This is the third post of three, and it'll be shorter. Some folks who've got caught up in this trainwreck created by John Shook are now saying that it will make them stop donating to the Center for Inquiry. Frankly, I think that's a shortsighted reaction. A poorly-thought-through, badly-worded article should not be enough to outweigh the enormously impressive programs that the CFI conducts, which depend on memberships and donations. The policy and political programs alone are worth every cent that gets donated, and then there are innovations such as Camp Inquiry. We need well-resourced organisations such as the CFI to do this work, and frankly it would be madness to lose its accumulated expertise and experience. The better resourced the organisation becomes, the better in the scheme of things ... especially as it goes through a period of adjustment now that the Paul Kurtz years have come to an end.
But the Shook distraction shows how the good will built up by all the good work can be negated by bad organisational communications. No one sees the totality of what CFI is doing - except, of course, for a few insiders - but a statement at a highly-visible outlet such as the Huffington Post is seen by very many people all over the world, most of whom have no idea what CFI does ... or even what it is.
Individuals associated with the CFI (and other such organisations) would do well to keep this in mind. They have it in their power to do enormous damage very quickly, and to undo an organisation's reputation built up by countless hours of hard work, some it spectacularly successful, by many, many people. That's the kind of responsibility that is on your shoulders when you speak for an organisation - even if you don't think you're speaking for it on that particular occasion.
But this cuts both ways. One badly worded article can have an immense cost in good will, and the managerial staff of advocacy organisations should realise that. However, organisational supporters should also realise it. One prominent, damaging action may be far outweighed by much work and planning elsewhere that should not be allowed to come to nothing. We all get to choose where we spend our money, and the staff of the advocacy organisations that we support need to be mindful of this when promoting their own personal projects. At the same time, we ought to recall the much bigger picture. The struggle for a truly secular society is enormous, potentially all consuming. Let's keep in mind all the folks who are working with professional dedication in that struggle, as well as who might be hurt if we respond prematurely, or simply overreact, when something goes wrong, as will inevitably happen now and then.
Though there are issues to tackle and lessons to learn, an organisation like the CFI is too valuable to jeopardise over an issue like this.
About Me
- Russell Blackford
- Australian philosopher, literary critic, legal scholar, and professional writer. Based in Newcastle, NSW. My latest books are THE TYRANNY OF OPINION: CONFORMITY AND THE FUTURE OF LIBERALISM (2019); AT THE DAWN OF A GREAT TRANSITION: THE QUESTION OF RADICAL ENHANCEMENT (2021); and HOW WE BECAME POST-LIBERAL: THE RISE AND FALL OF TOLERATION (2024).
Monday, September 27, 2010
The Shook Distraction (2)
Let's take a look at John Shook's HuffPo piece plugging his book The God Debates (aren't I nice? I'll even help him sell copies). Why has this article caused so much upset? Forget for the moment that it is published with a bio stating Shook's positions with the Center for Inquiry - I'll return to that - what about the wording of the article itself?
There is much in it that seems reasonable enough, and it could doubtless have been topped and tailed and edited somewhat differently without causing much upset. Take this para, for example:
If you are religious, don't be wary of the God debates. Respectful debating yields deeper knowledge about one's religious beliefs. After all, religions are hardly strangers to debate. Many religious texts contain examples of debating. For example, accounts of debates between Jesus and Jewish teachers can be instructive for Christians; while Krishna's arguments to Arjuna in the Bhagavad Gita teach Hindus. Questioning and debating has helped shape many religions. Confucianism grew from philosophical meditations and debating with rival schools. Much of Hinduism and Buddhism developed through intellectual argumentation as rigorous as any in the Western philosophical tradition. Both Judaism and Islam have produced some of the world's finest religious literature and heights of philosophical thought. The Catholic Church's long reliance on councils of debating bishops directed its development. The fragmentation of Protestantism into thousands of denominations and churches is a long tale of disputation in the pews over ever-finer points of scripture interpretation, theological doctrine, and church practice.
Now, this may be a bit disingenuous, given that Shook is actually an atheist and believes that religion is pretty much intellectually bankrupt. Still, what he says in this paragraph is basically true: religion does, indeed, have a rich tradition (or multiple such traditions) of debate. What's more, you can't blame him for suggesting that his book has something to offer the religious as well as atheists and religious sceptics. Perhaps it has - and besides, he has a book to sell! Of course he's enthusiastic and of course he'd like to point out its attractions to as many demographics as possible. Besides, if the book is actually any good it will, indeed, have something to teach almost anyone. In isolation, a paragraph like the above would not bother me in the least, even if it's thought to have an "accommodationist" sort of ring, and there are plenty of other sentences in the article that are fair enough in a piece that has been, d'oh, put together to promote a book. What's more, I congratulate Shook - or whoever was responsible - for getting such a piece in the Huffington Post at all. I can attest, alas, that that kind of exposure is not always easy to come by.
The trouble is, first, that the article contains so many truly wild accusations. Though Shook never names names, his main thesis is that all those other noisy, "know-nothing" atheists are lowering the tone and the intellectual standards of debate. Who does he mean? Does he, perhaps, have in mind the core "New Atheist" authors such as Richard Dawkins, Sam Harris, Daniel Dennett, and Christopher Hitchens? Surely they will come to the minds of readers.
Does he mean such other candid atheists as the fifty-odd contributors to 50 Voices of Disbelief: Why We Are Atheists? Is he thinking of such philosophical atheists as A.C. Grayling (one of our contributors) and Michele Onfray? Does he mean his colleagues at the Center for Inquiry? Or perhaps he means people who contribute to the blogosphere either by posting at their own blogs or by commenting on others' posts. Whoever he has in mind, these "know-nothings" have evidently not only lowered the standard of argument from secular thinkers - they have somehow also lowered the standard from the religious themselves, who respond, apparently, with similar crude argument:
But don't worry, defenders of religion say, there's no need to learn deep theology or debate God, thanks to dogmatic atheism's bad example. Just stick with faith; after all, who can argue with faith? Believers reveling in their ignorance are an embarrassing betrayal of their religion's theological legacy.
This is an extremely unfair representation of the situation. Before the "New Atheists" came along, there were plenty of crude populist religious works being published, as Shook well knows. There was also plenty of more sophisticated theology, though it did not attract a popular audience. Likewise, there were critiques of religion - some very sophisticated intellectually, some less so. What did not exist, at least in any numbers, were well-written critiques of religion from large trade publishers and aimed at a general audience, works such as Dennett's Breaking the Spell, Dawkins' The God Delusion, and Hitchens' God is Not Great. While these are popular works, they are written, edited, and produced to a very high standard. Sure, they are open to debate and criticism like all books, and they do not have the kind of dry academic detail and rigour as might be found, for example, in the work of Michael Martin (which is excellent of its kind). But it is unfair to refer to their authors as "know-nothings" (a dreadful label that suggests not only ignorance but also bigotry, given its historical meaning) or to claim that the books are dragging down the standard of debate. Not at all: these books introduced one side of the debate to a popular audience, and introduced it at an appropriately high intellectual level. It is not the very highest level of philosophy of religion, if we are talking about academic rigour, but it is surprisingly high when you consider the huge print runs of these books and their appeal to non-specialists.
Rather than berating Dawkins and company for their ignorance and for dumbing down a popular debate that was (supposedly) previously at a higher level, Shook ought to be thanking them for creating the popular debate and for doing so at a level that is already surprisingly high. Of course, there are always opportunities to add value by opening up new areas of the debate or taking existing areas to a higher level. Perhaps that's what Shook's new book does, but even if it does that does not excuse slamming the supposed ignorance of colleagues, denigrating their work, and assisting in the efforts of many others to undermine their credibility.
Shook is adopting a tactic that is always problematic - promoting his product not by extolling its own merits but by dissing the opposition. There's nothing wrong with promoting your own book, but there's plenty wrong with adopting a campaign of negative advertising: essentially treating your allies and colleagues as no more than rivals in the marketplace and disparaging their product. This is not a good look, and a moment's reflection should have told Shook that it would be a foolish use of his precious space in the Huffington Post. Even if the controversy helps sales in the short term - something that may be a good thing if the book itself is any good - the deeper effect is to harm Shook's own reputation and "brand", and to do damage to his cause. He comes across as negative, selfish, and driven by ego rather than collegiality. In the process, some mud inevitably sticks, so the effect is also to assist the current efforts by many others to demonise or dismiss the "New Atheist" authors.
