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At such moments I don’t think about all the misery, but about the beauty that still remains. This is where Mother and I differ greatly. Her advice in the face of melancholy is: “Think about all the suffering in the world and be thankful you’re not part of it.” My advice is: “Go outside, to the country, enjoy the sun and all nature has to offer. Go outside and try to recapture the happiness within yourself; think of all the beauty in yourself and in everything around you and be happy.”

I don’t think Mother’s advice can be right, because what are you supposed to do if you become part of the suffering? You’d be completely lost. On the contrary, beauty remains, even in misfortune. If you just look for it, you discover more and more happiness and regain your balance. A person who’s happy will make others happy.

— Anne Frank

I’ve been wondering what atheism means to me these days, in the midst of a series of disturbing scandals.

I think many of us atheists got too caught up in numbers. In leaders. In bringing people in, regardless of what we had to do. In hallowing the leaders, even if it meant devaluing ourselves.

Maybe it’s time to forget about the numbers.

Maybe it’s time to come back to ourselves.

These days, my atheism consists of everyday realities, like sitting beside a lake with a beautiful woman, looking out over the water, and realizing that the beauty right there is simple, uncomplicated, and enough. Beauty that we create together in that moment, with our own eyes taking in light, with our ears taking in sounds, our skin sensing touch, our hearts beating together, in an intimate cocoon of reality we largely create ourselves. It’s just us, and we’re creating every moment, and every moment matters because we believe that it does.

It’s really that simple to me, some days. And in those days, I think…you can have your drama, your sexual assaulters, your jockeying for power in a movement that you think is The Answer. I’m not saying that’s not important. It is. But this time, these moments — they’re important to me. More than any of that. And that’s fine.

I did not know that these moments would exist after I left a future as an apologist and was honest enough to leap into what seemed to be the dark. I did not know there was color beyond this black-and-white. I did not realize I could be this happy again, or that I would feel this full again, because I was lied to for so long it just didn’t seem possible.

I think, sometimes, that the greatest activism any atheist can do is to live happy in the midst of a Christian nation, to feel truly free, to embrace who we are without having to feel alienated from fellow human beings.

Why do I need to join a movement? Why must I hold a creed? Why can’t I embrace the parts of the universe that are beautiful to me, and live and die in the happiness of that embrace?

Why can’t I look at the entire universe without feeling overwhelmed, but more like I am a man stroking his chin, picking and choosing what gives him joy in the one life he has? Why can’t I simply choose the corner of the universe I wish to put my heart in?

Other people have a right to judge, and judge they do. But this is my life. This is my happiness. This is my atheism. This is my humanism.

And it’s beautiful to me. And me and the beautiful woman I’m with are beautiful to each other.

And when that’s the reality…I honestly don’t feel I have to worry my life away, as much. I’m still an activist, in some respects, but it’s more to protect the little slice of heaven on earth I have, and less to change the world.

If I’m hesitant about changing the world, it’s because I’ve had to admit, lately, that that I’m not sure what the best way to change the world is. I tried to change it by making everyone Christian once, and found that this was unhealthy. Then I tried to make everyone atheist, and that was unhealthy. Then I tried to embrace a movement to make everyone social justice advocates, but I’m finding that there are powerful forces preventing that and extremes in the movement that don’t resonate with me, so I may not be completely in the right pushing things there either.

I’m finding, increasingly, that what makes me happy is what makes ME happy, and that’s OK. As long as I’m not unjustly hurting people, I can do what makes me happy, with the understanding that others will do what makes them happy, and the biggest difficulty might just be trying to find the harmony in all that. But that search for harmony isn’t desperate, and my life does not depend on making sure it becomes a reality. It’s a negotiation to keep my little plot of happiness open, as long as I’m here.

To be fair, I may go out in the fray. I might fight battles again. But right now I’m tired of fighting and, overall, happy.

Maybe this seems self-indulgent. If so…then I’m encouraging you to be self-indulgent, too. Do what makes you happy in the one life you have. Meet people who make you happy. Feel free to take advantage of happiness wherever you find it. Don’t get so lost in trying to make the world a better place that you defeat the purpose by making it hell for yourself. Don’t focus so much on what’s good for “atheism” that you forget that you’re an atheist and it’s important to do what’s good for yourself.

