Humanism Reclaimed
Or How a Christian Philosopher Saved My Atheism
Written by Connor to accompany our podcast on Humanism.
Part I: Herefordshire Humanists
The year is 2015, I’m nervously clutching a mug of (overly milky) tea. Through a thick glass screen I’m watching BBC Radio’s Michael Collie host his Sunday show… I’m about to join him.
I glance down at my notes and see the words written in 2003 for the Humanist Manifesto – “Humanism is a progressive philosophy of life that, without supernaturalism, affirms our ability to lead ethical lives of personal fulfilment that aspire to the good of humanity”.
Just over a month earlier I had been introduced to Humanism and had been so enormously inspired by this seemingly simple idea that I decided to set up the Herefordshire Humanists. And so there I was, ready to promote our first upcoming event and indeed, the philosophy itself, to the wider world (or at least Hereford & Worcester). So some pop ballad starts playing and Michael ushers me into the studio. He asks me if I have my notes prepared and excitedly starts picking my brains on Humanism just as the ballad’s final key-change kicks in. We go over the basics – “isn’t it just atheism?”, “do you guys have a church?” and then, crikey, we’re live!
I start by explaining that Humanism is very simple. In a country where Christianity and church attendance is decreasing rapidly, it’s something that describes how most people might feel. It’s a positive philosophy; just as rich, meaningful and historical as any religion. Rather than atheism, which is simply absence of belief, it’s an affirmation of the good of humanity. That means celebrating its feats, endeavours and ability to create ethics through conversation rather than looking externally to holy books, scripture and revelation. I suggest that many people disingenuously sit through funerals and weddings that focus on a divinity they don’t truly believe in or understand. In contrast, Humanist ceremonies offer something meaningful and personalised to people’s lives in the “here and now”. In my naivety and nervousness, I’m stumped by a few questions but the basics are all there and on the drive home I feel relatively satisfied.
Next month, the radio show seems to have done its job and I find myself taken aback. Pint in hand, I’m stood looking at almost forty people cramped into a small, dimly-lit pub on a Herefordshire side-street. They’re all eager to know more about this Humanism malarkey. After a brisk few words I refer them to the wisdom of Humanist Patron and QI presenter, Stephen Fry as we turn on the television to hear his dulcet tones. I then spend the remainder of the evening mingling with people that have travelled all across the county and beyond; sharing stories and conversing about Humanism. Some of the old-timers are seasoned British Humanist Association members and know Humanism like the back of their hands. Others have left overbearing religious families; they have tales to tell and bones to pick. Others are just at a loose end for the evening or “spiritual seekers” searching to find meaning (even if it comes from a man half their age in a pub). All are curious to know more - and I couldn’t be happier. I’m pleased to have started something that maybe, just maybe, can have a genuine impact. In theory, maybe it could even help solve a few serious issues. At the very least perhaps it can help people find meaning in their lives, make a few friends and share some memories. In many senses I was right; in other senses my optimism may have been very much misplaced…
Over the next month I begin firing off emails. I start organising some guest speakers, walks across the beautiful countryside of Herefordshire, some meetings and some all-too-boozy socials. I’m an undergraduate philosophy student, so I’m keen to continue that question that, in my mind, started it all. This is the question that Socrates asks to the other ancient Athenians: “How do I live a good life?”. This and many other big questions I find myself asking as we walk the apple orchards of Herefordshire or nestle by the fireplaces of public houses. I’m keen to explore questions of liberty, dignity and freedom; to really pin down the ideas of how a Humanist approaches these questions. What is their outlook and how do they approach such big issues and why? How is it different from a Christian, a nihilist or a pessimistic atheist’s perspective? …In this endeavour I run into a problem, however.
In floating this question to room after room, I seem to get a very limited range of answers from everyone… including myself. I barely begin asking before I’m ardently informed that ethics doesn’t come from bibles, gods or goblins… as if that were all there was to the question. “So what is ethical or fulfilling if not God?” I find myself asking genuinely. Is it something inbuilt or socially constructed? And, specifically, how does one live ethically and transform their life? Does Humanism help with solving practical problems like romantic relationships, voting or promise-keeping? Or even the less practical ones like freedom of speech, intellectual property rights or biogenetics? What principles do we have? Or do we dispense with principles in favour of a context? Beyond a broad plethora of vague and ambitious speculations, I’m only left all too sure of one thing – God is not involved.