And make no mistake, while Shook does attack popular religious apologetics as well as the unidentified "know-nothing" or "strident" atheists, he is totally scathing in his language: How did know-nothing atheism and lazy theology grab the spotlight? This dead-end trap of mutually assured ignorance was not inevitable. For someone who has supposedly written a higher-level, more measured and scholarly book, which he is trying to promote to us, Shook goes out of his way to disparage, push buttons, and use inflammatory rhetoric. He shouldn't be surprised that many people who would normally be on his side have responded with anger. There was no need at all for him to employ this sort of language to get across the merits of his own book - presumably that he has managed to package some of the more rarefied and interesting scholarly debates for a cross-over audience of scholars and the educated public. Put like that, it sounds a bit dry, but I'm sure there are ways of making this sound exciting without denigrating allies and colleagues.
Shook is both a Senior Fellow with the Center for Inquiry and its Director of Education. These positions are mentioned in his brief bio at HuffPo. That brings me to the difficulty that an organisation such as the CFI has in acting as both an advocacy organisation and a think tank. As an advocacy organisation it communicates a particular "line" to the public, but as a think tank it provides a space where its Fellows may pursue their own agendas, taking different lines on various issues, and sometimes disagreeing with each other. It's difficult for any organisation to do both of these things, though it's not impossible. It basically requires a degree of good sense, diplomacy, and clear thinking from all concerned. That is even more important if an organisation gives the same person both the position of a Fellow - pursuing his own agenda in a way that the organisation thinks is socially beneficial - and the position of a public policy manager, who is thus responsible for advocating those aspects of the organisation's line that fall within his or her portfolio. If someone signs off articles with their policy management position mentioned, that creates the impression to ordinary educated people that what they say reflects the policy view of the organisation.
Since Shook is in the situation of being both a Fellow and a policy manager, you'd think he would be extremely careful what he says in anything that he signs off with a reference to his position as a policy manager (especially a position such as Director of Education, which implies a responsibility to communicate CFI views to the public via education campaigns and the like - it's no use saying that that is not what the position does, because HuffPo readers don't know that). But instead of showing extreme care, Shook seems to have gone out of his way to use scathing, inflammatory language in attacking many people who would be his organisation's natural allies. I don't blame the CFI for this, as it's not something you'd expect a person in a position of executive responsibility to do. But I do think that this episode has shown a structural problem in the way that the CFI operates.
If the CFI is going to continue to be both an advocacy organisation and a think tank, it needs to think hard about how the two roles relate to each other. In particular, it might wish to consider whether it's really appropriate to hand someone a role as both a policy manager and a Fellow. It might also need to ensure that policy managers do not sign off using their titles unless they are very confident that what they are saying reflects CFI policy or they insist on publication of a disclaimer to the effect that the views expressed are personal and not those of the CFI. All this might not be needed if the views of CFI managers and Fellows were more cohesive and people in management roles were aware of what that normally entails in, say, a trade union or an employer body such as a chamber of commerce. Basically, you are not employed in such roles to be a loose cannon, saying things that cut across the goals and strategies of the organisation (which, in this case, surely involve forming strategic alliances with the "New Atheist" authors and with such people as the editors of/contributors to 50 Voices of Disbelief).
Finally, for now, let me add that diversity is not a bad thing. I'm not against academics or the Fellows of think tanks having and expressing diverse views. Indeed, the views that Udo Schuklenk and I collected for our book are highly diverse. However, things are somewhat more complicated when the organisation concerned is not an academic institution or a pure think tank but also an advocacy organisation. In this case, CFI advocates secularism and a science-based non-religious worldview. In doing so, it needs to develop policies, strategies, and alliances, and it should expect staff in executive positions to be sensitive to this. Its in-house communications strategy should address the points I'm making, and all staff should be made well aware of it and expected to follow it. It can provide Fellows with academic freedom, but it should address the situation of anyone who is both a Fellow and a policy manager, if such a combination continues to be used. Even Fellows should be expected to show a certain level of good sense when writing in their capacity with the organisation.
Does any of this mean we should write off the CFI as a worthwhile organisation to support? Not at all. I'll address that in more detail in Part 3. However, it is currently going through a period of transition and has inherited some difficult problems. These need to be addressed if it is to be as effective as we'd really hope it can be.
There is much in it that seems reasonable enough, and it could doubtless have been topped and tailed and edited somewhat differently without causing much upset. Take this para, for example:
If you are religious, don't be wary of the God debates. Respectful debating yields deeper knowledge about one's religious beliefs. After all, religions are hardly strangers to debate. Many religious texts contain examples of debating. For example, accounts of debates between Jesus and Jewish teachers can be instructive for Christians; while Krishna's arguments to Arjuna in the Bhagavad Gita teach Hindus. Questioning and debating has helped shape many religions. Confucianism grew from philosophical meditations and debating with rival schools. Much of Hinduism and Buddhism developed through intellectual argumentation as rigorous as any in the Western philosophical tradition. Both Judaism and Islam have produced some of the world's finest religious literature and heights of philosophical thought. The Catholic Church's long reliance on councils of debating bishops directed its development. The fragmentation of Protestantism into thousands of denominations and churches is a long tale of disputation in the pews over ever-finer points of scripture interpretation, theological doctrine, and church practice.
Now, this may be a bit disingenuous, given that Shook is actually an atheist and believes that religion is pretty much intellectually bankrupt. Still, what he says in this paragraph is basically true: religion does, indeed, have a rich tradition (or multiple such traditions) of debate. What's more, you can't blame him for suggesting that his book has something to offer the religious as well as atheists and religious sceptics. Perhaps it has - and besides, he has a book to sell! Of course he's enthusiastic and of course he'd like to point out its attractions to as many demographics as possible. Besides, if the book is actually any good it will, indeed, have something to teach almost anyone. In isolation, a paragraph like the above would not bother me in the least, even if it's thought to have an "accommodationist" sort of ring, and there are plenty of other sentences in the article that are fair enough in a piece that has been, d'oh, put together to promote a book. What's more, I congratulate Shook - or whoever was responsible - for getting such a piece in the Huffington Post at all. I can attest, alas, that that kind of exposure is not always easy to come by.
The trouble is, first, that the article contains so many truly wild accusations. Though Shook never names names, his main thesis is that all those other noisy, "know-nothing" atheists are lowering the tone and the intellectual standards of debate. Who does he mean? Does he, perhaps, have in mind the core "New Atheist" authors such as Richard Dawkins, Sam Harris, Daniel Dennett, and Christopher Hitchens? Surely they will come to the minds of readers.
Does he mean such other candid atheists as the fifty-odd contributors to 50 Voices of Disbelief: Why We Are Atheists? Is he thinking of such philosophical atheists as A.C. Grayling (one of our contributors) and Michele Onfray? Does he mean his colleagues at the Center for Inquiry? Or perhaps he means people who contribute to the blogosphere either by posting at their own blogs or by commenting on others' posts. Whoever he has in mind, these "know-nothings" have evidently not only lowered the standard of argument from secular thinkers - they have somehow also lowered the standard from the religious themselves, who respond, apparently, with similar crude argument:
But don't worry, defenders of religion say, there's no need to learn deep theology or debate God, thanks to dogmatic atheism's bad example. Just stick with faith; after all, who can argue with faith? Believers reveling in their ignorance are an embarrassing betrayal of their religion's theological legacy.
This is an extremely unfair representation of the situation. Before the "New Atheists" came along, there were plenty of crude populist religious works being published, as Shook well knows. There was also plenty of more sophisticated theology, though it did not attract a popular audience. Likewise, there were critiques of religion - some very sophisticated intellectually, some less so. What did not exist, at least in any numbers, were well-written critiques of religion from large trade publishers and aimed at a general audience, works such as Dennett's Breaking the Spell, Dawkins' The God Delusion, and Hitchens' God is Not Great. While these are popular works, they are written, edited, and produced to a very high standard. Sure, they are open to debate and criticism like all books, and they do not have the kind of dry academic detail and rigour as might be found, for example, in the work of Michael Martin (which is excellent of its kind). But it is unfair to refer to their authors as "know-nothings" (a dreadful label that suggests not only ignorance but also bigotry, given its historical meaning) or to claim that the books are dragging down the standard of debate. Not at all: these books introduced one side of the debate to a popular audience, and introduced it at an appropriately high intellectual level. It is not the very highest level of philosophy of religion, if we are talking about academic rigour, but it is surprisingly high when you consider the huge print runs of these books and their appeal to non-specialists.
Rather than berating Dawkins and company for their ignorance and for dumbing down a popular debate that was (supposedly) previously at a higher level, Shook ought to be thanking them for creating the popular debate and for doing so at a level that is already surprisingly high. Of course, there are always opportunities to add value by opening up new areas of the debate or taking existing areas to a higher level. Perhaps that's what Shook's new book does, but even if it does that does not excuse slamming the supposed ignorance of colleagues, denigrating their work, and assisting in the efforts of many others to undermine their credibility.
