Epistemic relativism extends relativism to matters of fact. The best refutation of relativism I’ve read is American psychologist Chris Swoyer’s “True For” (Meiland & Krausz, 1982). In this brief, dense article, Swoyer completely dismantles the idea that something can be true for one person and false for another person. Often when relativism emerges in the context of an epistemological intervention, it’s usually in the form of, “Well that’s just true for you.” When I hear this I ask my interlocutor where they’d go if they were sick, to the witch doctor or to a Western hospital? If they tell me they’d go to the witch doctor, or that it makes no difference, I tell them I don’t think they’re being sincere.
Multiculturalism has become a distorted form of pluralism. The term “pluralism” has many meanings. Understood in the current context, pluralism is the idea that minorities (race, gender, sexual orientation, religion) have legal rights (Lamb, 1981). Pluralism has intrinsic merit and is an indispensable component of civilized societies. Multiculturalism and pluralism (in the abstract) are trying to get at laudable social goals—they try to work toward these goals from a description of differences in populations.
One can think of parenting in these terms. Good parents criticize the acts of children and not the child.
Too much tolerance entails abandoning critical judgment altogether.
Incredibly, liberals will state that this is the result of United States’ foreign policy. However, the cause of the state of affairs is not at issue; what is at issue is the accuracy of my description of these societies.
Another way to think about this issue is that Muslim extremists went on rampages because Western societies didn’t follow rules unilaterally imposed by them. The attempt to unilaterally impose such rules is, of course, itself intolerant. Still, many leftists—and even moderate liberals—interpret the “desecration” of the Koran as lack of tolerance. However, tolerance does not, cannot, and should not mean having to submit to rules of belief systems to which one does not ascribe.
A leftist could respond that this is an exploitation of the liberal impulse to empathy. In “Indignation Is Not Righteous,” Longsine and I argue that the attempt to shield ideas from contemplation, discussion, investigation, or criticism should be recognized as logical fallacies (Longsine & Boghossian, 2012).
Contemporary academic leftists don’t withhold making judgments entirely, as do cultural relativists. Rather, they withhold judgment to the degree that a culture seems foreign and/or alien, or to the extent that they perceive a culture to be misunderstood or victimized by the West. Islam currently occupies the top rung on the contemporary leftist hierarchy of beliefs and practices that should not be criticized. Leftist academicians fervently judge elements in Western culture. For example, academic leftists take great pride in condemning Western institutions, Western financial systems, and Western corporations. One might see a leftist academic withhold judgment regarding a clitoridectomy in Northern Africa, but loudly decry a gender imbalance in the headcount of speakers at an academic conference.
I originally encountered this phrase in Australian philosopher Russell Blackford’s (1954– ) “Islam, Racists, and Legitimate Debate” (Blackford, 2012a). Blackford credits American philosopher Jean Kazez with this phrase. “Bullying ideas off the table” is particularly germane in the case of leftism and criticisms of Islam. Contemporary leftists are playing the hero role, morally equating criticisms of Islam (ideas) to, for example, internment of Japanese Americans (people) during World War II.
To enforce rights and protections of individuals and groups, many colleges have established departments and offices of “Diversity.” These are offices in search of tasks. Often, these departments bypass traditional academic structures, are not housed within particular colleges, and report directly to the president. The fact that the university system has been set up to enable Diversity Offices to bypass traditional academic structures and report directly to the president shows the privilege, the esteem, and the seriousness with which this ideology is held.
British philosopher Gilbert Ryle (1900–1976) coined the phrase “category mistake” to refer to the ascription of a property to something that could not possibly possess that property. For example, “The chair is angry” or “The number 16 feels smooth.”
A recommended and emotional read is Ibn Warraq’s, Leaving Islam: Apostates Speak Out (Warraq, 2003). Warraq provides detailed accounts of people who decided to leave Islam. The narratives he describes are as lovely as they are disturbing.