This rich line of enquiry and many others, (opened up by fantastic guest speakers I really must give credit to), was simply met among our thirty-odd members by echo chambers that negated the religious response. I was convinced that Humanism was more than a negation of religion, after all I could have started an atheist club (or even a country ramblers society) if I didn’t care about its more meaningful content. But I chose not to because I was interested in living and discussing the Humanist life. So why then was it so hard to find its essence? It is at this time I notice another glaring issue – After a year, our membership was stagnating and despite dozens of new faces every week, via email and in person, we were making very little new gains in membership. I’m forced to contemplate why that might be. Now of course, I could defer blame to the fact that Herefordshire is relatively unpopulated and the people that do live there are proportionately some of the most Christian. I could also simply cite my relative inexperience. However, I think the issue was in our understanding of Humanism itself.
The year is 2015, I’m nervously clutching a mug of (overly milky) tea. Through a thick glass screen I’m watching BBC Radio’s Michael Collie host his Sunday show… I’m about to join him.
I glance down at my notes and see the words written in 2003 for the Humanist Manifesto – “Humanism is a progressive philosophy of life that, without supernaturalism, affirms our ability to lead ethical lives of personal fulfilment that aspire to the good of humanity”.
Just over a month earlier I had been introduced to Humanism and had been so enormously inspired by this seemingly simple idea that I decided to set up the Herefordshire Humanists. And so there I was, ready to promote our first upcoming event and indeed, the philosophy itself, to the wider world (or at least Hereford & Worcester). So some pop ballad starts playing and Michael ushers me into the studio. He asks me if I have my notes prepared and excitedly starts picking my brains on Humanism just as the ballad’s final key-change kicks in. We go over the basics – “isn’t it just atheism?”, “do you guys have a church?” and then, crikey, we’re live!
I start by explaining that Humanism is very simple. In a country where Christianity and church attendance is decreasing rapidly, it’s something that describes how most people might feel. It’s a positive philosophy; just as rich, meaningful and historical as any religion. Rather than atheism, which is simply absence of belief, it’s an affirmation of the good of humanity. That means celebrating its feats, endeavours and ability to create ethics through conversation rather than looking externally to holy books, scripture and revelation. I suggest that many people disingenuously sit through funerals and weddings that focus on a divinity they don’t truly believe in or understand. In contrast, Humanist ceremonies offer something meaningful and personalised to people’s lives in the “here and now”. In my naivety and nervousness, I’m stumped by a few questions but the basics are all there and on the drive home I feel relatively satisfied.
Next month, the radio show seems to have done its job and I find myself taken aback. Pint in hand, I’m stood looking at almost forty people cramped into a small, dimly-lit pub on a Herefordshire side-street. They’re all eager to know more about this Humanism malarkey. After a brisk few words I refer them to the wisdom of Humanist Patron and QI presenter, Stephen Fry as we turn on the television to hear his dulcet tones. I then spend the remainder of the evening mingling with people that have travelled all across the county and beyond; sharing stories and conversing about Humanism. Some of the old-timers are seasoned British Humanist Association members and know Humanism like the back of their hands. Others have left overbearing religious families; they have tales to tell and bones to pick. Others are just at a loose end for the evening or “spiritual seekers” searching to find meaning (even if it comes from a man half their age in a pub). All are curious to know more - and I couldn’t be happier. I’m pleased to have started something that maybe, just maybe, can have a genuine impact. In theory, maybe it could even help solve a few serious issues. At the very least perhaps it can help people find meaning in their lives, make a few friends and share some memories. In many senses I was right; in other senses my optimism may have been very much misplaced…
Over the next month I begin firing off emails. I start organising some guest speakers, walks across the beautiful countryside of Herefordshire, some meetings and some all-too-boozy socials. I’m an undergraduate philosophy student, so I’m keen to continue that question that, in my mind, started it all. This is the question that Socrates asks to the other ancient Athenians: “How do I live a good life?”. This and many other big questions I find myself asking as we walk the apple orchards of Herefordshire or nestle by the fireplaces of public houses. I’m keen to explore questions of liberty, dignity and freedom; to really pin down the ideas of how a Humanist approaches these questions. What is their outlook and how do they approach such big issues and why? How is it different from a Christian, a nihilist or a pessimistic atheist’s perspective? …In this endeavour I run into a problem, however.
