Archive for November, 2012
Back in the deep, dark eighties, I read The Great Cosmic Mother, which was basically an early attempt to redress the exclusion of women’s contributions to human history. I had just recently lost my (monotheistic) religion, and what I was after was a good accounting of our pre-Christian history. “The Great Cosmic Mother” held the promise of giving me some useful data on the ways my ancestors lived and believed before Jesus came along.
It was a huge book, filled with page after page of Goddess propaganda and sweeping assertions, wrapped around some tantalizing data (roughly one-third “good stuff”, and two thirds “fluff”). By the time I was done with it, I came to a conclusion: “Some day”, I thought, “this field of research will mature, and someone will write a really good book on this subject”. “The End of Men” is that book.
Hanna Rosin begins her book in a way that sounds like a rousing cheer for the state of affairs her title hints at: Women are finding themselves rising to the challenge of a shifting economy and workplace, freed to do so by birth control and gains in women’s rights, even as many men appear to be falling by the wayside, cast adrift in a world they are either unable or unwilling to adapt to. The “macho man” is dying out, and the “super woman” is ascending.
But then the true nature of this book begins to appear. This is not political broadside delighting in the demise of men (and tradition male culture), neither is it a “wolf-in-sheep’s-clothing” book that is actually criticizing women for becoming “bitches” in the workplace. “The End of Men” is the serious, thoughtful, mature examination of women and culture that I hoped “The Great Cosmic Mother” would have been.
The two books deal in very different realms, true, but they are motivated by the same love of (and concern for) women and their issues. But “The End of Men” is serious reportage. The further I read the more I noticed how many of the author’s statements were arising out of reputable research papers, or from her own original interviews with women around the world. This is not a feminist firebrand at work, but a serious reporter.
The title is dramatic and attention-grabbing, but it is not inaccurate. For a lot of men (in industrialized economies, at least), a mode of being has passed into history. Manufacturing jobs that once allowed men with low education to nevertheless work and support families (and thereby support their notion of themselves as the “head” of their families) are nearly gone. And women have (one could argue) “had to” step up to feed their families and see to their own needs.
And so this is in many ways an economic story, and, as such, it has relevance not just to women, but very much to the men who are being “left behind” by history.
As a man who has grown up with the feminist movement as a constant companion, I welcome this kind of quality writing on a subject that impacts so many people’s most basic ideas of happiness and fulfillment. I can’t think of anyone who would not benefit from reading it. The author is nonjudgmental in her view point, but insightful and critical enough to dig beneath the surfaces of the lives her reporting brings her into contact with.
It remains to be seen how the hard-charging, eighty-hour-a-week professional working woman will fare when she finally breaks out into the very top tiers of corporate and political America (something that is becoming inevitable at this point). In some ways she has become the template and signal for when the struggle for women’s equality is over.
Of course, this is not the whole story for women (any more than that small percentage of men at the top is the whole story for my own gender). And women are also facing adaptive challenges as they lose their grip on their own familiar (if restrictive) social identities while rising up to outnumber men (as they now do) in many professional and academic fields.
For women, like any army claiming new territory, the ultimate challenge may be knowing when to declare “victory”. Letting up too soon could allow gains to slip backwards. Fighting too long prolongs needless suffering. It’s something we’re all going to have to figure out eventually.
I highly recommend this book to men and women alike. It tells us a great deal about the social and economic history that is happening to us right now.
“Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.” (Matthew 10: 29-31, New International Version)
I had my computer bag slung across my shoulder, and a sketchbook in my hand as I closed the truck door. But as I stepped toward the coffee shop, I was reminded that I’d left a large plastic tub full of laundry in the open bed of my pickup truck. So I turned around, and walked back to my truck to wrestle the heavy tub of clothing into the cab. Pausing at the edge of my truck, I made the decision to set my sketchbook on the edge of the truck bed, but to keep the computer bag hanging from my shoulder as I unlocked the front door, lifted the heavy bin of clothes out of the bed and wrestled it into the front seat. I locked the door, retrieved my sketch book, and resumed my short walk into the coffee shop.