And I think embracing what makes you happy, regardless of color, gender, or class level is really what the movement ultimately should be trying to get you to experience anyway. If you can experience those moments while you’re here, in some ways you’re embodying thoroughly the fundamental definition of “atheisting.” At least in my book.

Thanks for reading.

Every once in a while, you hear people talk about how black people wanting to separate from white people in black-only spaces is “reverse racism” or a form of segregation.

That…is an oversimplification. Let me explain to you why.

Several black people, including Du Bois and Zora Neale Hurston, were very skeptical regarding the Civil Rights focus on black-white integration in the 1950s. For them, separation from white people wasn’t the main problem; interference from white people was, and integration was bound to increase that interference.

Segregation was never about “separate but equal.” It was about separating black people from society — not so they would thrive on their own, but so that it would be easier for white America to keep them in a (morally, physically, socially, economically) inferior position.

When we actually DID thrive on our own, riots happened, started by white people. The largest riot in our history was not, by a long shot, Ferguson. It was in Tulsa, Oklahoma, in 1921, when white people famously burned to the ground a “Black Wall Street” that had the black side of town doing better than the white side of town, leading to a loss of millions of dollars. Shops, lawyers’ offices, movie theatres — the whole bit. Burned to the ground.

The black communities have a long history — not of being separated from white communities, but of being policed by the police. Not to help them, but to imprison them through, possibly most significantly, the war on drugs. It is the reason we have the highest incarceration rate in the world. White America wanted to keep black people inferior.

“But,” you say, “I’m not like that. I empathize with your struggle. I love black people.”

Well, maybe you do. But it’s hard to trust you. Because you know who else said it? Everyone, just about. Slave owners. Segregationists. Those leading the war on drugs. Everyone carrying “Blue Lives Matter” signs. Almost everyone who voted for Trump.

Hell, even Richard Spencer says he would never say, “I don’t like black people.”

So it’s hard to take your word for it.

So maybe, instead, you rub your hands worriedly, anxiously, thinking about how you can solve the problem.

That problem is yours. I am not the problem. The problem is not merely that a border was erected, between me and you — the problem is what that border DOES, historically and currently, in keeping black people in an inferior socioeconomic position.

It should come as no surprise to anyone that many black people think, as several have thought historically, that the best solution to this cycle that creates the category of “black” as an inferior position is to walk away from fighting the barrier itself to fighting the inferiority the barrier seeks to perpetuate.

But I think that scares white people.

It scares them, partially, because some white people genuinely love some black people and they are afraid of the barrier. That’s understandable.

But it can also scare white people because they are afraid. They know what white people have done to black people in this country. They know how angry they would be if the same was done to them and their ancestors. And they are afraid of what black people will do when THEY are the ones enforcing the boundary, instead of white culture.

Those fears are, to some extent, well-founded.

There are few things more dangerous to the concept of whiteness, it seems, than a strong offensive led by black people that is unapologetic about its decisions to strip white people of leadership positions in its movement, that indeed at times segregates white people from its halls without embarrassment, that seeks to empower and build pride in the concept of blackness.

But in a world where we have been betrayed repeatedly, it is tempting to say that this switch in focus — from integration to black empowerment — may be necessary.

And to have that anger validated, to have it grow, to use it to fuel actions we perform among ourselves and use to change this country — that’s a beautiful thing. Away from the incessant, desperate apologies from white people who push for premature forgiveness, you can have your grievances validated, your concerns expressed.

This isn’t abstract. I have known people, personally, who have worked hard in offices with supposedly “woke” human resources departments and managers and coworkers…who have experienced a disturbing degree of racism. Talk about it with white people, and they start getting anxious. Are you sure, they often say, that it was racism?

It’s exhausting. You were just humiliated by white people you thought you trusted for years, and now you go to your white friend and have to experience more skepticism.

Talk about it with your black friends and, more likely than not, you’ll get a hug. You’ll get empathy. You’ll get understanding, because they know — they experienced it. You may get a hookup on another opportunity, even. And that empowerment, that validation, is needed, whether it scares white people or not.

