28 January 2009

The Unheard Atheists

In which I argue for the necessity of my discipline, and rediscover my purpose in blogging.

The argument that an atheistic, rationalist worldview is inherently better and more true than a religious one will not be won decisively if we continue to compare the two solely on their ability to create a coherent, compelling, and intelligible reading of the world around us.

Of course we rationalists believe that the materialist cosmos described by modern science is the only one that conforms to the evidence at our disposal -- that it is the most compelling, plausible, and structurally elegant system man has yet discovered. But when you take a religion on its own terms and within the confines of its own language, you will find that it too projects an elegant, internally-justifying, and altogether coherent view of the world. And, moreover, we atheists who refuse to appreciate the internal consistency of the religious worldview are hamstrung by our own cherry-picking attitude, one that pounces on the blatantly contradictory and easily-refutable anachronisms that, for most modern religious people, have been smoothed over by generation upon generation of increasingly sophisticated apologists. For example, I consider myself very well versed in the standard refutations of Christianity as well as the history of the Hebrew scriptures (having studied the religion of the ancient Israelites for the better part of four years before moving on to East Asian religions) -- but when it came to arguing with a very erudite and very fervent Episcopalian friend of mine, I actually found myself hard-pressed to find any chinks in her armor, so well had the broader theological project of her religion caulked the holes inherent to her scriptural foundation. The bottom line - and this is a line that religious apologists have used against us against us time and again to great effect - is that science and religion can, each in their own way and none more correct than the other, describe the world we inhabit in a coherent and sensical way. Of course we know this isn't empirically valid, but the inter-subjective agreement to disagree favored by the more educated theists has an infuriating ability to stymy most of us in debate.

The key to winning the Atheism/Theism debate is to take a step back, to stop trying to compare the two on their ability to describe the world (the origin of life, the necessity of social order, the problem of suffering, the meaning of existence), but instead to assess their ability to account for the other. We can trumpet the descriptive value of empiricism until we're blue in the face, proffering cohesive explanations of the origins of life, the universe, and everything -- but until we also start to explain the entirely human origins of religion itself, the theist will still be able to take refuge in his relativist, agree-to-disagree, two-different-ways-of-interpreting-life position.

You see, most of the greatest and most vocal Atheists of today - Richard Dawkins and P.Z. Myers immediately jump to mind - are in the natural sciences. Which means that they are entirely qualified to explain why religion is empirically wrong about the nature of the universe, but completely ill-equipped to account for the origin, purpose, and function of religion in human society. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing but respect and a great deal of admiration for these men, and the new Atheism would be in dire straits without them. But when they turn their prodigious biological talents to the question of religion, it is obvious that they are out of their discipline. Then the new Atheists dismiss religion with their own ad hoc psychological theories - as a crutch, as an evolutionary holdover, as a tool of coercion, as primitive psychiatry - their dismissals ring hollow. The problem with the new Atheist movement is that it gives all of its attention to scholars with evidence that contradicts religion, but none at all to those scholars whose entire enterprise essentially undermines religion by explaining it in scientific terms.

And it's not like these scholars don't exist. The University of Chicago defines the academic discipline of the History of Religions as one that:
approaches religion as an exclusively human phenomenon, via the methods of the social sciences and the humanities. It is concerned to theorize at a high level of generalization, informed by broadly comparative and empirical research, and to carry out high level empirical research informed by theoretical reflection. ... Irreverent by temperament and sometimes on principle, it insists that [a] the Western monotheisms should not be the only paradigms and/or objects of legitimate study, [b] religion cannot be reduced to belief, but also includes issues of practices, institutions, communities, habits and other factors that often operate below the level of consciousness, and [c] interpretation involves critical probing and systematic interrogation of the idealized self-representations of any religious phenomenon.
What better ally can we have than this field? Why is it that the only vocal atheists out there are biologists? Speaking as a person whose own natal faith - which was left completely unthreatened by my complete acceptance of Darwinian evolution - took only one semester in the History of Religions to be completely overthrown, I want to know how we can afford not to have these scholars at our vanguard?

There are many and complex reasons, of course, not the least of which is political: no religious scholar wants to scare away the people who can most benefit from his classes by developing a reputation as one of the staunch godless - let alone jeopardize his tenure. Moreover, religionists understandably don't tend to be as interested in annihilating the thing that gives them a job. But still, for every hundred of those professors, can't we have our own Dawkins or Meyers?

