Professor Richard Dawkins
Department of Zoology
Oxford University
Dear Richard Dawkins,
Your book, the God Delusion, was a delight. So far, I’ve read The Selfish Gene, most of The Extended Phenotype--I must get back to it--and the Ancestor’s Tale. They have given me concepts that will remain with me my whole life. I never thought of consciousness as something that has been selected by genes for them to survive. Extended phenotype--what a wonderfully apt term for the New York skyline, etc. The Ancestor’s Tale is utterly fascinating. I’ve recommended it to several friends.
I don’t simply want to write a fan letter; I wanted to mention a few things that you might or might not find useful.
Recently, I decided to read some books about atheism. I’ve read, in the past two weeks or so, “god is not Great,” “The End of Faith,” “Breaking the Spell,” and your book, “The God Delusion.” I’ve enjoyed reading them all, especially yours and Mr. Dennet’s book. (Although the chapter in Mr. Harris’s book on consciousness was extraordinary.)
Although I’ve never considered myself an atheist--I admit, I come very close--I’m certainly not a theist. Mr. Dennett writes in his book, “If what you hold sacred is not any kind of Person you could pray to, or consider to be an appropriate recipient of gratitude (or anger, when a loved one is senselessly killed), you’re an atheist in my book.” I am pleased to admit that in his book, as well as yours, I am indeed an atheist.
You mentioned that you have no quarrels with Buddhism (and, presumably, the advaitha--non-dual--school of Hinduism.) Nor do I.
What follows is a brief summary of how I see things: The most primitive form of religion--e.g. the Exodus story--involves a god, usually a national one, who actively intervenes in human affairs. This became a problem for the ancient Hebrews: they thought their national epic was literally true. If God intervened and delivered the Jews from Egypt, why didn’t He deliver them from the Assyrians, Babylonians or from the Romans? In the second phase, God doesn’t intervene much at all, although He is still believed to have that power. That’s how I interpret the Christian myth. Since God does not intervene to save his son, he’s sure not going to save the likes of you, whoever you are! (I’m at a loss to interpret the myth that God preordained Jesus’s death in order to expiate our sins--it makes no sense to me--None of the Christian teachings in this regard ever made sense to me.) The second phase also includes Islam. God is no longer thought to walk in the Garden of Eden--he is much too abstract for that. Allah might reward one on the other side, but he is not going to actively intervene in human affairs. The third phase comes when one realizes that there is no cosmic agent at all. The latter position is eloquently defended by you and Mr. Dennett--both of you have done a splendid job. I couldn’t agree with you more.
But this third stage of religion doesn’t stop there. Those at this stage of religion are convinced that all separation--that is, the feeling of separation--is itself a myth. I especially liked the quote from Gould in your book, stating, convincingly to me, that humans are more wave-like than thing-like. A further reason to believe that the personality is a construct I have learned from you: consciousness which developed presumably as the prototypical human became more complex, helped us survive better. We could separate ourselves--in our minds at least--and develop tools, operas, and, unfortunately, weapons of mass destruction. This helped our genes survive. Consciousness as an adaptation, like wings or claws, that help genes of that organism survive--What better deconstructs the personality than this? When this wisdom is not merely a concept but a deep conviction, it is a great source of joy. Awe.
Spinoza knew this joy. That is why I insist he was not a pantheist. A pantheist is an observer of nature who believes all is nature. But in Spinoza’s system the observer disappears--the mundane I is illusory. Spinoza felt deep joy, one very similar to religious ecstasy. But he was not crippled in his ability to function; after his periods of ecstasy he would return to work as a lens grinder. An ideal for us all.
Mr. Dennett states that while there is probably no God gene, sensitivity to music--perhaps, as he states, having a concomitant propensity to be more easily hypnotized--seems to go along with religiosity. I am extremely sensitive to music. Although I started the piano--I come from a poor family--quite late, at age 60, I play Bach almost every chance I get, and have started a chamber music group. I tell myself that if I could be transported to St. Thomas Church in Leipzig during Bach’s time, I wouldn’t understand what the preacher was talking about--the words I would understand, I speak German--but once the music started, I, too, would become music and would comprehend, as it were, everything. So I knew I wouldn’t be able to escape religion altogether. But, I insisted, there must be no conflict with reason.