But to have those spaces…sometimes its safer to have white people leave the room, because their interference often has consequences.

That’s not old-style segregation. The person who is the source of enforcing the segregation is the one who has the power to set its terms. And right now, because of inequality, black people need the empowerment.

The segregation is already happening, controlled by a white America that gives our children inferior opportunities. To deny our right to control the separation is to perpetuate the dynamics of the separation that exists. Whenever we separate ourselves into black-only spaces, we are showing that we recognize the separation and that the real fight is over who controls the terms of that separation. When people deny black groups that fight, they enforce the dynamic in which boundaries are policed and used by white society to keep black individuals in an inferior socioeconomic position.

When they respect it…well, in my humble opinion, they’re giving a respect that is long overdue.

Thoughts?

PS: Thanks to all 31 of my patrons. I appreciate your support.

Is it possible for Christians to understand the way atheists look at Christianity? Or for atheists to understand the way Christians look at Christianity?

In a way, my life is an answer to that question. I used to be a fervent Christian, and now I’m a thoroughgoing atheist. So I do know what it’s like on both sides.

But then again…I’ve had to adjust. I’ve broken some friendships and made others. I’ve completely changed, in many respects, the way I view the world. I’ve been hurt by Christians in ways I was not hurt before, and I am friends with atheists and agnostics who tell me about their struggles within Christian contexts that, frankly, often makes me pretty angry with Christians.

Christianity has, over the last six years of my atheism, become a largely disturbing institution to me. Besides the money they take from their parishioners, they also paint me and several I care about as those going to hell, as sinners, as so invested in our intelligence that we have no empathy, or as so focused on human emotion that we are rebellious as teenagers, or as having mental defects due to poor fathers, or as having never read a bible many of us know from cover to cover, or as arrogantly ignorant, or as demonic mockers, or as too angry, or as profoundly insulting to humankind’s proper place of dignity in the world. That’s hardly scratching the surface — and they teach their children to see me the same way.

It’s bewildering. Especially when these stereotypes cost us families, jobs, and reputations.

And all these stereotypes are often unassailable, because no matter what you do, the Christian God supposedly really knows your heart. That’s the hardest part of it all. When Christians see you, they stop seeing you. They see you the way their God sees you.

It’s bewildering to know that, regardless of what your relationship before becoming an atheist may have been with Christians who are closest to you…you’re suddenly an atheist stereotype because you don’t believe the outrageous things in the Bible, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Here’s the thing, too: I love my family, and several of my old friends. And they care about me. But there’s this God, who is nonexistent in my view, that bars them from seeing who I am. And, more disturbingly, this separation hurts them, sometimes, almost as much as it hurts me. And what I see is multiplied millions of times over by people who have to undergo being viewed through a stereotype Christian family and friends often see them through.

It’s hard. And it does damage. It’s no joke…Christianity can look very disturbing and upsetting on the outside.

But can Christians understand that? Because I remember…

Christianity looked so different from the inside.

There were grand buildings that were designed to inspire awe. There was singing with four-part harmony, with hundreds joining together in a nearly euphoric and yet somber communion regarding the most sacred parts of our lives. There were the tears and divinely felt comfort coming from God when we had to endure trials alone that made us feel less alone. There was the tradition of family enshrine — no matter where we were, or what was going on in our lives — in the honor for a God that humbled us all before a profound place of belonging within us. There were talks about the promises of heaven, most felt among the sea of tears when a relative passed away. And then, in the moments when we smiled at their lives and felt on the verge of tears yet again, there was the confidence that maybe we’d see them again.

There was a woman I knew, my parents’ friend, who stayed by her dying husband’s bedside for two years, sustained and encouraged by the hope that maybe one day she would see him healthy again, and she believed it, and it was beautiful.

And I know that, as a Christian, this part of my life was my lifeline. It was beautiful, and it was from this connection to Christianity that I loved the world. And it was within Christianity that people helped me in my struggles, that people cared about, because there was a transcendent being in the midst of it all,

I remember the communion on Sundays, and how walking out of the chapel made me feel fresh and clean, ready to start another strong week.

