A symbol too far?

Just a quick thought today, prompted by the news that over 100,000 people in Britain are seeking to reverse their childhood baptism/christening [via AFP]. I sympathise with them, though I myself was never put through such a farcical abusive ceremony (thanks mum!) - but I can't help but think that by doing this they are imbuing the ceremonies with far more meaning than they deserve.

If I'm right in thinking that these people want to be de-baptised because they have discovered the enormous unlikeliness of the Christian teachings and would prefer to live their lives as rational beings, then why do they care so much that some old chap mumbled some mumbo-jumbo over them and splashed their foreheads with water when they were kids? Surely their seeking of this piece of paper is demonstrative of their belief that the whole ceremony is completely meaningless. The piece of paper is also meaningless, so why seek it out and pay cash money for it? Why do you care?

I fully support the National Secular Society, and if you're going to donate money to an organisation and haven't decided which yet, you could do worse than consider them in your shortlist. But I don't approve of them selling something which is entirely meaningless. I thought they were against that sort of business.

In an entirely unrelated topic, I will soon be opening up a service for anyone who wants to be declared "Nice". If you, as a child, were told by a parent or other authoritative adult (perhaps in a costume) that you were on Santa's "Naughty List", send me the small sum of £3 and I'll happily print you off a piece of paper reversing your status as "Naughty" and declaring you "Nice" - for all the world to see.

Fictional Sceptics #6: Star Trek (part 2)

In my previous entry on the matter, I discussed how (early) Star Trek acted as a kind of utopian vision for secular humanism. I also showed that, despite how dated it can seem at times, it was always a highly progressive series - particularly in terms of race and gender equality.

This time, I want to examine the numinous aspects of Star Trek - that is to say, the ways in which it preserved the sense of wonder to an almost spiritual level while remaining secular. It is closely linked to the spirit of scientific discovery, and the kind of excitement exemplified by the likes of Carl Sagan in his Cosmos series, and Phil Plait at a new development or line of research. It is an important aspect of science and scepticism which religious people often claim cannot be found outside of supernatural belief systems.

There are dozens of examples I could use to illustrate this point; it seemed that every other episode of The Next Generation involved the crew investigating, researching or just sightseeing at some interesting nebula, supernova or what have you; sometimes it was the premise of the show, sometimes it was an incidental detail along the way - but it always managed to express that they were explorers and scientists first, experiencing the wonder of the galaxy first-hand.

The particular example I want to use today, however, is a little more complex. Those of you who read my footnote on the post-Roddenberry Star Trek in my previous post will know that I noted a drop in secular humanism as a theme after Gene Roddenberry's departure. What I'd like to add to that is that subsequent series did seem to be more morally complex than TOS and TNG, and, while they were more accommodating to religion, they rarely - if ever - attributed to it powers that it does not and could not possess.

The case of the Prophets of Bajor is a particularly interesting case. Here we have a hugely pervasive religion with a tremendous amount of power over its followers - and incidentally a vehicle through which the series can explore themes relevant to scepticism and religion. The interesting thing is that their "prophets" - spirits or gods, essentially - are real. That is, they are actual beings who reside within the stable wormhole proximate to Bajor.

It is interesting to note the contrast in reactions between the Starfleet personnel and the Bajoran clergy (for want of a better term) to the scientific discoveries made in the wormhole. Both are awestruck, but that's where the similarities end. The officers, Sisko in particular, are desperate to know more about the wormhole and the beings that reside within in it - from what little they already know, the wormhole is stable because it was constructed by the aliens, and the aliens themselves do not experience a "linear existence" as we do, and thus have no concept of time. The Bajorans remain steadfast in their dogma, though at first it seems that the two can coexist - the spiritual definition of the prophets, and the scientific explanation of them.

But when a religious controversy springs up about the teaching of science in school, the tensions become clear. The question is asked as to why the station's single school is teaching only about the science of the wormhole and not the spiritual dimensions acknowledged by the Bajorans (a majority of the students, it should be noted). The teacher is adamant that only the science will be taught, and that the school is not a suitable place for spiritual instruction. It's a great parallel to the evolution/creationism debate.

