So it’s that language, the language of the seventeenth century, that surrounded me. And I’ve always relished the sounds of it. The hymns, too—although they were not seventeenth-century, necessarily, some of them are full of the most marvellous language. “His chariots of wrath the deep thunderclouds form, and dark is His path on the wings of the storm.” What wonderful language that is. I was responding to that more in an aesthetic, sensuous way than I was to what the words meant. But if Grandpa told me that God was in Heaven, and that I’d go to Heaven, too, if I was a good boy, well, I saw no reason to doubt it.

What changed?

It was when I became a teen-ager and started reading for myself that the faith fell away. But that didn’t mean that I sprang into the world as a militant atheist. What I’m against is what William Blake called single vision—being possessed by one single idea and seeing everything in terms of this one idea, whether it’s a religious idea or a scientific idea or a political idea. It’s a very bad thing. We need a multiplicity of viewpoints. So I’m perfectly willing to entertain the prospect of “The Secret Commonwealth”—this world of fairies, ghosts, witches, and so on—side by side with the world of reason. I wouldn’t want to be governed by one or the other... (continues)

Saturday, September 28, 2019

Under the Cover

AN EXCERPT FROM OUTGROWING GOD

1

So many gods!

Do you believe in God?

Which god?

Thousands of gods have been worshipped throughout the world, throughout history. Polytheists believe in lots of gods all at the same time (theos is Greek for ‘god’ and poly is Greek for ‘many’). Wotan (or Odin) was the chief god of the Vikings. Other Viking gods were Baldr (god of beauty), Thor (the thunder god with his mighty hammer) and his daughter Throd. There were goddesses like Snotra (goddess of wisdom), Frigg (goddess of motherhood) and Ran (goddess of the sea). 

The ancient Greeks and Romans were also polytheistic. Their gods, like the Viking ones, were very humanlike, with powerful human lusts and emotions. The twelve Greek gods and goddesses are often paired with Roman equivalents who were thought to do the same jobs, such as Zeus (Roman Jupiter), king of the gods, with his thunderbolts; Hera, his wife (Juno); Poseidon (Neptune), god of the sea; Aphrodite (Venus), goddess of love; Hermes (Mercury), messenger of the gods, who flew on winged sandals; Dionysos (Bacchus), god of wine. Of the major religions that survive today, Hinduism is also polytheistic, with thousands of gods.

Countless Greeks and Romans thought their gods were real—prayed to them, sacrificed animals to them, thanked them for good fortune and blamed them when things went wrong. How do we know those ancient people weren’t right? Why does nobody believe in Zeus any more? We can’t know for sure, but most of us are confident enough to say we are ‘atheists’ with respect to those old gods (a ‘theist’ is somebody who believes in god(s) and an ‘atheist’—a-theist, the ‘a’ meaning ‘not’—is someone who doesn’t). Romans at one time said the early Christians were atheists because they didn’t believe in Jupiter or Neptune or any of that crowd. Nowadays we use the word for people who don’t believe in any gods at all.

Like you I expect, I don’t believe in Jupiter or Poseidon or Thor or Venus or Cupid or Snotra or Mars or Odin or Apollo. I don’t believe in ancient Egyptian gods like Osiris, Thoth, Nut, Anubis or Horus his brother who, like Jesus and many other gods from around the world, was said to have been born to a virgin. I don’t believe in Hadad or Enlil or Anu or Dagon or Marduk or any of the ancient Babylonian gods.

I don’t believe in Anyanwu, Mawu, Ngai or any of the sun gods of Africa. Nor do I believe in Bila, Gnowee, Wala, Wuriupranili or Karraur or any of the sun goddesses of Australian aboriginal tribes. I don’t believe in any of the many Celtic gods and goddesses, such as Edain the Irish sun goddess or Elatha the moon god. I don’t believe in Mazu the Chinese water goddess or Dakuwaqa the Fijian shark god, or Illuyanka the Hittite dragon of the ocean. I don’t believe in any of the hundreds and hundreds of sky gods, river gods, sea gods, sun gods, star gods, moon gods, weather gods, fire gods, forest gods . . . so many gods to not believe in.

And I don’t believe in Yahweh, the god of the Jews. But it’s quite likely you do, if you were brought up a Jew, a Christian or a Muslim. The Jewish god was adopted by the Christians and (under the Arabic name, Allah) the Muslims. Christianity and Islam are offshoots of the ancient Jewish religion. The first part of the Christian Bible is purely Jewish, and the Muslim holy book, the Quran, is partly derived from Jewish scriptures. Those three religions, Judaism, Christianity and Islam, are often grouped together as the ‘Abrahamic’ religions, because all three trace back to the mythical patriarch Abraham, who is also revered as the founder of the Jewish people. We’ll meet Abraham again in a later chapter.

All those three religions are called monotheistic because their members claim to believe in only one god. I say ‘claim to’ for various reasons. Yahweh, today’s dominant god (whom I’ll therefore spell with a capital G, God) started out in a small way as the tribal god of the ancient Israelites who, they believed, looked after them as his ‘chosen people’. (It’s a historical accident—the adoption of Christianity as the Roman Empire’s official religion by the Emperor Constantine in ad 312—that led to Yahweh’s being worshipped around the world today.) Neighbouring tribes had their own gods who, they believed, gave them special protection. And although the Israelites worshipped their own tribal god Yahweh, they didn’t necessarily disbelieve in the gods of rival tribes, such as Baal, the fertility god of the Canaanites; they just thought Yahweh was more powerful—and also extremely jealous (as we shall see later on): woe betide you if he caught you flirting with any of the other gods.

