This review has moved to my new page @ http://ronbc2.wordpress.com/2012/08/20/a-secular-age/
This review has moved to my new page @ http://ronbc2.wordpress.com/2012/08/20/anna-karenina/
Back in April, I finished a series of articles on morality.
The final, summary article featured the ideas of Harvard psychologist Joshua Greene.
The most novel part of Greene’s thinking that I reported on then was his suggestion that a useful metaphor for the workings of our moral mechanisms is to view our moral cognition as operating like a digital camera.
Greene has continued his experimental work, and I’ve found time recently to read some of his latest short publications.
Sometimes I don’t choose a topic about which to write. Sometimes, a conjunction of the planets presents a topic, all dressed up and ready to go.
The usual cause of a self-generating topic is an unintended alignment of material, a grouping of articles or news reports or book chapters that comes together on its own and both suggests a subject and supplies the content.
It happened again the other day, when I encountered three overlapping articles in quick succession.
Putting together some of the key ideas of these articles yields an interesting set of views on animal rights, the animalness of human nature, the humanness of animal nature, and the movement of our culture away from a certain kind of closeness with other animals.
This review has moved to my new page @ http://ronbc2.wordpress.com/2012/08/23/arguably/
Even if you’re not a bacteriologist — and there must be at least a few of us who aren’t — there’s much we can learn from the behaviour of what has to be the smallest multicultural society we can observe.
That society is composed of all of the different species of bacteria that live with, and upon, all the rest of us, the multi-cellular conglomerations we fondly call “higher animals.”
It seems that there’s a lot more social organization going on inside us than we’ve thought — or that some of us may want to contemplate.
There are “accommodationists,” and there are “New Atheists,” and one of their favourite pastimes is to take erudite potshots at each other. Terms like “fascist” and “quisling” fly from one armed camp to the other.
Every once in a while, someone attempts a more layered and, inevitably, more measured approach. These rare essays usually prove to be both thought-provoking and refreshing.
Such is the case with British philosopher and writer Jonathan Reé’s article “The Varieties of Irreligious Experience,” published in the latest issue of New Humanist.
There are many theories that attempt to explain the origins of belief in God, our culture’s successor to river spirits and the various ancient pantheons.
But this is the first time that I’ve run into a psychology study that postulates that God’s main function is to give us someone to blame when things go wrong. The idea may have been out there, but I don’t recall encountering it before.
It’s a clever — dare I say entertaining? — idea, despite it being no more fully demonstrated than any of the other speculations about the evolutionary bases of our cognitive functions. Continue reading
It’s a little bit awkward, and a lot frustrating, to be described as what many liberal academics consider an improbable combination: atheist, rationalist, and leftist.
It seems that to some people on the academic and activist left, “atheist” means “New Atheist,” a Muslim-hating warmonger; and “rationalist” means Enlightenment-embracing racist, colonialist, elitist, and all-round Eurocentric bad guy.
Richard Dawkins is a sanctimonious Victorian liberal. Daniel Dennett is a chattering nabob. Sam Harris is a vitriolic racist. And Christopher Hitchens? Well, he’s ill, so we’ll just say that he’s a diverting gadfly. (Clockwise, from top left.)
Everybody takes potshots at “The New Atheists,” but most often it’s for their style, not their ideas. An article by essayist and literary critic James Wood in the Guardian (August 26, 2011) is just the latest example.
I can’t be the only reader who finds himself in broad agreement with the conclusions of the New Atheists, while disliking some of the ways they reach them. For these writers, and many others, “religion” always seems to mean either fundamentalist Islam or American evangelical Christianity.
Wood’s criticism is echoed by many, including atheist writers like Martin Rees and Michael Ruse, who have been featured in a number of articles here in the past. I have some sympathy for the civility of the “accommodationist” position they advocate, within the context of firmly rejecting the irrational beliefs they tolerate.
And I admit that at their worst the mentioned atheists are very proficient at narrowing their target before cutting loose. To the extent that it’s true that they see all religion as more of the same, despite my own atheism I have to agree with their critics. The majority of religious people are not fundamentalists, let alone Bible literalists. Some theists are thoughtful and nuanced believers, while the great majority are “instinctively religious,” comfortably believing what they seldom see the need to examine critically.
Wood takes up this theme when he accuses the New Atheists of having “nothing very interesting to say” about how people believe things. We don’t believe in lockstep, nor are our beliefs cast in concrete (some fundamentalists excepted). What we believe — and how we feel about it, which is much the same thing — fluctuates with time and circumstance. Belief is more a fluid state than a set of principles, and Wood thinks that this is the essential characteristic that the New Atheists miss when they highlight a static tenet of faith, then shoot it down. According to Wood, they don’t do the nuances well, if they’re interested in them at all.
Well, that may be, but in their identities as atheists, what more is there to be said than that they decline to believe?
In their other roles, as evolutionary biologists or cognitive scientists or social psychologists or historians or anthropologists, atheists have as much to say as theists do about the modes and practices of belief .
Explaining (or explaining away) belief is immaterial to the specific “role” of the atheist, which is simply to decline to believe.
So far, we’ve seen the essayist Wood — enter the literary critic Wood.
If the New Atheists have little to say about the ins and outs of religious belief, who is in the best position to explore the hows and wherefores of faith?
The novelist, that’s who. At least, that’s Wood’s answer. Where, despite thirty years of teaching literature, I might respond with the kind of list I created above — cognitive scientist, social psychologist, historian, anthropologist — Wood the literary critic and sometime novelist proposes instead that the best insights into the acquisition and practice of religious faith are to be found in fiction.
There’s a juicy opportunity for irony here, and I’m sure that all the atheists in the audience have already arrived there — The best sources for understanding the complexities of religious belief are works of fiction? Well, ok. That’s what I’ve been saying all this time, isn’t it? But let that go.
Wood credits fiction with the ability “to dramatise … how ideas are not just held but actually lived,” and in that he’s quite correct. He is right that there are some kinds of mental experiences whose representations in our conscious minds are not easy to deconstruct empirically. To a considerable extent, the re-creation of states of mind is what art, including the novel, is “for.”
This doesn’t mean that understanding the mechanisms is unimportant — it’s just different from the experience we feel. The notes on a page are a symphony, and then they’re not, at the same time.
As much as I think that the future of our understanding of ourselves lies in empirical research, and not in fictional re-representations, I agree with Wood that good literature lets us experience virtually the consciousnesses of others. That those others do not in fact exist is irrelevant, for in the real world our apprehension of the consciousness of others is no more immediate and no more genuine than are our experiences of fictional characters.
Indeed, if the research that suggests that we have a “Story Central” somewhere in the left cerebral cortex is accurate, our consciousness of our own cognitive experiences may well be no more “real” than are these fictional apprehensions. There’s a phrase for that idea: “We are our narratives.”
It really doesn’t matter that brain science and literary fiction are so different. The one can tell us how it all works; the other can simulate for us what it feels like when it works.
Both are worthy enterprises, and I suspect that we would be quite impoverished if we ever faced a world in which only one survived.