Shook is adopting a tactic that is always problematic - promoting his product not by extolling its own merits but by dissing the opposition. There's nothing wrong with promoting your own book, but there's plenty wrong with adopting a campaign of negative advertising: essentially treating your allies and colleagues as no more than rivals in the marketplace and disparaging their product. This is not a good look, and a moment's reflection should have told Shook that it would be a foolish use of his precious space in the Huffington Post. Even if the controversy helps sales in the short term - something that may be a good thing if the book itself is any good - the deeper effect is to harm Shook's own reputation and "brand", and to do damage to his cause. He comes across as negative, selfish, and driven by ego rather than collegiality. In the process, some mud inevitably sticks, so the effect is also to assist the current efforts by many others to demonise or dismiss the "New Atheist" authors.
And make no mistake, while Shook does attack popular religious apologetics as well as the unidentified "know-nothing" or "strident" atheists, he is totally scathing in his language: How did know-nothing atheism and lazy theology grab the spotlight? This dead-end trap of mutually assured ignorance was not inevitable. For someone who has supposedly written a higher-level, more measured and scholarly book, which he is trying to promote to us, Shook goes out of his way to disparage, push buttons, and use inflammatory rhetoric. He shouldn't be surprised that many people who would normally be on his side have responded with anger. There was no need at all for him to employ this sort of language to get across the merits of his own book - presumably that he has managed to package some of the more rarefied and interesting scholarly debates for a cross-over audience of scholars and the educated public. Put like that, it sounds a bit dry, but I'm sure there are ways of making this sound exciting without denigrating allies and colleagues.
Shook is both a Senior Fellow with the Center for Inquiry and its Director of Education. These positions are mentioned in his brief bio at HuffPo. That brings me to the difficulty that an organisation such as the CFI has in acting as both an advocacy organisation and a think tank. As an advocacy organisation it communicates a particular "line" to the public, but as a think tank it provides a space where its Fellows may pursue their own agendas, taking different lines on various issues, and sometimes disagreeing with each other. It's difficult for any organisation to do both of these things, though it's not impossible. It basically requires a degree of good sense, diplomacy, and clear thinking from all concerned. That is even more important if an organisation gives the same person both the position of a Fellow - pursuing his own agenda in a way that the organisation thinks is socially beneficial - and the position of a public policy manager, who is thus responsible for advocating those aspects of the organisation's line that fall within his or her portfolio. If someone signs off articles with their policy management position mentioned, that creates the impression to ordinary educated people that what they say reflects the policy view of the organisation.
Since Shook is in the situation of being both a Fellow and a policy manager, you'd think he would be extremely careful what he says in anything that he signs off with a reference to his position as a policy manager (especially a position such as Director of Education, which implies a responsibility to communicate CFI views to the public via education campaigns and the like - it's no use saying that that is not what the position does, because HuffPo readers don't know that). But instead of showing extreme care, Shook seems to have gone out of his way to use scathing, inflammatory language in attacking many people who would be his organisation's natural allies. I don't blame the CFI for this, as it's not something you'd expect a person in a position of executive responsibility to do. But I do think that this episode has shown a structural problem in the way that the CFI operates.
If the CFI is going to continue to be both an advocacy organisation and a think tank, it needs to think hard about how the two roles relate to each other. In particular, it might wish to consider whether it's really appropriate to hand someone a role as both a policy manager and a Fellow. It might also need to ensure that policy managers do not sign off using their titles unless they are very confident that what they are saying reflects CFI policy or they insist on publication of a disclaimer to the effect that the views expressed are personal and not those of the CFI. All this might not be needed if the views of CFI managers and Fellows were more cohesive and people in management roles were aware of what that normally entails in, say, a trade union or an employer body such as a chamber of commerce. Basically, you are not employed in such roles to be a loose cannon, saying things that cut across the goals and strategies of the organisation (which, in this case, surely involve forming strategic alliances with the "New Atheist" authors and with such people as the editors of/contributors to 50 Voices of Disbelief).
Finally, for now, let me add that diversity is not a bad thing. I'm not against academics or the Fellows of think tanks having and expressing diverse views. Indeed, the views that Udo Schuklenk and I collected for our book are highly diverse. However, things are somewhat more complicated when the organisation concerned is not an academic institution or a pure think tank but also an advocacy organisation. In this case, CFI advocates secularism and a science-based non-religious worldview. In doing so, it needs to develop policies, strategies, and alliances, and it should expect staff in executive positions to be sensitive to this. Its in-house communications strategy should address the points I'm making, and all staff should be made well aware of it and expected to follow it. It can provide Fellows with academic freedom, but it should address the situation of anyone who is both a Fellow and a policy manager, if such a combination continues to be used. Even Fellows should be expected to show a certain level of good sense when writing in their capacity with the organisation.
Does any of this mean we should write off the CFI as a worthwhile organisation to support? Not at all. I'll address that in more detail in Part 3. However, it is currently going through a period of transition and has inherited some difficult problems. These need to be addressed if it is to be as effective as we'd really hope it can be.
The Shook Distraction (1)
This has been done to death over at Why Evolution is True, where I had a bit to say on the extensive thread created by Jerry Coyne, but I think a few last observations are in order. For those who did not follow the trainwreck, John Shook, who is both a Center for Inquiry Senior Fellow and the Center's Director of Education, has a new book coming out in October: The God Debates: A 21st Century Guide for Atheists, Believers, and Everyone in Between. I just looked this up on Amazon and found that it's from Wiley-Blackwell, so he and I share the same publisher. That's all the more reason to give it a plug. Really, good for Shook for writing this book and for Wiley-Blackwell for publishing it. If things had gone a bit differently, I might be here giving it my strong support, and I'm sure to pick up a copy at some point.
Irrespective of the publisher, the book sounds interesting: as far as I can work out, it attempts to explain and debunk some of the more esoteric Christian claims and arguments, from academically sophisticated theologians as opposed to the more popular kinds of evangelical Christianity that have been among the main targets for, say, Richard Dawkins (though of course, Dawkins and others have also been very interested in traditional Roman Catholicism, and some of the so-called "New Atheists", especially Sam Harris, have been very interested in Islam).
Shook's book may not be everyone's cup of tea. The more rarefied theological positions exercise less influence on public policy than do traditional Vatican-style Catholicism or the various shades of evangelical Protestantism, and of course many people who are critical of religion may be predisposed to think that the rarefied views are not worth refuting unless they include arguments for the existence of God that are stronger than the traditional ones. That may seem unlikely, on its face, or these arguments would be better known and would be wheeled out more frequently by evangelists. After all, people like Dale Stephenson are not idiots ... yet when they put actual arguments to support their faith they tend to come up with variations of the traditional arguments that the New Testament is credible, that God was needed as a First Cause, that the Universe shows an appearance of design, and that God is needed to explain the phenomenon of morality (and how morality can be authoritative). I don't find these arguments at all convincing, but that's not the point. My point at this stage is simply that if the more rarefied theologians have more powerful arguments than these in favour of the existence of God, as God is popularly understood, they are doing a lousy job of marketing them to folks out there in the field of evangelism and popular apologetics. Perhaps it is safe to ignore these other arguments, and if they are unsuccessful then the rest of rarefied theology seems to fall in a hole.
Nonetheless, the book looks interesting and I think it (potentially) has some importance for at least three reasons. First, there actually are some interesting arguments around for the existence of God that have not been relied upon much by evangelists but are given some respect in academic circles. Maybe evangelists avoid them because they seem fishy, or because they are too complicated to explain in popular forums. I'm thinking, for example, of modern forms of the ontological argument and of various kinds of transcendental arguments. I, too, find these arguments rather fishy - but they're out there, so it's at least worth looking at them.
Second, many of the rarefied theologians do not posit anything like the traditional God, let alone try to argue for this being's existence. Rather, they posit other concepts of the divine and/or of the role of religious belief. Some of these concepts may be quite difficult to refute, but they may (or may not) have real-world implications if they do turn out to be true. It's worth getting a better handle on what these positions actually are, what their implications would be, and whether they are at all credible.
Third, much of the contemporary critique of religion is not focused on its truth-claims but on its social benefit or harmfulness. However, a critique of this kind that relates to the position of the Vatican or that of evangelicals or fundamentalists may not touch the more rarefied versions of religion. So it is open to somebody who kind of likes those versions to claim that the critique from someone like Dawkins is at best incomplete: i.e., some kinds of religion are at least not harmful. Indeed, my own view is that the more liberal variants of religion are rather innocuous. Dawkins could respond, plausibly, that this is a relatively minor issue, since so many people believe in more traditional sorts of religion. Still, it would be worth getting a better idea of what the more rarefied theologies actually say and getting into a better position to make an assessment of whether they are socially beneficial, neutral, or harmful.
