Perspective looms fairly important in our lives. It allows us to empathise, to sympathise, to comprehend, to draw conclusions – it’s not the be all and end all of knowledge acquisition of course. But it is an important factor. We even have sayings for it, from the slightly esoteric, “walk a mile in his shoes”, to the reasonably literal “look at it from her point of view”.

Occasionally though, some people have what I’d call perspective blind spots. It could be for instance that they were exposed to something so traumatic that they refuse to even acknowledge that there is another perspective. Wars are a classic example; some veterans of wars will develop an implacable dislike (perhaps even hatred) for the group of people they were fighting against, regardless of what peace has been achieved.

As an atheist, one of the perspective blind-spots I periodically come up against is that some religious or spiritual people believe I have a hole in my life.

The problem of course with that conclusion is that it’s from their perspective. As such, it’s a gibberish proposition from the perspective of the atheist. I’m not saying that in a way which condemns – again, I’m trying to teach some perspective here. It’s like someone coming up to you on the street and declaiming:

It’s a shame you’ll live your whole life without widshonking a humstark.

What’s a humstark? And what precisely is involved with widshonking? Unless a person has the perspective of what a humstark is or widshonking entails, and agrees with the utterer of the statement, the statement, regardless of its intent, is meaningless.

Thus, it’s the same when someone of spiritual or religious belief expresses concern about a ‘hole’ in the life of an atheist; they perceive:

Perspective 1

When in actual fact, the life of the atheist isn’t like that at all, it’s:

Perspective 2

In short, there is no hole because to have the hole requires the belief system that creates the hole; since the atheist doesn’t have the belief system in question, they can’t have the hole.

Now, there’s one final point to make here: it’s not uncommon in this situation for the person who talked about a ‘hole’ to then try to turn this perspective argument around – “Why don’t you see things from my perspective? Why don’t you accept {Jesus|Yahweh|Allah|Healing Chakras|Crystal Lattice Energy|etc} into your life, just for a while? It could change you.”

This is all well and good, but I’d encourage you to find anyone who defines him or herself as an atheist who has never been exposed to religion or spiritual beliefs. You can’t – you won’t.

No atheist goes through life without some level of exposure to religion or spirituality. We already have had an exposure to your perspective, you would say. I became an atheist at age 8, for instance. Now, a religious person can’t tell me that 8 is too young to decide on atheism when modern religion is full of fervent exclamations of child-prodigies who “discover the lord” young – when religious indoctrination barely weeks after birth through baptism, for instance, is commonly entrenched in a lot of societies. Pick a town where an atheist could have lived his or her whole life without ever walking past a church, a spiritual centre, a religious bookshop. Yes, I’m lumping both religion and spirituality together there, but to be perfectly honest, to the dyed in the wool atheist, they’re just both belief systems on the same big circle.

I even had my crisis of unfaith when I was a teen. Realising I was gay I decided to ‘cure’ it by prayer. Two years of self hatred later, I ironically found freedom again from religion via Bishop John Shelby Spong’s book, “Living in Sin? A bishop rethinks human sexuality“. Spirituality? I was as equally exposed to astrology during childhood have met wiccans, have met pagans, have met Muslims and Buddhists and all number of people who profess to or demonstrate an alternate faith system – both spiritual and religious.

So, I can’t be accused of not knowing about or trying the other side.

Can the same be said of the person who tells me I have a hole in my life? If you’re a religious or spiritual person who has previously expressed such concerns, I’d strongly encourage you to stop seeing a hole where none exists. Instead, be prepared to accept that the other person does not share your belief system.

For them, there is no humstark to widshonk.

 

I was inspired by “How do atheists find meaning in life?“, and then a subsequent discussion on Facebook that quite rightly pointed out the sometimes too-generalised criticisms levelled by the author, to write a bit about the rules I live by as an atheist.