My religion is a religion of awe. In my best moments, music, poetry, evolutionary biology, people, physics, transport me into such a stateless state of wonder I don’t think any word of prose--even atheism--can come close to describing it.
I might have stated things clumsily, but I don’t think you would disagree with anything I’ve said. I am a very inner person, a rather isolated one; if I had the opportunity to educate the public, as you do, I would indeed use the term atheism more. It‘s just a question of use of words.
At one time, however, I did think that one could not be good without God. Thanks for decimating whatever traces of that which was still left within me. After all, what we call God evolves with human culture. You mentioned the horror we feel today when Lot surrendered his daughters so that the guest angels would not be sodomized. I suppose it made sense in those days by the following reasoning: women were thought to be chattel. An updated version of this would be, “Please don’t harm these human beings--take my television set instead!” God, whose morality is a projection of what is thought to be the best human morality at the time in question, had apparently no objection to this reasoning--during Lot’s time. So the question arises, if we need God to be good, exactly which God is that? Religious people sometimes think that God is changeless, but he has certainly evolved a lot since ancient times.
Sorry for writing so much! One thing in addition, regarding the evolutionary basis of morality. You gave four good and convincing ones--I never thought of morality as a means to assert dominance, but one look at bluestockings on a charitable board--in my imagination, I’ve never been on a charitable board-- has made me realize the truth of this! I would like to add a fourth. I’ve had a difficult early life, and had some depression. Though a doctor myself--and perhaps this is why--I was reluctant to consult one. I started a form of self-cure--a program of vigorous exercise. It is well known that endorphins can be released into the bloodstream during exercise,. I don’t know if this was the only factor, but depression has vanished. I’m convinced that exercise helps. A friend of mine said, “I used to go to church; now I go to the gym.” Here is the analogy with morality: We know that the development of consciousness and its ability to apparently separate oneself from the environment have had stunning cultural effects. A most marvelous adaptation! But there is a price: we who have evolved in groups have become subject to loneliness, making us sometimes very miserable. Acts of of morality might also be a human evolutionary way to overcome loneliness and resultant misery. It makes us feel good. It reduces morbid preoccupation with the self, which indeed could have benefits for survival. Just a thought.
I am enclosing a poem of mine, which I wrote after reading your book. (I enjoyed a little reputation as a poet at one time, but don’t send out stuff anymore--not many read poetry these days and I don’t like a lot of what’s written. ) I thought you might like reading this one, however.
You wrote in your book that many people write to you and that you have little time to respond. I very much understand, and, though I would be delighted with a reply, I do not expect one. Write on! (I will read on!)
Sincerely,
Thomas Dorsett
A TINY PIECE OF PAPER
About to be crumpled up
Looks forward to gullies and rain.
How we will float among cigarette butts
To so-called sewers! Soda pop and urine
And the only manna anybody has,
Water from the sky, compose the blood
Of which I’ll be a white corpuscle,
One among many citizens of trash.
Not one alley cat shall notice as
Bacteria and viruses, my good friends,
Ride me like a carpet down an alley
Into a street of a deserted city--
(What will be written on me?
“Life is good!” “God loves us
Just the way we are!” “Fuck you!”
It doesn’t matter. It all washes off.)
Indifference as imaginary hands?
Paper doesn’t personify: blind
Creator sports no beard, our
Recycler is holy as cobblestones.
So don’t be proud if you’re in the “good book”
Or feel low if merely a dumb advertisement.
We’re all paper, natural as wood--
Each piece is as beautiful as a tall tree
--Yes! There’s no need to toss paper-faith:
If you live in the gutter, rejoice--
(The universe is not malicious)
A cloudburst--not Jesus--shall wash you clean.
Thomas Dorsett