But to get back to my point, at no time does it seem that there is less wonder and beauty to be found through the scientific perspective as opposed to the religious one. Indeed, it seems as if the religious people, having caught a glimpse of the truth, immediately shut their eyes so as to preserve that glimmer of wonder, and, having instilled it with all their hopes and expanded it with their imaginations, are unwilling to then open their eyes and see the truth of the wonders - which is no less amazing.

The best thing about post-Roddenberry Star Trek is that it becomes more complex in terms of morality and personalities, and therefore far more relevant to the real world. It is no longer a Utopia, but perhaps more of a realistic cultural extrapolation of where humanity might find itself a few centuries from now.

Scepticism and Denial

During an interview on Point of Inquiry with Kendrick Frazier, the editor of The Skeptical Inquirer, I was interested to hear him address a point on what is often called "denialism". This is the phenomenon whereby someone who has grave doubts about a certain doctrine or set of facts is labelled a "denier", such as with holocaust denial, climate change denial, or vaccine denial. It is a point of annoyance for many freethinkers like myself that these deniers are given, by themselves and others, the epithet "sceptic" (so a climate change denier becomes a climate change sceptic and so forth).

Surely, though, that's what they are - to some degree at least. They are "sceptical" of the claims made by those who believe climate change is real, or that the holocaust did happen, in so much as they doubt the claims. It is, as is so often the case, a matter of definition. In common parlance, there is nothing wrong with calling these people sceptics - it is much more usually seen as a position of doubt than as an attitude toward inquiry and evidence. But when the context of the conversation changes, and scepticism takes on its newer meaning with which readers of this blog will be familiar, it is no longer appropriate to refer to them in those terms.

The new meaning of sceptic, which has its origin in the U.S. with figures such as Carl Sagan and James Randi, is associated not with denial or promotion of particular doctrines, but rather an outlook. This outlook is one of free-thought, rational discourse and unbiased inquiry, and it is therefore a mistake to associate it primarily with doubt alone. Under this definition, those who oppose the ideas of climate change and the holocaust, for instance, should by no means be named as sceptics. Their minds are not open to the evidence, and their position is not flexible, as that of any good sceptic (under this definition) should be.

What they do is far more accurately described as "denial" than "scepticism", so I agree with Kendrick Frazier that they should be referred to in this way. It is all part and parcel of the process to stake a claim on the word "sceptic", and turn it into something far more positive than the curmudgeonly, narrow-minded, blind denial with which it is still too often associated in everyday contexts. Will this endeavour ever bear fruit, and is it worth it? Those are questions for another day. For now, it is enough to remember, whenever you hear someone referred to as a "sceptic" with respect to a particular issue, to ask whether the word "denier" would be a more accurate description.

Point of Empathy

It was with a certain sense of anticipation that I read a recent entry on Skepchick, entitled My Confession. Not because I thought it was finally Rebbecca declaring her secret crush on me, but because there had been rumblings that Elyse would be telling the tale of her time as a phone psychic. It did not disappoint; what followed was sad, fascinating, and heartbreaking. Go read it now, because if you don't then I'm talking to the wall - this post was entirely inspired by that one.

Usually when I hear something like that, I search for what might be called a point of empathy: something in my own life which I can use to relate to what's going on in the other person's life. In this case, the loss of her sister brought a comparison with the loss of my father, 6 years ago. Did I cope in the same or similar way that Elyse was trying to? My immediate reaction was no - I didn't consciously turn to anything for comfort initially. But then I remembered the Wicca Incident, and realised my story of loss may have a lot more in common with Elyse's than I had first thought.

It started, as these things so often do, with my girlfriend at the time (she will naturally remain anonymous here, but for the sake of all those potentially abused pronouns and synonyms, let's call her Alicia. I will not be speculating on her motivations). She was far more spiritual than I was, but being as I was young and in love, it didn't stay that way for long. I've always been fascinated by mythology and magic, so it was perhaps only natural that when spiritualism came calling, it was in the form of Wicca. Normally I would just take an interest, and study it objectively; but Alicia was of the belief that to fully understand you had to experience first-hand. So we became Wiccans.