So simple, so everyday, these actions I just described. It’s the kind of thing we do “without thinking about it”. But, of course, we do think about it.
For starters, there was a message to my conscious, working brain that reminded me of the laundry I’d earlier put in my truck. And though I can surmise that this “reminder” was attached to memories of my practice of putting the laundry in the cab (when I’m somewhere I consider high risk for theft), the fact remains that this thought originated in a part of my brain linked to, but not the same as, my “conscious” mind.
Once that “reminder” entered my conscious mind, I paused while my reasoning brain made the rapid calculation of theft risk (in the present circumstance). That accomplished, I then decided I would turn around and initiate the action.
Then came the calculation about how to best accomplish the task at hand. What to do with the sketch book in my hand and the heavy bag hanging on my shoulder? I paused for another moment as I mentally tried out a scenario of grabbing the large plastic bin with the tips of my fingers while still holding the sketchbook in my left hand, but I dismissed that idea as being unnecessarily risky. That meant I then had to decide where to put the book before finally choosing the flat edge of the truck bed.
Having done that, I unlocked the driver’s side door (though this happened pretty much “without thought” — or, at least, any thought I was aware of). As I positioned myself to lift the laundry, I had to sense where the weight of my shoulder bag was so as to keep my balance (this I was aware of — to a degree), and then — using the edge of the truck as a brace for my lower body – prepare to lift the heavy bin in a way that wouldn’t re-injure my dodgy lower back.
All that done, I began to lift the bin, and I felt muscles along my torso tighten to meet the load and allow the energy of my movement to lift the tub of clothes. It was in this moment of muscle (familiar) movement, as I was swinging the tub into the front seat, that a more abstract thought came into my mind — an idea completely unrelated to the task at hand (made possible by the bit of free space now available to my conscious mind now that all those decisions had been made). What popped into my head (from yet another part of my brain) was the idea for this sermon, and it occupied my mind to a degree that I had no short-term memory of the final movements of this entire laundry-moving episode!
But then suddenly, it seemed, I realized I had been oblivious to what my body had just been doing with a rather heavy, awkward object, and was only now conscious of walking back into the coffee shop, thinking, once more, about God.
Remarkable. All of it, really.
What all of this lead me to was a consideration of the “mind” of God. I think it’s safe to say that the fundamental understanding of how God works in the world is that He is conscious of every single action or process that is occurring (not only on the Earth, but in the entire universe and, well, into whatever “beyond” there is beyond that). Which would mean that there would seem to be nothing that God does unconsciously (or reflexively). To trot out that old chestnut, it’s not unlike our idea of how Santa Claus knows whether every child on earth has been bad or good. Like God, Santa has helpers, of course (in Santa’s case, elves, in God’s case, angels). But no-one believes that these helpers are doing the thinking for their respective bosses (they are more like Odin’s twin ravens that swooped over the countryside, bringing that ancient Norse god news of his domain).
But let us consider how the only minds we have experience of actually work. As my rather prosaic example illustrates, we rely on a multilevelled brain in everything we do. We tend to think of ourselves as (primarily) the conscious, analytical part of our mind, with the emotional, “gut” part coming in a close second. And yet “beneath” these two levels are other highly active “brains”. There is, of course, what we think of as the most basic level, the part that runs all of our “automatic” systems. This is the part that keeps us breathing, our heart beating, our cells regenerating, our hair and fingernails growing. This part of the brain is almost like the car we drive that keeps rolling down the highway even while our mind is off thinking about where we’re going to eat lunch. It demands our attention from time to time (such as when we are ill or injured), and can also be influenced by our higher levels of thinking (we can hold our breath, for example, or use cognitive techniques to calm a pounding heart). But mostly, it just runs and runs and runs without our input. Until, of course, it stops (at death).
But “above” this level, there is an incredible, constant volume of communication going on below the level of consciousness. Take for example the chatter between the nerve endings in the gut and the brain that regulate the myriad processes of our physical bodies and maintain the homeostasis that allows our conscious mind to be thinking about football scores or what color of shirt to wear.
