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In response to all the talk about atheism and the two well read nytimes articles “God Talk” (part I and II) I want to post a question.

How can atheists argue that religion is “a device for rationalizing horrible deeds” (nytimes, God Talk)?

Religion must surely satisfy other needs, since we all know very well that the ways to rationalize bad behavior are in fact infinite.

To take a quick example—how about the War in Iraq? Fought in the name of “Democracy” and the “national security”  and which we all know it was actually for oil? If you don’t believe me listen to Jon Western, author of American Foreign Policy. He wrote about Weapons of Mass Destruction in the Iraq war and said, “American forces secured the oil fields and the oil ministry in Baghdad, but none of them were sites of primary interest to the IAEA [International Atomic Energy Agency]—the ones apparently looted in the days following Hussein’s defeat” (p. 115, Jon Western, American Foreign Policy).

(Students at CRLS)
This isn’t funny but it certainly is interesting. My little sister just told me the Westboro Baptist Church is coming to her public high school in Cambridge to protests gay students. Their website (http://www.godhatesfags.com/) has pictures of kids holding incredibly rude and violent posters. One, for example, reads “Aids cures fags.” I’m all about freedom of speech but isn’t their some legal precedent from stopping angry and hurtful mobs from accosting school children? It is horrifying that children at a public school in the United States, where all are created equal and supposed to be given equal opportunity rights will be bullied by adults and children for doing nothing except for peacefully being themselves. Some internet research also brought me to youtube where “westboro baptist church protests” shows a movie of protestors at a soldier’s funeral. These people are definately crossing some lines but what should the high schoolers do about it?

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One day my friend Lee Swillingham admitted to me that he suffered Pareidolia.

“What is that?” I asked him.

“It’s like when people see Jesus in their hamburger,” he said.

“You should take pictures of everything you see,” I suggested. “Then other people can tell you if you’re crazy or not. If you really are delusional then people won’t understand what the pictures are of. If, on the other hand, people can see what you’re talking about when you frame it for them, then you’ll know you’re much more observant than everyone else. “ He agreed and a month or so later sent me these.

People have many different interpretations of Pareildolia. Doing some brief internet research I found that some describe Pareildolia sufferers as crazy and insane, religious fanatics and worse. But there are those who see Pareidolia as an advanced human trait. The leader of this camp being Carl Sagan, an astronomer, who wrote,

“As soon as the infant can see, it recognizes faces, and we now know that this skill is hardwired in our brains. Those infants who a million years ago were unable to recognize a face smiled back less, were less likely to win the hearts of their parents, and less likely to prosper. These days, nearly every infant is quick to identify a human face, and to respond with a goony grin (Sagan 1995: 45).

Of course trusting a scientist who uses the word “goony” isn’t easy.

I think it is Clarence Irving Lewis that provides a good middle ground. Founder of the philosophical school of Conceptual Pragmatism Lewis argued that one has no way of knowing whether or not perceptions are “true” in any absolute sense; all one can do is determine whether one’s purpose is thwarted by regarding it as true and acting on that basis. According to this approach, two people with two different purposes will often have different views on whether or not to regard a perception as true.

And so, here are the photos of what Lee sees. After you look at them leave a comment telling us whether you think he’s insane, advanced, or just one person with a unique perspective he has no reason not to believe.

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At the Providence, Rhode Island stop the Acela conductor comes onto the loud speaker and announces “Ladies and Gentleman, this is a full train. Please take all your belongings off the empty seats and remember you only bought a ticket for one person and one seat.” Then he chuckles on the load speaker, coughs, and goes off the air. I dutifully remove my bag and newspaper from the seat next to me and make space for an oncoming passenger who turns out to be a middle aged woman, pale skinned, wearing a baggy hand made jean dress and a habit. A habit (I had to look this word up) is the headscarf nuns wear. She sits down next to me, gives me a serious judgment day look, and leans back closing her eyes. She opens her eyes, after this moment of silence — or prayer? — and takes out of her handbag a giant green ruggish thing: a book called Handbook of Workplace Spirituality and Organizational Performance.

“Ticket Ma’am?” says the conductor.


The woman leans over and picks up her purse. She shuffles through it concernedly.

“I can’t seem to find it. Oh no. I must have misplaced it!” She looks up at the conductor sorrowfully.

“It’s okay sister,” the conductor says and pulls a cross out from under his uniform.

“Thank you so much. God bless,” she says holding his hand in hers. He then punches a stub for her and moves on down the train. The woman then turns and looks at me with an unusual smile on her face. I take it as an invitation to chat.

“So where are you headed?” I ask.
“Manhattan. I’ve lived there for years.”
“Do you live in a nunnery there?”
“Oh no, I’m not a nun,” she laughs as if I have made a ridiculous assumption. I look up at her habit and she explains, “Oh I just wear this for fun.”
“The conductor called you sister.”
“He did. People just assume I’m a nun.”
“And you don’t mind?” I ask.
“No I love it. That’s why I wear this thing,” she flips the bottom of the habit. “People are always doing nice things for me when I wear it.”
“Yeah. I suppose the conductor was extra nice about that lost ticket.”
“Lost nothing! I never bought one.”
“Wow,” I say. She gives me another weird smile. Toothy and exaggerated. “So are you religious?” I ask.
“Oh no, not really.”
“But you’re reading about spirituality,” I say looking down at the book in her lap.
“Yes. It’s fascinating stuff,” she says and opens the book.

We sit in silence for the rest of the train ride. I desperately want to ask her more questions but I feel awkward intruding upon the silent meditation of a nun, even if she is a fake nun. When we finally get to Penn Station I find myself helping her with her bags in the overhead luggage rack. I hand them to her and she says, “God bless,” and exits to the station.

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