The level of acrimony between atheists and believers is high. While atheists assert their right to challenge the faith of believers, believers feel mounting pressure to counter-attack. There have been a flurry of books in response to The God Delusion and others, but nowhere is the rancour more evident than in popular discourse, where there seems to be few rules of decorum, and where dogmatic positions in both views undermine whatever argument any particular adherent wishes to put forward. True communication in this scenario is not possible.

I understand the potential for militancy in atheists’ positions. Logical discourse mostly fails when attempted with many believers, because faith is necessarily impervious to logic. Many atheists assert that religious faith, especially fundamentalism, has seriously eroded education, science, and intellectualism, has made inroads in politics that have accelerated this process, and has changed the face of popular culture (such as it is). In the face of the inability of believers to accept rational arguments criticizing their beliefs, a reactionary response from atheists follows, buoyed by a feeling of fatigue with staying silent. This leaves the avenue of assault wide open — while simultaneously closing off common ground.

From the viewpoint of the believer, the nature of faith makes it impossible to reconcile its tenets with serious critical inquiry, and thus, there is no point in any dialectic concerning faith. To have faith implies that one accepts the infallibility of the articles of that faith. In extreme cases, inquiry of any kind is a sort of heresy. For example, even the soundest forms of biblical criticism and analysis would not alter the way some believers hold to the specifics of their faith. While this way of dealing with the world is a kind of refuge for believers, it necessarily cuts off all communication with those who do not believe.

In Canada, twenty-three percent of the population identify themselves as atheist, remarkably about double the number of the estimated percentage of atheists in the entire world. Even in the United States, where about 8% of the population report being atheist, the number of non-believers is growing, especially among the young. Even so, believers far outnumber atheists in North American society, and in society at large.

It seems apparent that both sides should be communicating with one another.

There is some attempt to do this. David Emery, a pastor at Middletown Christian Church in the US state of Kentucky, offered a series of sermons that sought to respond to what he calls the valid arguments of popular atheists like Dawkins. In his short but incisive book, Atheism, Julian Baggini, who is not shy about revealing the abundant absurdities of faith, warns about militant and dogmatic atheism, and its cost to reasoned discourse.

A model of common ground that would temper acrimony would be the understanding that a moral position is possible for both the atheist and the believer. Believers can be coached to accept that morality is possible with no belief in gods; that, in fact, morality and altruism are the default modes that human beings operate from. The sheer abundance of evidence of moral behaviour throughout recorded history, where the nature of belief in gods has continually changed, is indicative of this. That most atheists are even concerned with moral and ethical issues should be proof positive.

Atheists must always operate from a position of moral grounding while recognizing the fundamental humanity of believers. What is more immediately important than what a person believes is what a person is, in terms of his or her relationship to the rest of the world, and how suffering impacts everyone, whether its source is an absurd delusion or not. There is no need to refrain from pointing out absurdities of faith, especially when those absurdities take on dangerous forms; but when communicating with individuals, what is important is the recognition of the sameness of the atheist and the believer. PZ Myers’ cracker desecration would have been impossible for him, if his concerns for the suffering of others outweighed his intolerance for religious absurdities.

As their demographic numbers, perhaps glacially, approach one another, the importance of the shared humanity of believers and atheists is highlighted.

Louis Atheism, Believers Argument, Atheism, Believers, Communication, Morality, Religion

There has been a discussion at DPChallenge.com lately about the nature of morality. Typically, the religionists are lined up on one side, arguing that the only moral source in the universe is their particular god. The atheists dutifully face off with them, presenting ideas about morality’s prehistory, its probable source in genetics, how it favours the survival of a species, or its otherwise innate nature. There is little agreement other than that morality is somehow desirable, and immorality is not.

Of course, it isn’t easy to define morality, especially when the waters are muddied with ideas about its paranormal origins, or the insistence of some people in equating morality with dogmatic adherence to their religious script. But at its most irreducible, morality is that condition in human beings that recognizes suffering in other beings, seeks to end it, and desires to replace it with happiness. There is little else that it needs to be concerned with, rules of copulation, or the hierarchical roles of certain members of society, for example. Conversely, immorality can be said to be that condition which is unconcerned with the suffering, or happiness, of other beings.

I think people tend to show their true moral fibre in dealing with strangers. I personally have a difficult time with strangers. I am usually suspicious of them, and it is with only a great effort that I can bring myself to give a stranger the benefit of the doubt. I seem to be predisposed to mistrusting those I don’t know at all. What comes along with this is a tendency to discredit the actions of strangers, to cast their most innocent actions in a bad light, to assume the worst in people. It’s a disheartening struggle, because I otherwise enjoy almost everyone around me. I’m endlessly fascinated by people’s behavioural minutiae; I truly love the humanity in people.

Alex and I are relatively new swimmers, and we inhabit the “slow lane” during our four-nights-a-week lap swim. We seem to be stronger swimmers than most in that lane, but neither of us are comfortable moving on.

An older woman, a very slow swimmer perhaps in her mid fifties, has been cajoling Alex, trying to get him into the intermediate lane. Her jokes are rather unsubtle, but her smile is genuine, and one day last week, we spotted her at another pool, where Alex had a short pleasant conversation with her.

During last night’s swim, she hinted once again that he should move on, in a pleasant, undemanding way. He responded that he lacked the confidence for the next lane, and that was that.

A young teenaged boy later got in her way. “Move,” she barked at him, jerking her thumb toward the faster lane. “Sorry,” he said quietly, and swam out of her way. “I’m fucking sick of this,” she growled.

It was actually quite shocking. One doesn’t expect an otherwise kind older woman to come up with that kind of language, let alone for a child. The dramatic about-face in her demeanor was appalling. I later reasoned that she was showing us what she truly thought of her situation in the slow lanes amongst faster swimmers, and that she could not until that moment vent her frustration on us, her peers, the way she could do on a young person.

We could do nothing but ignore her for the rest of the evening, and before the swim ended, she left, her face blank, but underwritten with some kind of negative sentiment — disgust (in herself?), dejection, weariness, loneliness.

She had, in that moment, displayed her true moral being, unconcerned for the welfare of anyone else. Her willingness to inflict this kind of suffering on someone, small-scale though that suffering might be, revealed her nature. Her behaviour was highly immoral. In that moment, there seemed no question for me that this woman should be ignored by us. She seemed a small entity, as unsympathetic as she was lacking sympathy.

Why would I concern myself with this kind of non-event? There was a momentary lowering of the guard on what appears to be a rather crass older woman, and some kid bore the brunt of it and moved on. That’s that. So why would I even give it a moment’s thought?

It is indeed for the way she left. The look on her face as she walked, alone, off the deck, was about as telling as the hissing profanity. She was indeed alone. She was indeed not proud of her reaction. She was quite friendless in that moment.

I see myself in that woman. I see the moral duality, the natural sympatico coupled with the innate dourness, the easy will to negativity. I see in her behaviour the same behaviour in myself — the path of least resistance in impersonal dealings with strangers, leading to minute forms of suffering that only add to the endless measure of unhappiness in the world. I see in her, and in myself, an agent of Sadness. Sadness doled out bit by bit, in increments barely noticeable, until their crushing weight destroys the equally minute measures of happiness that may have been offered.

Morality is the will to actively end suffering, and promote happiness. There is no small measure of suffering; there is no small measure of happiness.

Louis About me, Morality Happiness, Morality, Strangers

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.

Louis General Communication, Morality, Selfishness, Strangers