In all, I think that Shook's new book could well add value to current debates about religion. This is actually the sort of book that I want to see written to supplement the publishing phenomenon of the "New Atheism". If the book addresses the three issues I've raised above, and does so in an authoritative and systematic way, then it will be worth purchasing or at least getting out of the library. Besides, for many of us the ideas that Shook is apparently going to discuss have intrinsic interest. As I said, the book is probably not for everyone, but I'd like to give it a read. Although I'm not all that happy with Shook this week, I'll look at the book on its merits (when I get around to doing so) and if it's great stuff I'll say so. There's no reason why it shouldn't be.
Or so I would have thought if Shook had not written an especially clumsy article in the Huffington Post plugging The God Debates. I think that what I've written above does a better job of selling the book than Shook himself does - so Shook and his estimable publisher can give me a "Yay! for that - though of course I have a much smaller audience here than the Huffington Post gets. Perhaps the controversy created over there will generate sales. But at least I've put a case as to why a book like this may be worthwhile and interesting (though again, not to everybody's taste) without egregiously alienating my allies or creating a political problem for the organisation that employs me. That's a good start. When plugging your book, try to do no unnecessary harm to the people who are on your side.
I don't blame the CFI for the trainwreck that Shook's article caused, though I do believe that the organisation has some structural problems that it needs to work through. In particular, it's difficult (though not by any means impossible if good sense prevails) to operate as both an advocacy organisation and a think tank. I put the blame on Shook himself. It didn't have to happen like this, and with a bit of tact and common sense it would have turned out very differently. I'm going to explain why in a separate post, as this one is getting long already.
Irrespective of the publisher, the book sounds interesting: as far as I can work out, it attempts to explain and debunk some of the more esoteric Christian claims and arguments, from academically sophisticated theologians as opposed to the more popular kinds of evangelical Christianity that have been among the main targets for, say, Richard Dawkins (though of course, Dawkins and others have also been very interested in traditional Roman Catholicism, and some of the so-called "New Atheists", especially Sam Harris, have been very interested in Islam).
Shook's book may not be everyone's cup of tea. The more rarefied theological positions exercise less influence on public policy than do traditional Vatican-style Catholicism or the various shades of evangelical Protestantism, and of course many people who are critical of religion may be predisposed to think that the rarefied views are not worth refuting unless they include arguments for the existence of God that are stronger than the traditional ones. That may seem unlikely, on its face, or these arguments would be better known and would be wheeled out more frequently by evangelists. After all, people like Dale Stephenson are not idiots ... yet when they put actual arguments to support their faith they tend to come up with variations of the traditional arguments that the New Testament is credible, that God was needed as a First Cause, that the Universe shows an appearance of design, and that God is needed to explain the phenomenon of morality (and how morality can be authoritative). I don't find these arguments at all convincing, but that's not the point. My point at this stage is simply that if the more rarefied theologians have more powerful arguments than these in favour of the existence of God, as God is popularly understood, they are doing a lousy job of marketing them to folks out there in the field of evangelism and popular apologetics. Perhaps it is safe to ignore these other arguments, and if they are unsuccessful then the rest of rarefied theology seems to fall in a hole.
Nonetheless, the book looks interesting and I think it (potentially) has some importance for at least three reasons. First, there actually are some interesting arguments around for the existence of God that have not been relied upon much by evangelists but are given some respect in academic circles. Maybe evangelists avoid them because they seem fishy, or because they are too complicated to explain in popular forums. I'm thinking, for example, of modern forms of the ontological argument and of various kinds of transcendental arguments. I, too, find these arguments rather fishy - but they're out there, so it's at least worth looking at them.
Second, many of the rarefied theologians do not posit anything like the traditional God, let alone try to argue for this being's existence. Rather, they posit other concepts of the divine and/or of the role of religious belief. Some of these concepts may be quite difficult to refute, but they may (or may not) have real-world implications if they do turn out to be true. It's worth getting a better handle on what these positions actually are, what their implications would be, and whether they are at all credible.
Third, much of the contemporary critique of religion is not focused on its truth-claims but on its social benefit or harmfulness. However, a critique of this kind that relates to the position of the Vatican or that of evangelicals or fundamentalists may not touch the more rarefied versions of religion. So it is open to somebody who kind of likes those versions to claim that the critique from someone like Dawkins is at best incomplete: i.e., some kinds of religion are at least not harmful. Indeed, my own view is that the more liberal variants of religion are rather innocuous. Dawkins could respond, plausibly, that this is a relatively minor issue, since so many people believe in more traditional sorts of religion. Still, it would be worth getting a better idea of what the more rarefied theologies actually say and getting into a better position to make an assessment of whether they are socially beneficial, neutral, or harmful.
In all, I think that Shook's new book could well add value to current debates about religion. This is actually the sort of book that I want to see written to supplement the publishing phenomenon of the "New Atheism". If the book addresses the three issues I've raised above, and does so in an authoritative and systematic way, then it will be worth purchasing or at least getting out of the library. Besides, for many of us the ideas that Shook is apparently going to discuss have intrinsic interest. As I said, the book is probably not for everyone, but I'd like to give it a read. Although I'm not all that happy with Shook this week, I'll look at the book on its merits (when I get around to doing so) and if it's great stuff I'll say so. There's no reason why it shouldn't be.
Or so I would have thought if Shook had not written an especially clumsy article in the Huffington Post plugging The God Debates. I think that what I've written above does a better job of selling the book than Shook himself does - so Shook and his estimable publisher can give me a "Yay! for that - though of course I have a much smaller audience here than the Huffington Post gets. Perhaps the controversy created over there will generate sales. But at least I've put a case as to why a book like this may be worthwhile and interesting (though again, not to everybody's taste) without egregiously alienating my allies or creating a political problem for the organisation that employs me. That's a good start. When plugging your book, try to do no unnecessary harm to the people who are on your side.
I don't blame the CFI for the trainwreck that Shook's article caused, though I do believe that the organisation has some structural problems that it needs to work through. In particular, it's difficult (though not by any means impossible if good sense prevails) to operate as both an advocacy organisation and a think tank. I put the blame on Shook himself. It didn't have to happen like this, and with a bit of tact and common sense it would have turned out very differently. I'm going to explain why in a separate post, as this one is getting long already.
Great review of 50 Voices of Disbelief in Quadrant
The September 2010 issue of the Sydney-based conservative journal Quadrant has a lengthy, detailed, and very positive review of 50 Voices of Disbelief : Why We Are Atheists, written by philosopher of science Robert McLaughlin, who calls the book "this outstanding anthology." You can't read the review online unless you subscribe, but McLaughlin concludes his discussion of 50 Voices as follows: "there is a sense of a large and growing community out there, sharing a humanist morality and a rejection of supernatural myths, hungry for books like this."
I couldn't put it better myself. This is a great review and all contributors can be proud. For those who haven't read the book yet, well you know where to find it ... Try Amazon, Embiggen Books, Wiley-Backwell, or your favourite bookseller (though you may have to order it from the latter, depending on who it is).
I couldn't put it better myself. This is a great review and all contributors can be proud. For those who haven't read the book yet, well you know where to find it ... Try Amazon, Embiggen Books, Wiley-Backwell, or your favourite bookseller (though you may have to order it from the latter, depending on who it is).
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Back from my dad's birthday party!!
We saw in a very big birthday for Dad, a.k.a. Ken Blackford, last night at a family dinner chez nous (well, we didn't quite see it in, because no one stayed up past midnight) ... and my sister (Bev) and her husband (Ross Allen) followed up today with an outdoor party at their place.
My sister, Bev; Dad; Moi
Bev Allen; Jenny Blackford; et Moi
Jenny Blackford; Russell Blackford
Dad in candle-blowing mode; my brother-in-law, Ross
Dad in cake-cutting mode (et les autres).
Dad and Ross
Moi et Bev
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Burning your enemy's holy book
With all the fuss about people burning the Koran, or threatening to, there's now a disturbing development in the UK. Six men have been charged under hate speech laws after apparently burning copies of the Koran and distributing a video of their action. The charges should be dropped, and the police should stop grandstanding.
That said, I am not a big fan of burning holy books, effigies, religious and other symbols, or national flags. Burning books, in particular, is (usually) a stupid thing to do. It’s stupid because the message is unclear and can easily, and possibly correctly, be read as too extreme. If I burn a Bible, my action is wide open to the message: "I hate this book and all it stands for." Well, what does it stand for? That, in turn, is wide open to the interpretation: "I hate, among other things, actual Christians." That’s never a message that I’d be encouraging or supporting. Similarly, the message from burning a Koran may quite reasonably be interpreted as including: "I hate actual Muslims."
Again, burning flags can convey a message that goes far beyond, say, opposition to a nation's foreign policy or human rights abuses to include hatred of that nation's people. Usually, there's a more focused and rational message that could be conveyed in some other way.