In floating this question to room after room, I seem to get a very limited range of answers from everyone… including myself. I barely begin asking before I’m ardently informed that ethics doesn’t come from bibles, gods or goblins… as if that were all there was to the question. “So what is ethical or fulfilling if not God?” I find myself asking genuinely. Is it something inbuilt or socially constructed? And, specifically, how does one live ethically and transform their life? Does Humanism help with solving practical problems like romantic relationships, voting or promise-keeping? Or even the less practical ones like freedom of speech, intellectual property rights or biogenetics? What principles do we have? Or do we dispense with principles in favour of a context? Beyond a broad plethora of vague and ambitious speculations, I’m only left all too sure of one thing – God is not involved.
This rich line of enquiry and many others, (opened up by fantastic guest speakers I really must give credit to), was simply met among our thirty-odd members by echo chambers that negated the religious response. I was convinced that Humanism was more than a negation of religion, after all I could have started an atheist club (or even a country ramblers society) if I didn’t care about its more meaningful content. But I chose not to because I was interested in living and discussing the Humanist life. So why then was it so hard to find its essence? It is at this time I notice another glaring issue – After a year, our membership was stagnating and despite dozens of new faces every week, via email and in person, we were making very little new gains in membership. I’m forced to contemplate why that might be. Now of course, I could defer blame to the fact that Herefordshire is relatively unpopulated and the people that do live there are proportionately some of the most Christian. I could also simply cite my relative inexperience. However, I think the issue was in our understanding of Humanism itself.
Part II: How a Christian Philosopher Saved My Atheism
At this point, my view of the philosophy was naïve and intense, to say the least. It is without some of the later intellectual nuances and revelations of experience that would later come to light – and indeed are still to come. Though I’m by no means the worst offender, I did hold the view that any and all religious beliefs are quite simply, wrong. I also craved a worldview, one simple narrative, that would confront and explain all my fears and ails… as many of us do in the absence of religion’s answers. This view of religion as untrue came from my obsession with, what I later realised was, New Atheism. You may have seen those videos – “Richard Dawkins DESTROYS Christian with SCIENCE and LOGIC”… that was ashamedly my morning viewing. It was this invalidation of religion, more than I would admit, that formed the foundation of why I was a Humanist. I noticed it more and more in watching the people around me. The quips about religion never ceased and they needed no ammunition to begin firing the gun. Even though I made a conscious effort to move away from antitheism and into a more positive and affirming atheism there were a few things in the way of all of us.
I asked my lecturers for advice in this matter. After all, they were all atheists interested in ideas of ethics and existentialism. Yet, I was surprised to learn that they had some strong misgivings about Humanism and its development. This profoundly shocked me and I demanded to know why they thought so lowly of what I was trying to do. It was then I was prompted to read a Christian philosopher, who changed my view of atheism and its relationship with religion forever. This was Danish philosopher, Søren Kierkegaard. Specifically, it was his eulogy to Abraham that had the most profound effect on me. At first this effect was namely to piss me off. At once, as an atheist, I found the message utterly abhorrent - I recall genuinely rubbing my eyes in disbelief multiple times. How could any kind of respected thinker idolise the action of infanticide or the dogma that had led to it!? What shook me more - irritated me, is that Kierkegaard himself admits that this and the metaphysical beliefs of Christianity are truly absurd!
Now, I hope to fully unpack and expand on these arguments in future podcasts but I’ll outline them concisely here. Kierkegaard is a fideist and believes that faith and reason are two separate conversations. The mistake of new atheism and scientism is to assume that faith statements are propositions about reality. If this were true, science would have dislodged religion long ago. Indeed, this is also the mistake that Creationists have made in their novel efforts to take on the language of the enlightenment and apply it to what was previously known as a way of life or commitment (In other words acting as if God’s existence were true). Though Kierkegaard would say that religion reveals a kind of truth, this is categorically different from what science and empiricism reveal. It's all apples and oranges. This truth is entirely subjective and personal, it is a rhetorical flourish that describes one's conscience and relationship with oneself. Its a stirring internal sentiment that can only be communicated in poetry and demands submissive worship by virtue of its sheer strength. To abandon reason in favour of this kind of truth requires a kind of unparalleled commitment – something that is increasingly hard to come by in a secular world. It is this epistemological and very ‘meta’ view of religion that, for me, marks Kierkegaard as one of the only religious philosophers. That is, to be able to retain the essence of both of those terms. In contrast, someone like St. Thomas Aquinas, an apologist who defended religious belief through rational arguments in the Middle Ages, is missing the point of why he believes in the first place. Even Aquinas realised this himself when he called his rational arguments “straw” in compassion to the revelation experienced through faith.
