I finally finished reading Evolving God by Barbara King, which I first wrote about several months ago.  The book is fascinating and thought-provoking and refreshingly kind, which is surprisingly hard to find in books about religion.  If Barbara King is an atheist (and I was right, I still don’t know whether she is), she’s a pink atheist.  Her book inspired me to be more tolerant of religion and spirituality in all its forms.  I’ve always tolerated monotheism fine, but now I can also see pantheism, animism, shamanism, etc. as part of the same thread.

Dr. King’s thesis is simple and cogent: “The religious impulse is rooted in a deep longing for the emotional meaning-making with other beings that is so fundamental to the prehistory of our species.”  King says religion is hardwired in humans, but not in the way that science often tells us.  She disagrees with both genetic and memetic explanations for the origin of religion, as do I.  According to her, religious belief came about through social evolution, beginning with the simplest relationship, that between mother and offspring.

“The human religious imagination developed in ever widening circles of engagement from immediate social companions, to members of a larger group, then across groups, and, eventually, to a wholly other dimension, the realm of sacred beings.”

It’s obvious that Dr. King thinks religion at its core is good.  I’m not inclined to disagree.  As for whether any religion is true, King seems to think that’s an irrelevant question.  She defers to this quote from Karen Armstrong:

“Ever since the prophets of Israel started to ascribe their own feelings and experiences to God, monotheists have in some sense created a God for themselves.  God has rarely been seen as a self-evident fact that can be encountered like any other objective existent.  Today many people seem to have lost the will to make this imaginative effort.”

I may actually be convinced that there is indeed a “God-shaped hole” in every person.  (How I hate that phrase, but for lack of a better one…)  I’m also convinced that it does not necessitate the existence of a God.  Barbara King paints a very convincing picture of how religion, and a need for God, evolved as a consequence of social relationships.  A God-shaped hole isn’t so much an indication of God as it is an impetus to create God.

I’ve known many Christians whose faith is motivated far more by their need for God than a desire for objective truth, which would certainly seem a small concern if you were just trying to get through life.  But what about when life is already great without God?  I’ve said before that I know I could make myself believe in Christianity again if I needed to in order to cope, but this is the first time I’ve considered that “creating God” doesn’t necessarily have to be motivated by weakness or a desire for comfort.  What if it was a response to a desire for richness?  What if an atheist’s life could be made even better with religion?

This is a possibility I’ve seriously considered.  I don’t feel my life is lacking in any major way.  But after reading about the ways in which humans have evolved to become religious beings and the ways in which relationship with the supernatural is essentially the pinnacle of human social development, I can’t help but think that religion could still be beneficial to me.  I don’t want to deprive myself of this most unique and complex of evolutionary products.

Is there anything to lose by valuing truth about all else?  It might surprise you that I think the answer is yes.  Unless, that is, atheists can create meaning in a spirituality as rich as religion that is also consistent with our view of the truth.  If atheism could not be spiritual, I would not be able to remain an atheist, no matter what I thought was true.

Antoine de Saint-Exupery wrote: “Spiritual life begins when a human being is ‘seen’ to be more than the sum of his component parts.”  I would say that a spiritual person strives to see everything as more than the sum of its parts.  One of the best things about atheism is that it allows us to see the parts as they are in all their beauty and uniqueness, but there is something more that I want to strive for in my spiritual life as an atheist.  More than just appreciating science and beauty and human relationships, but less than attributing them to sentient invisible agents.  What I want may best be likened to what Barbara King and Karen Armstrong call the sacred, whatever that might be.

There may come a day when I decide that only supernaturalism can provide the richness I desire.  I’ve been through enough changes to know that it’s useless to try to predict my future beliefs.  For now, I continue to pursue both truth and beauty in spirituality.  To elaborate on something Richard Dawkins once said, my mind is open to the most wonderful range of true possibilities that I cannot even imagine.

