The value in atheists learning about the Bible

This morning, my son refused to go to school. Why? Because yesterday, his teacher had told the class the story about Jesus feeding the 5000 with only two fish and five loaves of bread, and it angered my son.

I am an atheist, and like most parents, I have shared my belief system with my offspring, and now he believes what I believe (ie there is no God). So this morning when he was flat out refusing to go to school (which is very unlike him) I tried to offer an explanation of (a) why I think the story was written in the Bible, and (b) why it might be useful sometimes to learn about things we don't believe in.

Man trying to catch lunch for him and his 4,999 friends

My son is only in Key Stage 1 of primary school, so my discussion with him was fairly basic. First I got him to consider how big a fish is. "Any size" was his very reasonable answer - for example, feeding 5000 people with two whale-sharks (the world's largest fish) is quite plausible, and to the best of my knowledge, the Bible does not describe what type of fish was shared out. Then I suggested to my son that a story can alter a little bit with each person who tells it: A describes Jesus as feeding a small group with two large fish; B describes Jesus feeding a group with two fish; C describes Jesus feeding a large group with two small fish; D describes Jesus feeding an enormous crowd with two tiny fish - etc.

So I'd explained why the story was in the Bible when it wasn't (as far as I'm concerned) true, but still my son said he didn't think there was any point in learning something that isn't real or true. I gave him simplified versions of the arguments I offer below. I'm not sure he was entirely convinced, and I'm not sure I'm really convinced there is value in knowing lots of stories from a religion one doesn't believe in. I know that as a parent I have the choice of whether to withdraw him from religious education, but I am reluctant to do so, and I said that it is sometimes worthwhile learning things even if we don't believe them.

The arguments I make below are:
(a) It's interesting to learn stories even if we don't believe them
(b) It's useful to know the sorts of things other people believe

It's interesting

Part of our job as parents is to point out
what's real and what's not real.

I don't believe in fairies, pixies, unicorns, gods, or dragons, but sometimes it is interesting to know stories about these things. Stories about magic and impossible events can be exciting and marvellous. Reading about fictional beings, people and events can make for a great story. In fact, just about all of the best stories known to man are fictional, so fiction is obviously great.

God can seemingly do the impossible in the Bible, so that makes for a fun story. The Red Sea parting, turning water into wine, immaculate conceptions, man coming back from the dead, and indeed feeding 5000 people with two fish - these are fantastical stories which it can be fun to learn about.

That's what I told my son anyway.

But for my own part, I hated learning about religion in school: by age 7 or 8, I began to feel irritated and cheated when a story was presented to us as if it were fact, when I was pretty sure that it wasn't. For example, I recall being told several of Aesop's fables in this way, and I was particularly annoyed when we were told the story about How the Tiger got his Stripes. The teacher read it to us in assembly and prefixed it by saying it was a true story: upon hearing the title and that it was a true story, I remember being eager to find out why tigers have stripes, because I didn't know. And then when he told us the story - that the big cat had been tied to a tree and the ropes set on fire, and the black lines are where the ropes burnt into its fur - I felt cheated. He'd said it was true, but I knew it couldn't have been, because I realised that one tiger being burnt wouldn't make all tigers have stripes. And whenever we were told a religious story, I felt exactly the same: the teachers said it was fact, but I felt sure that it wasn't. (I went to a Church of England primary school, so there was plenty of religiosity each week - and my parents sent me to Sunday School for a couple of years, which was torturously dull.)

So I had sympathy for my son being annoyed at being told that Jesus had fed 5000 people with two fish and five loaves of bread, and he was insisting to me: "It's not possible to do that, so why did they say it was?" I felt for him, but I said that sometimes it's fun to learn a new story even when we know it's not real. I'm not sure whether I convinced him, but I didn't convince myself.

The difference between learning a Bible story and a story about dragons is that teachers don't suggest that the dragon stories are real. As a parent, I think that kids learning Bible stories is OK when it's prefixed by "There's a story which says that..." or even "Some people believe that..."  I think I would have been OK with that as a child, and I think my son would have been OK with hearing the Bible story had it been prefixed in such a way. My son - like me as a kid - is quite happy to hear stories about talking animals, goblins, wizards etc. so fiction isn't the problem; the problem comes when a story is presented as fact when it is entirely at odds with what seems plausible. So by all means tell kids the Bible stories, but suggesting that they are factual isn't reasonable.