I certainly don't make myself out to be any such person. Not yet, at any rate. There's still too much to learn. But until then, I'll try and continue to bring this perspective to my own blogging.

Leave the science to Aaron -- I've got to be the religionist.

27 January 2009

Ever As Before: Creationists Still Resist Antibiotic Resistance

It's hard to believe that it's been over a year since I wrote about creationists' arguments against using antibiotic resistance in bacteria as an example of evolution. The creationists' refrain, if you don't remember, is typically:

1) “The genes for resistance are not the result of random mutation; they’ve been there all along, we just didn’t notice them!”
2) “Even if resistance DOES occasionally result from random mutation, it doesn’t count as evolution, because there’s always a price to be paid for gaining resistance.”

Both points are complete balderdash, as I've written before. In short: Evolution is about change in populations--neither for better nor for worse, rather simply for different--by any of several mechanisms. But if you're hung up on random mutation, then we have ample evidence that antibiotic resistance can be the result of random mutation. And if you're hung up on seeing mutations that improve general fitness of resistant bacteria, then, hell, we've got that, too.

I dipped into my archives for this one because the creationists have been dipping into theirs. The Young-Earth Creationist (or "YUCK" for short) evangelist website Answers in Genesis is, once again, trumpeting the first argument, this time by means of a moldering little article from May 2007. Looking at a population of bacteria under antibiotic selection, yuckmeister Ken Ham and his cronies want you to "recognize that the resistance is already present in the bacterial population" and therefore not an example of "the addition of completely different kinds of genetic information." Sound familiar? And apparently that was insightful enough to be worth repeating over a year and a half later.

I guess that's to be expected, though. Some of the nonsense they recycle is thousands of years old.

20 January 2009

19 January 2009


I remember, at the start of 2nd grade in the autumn of '92, being given a sheet of paper with three faces on it: George Bush, Bill Clinton, and Ross Perot.  I remember having no idea who any of them were, circling George Bush's face after learning that he was already the president, deciding that I
was in no position to change things.

To my detriment, I never paid much attention to current events when I was growing up, least of all to politics.  I didn't understand a lick of Operations Desert Storm or Desert Shield.  I didn't know the difference between Watergate and Whitewater.  (The fact that the latter was often referred to as "Whitewatergate" didn't help.  Seriously, for the children, we need to quit it with the "-gate" suffix.)  All I knew about the Monica Lewinsky scandal was that it was sexual in nature, and therefore not
something I should know the details of.  (I did wonder, though, what exactly a cigar or a blue dress had to do with anything.)

But I remember the 2000 election.  That must have been when I really started paying attention.  I remember helping my mom vote as usual--she, my brothers, and I all crammed into one of those massive verdigris-colored voting machines--but with a purpose other than just to help flip switches and point out which politicians had the silliest names.  I remember staying up to watch the election results that night.  I remember the confusion of the following morning.

Which means that the bulk of my world-aware life--and certainly the entirety of my "adult" life--to this point has belonged to the era of George W. Bush.  I don't really remember what life was like before what has come to be known by many as the Worst Presidency.  And I don't know yet what life will be like after it.

Optimistic as I'd like to be, the uncertainty of the road ahead is unnerving.  Starting tomorrow, things will be different.  I just hope they're different enough to repair the damage done.

13 January 2009


The predictive power of astrology is kinda like... like...

(Via the increasingly repetitive, yet still occasionally chuckle-worthy, FailBlog)

12 January 2009


The time has come for me to undertake a long-neglected rite of passage.  I am going to read a book.

Not just any book, mind you.  Written long before my time by a British academic, this particular book had a profound impact on the world, and it is to my unyielding shame that I have yet to read it.  Like many, I already know quite a bit about its contents, but I've never actually experienced it firsthand.  It's time for that to change.

Yes, tonight is the night that I finally start reading The Lord of the Rings.

In my defense, I read The Hobbit back in middle school, and I had every intention of reading The Lord of the Rings immediately thereafter.  However, my brother's copy was lost by a friend, and before we could obtain a replacement I was well into some other book.  The opportunity passed, and I never found my way back 'round to it, until now.

There are a great many books to be read on my list right now, and I have every intention of taking this year as an opportunity to rekindle my old reading habits.  What better way to start than with the epic that defined high fantasy?

Read more.  Write more.  Make more.  Make something of myself.  That is my charge.  Yes, this will be a good year.

Now, then.  Concerning hobbits...

Oh, I'm going to enjoy this.