I suddenly understood why Humanism, in the sense that we were talking about, simply wasn’t working. Even if we had been right about it, the language of truth obnoxiously dominated the discussion too strongly, and that can only breed dogmatism and poor dialogue with the best intentions. Ask any educator – a pedagogic intent will simply frame any encounter as the right vs. the wrong and conversations like this never yield fruit. After all, that’s how we got Trump, etc. I don’t think Richard Dawkin’s God Delusion ever convinced a zealot to abandon his faith (not unless they didn’t already wish for it gone). Similarly, I don’t think any atheist found themselves at God’s mercy by virtue of Aquinas’ “design” or teleological argument. Not unless they already possessed the desire to believe. This tells us that faith is, at least foremost, a matter of commitment and desire. At the risk of over-simplification, the rest is icing on the experiential cake. Imagine asking one of the apostles for logical or empirical proof of Gods immanent existence! They would most likely say that the “truth” they feel is internal and any resulting language springs from this sentiment. Moreover, the antagonistic focus, with conversations never quite leaving the subject of the religions we had left behind, bred an infertile garden for growing new thoughts and ideas. It was a bitter and empty black hole disguised as something enriching.
I fundamentally disagree with Kierkegaard, but he was the first thinker to my mind that cemented the nature of faith and belief in a way that satisfied both theology and philosophy. He also seemed to understand just how absurd and difficult a religious life truly is. Religion may be a dogma and may even be at odds with naturalistic explanations of the world, but these aren’t objective criticisms of religious life. They aren’t objective because they belong to the same language we use when we talk about our favourite books and songs - they are qualitative statements that express emotions. It doesn’t mean they can’t be persuasively talked about, like art so often is - just not demonstrated outright. This is different to a discourse like politics, which doesn’t rely on people necessarily sharing that subjective sentiment in order to agree with you; thus something much more tangible and subject to evidence. This is why using evidence against religious people is rather silly and, alternatively, religious-based judgement of non-religious people is nonsensical white-noise.
It's not that Christians deny naturalism, but that the supernaturalist is usually speaking in poetry. At least this is how it was historically, by virtue of a lack of empirical language. People were much more concerned with “paganism” insofar as behaviour that rejected God, rather than an atheist using his logical enquiry to ask questions like “can God make a stone too heavy for himself to lift?”. Such a question is moot to the debate and, until recently, contextually impossible to ask.
At this point, my view of the philosophy was naïve and intense, to say the least. It is without some of the later intellectual nuances and revelations of experience that would later come to light – and indeed are still to come. Though I’m by no means the worst offender, I did hold the view that any and all religious beliefs are quite simply, wrong. I also craved a worldview, one simple narrative, that would confront and explain all my fears and ails… as many of us do in the absence of religion’s answers. This view of religion as untrue came from my obsession with, what I later realised was, New Atheism. You may have seen those videos – “Richard Dawkins DESTROYS Christian with SCIENCE and LOGIC”… that was ashamedly my morning viewing. It was this invalidation of religion, more than I would admit, that formed the foundation of why I was a Humanist. I noticed it more and more in watching the people around me. The quips about religion never ceased and they needed no ammunition to begin firing the gun. Even though I made a conscious effort to move away from antitheism and into a more positive and affirming atheism there were a few things in the way of all of us.
I asked my lecturers for advice in this matter. After all, they were all atheists interested in ideas of ethics and existentialism. Yet, I was surprised to learn that they had some strong misgivings about Humanism and its development. This profoundly shocked me and I demanded to know why they thought so lowly of what I was trying to do. It was then I was prompted to read a Christian philosopher, who changed my view of atheism and its relationship with religion forever. This was Danish philosopher, Søren Kierkegaard. Specifically, it was his eulogy to Abraham that had the most profound effect on me. At first this effect was namely to piss me off. At once, as an atheist, I found the message utterly abhorrent - I recall genuinely rubbing my eyes in disbelief multiple times. How could any kind of respected thinker idolise the action of infanticide or the dogma that had led to it!? What shook me more - irritated me, is that Kierkegaard himself admits that this and the metaphysical beliefs of Christianity are truly absurd!