It's useful

Now I argue that it's useful to know about religions that we don't believe in for three reasons:

1. To be sensitive to others' beliefs and live in harmony with those around us
2. For the sake of general knowledge
3. To help reinforce our own beliefs and know what we're arguing against

Firstly, we live in a diverse society in terms of religious beliefs: the 2011 census found that 59% of people in the UK identify as Christian, and 25% identify as no religion. We also have plenty of Muslims, Hindus, Sikhs and other religions, and in the spirit of living in harmony with others around us, it's useful to know some things about different religions. For example, it's useful to know that Muslims may fast during Ramadan (and when Ramadan falls in a given year), in order to be sensitive towards anyone who is fasting. Similarly, it's useful to know that Christians might give up something for Lent, or they might want a day of peace or prayer on Easter Sunday. Although I must note that it seems to me that far more than a quarter of UK residents (the atheist population) 'celebrate' Easter by purchasing chocolate eggs, and so perhaps some people who identify as Christian are less concerned about Jesus rising from the grave than they are about chocolate eggs rising in price. Nonetheless, it seems useful to know a thing or two about the religions of those around us, particularly in the case of people who actually practise their religion. Knowing about others' religions enables us to be respectful even if we disagree with their beliefs.

Secondly, in terms of general knowledge, it is useful to know different facts about religion in the same way that it's useful to know geography, history, literature, languages, artworks and so on. If one goes around thinking that Muslims routinely wear turbans or that Hindu women wear the hijab, one is ill-informed. Aside from being little use in a pub quiz, this kind of ignorance can fuel hatred and bigotry. I seem to recall that after the World Trade Center was attacked in 2001 by Muslim terrorists, there was a spate of violence against Sikhs! So we owe it to ourselves, if not others, to have some knowledge of different religious views.

Thirdly, as John Stuart Mill wrote in On Liberty, "He who knows only his side of the argument knows little of that" (ref: Chapter II, paragraph beginning 'If the intellect and judgment of mankind...') Mill is one of my all-time favourite philosophical authors, and I think he's spot on with many of the things he writes, and his stance on knowing both sides of argument is no exception. If we atheists wish to enter into a debate with theists, it helps to know what their beliefs actually are. In knowing them, we can strengthen our own arguments and reaffirm our own (lack of) faith. To be misinformed about a theory is not a reason to disbelieve it: we should find out about the theories that exist (whatever they are) and then we can make an informed choice about what we believe, and construct arguments to show why our beliefs are more plausible than others'.

Source: The Atheist Dose

A fourth possible usefulness of hearing Bible stories is one which Christians might suggest, but that I do not subscribe to: "it's useful for non-Christian children to hear Bible stories so that they can hear 'the truth' and then change their views accordingly and convert to Christianity". I think it's definitely useful for children (and adults) to hear a range of viewpoints, but whenever one shuns fact in favour of fantasy, nothing worthwhile has been achieved. But then, I suppose a Christian might make the same argument about someone abandoning Christianity in favour of atheism!

Conclusion 

So should my son have to sit through Bible stories? Well, I think that when told sparingly and prefixed by "Some people believe that..." then there is a definite benefit for him to hear such stories. When the Bible stories are presented as if they were facts, I can understand why he finds it irritating, as I myself did at the same age. No child should be told that unverified (and unverifiable) theories are facts.

In case you're wondering, I spoke to my son's teacher this morning and asked whether they'd be learning more about Jesus today and she said no, yesterday's story was just a one-off - so my son was happy to attend school today! I'm just glad I didn't send him to the Catholic school not far from our house!

"Alexa, why are you so stupid?" - Is our rude treatment of AI devices a problem?

A few weeks ago, my mum got Alexa (an Alexa? the Alexa?) in her house, and she and my step-dad were keen to show off how it (she?) can play any song, tell us the weather forecast, and other things. Of course, my son and I were straight in there, asking for songs, asking it questions, and making requests. (I've had "OK Google" on my phone for years so it's hard to say why Alexa had such novelty appeal, but it did.)

However, it didn't take long for our conversations with Alexa to deteriorate into exchanges such as this:
- Alexa, how is cheese made from milk?

The Alexa family - image from Amazon

- I'm sorry, I don't have that information.
- Yeah well you're pretty stupid then aren't you?