At the same time, all of these actions should be legal. There will be occasions when actions taken in the name of a country or a religion or ideology are so extreme that an extreme expression of anger is appropriate and the message of repudiation is clear enough. That should be legal, and I don't see how the law can draw a line here, deciding that burning your enemy's flag, holy book, or whatever, should be legal in some circumstances but not others. Those more subtle judgments are best left to individuals to make for themselves and to social debate to constrain.
Besides, what if someone really does wish to express hatred for a group of people? I'm not sure that that in itself should be a crime. There are circumstances where it may create an immediate danger of violence, but there are many other circumstances where the danger is not immediate and we should rely on laws against the violence itself. Different jurisdictions might reasonably draw the line in different places, but they should all lean in the direction of preserving as much room for free speech as possible.
I'd still like to see people be clearer and more discerning about what messages they send. I support PZ Myers over the the notorious "cracker" incident a couple of years back, because the circumstances justified a strong statement - someone was actually receiving death threats from religious fanatics because he took a consecrated wafer from a Catholic church service, rather than eating it. It was quite appropriate for an individual with PZ's public profile to respond with a symbolic statement totally repudiating the idea that consecrated wafers, or anything else, possess inherent sanctity. There was a context for his symbolic statement. But if someone outside of that context randomly crucified a consecrated wafer to express hatred of all it stands for, whatever that is, I’d make the same point as I do about burning the Koran: it’s a stupid way to express whatever it is you want to express – though again it should not be illegal.
There are many different contexts, of course: political contexts, artistic contexts, and so on. I’d have something more complicated to say in any case where the context demanded it. Consider a work of art such as a painting or an artistically composed photograph. This may well, because of additional content, or features of its aesthetic composition, or simply because of the context in which it is displayed, resist a simple interpretation and demand more thoughtful consideration from its audience. This is another area where the law struggles to draw a line. You can't adjudicate between acceptable and unacceptable forms of artistic expression, where meaning is up for grabs, and I don't think the law should even try - at least not with the sorts of cases discussed in this post.
It can get complicated. But just going around burning the Koran (or the Bible or the Bhagavad Gita, or whatever it might be) to express your hatred of whatever it is you think it stands for is almost always a lousy idea.
But then again -forgive me for labouring the point - it's not a matter for the police.
That said, I am not a big fan of burning holy books, effigies, religious and other symbols, or national flags. Burning books, in particular, is (usually) a stupid thing to do. It’s stupid because the message is unclear and can easily, and possibly correctly, be read as too extreme. If I burn a Bible, my action is wide open to the message: "I hate this book and all it stands for." Well, what does it stand for? That, in turn, is wide open to the interpretation: "I hate, among other things, actual Christians." That’s never a message that I’d be encouraging or supporting. Similarly, the message from burning a Koran may quite reasonably be interpreted as including: "I hate actual Muslims."
Again, burning flags can convey a message that goes far beyond, say, opposition to a nation's foreign policy or human rights abuses to include hatred of that nation's people. Usually, there's a more focused and rational message that could be conveyed in some other way.
At the same time, all of these actions should be legal. There will be occasions when actions taken in the name of a country or a religion or ideology are so extreme that an extreme expression of anger is appropriate and the message of repudiation is clear enough. That should be legal, and I don't see how the law can draw a line here, deciding that burning your enemy's flag, holy book, or whatever, should be legal in some circumstances but not others. Those more subtle judgments are best left to individuals to make for themselves and to social debate to constrain.
Besides, what if someone really does wish to express hatred for a group of people? I'm not sure that that in itself should be a crime. There are circumstances where it may create an immediate danger of violence, but there are many other circumstances where the danger is not immediate and we should rely on laws against the violence itself. Different jurisdictions might reasonably draw the line in different places, but they should all lean in the direction of preserving as much room for free speech as possible.
I'd still like to see people be clearer and more discerning about what messages they send. I support PZ Myers over the the notorious "cracker" incident a couple of years back, because the circumstances justified a strong statement - someone was actually receiving death threats from religious fanatics because he took a consecrated wafer from a Catholic church service, rather than eating it. It was quite appropriate for an individual with PZ's public profile to respond with a symbolic statement totally repudiating the idea that consecrated wafers, or anything else, possess inherent sanctity. There was a context for his symbolic statement. But if someone outside of that context randomly crucified a consecrated wafer to express hatred of all it stands for, whatever that is, I’d make the same point as I do about burning the Koran: it’s a stupid way to express whatever it is you want to express – though again it should not be illegal.
There are many different contexts, of course: political contexts, artistic contexts, and so on. I’d have something more complicated to say in any case where the context demanded it. Consider a work of art such as a painting or an artistically composed photograph. This may well, because of additional content, or features of its aesthetic composition, or simply because of the context in which it is displayed, resist a simple interpretation and demand more thoughtful consideration from its audience. This is another area where the law struggles to draw a line. You can't adjudicate between acceptable and unacceptable forms of artistic expression, where meaning is up for grabs, and I don't think the law should even try - at least not with the sorts of cases discussed in this post.
It can get complicated. But just going around burning the Koran (or the Bible or the Bhagavad Gita, or whatever it might be) to express your hatred of whatever it is you think it stands for is almost always a lousy idea.
But then again -forgive me for labouring the point - it's not a matter for the police.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Ophelia Benson and Eric MacDonald on the "beyond the 'New Atheism'" debate debacle
Caspar Melville's pronouncements and the beyond-the-New-Atheism thing are being discussed over here and here. Apart from Ophelia's own trenchant comments, Eric MacDonald's long comments are also very worth reading - and there are plenty of other useful comments.
Do I agree with all the comments? No. As a matter of fact, I think that we should be getting beyond the "New Atheist" books that have been published so far in the trivial sense that we need to work on projects that add value to the debate. Up to a point, of course, the basic ideas do have to be repeated so that they are available to new audiences, and also to refine them and to refute counter-arguments as necessary. But there is plenty of room for secular thinkers to deal with relatively new topics. For example, at some point, I'd like to write a book about living in a world without objective values. This is actually a scarier topic for many people than atheism - some atheists are freaked out by it - but it needs to be addressed. So do issues to do with free will. Meanwhile, I'm working on a book about freedom of religion and the secular state.
There are books waiting to be written about many other important topics from a secular viewpoint. There are many opportunities to add value.
But that doesn't require denigrating the efforts of those who have had the limelight in the past few years, who have done much that is valuable - including, no doubt, much that needs to be examined, disputed, or considerably qualified. One of the things that separates secular people from adherents to the great monotheistic religions is that we have no holy book. We may respect the writings of, say, Richard Dawkins or Sam Harris, but that doesn't mean that we take them to be infallible. It's good to have a range of perspectives within secularism and rationalism. I can't and don't and won't object to reasonable disagreement.
I will, however, continue to argue that the publishing phenomenon that got labeled "the New Atheism" was not some kind of horrible mistake; on the contrary, it's important that religious doctrines, organisations, and leaders be subjected to thorough criticism - in some cases even to harsh criticism - and it appears to me to be an entirely positive development that such critiques can now find a popular market. By all means let's remember that religion is not monolithic, and let's not expect atheistic or secular or rationalist thought to be. But let's not make wild accusations out of boredom or fear of social division or just to be contrarian. Our allies and colleagues deserve far better than that.
Do I agree with all the comments? No. As a matter of fact, I think that we should be getting beyond the "New Atheist" books that have been published so far in the trivial sense that we need to work on projects that add value to the debate. Up to a point, of course, the basic ideas do have to be repeated so that they are available to new audiences, and also to refine them and to refute counter-arguments as necessary. But there is plenty of room for secular thinkers to deal with relatively new topics. For example, at some point, I'd like to write a book about living in a world without objective values. This is actually a scarier topic for many people than atheism - some atheists are freaked out by it - but it needs to be addressed. So do issues to do with free will. Meanwhile, I'm working on a book about freedom of religion and the secular state.
There are books waiting to be written about many other important topics from a secular viewpoint. There are many opportunities to add value.
But that doesn't require denigrating the efforts of those who have had the limelight in the past few years, who have done much that is valuable - including, no doubt, much that needs to be examined, disputed, or considerably qualified. One of the things that separates secular people from adherents to the great monotheistic religions is that we have no holy book. We may respect the writings of, say, Richard Dawkins or Sam Harris, but that doesn't mean that we take them to be infallible. It's good to have a range of perspectives within secularism and rationalism. I can't and don't and won't object to reasonable disagreement.
