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Like wisps of white smoke
Dispersed by cold currents
Floating overhead
Painting the skyline gray
With bleak impossibilities
And Twenty five years of
Lovelessness.
Even a superficial glance is sufficient to show that all the innumerable forms in which the life-urge of Nature manifests itself are subject to a fundamental law – one may call it an iron law of Nature – which compels the various species to keep within the definite limits of their own life-forms when propagating and multiplying their kind. [Mein Kampf, chapter xi]
The fox remains always a fox, the goose remains a goose, and the tiger will retain the character of a tiger. [Mein Kampf, chapter xi]
From where do we get the right to believe, that from the very beginning Man was not what he is today? Looking at Nature tells us, that in the realm of plants and animals changes and developments happen. But nowhere inside a kind shows such a development as the breadth of the jump , as Man must supposedly have made, if he has developed from an ape-like state to what he is today. [Hitler's Tabletalk Tischgesprache im Fuhrerhauptquartie]
The most marvelous proof of the superiority of Man, which puts man ahead of the animals, is the fact that he understands that there must be a Creator. [Hitler's Tabletalk Tischgesprache im Fuhrerhauptquartie]
My feeling as a Christian points me to my Lord and Savior as a fighter. It points me to the man who once in loneliness, surrounded only by a few followers, recognized these Jews for what they were and summoned men to fight against them. [Speech, April 12 1922, published in My New Order]
GC: On that topic: When people criticize atheism and the newly vocal, "openly critical of religion" atheist movement, one of the tropes that I see a lot is that this openly critical atheism is disrespectful to marginalized communities like the black community. The argument goes that because religion is so deeply interwoven into black history and black culture, and because the comfort of religion is so important to a community that's had such a hard time of it, criticizing religion is disrespectful and racist. As a black atheist, what are your thoughts on that?
SH: Clearly criticizing religion is not racist. One of the charges of atheistic discourse is foregrounding how there is nothing intrinsically superior about religious observance -- its value for African Americans as a people derives from a specific cultural and historical context of institutional racism and oppression. The supposed basic moral precepts of Judeo- Christian theology -- love for one’s neighbor, tolerance, doing unto others, non-judgment, etc. -- are certainly not exclusive to religious doctrine, while the hierarchies, persecution and intolerance based on race, gender, sexuality and ideology that religious doctrine breeds effectively negate the moral preeminence that organized religion presumes. These contradictions open up a path for critical engagement by atheists of color with why organized religion has been so toxic vis-a-vis validating the rich diversity of communities of color. African American intellectuals and thinkers (see for example Frederick Douglass' critique of "slaveholding" Christianity) have always challenged the role religious orthodoxy plays in African American communities. This historical complexity has just never been "officially" recognized by white scholars.
Murphy had a record of making trouble in shopping malls. Malls put him in a bad mood, especially around Christmastime. "Too many people around. They make me Nervous," he explained to me.
One time, his assistants took him to a mall to do some Christmas shopping. A man dressed as Santa Claus was sitting in a snow scene that day, with children lining up to meet him. Murphy told his assistants that he would like to have his picture taken with Santa (one of them had a camera). They didn't see how they could refuse the client's request. They parked Murphy's wheelchair in the line of children, and Murphy cautioned the children to watch out for his arms and legs. (Neither Murphy or Elrod had been known to lash out at a child.)
Murphy got to the head of the line. The Santa asked Murphy if he'd like to sit on his lap.
Murphy said yes. The assistants placed him on the Santa's lap. The assistant with the camera, a young man named Dan Densley, got ready to take a picture.
"Ho, ho, ho! What do you want for Christmas?" Santa asked.
"A woman," Murphy answered, and delivered a punch to Santa's jaw. Santa's beard seemed to explode, and his eyeglasses went flying. The assistants grabbed Murphy and rolled him out of the mall at a dead run.
[Panic in Level 4, Pg. 173-174]
To the clergyman Ezra Stiles, who queried him about his religious views, Franklin affirmed his faith in God but admitted to doubts about the divinity of Jesus, "tho' it is a question I do not dogmatize upon, having never studied it, and think it needless to busy myself with now, when I expect soon an opportunity of knowing the truth with less trouble."
Up on a screen before them, participants would read declarative statements. Some were statements of religious belief, some of religious disbelief. Some were statements about more ordinary facts. Participants had to push buttons—indicating true or false—as the researchers watched their brains light up. Belief in God, disbelief in God, and belief in simple empirically verifiable facts all lit up the ventromedial prefrontal cortex, the area of the brain that governs your sense of self. We are, in some sense, what we believe.
The fMRI experiments do not pertain to these largest questions, of course. But they do show (again) what neuroscientists already know. "Intuition" and "reason" are not two separate activities. They're interconnected. From the brain's point of view, religious belief and empirical data are the same.
What Harris, his fellow researcher Jonas Kaplan, and the other authors of the study want to address is the idea, which has been floating around in both scientific and religious circles, that our brains are doing something special when we believe in God—that religious belief is, neurologically speaking, an entirely different process from believing in things that are empirically and verifiably true (things that Harris endearingly refers to as "tables and chairs"). He says his results "cut against the quite prevalent notion that there's something else entirely going on in the case of religious belief."
"It is generally imagined," he wrote to me in an e-mail, "that scientific facts and human values represent distinct and incommensurable ways of speaking about the world. Consequently, most people assume that science will never be in a position to resolve ethical questions or to determine how human beings ought to live." Questions of gay marriage, the subjugation of women under the Taliban, a community's responsibility to its children: all these have been relegated to the realm of religion or "values." But, says Harris, the more we know, through science, about how people live—and how they think, and what makes them happy—the more real information we'll have about how best to live together on this planet.