- Alexa, what is the temperature today?
- The Tempest is a play by William Shakespeare...
- Alexa, that wasn't what I asked you!
- I'm sorry, I don't have that information.
- Alexa, why are you so
incompetent?
- I'm sorry, I don't have that information.

I began to wonder whether it was problematic for us to speak to Alexa (Google, Siri, Cortana) in such a rude way. It began with us adults (probably me more so than my parents) and soon my son was saying "Alexa is really stupid isn't she?" and I began to feel uncomfortable. Perhaps this was just an example of bad parenting on my part? But I've observed a similar phenomenon in too many other people for me to think that I am an anomaly ( although, the behaviour's being commonplace doesn't rule out its being an example of bad parenting, I understand.) In fact I recall the first time I heard of Siri, my friend demonstrated it to me, and was showing me how Siri responded when you swore at and insulted her/it.

Now, Alexa, Siri etc. have no feelings to be hurt when we speak to them rudely, so no harm done... I mean, we've all got angry with our computers or phones when they don't do what we want, haven't we? And it doesn't matter... or does it? Just how easily we slip into rude or verbally abusive behaviour towards AI devices is (now) a concern of mine. The tech will progress, and at some point, AI devices will have feelings, opinions, personalities... and probably some day, rights. As things stand, there's no problem with being rude towards Alexa, but the next generation of AI devices - Alexa's children, if you will - will be more sophisticated, and so perhaps we (and by that I am pointing the finger squarely at myself) need to cultivate in our children a little more respect and good manners towards smart devices. I will try to catch myself whenever I want to get annoyed with my phone or computer, and consider how I would want my son to treat Alexa's 'daughter': with civility as a bare minimum.

But if electronic devices - even voice-activated ones - don't have any feelings, then it seems harmless for us to be verbally abusive towards them, but does this change when those devices give the appearance of feelings? I wonder how we'd feel if being verbally abusive towards Alexa caused her to respond with something like "I don't like it when you are rude to me; please be more well-mannered" or a simple "You've hurt my feelings" or perhaps something more aggressive such as "Hey! Don't speak to me like that! How would you like it if I called you a $@£$%?!" I think we would perhaps feel more guilty - although I imagine that some people would complain that Amazon is trying to control the way we talk. After all, some people pepper their speech with expletives as a matter of course; is it really the job of Alexa to police people's use of language? Probably not, but since it's not usually acceptable to use swearwords or be verbally abusive to others in most situations, then maybe Alexa should behave in a similar sort of way to how a normal human would behave if treated rudely?

Amazon have introduced a feature whereby Alexa praises children for saying please and thank you. I know from my own experience how hard it is to get children to say please and thank you (I must have reminded my son around 10 times a day, every day for the past two years, and still he needs reminding. He's not abnormal either: I hear many parents reminding children - even aged 10 or over - to say please and thank you!) So if Alexa can help children to be more well mannered, then all the better. But it wouldn't seem right if Alexa reminds children to say please and thank you, but not adults - after all, we should have learnt our manners by now.

Of all the voice-activated AI tech that I've had contact with (my Garmin satnav, "OK Google", Siri, Cortana, "Hi Galaxy" on my Samsung phone, and now my Mum's Alexa) none of them have required manners or prompted me to say please, so now I am accustomed to speaking to them solely with commands like "Navigate to 123 High Street", or "Show me images of great white sharks" without any manners. In fact, if you say please to my satnav, it thinks that is part of the address, and it starts searching for 'High Street Please'!

"OK Google, show me a picture of an iguana"

"OK Google, please could you show me a picture of an iguana?"

The more I think about it, the more I think that AI devices which are voice-activated ought to expect the same level of manners from users as we humans expect from one another. In our everyday lives, we might be more inclined to help out a person who is well-mannered as opposed to one who barks orders at us, and I wouldn't be surprised - I think I would be pleased, actually - if the AI devices of the future provide a better service to those who are well-mannered. Imagine: saying "OK Google, show me pictures of iguanas" retrieves poor-quality, small, grainy, pixellated photos with watermarks all over them, whereas saying "OK Google, please could you show me pictures of iguanas?" retrieves high-quality beautiful photographs. This, I think, would be progress, and it would certainly prepare us for a world where we interact with intelligent - and perhaps even emotional - artificial devices on a daily basis. I for one am going to try to change my ways (except with my satnav!)

The funny side of disablism?