I remember the old missionary school I visited for a week, and the intense, tear-streaming prayers that took place among dozens of men in an impromptu meeting held within the broken-down hallway in the dorm hall there, and how I felt the contagious euphoria of their meeting.

I remember celebrating Christmas and gathering around the child who supposedly gave us a second chance. I remember scripture memorization and clinging onto the Bible like it was my lifeblood, taking it to work and reading it on breaks, debating about it for hours with people because I was anxiously trying to know a God I though I loved, trying to get closer to Him…

I remember how much of a part of my life this all was, and how beautiful Christianity looked from the inside.

And you know what? I can still see Christianity that way. If I forget, for a few minutes, how Christianity has hurt me and so many I care about, how it is trapping many in unnecessary fear and depriving others of their own ability to make the decisions that are best for them, how it is often essentially controlling and manipulating the image Christians have of people in many disturbing ways…if I forget all that, I can feel, for a couple minutes, the memory start to wash over me, and remember what those moments in Christianity are like.

And then I see the world as the atheist I am, and I often become angry again.

I mean…the two ways of looking at the world are so thoroughly polarized that I wonder, sometimes, whether the gap can be bridged. Sometimes, I wonder if it’s really worth bridging, or if each side should go on to live their life as well as they can without excessive evangelizing from the other. But…the heart of me still wants to build a bridge, to travel together with humanity on a quest for truth, and my frustration is often coming from the fact that it is somewhat difficult to do that.

I said a while ago, in another blog, that I had to come to terms with the fact that Christianity is not my fault. It’s not my fault that it isn’t true; the only thing I did was find out.

But I think another step is understanding. Not acceptance, of course…but understanding. Maybe that’s part of moving on with some reconciliation. Some sense of peace, even in the midst of strong disagreement. Or, perhaps, especially then.

Here’s the thing: I could try to save the world with a my-way-or-the-highway attack…but I don’t know, these days, if I have enough knowledge to do that. I don’t know what everyone wants and why they want it. I want to empower people more than demean them, and empowering people means a sensitivity to their cultural trends, as well as personal backgrounds, desires, and wants.

Ultimately, I want to reveal the beauty within people’s experiences, wherever it’s found. I think that quest may encourage mutual empathy, and perhaps this sense of empathy will create, in my life, more mutually productive conversations that have the potential of further enriching the second half of my life expectancy as I seek to understand and, possibly, become understood.

What do you think?

PS: I want to thank all 32 of my patrons. Thanks for helping me continue writing here.

Ever tried to help someone, only to find that the help is not appreciated?

It’s a classic scenario. You give someone something you have. You sacrifice yourself to them. You go out of your way to give them some of the essentials that they need, and you expect appreciation

But instead of appreciation, eventually you get resentment. Or maybe, over time, you start to feel used.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this, and I think I’ve noticed a common denominator in these situations. Most of the time, when they happen, the person doing the helping was helping for largely selfish reasons. They were helping because they were thinking about themselves.

Here’s a basic principle to keep in mind: Helping someone because you want to pity them emphasizes positive aspects in you. Helping someone because you want to empower them emphasizes positive aspects in them.

Early on, before the person knows that you’re pitying them and not trying to empower them, they may accept your help. Hell, they may even ask for it or seek it out. People need the essentials, and they want things beyond those essentials, so if pity gets it, they’ll embrace pity. But over time, another emotion will develop under the surface. Sooner or later they’ll see that all the stuff you’re giving them seems designed to show yourself, them, and/or others how incredible of a person you are in comparison to them. They’ll be able to see this because, in spite of all you give them, you never seem to empower them to reach their own goals.

Yes, pity may get you a cup of water, but sooner or later you’ll resent it when you notice that you’re being kept perpetually thirsty so that someone else can have the pride of getting you water. I don’t know how it all works; logically, if you receive something from somebody, you should be able to use it to benefit your overall position and get ahead. But somehow, pity always seems to work that way — like people in a work camp, you end up being given just enough to keep you working to uplift the superior position of the other person, but not enough to be successful yourself.