It was only a matter of time before I applied my new faith in the supernatural (and hopelessly vague) concept of "energy" and some kind of spirit world to the recent loss of my father (for anyone interested in the chronology, Alicia and I started our relationship around 7 months after my father's death; the Wicca came a month or two after that). It was the first time I'd truly dealt with the emotions of it, and I don't know if it was the belief system or just having someone that close to me to confide in, but I finally cried. 8 or 9 months after his death, I finally started mourning for him. I will always be indebted to Alicia for that, at least.

It was the ouija board that finally did it. While I hadn't heard of the ideomotor effect, I was fairly certain that ouija boards involved some trickery, be it conscious or not. Yet somehow Alicia convinced me that we had contacted the spirit of my father, and that it would be a good idea to go tell my mum this bit of news. I will never forget her reaction, and we haven't spoken of it since - and not in one of those "unspoken agreement" things. She actually told me that we would never mention it again. I try not to have any regrets in my life - but it's hard to think of this incident any other way. Is it possible to feel ashamed but not count it as a regret?

I wouldn't go so far as to say that this was what set me on the path to what I now recognise as scepticism; like Elyse, I was already heading that way anyway - mostly because of a secular, open-minded upbringing. But I think this was when I first realised the harm that these practices can cause. My heart was no longer in the Wicca, and I gave it up completely when I split with Alicia; the only thing I kept was the name I created for myself and which I now use as my internet pseudonym.

It is because of this episode in my life that I feel able to empathise with people who turn to spiritualism and pseudoscience in order to cope with the loss of a loved one. I can also empathise with those who find it wanting. I am ashamed of what happened, yes, but I do not regret it; because, after the complex interplay of cause and effect had woven their magic, it turns out to have been another push along the road to scepticism and rationality. I cannot regret anything that has brought me here.

Asking the Question

There was recently an utterly fantastic post on Skepchick which hit the nail on the head in far too many ways to mention:

My instinct is that if we just keep on being ourselves, unapologetically, things will change. I think things are changing, but socialized norms are tricky things to overcome. Also I think it is crucial that we talk about these things. Making skeptics of all genders examine critically how they think about these issues can only help root out previously unrecognized stereotypes and prejudices, and, hopefully, lead to a more diverse movement.

The comment thread very much does justice to the quality of the original entry, which is unsurprising - Skepchick is always a great source of open, intelligent debate. One comment did remind me of something which I would like to share with you all; you may have seen it already - it did the rounds on the internet a little while ago - but it cannot be viewed too many times. If you needed more convincing that Joss Whedon is a man worth his weight in gold, hearken ye well:

Home Turf

Yes, dear reader, you're getting treated to another of my regular helpings of "Why philosophy is great". I'm sure you're suitably thrilled at this prospect.

There is a school of thought within philosophy (generally Wittgensteinian if you're interested) which argues that the most (perhaps the only) important contribution philosophy can make to real life is the diagnosis and treatment of misunderstandings, particularly those caused by language. There are many possible examples of this, such as subjective definitions of "proof", "knowledge", "belief", etc.

As an illustrative anecdote from my own life, I occasionally have arguments (not rows; series of progressive statements intended to establish a consensus) with my dear mother about - amongst other topics - alternative medicine. Toward the end of one such discussion, I made note of the fact that we actually agreed, despite appearances. This was because I had noticed that we were simply operating on different definitions of the word "work"; when considering what it is for a treatment to "work", she includes the placebo effect and I do not. Aside from this, we were making entirely the same points and agreeing throughout; once I pointed out this fundamental misunderstanding, the discussion was less confrontational.

