"Black Like Me": A Message Not Just About Racism

I am a white, heterosexual male who grew up in the suburbs in an upper-middle-class to two loving parents who encouraged me to learn and pursue my interests. It's fair to say I led a privileged life.

I don't pretend to understand what it's like to be any one of the truly persecuted minorities in the United States today. I am an atheist, yes, which puts me in a discriminated minority, but I have not been lynched, left to die on the side of the road, tied to a telephone pole and beaten, had a cross burned on my lawn, or been subject to "separate but equal" facilities. I once read that the only reason white men are atheists is so that they can finally feel persecuted and discriminated against, and I have to laugh in dark humor about it, for it's probably the only way I can be discriminated against by society at large.

Enter John Howard Griffin's book, "Black Like Me". In the precursory social heat before the flame-up of the civil rights movement of the late 20th century (1959, to be exact), he, a white man, dyed his skin using medication and stain and assumed the persona of an African-American man, traveling across the (very racist) southeastern United States in an attempt to see things without the privilege of being white. What I gained through his eyes, much like he did, was a completely new perspective on racial inequity.

What surprised me the most was how accessible the message of the book was and how relevant it still was. Griffin offers a personalization and humanization of the stories of the civil rights movement - police beatings and abuses of black people, "separate but equal" facilities, and more - that we all learn in high school, and it makes them so much more real and impactful. There are so many things that Griffin describes that everyone should read - messages that transcend time and apply equally to all groups that suffer discrimination due to a muted voice in society. I've tried three times to summarize them, but all of the words I write seem bumbling and stupid in comparison to his eloquence. For example, on the topic of white people stereotyping black people:

"But," white men would protest, "they really are like that. I've known hundreds of them and they're always the same." White men would claim black men were really happy; they liked it that way.

And in a sense, such white men had good evidence for these claims, because if black men did not, in those days, play the stereotyped role of the "good Negro," if he did not do his yessing and grinning and act out the stereotyped image, then he was immediately considered a "bad Negro," called "uppity, smart-alecky, arrogant," and he could lose his job, be attacked, driven away.

He does a perfect job of outlining the Catch-22 of goups who are constrained to a certain social tier or place: caught between either demeaning oneself to fit the social stereotype and being slapped down in an attempt to grow out of the caricature. It should shake the foundations of anyone who holds "members of race X do Y" and cause a stern re-examination of those conclusions.

Beyond that, the book contains messages of activism that go beyond just dealing with issues with racism: the same lessons that Griffin discusses applies equally well to any group that has its voice muted merely on the flaw of being different from those in power. It calls out for those who see these injustices and speak. One example is from Griffin's epilogue: a black doctor had been invited to an event to celebrate the progress of racial equality:

"I view this as a historic night," [the white professor] announced. Then turning to the black industrial psychologist, he asked, "Don't you see this night as a historic turning point for this community?"

The black doctor, in a voice of perfect calm, replied, "Frankly, I'm not too excited."

(the professor continues to react in anger as the black man outlines social inequities that still exist)

I watched until the professor was almost screaming his anger and then stepped in. "Isn't this remarkable?" I said. "Here you gave me a standing ovation for telling you this same kind of truth. Now you have a black man, far more knowledgeable than I could be, who is honoring you with a truth, and you are furious with him. You will hear it from me and applaud me for saying it, but you can't stand it yet from him."

This drives home the point that perspective is needed: don't get so overblown on what you think you're doing for the discriminated people that you neglect to consider that maybe, perhaps, just maybe you haven't made as much progress as you like to think and that you really should listen to the people you're trying so hard to help.

All in all, I'm amazed by how well this book has aged. It's written in a language that is not overridden by obscure colloquialisms or in a structure that can appeal to only readers of the time of its publication. Its message can easily apply to not only just discrimination against black people but also discrimination against Hispanics, the LGBT community, atheists, and any other group that is unfairly persecuted. It's a must-read for gaining a new perspective.

A Healthy Fear of Hell

As I read Darrel Ray's book, "Sex and God", I am continually struck by how easily I can relate to the stories inside it. I'm still debating on how far down that personal rabbit hole, so, if it comes, it'll be in a later post.  In the meantime, I want to both lay the groundwork for such a post as well as talk about something that I've been chewing on for a while: how I was raised with a fear of Hell.