Pity will get you a cup of water at the expense of your dignity…but empowerment is different. No, empowerment is obviously not coming from the person who lets you die of thirst; rather, it will satisfy your thirst by helping you build your first well.

Ideally, parents don’t pity their children. They empower their children to reach their dreams. And that’s what empowerment means among us grown-ups too.

Someone who is trying to empower you will give you what you want so that they can give you the tools for you to get what you want on your own.

Empowerment requires understanding, because you have to understand what somebody wants — without undue judgment — in order to work on giving them their own access to what they want. A focus on empowerment requires more of a relationship, because needs and desires change. And it requires knowledge of how to empower someone given the tools and confines of their specific situation.

And when you’re done empowering somebody and you find that they no longer need you…you don’t feel peeved. You don’t feel put out. You feel accomplished, like you’ve succeeded in the goal you’ve been striving for all along.

The ironic thing here is that focusing on empowering people actually inadvertently makes you feel more valuable than focusing on pity. Unlike pity, which makes you feel valuable in comparison to the person you help, empowerment will make you feel valuable due to the value within the person you help.

Never help someone because you see them as an inferior. Help them because you respect their value and their potential — not as you tyrannically define it, because that’s controlling them, not helping them. Keep an eye out for those glimmers of value the person sees in themselves, and relish them.

You’ll find that this is a thrill that creates a stunningly drop-dead-gorgeous world. It’s an adrenaline rush that makes you and other people happy, enhancing mutual well-being.

Make the world a better place, and try it.

Thank you for reading.

PS: Thank you to all 33 of the patrons who made this blog post possible.

 

There have been several times as an atheist in which I have experienced existential angst, and I’ve noticed that this angst seems to hover around two different extremes. Sometimes these extremes are the very components of atheism that make me happiest; but the tension between the two is very undesirable.

On one side is a determination to embrace the void. In the absence of God, the theory goes, our lives have no inherent meaning. This lack of inherent meaning is embodied in a laughter at the void, at the feelings of others, at propriety, at tears, at happiness, and so on. And yet, within this laughter, fueling this laughter, is a hypocrisy, because the same voice that proudly proclaims the void of emotion and feelings and propriety often enforces a pride-filled sense of propriety that privileges “strength” in the face of the void.

On the other side is a splintering of the world. There is no God to consolidate or displace our emotions as human beings, so the absence of God suddenly causes all of them to burst into disparate, contradictory elements that overwhelm us. We feel the laughter, we feel the pain, we feel the standards of propriety in overwhelming, often contradictory detail — we feel all these things, perhaps more intensely than a theist. And we accept them as real, because we experience their reality. The most bewildering task may be to navigate this overwhelmingly multifaceted reality. And yet, at the heart of THIS task is also a contradictory emotion — the frequent impulse that there IS a “right” direction among the many contradictory ones.

And then there is the tension between the two — the yawning void, existing at the same time as the screaming presence.

And there are times in my own life in which I feel the overwhelming void and the overwhelming presence of existence simultaneously.

Sometimes thinking about my atheism in this way gets me thinking…

I wonder if this is the Problem many religions seek to solve. Maybe Buddhism, with the tension inherent in reaching Nirvana. Christianity, with the death and resurrection of Christ that Christians simultaneously embody. Possibly several others…maybe, as human beings, we tend to share a lot of basic traits across ideologies.

Now, I know you’re probably thinking about solutions for this possible problem…

And perhaps the trick of existence is to not take this tension too seriously, to laugh at the dance, to enjoy our years….

But it is also a beautiful thing, in my mind, to take it seriously, to allow yourself to drown in the contradictory mystery….

The most difficult reality is that, when you see the void, it doesn’t matter what you choose.

And then, on the many sides of overwhelming “presence” — it makes all the difference in the world.

And in existential angst, it means both, intensely and paradoxically.

But you still have to make a choice.

Or do you?

Thanks for reading.

PS: I want to thank all 33 patrons who made this blog post possible.

I believe that you should always believe you are capable of being a good person. You shouldn’t do the right thing out of a sense of inherent subservience or because you think you lack value. You should do the right thing because you have an unwavering confidence that you have the capability to enrich other people’s lives.