I will, however, continue to argue that the publishing phenomenon that got labeled "the New Atheism" was not some kind of horrible mistake; on the contrary, it's important that religious doctrines, organisations, and leaders be subjected to thorough criticism - in some cases even to harsh criticism - and it appears to me to be an entirely positive development that such critiques can now find a popular market. By all means let's remember that religion is not monolithic, and let's not expect atheistic or secular or rationalist thought to be. But let's not make wild accusations out of boredom or fear of social division or just to be contrarian. Our allies and colleagues deserve far better than that.
Beyond the "New Atheism"?
Caspar Melville has a blog post over at The New Humanist in which he analyses a "debate" held a couple of days ago, apparently in London, on the subject "Beyond New Atheism: where next for the God debate?" On this occasion, four people who agree with each other that the "New Atheism" is somehow dehumanising, flawed, and boring, exchanged reasons why the "new Atheism" is dehumanising, flawed, and boring. That's hardly surprising, given their starting points, but there you go. Melville adds that:
It is true that there was no New Atheist on the panel to defend the arguments, but Laurie [Taylor] did a good job of pressing the panellists on the claims made by Dawkins and others for the importance of not allowing an exaggerated sense of respect [to] stop you from making a strong atheist case, and the audience too were quite critical. Given the frequency with which science came up, all three [others] professed a love for science but [I] felt that some misused it, I was sorry we didn't have a scientist on the panel.
Well, I can't help wonder how this can be called a debate when all four speakers, including Melville, took essentially the same position on the "New Atheism" ... and there was nobody involved who was prepared to argue for a contrary view. Still, I wasn't there, so maybe the event wasn't as bad as Melville makes it sound. It sounds awfully like a handpicked bunch of people getting together to attack a bunch of other people who have not been invited along to defend themselves. That is hardly interesting or charitable or constructive. It's nice to be assured that someone asked a few pointed questions, but surely if you're talking about what is "beyond" the "New Atheism" it would be appropriate to ask for an opinion as to whether there is any such "beyond" - and what it might be - from someone who is more or less identified with the "New Atheism" itself. As there are plenty of such people in the UK, I don't understand why that was not done.
I could understand it if this had been a Christian event, and the discussion had been about how Christians should respond to their "New Atheist" opponents. Of course such discussions are legitimate. In this case, however, the discussion was about how to respond to a group of people who are, on the face of things, allies of the organisers. So why not ask them along? Someone must have been available to provide the missing perspective.
I actually have a difficulty with this whole "New Atheism" thing, i.e. with the label New Atheism. Why? Because much of what is being said by the core group of supposed "New Atheists" - Richard Dawkins, Sam Harris, Daniel Dennett, and Christopher Hitchens - is not new at all. These men are delivering familiar critiques of religion's truth-claims and social role that could be found in many books and articles published before the appearance of The End of Faith (by Harris) in 2004, the event that marks the beginning of whatever New Atheist movement might exist. What changed about that time was not the essential character of the critique. In part there was a restoration of business as usual, a softening of the taboo in middle class circles (and especially academic) against criticising religion.
Of more immediate impact was the greatly increased willingness of large trade publishers (not only specialty presses and academic presses) to accept books on the subject of religion from people with broadly anti-religious views. That, and the willingness of media corporations to use prominent atheist authors and thinkers as on-air talent.
These latter developments, in turn, reflect the commercial judgment that there's now a hunger out in the community for critiques of religion, a hunger that was not in evidence prior to the mayhem and mass destruction of September 11, 2001 ... and other events that have shocked many educated people out of their complacency about religion. Whereas religion had seemed benign, if not actually true, to many thinking people, the September 11 attacks, the widespread religion-based opposition to stem cell and therapeutic cloning research, the never-ending resistance to gay rights and abortion rights, the callous actions of the religious in the Schiavo affair, the Catholic Church's appalling insensitivity towards abused children, and the many atrocities perpetrated daily in the name of religion of one kind or another, all converged to create a sense that human religiosity has a dark side of cruelty, dogmatism, moral blindness, authoritarianism, and intolerance.
In such an environment, there was finally a popular market for the views of forthright critics of religion - not just Dawkins and the others mentioned above, but also AC Grayling, Michele Onfray (in translation), Victor Stenger, and others. As a result, the message is now going out more widely than ever before. Caspar Melville may well find it boring, because many of the arguments and conclusions are not very new. But at least two important points need to be made here.
First, this does not mean that the individual books, speeches, media appearances, and so on, are merely repetitive and add no value. "New Atheist" thought (i.e. atheist thought finally reaching a popular audience) is not monolithic, and the various relevant works are, indeed, adding value, even though they do so incrementally. Second, it's taking a very short-term view of things to think that the popular message is already stale after only six years. If the message is to have a strong impact, it will need to go out in forthright and persuasive ways for decades, until the "New Atheists"' issues, arguments, and conclusions permeate the popular culture and the lessons are widely absorbed into the consciousness of educated people. Talking in a jaded manner of "What comes next?" is just too impatient. It kind of misses the point that the New Atheism responds to opportunities that have only just, in the broader scheme of things, become available.
Naturally the core "New Atheists" have taken on projects that involve more than just advocating the merits of atheism. Richard Dawkins recently released a new book, The Greatest Show on Earth, which provides one of the most thorough defences of biological evolution ever published; Christopher Hitchens has written an autobiography, and is involved in numerous other projects (despite suffering severe health problems); Daniel Dennett also has new projects, including a study of priests who have lost their faith; and Sam Harris has written an important new book about the nature of morality, which is just about due for publication. If we want to know what comes next, we can do a lot worse than checking out what the original "New Atheists" are actually doing right now, and considering its value. All of these projects build on aspects of what has come before, as reputable intellectual inquiry almost always does, but each adds value.
Much more needs to be done, of course, such as producing new and better studies of religious freedom and the role of the state, and new and better studies of how moral restraint works, or ought to work, in the absence of God or anything supernatural. I'm working on both of those topics myself, but that does not mean that I need to deprecate the work of Dawkins and the others.
Towards the end of his post, Melville emphasises his right to disagree with people who are broadly his allies:
My not believing in God and being critical of religious power and authority and theocracy and irrationalism and superstition and religious exploitation – all of which I am and will continue to be – does not mean I will agree with everyone else who doesn’t believe in God.
But surely that goes without saying! If not, let me spell out the point that disagreement on specifics is - always - not only permissible but valuable. Indeed, there are many specific points where I find myself in disagreement with one or another of the core "New Atheists". That does not, however, mean that it would be helpful or accurate for me to dismiss their work as crude, simplistic, and boring. Books such as The God Delusion and Breaking the Spell are not crude or simplistic, though there are good reasons why the former is aimed at the more simplistic forms of religion, and nor do I see what is boring about them. Of course, they are written for popular markets and are not as complex or compressed as strictly academic books on similar subjects such as those of Michael Martin or Graham Oppy. But the latter do not - so far - write books that are meant to be accessible to readers in the popular market.
Melville should by all means disagree with Dawkins, or whomever, on whatever points he thinks fit. Perhaps Dawkins' critique of the ontological argument is not satisfactory and could be improved upon; perhaps he has not done enough to show that certain liberal sorts of religion are harmful or implausible; or perhaps he needs to say more about the effects of various minds of religion on children. Or whatever. Let's hear the specific criticisms, if they exist, and also the improved or streamlined analyses of religion that critics such as Melville have to offer.
But Melville seems to think there is something "dangerous" about any degree of solidarity among people who are "critical of religious power and authority and theocracy and irrationalism and superstition and religious exploitation". I'm afraid I can't see it. There is nothing especially dangerous about people organising in pursuit of a common cause, such as the one that Melville mentions. Indeed, it should be apparent that there's strength in at least some degree of unity. Once you do organise, to whatever degree, it makes good sense not to attack allies in an overly broad or damning way, or to organise seminars specifically designed to "other" them and treat them as deficient. Far better, when dealing with allies, to consult with them, treat them inclusively where at all possible, and discuss points of detail in an open, constructive manner. Of course, no one should have to sign on to a point that s/he disputes, but it's more productive to keep in-house disputes specific, detailed, and constructive (while keeping any manifestos broad and inclusive), and not to dismiss your allies' contributions in a way that assists with their demonisation.
In general, Melville seems to have lost his sense of strategic and historical perspective just lately. I hope he finds it soon.
It is true that there was no New Atheist on the panel to defend the arguments, but Laurie [Taylor] did a good job of pressing the panellists on the claims made by Dawkins and others for the importance of not allowing an exaggerated sense of respect [to] stop you from making a strong atheist case, and the audience too were quite critical. Given the frequency with which science came up, all three [others] professed a love for science but [I] felt that some misused it, I was sorry we didn't have a scientist on the panel.
