The TTC buses showing these ads should start rolling in May, and the proposed message is the same as that used for the UK campaign: “There’s probably no God. Now stop worrying and enjoy your life.”

Messages and hierarchy

I was made sleepy by the expected reaction from zealots, but was somewhat surprised to find opposition to the campaign from unexpected quarters. A non-religious acquaintance seemed baffled, wondering aloud what the purpose of it could possibly be. And Author Stephen Marche, a self-declared atheist who uses the term interchangeably with “secular humanism”, bemoaned the campaign in The National Post, finding it distasteful.

I believe what Dawkins and Hitchens write, and I certainly don’t need to be convinced of religion’s inherent toxicity… But turning secular humanism into a movement with a message is no way to stand in opposition to the terrifying global rise of religiosity.

It’s a startling declaration at first, apparently bereft of conviction and courage. But Marche is merely arguing that the first step toward dogmatism, the rigidity of viewpoint that atheism is supposed to refute, is hierarchy and organization. The kernel of his warning is a sound one: dogmatism, or militancy, of any kind, including militant atheism, is bad. It refutes rational investigation, the very foundation of most atheism, and ultimately rests on nothing more than unfounded propositions and opinions bleated loudly, lacking any appeal to reason.

Unreasonable lassitude

Like most atheists, however, Marche seems happy to silently live his life surrounded by the messages of religion, even while finding those messages to be irrational at best, and poisonous at worst. In October 2008, a “leading Vatican official” called homosexuality “a deviation, an irregularity, a wound.” There is a tiny, one hundred strong Christian sect in Kansas in the United States that has had global publicity far in excess of what is merited based on its size, the worthiness of its assertions, and the guttural offensiveness of its messages. And of course, Joseph Ratzinger, the current pope, previously head of The Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith — known a century or so ago as The Inquisition — said on December 22, 2008 that humanity needs to be saved from homosexuality and transsexualism, likening these conditions to its own destruction. (As an aside, I’ve walked down Church Street after midnight on many weekend nights in my youth, and humanity is in no danger of being eradicated by the various incarnations of Marylin Monroe and Jane Mansfield you can find flouncing around there.)

To my knowledge, Marche has not written any articles in major national newspapers decrying messages as offensive and anti-human as these. It is startling to me that he has decided to pick on the inoffensive and agnostic, even sheepish and apologetic message of the bus campaign.

This is morally repugnant to me. To take a position against the hurricane of life-denying poison coming from the lips of many of the faithful, a small position, so discrete as to be almost invisible, seems to be the only recourse many people have. To display one’s world view in quiet, gentle opposition to the regular religious harangue — to, horror of horrors, stand in opposition to all of this with an actual message! — is a noble effort, a kind of life-affirming “excuse me but” in the face of a pervasive, opposing rant. It is not only a good way to stand in opposition to the relentless march of religious intolerance and irrationality, it is a necessary act. A baby step perhaps, but an important one.

Much in a single line

Most importantly, much to the dismay of Marche and many people like him, the eleven words of the campaign message represent a coming together of people weary of the intolerant unreason issuing from the side of the faithful. Something quite simply has to be said, in as cheerfully inoffensive a way as possible. Gathering for this effort, sending money or putting up a website or ordering advertising on the side of a bus, is not the sure road to rigid dogmatism that alarmists are worried about. It is simply the required response of a growing population of reasonable people who reject the unreasonable, sometimes offensive and toxic, dictates of religion.

The message is directed at believers, and it is a simple one: Yours is not the only message around. There are others with a message more wholesome and more life-affirming. Fear is not the dictator of morality, and good works do not come from an abundance of faith, but from an unfettered love of humanity, from pleasure in humankind for its own sake, from the joy we take in our fellows simply because we live, because we are, because we eschew suffering and embrace life; because we believe in ourselves.

Exactly. And so I wonder why one small insult out of countless others has me bothered.

I’ve had a lot of success on Craigslist. I recently posted an ad for an iPod [...]]]> How many times have I been insulted in life? How many times has that been in the bodiless environment of the Internet?

Exactly. And so I wonder why one small insult out of countless others has me bothered.

I’ve had a lot of success on Craigslist. I recently posted an ad for an iPod Touch I no longer need, and got a bite almost immediately, but the individual wanted 20% off my listed price. I’ve always gotten exactly what I’ve asked for on Craigslist, so I replied in two curt words that I’d only be taking my asking price. “No, $300,” was how I put it.

An hour later, I got back a reply saying, “Get over yourself,” followed by a large ASCII Star of David. My name is Steiner, a classic German name that confuses some people, who take it to be Jewish. It seems this symbol was supposed to stand in for something, to intimidate me. A shaming device of some kind. A yellow badge, I think.

I immediately deleted the e-mail, then revived it a few minutes later. I looked at it for a while. I’m not the most charitable of men, nor the most even-tempered. Several replies came to mind as I wondered at what I should do. “Wow, I’m convinced, it’s yours — free!” was one. “Steiner is a German name, Genius,” was another. Various other flavours of sarcasm seemed apt. Later, it seemed to me that I could also take the route of pointing out how his message was received: with some alarm, and some sadness at its implications.

The young man was from Toronto. He’d used his full name in the “From” header of his e-mail, and, it being very unique, I looked him up and found a Flickr web page and a few other things. In addition to his likes, dislikes, the town in Romania where he grew up, friends, and hobbies, there were many pictures of him. Here he was with a few friends, also twenty-something, lounging in a nondescript apartment. Here’s a girl with him. He’s carrying an infant in this one, and here’s a picture he’s taken of himself, holding a point-and-shoot at arm’s length.

What path has led this ordinary person to the place where it seems acceptable to him to offer a stranger a deflating insult, and a veiled threat? And what’s the appropriate response?

The second question is easier for me to answer. In a case like this, the appropriate response is no response at all. For one thing, we are, unfortunately, forced to consider that an individual capable of a menacing text reaction like this is also capable of much more. Further, what could be gained by reacting negatively? Or even with sadness and alarm, my most sincere response? I couldn’t imagine this person responding well.

No, I quietly ignored his response.

About the first question, about how it came to be that he, or me, or anyone else, would think that such a response could be legitimate. There’s no real answer. The usual observations about faceless communication and the ease with which one can abandon civility while engaged in it come to mind. But it seems there has to be some larger issue, some explanation that would account for the willful injury people cause on a daily basis. It’s not that online communication engenders acting badly; it seems to me there’s a callousness inherent in many people that is exposed by online communication. Perceived consequences being minute, many feel free to act in whatever way is expedient to vent their ever-shifting negative emotions. Even a second’s worth of thought for how the other is made to feel seems too long.

Generally I love people, but it’s an on-again, off-again affair. They so disappoint. I am enthralled one moment, overjoyed at their complexities, torn to wonderful shreds by the fickleness of their delights and passions and pursuits, in awe of the heights of intellectualism they can climb to; and then I’m dashed again, brought down by their pettiness, by their dogmatic and inward-looking steadfastness to unreason, to selfishness, to emotional, intellectual dwarfism. I wish I knew what brings people to the very boundaries of supreme selflessness, only to be snapped back into their own self-concerned little world with the bright silent violence of a meteor crashing into the atmosphere.

I’m a victim of it and a perpetrator at the same time.