While I was in the city last week I went to the Anchorage Museum of Art and History.  I’ve really missed going to museums so it was a treat.  One of the art exhibits was Earth, Fire and Fibre, an exhibition of crafts, fabric and metal arts—things like quilts, silk scarves, jewelry, and pottery.  I’m not usually into this kind of art, but it was really well done.  One item that caught my eye was a necklace made of intricate beaded charms embellishing a thick chain.  When I looked closer, I saw that the chain was actually a chain saw blade.  That totally blew me away.  It struck me as a completely genius piece of art.  The necklace was part of a collection of 3 necklaces and a purse made out of materials like drill bits, high caliber bullets, and a pair of scissors used as a pendant.

A rare few pieces of art possess something that makes me feel like I am connected to it.  They almost punch me in the chest with the force of their profundity, like a realization that they contain something that is also in my heart.  The deep undercurrent of thought in that necklace is the kind of thinking with which I aspire to live and view the world.

What is it about the air in autumn that makes the scales fall from my eyes and ears?

For autumn color in Alaska, look down.

I just got back from a quick business trip to Anchorage, my first time out of the bush since February.  I’m glad to be back in the bush.  Cities are nothing new to me; I’ve lived in big cities and their suburbs for most of my life.  But I’ve gotten very acclimated to my small-town environment and desensitized to city living.  Driving around Anchorage and walking around downtown, I was nervous about being in such a big, busy place.

It was almost overwhelming being in a city full of strangers.  Just looking around and realizing that I’ve never seen any of these people before was overwhelming because I’m so used to knowing everyone I see.  I’m also not used to seeing people dressed up.  Here, dressing up means wearing Gore-tex instead of rubber fisherman’s overalls.  Anchorage is full of pretty people who make me feel like a hick.  It’s also filled with attractive men (but I’m not complaining about that).

Going into stores, even ones I love, I was completely overwhelmed by the selection.  I almost don’t know how to browse in a bookstore anymore.  I’ve been wanting to go shopping for a long time, but actually being in stores surrounded by tons of stuff was so overwhelming that I bought almost nothing.

Anchorage drivers are mean.  They honk their horns a lot and don’t give pedestrians the right of way.  I would think that people in Alaska would be more relaxed, even in Anchorage, but they’re as much in a hurry as anywhere else.  They don’t hold a candle to Portland, which has the nicest drivers and most helpful strangers of any city I’ve been in.

Friday evening I went to a big work-related event, where Senator Mark Begich was the main speaker.  Later as my coworkers and I were driving around after the event, we stopped at a gas station to fill up the car.  A car pulled up in front of us with a Begich campaign bumper sticker.  “I wonder if that’s Senator Begich,” my friend said.  It was; the senator hopped out and ran into the gas station bathroom.  We had a good laugh about how this big state we live in is actually a small town.

So you would think drivers would be a little nicer.

Thanks to everyone who took the environmental survey.  I edited the original post below to underline the correct answers.  Everyone passed with at least 10 out of 12.

When this survey was administered nationwide in 2001, only 1/3 of American adults passed with 8 or more correct answers out of 12.  There was a strong gender divide, with 43% of men and only 21% of women passing.  I think that’s really surprising and kind of ridiculous.  Although I should note that in the original survey, subjects were asked not to guess and to answer “Don’t know” if they weren’t sure of the answer.  I think that’s important because I think it’s pretty easy to guess the right answer on these questions.

I’m taking an Environmental Education graduate class online.  One of my homework assignments this week has to do with environmental literacy.  If you have 5 minutes to spare, it would really help me out if you could take this 12-question quiz on environmental knowledge.  Please answer the questions below and put your answer to each question either in the comments or in an email to me at peacefulatheist at gmail.  I also need to know the following information:

• your age and gender
• region of the country where you live (or country if not in the U.S.)
• level of education (degree and subject if possible)
• occupation

If you could do this by Wednesday, I would really appreciate it.  If I get enough responses, I’ll post the results and statistics.  Thanks a bunch!

