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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 3 months ago

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By: Richard Dawkins

This is a slightly edited version of the essay written to accompany the transcript of the conversation between myself, Daniel Dennett, Sam Harris and the late, much-lamented Christopher Hitchens, recorded in Christopher's flat in Washington DC in September 2007 and published in 2019 as The Four Horsemen.

Among the many topics the ‘four horsemen’ discussed in 2007 was how religion and science compared in respect of humility and hubris. Religion, for its part, stands accused of conspicuous overconfidence and sensational lack of humility. The expanding universe, the laws of physics, the fine-tuned physical constants, the laws of chemistry, the slow grind of evolution’s mills – all were set in motion so that, in the 14-billion-year fullness of time, we should come into existence. Even the constantly reiterated insistence that we are miserable offenders, born in sin, is a kind of inverted arrogance: such vanity, to presume that our moral conduct has some sort of cosmic significance, as though the Creator of the Universe wouldn’t have better things to do than tot up our black marks and our brownie points. The universe is all concerned with me. Is that not the arrogance that passeth all understanding?

Carl Sagan, in Pale Blue Dot, makes the exculpatory point that our distant ancestors could scarcely escape such cosmic narcissism. With no roof over their heads and no artificial light, they nightly watched the stars wheeling overhead. And what was at the centre of the wheel? The exact location of the observer, of course. No wonder they thought the universe was ‘all about me’. In the other sense of ‘about’, it did indeed revolve ‘about me’. ‘I’ was the epicentre of the cosmos. But that excuse, if it is one, evaporated with Copernicus and Galileo.

Turning, then, to theologians’ overconfidence, admittedly few quite reach the heights scaled by the seventeenth-century archbishop James Ussher, who was so sure of his chronology that he gave the origin of the universe a precise date: 22 October, 4004 bc. Not 21 or 23 October but precisely on the evening of 22 October. Not September or November but definitely, with the immense authority of the Church, October. Not 4003 or 4005, not ‘somewhere around the fourth or fifth millennium bc’ but, no doubt about it, 4004 bc. Others, as I said, are not quite so precise about it, but it is characteristic of theologians that they just make stuff up. Make it up with liberal abandon and force it, with a presumed limitless authority, upon others, sometimes – at least in former times and still today in Islamic theocracies – on pain of torture and death.

Such arbitrary precision shows itself, too, in the bossy rules for living that religious leaders impose on their followers. And when it comes to control-freakery, Islam is way out ahead, in a class of its own. Here are some choice examples from the Concise Commandments of Islam handed down by Ayatollah Ozma Sayyed Mohammad Reda Musavi Golpaygani, a respected Iranian ‘scholar’. Concerning the wet-nursing of babies, alone, there are no fewer than twenty-three minutely specified rules, translated as ‘Issues’. Here’s the first of them, Issue 547. The rest are equally precise, equally bossy, and equally devoid of apparent rationale:

If a woman wet-nurses a child, in accordance to the conditions to be stated in Issue 560, the father of that child cannot marry the woman’s daughters, nor can he marry the daughters of the husband whom the milk belongs to, even his wet-nurse daughters, but it is permissible for him to marry the wet-nurse daughters of the woman . . . [and it goes on].

Here’s another example from the wet-nursing department, Issue 553:

If the wife of a man’s father wet-nurses a girl with his father’s milk, then the man cannot marry that girl.

‘Father’s milk’? What? I suppose in a culture where a woman is the property of her husband, ‘father’s milk’ is not as weird as it sounds to us.

Issue 555 is similarly puzzling, this time about ‘brother’s milk’:

A man cannot marry a girl who has been wet-nursed by his sister or his brother’s wife with his brother’s milk.

I don’t know the origin of this creepy obsession with wet-nursing, but it is not without its scriptural basis:

When the Qur’aan was first revealed, the number of breast-feedings that would make a child a relative (mahram) was ten, then this was abrogated and replaced with the number of five which is well-known.[1]

That was part of the reply from another ‘scholar’ to the following recent cri de coeur from a (pardonably) confused woman on social media:

I breastfed my brother-in-law’s son for a month, and my son was breastfed by my brother-in-law’s wife. I have a daughter and a son who are older than the child who was breastfed by my brother-in-law’s wife, and she also had two children before the child of hers whom I breastfed. I hope that you can describe the kind of breastfeeding that makes the child a mahram and the rulings that apply to the rest of the siblings? Thank you very much.

The precision of ‘five’ breast feedings is typical of this kind of religious control-freakery. It surfaced bizarrely in a 2007 fatwa issued by Dr Izzat Atiyya, a lecturer at Al-Azhar University in Cairo, who was concerned about the prohibition against male and female colleagues being alone together and came up with an ingenious solution. The female colleague should feed her male colleague ‘directly from her breast’ at least five times. This would make them ‘relatives’ and thereby enable them to be alone together at work. Note that four times would not suffice. He apparently wasn’t joking at the time, although he did retract his fatwa after the outcry it provoked. How can people bear to live their lives bound by such insanely specific yet manifestly pointless rules?

With some relief, perhaps, we turn to science. Science is often accused of arrogantly claiming to know everything, but the barb is capaciously wide of the mark. Scientists love not knowing the answer, because it gives us something to do, something to think about. We loudly assert ignorance, in a gleeful proclamation of what needs to be done.

How did life begin? I don’t know, nobody knows, we wish we did, and we eagerly exchange hypotheses, together with suggestions for how to investigate them. What caused the apocalyptic mass extinction at the end of the Permian period, a quarter of a billion years ago? We don’t know, but we have some interesting hypotheses to think about. What did the common ancestor of humans and chimpanzees look like? We don’t know, but we do know a bit about it. We know the continent on which it lived (Africa, as Darwin guessed), and molecular evidence tells us roughly when (between 6 million and 8 million years ago). What is dark matter? We don’t know, and a substantial fraction of the physics community would dearly like to.

Ignorance, to a scientist, is an itch that begs to be pleasurably scratched. Ignorance, if you are a theologian, is something to be washed away by shamelessly making something up. If you are an authority figure like the Pope, you might do it by thinking privately to yourself and waiting for an answer to pop into your head – which you then proclaim as a ‘revelation’. Or you might do it by ‘interpreting’ a Bronze Age text whose author was even more ignorant than you are.

Popes can promulgate their private opinions as ‘dogma’, but only if those opinions have the backing of a substantial number of Catholics through history: long tradition of belief in a proposition is, somewhat mysteriously to a scientific mind, regarded as evidence for the truth of that proposition. In 1950, Pope Pius XII (unkindly known as ‘Hitler’s Pope’) promulgated the dogma that Jesus’ mother Mary, on her death, was bodily – i.e. not merely spiritually – lifted up into heaven. ‘Bodily’ means that if you’d looked in her grave, you’d have found it empty. The Pope’s reasoning had absolutely nothing to do with evidence. He cited 1 Corinthians 15:54: ‘then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory’. The saying makes no mention of Mary. There is not the smallest reason to suppose the author of the epistle had Mary in mind. We see again the typical theological trick of taking a text and ‘interpreting’ it in a way that just might have some vague, symbolic, hand-waving connection with something else. Presumably, too, like so many religious beliefs, Pius XII’s dogma was at least partly based on a feeling of what would be fitting for one so holy as Mary. But the Pope’s main motivation, according to Dr Kenneth Howell, director of the John Henry Cardinal Newman Institute of Catholic Thought, University of Illinois, came from a different meaning of what was fitting. The world of 1950 was recovering from the devastation of the Second World War and desperately needed the balm of a healing message. Howell quotes the Pope’s words, then gives his own interpretation:

Pius XII clearly expresses his hope that meditation on Mary’s assumption will lead the faithful to a greater awareness of our common dignity as the human family. . . . What would impel human beings to keep their eyes fixed on their supernatural end and to desire the salvation of their fellow human beings? Mary’s assumption was a reminder of, and impetus toward, greater respect for humanity because the Assumption cannot be separated from the rest of Mary’s earthly life.