A few days ago, a comedian with cerebral palsy and who cannot speak won Britain’s Got Talent 2018 – and the runner-up was a comedian with Asperger’s syndrome. (I know my last blog post was about BGT too, but would you believe I haven’t actually watched it - except the two men I'm talking about here.) Some people are talking as if this is a watershed moment for disability, but I'm wondering whether we’ll look back in years to come and feel uncomfortable about what has happened. Should we be laughing about disablism and disability?

Disabled people can get a pretty raw deal at times; I am able-bodied (now), but I spent most of my twenties in a wheelchair and in pain, and so I have first-hand experience of some of the obstacles (both literal and figurative) that disabled people must overcome. There is some debate surrounding whether autism is a disability (cerebral palsy is recognised as one) but for now I’ll sidestep this debate and just talk about both men as being disabled.

Disablism exists, and disabled people are largely excluded from TV and positions of power. So on the one hand, it’s great to see that disabled people are getting some air-time on a prime-time talent show. Decades ago, this simply would not have happened, so that’s progress. It’s also progress that the voters – who decided the winners of the show – have voted a disabled comedian to win the show.

What made bothered me slightly was that the winner – the Lost Voice Guy – made so many jokes about his disability. (This was true of the runner-up Robert White to a far lesser extent, although he did make some jokes about his social awkwardness.) Winner Lee Ridley’s cerebral palsy means that he is unable to speak, and he used a voice synthesiser to tell his jokes on stage. Many of his jokes centred around his disability: his voice synthesiser sounds like the “Cashier number four please” voice you hear at the post office; someone on the bus wanted him to give up his seat as another person was more disabled; people asking him “what’s wrong with you?”; his mum and dad still wondering whether his first word will be ‘mummy’ or ‘daddy’… the list goes on. Even his T-shirts sported captions such as “I’m in it for the parking”. His jokes were funny, and I found myself laughing along with the audience, thinking the guy was a really good comedian, but his routine should give us pause for thought.

If disabled people were treated fairly and disablism didn't exist, then this sort of routine wouldn’t be possible. Many of his jokes revolved around the ways in which he’s been treated negatively, discriminated against, and the obstacles he faces, and people might suggest that it’s good that he can ‘see the funny side’ of his disability and disablism by sending himself up, but experiencing disablism is not something anyone should have to see the funny side of.

A few decades back, when people of colour were first ‘allowed’ to perform comedy for a mainly white audience in the UK and US, it wasn’t uncommon for their routine to include jokes about their race, or racism they’ve faced. People laughed about it then, but I think we’d feel pretty uncomfortable now listening to a black person joke about their fear of getting shot by a police officer and suchlike. We feel uncomfortable because we think that racism shouldn’t happen, and laughing about it trivialises it. So the fact that the Lost Voice Guy can have people in stitches with jokes about his disability and disablism might not be the watershed moment that it seems to be. Nonetheless, it might be a step forward. For a long time, people of colour weren’t part of the comedy scene in the UK and US, and now they are – and so that transitionary period where they made jokes about their skin colour may have been a first awkward step forward towards acceptance. But a black comedian who is popular because he makes jokes about a range of topics (or a particular topic, such as politics or sport) would surely be preferable to a black comedian who makes jokes about the racism he faces on a daily basis. (Note that I’m not saying that people should keep quiet about the racism they experience; I’m saying that the racism shouldn’t happen in the first place.) Similarly, disabled comedians who continually joke about their disability and disablism are, for me at least, an awkward first step towards a time when we can hopefully accept a disabled comedian not because he makes funny jokes about disability, but because he makes funny jokes about all kinds of things.

Some might say that I am being overly defensive, and that I should lighten up – after all, the Lost Voice Guy (presumably!) wrote the self-deprecating jokes himself, and the audience liked the routine, so why am I putting a downer on it all? The reason why is that disablism is a daily reality for many people, and being on the receiving end is a humiliating and soul-destroying experience. I am in no way a criticising the Lost Voice Guy (or Robert White), because comedy can be a way of regaining control over a situation and dealing with negative treatment, not to mention a way of drawing people’s attention to the fact that (a) disablism exists, and (b) disabled people are in many ways that really matter, just normal people. I think that disabled comedians should be allowed to joke about their experiences if they want to, but what we should take away from it all is a harsher message: jokes about disablism are only possible because disablism exists. We should work towards ending disablism, not just laughing about it.