1. There are many different kinds of animals and plants, and they live in many different types of environments.  What is the word used to describe this idea?

a. Multiplicity
b. Biodiversity
c. Socio-economics
d. Evolution
Don’t know

2. Carbon monoxide is a major contributor to air pollution in the U.S.  Which of the following is the biggest source of carbon monoxide?

a. Factories and businesses
b. People breathing
c. Motor vehicles
d. Trees
Don’t know

3. How is most of the electricity in the U.S. generated?

a. By burning oil, coal, and wood
b. With nuclear power
c. Through solar energy
d. At hydroelectric power plants
Don’t know

4. What is the most common cause of pollution of streams, rivers, and oceans?

a. Dumping of garbage by cities
b. Surface water running off yards, city streets, paved lots, and farm fields
c. Trash washed into the ocean from beaches
d. Waste dumped by factories
Don’t know

5. Which of following is a renewable resource?

a. Oil
b. Iron ore
c. Trees
d. Coal
Don’t know

6. Ozone forms a protective layer in the earth’s upper atmosphere.  What does ozone protect us from?

a. Acid rain
b. Global warming
c. Sudden changes in temperature
d. Harmful, cancer-causing sunlight
Don’t know

7. Where does most of the garbage in the U.S. end up?  Is it in…

a. Oceans
b. Incinerators
c. Recycling centers
d. Landfills
Don’t know

8. What is the name of the primary federal agency that works to protect the environment?

a. Environmental Protection Agency (the EPA)
b. Department of Health, Environment, and Safety (the DHES)
c. National Environmental Agency (the NEA)
d. Federal Pollution Control Agency (the FPCA)
Don’t know

9. Which of the following household wastes is considered hazardous waste?

a. Plastic packaging
b. Glass
c. Batteries
d. Spoiled food
Don’t know

10. What is the most common reason that an animal becomes extinct?  Is it because…

a. Pesticides are killing them
b. Their habitats are being destroyed by humans
c. There is too much hunting
d. There are climate changes that affect them
Don’t know

11. Scientists have not determined the best solution for disposing of nuclear waste.  In the U.S., what do we do with it now?  Do we….

a.  Use it as nuclear fuel
b. Sell it to other countries
c. Dump it in landfills
d. Store and monitor the waste
Don’t know

12. What is the primary benefit of wetlands?  Do they…

a. Promote flooding
b. Help clean the water before it enters lakes, streams, rivers, or oceans
c. Help keep the number of undesirable plants and animals low
d. Provide good sites for landfills
Don’t know

The current issue of the journal Science contains a short news article about the importance of spatial ability in science.  This opening sentence caught my eye:

Albert Einstein, who was famously able to conduct physics experiments in his head, once said his “elements of thought are not words but certain signs and more or less clear images.”

Those are my elements of thought, too.  The article made me realize that the way my mind works is primarily through spatial thinking.  I consider myself pretty good in both verbal and math skills, but in both of those skill areas, words and numbers are translated into images.  When I read, for example, I have vivid mental images not just of the subject matter being described, but also of the sentences and words themselves, represented by symbols, objects, or colors that I can rearrange.  I see each arrangement as having a kind of tone, and parts of each sentence as smooth or rough.  Awkward writing stands out to me as spatial incongruities.  The more I reread or rewrite something, the more finely I see its texture.

The same goes for math.  I remember once trying to explain to my Linear Algebra professor why I wasn’t grasping a particular concept or proof: “whenever I work on a problem, I see images in my head.  They usually have nothing to do with the problem– they can be pictures of a house or just floating shapes– but they always come together in a certain way that makes me able to figure out the problem.  The pictures just aren’t coming together for this one.”  That was the best explanation I could give, but I don’t think that was quite good enough for my professor.

I think this trait of my mind is what made it so highly suited to religion.  A spatially-oriented mind is probably more conducive to complex theology and things that exist primarily in the mind, like a personal relationship with an invisible God.  Even if you accept the claims of religion as truth, they are truths that exist tangibly only in the past.  Being able to visualize that non-physical dimension in which they exist in the present is crucial.