It’s fascinating to see how the theological mind works: in particular, the lack of interest in – indeed, the contempt for – factual evidence. Never mind whether there’s any evidence that Mary was assumed bodily into heaven; it would be good for people to believe she was. It isn’t that theologians deliberately tell untruths. It’s as though they just don’t care about truth; aren’t interested in truth; don’t know what truth even means; demote truth to negligible status compared with other considerations, such as symbolic or mythic significance. And yet at the same time, Catholics are compelled to believe these made-up ‘truths’ – compelled in no uncertain terms. Even before Pius XII promulgated the Assumption as a dogma, the eighteenth-century Pope Benedict XIV declared the Assumption of Mary to be ‘a probable opinion which to deny were impious and blasphemous’. If to deny a ‘probable opinion’ is ‘impious and blasphemous’, you can imagine the penalty for denying an infallible dogma! Once again, note the brazen confidence with which religious leaders assert ‘facts’ which even they admit are supported by no historical evidence at all.

The Catholic Encyclopedia is a treasury of overconfident sophistry. Purgatory is a sort of celestial waiting room in which the dead are punished for their sins (‘purged’) before eventually being admitted to heaven. The Encyclopedia’s entry on purgatory has a long section on ‘Errors’, listing the mistaken views of heretics such as the Albigenses, Waldenses, Hussites and Apostolici, unsurprisingly joined by Martin Luther and John Calvin.[2]

The biblical evidence for the existence of purgatory is, shall we say, ‘creative’, again employing the common theological trick of vague, hand-waving analogy. For example, the Encyclopedia notes that ‘God forgave the incredulity of Moses and Aaron, but as punishment kept them from the “land of promise”’. That banishment is viewed as a kind of metaphor for purgatory. More gruesomely, when David had Uriah the Hittite killed so that he could marry Uriah’s beautiful wife, the Lord forgave him – but didn’t let him off scot-free: God killed the child of the marriage (2 Samuel 12:13–14). Hard on the innocent child, you might think. But apparently a useful metaphor for the partial punishment that is purgatory, and one not overlooked by the Encyclopedia’s authors.

The section of the purgatory entry called ‘Proofs’ is interesting because it purports to use a form of logic. Here’s how the argument goes. If the dead went straight to heaven, there’d be no point in our praying for their souls. And we do pray for their souls, don’t we? Therefore it must follow that they don’t go straight to heaven. Therefore there must be purgatory. QED. Are professors of theology really paid to do this kind of thing?

Enough; let’s turn again to science. Scientists know when they don’t know the answer. But they also know when they do, and they shouldn’t be coy about proclaiming it. It’s not hubristic to state known facts when the evidence is secure. Yes, yes, philosophers of science tell us a fact is no more than a hypothesis which may one day be falsified but which has so far withstood strenuous attempts to do so. Let us by all means pay lip service to that incantation, while muttering, in homage to Galileo’s muttered eppur si muove, the sensible words of Stephen Jay Gould:

In science, ‘fact’ can only mean ‘confirmed to such a degree that it would be perverse to withhold provisional assent.’ I suppose that apples might start to rise tomorrow, but the possibility does not merit equal time in physics classrooms.[3]

Facts in this sense include the following, and not one of them owes anything whatsoever to the many millions of hours devoted to theological ratiocination. The universe began between 13 billion and 14 billion years ago. The sun, and the planets orbiting it, including ours, condensed out of a rotating disk of gas, dust and debris about 4.5 billion years ago. The map of the world changes as the tens of millions of years go by. We know the approximate shape of the continents and where they were at any named time in geological history. And we can project ahead and draw the map of the world as it will change in the future. We know how different the constellations in the sky would have appeared to our ancestors and how they will appear to our descendants.

Matter in the universe is non-randomly distributed in discrete bodies, many of them rotating, each on its own axis, and many of them in elliptical orbit around other such bodies according to mathematical laws which enable us to predict, to the exact second, when notable events such as eclipses and transits will occur. These bodies – stars, planets, planetesimals, knobbly chunks of rock, etc. – are themselves clustered in galaxies, many billions of them, separated by distances orders of magnitude larger than the (already very large) spacing of (again, many billions of) stars within galaxies.

Matter is composed of atoms, and there is a finite number of types of atoms – the hundred or so elements. We know the mass of each of these elemental atoms, and we know why any one element can have more than one isotope with slightly different mass. Chemists have a huge body of knowledge about how and why the elements combine in molecules. In living cells, molecules can be extremely large, constructed of thousands of atoms in precise, and exactly known, spatial relation to one another. The methods by which the exact structures of these macromolecules are discovered are wonderfully ingenious, involving meticulous measurements on the scattering of X-rays beamed through crystals. Among the macromolecules fathomed by this method is DNA, the universal genetic molecule. The strictly digital code by which DNA influences the shape and nature of proteins – another family of macromolecules which are the elegantly honed machine-tools of life – is exactly known in every detail. The ways in which those proteins influence the behaviour of cells in developing embryos, and hence influence the form and functioning of all living things, is work in progress: a great deal is known; much challengingly remains to be learned.

For any particular gene in any individual animal, we can write down the exact sequence of DNA code letters in the gene. This means we can count, with total precision, the number of single-letter discrepancies between two individuals. This is a serviceable measure of how long ago their common ancestor lived. This works for comparisons within a species – between you and Barack Obama, for instance. And it works for comparisons of different species – between you and an aardvark, say. Again, you can count the discrepancies exactly. There are just more discrepancies the further back in time the shared ancestor lived. Such precision lifts the spirit and justifies pride in our species, Homo sapiens. For once, and without hubris, Linnaeus’s specific name seems warranted.

Hubris is unjustified pride. Pride can be justified, and science does so in spades. So does Beethoven, so do Shakespeare, Michelangelo, Christopher Wren. So do the engineers who built the giant telescopes in Hawaii and in the Canary Islands, the giant radio telescopes and very large arrays that stare sightless into the southern sky; or the Hubble orbiting telescope and the spacecraft that launched it. The engineering feats deep underground at CERN, combining monumental size with minutely accurate tolerances of measurement, literally moved me to tears when I was shown around. The engineering, the mathematics, the physics, in the Rosetta mission that successfully soft-landed a robot vehicle on the tiny target of a comet also made me proud to be human. Modified versions of the same technology may one day save our planet by enabling us to divert a dangerous comet like the one that killed the dinosaurs.

Who does not feel a swelling of human pride when they hear about the LIGO instruments which, synchronously in Louisiana and Washington State, detected gravitation waves whose amplitude would be dwarfed by a single proton? This feat of measurement, with its profound significance for cosmology, is equivalent to measuring the distance from Earth to the star Proxima Centauri to an accuracy of one human hair’s breadth.

Comparable accuracy is achieved in experimental tests of quantum theory. And here there is a revealing mismatch between our human capacity to demonstrate, with invincible conviction, the predictions of a theory experimentally and our capacity to visualize the theory itself. Our brains evolved to understand the movement of buffalo-sized objects at lion speeds in the moderately scaled spaces afforded by the African savannah. Evolution didn’t equip us to deal intuitively with what happens to objects when they move at Einsteinian speeds through Einsteinian spaces, or with the sheer weirdness of objects too small to deserve the name ‘object’ at all. Yet somehow the emergent power of our evolved brains has enabled us to develop the crystalline edifice of mathematics by which we accurately predict the behaviour of entities that lie under the radar of our intuitive comprehension. This, too, makes me proud to be human, although to my regret I am not among the mathematically gifted of my species.

Less rarefied but still proud-making is the advanced, and continually advancing, technology that surrounds us in our everyday lives. Your smartphone, your laptop computer, the satnav in your car and the satellites that feed it, your car itself, the giant airliner that can loft not just its own weight plus passengers and cargo but also the 120 tons of fuel it ekes out over a thirteen-hour journey of seven thousand miles.