Now, I hope to fully unpack and expand on these arguments in future podcasts but I’ll outline them concisely here. Kierkegaard is a fideist and believes that faith and reason are two separate conversations. The mistake of new atheism and scientism is to assume that faith statements are propositions about reality. If this were true, science would have dislodged religion long ago. Indeed, this is also the mistake that Creationists have made in their novel efforts to take on the language of the enlightenment and apply it to what was previously known as a way of life or commitment (In other words acting as if God’s existence were true). Though Kierkegaard would say that religion reveals a kind of truth, this is categorically different from what science and empiricism reveal. It's all apples and oranges. This truth is entirely subjective and personal, it is a rhetorical flourish that describes one's conscience and relationship with oneself. Its a stirring internal sentiment that can only be communicated in poetry and demands submissive worship by virtue of its sheer strength. To abandon reason in favour of this kind of truth requires a kind of unparalleled commitment – something that is increasingly hard to come by in a secular world. It is this epistemological and very ‘meta’ view of religion that, for me, marks Kierkegaard as one of the only religious philosophers. That is, to be able to retain the essence of both of those terms. In contrast, someone like St. Thomas Aquinas, an apologist who defended religious belief through rational arguments in the Middle Ages, is missing the point of why he believes in the first place. Even Aquinas realised this himself when he called his rational arguments “straw” in compassion to the revelation experienced through faith.
I suddenly understood why Humanism, in the sense that we were talking about, simply wasn’t working. Even if we had been right about it, the language of truth obnoxiously dominated the discussion too strongly, and that can only breed dogmatism and poor dialogue with the best intentions. Ask any educator – a pedagogic intent will simply frame any encounter as the right vs. the wrong and conversations like this never yield fruit. After all, that’s how we got Trump, etc. I don’t think Richard Dawkin’s God Delusion ever convinced a zealot to abandon his faith (not unless they didn’t already wish for it gone). Similarly, I don’t think any atheist found themselves at God’s mercy by virtue of Aquinas’ “design” or teleological argument. Not unless they already possessed the desire to believe. This tells us that faith is, at least foremost, a matter of commitment and desire. At the risk of over-simplification, the rest is icing on the experiential cake. Imagine asking one of the apostles for logical or empirical proof of Gods immanent existence! They would most likely say that the “truth” they feel is internal and any resulting language springs from this sentiment. Moreover, the antagonistic focus, with conversations never quite leaving the subject of the religions we had left behind, bred an infertile garden for growing new thoughts and ideas. It was a bitter and empty black hole disguised as something enriching.
I fundamentally disagree with Kierkegaard, but he was the first thinker to my mind that cemented the nature of faith and belief in a way that satisfied both theology and philosophy. He also seemed to understand just how absurd and difficult a religious life truly is. Religion may be a dogma and may even be at odds with naturalistic explanations of the world, but these aren’t objective criticisms of religious life. They aren’t objective because they belong to the same language we use when we talk about our favourite books and songs - they are qualitative statements that express emotions. It doesn’t mean they can’t be persuasively talked about, like art so often is - just not demonstrated outright. This is different to a discourse like politics, which doesn’t rely on people necessarily sharing that subjective sentiment in order to agree with you; thus something much more tangible and subject to evidence. This is why using evidence against religious people is rather silly and, alternatively, religious-based judgement of non-religious people is nonsensical white-noise.
It's not that Christians deny naturalism, but that the supernaturalist is usually speaking in poetry. At least this is how it was historically, by virtue of a lack of empirical language. People were much more concerned with “paganism” insofar as behaviour that rejected God, rather than an atheist using his logical enquiry to ask questions like “can God make a stone too heavy for himself to lift?”. Such a question is moot to the debate and, until recently, contextually impossible to ask.
Part III: Vicars and Philosophers
Now I had worked out the conceptual problems that lay before us I got to work at fixing them... And bit off more than I could chew. We were perpetually caught in this tangle of concepts and language problems. Was Humanism a proposition of naturalism or similar to religion in being a relationship with oneself? If so, what was that relationship? Then there are even more questions I had to ask. If faith statements are metaphorical allegory, should we develop our own? Is ethics an active cognitive process you “think up” or an affect that happens to you? In answer to some of these questions I directed my undergraduate dissertation on Humanism itself. After all, I had to get some use of the Humanist literature I'd managed to get the uni library to stock.
