Why are “sophisticated” newspapers, websites, and magazines so clueless about atheism?

April 14, 2015 • 11:35 am

I’ve been wondering for a while—and I’m not alone—why venues like The New York Times and The New Yorker, the newspaper and magazine that have the highest reputation for quality and sophistication in the U.S., are so wonky about atheism.  They either ignore it (the NYT sporadically gives it a tiny nod), or, when they mention it, do so in a mealymouthed way, equating it with faith.  In contrast, the Times regularly gives space to religious philosophers in its philosophy website The Stone, and has a true “believer in belief,” Tanya Luhrmann, regularly osculating the rump of faith in the op-ed section. What you’ll never see, among all the defenses of religion, is a hard-hitting attack on faith, the kind that Jeffrey Tayler publishes weekly in Salon. And when people like Sam Harris or Richard Dawkins (or even Steve Pinker) are mentioned, it’s invariably something negative.

This is also true of NPR (National Public Radio), which broadcasts a lot of faith-y stuff (e.g., Krista Tippett), yet I’ve never seen a thing on their site or on the radio about atheism. You will find instead the faith-stroking of people like Tania Lombrozo.

Yet nonbelief is a big story in the U.S.: it’s the fastest growing category of “belief”, if you lump atheists and agnostics together with people who don’t identify with a church: the so-called “nones”.  Religion is on the wane in America, and yet the most visible and influential magazines ignore this. Or, they may point out the trend, but ignore the reasons for it. Yet the import of this trend, and its causes, are huge, for, given America’s religiosity, it has the potential to affect nearly every aspect of American life, from how science is regarded to the nature of politics and policy.

I don’t have an answer, but a friend recently suggested that since most of the recent cogent attacks on religion come from science, these venues, which aren’t particularly science-friendly (especially The New Yorker, which publishes mostly “soft” science like medical stories or compilations of anecdotes) prefer to ignore those attacks, leaving discussions of atheism embedded in pieces on the humanities, which they consider the proper arbiter of religious belief. It’s obvious to everyone with eyes that The New Yorker is simply soft on faith.

It’s frustrating to see these major venues deliberately overlook something that’s not just of concern to readers here, but should be important to the U.S. as a whole. Perhaps readers can give their theories below.

As for The NY Times‘s column “The Stone”, which regularly infuriates me with its pro-religion stance and forgettable interviews and articles (see here), Greg Mayer pointed me to a piece by Brian Leiter (a colleague at Chicago who is a liberal philosopher and legal scholar) on his widely-read website, “Leiter Reports.” Leiter pulls no punches in his piece “What is the NY Times thinking?

What is the NY Times Thinking?

They create a blog forum related to philosophy (“The Stone”), and then choose a complete hack as its moderator.  Simon Critchley?  Even among scholars of Continental philosophy (his purported area of expertise), he’s not taken seriously, let alone among philosophers in any other part of the discipline.  (When Michael Rosen [Harvard] and I edited The Oxford Handbook of Continental Philosophy, the idea of inviting Critchley never came up–how could it?)  If the APA weren’t fatally compromised by its need to pander to everyone, it would launch a formal protest.  Unbelievable.

I would urge readers to send a short note to the public editor, Clark Hoyt, stating, roughly, that you are pleased to see increased attention to philosophy in the NY Times, but are concerned that someone who is not taken seriously as a philosopher or scholar has been invited to serve as “moderator.”  Keep it short and sweet.  If they get a couple thousand e-mails to that effect, maybe they will wake up to the spectacular mistake they’ve made.

Leiter wrote that in May, 2010, and Critchley is still editor of “The Stone.” And the site continues to be a real embarrassment to the newspaper.

At any rate, I suspect some writers for both The Times and The New Yorker read this site, and I’d ask them this: “Why are you so soft on the insupportable superstitions of religion?” and “What are you afraid of?” Or “Are you going to continue supporting faith as opposed to reason?”

RIP Günter Grass

April 14, 2015 • 8:57 am

I didn’t know until I saw this morning’s New York Times that Günter Grass, one of my favorite authors, died yesterday at age 87. No cause was announced, and it appeared to be sudden. I’ve read exactly four of his books: The Tin Drum,  Dog Years, Cat and Mouse, and The Flounder, in that order, and knew when I’d finished the first one that some day he’d get the Nobel Prize for Literature. He did—in 1999, and it was amply deserved.