Less familiar, but destined to become more so, is 3D printing. A computer ‘prints’ a solid object, say a chess bishop, by depositing a sequence of layers, a process radically and interestingly different from the biological version of ‘3D printing’ which is embryology. A 3D printer can make an exact copy of an existing object. One technique is to feed the computer a series of photographs of the object to be copied, taken from all different angles. The computer does the formidably complicated mathematics to synthesize the specification of the solid shape by integrating the angular views. There may be life forms in the universe that make their children in this body-scanning kind of way, but our own reproduction is instructively different. This, incidentally, is why almost all biology textbooks are seriously wrong when they describe DNA as a ‘blueprint’ for life. DNA may be a blueprint for protein, but it is not a blueprint for a baby. It’s more like a recipe or a computer program.

We are not arrogant, not hubristic, to celebrate the sheer bulk and detail of what we know through science. We are simply telling the honest and irrefutable truth. Also honest is the frank admission of how much we don’t yet know – how much more work remains to be done. That is the very antithesis of hubristic arrogance. Science combines a massive contribution, in volume and detail, of what we do know with humility in proclaiming what we don’t. Religion, by embarrassing contrast, has contributed literally zero to what we know, combined with huge hubristic confidence in the alleged facts it has simply made up.

But I want to suggest a further and less obvious point about the contrast of religion with atheism. I want to argue that the atheistic worldview has an unsung virtue of intellectual courage. Why is there something rather than nothing? Our physicist colleague Lawrence Krauss, in his book A Universe from Nothing,[4] controversially suggests that, for quantum-theoretic reasons, Nothing (the capital letter is deliberate) is unstable. Just as matter and antimatter annihilate each other to make Nothing, so the reverse can happen. A random quantum fluctuation causes matter and antimatter to spring spontaneously out of Nothing. Krauss’s critics largely focus on the definition of Nothing. His version may not be what everybody understands by nothing, but at least it is supremely simple – as simple it must be, if it is to satisfy us as the base of a ‘crane’ explanation (Dan Dennett’s phrase), such as cosmic inflation or evolution. It is simple compared to the world that followed from it by largely understood processes: the big bang, inflation, galaxy formation, star formation, element formation in the interior of stars, supernova explosions blasting the elements into space, condensation of element-rich dust clouds into rocky planets such as Earth, the laws of chemistry by which, on this planet at least, the first self-replicating molecule arose, then evolution by natural selection and the whole of biology which is now, at least in principle, understood.

Why did I speak of intellectual courage? Because the human mind, including my own, rebels emotionally against the idea that something as complex as life, and the rest of the expanding universe, could have ‘just happened’. It takes intellectual courage to kick yourself out of your emotional incredulity and persuade yourself that there is no other rational choice. Emotion screams: ‘No, it’s too much to believe! You are trying to tell me the entire universe, including me and the trees and the Great Barrier Reef and the Andromeda Galaxy and a tardigrade’s finger, all came about by mindless atomic collisions, no supervisor, no architect? You cannot be serious. All this complexity and glory stemmed from Nothing and a random quantum fluctuation? Give me a break.’ Reason quietly and soberly replies: ‘Yes. Most of the steps in the chain are well understood, although until recently they weren’t. In the case of the biological steps, they’ve been understood since 1859. But more important, even if we never understand all the steps, nothing can change the principle that, however improbable the entity you are trying to explain, postulating a creator god doesn’t help you, because the god would itself need exactly the same kind of explanation.’ However difficult it may be to explain the origin of simplicity, the spontaneous arising of complexity is, by definition, more improbable. And a creative intelligence capable of designing a universe would have to be supremely improbable and supremely in need of explanation in its own right. However improbable the naturalistic answer to the riddle of existence, the theistic alternative is even more so. But it needs a courageous leap of reason to accept the conclusion.

This is what I meant when I said the atheistic worldview requires intellectual courage. It requires moral courage, too. As an atheist, you abandon your imaginary friend, you forgo the comforting props of a celestial father figure to bail you out of trouble. You are going to die, and you’ll never see your dead loved ones again. There’s no holy book to tell you what to do, tell you what’s right or wrong. You are an intellectual adult. You must face up to life, to moral decisions. But there is dignity in that grown-up courage. You stand tall and face into the keen wind of reality. You have company: warm, human arms around you, and a legacy of culture which has built up not only scientific knowledge and the material comforts that applied science brings but also art, music, the rule of law, and civilized discourse on morals. Morality and standards for life can be built up by intelligent design – design by real, intelligent humans who actually exist. Atheists have the intellectual courage to accept reality for what it is: wonderfully and shockingly explicable. As an atheist, you have the moral courage to live to the full the only life you’re ever going to get: to fully inhabit reality, rejoice in it, and do your best finally to leave it better than you found it.

[1] https://islamqa.info/en/27280 [2] http://www.catholic.org/encyclopedia/view.php?id=9745 [3] ‘Evolution as fact and theory’. [4] For which I wrote an afterword.

#Richard Dawkins #atheism #moral courage #intellectual courage #intellectual honesty #science #religion is a mental illness

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uboat53 · 2 months ago

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In the last few weeks I've gotten some interesting questions and read some interesting things about the atheist perspective and, being the kind of person I am, I thought other people might find some of my thoughts and answers interesting. This is kind of a LONG RANT (TM), but it's a bit more scattershot than usual.

Fair warning, though, this is written entirely from the perspective of an atheist and I haven't softened anything to make it sound better to religious people, read at your own risk. In no particular order, here goes.

FAITH VS RELIGION

First off, I want to make a distinction between faith and religion because it's important to understanding the rest of this. There's some overlap, but for the most part, religion is an organized system of belief while faith is a belief internal to a single person.

The most important thing I want you to recognize from this is that an atheist may not have religion (after all, what's there to organize around?), but I have as much faith in what I believe as any religious person. An agnostic, someone who says "I do believe in God" is a person without faith, but an atheist, a person who says "I believe there is no God" is a person of faith, though not a person of religion.

Keep all of that in mind when reading the rest of this.

WHAT DOES RELIGION LOOK LIKE FROM OUTSIDE?

The specific question I got, from someone who's on their own journey of faith and was curious, was "does any religion look more or less ridiculous to an atheist?" and the short answer is "no". To be perfectly honest, all metaphysical beliefs and all religious rituals and chants look fairly ridiculous from my point of view, but none of them are particularly more ridiculous than any others.

To me, Christianity, Islam, Judaism, Paganism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Mormonism, and all of the other thousands or even millions of different religious systems out there are almost indistinguishable to me. Once you take away the specific symbols and trappings, they all come down to the same basic thing. And, sure, they believe different metaphysical things, but I assure you that your familiar metaphysical belief is no less impossible, insane, or ridiculous from the outside than those other people's strange and unfamiliar metaphysical belief.

The slightly longer answer, however, is that there is one form of religion that does look more ridiculous to me as an atheist. It's the religion that demands things of people that don't follow it. Look, you can believe whatever you want and practice whatever you want in your own mind, we all have a right to our own thoughts and beliefs, but it takes a special kind of crazy to think, despite the fact that you can't prove any of these things, that your personal beliefs are so important that they should be forced upon other people.

So, yeah, don't worry about whether this belief or that belief is too crazy, they're all crazy to me, but no more than any other. The only time you've crossed the line is when you become so crazy that you decide you're the universe's main character and everyone else has to do what you say.

THE ANGRY ATHEIST

We've all met that guy, heck, I've been that guy, the angry atheist who loves getting in "debates" and discussions about religion, the guy who sounds like Richard Dawkins or Bill Maher.

I'll level with you, there is pretty much no atheist who hasn't, at some point, been the angry atheist. You probably would be the angry "insert-religion-here" too if you lived in a society where your system of belief wasn't just a minority or disrespected, but actively despised by most of the people around you.

If you're not atheist, I don't expect you to understand the depth of it because they don't do it to you, but lots of religious people are absolutely awful to atheists, and I have a particular point of comparison because I'm also Jewish (not religiously, but that rarely matters). People, Christians mostly where I live and where I grew up, are so much more accepting of a Jew or any other religious minority than an atheist, and I think it's because a Jew doesn't threaten the very idea of religion. Ultimately, a Jew believes in something metaphysical, and that's enough; an atheist rejects the very concept. You have no idea the number of times I've heard religious people tell me that other religions are wrong, but an atheist is worse because no one can be moral without religion (more on that later). No one cared that I was a Jew growing up, at least, not that much, but multiple times in grade school I would have my entire class spend upwards of a half hour trying to convert me, the atheist; all of them against me. You either get good at arguing and debating or you crumble.