I even got Stephen Fry dragged into all this! After meeting him at a talk I laid on the problems I was facing and in his usual profundity, he offered up the following wisdom. He suggested that if people were so concerned with challenging religiosity, that they should learn to “know thy enemy” and perhaps come to understand religion as I had after reading Kierkegaard. That is, something I find beautific, mesmerising, quite often ugly but almost never entirely untrue and, as a result, a more terrifying yet more worthy position in debate. Stephen suggested that once this hurdle was crossed we might start to think about Humanism more positively and complexly… I took his advice on board and invited a vicar to our next meet-up. This will go down well, I thought.
It didn’t. In fact, every attempt at dialogue with faith produced sneers and jeers. Any Christian visitors to our talks usually just pushed these tensions higher. This almost seemed a welcome conflict… or at least a fated one. Talk about a Hegelian dialectic in action.
I also invited my lecturers down to try and flesh out the concept of atheism; its relationship with science and opposition to religion. I wondered if the talks had seeded the idea that Humanism can be just as dogmatic religion… and the idea that meaning requires attention and struggle. However next week, I tried to unpack this idea to a crowd of eager new faces. I explain that Humanism must oppose religion in its willingness to objectify human lives and our wonderful world all in comparison to God’s “infallible” grace. I also talk about how its narrative is trapped in conflict, through ideas like original sin; thus destined to self-hate and pity. And finally that open conversation and skepticism can be celebrated in ritualistic ways. The room somehow aren’t bored! I beg people to keep it that way while we go around the room getting to know each other and our beliefs. After some interesting conversation, a few laughs and some jovial drinking some regulars arrive late and out come the Noah’s Ark jokes. The crowd's interest evaporates abruptly and I never hear from them again.
In the defence of contemporary Humanism’s vagueness, its all too easy to get bogged down explaining to people the baffling (to some) premise. Some discriminatory vitriolic individuals just don’t get the whole “good without God thing”. That’s something that needs attention but it’s not something a room full of humanists needs to talk or even think about. This is our space and our conversation… so why was the conversation dominated by talk of religion? Because we had no idea how to start it.
Alas, it had come to the end of my tenure and my MA dissertation and full time job in another county were ominously looming. Despite several dozen proactive regulars on the scene, they insisted that they could not take the mantle away from “young blood”. This was a reluctance and self-imposed ageism I never quite understood. Better to burden myself with all three committee tasks by virtue of my youth, like some kind of de-facto cult leader, or even have no Humanism at all, than (god-forbid) an older group of gentleman steer the course. It goes without saying that I am glad to have met every single member of the group and that we all shared the best intentions. I like to believe that everyone involved had become wiser from the experience and very much enjoyed the time we had. I know I did. The group allowed friends to come together, ideas to be discussed and confidence to grow; which are never bad things. Certainly, for myself the dissolution of the group gave me a clearer idea of the philosophy than ever before; its pitfalls and what, for myself at least, it should be.
Part IV: Reclaiming Humanism
It is at this juncture where I try to preemptively flesh out what a more philosophically-sensitive (and dare I say, spiritual?) Humanism would look like. After all, despite my intentions to write properly on this in the future, it would be unfair to share grievances without at least the start of an alternative. So here goes.
The realisation that Humanism can be (and was for me) a dogma forced me into a second existential crisis. I had to work out whether it was even possible for Humanism to occupy a different space to religion that simply its angry or hollow reflection. In other words, a true opposite or even something entirely new. Can atheism become a powerful collective movement and champion skepticism simultaneously… the ideas seem principally opposed? Through many interesting and ongoing conversations about ritual, myth and history I’ve started on that journey and maybe, very soon, I’ll be able to communicate a new kind of Humanism that makes more sense to me.
Much of the current problem lies in specificity. Groups like mine needed more than soundbite slogans like “good without God”. They can be great for getting people onboard with an understandable USP but ultimately need much richer and coherent content otherwise they’re doomed to banal notions and angry words about bishops. This is a tightrope that Humanists have to contend with, too narrow a focus and it becomes a shallow ideology, too broad and it becomes a vacuous club; too diverse to lobby for causes, yet alone find inner meaning.