Well, I can't help wonder how this can be called a debate when all four speakers, including Melville, took essentially the same position on the "New Atheism" ... and there was nobody involved who was prepared to argue for a contrary view. Still, I wasn't there, so maybe the event wasn't as bad as Melville makes it sound. It sounds awfully like a handpicked bunch of people getting together to attack a bunch of other people who have not been invited along to defend themselves. That is hardly interesting or charitable or constructive. It's nice to be assured that someone asked a few pointed questions, but surely if you're talking about what is "beyond" the "New Atheism" it would be appropriate to ask for an opinion as to whether there is any such "beyond" - and what it might be - from someone who is more or less identified with the "New Atheism" itself. As there are plenty of such people in the UK, I don't understand why that was not done.
I could understand it if this had been a Christian event, and the discussion had been about how Christians should respond to their "New Atheist" opponents. Of course such discussions are legitimate. In this case, however, the discussion was about how to respond to a group of people who are, on the face of things, allies of the organisers. So why not ask them along? Someone must have been available to provide the missing perspective.
I actually have a difficulty with this whole "New Atheism" thing, i.e. with the label New Atheism. Why? Because much of what is being said by the core group of supposed "New Atheists" - Richard Dawkins, Sam Harris, Daniel Dennett, and Christopher Hitchens - is not new at all. These men are delivering familiar critiques of religion's truth-claims and social role that could be found in many books and articles published before the appearance of The End of Faith (by Harris) in 2004, the event that marks the beginning of whatever New Atheist movement might exist. What changed about that time was not the essential character of the critique. In part there was a restoration of business as usual, a softening of the taboo in middle class circles (and especially academic) against criticising religion.
Of more immediate impact was the greatly increased willingness of large trade publishers (not only specialty presses and academic presses) to accept books on the subject of religion from people with broadly anti-religious views. That, and the willingness of media corporations to use prominent atheist authors and thinkers as on-air talent.
These latter developments, in turn, reflect the commercial judgment that there's now a hunger out in the community for critiques of religion, a hunger that was not in evidence prior to the mayhem and mass destruction of September 11, 2001 ... and other events that have shocked many educated people out of their complacency about religion. Whereas religion had seemed benign, if not actually true, to many thinking people, the September 11 attacks, the widespread religion-based opposition to stem cell and therapeutic cloning research, the never-ending resistance to gay rights and abortion rights, the callous actions of the religious in the Schiavo affair, the Catholic Church's appalling insensitivity towards abused children, and the many atrocities perpetrated daily in the name of religion of one kind or another, all converged to create a sense that human religiosity has a dark side of cruelty, dogmatism, moral blindness, authoritarianism, and intolerance.
In such an environment, there was finally a popular market for the views of forthright critics of religion - not just Dawkins and the others mentioned above, but also AC Grayling, Michele Onfray (in translation), Victor Stenger, and others. As a result, the message is now going out more widely than ever before. Caspar Melville may well find it boring, because many of the arguments and conclusions are not very new. But at least two important points need to be made here.
First, this does not mean that the individual books, speeches, media appearances, and so on, are merely repetitive and add no value. "New Atheist" thought (i.e. atheist thought finally reaching a popular audience) is not monolithic, and the various relevant works are, indeed, adding value, even though they do so incrementally. Second, it's taking a very short-term view of things to think that the popular message is already stale after only six years. If the message is to have a strong impact, it will need to go out in forthright and persuasive ways for decades, until the "New Atheists"' issues, arguments, and conclusions permeate the popular culture and the lessons are widely absorbed into the consciousness of educated people. Talking in a jaded manner of "What comes next?" is just too impatient. It kind of misses the point that the New Atheism responds to opportunities that have only just, in the broader scheme of things, become available.
Naturally the core "New Atheists" have taken on projects that involve more than just advocating the merits of atheism. Richard Dawkins recently released a new book, The Greatest Show on Earth, which provides one of the most thorough defences of biological evolution ever published; Christopher Hitchens has written an autobiography, and is involved in numerous other projects (despite suffering severe health problems); Daniel Dennett also has new projects, including a study of priests who have lost their faith; and Sam Harris has written an important new book about the nature of morality, which is just about due for publication. If we want to know what comes next, we can do a lot worse than checking out what the original "New Atheists" are actually doing right now, and considering its value. All of these projects build on aspects of what has come before, as reputable intellectual inquiry almost always does, but each adds value.
Much more needs to be done, of course, such as producing new and better studies of religious freedom and the role of the state, and new and better studies of how moral restraint works, or ought to work, in the absence of God or anything supernatural. I'm working on both of those topics myself, but that does not mean that I need to deprecate the work of Dawkins and the others.
Towards the end of his post, Melville emphasises his right to disagree with people who are broadly his allies:
My not believing in God and being critical of religious power and authority and theocracy and irrationalism and superstition and religious exploitation – all of which I am and will continue to be – does not mean I will agree with everyone else who doesn’t believe in God.
But surely that goes without saying! If not, let me spell out the point that disagreement on specifics is - always - not only permissible but valuable. Indeed, there are many specific points where I find myself in disagreement with one or another of the core "New Atheists". That does not, however, mean that it would be helpful or accurate for me to dismiss their work as crude, simplistic, and boring. Books such as The God Delusion and Breaking the Spell are not crude or simplistic, though there are good reasons why the former is aimed at the more simplistic forms of religion, and nor do I see what is boring about them. Of course, they are written for popular markets and are not as complex or compressed as strictly academic books on similar subjects such as those of Michael Martin or Graham Oppy. But the latter do not - so far - write books that are meant to be accessible to readers in the popular market.
Melville should by all means disagree with Dawkins, or whomever, on whatever points he thinks fit. Perhaps Dawkins' critique of the ontological argument is not satisfactory and could be improved upon; perhaps he has not done enough to show that certain liberal sorts of religion are harmful or implausible; or perhaps he needs to say more about the effects of various minds of religion on children. Or whatever. Let's hear the specific criticisms, if they exist, and also the improved or streamlined analyses of religion that critics such as Melville have to offer.
But Melville seems to think there is something "dangerous" about any degree of solidarity among people who are "critical of religious power and authority and theocracy and irrationalism and superstition and religious exploitation". I'm afraid I can't see it. There is nothing especially dangerous about people organising in pursuit of a common cause, such as the one that Melville mentions. Indeed, it should be apparent that there's strength in at least some degree of unity. Once you do organise, to whatever degree, it makes good sense not to attack allies in an overly broad or damning way, or to organise seminars specifically designed to "other" them and treat them as deficient. Far better, when dealing with allies, to consult with them, treat them inclusively where at all possible, and discuss points of detail in an open, constructive manner. Of course, no one should have to sign on to a point that s/he disputes, but it's more productive to keep in-house disputes specific, detailed, and constructive (while keeping any manifestos broad and inclusive), and not to dismiss your allies' contributions in a way that assists with their demonisation.
In general, Melville seems to have lost his sense of strategic and historical perspective just lately. I hope he finds it soon.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Reading: A Week in the Future by Catherine Helen Spence
A Week in the Future by Catherine Helen Spence (first published in serial form 1888-89) is the fifth volume in the Classic Australian SF series - the order of the volumes does not reflect the dates of original publication.
This short book is a socialist-feminist utopia, and like most pure utopias suffers from a lack of narrative richness and drama. Instead, it works somewhat like a travelogue.
In late middle age, the narrator - Emily Bethel - learns that she is unlikely to live for more than another two years. Her family and her doctor advise her to adopt a life without worry or strong emotions, but that is anathema to her. She would rather have one week in the future, enabling her to see the outcome of the social and intellectual movements of her time, than two uneventful and boring years in the present. Her doctor, who is evidently something of a master of occult learning, grants her wish, and she finds herself in the London of 1988.
Over the following seven days, Emily is introduced to the future's arrangements in housing, industry, child-rearing and education, marriage, government, recreation and the arts, and religion and morality. She learns that competition and conflict have been virtually eliminated from society, along with poverty and the class system, and that far greater social benefits and individual happiness are produced through various cooperative arrangements. The people of this world live longer, enjoy better health, and have increased hours of leisure. Contraceptives are employed to keep the population in check, and relations between the sexes have been revised to make both marriage and divorce relatively easy. Perhaps most notably, from the viewpoint of the novel's original audience, women and men are considered equals, and all positions in society are open to both.
Unfortunately, books such as this show the weakness of purely utopian narrative. A lack of conflict can result in a lack of interest for readers. For Spence's original audience, of course, the proposed social arrangements were an interesting and radical option, but for us, over 100 years later, some have already been implemented (to some extent or other), while others appear unrealistic or undesirable ... or seem rather quaint because we have already embraced far more radical alternatives. As a result, the book is mainly of historical interest, whereas an unashamedly melodramatic adventure story, such as Guy Boothby's tale of the menacing Dr. Nikola, still provides entertainment and suspense.