Almost every atheist, really as a matter of survival, will become the angry atheist for at least some period as a way to survive this. Going on the offense is a really good way to throw the hate off balance and it can feel good to push hate right back. It took me a while to get past the angry atheist phase and part of it, at least for me, was finding Christopher Hitchens who, while also an obnoxious atheist like Dawkins and Maher, rooted his critique in a powerful morality. These days I'm probably a good deal less obnoxious than Hitchens was, but that's where it started, with an example that wasn't just about "beating" the religious.

So, while I disagree with the angry atheist and the way they approach society, and, if I'm in a position to do so, I'll try to guide them out of it if only because anger is even more toxic for the person experiencing it than it is for the target, I understand it and I certainly don't blame them. If you're a religious person and you encounter this angry atheist, I'd only ask that you treat them with a bit of sympathy; society is regularly far worse to them than they are to you even if you never get to see it.

SOCIAL NORMS

In a bit of a line with the previous topic, you should also realize how heavily societal norms and standards of politeness are slanted toward religious people. To give you an example of this, take the following:

I've been in situations where I've had some kind of personal loss and someone will say "I'm praying for you", "they're in heaven now", or something to that effect. And, look, it's not the kind of social faux pas that's bad enough for me to call out and make a scene about, but why would someone say that to someone who they know is non-religious? I know the intent behind it, but prayers literally do not mean anything to me, heaven doesn't exist to me, and people know that.

Ultimately, it may not be meant that way, but it really comes across as a power move. The atheist may be the one who's suffered a loss and is grieving, but the religious person still has the societal power to force the situation to conform to their beliefs. If an atheist calls them out on it and/or rejects their prayers or well-wishes, then they become the bad guy for not respecting the other person's beliefs because society values religious beliefs over those of an atheist.

And, look, I'm not saying that religious people are evil for doing this; clearly I'm friends with a good many of them and, most of the time, I can take "I'm praying for you" in exactly the way that it's meant, because it's almost always meant well. But, just as racism tends to express itself not through single, overt acts, but through hundreds of individually small actions (normally called "microaggressions"), the prejudice against atheism is similar and, just as most people committing racial microaggressions are unaware they are doing so because they live in a society where white supremacy is normalized, religious people are also mostly unaware of how what they're doing comes across because religious supremacy is so ingrained in our society.

If you've done this, I'm not saying this to make you feel guilty about it or even to make you stop. Like I said, I know it's meant well and, ultimately, it's not your fault; we live in a society where the atheist perspective is hidden from you so there's really been no way for you to even know how what you're saying comes across. The only thing I would ask is, in the future, if you have an atheist or atheists in your life that you consider to be friends or loved ones, they'll appreciate it if, especially in a vulnerable situation, you think just a bit more about what how what you're saying sounds to them and say something that is comforting to them and not just to you.

FINDING FAITH

Most people don't have faith. Let's start there. I've had religious and theological discussions with all kinds of people for all kinds of reasons, as much for understanding as debate or conversion, and what I can tell you is that most people never think deeply enough about what they truly believe to have actual faith. They have religion.

You see, most people are born into some kind of religious framework. Their parents start taking them to church or some kind of religious observance at an early age and the path of least resistance is to just keep doing whatever that is. Questioning religion or rocking the boat can lead to social stigma, damaged relationships, and sometimes even financial destitution, so for most people it's simply not worth doing to the point where they don't even consider it. They just go through the motions and don't worry too much about it because there's simply no good reason to.

There are some people who will still go through the difficult process of finding faith in that situation, but I've found that most people who truly have faith are the ones who have questioned and often even broken away from what they were brought up with. Specific to atheists, almost none of us were raised atheist. It wasn't a particularly difficult rejection for me because my family wasn't particularly dogmatic about it, but I wasn't raised atheist either; I figured out what I believed, I found my faith, when I started questioning all of the things that I was brought up with and all of the things that others around me believed. Ultimately, I accepted a lot of it in terms of the moral system I follow, but I rejected all of the metaphysical.

Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of people who turn to atheism for reasons like rebellion or to fit in with a (usually small) group, but most adult atheists you see out there are people who have gone through a journey and found faith; it's not a default option for the vast majority of us.

I also don't want you to think I'm saying that only atheists have faith, I've met plenty of religious people who have faith as well and it's something brilliant when you do find it (meeting such a person was also a big part me no longer being an angry atheist). The point is more that, as a percentage, far more atheists than religious people have true faith; it's easy to be religious, but why would one put up with all the problems that being atheist brings if you didn't truly believe it?

ATHEIST MORALITY

So this is the last one and it's a bit of an important one. You see, as I mentioned in the section about angry atheists, much of the prejudice against atheists I've experienced has been justified by the idea that atheists, because we reject the idea of God and the metaphysical, cannot be moral. Specifically, there is an idea in religion that morality can only come from a metaphysical source.

Now, I can't speak for all atheists here. As I mentioned before, there's nothing about atheism that lends itself to organization, so this is just me speaking. That said, I can tell you that those people are 100% wrong here, not least because many of them were genuinely awful people who used their own religion and its metaphysically justified rules as an excuse to be immoral themselves.

Personally, I consider myself to be generally Utilitarian in my moral beliefs. It's much more complicated than this, but in simple terms Utilitarianism is a belief that what maximizes the well-being, happiness, and pleasure of all people and what minimizes harm, pain, and unhappiness, is moral. One could summarize it as "the greatest good for the greatest number" if one were being particularly simplistic about it.

Why do I believe that? Simple, I live in a society and that society benefits me, I'd even say it benefits me greatly. Having studied some political theory, it's clear that societies where everyone is better off make do a better job of actually making people, even those at the top, better off and are more stable and consistent in the long run, so it makes sense that I should want to live in such a society. Ultimately, though, societies are made up of people, they're not things of their own, so a society is a reflection of the actions of the people who live in it.

In other words, if I want to live in a society that makes people (like me!) better off, I need to act in a way that makes that society more likely. Now, I obviously don't control anyone other than myself, but if I do what's right, then I can find other people who also do what's right and we can become a community. It's not guaranteed, but that's how anything worth having starts and, if we all continue this long enough, we build what we want to live in. I live my life morally because it's the only way that what I want can come about and, if I cheat, I'll know that I'm damaging the future I hope to build.

After doing this for a long time, though, one of the biggest benefits I've found, though, is that I like myself when I'm moral. That's important because I have to live with me!

No metaphysics required, my morality not only provides me with a rational (to me at least) reason to act morally, it ultimately subjects me to a judge that will see everything I do and never lapses: me. Those who are religious will say that an all-knowing God being their ultimate judge is a stronger motivation to be moral but, to quote Thomas Huxley from Evolution and Ethics, "Every day, we see firm believers in the hell of the theologians commit acts by which, as they believe when cool, they risk eternal punishment; while they hold back from those which are opposed to the sympathies of their associates."

Ultimately, I think that every system of morality is either personal or social (usually some combination of both). Even if you believe in God, gods, or other forms spirituality, none of us understand perfectly their nature or the nature of the universe, so we're all just doing what feels right to us or our community. Atheism doesn't preclude morality any more than religion guarantees it and I've found/developed a moral system that works for me without any need for the metaphysical.

CONCLUDING THOUGHTS

One of the things I've come to realize over the years is that the concept of atheist is truly alien to people of religion. Yes, they find other religions strange and unfamiliar, but the basic shape of the worldview makes sense to them. Atheism is alien and frightening to many.

Hopefully this gave you a bit of insight into what's going on there. If you have any other questions about atheism or the atheist experience, feel free to ask, I'm more than happy to share.

