Atheism For Dummies (For Dummies (Religion & Spirituality)) (70 page)

Scientifically oriented, well-read, well-educated

Grey-to-white hair and beard

Driving a mid-sized vehicle with multiple incendiary bumper stickers

Officers would have been cautioned to expect an argument — suspect may be armed with syllogisms. Aside from the car, they’d have essentially been looking for Socrates.

I doubt too many bulletins like that were ever issued, because these guys also tended not to rob gas stations. If you walked into any freethought meeting in the late 20th century, you’d have mostly seen this guy standing around in small groups talking to others very much like him about biblical contradictions, something silly the Pope said, or the latest discovery in particle physics. And though both women and men are atheists of this kind, most of these folks have been men.

I call this classic, lecture-and-debate-minded atheist Harry.

I love Harry. Harry has been the backbone of organized freethought for most of its history. But another kind of nonbeliever also exists. It’s not that they aren’t intellectual, but they’re not interested in talking quite so exclusively about science and philosophy. They’re looking to create community, connect with others, and work for social justice and the common good. And though both women and men are atheists of both kinds, this more socially and community-oriented atheist tends more often to be a woman.

I call this more community-oriented nonbeliever Sally.

The following sections explore the role of gender in the atheist and humanist community and digs a little further into this Harry-and-Sally distinction.

Speaking of gender

The gender divide in the freethought movement isn’t imaginary. ARIS shows women are much more likely than men to be religious and to stay religious. Even if they were raised without religion, they’re less likely to
stay
nonreligious than men who were raised that way. So it isn’t too surprising that (with important exception) men have dominated the organized secular movement.

Making generalizations about gender is always a risky business. Remember that plenty of men and women are on both sides of this Harry/Sally fence. Madalyn Murray O’Hair (see
Chapter 8
) was a classic Harry, for example, and there have been several other prominent women in leadership positions who fit the same description. On the other side, Greg Epstein (refer to
Chapter 13
) and Sherwin Wine (see
Chapter 8
) are both Sallys, and I have a lot of Sally in myself as well. But both gender and the Harry/Sally difference have become important factors in organized atheism today. And because this chapter is about atheism today, in I wade.

The gender balance in organized atheism is getting better, but slowly. Susan Jacoby, a great historian of the secular movement, estimates that her audiences have gone from about 90 percent male a decade ago to about 75 percent male in 2012. It should improve more quickly now, because the split is more even for atheists under 30.

Honoring Harry — the “classic” atheists, and what they built

People who fit the profile of Harry — science-minded, often (not always) white, and often (not always) male — created today’s organized freethought movement. They were able to do so because they didn’t have the same social and emotional needs as many others — needs the church often satisfies. That’s why they were able to walk out of those church doors and build this brand new thing around science, reason, and ideas instead of community and emotion.

It makes sense that the Harrys built a movement nothing like the churches they’d just walked away from. Many of them had been wounded by religion, so they wanted nothing that looked or felt anything like it. Harrys also tend to be proudly individualistic and even solitary. A word like “community” can make them nauseous, and getting together in a room to sing about love and brotherhood is somewhere around a tax audit on their list of dreaded tortures. In fact, they often go to great lengths to separate themselves from anything that feels too much like religion, preferring to exchange rational ideas while working to keep religion out of politics and public life.

When polls in the early 2000s began suggesting that 40 million Americans were nonreligious, some of the Harrys began looking around the room at their meetings and wondering where the other 39.8 million people were. Some shrugged and said “Nonbelievers just aren’t joiners.” Harrys are non-joiners, but not all nonbelievers are.

Seeing Sally — the “community” atheists, and what they need

In recent years, many atheists and humanists have begun to feel that the freethought movement was built too narrowly, serving only those who were already in it, and they started looking for ways to open the doors more widely for atheists different from themselves — the “Sallys.”

Whether male or female, Sallys don’t believe in God any more than the Harrys do. The Sallys of the 20th-century freethought movement felt as if their needs weren’t being met. Sallys are every bit as intelligent and committed, but the Sallys didn’t find the freethought movement that Harrys built appealing, so they often stayed in communities, usually progressive churches, built to serve those needs. They weren’t there for the theology, just for the community, which makes them a lot like most of the believers sitting in the pews around them. (Check out
Chapter 18
for more discussion.)

Sallys are more interested in working for social justice than talking about contradictions in the Bible. They see tremendous value in having a supportive community around them and in joining with others to work for a better world. At some point, many Sallys become deeply conflicted about staying in a church community, especially if they feel the doctrines of that church are opposed to the very values of openness and tolerance they want to promote. But when they look at organized atheist and humanist groups, they often see too little community and too little compassionate action.

Many in the freethought movement have seen the problem and feel that it’s high time to start meeting the needs of nonbelievers beyond the traditional lecture-and-debate Harry types, including this community-seeking doer of good deeds. And though both genders are involved, it’s no surprise that many of the leaders of this new effort to refocus atheist attention are women. One recent example is “Atheism+,” a label that says, “I’m an atheist,
plus
I care about social justice and equality and inclusiveness.” Atheists have always cared about these compassionate issues, but this new effort seeks to place them closer to the front and center of attention and action. (For more on A+, see
Chapter 2
.)

Considering race and ethnicity

The gender balance isn’t the only thing that’s shifting in the atheist landscape; in recent years, the movement has also gained a much greater presence of nonwhite nonbelievers.

Religion has never just been about beliefs. It’s also about community and identity and a whole lot more. This is especially true in racial or cultural minority communities. The French-speaking Québecois I mention earlier in this chapter are a prime example, their Catholicism wrapped up so tightly with their Frenchness that it ends up having literally nothing to do with beliefs. Many of those Québec Catholics who no longer believe in God keep calling themselves Catholic so they don’t disappear into the Protestant English speakers around them.

The same is true in communities of color surrounded by white majorities. African American atheists like Sikivu Hutchinson and Norm Allen have written powerfully about the especially strong, angry reaction they get from others in the black community when they identify as atheists, as if they’re renouncing not just God but their race and community as well. Ditto for Latinos, for whom Catholicism is often a big part of cultural identity.

Despite those challenges, the landscape is shifting. In 1990, just 6 percent of African Americans identified as nonreligious. By 2008, that number had nearly doubled to 11 percent. You can also see the shifting landscape among the nonreligious overall:

In 1990, nonreligious Americans were 80 percent white, 10 percent black, and 4 percent Hispanic

By 2008, nonreligious Americans were 72 percent white, 8 percent black, and 12 percent Hispanic