The United States Department of State, Bureau of Democracy, Human Rights and Labor states, “In particular blasphemy and conversion from Islam, which is considered apostasy, are punishable by death in Afghanistan, Iran, Pakistan, and Saudi Arabia” (United States Department of State, 2011a). Apostasy is punishable by death elsewhere as well. In Mauritania’s penal code, “Article 306 of the penal code outlaws apostasy. It states that any Muslim found guilty of the crime will be given the opportunity to repent within three days and if the person does not repent, the individual will be sentenced to death and the person’s property will be confiscated by the Treasury” (United States Department of State, 2011b).
A version of this section was originally published in The Philosophers’ Magazine (Boghossian, 2012).
Notice that I did not write, “If they still don’t get it.” When teaching, it’s important to frame issues not in terms of student understanding, but in terms of your explanation. For example, I’ll often say, “Am I being clear?” as opposed to, “Do you get it?” This places the burden of clarity on me, and students are more likely to volunteer and engage issues if they don’t think that the instructor believes they have a problem understanding the material. Finally, I’ll often say, “If this is unclear please let me know. You’ll help me to be a better explainer.”
About twice a month I’m asked if I’m related to Paul Boghossian. I’m friendly with, but not related to, Paul.
CHAPTER 9
CONTAINMENT PROTOCOLS
“Imagine that a religion is a virus with its own unique mix of properties.
Just as the HIV virus is different than a cold virus, both infect and take over the mechanisms of the body in ways that allow them to reproduce. Religions…
1. Infect people.
2. Create antibodies or defenses against other viruses.
3. Take over certain mental and physical functions and hide itself within the individual in such a way that it is not detectable by the individual.
4. Use specific methods for spreading the virus.
5. Program the host to replicate the virus.
Every religion is more or less effective in each of these areas.”
—Darrel Ray, The God Virus (p. 23)
Just as the body is exposed to toxins so is the mind.
Faith is an unclassified cognitive illness disguised as a moral virtue. Each of us dreads the thought of becoming ill, and we take whatever measures necessary to regain our health. Not so with the faith virus. People infected by faith feel gratitude and appreciation for their affliction. But even beyond gratitude, part of the difficulty in dislodging the faith virus is, as Dennett has argued, that it’s perceived as a moral virtue (Dennett, 2007). People infected with faith don’t think of it as a malady, but as a gift, even a blessing.
It’s disturbing that many people who have no faith are untroubled by the possibility of their own infection. The reasons for this are complex and possibly extend into the domain of neuroscience (Berns et al., 2012; McNamara, 2009; Newberg, 2006; Previc, 2006), but a large part of the problem is that faith is intertwined with morality. People infected by the faith virus believe having faith is important, and resolute belief in something—anything—is a virtue (Dennett, 2007; Dennett & LaScola, 2010).
This pervasive, remarkably resilient phenomenon—this meme—has gained such traction it’s become an entrenched cultural value and held as an a priori truth: Believe in something. Stand up for what you believe. Belief is good. Belief is important. F
aith makes us better people. A man of faith is a good man.
As a society we’ve made virtues of the importance of belief and standing up for our beliefs. Even the common phrase, “Stand up for what you believe in,” has embedded within it something positive—a virtue to which one should aspire and a moral shortcoming should one fail.
Whether or not one should stand up for what one believes depends exclusively on what it is one believes and why one believes it. Having a firm belief is not a virtue. No reliable moral inferences can be made about an individual based on the strength of their conviction—passionate belief does not equate to being a good person. Moreover, “standing up for what you believe” and “believing in something” are values that doxastically entrench particular beliefs.
It’s important we believe things that are true.1 It’s important there’s some lawful correspondence between what we believe and the actual state of affairs. Only when our beliefs accurately correspond to reality are we able to mold external conditions that enable us to flourish. If we lose respect for the truth, we’ll no longer seek it. Among the most disturbing and tragic things about those who’ve been infected with faith is that they stop seeking.