#religion #atheism #long rant (tm)

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smhalltheurlsaretaken · 20 days ago

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Hey there—this is completely spontaneous on my part, but I just saw your post from a few hours ago about how good the SW fandom used to be, and, dunno, I just wanted to say that I appreciate you. Your SW analyses were always so interesting to me, especially when you got into a debate with someone, because of how you backed your arguments up with evidence. I wish I could write rhetoric like you do. Anyways, you're especially cool to me because you're French and I've got French citizenship from my mom (though I grew up in the States), and despite not being Jewish, you've been really, really kind to us. So thanks for everything—the lengthy, passionate, convincing SW posts that got me through the pandemic, the interesting religious takes (I vaguely remember you going off on someone who said that religion was irrelevant in the modern world, arguing about the impossible-to-understate role it has had in the history of humanity, including in the present day—which, to a history and IR fan who'd gotten used to the sight of anti-religious takes because it was rebellious and trendy and cute, was like a breath of fresh air), and even now, your words since October 7th. I don't know if I ever reblogged or even liked a post of yours, I'm more likely to take a screenshot and put it in a folder on my desktop, but I just wanted to let you know of the impact that you've had in my life. 💛

Awww, it's so cool to find out about people who liked my stuff even if they never said! Idk how to explain why it makes me so happy but it's like it adds more to the whole experience as I look back, it's one more piece of the full picture that I'll never have. Like finding a new detail in a familiar setting and going 'oh! that was there all along? :D'

What was it about my SW stuff that you liked? the constant ranting and raving about the Jedi or the fawning over Obi-Wan? xD (And yes, yes I *did* get into a row with antitheists because I vented about being frustrated with Richard Dawkins' worldview lol. I don't think it really went anywhere.)

I'm glad reading my posts was ever comforting to you. I constantly want to be saying more since October 7th, but I really think using the internet as a battleground would be spectacularly unwise in my case. I've always tried to only argue my opinions from a position of complete confidence and thorough knowledge of all the facts, and that's a lot easier to do with a nerdy fictional universe that's contained to easily accessible media vs complex current global events. I can be stubborn and arrogant and I always want to be right, so in order to not get sucked into propagating self-righteous misinformation and turning into exactly the type of ignorant know-it-all who'd preach to others about geopolitics they learned yesterday on twitter, I preferred to step back.

That said, there is one thing I can and always will say with utter confidence and full knowledge that it's right: the worldwide spike in antisemitism and the horrifying abuse all Jews have been subjected to for over a year both irl and online is appalling and must be called out. The Jewish people are very close to my heart because of my family history, my upbringing and my personal faith in God and my saviour. So from one ~vaguely Jewish~ Frenchie to a vaguely French Jewish person, שׁלום and salut! 💙

Also, telling me you've taken screenshots???? of my posts???? to SAVE THEM???? ON YOUR COMPUTER????? is genuinely one of the highest compliments you could ever give me wow thank youuuuu. I hope you can still have fun going back to them from time to time 😄

#ask #tell me if you want me to delete/private this

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o-craven-canto · 2 years ago

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Biological essentialism treats tapirs and rabbits, pangolins and dromedaries, as though they were triangles, rhombuses, parabolas or dodecahedrons. The rabbits that we see are wan shadows of the perfect 'idea' of rabbit, the ideal, essential, Platonic rabbit, hanging somewhere out in conceptual space along with all the perfect forms of geometry. Flesh-and-blood rabbits may vary, but their variations are always to be seen as flawed deviations from the ideal essence of rabbit.

How desperately unevolutionary that picture is! The Platonist regards any change in rabbits as a messy departure from the essential rabbit, and there will always be resistance to change - as if all real rabbits were tethered by an invisible elastic cord to the Essential Rabbit in the Sky. The evolutionary view of life is radically opposite. Descendants can depart indefinitely from the ancestral form, and each departure becomes a potential ancestor to future variants. [...]

On the 'population-thinking' evolutionary view, every animal is linked to every other animal, say rabbit to leopard, by a chain of intermediates, each so similar to the next that every link could in principle mate with its neighbours in the chain and produce fertile offspring. You can't violate the essentialist taboo more comprehensively than that. And it is not some vague thought-experiment confined to the imagination. On the evolutionary view, there really is a series of intermediate animals connecting a rabbit to a leopard, every one of whom lived and breathed, every one of whom would have been placed in exactly the same species as its immediate neighbours on either side in the long, sliding continuum. Indeed, every one of the series was the child of its neighbour on one side and the parent of its neighbour on the other. Yet the whole series constitutes a continuous bridge from rabbit to leopard - although, as we shall see later, there never was a 'rabbipard'. There are similar bridges from rabbit to wombat, from leopard to lobster, from every animal or plant to every other.

-- Richard Dawkins, The Greatest Show on Earth (2009), chapter 2

#quotes #books #biology #philosophy #fully endorsed

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gobcorend · 1 year ago

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"Do you really mean to tell me the only reason you try to be good is to gain God's approval and reward, or to avoid his disapproval and punishment? That's not morality, that's just sucking up, apple-polishing, looking over your shoulder at the great surveillance camera in the sky, or the still small wiretap inside your head, monitoring your every move, even your every base though." - Richard Dawkins

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autisticandroids · 4 months ago

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What's the deal w the black tapes I keep on hearing stuff about it but I never got a sense of why it was so good everyone seemed to know it but it's ending was so bad everyone unanimously dropped it

so i was never around for the online following of tbt so i can only give you my opinion, not broad opinion. my opinion is that the first three episodes work really well as like. sincerely, unironically good episodic horror. like genuinely it's the kind of stuff i CRAVE because it straight facedly pretends to be like. an npr-alike nonfiction podcast. to the point that the actors and writers aren't even credited until the end of each season. and it totally plays in this space of like. stuff that's JUST non-paranormal enough to feel like it could almost be a real story, but is scary as shit. like the unsound scared the bejesus out of me when i first heard it.

but then starting in ep four and continuing for the rest of the season it 1) jumps into campy, ouijia board and the exorcist inspired satanic panic lore, and 2) becomes serialized in a way that kills horror.

later, in the second season, it manages to jump the shark into charmingly intentional camp and i start liking it again. mostly as like. a salacious and journalistically unethical romance between our protagonist and sexy richard dawkins.

but even though i like the later stuff, it still frustrates me because the podcast that it started out as is a podcast i genuinely want to listen to SO bad.

#asks #anonymous

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nyssabong · 1 year ago

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‘Do memes provide a useful way of understanding politics?’

Before we get into our topic, what exactly is a memes? These days, memes have grown in popularity. A meme, in my opinion, is a piece of information that is hilarious, goes viral on the internet, and may be remixed and changed over time. These are also the main elements that define a meme. As to Pettis's (2018) study, Richard Dawkins provided the initial definition of the term "meme" in his book ‘The Selfish Gene’. The term "memes" was first used by Dawkins (1976) to describe the transmission of ideas virally. Memes are similar to biological "genes" in that they are self-replicating and convey information, opinions, perceptions, and beliefs that are shared across individuals (Kasirye 2019). Dawkins defined a meme as any unit of culture that might be copied and transmitted among humans; examples of such units of culture include popular songs, fashion trends, or religious traditions (Pettis 2018). Dawkins did not define memes only as pictures and videos.

Do memes provide a useful way of understanding politics?

Even though memes might be a fun method to share knowledge, they are not a reliable tool for understanding political topics in their entirety. For what reason? Memes frequently employ humour, satire, or exaggeration to express a point; it is impossible to determine if the content is real or fabricated. It could also include bias from the author. For instance, if I dislike a politician, my memes will highlight all of their flaws, even if they are good politicians overall. However, it also offers a useful way of knowing politics, as shown in the memes below. Through this meme, teens will know that who is our Prime Minister and what happen between them.

Memes provide a useful way of understanding politics because of the funny point, it can attract teenagers easily, compared to news. It can serve as a gateway for young people to become more politically aware and involved.

Simplified Political Messaging

Besides, the complexity of political messages is another reason why the majority of people in today's society don't fully understand politics. Political information is more widely available to the general public because to memes, which frequently create complicated political messaging into formats that are easy to understand. For instance, the government usually makes announcements through news or videos during the MCO time. Personally, I am lazy to bother watching these announcements, especially because the most of them are in Bahasa Melayu. Because of memes, they made the announcement in this instance easier for me to understand. Memes need to be humorous and relatable, like I already stated. On these two main components, they simplified political message, people began to share with their friends, and the general public began to understand politics. However, this can also lead to the dissemination of false information or misinformation due to the bias of the authors.