  1. This life is the only time you exist. Make the most of it.
  2. This life is the only time anyone else exists. Do not take it from them.
  3. That which we leave behind when we’re gone are the memories and thoughts others have of us. Do your best to ensure they’re good ones.
  4. It’s valid to feel angry about things from time to time. Hate is not valid.
  5. Do not attack the personal religious or spiritual beliefs of another, unless it is to defend against those beliefs being used to impinge your rights.
  6. Good and bad, or good and evil, are discoverable without religion, and we should always try to do good.
  7. Good and bad, or good and evil, are evolving concepts.
  8. Believe that which can be empirically proven.
  9. Follow Hanlon’s Razor until Occam’s Razor demands otherwise.
  10. Our “purpose” should be three-fold:
    • Contribute, in some way, however small, to the evolution of the human mind.
    • Be mindful that we’re not the last generation to inhabit the earth.
    • Be mindful that we’re not the only species to inhabit the earth.

I’m not perfect. Sometimes I fail. That, however, is just part of life.

 

I’ve been thinking a little more about the pathetic diatribe Barnaby Joyce made in the Canberra Times a few days ago, and the utter hypocrisy therein.

In particular, when calling atheists “the sneaky sect”, he claimed:

Yes, this sect’s followers make their way on to your veranda then hold a righteous court of sneering indignation about the crib in the park. You can hear yourself muttering under your breath, ”I wish you would go drown yourself, you pseudo-intellectual Gucci flea.” They write letters to complain about the incorrectness of carols at the school and picket the Christmas tree. To not insult their religion, you must no longer follow yours.

What a hypocritical, ignorant, condescending, arrogant piece of shit that paragraph was.

At the time I said that atheists had hardly pioneered letter writing campaigns or protests. After all, look at the number of letters schools get every year about “immoral” books, or all those christians protesting abortion clinics, funerals, etc.

But now that I’ve had more time to think about it what really makes me angry is the incredibly hypocritical part:

…make their way on to your veranda then hold a righteous court of sneering indignation about the crib in the park…

Are you kidding me, you sad troll?

Barnaby Joyce: I’m now 38 years of age, I’ve lived in three states of Australia for varying lengths of time, I’ve had multiple houses and phone numbers, some listed, some unlisted.

And here’s the consistent thing between all those addresses and phone numbers:

  • I get christians door-knocking to try to convert me or sell me salvation;
  • I get christians letter-dropping pamphlets about Jesus, salvation, and the immorality of homosexuals;
  • I get christian organisations calling me asking for donations.

I’ve not once, in all my life, had an atheist knock on my door, drop a letter or pamphlet in my mailbox, or call me at night asking me for support.

And you, Barnaby Joyce, have the gall to accuse atheists of this?

Crawl back into your sad and bitter little hole, troll.

Yes, I’m pissed off. Nothing irks me more than overpowering hypocrisy, and Barnaby has it in spades.

 

A while ago, Barnaby Joyce, the leader of the LNP in the Australian Senate, said, when speaking of his daughters and the issue of same sex marriage:

“We know that the best protection for those girls is that they get themselves into a secure relationship with a loving husband and I want that to happen for them.

“I don’t want any legislator to take that right away from me.”

(“Gay marriage should be ridiculed, says Independent Bob Katter“, Mat Sadler, Perth Now, 16 August 2011)

Now, at the time, I said opponents such as Barnaby and Bob were coming across as batshit crazy, using stupid arguments about girls not being able to marry men if same-sex marriage were allowed, and (the horror!) “gay” being used to describe homosexuals rather than light happiness.

As we hit the end of December, Barnaby has come out swinging again, this time against atheists. You see, he doesn’t like us, and says:

“My war is always against that religion called atheist extremism, that sneaky sect. Its advocates’ belief in nothing is more affirmed and uncompromising than just about anyone else’s belief in anything.”

(“The ‘sneaky sect’“, Barnaby Joyce, The Canberra Times, 22 December 2011.)

Whoa, Barnaby, starting by calling atheists a ‘sect’ is an interesting proposition, but you blew yourself out of the water when you said we believe in ‘nothing’.

You see, atheists actually believe in quite a lot. Now, I hate to fight fiction with fiction, but I’ll fall back to a quote from Stargate: The Ark Of Truth:

“We believe in the systematic understanding of the physical world through observation and experimentation, through argument and debate, but, most of all, freedom of will.”

You see, atheists aren’t non-believers, they’re generally very staunch believers – in things that can be seen, and proven. Now, I can’t speak for all atheists, but my take on the world is that I want explanations that have a firm basis in fact. It doesn’t mean that I personally have to see and experience it all, but it does mean that reputable scientists for instance, do. That’s why I believe climate change is real. (Barnaby, however, is an unbeliever on that front.)