And this is where I’m going with this notion of the “mind of God”.
If there is a God (and if we are truly “made in His image”) than it would stand to reason that the mind of God might operate in the way that our minds do (and every other animal with a brain of any complexity). In short, God would have a conscious mind that can focus attention in one place at a time, as well as an unconscious mind that reminds him of this or that, and a deeper level of “mind” that sees to the hairs on your head and the sparrow dropping dead from out of the sky (as the verse from Matthew describes at the top of this sermon). It seems to me that there is no other way the mind of God could possibly work, if it were to work at all in any meaningful, personal way.
But this presents a problem for our usual conception of how our “personal” God engages with His creation.
Think about it like this: imagine, for a moment, if you had to use your frontal lobes to consciously monitor the amount of iron in every single cell in your bloodstream at this moment, as well as the amount of glucose being harvested by your gut from your breakfast, while still keeping your speeding car in the correct lane and planning your work day. What if, while doing all of this, you also felt it every time a cosmic particle ripped through a strand of your DNA, and you had to then consciously command the correct proteins to repair that damage (about 100 billion solar neutrinos pass through your thumbnail alone every second, according to scientists). You’d also simultaneously be directing every molecule in your skin as it builds new body hair in every follicle (you have over three million hairs, in case you’re wondering), while also deciding when to command a damaged cell to destroy itself to protect the whole (apoptosis). You’d also be the “mind” of every bit of bacteria in your body or the flora in your gut as the synapses fired in your brain with each thought (and then had to be re-charged before they could fire again). And all of this (multiplied by a number that I, frankly, can not even comprehend) while paying attention to all of the things in daily life that already often stretch our capacity to its limits!
Now, imagine the mind of God doing that for every living thing. For every rock, planet, particle and neutron. This is what we think God does all of the time for all of eternity, while still having time to hear our prayers at night.
Suddenly I can see God as the old-fashioned hard-working father who feels put upon to have to work like a dog all day at the cosmic office and still be there for his family at night, only much, much, much worse.
Clearly, whoever came up with such a notion of God wasn’t thinking very scientifically. But, then, when our ideas of God were formed, the workings of our own brains and bodies (and nature and the cosmos, for that matter) were opaque mysteries to us. The Bible (along with other “ancient” religious texts) is very much a pre-science document. Sure, we had domesticated crops and animals by then, and were employing primitive medicine, but we were doing all of this in the dark, as it were. It was all trial and error with no knowledge of the biological processes underlying our occasional lucky outcomes.
And yet this original idea of a personal God persists. How can that be, especially when each of us can’t help but be aware of just how large and crowded our planet is? The simplicity of our ideas of God makes sense when we look at the complexity of our own brains, and how they have managed to evolve in a way that does not demand that we think about everything all-of-the-time. Thanks to the hierarchy of our consciousness, I can be thinking about something else while lifting a bin full of laundry. So I can rather easily think of the God of the Universe as a close, attentive, personal friend any time I want to, free of the dissonance of the logical barriers to such an idea. Our minds are very good at filtering out “noise” in order to hear what we want (or need) to hear. Our survival has depended upon it.
So it would appear that it is because we are so good at filtering that we are also so good at believing in an all-powerful (yet personal) God like we do. To be honest, we don’t really have the time or mental RAM to try to take in the incredible complexity that not only surrounds us, but that is us. We are natural “simplifiers”, and so in practice we give little thought to how God might actually do what we so blithely claim that he does. And there is also good reason to let that be as it is.
Most of us have clear memories of the moment we learned that Santa Claus wasn’t “real” (I apologize deeply to any of my readers who are hearing this news for the first time). And so, perhaps, having lost Santa, we are doubly loathe to replace the grown-up version (or to even equate the two figures). We provide diligent support for a child’s belief in Santa (up to the day the truth finally comes out), but then as adults we (just as diligently) extend to each other nearly unending social support for a basic belief in God. (Religion may come in many flavors and brands, but even the weirder ones still buy into the basic notion of an all-seeing intelligence “up there”).