I was not raised in a "fire and brimstone" home - there were never overt threats of Hell. Jesus and God loved me and just wanted me to spend eternity with my loved ones (with visitation rights to Dog Heaven). This is what most Christian kids in the U.S. are raised with, I estimate - the "rose-tinted" Christianity.

Beneath this seemingly-benign message, though, was the threat of Hell.

"What," my young self might ask, "do I need to do for Jesus and God to love me and let me into Heaven?" Just follow God's rules! "What rules do I need to follow?"

• Do not feel aroused by the sight of an attractive woman
• Do not view pornography
• Do not masturbate
• Do not have sex before marriage
• Do not swing
• Do not be polyamorous
• Do not love other men
• Do not have sex with other men
• ...and a litany of others

Thankfully, I wasn't raised Catholic, so I had no hang-ups about sex for pleasure (within a marriage, of course) and my mother was divorced, so any message shaming divorce would find no ground in my home. Not all of the above rules apply to me - I am neither gay nor polyamorous - but these are all examples of things I was taught were morally wrong. Notice again the lack of overt threats of Hell. The topic never arises until you ask the question:

"What does it mean if I don't follow these rules, and what happens if you don't?" Why, your loving god finds your shameful and sinful presence intolerable, and you'll go to Hell!

"What happens in Hell?" Eternity of torment - endless agony and indescribable horror.

This is the unspoken clause that reinforces adherence to the above restrictions. Let's revisit those restrictions, now fully illustrated with their reinforcement:

• Do not feel aroused by the sight of an attractive woman. If you do, you are bad and you risk eternal torment. 
• Do not view pornography. If you do, you are perverse and risk burning in eternal flames.
• Do not masturbate. If you do, God may strike you dead as he did Onan. Additionally, you probably either viewed pornography with this or lusted after a woman when doing so. This makes you dirty and perverse and may deliver you into unending anguish. 
• Do not have sex before marriage. If you do, you have sullied your actual marriage by giving away your virginity. As marriage is the most holy of unions, you have defiled something sacred and deserve eternal damnation for it.
• Do not swing. If you are a woman and have sex with other men, you are a slut and a whore. If you are a man, you are nothing but a slave to sexual urges. Either way, you have done something worthy of eternal torture. 
• Do not be polyamorous. God made us to find the one true soul mate, and if you love more than one person, you are deviant and deserve unending horror.
• Do not love other men. Such love is shameful and unnatural, and, as long as you never act on these unnatural feelings, you won't be condemned to timeless suffering. 
• Do not have sex with other men. Such an act is worthy of death in the eyes of your god, he has graciously downgraded this to just being an abominable act that will commit you to an afterlife of agony.

These "offenses" are all naturally-occurring - not necessarily all in me or you, but most people can truthfully claim at least one of them. Faced with even this comparatively less-severe version of Christian sexuality, it's no wonder that religion often  leads to sexual dysfunction (Tim Haggard's gay prostitute, Larry Craig's solicitation of sex in bathrooms, and Catholic clergy raping and physically deforming children - for some easy examples). It's also no wonder that we're in need of therapeutic professionals and organizations like "Recovering from Religion". I know friends who have struggled with the guilt of having pre-marital sex, masturbation, and homosexual orientation; although I was deconverted to atheism when I first had sex, I struggled by myself before then with guilt stemming from my sexual habits and finding my sexual identity. Even those who have been an atheist for years may still be haunted by their religion.

Richard Dawkins has described raising a child with a fear of Hell as child abuse. Some have accused him of being over-dramatic and hyperbolic when doing so, but reflect upon what I wrote above and, if applicable, your own experiences. Can you honestly not see the mental abuse of telling a child they'll suffer for eternity for masturbating or loving someone of their own sex (ignoring the case unaddressed by religion of those born without a sex)?

So, yeah. That's how I was raised with a fear of Hell. My parents never explicitly said these things, but implicitly endorsed it by taking me to churches that espoused these views.