Now, here’s where Barnaby gets down and dirty with his little rant:

Yes, this sect’s followers make their way on to your veranda then hold a righteous court of sneering indignation about the crib in the park. You can hear yourself muttering under your breath, ”I wish you would go drown yourself, you pseudo-intellectual Gucci flea.”

(“The ‘sneaky sect’“, Barnaby Joyce, The Canberra Times, 22 December 2011.)

An interesting turn of phrase, one has to admit. It kind of reminds me of:

“Put her in the same chaff bag as Julia Gillard and throw them both out to sea.”

(Alan Jones Breakfast Radio Show, 29th June 2011, as quoted on Media Watch.)

Unfortunately, this seems to be a fairly standard response from the extreme right wing. It’s a violent and nasty path to turn own.

Let’s take a catalogue of what I know I believe in, versus what I know Barnaby believes in, just for comparison here.

I believe:

  • In a world view based on details about the physical world which can be independently verified;
  • That people whom I’m debating a topic with still have a right to live, regardless of whether I agree with their belief;
  • That climate change is real, given the vast majority of the world’s scientists concur on it;
  • That the right for same-sex couples to marry will not impact the rights of heterosexual couples to marry.

On the other hand, Barnaby believes:

  • That the accumulated writings of dozens or more people from thousands of years ago represent the truth from an omnipotent deity who started the Universe from nothing and while seemingly all powerful and all-good allows terrible things to happen (well, except those bits that are no longer acceptable to believe in, such as slavery, killing people who work on Sunday, etc.)
  • That someone like him, in a situation being confronted by people who disagree with their world view, would wish those naysayers ill, or even death;
  • That all the scientists in the world can be part of some vast conspiracy (or a part of a “league of morons”, perhaps?) and be completely arse-up wrong about climate change;
  • That if same-sex couples can get married, his daughters may not be able to get married.

I’m going to do this not because I’m feeling smugly superior, but because I need to make the point:

Who is actually on the moral highground with their beliefs? Barnaby, or me?

Barnaby then desperately tries to scramble back onto some ground, let alone moral highground, by insisting of atheists:

“They write letters to complain about the incorrectness of carols at the school and picket the Christmas tree. To not insult their religion, you must no longer follow yours.”

(“The ‘sneaky sect’“, Barnaby Joyce, The Canberra Times, 22 December 2011.)

Interestingly in this, Barnaby seems to forget all the letter writing campaigns by christians in Australia over the years about a plethora of topics. Moral outrage accompanied by a pen and a sheet of paper has lead to untold numbers of letters to schools complaining about Catcher in the Rye, Sons and Lovers – even Harry Potter.

He seems to forget those christians who have been picketing abortion clinics for 20+ years, sometimes hurling vitriol at the people coming and going, or those christians who have been picketing funerals for the express purposes of spreading their hate speech further.

People in glass houses, Barnaby? Don’t start talking about letter writing and picketing as if it’s something atheists invented.

Barnaby fails to grasp the simple facts here – while some atheists undoubtedly would like to see religion made illegal, what people choose to believe in within the privacy of their own home or property is entirely their right. And equally, if people choose to congregate in a church to pray to something I equally believe doesn’t exist, then I may feel sorry for them, but I don’t run out screaming the church should be pulled down.

What I do object to though, and what so many other atheists object to, is the forced, public indoctrination of people into religion. Using Barnaby’s example, why should children be forced into singing christmas carols if either they, or their parents, aren’t religious? (If he thinks that’s OK, well let me tell you as a child who was forced to do that, it’s not. It’s not OK to have a religious teacher single you out as the kid who doesn’t want to sing along to a religious song and make you sing it in front of the entire class.)

Atheists are anything but sneaky. We’re open, and we’re often very up front about our belief in real evidence. We don’t use tomes written hundreds or thousands of years ago and undoubtedly modified countless times since to pick and choose our defences for bigoted world views from, and we don’t need said book to teach us a moral path in life. We also choose to live this life now for fulfilment and happiness, since there’s no evidence at all that there’s any form of life after death.