Street Epistemology is a vital and perhaps even necessary first step in the struggle against certainty, dogmatism, superstition, pseudoscience, and faith. But Street Epistemology alone may not be enough to move us toward a New Enlightenment and Age of Reason. We need to fundamentally change the way people think about and value faith, belief, and conviction, and develop and ultimately implement large-scale solutions to address these seemingly intractable problems.
The purpose of this chapter is to suggest potential changes and to propose ways that readers can contribute to the struggle for reason. The suggestions here are organized from the easiest to implement, to the complex and difficult. This list is not exhaustive.
1. Use the word “faith” only in a religious context.
The word “faith” is used as a synonym for words like “hope,” “trust,” and “confidence.” This is not how the faithful use the word “faith” in religious contexts. For example, as discussed in chapter 2, “faith” is almost always tied to knowledge claims. That is, when the faithful say they have faith Jesus healed someone suffering from leprosy (Matthew 8:1–4; Mark 1:40–45; Luke 5:12–16) and someone suffering from paralysis (Matthew 9:1–8; Mark 2:1–12; Luke 5:17–26), they are not saying they hope he healed them. They are claiming he actually healed them.
Examples of the word “faith” in nonreligious contexts include: “I have faith you’ll pass the test tomorrow,” “You have faith in your spouse,” “She has faith that the airplane will not crash.” When the word “faith” is used in these ways it gives cover for “faith” to be used as a synonym for “hope,” “trust,” etc., in religious contexts. This is highly problematic, because when the faithful are pressed on the definition of faith (when they’re shown they can’t and don’t really know Jesus performed these miracles), they usually retreat to the words “hope,” “trust,” and “confidence,” abandoning knowledge and certainty.
It matters how we talk about things. It matters what words we use. Certain words trap us into a make-believe picture of life—one that is false and misleading. If you use the word “faith” in ordinary contexts you’ve opened the door to misinterpret your own experience, and you’ve given cover to claims from various faith traditions. I’m advocating for a change in language usage, primarily with the word “faith,” but with other words and expressions as well.2 I’m not a grammarian suggesting new rules for English usage. I’m not saying the word “faith” or expressions with the word “God” should be forbidden. I’m not the language police. I’m not arguing that it is wrong to use the word “faith” out of a religious context, or that there should be a linguistic moratorium on the use of the word “faith.”3 My goal is to be helpful, not dictatorial.
What I am arguing is that we need to be more careful and more thoughtful when we choose words to explain our feelings, to describe our plans for the future, to identify what we care about, and to represent what we’re for and against. By being more mindful with our choice of words, we can also be more thoughtful in the way we think about the world, our responsibility to society, our advocacy for the things we care about, and our understanding of our own ability to influence change. We need to get over the hurdle that long-term, multicontext use of “faith” has created—we need to think about our language usage and be aware that we say things which are incongruent with the way we think about the world.
I’m also recommending a change in usage because too many people have become accustomed to the idea of being comfortable with a definite picture of a future they don’t have good evidence to support. Instead, people need to be comfortable with not knowing the future, and consequently take an activist stance: if you care about the future and you want something to get done—then do it. You cannot know the future, so take action. Don’t wait for things to happen. Don’t pray. Don’t have faith. Don’t rely upon imagined entities. Act.
2. Stigmatize faith-based claims like racist claims.
“People who harbor strong convictions without evidence belong at the margins of our societies, not in our halls of power.”
—Sam Harris, The End of Faith (2004)
One mid- to long-term containment objective is to stigmatize faith as a methodology and faith-based claims that emerge from that methodology—the way racist statements have been stigmatized. I’ve previously argued, along with Shermer and others, that we need to deploy the model used in the civil-rights movement. This is a three-stage process: first, it begins with publically branding as inappropriate the use of faith as an epistemology (this stage is beginning to occur); second, it will be unthinkable to use faith as a justification; third, people won’t even think about using faith—faith, like the idea that slavery is acceptable, will just go away. We’ve also seen this in the women’s rights movement, where discrimination pushed women toward equality. So too, in time, will faith give way to reason and a critical reflection that is unmediated by cultural values.