There is an aspect to this that is actually very human. If God is, indeed, the more durable adult replacement for childhood belief in the jolly red elf, this points to our need for belief, as well as our creativity in seeing to it that such emotional cognitive needs are met. (I happen to think that some form of belief is actually quite “natural” to us, having the kind of brains that we do). People such as I could have little problem with such a state of affairs if it ended there: in the warmth of a pleasurable fantasy. But as we all know, it often doesn’t, and there are believers who take their belief very seriously in a way that weaponizes faith in a manner that produces more misery than magic.
And this is why I criticize irrational religious belief. Not to remove the enjoyable experience of magic and wonder, but to ward off the predatory humans who use our cognitive vulnerability for inhumane ends. (Those whom — if He were truly paying attention to everything, all of the time — God would be flick off the planet in very short order).
I will never be able to state as absolute fact that God doesn’t exist. This is a question that science cannot answer. What I am saying is that our idea of God does not hold up to even a fairly low-level of scrutiny. Some will argue that this is purely a problem with the limited capacity of humans to comprehend the divine. But this dodges the question, as the human conception of God is the only product on offer — by their own argument they are admitting that we can know no other God than the one we know. To me, this is the most profoundly quiet argument against the existence of any spiritual reality of the kind that we humans most often imagine: an omniscient God who’s eye is, nevertheless, truly on the sparrow, and who watches over me and you.
As I continue to explore the implications of a science-based view of existence, I want to consider an issue I might classify as “quietly dramatic” — the way in which a materialistic perspective shapes my view of my own species.
If the survey numbers are to be believed (and I have no reason to doubt them), then it would appear that most of our species believes in the existence of a personal, active, supernatural deity that had either everything (or a great deal) to do with “creating” our planet, the solar system, the universe and, well, us.
This is not news. Most of the people I know believe in some form of spirituality, whether it be the traditional God or a more diffuse form of cosmic intelligence that is capable of acting on our behalf.
And although some would disagree with me, I take the considered stand that there is nothing in the discoveries of science that would support either of these notions. Of course you would be correct to point out to me (should you want to) that neither is there anything in the realm of science that can completely disprove those same spiritual notions. Agreed. But if we were to make a chart of two columns with one being “Evidence for PURELY NATURAL causes of just about EVERYTHING” and the other for “Evidence for EXTERNAL, SPIRITUAL causes of EVERYTHING (or, well, anything)”, then column 1 would be packed with a lot (if not all) of scientific discovery, and column 2 would be empty (I’m talking about actual evidence here, not our personal subjective experiences that we often interpret as being “divine” in origin).
In response to this evidentiary imbalance, there has arisen the “non-overlapping magisterium” argument that allows for two different “types” of data to be applied to two different “kinds” of reality. This argument rests on the assumption that spiritual phenomenon exist outside of the natural world and are, therefore, impossible to measure by any of the tools of science. This is at best a polite fiction, I think, as it allows us to have slices of our scientific and spiritual cake on the same plate, as it were. But I don’t think this argument holds up to “modern” reality. And even if the notion of spirituality occupying a realm beyond the reach of science were a tenable position in the past, I think it is becoming more and more difficult to sustain in the face of continuing scientific discovery.
All of which leaves one such as myself in the rather awkward position of dealing with the reality that not just a few, but most of my fellow humans believe (often rather deeply) in completely imaginary things.
How can this be? Especially taking into account the rather high esteem we have for ourselves in the “great chain of being”?
Consider for a moment the age you and I live in, for we live in a time that is unique in human history. Not just because we can look up cat videos on YouTube, but because we are the first generation to know so much incredible factual information about where we came from. Seriously: every week there is an article trumpeting new discoveries about the origins and evolution of life on earth. I read a steady stream of newly-published books (written for a general audience) that work at explaining the mind-bending wonders of how our planet was formed, or what the latest fossils are suggesting about the meandering course of the natural selection that eventually produced birds from dinosaurs and humans from fish.