I don't write this to disparage on how I was raised - I've turned out fine, I think, and that's due in large part to my parents (both in genetic donations and the availability of learning resources in my home). Rather, I write this in the hopes of relieving at least one person of one of the worst parts of this religious guilt: the isolation - the feeling that you and you alone struggle with this same guilt and shame and that, worse, there's no hope in sight. I'm here to show and tell you that it is possible to recover from the guilt and that you don't have to do it alone. If you need help, start at recoveringfromreligion.org - it's a site and organization designed specifically for helping people get rid of their religious baggage.

"Show Me God": A Stellar Book Review

Dawkins. Coyne. Sagan. Hitchens. Harris.

These are the names that dominate my book shelf, and they're all atheists. It's not that I haven't familiarized myself with theistic arguments (apologetics and otherwise) - it's that it's a problem of "read one and you've read them all". People like Ken Ham build their arguments on the basis of, "I can't explain X; therefore, a god did it."

Then along comes Fred Heeren. The first I heard about him was from some staunch and vocal atheists who wouldn't stop singing his praises - very scientifically-minded, nicer than Jesus himself, and two steps away from being a good atheist (the last always said with a wry grin). The last part is most significant: Fred's a Christian and has managed to win the respect of people who don't really hesitate to let their disdain of apologetics known.

When I found out that Fred had a book, I eagerly picked up a copy. What I expected going in was a book that would make arguments based in scientific fact for the existence of God; what I got was just a bit short of what I expected.

"Show Me God" is the first of four books in a series. This first volume attempts to make the argument that our universe shows evidence for God. Take what you want from the fact that I remained a firm naturalist and atheist after reading this book; ultimately, I'd say that it's a good book.

What I Like

Heeren, time and again, makes great arguments against many (possibly all, but I can't be sure enough to say it, especially not having read Krauss' A Universe From Nothing) existing naturalist hypotheses and theories for the reason and nature of the universe:

• Fred makes a convincing argument that we are, in fact, in a very sweet spot for creating life. The odds of our existence are overwhelmingly small, and the likelihood of us being in the universe seems likely.
• In an attempt to address the incredibly small odds of our existence, some have postulated that our universe is a "crunch and bang" model - eventually, our universe will reach a critical density, collapse in on itself, and explode once more into another universe. Given infinite time, this means that we would eventually be created as a universe such as our own. Heeren, however, refutes this by saying that, by current measurements, our universe is of such density that we're likely to be a type of universe the expands and never collapses in on itself - thus, no "crunch and bang".

He makes other good arguments - against the "first anthropic principal" and the "primary anthropic principal", for example - which, bearing in mind that I have no formal education or experience in cosmology, seemed to stand.

The book is packed nicely with scientific facts, stories, and interviews. It's a great departure from the likes of Ken Ham - rather than fluff and pretensions at being scientific, Fred actually grounds his refutations of naturalist arguments in science. It's a great introduction into cosmology and physics - Fred  does a great job of conveying what are otherwise complex topics into something the layman can understand.

What I Didn't Like

Fred makes great attempts at refuting naturalist arguments, but the part where I strongly disagree with him is when the dust settles: for lack of existing natural explanations, he says that the only possible explanation is supernatural.

I find this to be a deeply-flawed conclusion; we have, historically, come upon facts of the universe that we cannot explain with our understanding of nature at the time, and made the mistake of assuming that the only explanation must be supernatural. Look no further than Isaac Newton: unable to explain the seemingly consistent, concentric orbits of the planets, he fell back to the idea that God must occasionally intervene to keep them from spinning out of the solar system or into the sun. Thus, Fred (in my opinion, mistakenly) assumes that, if we have no naturalistic explanations, then supernaturalism must be the answer.

It's irrelevant to Fred's ideological platform, but he has breaks in the book of a dialogue between himself and a fictional character "Carl", who represents the lazy reader who has no interest in the scientific material and wants to jump to "the God stuff". I read the first couple of breaks, but then began skipping them whenever I encountered them.

What I Really Didn't Like

Toward the end of the book, Fred started getting into meaning of life one can and cannot derive from their view of the universe. It struck me as out-of-place in a book that I expected to be an argument for the existence of God based on cosmological evidence.