That doesn’t mean other people have to believe it. And often they won’t. Sometimes people may tell you that you hurt them so badly, you can’t stop hurting people. They may tell you that your efforts to change will always fall short and are inherently worthless.

They may think that you deserve to be locked up for what you’ve done, possibly. They may permanently not trust you.

Here’s what you have to do: Believe that you can do better.

Don’t ever operate from a place of worthlessness.  Act, always, from a place of confidence, with the knowledge that you are a valuable person and have value to offer the world.

That doesn’t mean, of course, that you should unduly enter spaces that people don’t want you to be in. Have enough dignity within yourself, and enough empathy for other people, to notice that there are places in which you cannot make things better. Empower the people who can, if you can. Otherwise, you do the best you can do to be a better person, bravely, in spite of others thinking it is impossible.

It may be a lonely road. But you have to do it, as long as you’re breathing. You can never embrace the alternative — that you are worthless, that you do not deserve to be here, that you are a hopeless case. Do that, and the real danger is that you may become worse for the world.

It may be a difficult road, as well. It’s not easy to change. The excruciatingly hard step you took towards being a better person may look like a millimeter. But you have to see it as further exposing the person you are and can be. You have to have that faith.

No, I’m not saying that all standards of “good” are equal. I’m saying that you have to decide what is good, based on the actions that will create the best possible outcome for all concerned. Including yourself.

Do not spend so much of your life chasing after value that you miss the value that resides in yourself. From that place of inherent value and worth — an often selfish-seeming place — you can find the value inherent in other people. Once you understand why you are valuable, don’t keep it to yourself; use that sense of your own inherent worth to see the value in other people.

That can make life more valuable, even when it is hard or tragic. Even in the midst of disappointment in yourself and others, it can be a beacon that empowers you to keep going.

I don’t care what you’ve done in the past. Do the right thing and pay penance if it’s required, but don’t ever forget that you have capability to be a good person.

Maybe some factors that were part of you doing a bad thing might also be the key to you becoming a better person, as well. Focus on positive applications and manifestations of who you are, and stay away from any that hurt the value in others that you see in yourself.

Perhaps this is controversial advice, but it’s necessary. I’ve seen a lot of condemnation of various people in various corners, so I think this is something that needed to be said.

People have value.

Regardless of your race, gender, or ideology, you are not trash. You are a valuable human being.

See value in yourself so you can see it shine in others.

Thanks for reading.

PS: Thank you to the 33 patrons who make this blog possible.

As a man who hasn’t experienced it, I wondered, at first, why women were taking so long to report sexual assault. Years, decades often seemed to pass before they reported a slew of famous men whose takedowns have been in the news. What I see shouted on the front pages, I have been repeatedly told via the #metoo hashtag, has been happening to almost every woman on a less discussed scale.

Why not take them to court?

I have some theories, after thinking about it.

Maybe, when you’re sexually assaulted, you feel that the most personal part of yourself, the part of you that is supposed to be most private, has been cruelly violated.  Maybe the whole reason this experience was a nightmare was the violation of your privacy. Maybe that violation of consent is humiliating to you.

Or maybe it is humiliating, but you’re still angry. But he’s a friend of all your friends, and you know they’ll believe him over you, and you don’t want to lose your friends. And maybe your image is important in other ways, too. Maybe you don’t want to be seen as “asking for it” because you absolutely weren’t asking for this traumatic thing that happened to you.

And maybe you told someone close to you, in a moment in which you desperately needed a shoulder to cry on, and instead of empathy you saw the skepticism in their eyes, or you saw them look at you in a different way for something that wasn’t your fault. Maybe that taught you that you should bury it, and that you shouldn’t tell people.

Maybe you think that you’re the only one, or that no one will back up your story.

And maybe that person walks around confidently, not caring or thinking about violating the most private, personal parts of yourself without your permission. Maybe you don’t want to see his smile anymore about an incident that gives you nightmares. And maybe going into a courtroom is the last thing you want, because you’ll have to see him again, trying to paint you in the worst possible light.

