In an article titled, Rabbi Gellman Tries to Understand Angry Atheists, Rabbi Gellman starts with:
I think I need to understand atheists better. I bear them no ill will. I don’t think they need to be religious to be good, kind and charitable people, and I have no desire to debate or convert them. I do think they are wrong about the biggest question, “Are we alone?” and I will admit to occasionally viewing atheists with the kind of patient sympathy often shown to me by Christians who can’t quite understand why the Good News of Jesus’ death and resurrection has not reached me or my people. However, there is something I am missing about atheists: what I simply do not understand is why they are often so angry.
He asks the question as if it is a rational question. I know many atheists and none of them are angry. More over, there are none of the signs in our cities, states or country that the preponderance of atheists are angry. From where does he ask this question?
A more prudent question is “Why are so many religious people angry?” Angry religious people can be found protesting abortion clinics and other places. Why are they so angry?
I don’t know many religious folk who wake up thinking of new ways to aggravate atheists, but many people who do not believe in God seem to find the religion of their neighbors terribly offensive or oppressive, particularly if the folks next door are evangelical Christians. I just don’t get it.
Rabbi Gellman seems to have his head in the sand. There are religious people a plenty who wake up itching for a fight about the right to post the Ten Commandments in city, state or federal buildings.
This must sound condescending and a large generalization, and I don’t mean it that way, but I am tempted to believe that behind atheist anger there are oftentimes uncomfortable personal histories.
Yes, that is condescending. I am likewise tempted to believe that behind all that religious anger are sometimes uncomfortable personal histories. The Rabbi is obviously not a very good observer of the human condition. If you talk to anyone to just about any depth, they all have some amount of uncomfortable personal history.
Perhaps their atheism was the result of the tragic death of a loved one, or an angry degrading sermon, or an insensitive eulogy, or an unfeeling castigation of lifestyle choices or perhaps something even worse.
Or, perhaps it is the result of a willingness to try to comprehend the world as it is, rather than through the rozy looking glass of stories told by goat herders 4,000 years ago.
Religion must remain an audacious, daring and, yes, uncomfortable assault on our desires to do what we want when we want to do it.
The Rabbi is obviously not a very good observer of history, for history is full of people doing what they want, when they wanted to it, all in the name of religion.
But wait! His condescension doesn’t end.
To be called to a level of goodness and sacrifice so constantly and so patiently by a loving but demanding God may seem like a naive demand to achieve what is only a remote human possibility.
How about finding the calling within oneself to rise to that level of sacrifice and goodness? To develop that a set of rules, maybe call them ‘mores’, that lead to the same behavior. Doesn’t that count for something?
However, such a vision need not be seen as a red flag to those who believe nothing.
Oh, I get it. If you don’t believe in what the good Rabbi believes in, you believe in ‘nothing’.
I can humbly ask whether my atheist brothers and sisters really believe that their lives are better, richer and more hopeful by clinging to Camus’s existential despair: “The purpose of life is that it ends.”
Yeah, that was humble all right. Just because I don’t believe in your god, Reb, doesn’t mean I am convinced in the empty shit that Camus was flinging from his cage.
In reading that article, I was reminded of someone I used to work with. One day, after trying to find a bug in a computer program for several hours, I took a break for lunch, which was something from the roach coach. He came to me, while I was eating, and started asking me about things I had tried or not tried. He was not an engineer and I told him that I would come see him after I was finished eating. He responded “Don’t get upset.” I wasn’t upset and told him so. He repeated himself, more forcefully. I started to get upset. This marketing type was getting in my face with a rising voice and telling me not to get upset. I told him I was eating and that I would answer his questions when I had finished. He turned red and the veins were standing out on his neck. He was trying to bully me into leaving my lunch to answer his questions. The lack of respect was clear. He didn’t respect me, he only wanted my loyalty. That he didn’t get. I left the company some time after that and he ended up becoming the president. He retired after selling the company and now owns a vineyard in Northern California. But that’s another story.
The lack of respect is clear in the Rabbi’s essay. He uses pejorative language and images to discuss what people who do not believe what he believes. I am reminded of the fuzzy faced young men from LDS who come to my door with some frequency. They have a little name plate on their pocket that identifies them as ‘Elder’ so-and-so. I tell them that they are not old enough to be an elder. The Rabbi is not wise enough to understand atheism.