Barnaby insists that atheists should:

“all just remain at work while the rest of us go on holidays, and we can double the pleasure by knowing that, when we return, they can go on theirs. This doubles the time away from each other.”

(Ibid.)

The age old argument, “If you don’t believe in religion you shouldn’t go on federal instituted holidays that fall at religious times!” Cry me a river, Barnaby. After all, the timing hasn’t really got anything to do with the date of birth for … oh, wait, you’ve got something to add about that? Let’s hear it:

“The timing at the end of December has more to do with the celebration of the pagan festival of Saturnalia rather than when Christ was actually born. Those politically incorrect early Christians had the good sense to roll with the customs rather than to rage against them.”

(Ibid.)

Thanks for saving me the words, Barnaby! If you want to talk about traditions, christmas isn’t really christmas but a pagan festival. So why are so-called traditionalists getting hung up if some people would like to more generically call it a “festive season” or a “holiday season” so as to (a) still pay respect to those who see it as important, (b) recognise the social importance of the time of the year, and (c) not violate their own beliefs in doing so?

Sneaky is as sneaky does, and sneaky people write opinion pieces accusing atheists of being a religious sect so they supposedly have equal ground to argue on, or issue press releases stating that a world famous atheist, having recently died, would now be a believer.

 

Me: There is a pink dragon in my carport.

You: I don’t see a pink dragon.

Me: It’s invisible.

You: How do you know it’s pink?

Me: Because it can show itself when it wants to.

You: But I walked through your carport, I didn’t bump into anything.

Me: It’s quite manoeuvrable.

You: But I’ve seen your car parked in your carport. How could the car and the pink dragon fit in there together?

Me: Because it’s still a young pink dragon – it’s not that big.

You: But still, dragons are meant to be much bigger than elephants, even as a young dragon it must be large.

Me: Yes, well, it can also push itself slightly out of phase from normal matter.

You: But that would mean it phases out from the ground too and it would just fall through the earth.

Me: Pfft! It can levitate.

You: Can I see the pink dragon?

Me: Only if you believe it exists.

You: OK, I believe it exists, but I still can’t see it.

Me: Then you don’t really believe it exists. Only a true believer in the pink dragon can see the pink dragon.

You: Why can’t I feel its breath? Dragons breathe fire, right?

Me: It’s a spiritual fire. Believers in the dragon feel its breath inside them.

You: What does it feel like?

Me: Like the warming glow of a pink dragon’s breath inside me, of course!

You: Wouldn’t that be too hot?

Me: No. Why would it burn its true believers?

You: Can you at least take a photo of the pink dragon for me?

Me: Of course, here it is:

pink dragon

You: I just see an empty carport.

Me: Really? I see the pink dragon in the carport. You mustn’t yet completely believe in the pink dragon.

You: In order to believe in the pink dragon I need to see evidence of its existence.

Me: In order to see the pink dragon you must believe in the pink dragon without questioning.

———-

The “pink dragon” argument (a variant of Russell’s Teapot) is, to me, the perfect example of why I’m completely comfortable with my atheism – and how arguments for religion invariably sound.

 

I think I often surprise people when I say that I resent sleep. It seems that almost everyone I know likes to have a good sleep in – if not regularly, then once in a while. So when I tell people that I resent sleep, the reaction is usually one of outright horror.

So, why would I resent something which is a natural, required function? And I’ll say outright – I acknowledge the need for sleep; I just wish it were otherwise.

Well, settle back and I’ll tell a little story. It may even be relevant to the question at hand.

A lot of people remember their dreams – at least partially, of course. They’re such fragmentary things that they start slip from our minds as soon as we’re even partially awake. So listening to someone trying to describe a dream is like hearing a description of an art-house/surreal foreign-language movie from someone who was only partially watching it in the first place.

For the most part, I don’t remember dreams.

I do, however, remember nightmares.

The funny thing about nightmares is that most people, when you mention the word, immediately think of frantic situations involving death, or monsters, or sadness. And I’ve certainly been known to have those nightmares from time to time, and it’s those sort of nightmares that I remember earliest. In fact, one of my first sleep-memories is of going to bed once with Ugg boots on and waking up screaming that a tiger was eating me, because the boots had got tangled in the sheets and I couldn’t move.