Now that I’m an atheist, I sometimes notice a lack in this area.  I mean that I have found myself missing a certain mental aspect of life which religion provided richly.  It was as if I had an entire additional life, an inner life that was my relationship with God and my exploration of the entire system of Christianity.  It was deep and rich in metaphor and emotionally complex, the opposite of everything concrete and scientific and practical.  I feel like that part of my mind has now fallen into disuse.  My attempts at atheist spirituality have so far only replaced some parts of that, and intellectual exercises provide nothing that I didn’t also have when I was a Christian.

I don’t feel as challenged or as mentally fulfilled in a purely material universe.

I don’t necessarily believe that religion is the only thing that can fill that hole.  My current occupation and preoccupations simply don’t call on me to use my mind in such abstract ways.  Christianity satisfied me in a similar way as tackling abstract algebraic proofs did– at once consuming, anguishing, and fulfilling.

I would love to do a scientific study of the correlation between spatial abilities and religiosity.

There’s something I’ve noticed about people in this small town.  They gossip and talk about their friends a lot.  Certainly, talking about people behind their backs is something everyone does occasionally, and it happens everywhere, but it seems to happen a lot more here.  Most notably, people seem to talk a lot about their close friends.

I’ve seen many occasions where people who seem to be the best of friends complain severely about each other behind their backs.  I can’t help thinking, if you have a problem with her, why don’t you say it to her face?  If you think she’s so annoying, why do you spend so much time together?  But that’s it exactly: there are so few people in town that everyone is bound to be good friends with people with whom they wouldn’t be if the population were large enough to have a choice.

And that’s one of the things I like about living here.  As much as I wish there were more geeks in town, as much as I wish pot-smoking wasn’t a regular social occurrence, I find my social situation more challenging and fulfilling, in some ways, than having friends who are all similar to me.  It makes me confront things that I wouldn’t otherwise have to; it makes me consider every aspect of my personality and determine whether it is there because I want it to be, or because it’s familiar and convenient.

That doesn’t really make up for the gossiping and talking behind people’s backs, even if it does explain it.  But I’m guilty of it too.

I was just reminded of an occasion or two when I talked badly about someone who I consider to be a good friend.  Our personalities and interests are so different that I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t be friends if we weren’t limited by a small population.  We’re bound to get on each other’s nerves and find each other irritating more often than friends usually do, which is why sometimes I just need to vent, and I’m sure she does too.  But I really do like this person and value our friendship a lot.  I certainly don’t think any less of her.  I suppose the complaining and talking behind friends’ backs is an inevitable part of having such incompatible, but enriching, friendships.

Continuing my commentary on “Never Let Me Go” by Kazuo Ishiguro:

The students at Hailsham always know that they are clones and will grow up to be organ “donors”.  At every stage of their schooling, they are told a little more about what their lives will entail.  But at every stage, the information they are given is just a little more than they can understand– so that by the time they leave Hailsham, they have all the facts of the process of donation that they will go through, but no sense of the significance of their existence.

Near the end of the book, two of the main characters, Kathy and Tommy, find out the full truth– that most people don’t believe that they have souls, that there was never any hope that they could escape their fate, that the education they received at Hailsham was to serve no purpose other than enriching their lives during that time.  Because they didn’t grasp the full truth as students, they had never known how hopeless their futures were, and had spent their time at school dreaming and scheming of a different future.  Kathy and Tommy are shocked that these things were kept from them, and confront their teachers to ask why they didn’t reveal the truth to them while at Hailsham; they should have been told so they could be prepared for the life ahead of them.  Their teachers, meanwhile, believed that they did the best thing in allowing the students to live a carefree, normal, enjoyable life.  They wanted to give clones not just humane treatment but ignorant bliss.

There’s more than one right answer here.  Kathy and Tommy wonder whether their friend Ruth, who had died before knowing the truth, would have wanted to know.  And what would you choose?  Which is the better way to live: preparing for a future you know is doomed, or heading towards doom unknowingly, with serious hope?