The monotheism of modern Christians and Muslims is also rather dubious. For example, they believe in an evil ‘devil’ called Satan (Christianity) or Shaytan (Islam). He goes under a variety of other names too, such as Beelzebub, Old Nick, the Evil One, the Adversary, Belial, Lucifer. They wouldn’t call him a god, but they regard him as having god-like powers and he is seen, with his forces of evil, as waging a titanic war against the good forces of God. Religions often inherit ideas from older religions. The notion of a cosmic war of good versus evil probably comes from Zoroastrianism, an early religion founded by the Persian prophet Zoroaster, which influenced the Abrahamic religions. Zoroastrianism was a two-gods religion, the good god (Ahura Mazda) battling it out with the evil god (Angra Mainyu). There are still a few Zoroastrians about, especially in India. That’s yet another religion I don’t believe in and probably you don’t either.

One of the weirder accusations levelled at atheists, especially in America and Islamic countries, is that they worship Satan. Of course, atheists don’t believe in evil gods any more than they believe in good ones. They don’t believe in anything supernatural. Only religious people believe in Satan.

Christianity verges on polytheism in other ways, too. ‘Father, Son and Holy Spirit’ are described as ‘three in one and one in three’. Exactly what this means has been disputed, often violently, down the centuries. It sounds like a formula for squeezing polytheism into monotheism. You could be forgiven for calling it tri-theism. The early split in Christian history between the Eastern (Orthodox) and Western (Roman) Catholic Church was largely caused by a dispute over the following question: Does the Holy Ghost ‘proceed from’ (whatever that might mean) the Father andthe Son, or just from the Father? That really is the kind of thing theologians spend their time thinking about.

And then there’s Jesus’s mother, Mary. For Roman Catholics, Mary is a goddess in all but name. They deny that she is a goddess, but they still pray to her. They believe she was ‘immaculately conceived’. What does that mean? Well, Catholics believe we are all ‘born in sin’. Even tiny babies who, you might think, are a bit young to sin. Anyway, Catholics think Mary (like Jesus) was an exception. All the rest of us inherit the sin of Adam, the first man. In fact, Adam never actually existed, so he couldn’t sin. But Catholic theologians aren’t put off by little details like that. Catholics also believe that Mary, instead of dying like the rest of us, was sucked bodily ‘up’ into heaven. They portray her as the ‘Queen of Heaven’ (sometimes even ‘Queen of the Universe’!) with a little crown balanced on top of her head. All those things would seem to make her at least as much of a goddess as any of the thousands and thousands of Hindu deities  (which Hindus themselves say are just different versions of one single god). If the Greeks, Romans and Vikings were polytheistic, then Roman Catholics are too.

Roman Catholics also pray to individual saints: dead people who are regarded as especially holy, and have been ‘canonized’ by a Pope. Pope John Paul II canonized 483 new saints, and Francis, the current pope, canonized no fewer than 813 on one day alone. Many of the saints are thought to have special skills, which make them worth praying to for particular purposes or particular groups of people. Saint Andrew is the patron saint of fishmongers, Saint Bernward the patron saint of architects, Saint Drogo the patron saint of coffee-house owners, Saint Gummarus the patron saint of lumberjacks, Saint Lidwina the patron saint of ice-skaters. If you need to pray for patience, a Catholic might advise you to pray to Saint Rita Cascia. If your faith is shaky, try Saint John of the Cross. If in distress  or mental anguish, Saint Dymphna might be your best bet. Cancer sufferers tend to try Saint Peregrine. If you’ve lost your keys, Saint Anthony is your man. Then there are the angels, who come in various ranks, from seraphs at the top, down through archangels to your personal guardian angel. Again, Roman Catholics will deny that angels are gods or demigods, and they will protest that they don’t really pray to saints but just ask them to put in a good word with God. Muslims, too, believe in angels. Also in demons, which they call djinns.

Wednesday, September 11, 2019

Shermer w/Phil Zuckerman: Why Religion is Not Necessary for Living an Ethical Life

SCIENCE SALON # 82

Michael Shermer with Phil Zuckerman — What it Means to be Moral: Why Religion is Not Necessary for Living an Ethical Life

What It Means to Be Moral: Why Religion Is Not Necessary for Living an Ethical Life (book cover)
In What It Means to Be Moral: Why Religion Is Not Necessary for Living an Ethical Life, Phil Zuckerman argues that morality does not come from God. Rather, it comes from us: our brains, our evolutionary past, our ongoing cultural development, our social experiences, and our ability to reason, reflect, and be sensitive to the suffering of others. By deconstructing religious arguments for God-based morality and guiding readers through the premises and promises of secular morality, Zuckerman argues that the major challenges facing the world today―from global warming and growing inequality to religious support for unethical political policies to gun violence and terrorism―are best approached from a nonreligious ethical framework. In short, we need to look to our fellow humans and within ourselves for moral progress and ethical action. Shermer and Zuckerman discus:
  • what is morality and what does it mean to be good?
  • the evolutionary origins of morality
  • the “naturalistic fallacy,” or the “is-ought fallacy” and why it need not always apply
  • how we’ve made moral progress over the centuries thanks to secular forces
  • why religion is always behind the wave of moral progress (but takes credit for it later)
  • the origin of good and evil
  • how to solve crime, homelessness, and other social problems through science, reason, and secular forces, and
  • the seven secular virtues.
Dr. Phil Zuckerman is the author of several books, including The NonreligiousLiving the Secular LifeSociety without God, and his latest book, What it Means to be Moral. He is a professor of sociology at Pitzer College and the founding chair of the nation’s first secular studies program. He lives in Claremont, California, with his wife and three children.
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Monday, September 9, 2019

"Dear Sugar"

"Dear Sugar" - aka Cheryl Strayed - sets straight a woman who wonders if her infant daughter's recovery from brain surgery somehow vindicates belief in God.

Tuesday, July 30, 2019