Impact of Politics Memes

In 2019, the government officially announced that the voting age would be lowered from 21 to 18 years old. But when it comes to voting, memes could have an impact. Since those teens have minimal political knowledge, they will select politicians who frequently appear in memes. Participants may also use an anonymous account to publish their own memes in order to market themselves and make teens remember them. In the book "Memes in Digital Culture," Shifman explains how memes were effectively used in the US election of 2008. Because to memes, Obama received around 70% of the vote among Americans under 25 in the 2008 US presidential election (Oakes 2020). Politicians may create humorous content and advertise a nice, friendly image to the public by using memes. They will be able attract more teenagers to vote for them if they use this strategy.

Conclusion

Memes, in my opinion, can help us understand politics, but only if we are able to identify the difference between information that is true and that is fake. Political memes may make politics easier for pupils to recognise and comprehend than heavy textbooks, especially for those taking history exams. Additionally, because of its hilarious element, which makes politics less boring, and since it is simple to attract people in, it is also a helpful approach to learn about politics.

youtube

References

Dawkins, R 1976, The Selfish Gene , download.booklibrary.website, viewed 19 October 2023, < https://download.booklibrary.website/the-selfish-gene-richard-dawkins.pdf>.

Kasirye, F 2019, ‘THE EFFECTIVENESS OF POLITICAL MEMES AS A FORM OF POLITICAL PARTICIPATION AMONGST MILLENNIALS IN UGANDA’, Journal of Education and Social Sciences, vol. 13, no. 1, viewed 20 October 2023, <https://www.jesoc.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/08/KC13_032.pdf >.

Limor Shifman 2014, Memes in Digital Culture, The MIT Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts, viewed 20 October 2023, <https://research.ebsco.com/linkprocessor/plink?id=348695e0-233d-3fc5-9070-95351505ffab>.

Oakes, A 2020, How has social media changed the US presidential election?, New Digital Age, viewed 21 October 2023, <https://newdigitalage.co/social-media/how-has-social-media-changed-the-us-presidential-election/>.

Pettis, B 2018, ‘Pepe the Frog: A Case Study of the Internet Meme and its Potential Subversive Power to Challenge Cultural Hegemonies’, Scholars’ Bank (University of Oregon), University of Oregon, viewed 17 October 2023, <https://scholarsbank.uoregon.edu/xmlui/bitstream/handle/1794/24067/Final%20Thesis-Pettis.pdf?sequence=1&isAllowed=y>.

Shifman, L 2013, ‘Memes in a Digital World: Reconciling with a Conceptual Troublemaker’, Journal of Computer-Mediated Communication, vol. 18, no. 3, pp. 362–377, viewed 20 October 2023, < https://academic.oup.com/jcmc/article/18/3/362/4067545>.

#mda20009 #week 5 #blogging #practice #meme #politics memes #just for fun #Youtube

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canmom · 2 years ago

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L’Aventure de Canmom à Annecy - Dimanche/Lundi

Bonsoir mes amis!

I am in Annecy, the unreasonably picturesque home of the Annecy International Animated Film Festival! I have discovered that the Annecy International Animated Film Festival involves a lot more standing in long queues in the hot sun than I expected! Nevertheless, I’m here and making the best of it.

So.

dimanche - le voyage à annecy

First of all, Sunday! I set off at 3am on Sunday morning, taking a bus, followed by two tubes, followed by another bus to the airport. The last bus was late. I met a couple of nice PhD students on their way to the same airport, and they were gonna get all of us an uber, but then the bus showed up after all.

At the airport, security threw away my 200ml bottle of sunblock. Can never be too careful I guess >< Inevitably, Richard Dawkins and his little pot of honey leapt unbidden into my brain. I promise I did not call anyone a “dundridge”.

The flight itself was uneventful! I was behind three other Annecy-goers, a very sweet gay couple and their friend... we hit it off pretty well but they were on a later bus and I haven’t seen them since I got here ^^’ Once I landed in Geneva I was racing across the city to try to get to the Annecy bus in time (I left myself an hour, which turned out to be way too little time to get through customs, out the airport, onto the train etc.) Trains in Switzerland are nuts, some of them are split across multiple levels and even the ones that aren’t have like, steep steps to get aboard.

Like “fuck you if you’re in a wheelchair” I guess.

Luckily the bus to Annecy was late! So by midday on Sunday I was in Annecy!

I ran into a group of Swiss animation students who were happy to let me tag along for a while. They just finished their graduation films and they were terribly excited about Spider-Verse. They ended up arranging to meet a couple of animators at Cartoon Saloon so I ended up witnessing some honest to god Networking. The imposter syndrome kicked in about when they were showing the cartoon saloon animators clips from their demo reels. I didn’t even have business cards. Apparently that’s a thing people bring???

pictured: swiss animation students approaching Lake Annecy.

Anyway my legs got really tired from standing up and no sleep. I bought myself an expensive crêpe and sat down on the floor to eat it. No films were due to start for hours.

I went down to a comic book shop in Bonlieu. French comic book shops are fucking insane. All the books are enormous glossy hardbacks that cost like 50+ euros. I could totally walk away with the complete works of Moebius or Enki Bilal if things like ‘money’ and ‘getting through the airport’ and ‘not reading French’ weren’t factors. But equally there’s so much stuff that I’ve just plain never heard of. I could spend a month in this one shop easy.

At 3am my hotel checkin opened! Though in French you don’t say ‘check in’, you say j’ai un reservation. By this point I had been awake for more than 24 hours so I decided to go have a nap and eat the falafels I brought with me (very good idea, would recommend having a snack) and wake up for the opening ceremony.

Hotel comments: It’s pretty comfy! Nothing super fancy but I don’t need super fancy. The breakfast is kind of crazy expensive. I had a bit of a scare when it turned out that they hadn’t charged me when I booked the room, and wanted payment now, but thankfully I have a job now so I could take that in stride ^^’

At this point I discovered my plug adapter supports the US, Australia, New Zealand and Japan... but not Europe. Fortunately I had a power bank with me so I could keep my phone alive (its battery is pretty shot) so I resolved to buy a new adapter on Monday.

I woke up shortly before the opening ceremony and quickly concluded that there was no way I was going to be making it down to the opening ceremony and went back to sleep. I slept a really long time. But I think I needed it. Shame to miss the ceremony but odds are I probably wouldn’t have even been able to get in, someone else said she’d queued for two hours.

lundi - les files d'attente

(lmao is that really the french for ‘queues’? ‘files d’attente’?)

A beautiful morning in Annecy! I walked over to the supermarché and got myself some pasta ingredients and a ‘veggie dog’ (falafels in a baguette) from a French bakery. I learned just how limited my French vocab is. But it’s a little reassuring to find French people who speak about as much English as I speak French. (Have not yet tried to speak Japanese to any French person but it will probably happen.)

Anyway. Films time, at last!

So the way Annecy works is, you get a certain number of reservations per day depending on your ticket type. If you don’t have a reservation you can optimistically show up at the theatre anyway, and whatever seats they have left go to the line. From the website it sounded like you’d have a pretty good chance to get in.

My friends. That is a lie.

To get in to a popular non-reserved screening you have to turn up basically hours in advance. Otherwise you arrive at the back of a queue like this, stand in line for a while, and then someone in a red shirt comes out and tells you you’re too late and you go find something else to do.

I have already become very familiar with this particular stretch of ground outside Cinema Pathé. That said, the queues are a good chance to meet people! So I ended up making a couple of connections, mostly with animation students from various places. It turns out a ‘Grand Public’ ticket is a bit of an odd duck.

As you can see in that picture, a lot of people had umbrellas. This is something I neglected, and had to use my bag instead, like so:

Guess where I got sunburned.

One of those something elses I did was walk into the VR films room. This runs on its own reservation system, with each film having somewhere between 2 and 6 headsets, which get sanitised between viewings. The whole room looks kinda scifi with its cables dangling from the ceiling...