I have little to say about the effect his books had on me: I have a weakness for magical realism, and though his books comprised more realism than magic, those novels, underpinned by the dark side of Nazism and the inimical relationship between Germany and Poland, made an indelible impression on me. In my mind I can still see the image of Walter and his cousin Tulla sitting on a wrecked submarine in the Baltic, lazing in the sun while chewing seagull droppings, and of Oskar, in the Tin Drum, wrapped in a coconut doormat and having sex with a nun who thought, from feeling the doormat, that it was Satan. I’ll just say that the first three books listed above, which constitute “The Danzig Trilogy,” are essential reading if you like fiction. Grass was certainly one of the greatest novelists of our time.

Günter_Grass_(1982)
Günter Grass, 1927-2015

Google Doodle celebrates the Pony Express in the U.S. and, in other places, B. R. Ambedkar

April 14, 2015 • 8:45 am

There are two Doodles today, but only one is visible in the U.S.  This is the one celebrating the 155th anniversary of the Pony Express. If you’re not a Yank, you likely haven’t heard of it, but the story of the Express was taught to all schoolkids when I was a youngster.  The Pony Express was a horseback mail service connecting Sacramento, California with St. Joseph, Missouri: it was the fastest way to get letters across the U.S. before there was a railroad. Using the Express, one could get a letter from the East coast to Calif0rnia in only 10 days—not too much longer than it takes now!

Most Americans don’t realize, however, that the service was short-lived: only 18 months—from 1860-1861, until the Civil War brought it to a close. But it carries the romantic image of the Wild West, mainly because of the intrepid riders and the short-stage horse gallops needed to deliver mail rapidly. Wikipedia explains:

In 1860, there were about 157 Pony Express stations that were about 10 miles (16 km) apart along the Pony Express route.[6] This was roughly the distance a horse could travel at a gallop before tiring. At each station stop the express rider would change to a fresh horse, taking only the mail pouch called a mochila (from the Spanish for pouch or backpack) with him.

The employers stressed the importance of the pouch. They often said that, if it came to be, the horse and rider should perish before the mochila did. The mochila was thrown over the saddle and held in place by the weight of the rider sitting on it. Each corner had a cantina, or pocket. Bundles of mail were placed in these cantinas, which were padlocked for safety. The mochila could hold 20 pounds (9 kg) of mail along with the 20 pounds (9 kg) of material carried on the horse. Included in that 20 pounds (9 kg) were a water sack, a Bible, a horn for alerting the relay station master to prepare the next horse, and a revolver. Eventually, everything except one revolver and a water sack was removed, allowing for a total of 165 pounds (75 kg) on the horse’s back. Riders, who could not weigh over 125 pounds (57 kg), changed about every 75–100 miles (120–160 km), and rode day and night. In emergencies, a given rider might ride two stages back to back, over 20 hours on a quickly moving horse.

Here’s the Doodle, and it is also an animated game! You can move the rider’s horse up and down on the screen using the arrow keys, collecting letters along the way; the object is to get as many letters to St. Joe as you can. But beware of the cacti, where you could get badly hung up and lose all your mail! As one reader wrote me this morning:

Did you see [the Google Doodle] yet? It’s a game and some of my coworkers and I think we’ll get nothing done today. We have a lot of mail to deliver!

Click on the screenshot to see the Doodle and play the game—if you’re within the ambit of the Doodle (see below):

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There’s even a YouTube video of how it was made, explained by Nate Swinehart, part of the animation team:

Below is an actual letter delivered by the Pony Express; it must be worth a fortune, as there were only 35,000 transported this way, and most were surely lost or discarded.  Note the Pony Express postmark.  It was expensive to send mail this way: the prices varied between $1 and $5 for a regular letter, and, for comparison, $1 in 1860 is the equivalent of $26 in 2013.  Wikipedia has a really nice article on the service, along with stories of some colorful and heroic riders, who risked being killed by Native Americans.

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Here’s one of several U.S. commemorative stamps, this one from 1940:

Pony_Express_3c_1940_issue

This Doodle is visible in only the following places:

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If you live in any of the countries below, you’ll see a different Doodle, one of an Indian hero/politician, B. R. Ambedkar. Had he lived, today would have been Ambedkar’s 124th birthday.  (The distribution of this Doodle is weird: I can understand India and the UK, but Ireland, Chile, Argentina, and Peru, as well as Sweden and Poland? Is Ambedkar well known in South America?