Perhaps, like Kierkegaard found, its always a personal struggle to live and actualise one’s belief. Perhaps constant existentialism and self-doubt should be the point and any firmly planted flags are hypocritical? One idea worth exploring is exactly how we might embody an attitude of eternal curiosity, open-ended questioning and gentle scepticism. I think this relates to a more wholesome idea of ethics beyond utilitarianism (or other kinds of simple, action-centred moralism). That is, to think of ethics as an immersion in the other and a recognition of the human subject rather than a calculation. Moreover, its to think of the self in the same way; as a worthy project rather than an expendable object. This leads onto ideas of inheriting the saeculum or “here and now” with a sense of intellectual responsibility and genuine love; love that is devoid of inherent pity or divine mandate. This strong sense of self and the other might enable us to be proactive with our time and relationships since no divine power will solve our problems for us. How we achieve this and what we spend our lives talking about, is an attitude, grounded in this notion of a wholesome self, rather than lists of dos and donts. To do this we can look to the wisdom of role models, art, literature, podcasts (preferably not mine). Whether its practices like Stoicism or yoga - the specifics are an open game at this point.
Another thing I find vague is being “positive”. Championing positivity is one thing, but how does that look practically and how does it actually relate to views about the natural world? In order to internalise and actualise such an outlook, should we be walking about doing charitable deeds or grinning? Maybe one way to think about it is the empathetic and rational deconstruction of ontology and judgement; best realised through a humbling practice like meditation. This approach helps us clarify perhaps the central crux of Humanism. That is, to situate the fragile, flawed human agent as authoritative and responsible "source" of positivity (as oppose to Gods and dictators), not its target (as pro-animal writers have often suggested).
The combination of naturalism and optimism seems well-intended but arbitrary and empty, like many of the trickled down philosophies of Humanism. Its these ideas like contingency and emergence where my philosophy differs from my peers. I think its useful (at least when thinking about living a meaningful existence) to think of atheism as a choice or even a way of life. I’m going to preface this by saying that there is an immense and urgent need to promote the scientific method in everyday discourse. Understanding such tools help us to think more critically and objective, propositional language is vital for explaining the world around us in mechanistic terms. While religion, in its misunderstood use of allegorical fable, may get off the empirical hook, pseudoscience and creationists (in their attempt to incorrectly use science) do not. I was reminded of the dire importance of promoting the scientific method just the other day in fact, when a third year philosophy student argued in favour of anti-vaccination. But then when I hear Humanist UK members mock the belief in “sky faeries” and fret about how “pushing philosophy in school curriculums may lead people to religion” the mind boggles. I’m left wondering what some Humanists think they are doing? I wonder if an over-focus of the rigidity of scientific method rather than the wonders of its subject; the natural world itself is causing this cultish scientism? That is, maybe a Humanist outlook should contrast religion in its affirming of the inherent magnificence of the natural world (which religion fundamentally cannot), rather than devoting so much energy on how the paradigms explain its causality. Let's flip things on its head a second. After all, it seems to me that religion is premised upon the idea of a created, God-given existence. This is not a rational position, but a romantic one. If we think about the secondary nature that reason plays in matters of faith then maybe promoting a love of life and the world we inhabit might just tackle the issue of how we secondly explain it more mechanistically. Just a thought.
My older sense of Humanism relied too heavily upon being a rationalist and secularist, using logic and reason is categorically not enough for matters of ethics and finding purpose in life. I shook off religion as a nonsense answer to an irrelevant question, when in fact, it was an often necessary answer to an inescapable question. Humanism is an attempt to surpass religion’s answers in a post-enlightenment world; to recognise the question and give an answer more “accurate” response for those who cannot or will not become a “knight of faith”, as Kierkegaard calls it.
All I know is that we need to tie all these disjointed common-sense ideas like liberty, reason, positivity, dignity, science and respect for animals with more specificity and more nuance. These answers aren’t as obvious as we like to pretend. The reality of a Godless universe and the ideas of religion are not concepts that can be laughed off as irrelevant bronze age myths. Specific affirmation and positivity in the face of a godless universe takes a certain kind of moral and intellectual courage, as does starting into the void of questions that arises from it. Rather than retreat to antiquated theologies, give up or settle on simplistic answers, humanists stand against it together. To do that, we need legs…
At this point I start thinking about how important a role history and myth play in all of this… And I use my strange ski-lodge / broth analogy. I'm hopeful for Humanism to take more relatable and active roles through its ideas of community and history (particularly with its recent heritage project). However, without ritual we lose and essential part of what allows us to share cultural experiences, actualise beliefs and mark occasions of importance. Religion, even in its secular forms, has the benefit of a long and endearing mythology, full of conflict, stories and purpose-giving fables. This narrative is one of the things that makes it compelling enough to stir enough faith in order to bracket reason. Humanism has no such narrative. The very fact that Humanism exists is testimony to the ultimate failure and invalidation of these types of narratives and the constructs they rely on. And that, at least at first, should rightfully worry us. But most of us Humanists just stare blankly at the void, unable to even recognise it. Here follows a terrible analogy...