The only VR film available when I arrived was called Black Hole Museum + Body Browser by Su Wen-Chi from Taiwan. This was very demoscene, with a lot of particles flying around under force fields in a black and white space; the second part involved a dancer who’d been photoscanned somehow and was displayed using waves of particles. It was neat, but I can’t say I was hugely moved? The display device was a Quest 2, but I’m not sure if it was running the particle sim on Quest 2 hardware. If it was, I’m impressed.

The other VR films were all but fully booked so I resolved to come back another day.

I tried to get into the anime film The Tunnel to Summer, the Exit of Goodbyes. Predictably, I was too late. However, the next queue over was for a Spanish film called Inspector Sun and the Curse of the Black Widow, and, wanting to see at least one film I hopped onto that queue and found myself inside the cinema in short order.

The auditorium was packed and I got to witness firsthand such Annecy traditions as throwing paper aeroplanes at the screen, shouting ‘Lapin!’ whenever a rabbit appears onscreen, and making a weird popping sound with your mouth while waiting for the film to start (??? it sounded like frogs ig???). The movie itself was greeted with excitement but honestly? It was pretty eh, which is a shame since the idea of a world of bugs is a fun one! The story concerns a bumbling spider detective, his aspiring sidekick spider, and his feud with the leader of a locust underworld, playing out on a seaplane en route to San Francisco. The characters are all very one-note archetypes, and the dialogue felt like it was trying way too hard to be funny quippy movie dialogue... only to land on the painfully obvious. A big shame.

But what’s worse is that I had spent my one daily reservation on Mars Express by Jérémie Périn at 4:30 and I’d completely lost track of time. By the time I walked out of Inspector Sun my phone was almost dead (see above about the adapter) so I popped into a French electronics store and bought a couple of EU adapters and set off to charge my phone. But then on the bus I thought, hold on a minute, when is Mars Express, I have like an hour right---oh fuck. Well fine it’s at Bonlieu right? I can just walk there? ...it’s at Le Mikado Novel? Where the fuck is that? Half an hour away?

...so to make a long story short I got off the bus, walked down the street, my phone died, there was no way I could find my way to Le Mikado in time to get in even with my reservation, so I had to go back to my hotel and waste my precious reservation. And I hear the film was great. Sob.

There are a bunch of other screenings this week but they’re all packed so who knows if I’ll get to see this movie.

Despite this big oof I charged up my phone and headed back to meet up with my friend (hi to my friend!) who was in the queue for Production I.G.’s new film The Concierge. My friend was more than an hour early, so we thought we had a pretty good chance... lol nope. After standing in line for 45 minutes we were informed the cinema is full and had to leave.

It wasn’t a complete waste though. We met up with another friend and had a little picnic of bagels. Unfortunately the bagel I got was not the bagel I thought I was getting (idk what happened) but even so, it was nice to meet two online friends who by bizarre coincidence both turned out to be from Singapore.

To close the night I decided to take one more shot at getting in to see a movie, and went for a late showing of The Sacred Cave, a movie from Cameroon. Which is pretty neat, it’s not every day you see a movie from Cameroon. This one was... well, technically it’s definitely rough, but I don’t wanna be hard on it. The story is a fairy tale: a traditional healer is called in to attempt to save a dying king, and he dispatches his son on a mission to retrieve special medicine alongside the Prince.

On the way the son encounters a weird forest wizard, then a princess of a neighbouring clan who’s been turned into an anthro frog by an evil wizard; as he tries to head back with the medicine, he’s captured by said clan and almost executed, but because of his pure nature he alone can draw the special magic sword, and using this power he helps his captors overcome the evil wizard’s raiding party. But on the way home he gets betrayed by the Prince! A whole lot of betraying unfolds, killing off the old seer, and it turns out that our boy is actually the true son of the King. Despite the whole ‘executing his adoptive father on spurious charges’ thing, it all shakes out; the baddies are driven off, the princess unfrogged, and our very special good boy is rewarded.

It’s animated largely in Flash, and it has the feel of an online Flash video. All the same, I believe this is the first feature-length animated film from Cameroon. Bootstrapping an animation industry capable of putting together a coherent film is a hell of a feat, and must take an enormous degree of passion and dedication to make that happen. (Also not to put too fine a point on it but there are certain historical reasons why France has a much more developed animation industry than the country it had colonised until 1971.) Anyway, although principally made in Cameroon, the credits name a whole bunch of different countries, mostly in West Africa. Probably it would make sense to compare it to Princess Iron Fan or something like that, and I’m excited to see what comes down the line. And it was a very sincere movie, the setting presented with a great deal of love, especially when it came to costumes. I’m glad to have seen it.

Tomorrow morning Im gonna get up very early and take another shot at The Concierge, and try and plan better around the queuing system to try to make the best of it and catch more of the short films. It’s definitely not been the day of back to back films I was expecting, but honestly despite all that I’m having a good time just being in Annecy and the week is yet young...

good god is it expensive here though

#annecy #annecy film festival #animation #film #l'aventure de canmom à annecy

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gothicprep · 2 years ago

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when I was younger and the internet was also younger, I distinctly remember people debating religion v atheism constantly. it seemed inescapable – like comments on a snowboarding youtube video would almost always turn into a religion v. atheism debate, even though this isn’t something that makes sense. the reaction would always be, like, “oh god, here we go again”.

on top of that, it wasn’t totally unusual to hear from people who genuinely believed religion was public enemy number one, because of the causal relationship it has with many other social problems.

i don’t think I’ve seen a religion vs atheism debate in years at this point. sometimes I’ll see someone criticize someone like richard Dawkins or christopher hitchens, but it’s never one of those nitpicks you’d see of biblical contradictions or whatever. now it seems like “wokeness” is the annoying thing on the internet that everyone wants to debate.

has anyone else noticed this, or is it just me and a reflection of the places I hang out?

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 10 months ago

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By; Andrew Doyle

Published: Feb 28, 2024

Many years ago I gave a talk at the London Metropolitan Archives in which I outlined my reasons for rejecting the then fashionable theory of social constructionism in relation to human sexuality. In the coffee break that followed, I was approached by a lesbian activist, who claimed to have chosen her orientation as a means to oppose the patriarchy. She demanded to know why I would not accept that sexuality had no biological basis, even though I had spent the best part of an hour answering this very question. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘but I’ve already explained why I don’t agree with you’. ‘But why won’t you agree?’ she shouted in response. ‘Why?’

Primary school teachers are familiar with such frustrated pleas. The anger of children is so often connected with incomprehension, a sense of injustice, or both. When it persists into adulthood it represents a failure of socialisation. We frequently hear talk of our degraded political discourse – and there is some truth to that – but really we are dealing with mass infantilism. Its impact is evident wherever one cares to look: online, in the media, even in Parliament. Argumentation is so often reduced to a matter of tribal loyalty; whether one is right or wrong becomes secondary to the satisfaction of one’s ego through the submission of an opponent. This is not, as some imagine, simply a consequence of the ubiquity of social media, but rather a general failure over a number of years to instil critical thinking at every level of our educational institutions.

To be a freethinker has little to do with mastery of rhetoric and everything to do with introspection. It is all very well engaging in a debate in order to refine our persuasive skills, but it is a futile exercise unless we can entertain the possibility that we might be wrong. In Richard Dawkins’s book, The God Delusion (2006), he relates an anecdote about his time as an undergraduate at Oxford. A visiting academic from America gave a talk on the Golgi apparatus, a microscopic organelle found in plant and animal cells, and in doing so provided incontrovertible evidence of its existence. An elderly member of the Zoology Department, who had asserted for many years that the Golgi apparatus was a myth, was present at the lecture. Dawkins relates how, as the speaker drew to a close, ‘The old man strode to the front of the hall, shook the American by the hand and said – with passion – “My dear fellow, I wish to thank you. I have been wrong these fifteen years.” We clapped our hands red’.

This is the ideal that so few embody, particularly when it comes to the unexamined tenets of political ideology. We often see examples of media commentators or politicians being discredited in interviews or discussions, but how often do we see them concede their errors, even when they are exposed beyond doubt? There is a very good reason why the sociologist and philosopher Herbert Spencer opened his First Principles (1862) by asserting that there exists ‘a soul of truth in things erroneous’; but such concessions can only be made by those who are able to prioritise being right over being seen to be right. Too many are seemingly determined to turn difficult arguments into zero-sum games in which to give any ground whatsoever is to automatically surrender it to an opponent.