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Regardless, Ambedkar (1891-1956) is known to me, for I’ve spent a lot of time in India, where he is a much admired figure and one of the most important politicians to create the Indian nation after it became independent in 1947.  Here’s his Doodle:

unnamed

 

Ambedkar was the primary drafter of India’s constitution and its first Law Minister.  One of the reasons for his fame is that he worked his way up despite being born a dalit  (the term Indians now use for “untouchable”), which would normally have doomed him to a life of drudgery and discrimination. After being the only dalit in his primary school, he went on to get degrees from both Columbia University in the U.S. and the London School of Economics. During his tenure in government he worked tirelessly for the rights of dalits, and much of the “affirmative action” they receive today reflects his doings. Later in life Ambedkar became a Buddhist. Today he’s a national hero in India, a well deserved status, and one shown by the photo below:

People_paying_tribute_at_the_central_statue_of_Bodhisattva_Babasaheb_Ambedkar_in_Dr._Babasaheb_Ambedkar_Marathwada_University,_India
People paying tribute at the central statue of Babasaheb Ambedkar in Dr. Babasaheb Ambedkar Marathwada University in Aurangabad.

 

Chicago, gathering storm

April 14, 2015 • 8:00 am

There are a few odds and ends to post today before anything substantive goes up—if it does! Here’s a sunset photo of Chicago taken from my crib two evenings ago, right before the storm that night:

Chicago

I see from the dust spot at the upper left that I’ll need to get my sensor cleaned; dusty sensors are a recurring problem with Panasonic Lumix cameras. But it’s better to pay $50 to have someone clean the camera than to spend $350 for a new one.

Tuesday: Hili dialogue

April 14, 2015 • 4:57 am

Tuesday is the most boring day, and this week is no exception. The only bright spot is the weather, which should be in the mid- to upper-50s today, rising to the mid-60s by Friday. Meanwhile in Dobrzyn, Hili is thinking about political correctness. Perhaps a “politically correct cat” doesn’t oppress mice? At any rate, judging from the picture below, Hili seems to have found a Safe Space.

A: What are you doing
Hili: I’m meditating.
A: What about?
Hili: What a politically correct cat looks like.

P1020499

In Polish:
Ja: Co tam robisz?
Hili: Medytuję.
Ja: Nad czym?
Hili: Jak wygląda politycznie poprawny kot?

The Daily Squirrel

April 13, 2015 • 3:30 pm

My squirrels are chowing down on walnuts like there’s no tomorrow, perhaps because it’s breeding season. This little girl may well be pregnant, and gladly accepted a nut from my hand. As a friend said, it looks like she’s playing medicine ball with me, and will toss the nut right back. Of course, that’s not gonna happen!

Squirrel Mon

“Awesome” Darwin tee-shirt

April 13, 2015 • 2:30 pm

How would you like to wear about 40,000 words of Darwin’s On the Origin of Species, along with a picture of the great man (and a chimp), also formed of his words? If so, you can get this nice tee-shirt from Litographs for only $34. Here’s the front:

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and the back:darwin-tee-7_1024x1024

The process:

Every Litographs t-shirt is created entirely from the text of a classic book, and is hand-pressed to order in Cambridge, MA.

Our shirts are printed via all-over dye sublimation, which means that the design – the text from each book – covers every inch. Of all the printing methods we’ve tested, dye sublimation stands out for its resolution, comfort, and durability.

Because the collar and seams are thicker than the body of the shirt, some blurring of text in those areas is unavoidable. You may also notice a few small, white voids under the arms, which are not noticeable when the shirt is worn. These are standard features of dye sublimated t-shirts, and each item is unique.

Our shirts are made using white, Vapor brand T-Shirts produced specifically for dye sublimation. Vapor tees are made with high-quality, 100% spun polyester to deliver the look and feel of cotton while allowing for full-color, all-over printing. Dye sublimation printing produces vibrant, super-soft, permanent prints that are guaranteed to never shrink or fade.

The average Litographs t-shirt contains approximately 40,000 words (about the length of a short novel).

And an enlargement:

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