But by age 8 or 9 I’d mostly graduated from monster-nightmares to a more ‘interesting’ kind. At the time I had no way of describing them, and trying to explain it to my parents was practically impossible, so I learnt to just shut-the-fuck-up about them. In fact, for the longest time I actually simply assumed that everyone had them, but people just didn’t talk about them. Turns out that like my name, I was probably largely unique in it.

You see, I started having existential nightmares. Not nightmares about monsters, or being eaten by tigers, or other such events, but effectively, nightmares about infinity and/or self identity. (Looking back, I wonder whether the existential nightmares played a part in my early ascent to atheism.)

The self-identity nightmares are the simplest to discuss – I’d basically dream that I was waking up, and I was 4-5 years younger and the intervening time was a dream and I’d have to go through all of it again. I always found that significantly disturbing. Life is meant to be lived once, not twice – and the notion of having to go through it again was repugnant.

The infinity ones? They were a whole different kettle of fish. Have you ever looked up at the night sky on a brilliantly crisp night in the middle of the country, with minimal light pollution – stared into the depths and had that momentary sense of panic from a feeling of nothingness? I guess it’s what nihilophobiacs would experience all the time, and maybe subconsciously I have both nihilophobia and apeirophobia. Certainly at a conscious level I have neither. At a conscious level I find both the concepts of nothingness and infinity to be remarkably beautiful things.

(Monsters of the Id! I hear someone cry sardonically with perhaps a significant eye-roll.)

So what’s an apeirophobic nightmare? The most common one as a kid was the sensation of being on vast, undulating plains that stretched as far as the eye could see. They were rippled, slightly wet and the same dark green/grey appearance, and I knew in my dreams that no matter how far I walked, no matter how far I ran, no matter how quickly I moved in any direction, nothing would ever change – it would always be exactly the same.

A nihilophobic nightmare? More difficult to describe. Maybe embryonic. Darkness, nothing to see, no sensations at all. Maybe there’s no more description than that. (The old philosophical situation of “the only thing in the universe is a hand … can you tell whether it’s a left or a right hand?” … except I was the hand, of course.)

I didn’t have these nightmares just every now and then.

I had them every. single. night.

After a while my sleep patterns actually just simply adjusted around them. Sleep. Nightmare. Wake up. Shudder. Drift back to sleep. Only during periods of illness did they become particularly problematic – that apeirophobic nightmare I described was a frequent visitor, sometimes 5 times a night, when I was sick with a cold, or a flu. And don’t ask me how I went with glandular fever in my late high school years. That was, truth be told, an unmitigated horror.

Now, some people when I describe these nightmares ask me whether I’m more meaning night terrors. No – I actually experienced those a few times in my early twenties, and I know the difference. They’re nasty fuckers indeed. I’m glad to say I’ve not experienced one of those monsters for over a decade, and I’d like to keep it that way, thank-you very much…

For a lot of people, a great night’s sleep is when they can wake up and describe a really nice dream they had. On the other hand, based on all the above, as you can well imagine, a great night’s sleep for me was when I could wake up and say that I remembered nothing from the night before. Those nights were few, and very far between.

Earlier this year though I did finally discover some respite. I was away for work, for two and a half weeks in fact, and I was going through a particularly bad run of nightmares. Not the once-a-night scenario, but at times waking every few hours to them. I’d always found sleep easier more comfortable when I had a fan going for that little touch of white noise, and like many people with sleep problems there was something extremely comforting about the sound of rain, but I’d never really thought to look into any “white noise” solutions. With little to lose other than a few dollars and much to gain – like being able to rest properly each night for the major project I was working on – I invested the $4 or so for White Noise Pro. A couple of nights of experimentation showed that the sounds that worked the most was a mix of rain/thunder and cats purring. Yes, that’s weird. Then again, so am I.

I can now go months between nightmares. It’s actually a pretty weird sensation for me.

Back however, onto the subject of resenting sleep.

I’m done. Or I should be, at least. Anyone reading this should easily understand why after practically three decades of near-nightly nightmares, someone would resent sleep.

Current status aside, sleep remains an enemy for me. So when I say “I resent sleep”, you now know why.

 

Take two groups of people, one with religious beliefs, and one with spiritual beliefs, and track their belief on a semi-circle, and an odd thing happens.

