Had an interesting discussion this morning with someone who just really, really failed to get it. It began, as most warm mornings with a clear blue sky when the calendar reads 9/11 do, with a discussion of how we reacted on that day. One person said it was her last day as a Christian. Another chimed in quickly to say she would pray for her.
Now, there are quite a few kinds of prayers. Some are grounded in empathy or grief. They are an expression of the deepest wishes a human being could possibly have that a bad situation will improve, that pain will be healed, and that good things will happen in the wake of horror. They are the silent agonizing thoughts that desperately hope for intervention from some force outside of the natural world to make things better, like the ones I and every other even remotely "spiritual" person in the world had as they watched the twin towers crashing down into rubble eleven years ago. They are usually private. When they are shared, they are often shared from a position of humility in the face of something huge, not knowing if they will be answered, or even heard.
I may take some flack for this, but atheists have them, too. We are tiny clusters of very old and well organized stardust, and our lives are over in a brief flash in human history. They don't even register in the long view of time. The ultimately inconsequential truth of our fleeting existence does not mean that we don't hurt for humanity as a whole when we see suffering on the scale that we saw it eleven years ago, or that we do not want to make the world a better place.
When tragedy strikes, we bypass the supernatural part. We talk with our friends. We write to leave a record of what we feel, not always knowing if anyone will hear or care, and not always in the public eye. I don't think it's too far off to say our blogs and our journals and our hopes to be that change we want to see in the world are our secular prayers. I recognize these things for what they are-- our hopes, our dreams, and (when we act on them) our legacy to future generations. They are the glue that holds society together and causes us to reach out to one another for support and comfort when we need it, and to give it when and where we can. We are, in a very real sense, little more than what we share with one another. We grow when we confront what we might otherwise hide from ourselves.
Some prayers, on the other hand, are less noble. Call them "selfish prayers": the prayer of an exasperated mother that an overtired child will go to sleep; the prayer that a sticky work situation will be go away after a good night's sleep; or the prayer that an unexpected windfall or the kindness of others will help solve financial problems. (More on that later.) Atheists have these thoughts too, but tend to handle the day-to-day trials and tribulations from a strictly pragmatic approach. We look for advice from our friends, family, social networks, doctors, and lawyers. We bring meals to our sick friends. We argue for what's right and hope it finds a receptive audience. I'm not saying that people who appeal to a supernatural power do these things any more or less than atheists do. We just cut out the thoughts directed towards the middle man when we do them.
But there is that final kind of prayer... the kind of prayer that atheists get from believers who are sad to hear that we have "lost" our faith. Call it a "pity prayer", or an evangelical prayer. It's the kind of prayer that asserts one Truth, and flatly rejects the possibility that this truth may be wrong. It's the kind of prayer that assumes those "other" belief systems are wrong, and many if not all of the world's problems would be solved if only everyone would convert to the True way of thinking. It's the kind of prayer that condescends, while simultaneously demanding respect.
Atheists have these sorts of sentimental wishes, too, when it comes to religion. In the past, we were sometimes silent out of fear we would be killed, beaten, burned as witches, or simply cast aside by society. To be very clear, that's still a risk today. We are social animals, and callous rejection and judgment based on religious beliefs or lack thereof can cause real pain. Or, you know, risk of death if enough people don't react to actual persecution loudly enough. I'm going to call it what it is, self-righteous garbage of the most dangerous sort. We mourn the atheists in foxholes who have died protecting the people who cause that pain, and we get angry when their very existence is denied, belittled, or ignored. This attempt to claim a monopoly on the moral high ground is base tribalism, and does not play well with others.
Don't like it when we deliver a dose of reality? Then, please, hear our "prayer".
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As an important aside, if you like the pendant, and you want one, click the pic. The proceeds are being used by the artist to help fund a custody battle for his daughter, after being totally cut off from all contact for far too long. Earlier this year, he had to fight against a move to terminate his parental rights. Why? Because he's an atheist, and the grandparents didn't want their grandchild exposed to that. That little girl who loves her daddy is who I think of when I hear the phrase "attacks on religious freedom", and the back story here might help explain my particularly strident mood today. The discussion I mentioned at the beginning of the post? Yeah, it happened on his Facebook page. Please feel free to share with your friends. At $10 a piece, they won't pay off the lawyer, but every little bit helps.
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