Normally I would always choose to know the truth, to be prepared for reality.  But after reading about the students’ journey through understanding and their lives at Hailsham, if I were one of them, I would not have wanted to know at Hailsham.  I would have wanted to know afterwards, when it was time for donation and after the time for hoping has passed.  Because most of the book did read like a normal novel about normal students.  And if I were in a terrible world with such a bleak future, I would want to have that time just to live and hope and not know the truth.

While thinking about this, I wondered if this was a betrayal of my usual commitment to reason.  I’m a little surprised I would choose that way, but in a way it also echoes my attitude towards my experience as a Christian.  Looking back, I know that so much of the comfort that Christianity afforded me was an illusion.  God never had a plan for my life.  It was never an assurance that everything was going to be okay.  It was never an assurance that I wouldn’t be faced with anything I couldn’t handle.  My baptism didn’t “mean” anything in an absolute metaphysical sense.

But within the system where I resided at the time, those beliefs had value.  Even if none of it served any ultimate purpose, I couldn’t imagine not having that time.  Everything I did and learned as a Christian was development, education of a sort, for its own sake.  It certainly enriched my life at the time, and it enriches my life now, as I think the Hailsham students’ time at school enriched the years they later spent in their harsh world of organ farming.

I suppose what it comes down to is that I would always rather have something than not.  Being a Christian is not a bad thing, and I would rather have had the experience than not.  I would rather have the memory of something that felt utterly beautiful and pure to me, than not.  I would rather have my baptism, and all those long conversations with a non-existent God, than not.  And I suspect that if Kathy and Tommy actually had known the truth from the beginning, they would wish they could have had a pure, hopeful time at Hailsham untainted by the truth.

For further analogy, if you read this book for yourself, which I highly recommend you do, I’m sure you will wish that I hadn’t told you the ending.

It’s been a long time since I read a book so compelling that I finished it in one sitting.  This week I did that when I read “Never Let Me Go” by Kazuo Ishiguro.  When I first picked it up and read the back cover, I thought it would be a normal coming-of-age novel about students at a ritzy prep school.  It’s actually about a modern alternate world in which everything is much like our world, except that there is a large population of clones who are bred to be organ donors.  The central characters are students at a secluded boarding school for clones; the novel follows them as they grow up, and first care for clones undergoing organ donation, then become donors themselves.

It would be a great disservice to think of this book as just a cautionary sci-fi novel about cloning.  I don’t consider it such at all, and in fact it’s not classified as science fiction.  The other things that the book is about– innocence, loss, heartbreak, love– are so much harder to pin down.  And it is also a coming-of-age novel about students at a ritzy prep school.  In most of the world of this novel, clones are raised as animals in institutions with horrible conditions.  At Hailsham, they are given an extensive education; they play sports, live in dorms, and are taught to value artistic creativity.  They know that they are clones and “donors”, but they have no idea of the sub-human status of clones in society, or what conditions others outside of Hailsham experience.

The novel’s main thematic message about bioethics is thought-provoking, but nothing that hasn’t been addressed before.  There are two other elements that I found extremely compelling.  One is the attitude of the school’s patrons.  The founders and teachers at Hailsham are all non-clones who have fought for humane treatment of clones.  Some of them are kind and affectionate towards students, but most remain physically distant, and some maintain a clear dislike towards students in general.  The school’s founder, Madame, is cold towards students and physically frightened of them, afraid to touch them or be surrounded by them– but clearly moved by their plight and by their struggle against society, to the point of creating a school where they can thrive and develop as persons before they are condemned to die.

It makes me wonder: how often does that happen?  How often do people support and fight for something that fundamentally repulses them?  I can see this being quite common: slavery, racial equality, poverty, sexual equality– in all these areas it is quite possible to support people intellectually but in reality, in interaction, fear them or regard them with disgust.

How do we deal with that?  Should Madame be hated for her reaction towards clones, or praised for her work on their behalf?  Is there anything she could do about her reaction?  Is there a way to change such ingrained attitudes?  And if the people who fight for the oppressed are so affected, is there any hope of changing the attitudes of the public?