But at the same time, there is not simply (an understandable) ignorance in the face of this flood of ever-surprising discovery, but determined resistance to new conceptions about ourselves that is organized, well-funded and determined. These “push-back” campaigns from religious groups employ the rather frightening tactic of attacking the credibility of the very foundations of the scientific method. In a sense they attempt to portray scientifically-gleaned evidence as nothing better than one godless human’s perverted opinion. And it’s working. Clearly, despite their professed belief that the ways of God are beyond science, science itself must be silenced because of the (actual and perceived) impact it is having on the foundations of religious belief.
Mostly we see this in the “climate change” debate. This is less a true debate than a bunch of actual scientists on one side, and a bunch of commercial interests and believers in personal liberty and religious fundamentalism on the other whose beliefs determine the reality they are willing to accept. The religious, at least, see science as the evil opposite of themselves, making the huge mistake of taking faith in religion to be the intellectual equivalent of faith in careful science. But their arguments find fertile ground in the minds of millions of Americans. Americans that have some understanding of their religion, but less understanding of science.
In the ancient battle between competing religious mythologies, science — actual science — is regarded as no more than a new myth-on-the-block.
And in this is the disquieting implication that the majority of our fellow humans who are living their lives, making decisions about who they elect to office (and the issues that they subsequently badger their elected officials about) are profoundly ignorant of the actual physical reality of their lives and the world we live in. And it would appear that in this ignorance irrational belief not only persists, but prospers.
And so it becomes tricky to figure out just how to view these, my fellow humans. Our species has produced (and continues to produce) stunning examples of artistic beauty, technical prowess, sheer courage, generosity of spirit, philosophical insight and scientific discovery. And yet we are also a species of tribal warfare, ignorant fear, short-sighted selfishness and appalling cruelty.
Though the religious would disagree with me on this, it’s clear to me that, on the spiritual side, there is more heavy lifting to do to explain the mysterious disparity between our species’ highs and lows, especially when humans are held to be the special creation of an all-knowing deity. On the scientific side, reality is accepted — as it is — as a problem to be studied that will (one hopes) yield more and more answers and explanations over time. But for all of us, there is only the one reality of our existence on this planet, a reality that carries with it the ever-present potential for great achievement, or the bubbling over of our darker ingredients into human-generated chaos or social upheaval.
For me, a scientific, materialist view of my species gives me the comfort of recognizing and understanding a certain physical reality, and frees me from any added angst of layered-on spiritual mysteries. But on the other hand, it also lays bare the incredible difficulty of tackling the profound challenge it would be to eliminate evil, say, from the world, especially when most of my fellow humans believe in the existence of an invisible mystery — a belief that actually inhibits the capacity to rationally interpret reality. In truth, the real challenge, then, is much greater than the imagined spiritual one (which God is going to take care of anyway, once he makes a “new” heaven and earth). And so I think that the materialist can not, in the end, be in any way accused of taking the “easy” way out. Believers in God may think that non-believers have taken a lazy short-cut, (and have therefore earned some extra punishment in the afterlife) but, really, I don’t think they know what the hell they’re talking about.
To be honest about it, I’d have to say that eliminating God from the picture (though it has, for me, deeply affirmed my “right” to existence) reveals life on Earth to be a bit, well, tenuous. And though life itself will likely go on for a long, long time, that doesn’t mean that we humans will.
There is only one reality, and it is a natural one. So the true difference between spirituality and materialism is perspective, and the way our different sets of perceptions color our view of the one reality that we all share. It is less and less of a mystery to me why we humans are so damn religious, and why so few choose to go it “alone” without the comforts of irrational belief. In a way I feel a bit the detached scientist studying a curious and fascinating species, only with the sometimes unsettling awareness that I am one of that same species. Good and bad, high and low, I have met the humans, and they are us: Noble and petty, rational and cuckoo, the most impressive and maddening life form to have evolved in the last few billion years.