Since Spence's time, writers of utopian fiction have adapted and enhanced the utopian form by inventing new narrative structures that reintroduce an element of conflict - as with Samuel R. Delany's Triton (also known as Trouble on Triton), in which an egotistical misfit is unable to find happiness even in a utopian society, or Ursula K. Le Guin's The Dispossessed, which is patterned more like a dystopian novel: the ideal anarchist society has stultified to a point where it is needs revitalisation and is seen as grinding the protagonist down.
Such narrative innovations were, alas, a long way in the future when Spence was writing. Still, the book does have the historical interest that I mentioned, as well as the virtue of brevity. You could knock it over in a couple of hours and gain some insight into utopian thinking around the time when the first recognisable science fiction was appearing in Western countries, including Australia. This kind of utopianism was critical in the rise of science fiction, in Australia and elsewhere, and we'll see a very different version of it when we come to Erle Cox's Out of the Silence, possibly the greatest work of early Australian science fiction.
This short book is a socialist-feminist utopia, and like most pure utopias suffers from a lack of narrative richness and drama. Instead, it works somewhat like a travelogue.
In late middle age, the narrator - Emily Bethel - learns that she is unlikely to live for more than another two years. Her family and her doctor advise her to adopt a life without worry or strong emotions, but that is anathema to her. She would rather have one week in the future, enabling her to see the outcome of the social and intellectual movements of her time, than two uneventful and boring years in the present. Her doctor, who is evidently something of a master of occult learning, grants her wish, and she finds herself in the London of 1988.
Over the following seven days, Emily is introduced to the future's arrangements in housing, industry, child-rearing and education, marriage, government, recreation and the arts, and religion and morality. She learns that competition and conflict have been virtually eliminated from society, along with poverty and the class system, and that far greater social benefits and individual happiness are produced through various cooperative arrangements. The people of this world live longer, enjoy better health, and have increased hours of leisure. Contraceptives are employed to keep the population in check, and relations between the sexes have been revised to make both marriage and divorce relatively easy. Perhaps most notably, from the viewpoint of the novel's original audience, women and men are considered equals, and all positions in society are open to both.
Unfortunately, books such as this show the weakness of purely utopian narrative. A lack of conflict can result in a lack of interest for readers. For Spence's original audience, of course, the proposed social arrangements were an interesting and radical option, but for us, over 100 years later, some have already been implemented (to some extent or other), while others appear unrealistic or undesirable ... or seem rather quaint because we have already embraced far more radical alternatives. As a result, the book is mainly of historical interest, whereas an unashamedly melodramatic adventure story, such as Guy Boothby's tale of the menacing Dr. Nikola, still provides entertainment and suspense.
Since Spence's time, writers of utopian fiction have adapted and enhanced the utopian form by inventing new narrative structures that reintroduce an element of conflict - as with Samuel R. Delany's Triton (also known as Trouble on Triton), in which an egotistical misfit is unable to find happiness even in a utopian society, or Ursula K. Le Guin's The Dispossessed, which is patterned more like a dystopian novel: the ideal anarchist society has stultified to a point where it is needs revitalisation and is seen as grinding the protagonist down.
Such narrative innovations were, alas, a long way in the future when Spence was writing. Still, the book does have the historical interest that I mentioned, as well as the virtue of brevity. You could knock it over in a couple of hours and gain some insight into utopian thinking around the time when the first recognisable science fiction was appearing in Western countries, including Australia. This kind of utopianism was critical in the rise of science fiction, in Australia and elsewhere, and we'll see a very different version of it when we come to Erle Cox's Out of the Silence, possibly the greatest work of early Australian science fiction.
Reading: A Bid for Fortune or Dr. Nikola's Vendetta by Guy Boothby
A Bid for Fortune or Dr. Nikola's Vendetta, by Guy Boothby (first published 1895) is the fourth volume in the Classic Australian SF series, issued this year from Chimaera Publications. It tells the story of Dr. Nikola, a mysterious and charismatic villain with enormous ambitions that are never fully defined. He is an international criminal mastermind who possesses unexplained paranormal or supernatural abilities. Even his henchmen are clever, striking, and dangerous antagonists in their various ways.
Throughout the narrative, Nikola's aim is to get his hands on an oriental artifact that has fallen into the possession of Mr Wetherell, the rich and urbane Colonial Secretary in Sydney. Prior to the main story, Wetherell has rebuffed several attempts by Nikola to obtain the artifact, a small wooden stick that supposedly contains great power. Nikola continues to seek it, and to be revenged on Wetherell for frustrating his plans.
Apart from a brief prologue, the novel is narrated by Richard (or Dick) Hatteras, a tall, strong, energetic, and highly-competent young man who becomes involved after he rescues Wetherell's daughter, Phyllis, from a bunch of local ruffians. Dick and Phyllis soon fall madly in love, which leads Dick into conflict with Dr. Nikola when the criminal mastermind kidnaps Phyllis.
Dr. Nikola himself is a memorable character, surely (as Ian Irvine mentions in his introduction) an influence on many later super criminals such as Fu Manchu and James Bond's arch-enemy, Blofeld. Though Dick Hatteras boasts of his forty-six inch chest and great strength, he invariably comes off second best in his confrontations with the villain, whose abilities go far beyond mere physical strength. After several confrontations, Dick admits that he fears the man. This is no hackneyed clash between good and evil, with good winning through superior strength and resourcefulness. Indeed, Nikola is no ordinary villain - though his deeper motivation is not revealed, and his aims may be entirely malevolent, he is also portrayed as charming, courteous, and even generous in his own way.
Though Guy Boothby was an extraordinarily prolific author - he had published over 50 novels by the time of his death at the age of 37 - he shows no sign of having written A Bid for Fortune in a hurry. The plot is well-structured, even if many of the events are over the top, as one expects in melodrama (I'm not thinking here just of Dr. Nikola's striking appearance and manner, or even his extraordinary abilities, but also of such details as the way Dick and Phyllis so quickly fall in love and the dogmatic manner in which Mr Wetherell refuses either to countenance their romance or to give his reasons).
Boothby followed up with another three Dr. Nikola novels, none of which I've read. It would be fascinating to obtain these and see how the mastermind's career continues and how he is ultimately foiled once and for all (if that's what happens). Meanwhile, A Bid for Fortune is another great escapist read, with the fantasy element adding colour and texture to its melodramatic narrative.
For my next post in this series, I'll get to Catherine Helen Spence's early feminist utopia A Week in the Future.
Throughout the narrative, Nikola's aim is to get his hands on an oriental artifact that has fallen into the possession of Mr Wetherell, the rich and urbane Colonial Secretary in Sydney. Prior to the main story, Wetherell has rebuffed several attempts by Nikola to obtain the artifact, a small wooden stick that supposedly contains great power. Nikola continues to seek it, and to be revenged on Wetherell for frustrating his plans.
Apart from a brief prologue, the novel is narrated by Richard (or Dick) Hatteras, a tall, strong, energetic, and highly-competent young man who becomes involved after he rescues Wetherell's daughter, Phyllis, from a bunch of local ruffians. Dick and Phyllis soon fall madly in love, which leads Dick into conflict with Dr. Nikola when the criminal mastermind kidnaps Phyllis.
Dr. Nikola himself is a memorable character, surely (as Ian Irvine mentions in his introduction) an influence on many later super criminals such as Fu Manchu and James Bond's arch-enemy, Blofeld. Though Dick Hatteras boasts of his forty-six inch chest and great strength, he invariably comes off second best in his confrontations with the villain, whose abilities go far beyond mere physical strength. After several confrontations, Dick admits that he fears the man. This is no hackneyed clash between good and evil, with good winning through superior strength and resourcefulness. Indeed, Nikola is no ordinary villain - though his deeper motivation is not revealed, and his aims may be entirely malevolent, he is also portrayed as charming, courteous, and even generous in his own way.
Though Guy Boothby was an extraordinarily prolific author - he had published over 50 novels by the time of his death at the age of 37 - he shows no sign of having written A Bid for Fortune in a hurry. The plot is well-structured, even if many of the events are over the top, as one expects in melodrama (I'm not thinking here just of Dr. Nikola's striking appearance and manner, or even his extraordinary abilities, but also of such details as the way Dick and Phyllis so quickly fall in love and the dogmatic manner in which Mr Wetherell refuses either to countenance their romance or to give his reasons).
Boothby followed up with another three Dr. Nikola novels, none of which I've read. It would be fascinating to obtain these and see how the mastermind's career continues and how he is ultimately foiled once and for all (if that's what happens). Meanwhile, A Bid for Fortune is another great escapist read, with the fantasy element adding colour and texture to its melodramatic narrative.
For my next post in this series, I'll get to Catherine Helen Spence's early feminist utopia A Week in the Future.
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