Let’s start with religion:

Religious semi-circleOn the religious semi-circle, you start with the moderates at the ‘base’ of the shape. These are your average people who have faith in a deity (or deities), believe that it helps them lead a better life, and try to balance the tenants of their religion with the current morals and mores of society.

The further you travel around the semi-circle though – the harder and the harsher the religious beliefs get – the more extremist you get. At the absolute extremes, you have the people who believe all non-believers should die, or that medicine isn’t necessary because either prayer will spark divine intervention or it was meant to happen, and who insist that all others should be made to follow their belief system.

On the other side of the coin, you have all the new age people – and in that, I’ll lump in all spirtualists, wiccans, pagans, etc. – i.e., all non-deity based spiritual belief systems:

New age semi-circleAgain, starting at the bottom of the shape, you effectively have the people who believe in things like Gaia, Karma, etc. The people who want to be good because they believe good things come to those who do good, etc. But the further you travel around the semi-circle, the more extreme the belief system gets. At the most extreme, you’ve got the people who actively try to practice malicious magic, the people who believe in naturopathic medicine to the point that they’d let their kids die rather than seek “conventional” treatment that would save their lives, etc., and who insist that all others should be made to follow their belief system.

My vicious wedge theory is a simple one: all belief systems actually sit on the same circle when it comes to a sliding scale between moderation and extremism:

Vicious Wedge

Now, the vast majority of people who have a belief system will fall into two primary categories on the belief circle:

  • Moderate – people who have their personal belief systems but do not feel they should judge others based on that belief system, etc.
  • Core believers – people who may be a little more “out there”, but at the end of the day still just want everyone to be happy and fulfilled. They may want to preach a bit, or encourage others to think along their line of belief, but they’re happy so long as they’re allowed to think what they want to think.

At the top of the circle though we have the vicious wedge. Regardless of whether their beliefs have a traditional deist background or a spiritual background, these are the people who want to mould society to their beliefs. They’re the nutjobs like Westboro Baptist church, the suicide bombers, the people who think “honour killings” are perfectly acceptable, the people who let their kids die when there’s effective treatment for them outside their religion, and the ones who insist it’s their way or the highway – and so on.

Disclaimer: As an atheist, it could be argued that I too sit on a “belief” circle – that my choice not to believe is also a belief. I don’t see it this way; a lack of belief does not sit on a belief scale. But I will fully admit that there are different levels of atheists and agnostics, and these people might be tracked on a “skeptic’s circle”. I describe myself (on my Facebook “info” page) as “Pugnaciously atheist” … I’ll argue my atheism against a religious or spiritualists’ beliefs with the best of them. But I’m not an extremist; I don’t hold that all people should be forced into atheism – so long as we equally don’t try to force people into religious or spiritual moulds.

It’s up to everyone in society to be aware of those who belong to the vicious wedge. Regardless of whether we’re atheists, agnostics, spiritual core believers, religious core believers, spiritual moderates or religious moderates, we have a moral obligation to society to temper and counter the loonies that comprise the vicious wedge.

Voltaire’s thinking undoubtedly contributed towards the notion of Freedom of Speech so cherished by the United States, when he said:

“I do not agree with what you have to say, but I’ll defend to the death your right to say it.”

In many ways, I’m of the belief that freedom of speech is important, but think that freedom must stop at the point where it’s used to justify hate speech or a denial of rights. Westboro Baptist church are a classic example. They picket funerals with spiteful signs such as “God hate fags”, which seems to be protected by free speech laws. Replace “fags” with “niggers” though, and what would happen? Now tell me the difference between the two words: they’re both used as extremely negative terms against people who were born a particular way. One disparages people based on sexual orientation, and one disparages people based on race.

Our goal in society, regardless of whether we’re religious, spiritual, atheist or agnostic should be a simple one: to shutdown the vicious wedge. I think there’ll continue to be levels of belief and unbelief for some time to come – it’s very much a fundamental part of human nature; the difference between those inside the vicious wedge and those outside is a very simple one though – one rejects our humanity and our freedoms, and one embraces it. The differences could not be more profound – or more important.

© 2012 unsane Suffusion theme by Sayontan Sinha