REVIEWS FROM THE REV: “Evolution in a Toxic World: How Life Responds to Chemical Threats” by Emily MonossonSunday, November 11th, 2012
“Evolution in a Toxic World” is, in some ways, a story of the evolution of one toxicologist’s personal and professional evolution in a field that is, by her account, at last merging with the insights available from the field of evolutionary studies. For it turns out that toxicology has much more to concern itself with than the occasional dramatic case of humans being poisoned by their own chemical creations. The emerging reality about the interactions of thousands upon thousands of “new” chemical compounds with the evolved biology of every living thing is an area that requires careful study and new ways of defining just what dangers might lurk in our present and future environments (as altered by human activity).
The reality is this: we industrious humans have liberated tons of heavy metals and naturally-occuring materials from the earth through our mining and burning and manufacturing. Along the way we have invented chemical compounds that have never existed in nature. It stands to reason that such an environment — changed as it is from the one we evolved in — might produce some surprises in our biology, and this is proving to be the case.
But this case is sometimes subtle and nuanced — not always a tale of deathly poisons, but often of chemicals whose molecular shapes resemble hormones, say, and that fool living cells into taking them up in ways that alters reproductive cycles or DNA.
This book is not alarmist, even if there are alarming revelations as the author takes us along on her own journey into our evolutionary past in order to better understand the task that is before scientists such as her (and humankind). it is a well-written, cogent and enjoyable book to read, well worth your time if for no other reason than the fact that you have to live your life in this new chemical world we have created.
I highly recommend this book.
Today I lingered for a moment on a syndicated Christian radio program as the host interviewed her guest. I listened as they reached their consensus that the explanation for atheism was the deep hurt of a father who “wasn’t there” in the atheist’s youth. They used (my beloved) Christopher Hitchen’s pronouncement that any tales of his deathbed conversion (he only recently died of cancer) should not be believed. The man on the other side of the radio interview said these words made him want to “crawl under my desk — for man is designed to be with God”. To these two Christians, then, the only explanation for not believing in God was the disappointment of a disappointing “earthly” father, not reason, not evidence, none of that nonsense.
This isn’t the first time I’ve run across this idea. If I tell an evangelical Christian that I don’t believe in God, they will almost invariably become instantly sympathetic, moved, even, as they struggle to imagine the magnitude of hurt I must have experienced that “drove me away” from God. (It’s of little consequence to them that the entire construct of that question presupposes the existence of an actual God that I could be hurt by, or disappointed in. But that is another matter).
Having considered and studied the nature of belief for some time, it now seems to me that belief in God is a natural part of being human. True, belief is not quite universal among our species, but the majority of humans do believe in some power “greater than themselves” (and by this they don’t mean the powerful forces of nature). It’s been an interesting experiment to be among the minority in this regard (and in the minority of even that minority of unbelievers by virtue of identifying myself an atheist, as opposed to agnostic).
One part of this “non-spiritual” adventure of mine is experiencing the social aspect of being in this non-religious minority within a broadly religious majority culture. But another aspect of the adventure is the challenge of being one of those humans who — unlike some of my atheist brethren — found belief to be fairly easy to go along with until it was no longer a tenable conceptual framework. In other words, I seemed to be quite able and willing to believe…right up to the moment I realized that God didn’t actually exist.
But that has put me in a challenging cognitive spot: between a rock and hard place, as it were. For it would appear that I have an evolved brain that is (like the brains of the believing majority) actually wired to believe (to conjure meaningful patterns from random events by selective emphasis) and yet I am currently not actively engaging that part of my brain. So you could say that I am, in a sense, at odds with my own biology!
But I also have what could be classified as a “critical” brain. And I don’t mean that in a completely negative sense. I think it is precisely my critical capacity — combined with a curiosity (perhaps bequeathed to me by my own earthly father) — that has made me the artist and writer that I am. After all, to progress at all in any art or profession, one must develop the capacity to evaluate one’s own performance, which in my case meant finding a balance between developing a cold eye for searching out mistakes or weaknesses in my work, and a genuine appreciation for the products of my own particular talent. But it may well be that a brain like mine — so well tuned for creating art — is not the best brain for living in a world of belief. In other words, having the brain that I have, perhaps my declension from belief was as inevitable as my acquisition of it in the first place!