The discipline of critical thinking invites us to consider the origins of our knowledge and convictions. A man may speak with the certainty of an Old Testament prophet, but has he reached his conclusions for himself? Or is he a mere resurrectionist, plundering his bookshelves for the leather-bound corpses of other people’s ideas? Hazlitt expounded at length on how sophistry might be mistaken for critical faculties, noting that the man who sees only one half of a subject may still be able to express it fluently. ‘You might as well ask the paralytic to leap from his chair and throw away his crutch,’ he wrote, ‘as expect the learned reader to throw down his book and think for himself. He clings to it for his intellectual support; and his dread of being left to himself is like the horror of a vacuum’.

The natural human instinct for confirmation bias presents a further problem, one especially prominent among ideologues. Anything can be taken to bolster one’s position so long as it is perceived through the lens of prejudgment. We can see this most notably in the proponents of Critical Social Justice, who start from the premise that unequal outcomes – disparities in average earnings between men and women, for instance – are evidence of structural inequalities in society. They are beginning with the conclusion and working backwards, mistaking their own arguments for proof.

Worse still, such an approach often correlates with a distinctly moralistic standpoint. Many of the most abusive individuals on social media cannot recognise their behaviour for what it is because they have cast themselves in the role of the virtuous. If we are morally good, the logic goes, it must be assumed that our detractors are motivated by evil and we are therefore relieved of the obligation to treat them as human beings. What they lack in empathy they make up in their capacity for invective.

Again, we must be alert to the danger of cheapening argumentation and analysis to the mere satisfaction of ego. One of the reasons why disagreements on social media tend towards the bellicose is that the forum is public. Where there is an audience, there is always the risk that critical thinking will be subordinated to the performative desire for victory or the humiliation of a rival. In these circumstances, complexities that require a nuanced approach are refashioned into misleading binaries, and opponents are mischaracterised out of all recognition so that people effectively end up arguing with spectres of their imagination. The Socratic method, by contrast, urges us to see disputation as essentially cooperative. This is the ideal that should be embedded into our national curricula. Children need to be taught that there are few instances in which serious discussions can be simplified to a matter of right or wrong, and fewer still in which one person’s rightness should be taken as proof of another’s wrongness. In the lexicon of Critical Thinking, this is called the fallacy of ‘affirming a disjunct’; that is to say, ‘either you are right or I am right, which means that if you are wrong I must be right’. One cannot think critically in such reductionist terms.

To attempt seriously to understand an alternative worldview involves, as Bertrand Russell put it, ‘some effort of thought, and most people would die sooner than think’. In the study of psychology this is termed the ‘cognitive miser’ model, which acknowledges that most human brains will favour the easiest solution to any given problem. These mental shortcuts – known as heuristics – are hardwired into us, which is why being told what to think is more pleasurable than thinking for ourselves. I remember an English lesson in which I had initiated a discussion with my students about the representation of Satan in Milton’s Paradise Lost, a topic that routinely comes up in exams. I wanted to know what they thought, and why. One student was sufficiently bold to ask: ‘Can’t you just tell us what we need to write to get the highest marks?’

This was not the fault of the student; there has been a trend in recent years, most likely influenced by the pressures of league tables, for schools to engage in ‘spoon-feeding’. Schemes of work and assessment criteria are made readily available to the pupils so that they can systematically hit the necessary targets in order to elevate their grades. The notion of education for education’s sake no longer carries any weight. I have even seen talented pupils marked down by moderators for an excess of individuality in their answers. In such circumstances, even a subject like English Literature can be reduced to a kind of memory test in which essays are regurgitated by rote.

It is hardly surprising, then, that pupils who opt for Critical Thinking courses at GCSE or A-level often perceive it to be a light option, a means to enhance the curriculum vitae without too much exertion. Courses are generally divided into Problem Solving and Critical Thinking, the former concerned with processing and interpreting data, and the latter covering the fundamentals of analysis and argumentation. Pupils learn about common fallacies such as the ad hominem (personal attack), tu quoque (counter-attack) and post hoc, ergo propter hoc (mistaking correlation for causality), along with others derived from Aristotle’s Sophistical Refutations. The Latin may be off-putting, but in truth these are simple ideas which are readily digestible. If one were to discount arguments in which these fallacies were committed, virtually all online disputes would disappear.

That said, the existence of Critical Thinking as an academic subject in its own right might not be the best way to achieve this. As the psychologist Daniel T. Willingham has argued, cognitive abilities are redundant without secure contextual knowledge. Critical thinking is already embedded into any pedagogical practice that focuses on how to think rather than what to think. The increased influence of the new puritans in education presents a problem in this regard, given that they are particularly hostile to divergent viewpoints. Any institution which becomes ideologically driven is unlikely to successfully foster critical thinking, and this is particularly the case when teachers are at times expected to proselytise in accordance with fashionable identity politics. The depoliticisation of schools is just the first step. Critical thinking requires humility; this involves not just the ability to admit that one might be wrong, but also to recognise that an uninformed opinion is worthless, however stridently expressed. Interpretative skills are key, but only when developed on a secure foundation of subject-specific knowledge. This is the basis for Camille Paglia’s view that art history should be built into the national curriculum from primary school level. In her book, Glittering Images (2012), Paglia explains that children require ‘a historical framework of objective knowledge about art’, rather than merely treating art as ‘therapeutic praxis’ to ‘unleash children’s hidden creativity’. Potato prints and zigzag scissors have their place, but we mustn’t forget about the textbooks.

When I was a part-time English teacher at a private secondary school for girls in London, one of my favourite exercises for the younger pupils was to ask them to study a photograph of a well-known work of art for five minutes without speaking, after which time they would share their observations with the rest of the class. So, for instance, I would give them each a copy of Paul Delaroche’s ‘Les Enfants d’Edouard’ (1831), which depicts the two nephews of Richard III in their chamber in the Tower of London just prior to their murder. My pupils knew nothing of the historical context, but after minutes of silent consideration were able to pick out details – the ominous shadows under the door, the dog alerted to the assassins’ footfall, how the older boy stares out at us with a sense of resignation – and offer some personal reflections on their cumulative impact. To create, one must first learn how to interpret.

The kind of humility fostered in the appreciation of great art could act as a corrective to the rise of narcissism and decline of empathy that psychologists have observed over the past thirty years. According to the National Institutes of Health, millennials are three times more likely to suffer from narcissistic personality disorder than those of the baby boomer generation. Writers such as Peter Whittle, Robert Putnam and Shaylyn Romney Garrett have traced the rise of hyper-individualism in Western culture. One particular study revealed that in 1950 only 12 per cent of respondents agreed with the statement ‘I am a very important person’. By 1990, this figure had risen to 80 per cent and the trajectory shows no signs of stopping. One of the ways in which this trend manifests itself is the now common tendency for arguments to deteriorate into accusations of dishonesty. After all, it takes an extreme form of egotism to assume that the only possible explanation for an alternative point of view is that one’s opponent must be lying. In order to think critically, we cannot be in the business of simply assessing conclusions on the basis of whether or not they accord with our own.

An education underpinned by critical thinking is the very bedrock of civilisation, the means by which chaos is tamed into order. Tribalism, mudslinging, the inability to critique one’s own position: these are the telltale markers of the boorish and the hidebound. A society is ill-served by a generation of adults who have not been educated beyond the solipsistic impulses of childhood. At a time when so many are lamenting the degradation of public discourse, a conversation about how best to incorporate critical thinking into our schools is long overdue. Our civilisation might just depend on it.

This is an excerpt from The New Puritans: How the Religion of Social Justice Captured the Western World. You can buy the book here. It’s also available as an audiobook.

#Andrew Doyle #The New Puritans #critical thinking #critical social justice #authoritarianism #ideological capture #ideological corruption #academic corruption #instititional capture #institutional corruption #religion is a mental illness

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