In the short term, one specific verbal technique to help contain faithbased justifications is through the “Adult Table” response. One can sit at the Adult Table if one has evidence in support of a position. Absent evidence, the claimant needs to go to the Kid’s Table. For example, if one thinks homosexuals shouldn’t be allowed to adopt children because they’re more likely to beat them, this is an empirical claim and the tools of science can be used to ascertain whether or not this is true (it’s not). Make empirically verifiable claims, even if the conclusions are ugly, and you get a voice in the conversation—you’ve earned the right to sit at the Adult Table. Wave an ancient text and expect others to cede to its authority, or claim faith as a justification for your beliefs—then you need to sit at the Kid’s Table. Those at the Kid’s Table can talk about anything they’d like, but they have no adult responsibilities and no voice in public policy.
The idea behind the Adult Table containment strategy is to first hold ourselves, and then others, epistemically responsible. It does justice to the faithful to treat them like responsible adults and hold them to the same standards of justification that we hold all rational agents. Buying into the hands-off position that silences criticism and allows the faithful to publicly air conclusions that result from a faith-based process is not just dangerous, but also leads the faithful to believe that they’re entitled to have their delusions seriously entertained by other adults.
The Adult Table metaphor is best used with leaders of faith communities who are accustomed to deference. If you’re fortunate enough to engage imams, mullahs, rabbis, pastors, ministers, clerics, swamis, gurus, chaplains, shaman, priests, witch doctors, or any other faith leaders, be blunt and direct when demanding evidence for their claims. Continued failure to produce evidence should be met with, “You are pretending to know things you don’t know. Go to the Kid’s Table, this is a conversation for adults.”
3. Parrhesia: Speaking truth in the face of danger.
“We fear clear, honest, blunt dialogue, but what we ought to fear are stupid and dangerous ideas, because while blunt and honest dialogue might be offensive to some, stupid and dangerous ideas can be fatal to all of us.”
—Matt Thornton, community activist
We live in a culture in which faith claims go unchallenged. Too often people cower before faith statements. We’re so afraid to offend others we silence ourselves. This needs to end.
Among the consequences of self-imposed silence: faith-based claims making their way into the public square and onto the ballot; people becoming accustomed to not having their faith-beliefs challenged, and consequently assigning ever-higher confidence values to their beliefs; the faithful continuing to harbor the mistaken notion that faith makes them a better person.
One remedy for this is honesty and bluntness. Give the faithful the same dialectical and conversational reciprocity they give you. Be honest. Be direct. Be blunt. Be unapologetic. Don’t complain, apologize, or mumble in the defense of reason. Don’t tone it down or talk baby talk. Never say, “I’m sorry but …” or “Forgive me for saying …” or “You’ll excuse me for mentioning …” Instead, tell people exactly what you think and why you think it. Take a punch and give a punch. Speak truth in the face of danger. Be a part of Team Parrhesia. Be a Street Epistemologist.
And don’t worry about people not respecting you. You’ll find people will respect you more, and not less, when you sincerely and directly confront their faith claims. Sincere, honest people are respected. People who are inauthentic and cower are not respected.
4. Stay informed.
Study. Read. Watch YouTube debates with the leading apologists. Listen to quality podcasts. Enroll in MOOCs (massively open online courses).4 Stay informed.
If you haven’t read their books already, I’d start with the Four Horsemen and Michael Shermer (I suggest beginning with Harris and Shermer and ending with Dawkins and Dennett). From there, read select Platonic dialogues (the Republic, the Apology, the Euthyphro, the Gorgias) and move to key works by Nietzsche (The Dawn, Thus Spoke Zarathustra: A Book for All and for None, Beyond Good and Evil, On The Genealogy of Morality, Twilight of the Idols, and The Antichrist).5
A Manual for Creating Atheists Page 21