When my Christianity came to an end, I felt like a hard-rock miner who had been manning a clattering drill for fifteen years who had suddenly broken through a rock wall that, instead of leading to an open chamber, was actually the last bit of crust on the other side of the earth, and so I found myself suddenly tumbling off into the vast void of God-less space. In time I began to look in wonder at Christians who had believed in God all of their lives (and would likely believe until they died). How could they do it? Was it simply a function of my determined personality that turned the seemingly virtuous trait of getting-to-the-bottom-of-things into a boring-a-hole-right-through-an-entire-belief-system character flaw?
But getting back to the sympathetically vapid stance of our two radio people, I can honestly tell tell them that I have no beef with God. (But, based on my experience with such discussions, I don’t think they would be quite able to grasp what that really means). Like when a young friend recently asked me what my chief complaint was with God. Well, I would have to answer that I have no “complaint” with God, because, well, God does not exist as a real thing that I could have a real complaint with or about. The question itself is built upon the same presuppositions as the “bad-daddy” atheism cause I described above.
And this is where I must make a diversion into an area where things get really tricky.
So far, we’ve tended (historically) to see things in one of two ways: 1) God exists, and we were created by Him to know Him, and it is an act of sinful “will” to ignore or deny this reality; or 2) There is no god (never was), and we just made him up anyway (and so it logically follows that we can unmake him up just as easily). But I’m coming to see that it’s more complicated than that. For religious belief is based on a particular approach to interpreting naturally-occuring phenomenon, that is itself built on the natural cognitive structure of our evolved pattern-seeking (and highly social) brains. This means that what we are really talking about is a difference in the interpretation of actual phenomenon, not in the existence (or validity) of that phenomenon. So that when we say that God doesn’t exist, the believer thinks we mean that the phenomenon that a believer uses to support his or her belief doesn’t exist, (and they simply KNOW that this is bullshit). And I suspect that a lot of atheists make that subtle, but critical, mistake in their argument. But as I’ve come to say: “I believe in the phenomenon, I just don’t believe in the religious interpretation of it”.
And so when I listen to folks like those on the radio today, I hear people creating an entire argument in an imaginary space that never has to make contact with reality, only with a certain shared perception of it. And the theories and questions and challenges that emerge from that cloud end up being of no practical use to someone like me. There is no point of useful engagement with such notions. Threats of divine judgement are not ignored by the non-believer out of some injured-child defiance, but because they are hollow threats. There is nothing to back them up and, therefore, nothing to get riled about.
There are multiple levels to human behavior, and they are woven together in an way that makes their untangling a tricky thing. But this shouldn’t be surprising, for isn’t that the way of all of nature? Ecosystems and animals live in a highly interdependent dance such that any slight change in any part of that system can trigger a cascade of unforeseen consequences. And so it is with us humans when belief is removed from the cognitive equation. It may just turn out to be that unbelief is an unnatural state to some of us! This could be part of the explanation for why there aren’t more non-believers than there are: on some instinctual level folks understand the risk of leaving the security of the group think. But then we are also curious, reasoning animals, and I am certainly not the first (or only) human to come to the conclusion that he’s been believing a bunch of silliness with no basis in fact or evidence.
But then this, to me, makes the argument against God even more compelling. For even here there is a natural explanation that is consonant with other observable realities. Belief in God then is not merely a delusion, but a particular kind of illusion that is custom-fit to our mode of thinking and feeling. This, too, points to the natural evolutionary origins of belief far more than it points to an actual God. But to understand such ideas, someone in the embrace of active religious belief would have to take several significant steps back before gaining any kind of useful perspective. And this is an action that few, it seems, are willing to take.
So the atheist recognizes the reality of the world offered by science, but must then persevere through the discomforts of living a godless life with a brain “built” for belief, whereas the believer indulges in the easy comforts of a fantastical (yet custom-tailored) mindscape of that belief. Two different yet related modes of human existence as we navigate our way through the remarkable fact of our existence on this planet.