I believe there is a misunderstanding at the core much of the antagonism between science and religion, and it is what will always happen when a naturally rational being attempts to justify their irrational beliefs in rational terms. There is nothing wrong with irrational beliefs, as long as one accepts that they are irrational; as soon as you start trying to justify (for example) your belief in a deity on empirical grounds, you invite, if not outright ridicule, at least a sound defeat in rational debate.

God and all metaphysical phenomena lie outside empirical perception - that is why they're called metaphysical. There is no point looking for evidence because the very (supposed) nature of these things denies the possibility of evidence. All attempts to prove the existence of deities on purely logical grounds, too, have failed miserably and laughably. The fact that claims of the supernatural are exclusively beyond the purview of rational science means that there is a huge gulf separating them from it. Irrationality should never try to justify itself on rational grounds - its very nature precludes success.

This is why I believe religion should be kept on the personal level; as long as it does no harm and doesn't pretend to be rational, I have no problem with it - but society as a whole cannot afford to be irrational.

The only time that science and religion should engage each other is when one is attempting to pass itself off as the other. I won't lie here - it's (almost?) always religion trying to pass itself off as science; because guess what? They think that seeming rational and basing their beliefs on empirical evidence is a desirable trait - cognitive dissonance anyone? The current classic example of this is creationism (a completely irrational belief if ever there was one) trying to pass itself off as science under the guise of Intelligent Design. Apparently there are those who believe that irrationality has a place in science classrooms; this is exactly when science and the rational community should defend with every argument at our disposal, and keep the irrational separate.

The divide between religion and science is identical with the divide between rationality and irrationality. As long as you keep them separate, all is well. But cross over from one to the other and you've got a fight on your hands.

So what is it?*

A looming dissertation deadline means that updates here are likely to be weekly at best over the course of September. Also, for the week or two after that I may be too drunk to write coherently. Anyway, on with today's entry...

Oddly enough, one of the most discussed topics among sceptics is the definition of scepticism itself. All seem to agree that it involves doubt in some way, but many also argue that this is not the most important defining feature; indeed, some argue that the perception of a sceptic as "one who doubts" is one which gives a false impression of the endeavour of modern scepticism.

So what is this endeavour? There must be some core principle that unites sceptics, or some certain resemblances between them - or the label of "sceptic" itself has nothing upon which to attach and is thus essentially meaningless. I would submit that rather than characterising it as a disposition to doubt, it should be regarded at its most basic level as a firm belief in the necessary freedom of enquiry. This seems to me to be a fairly solid definition of that elusive core principle that unites all sceptics.

Of course, diversity abounds when we move past that point and build further ideas into the framework - the addition of (still seemingly fundamental) ideals can and does alienate a certain minority of people who nonetheless consider themselves sceptics and promoters above all else of the absolute freedom of enquiry. There are those among the remaining majority, however, who claim that those in the minority are simply misapplying the central idea of scepticism.

For instance, what does freedom of enquiry entail? Presumably that there is no subject off-limits, no taboo and no reason to resist rational discussion of any topic. But does that go to say that equal time should be given over to each discussion? Should the ongoing controversy of string theory be given less attention so as to make way for UFOlogists, conspiracy theorists and psychics? I, and most of my fellow sceptics, would answer "no". Yet there are those who disagree.

Is a sceptic one who agrees with mantras such as "extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence"? I'm tempted to say yes. Perhaps it is more clearly expressed, however, by saying that a sceptic is one who changes her mind when presented with sufficient evidence. Obviously a lot of diversity among sceptics occurs because of their varying definitions of where the line of sufficiency lies.

There is too much material out there defining sceptics in negative terms (by this I don't mean derogatory terms, simply that the definitions are negative ones) such as "sceptics don't believe in psychic powers" or "sceptics don't believe in alien abduction". Well, a significant part of the agenda for those making scepticism more visible has to be presenting it in terms of what a sceptic is, and does believe, rather than what he does not. Of course, it is also important that this does not consume the entire agenda; it's all very well promoting freedom of enquiry - but one ought to leave time to carry some out as well.

* 14 Geek Points for whichever smegheads get this reference.