Imagine a ski lodge, snowed under for the winter, inhabited by three hungry occupants. The first is the owner who, realising the need to make food, starts making his prize-winning broth. The second points out the ingredients are out of date and will most likely make them all ill, he simply laughs at the owner. The third, terrified at the thought of dying of hunger, realises they will need to make an alternative to the broth.
What does this all mean? This all has to do with putting Humanism in a certain context in order to make sense of it. For me, that context has always been the "Death of God" - the gradual decline in validity of religious truth as a cultural force. In my bad allegory, this is represented by the snow and starvation. The people in this analogy are the religious believer, the atheist and the humanist, respectively. A new context has meant that the old narratives they used to make sense of life is no longer viable, hence they now struggle to cook the broth. Despite being a relatively slow and chronologically vague occurrence, the Death of God is nevertheless a powerful, game-changing piece of imagery. It is perhaps the single most important cultural shift to impact thought; transitioning our language, society, beliefs, behaviours, relationships and the way we fundamentally understand the natural world. In the absence of a holistic narrative, our thinking grows increasingly relativistic, consumerist and our storytelling has diluted to Marvel films. The historical and intellectual space for humanism to exist is recent occurrence, owing to the enlightenment project and this Death of God. Humanism has to own that space and take the Death of God more seriously. After all, it pretty much caused it through the enlightenment!
Maybe its too ambitious to imagine us all walking off definitely into the void, away from the closed and judgemental conversations of religion and ideology, but we can at least recognise the responsibility and contingency involved in intellectual and moral freedom. Its a scary thing, full of plurality and lots of difficult choices. Its simply not good enough for Humanism to arrogantly consider itself some kind of default; the end result of linear progression and, in doing so, underestimate nihilism. The enlightenment project has to be argued; otherwise it has already failed. I expect this perceived obviousness and lack of choice is why most Humanists seem so concerned about getting involved in culture wars about Easter eggs.
This has become my eternal conversation, a dialogue with myself and others of how we inherit a godless universe and the tools and attitudes we take with us. I believe that Humanism, as a transformative way of life has the potential to be full of ethical wisdom; both rich and fulfilling. Through podcasting, writing and conversation I’ve come to hold a much stronger idea of Humanist living, one that is in distinction to religion by its own vibrant essence.
Actual Reading
Traditional Philosophy of Religion
St Thomas Aquinas, The Summa Theologica: The Complete Edition (New York: Catholic Way Publishing, 2014) originally written 1265–1274
“Straw” comment quoted by Brian Davies, The Thought of Thomas Aquinas (Wotton-under-Edge: Clarendon Press, 1993) p. 9
St. Anselm: Proslogium; Monologium: An Appendix In Behalf Of The Fool By Gaunilo; And Cur Deus Homo, Translated From The Latin By Sidney Norton Deane, B. A. With An Introduction, Bibliography, And Reprints Of The Opinions Of Leading Philosophers And Writers On The Ontological Argument (Chicago: The Open Court Publishing Company, 1903, reprinted 1926)
Continental Existentialism
Søren Kierkegaard (Edited by Gordon Marino), Fear and Trembling and the Sickness Unto Death (New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 2013)
Friedrich Nietzsche trans. by Thomas Common, The Gay Science (New York: Dover Publications, 2006) Originally Published in 1910
New Atheism
Richard Dawkins, The God Delusion (London: Penguin, 2016)
Christopher Hitchens, God Is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything (London: Atlantic Books, 2008)
An Atheist Revolution?
John Gray, Seven Types of Atheism (London: Penguin, 2018)
Chris Stedman, Fathiest: How an Atheist Found Common Ground with the Religious (Boston: Beacon Press, 2012)
Patrick O’Connor, Atheism Reclaimed (Croydon: iff Books, 2013)
AC Grayling, The Good Book: A Secular Bible (London: Bloomsbury, 2011)