In Summary...

If you were like me - an atheist looking for a book written by "the other side", you'll do well with this book, because, assuming you don't find Stephen Hawking's "A Brief History of Time" an easy read, you'll actually learn something. I don't think you'll be convinced at all of the concreteness of the existence of a designer, but you'll come out knowing a bit more about cosmology.

Atheists and Christians Working Today For a Better World Tomorrow

Pat Robertson. Rick Santorum. New Gingrich. Fred Phelps.

For many Americans, these are the faces of Christianity. They're hateful, bigoted, theocrats who - relevant to the topic at hand - see nothing wrong with contributing to the epidemic of homosexual suicides by convincing homosexual people that they are dirty, wrong, and unnatural.

When I was a Christian, I would take solace in the fact that I wasn't like them. I didn't stand outside of a funeral with signs that say, "GOD HATES FAGS". "I'm not loud, and I'm not obnoxious," I'd tell myself. I was one of the "silent majority." As an atheist now, standing outside looking in, the silent majority is one of the most frustrating things about Christianity in America today. They, like I once did, believe that, by saying nothing and refusing to give attention to people like Phelps, they're avoiding feeding the trolls and, thus, helping the situation. The problem is, I wasn't, and they're not.

When all you hear is the crazed preacher on the street corner yelling at people, and no one stops to counter them, the silence is effectively approval in the minds of their targets. Put yourself in their shoes - you're being yelled at, for example, for being a homosexual person, and no one comes to your defense. Some may be able to shrug it off, but there is at least one person who won't, who will take it personally, and will feel singled out and vulnerable because no one comes to their defense.

The Vocal Majority

That's why, when I saw this post in the "LGBT in KC" group on Facebook, I was ecstatic:

Here was someone, a Christian, who was ideologically aligned with the "silent majority" except for one key difference - he wasn't being silent (okay, so it was a "silent vigil", but you know what I mean). He wasn't afraid to criticize a church for its anti-LGBT guest speaker and, I found out after I contacted him, was glad to work with atheists in promoting a message of love and tolerance for the LGBT community:

I had the chance to visit, with a friend, Gerald Palmer's church the Sunday before this event. There, he told us how, when he first became a vocal advocate for LGBT equality, he caught flack from other Christians, and his first defense came from atheists and freethinkers (hooray!). The church leadership and members who knew we were atheists were very warm and welcoming to us (as were the members who didn't know we were atheists).

The night of the event, we were less-warmly received by the people attending Vernon's talk (understandable) but got more than a few open cheers from people as they drove by (and a couple almost ran a red light because they were busy reading our signs). I doubt we changed any minds of the church-goers, but, then, that wasn't the point: the point was to show that there are Christians who are not willing to quietly ignore the harm by the anti-LGBT stances taken by so many churches (there are atheists as well, of course, but that's repeating an already-known point).

The Problem with (Some) Atheists

Some atheists bemoan "inter-faith" work (though I prefer "community-based" work for cases like these), and to them I say: this protest is unequivocally and undeniably a good thing. Yes, the Christians and atheists pictured above disagreed on some key and important points, but we all realize a more important point: if we want to see a society that openly embraces homosexual, transgendered, and transsexual people and does not deny them the rights they deserve, we have to work together. Stiffly refusing to reach across the ideological boundary despite the good that it can bring, both short-term and long-term, is counter-productive and egotistical.

I'm sure there's at least one atheist out there in the world who sniffs at the bleeding-heart compassion of this event and what I've written (and I'd be surprised if there was just one) - maybe they're just biding their time before making their disapproval known. However, Gerald Palmer has apparently started getting flack from other Christians - not because he supports LGBT equality (though he says he's gotten that from the moment he became a vocal proponent of LGBT equality in and outside of Christianity), but because he worked with atheists. He's put himself out there by stepping out of line with the more "traditional" Christian church by supporting LGBT equality and openly working with atheists. It takes personal strength and backbone to risk that kind of social pariahism, and I, for one, admire him for that. I only wish staunch anti-theists were willing to emulate his example a bit.