Maybe you think a lot about speaking up anyway, so you look at what happens when people do speak about sexual assault. And you see that they are consistently demeaned, demonized, seen as “asking for it” or “sluts,”

Maybe that person is powerful, and you’ve seen other women who have spoken up and how that person has ruthlessly ruined their reputations.

Maybe the thought of going to court and paying all the court costs just to see him sit there with a faux-sincere look on his face denying he ripped apart your life is just too much, especially when he is acquitted. Maybe you’re afraid of the smirk that he gives you as he walks away. Perhaps you’re afraid of the way he may laugh about it with his friends and the way your friends will mark you as a liar.

Or maybe you just want to forget it…maybe you think you can run somewhere where you’ll never see him again. Until he’s everywhere. He’s in the casting room. He’s in the dressing room. He’s the landlord. He’s your boss. He’s the President of the United States.

The more I think about the situation, the more saddening and infuriating it is.

I’m very sorry.

And we need to do better.

Thanks for reading.

PS: Thank you to all 33 of the patrons who support this blog.

Y’know…a lot of the time, people tell poor, high-crime black communities that they need to take responsibility for the crime that occurs there. They encourage self-sufficiency and personal responsibility.
What if a sense of self-sufficiency and personal responsibility is more of a problem than a solution?

Here’s what I mean: when I look at the history of black communities, and of attitudes encouraged by white American society regarding them, it seems clear to me that all along, white society has strongly encouraged black culture to take a crabs-in-the-barrel approach to life. During slavery, they had slaves compete against each other, a tradition that continued through the early twentieth century…and arguably exists in sports rivalries today. For whatever reason, white America has gotten a thrill out of putting black people in a hole and encouraging them to fight each other, to demean each other, to climb over each other in an attempt to get to the top.

I’m not saying black crimes are white people’s fault, necessarily. But what I am saying is that the mentality that may be required to lower black crime may be the exact opposite of self-sufficiency and personal responsibility that, when encouraged, is actually the attitude of “I get mine, and if you didn’t work hard enough, you don’t deserve what I got” — basically, the crabs in the barrel approach that has been pushed onto black people for centuries.

The more useful attitude might be an openness, not to demean your neighbor if they don’t accomplish as much as you, but to help your neighbor. Not personal responsibility, but communal responsibility.
Oftentimes I hear white people encourage communal responsibility among black communities, and say that what’s wrong is that black people don’t take control of their own communities. This is often a segueway into the personal responsibility argument that encourages a crabs-in-the-barrel approach, because it actually embodies the basic us-vs-them approach it is supposedly trying to discourage. In other words, it’s saying that black people need to take communal responsibility, while at the same time — in that very statement — refusing to take any communal responsibility yourself.

I’m not saying that it’s up to white people to model the way black communities should behave. That would still be reinforcing the divide. I’m saying that the us-vs.-them attitude may be the problem. The key may be for us all — regardless of skin tone — to discard the concept of personal responsibility for one much more universal.

The crabs at the bottom of the barrel do not need lessons on personal responsibility and self-sufficiency. The solution is interdependency, integration, and an attitude towards more universal betterment.
My point is that the solution often proposed to black people may actually be the problem. If the problem behind high murder and rape rates is that we have a crabs-in-the-barrel mentality, then you’re just encouraging the problem by encouraging self-sufficiency and separation as opposed to interdependency and integration, and by encouraging personal responsibility that isolates the individual and encourages competition instead of communal responsibility — not communal responsibility that fosters an us-and-them mentality, but a “we’re all in this together” mentality that, at the same time, recognizes contextual differences in the pursuit of a goal of universal improvement.

And I want to go the next step and say that this is not just the solution to the problem, but a principle: we should care about each other. We should realize we’re all in this existence together. We should focus on universal opportunity and helping each other. And to the extent that we do not, we struggle. True, a few people will get ahead, but the masses will struggle under ever-widening inequality, because that’s the way the us-vs.-them system would work, by design.

I’m not saying that black people are incapable of loving themselves, or incapable of creating community. But it is also true that it is difficult to do so when you are looked down on by the majority of the population, and that the insecure competitiveness felt in many black communities runs fairly deep due to societal characteristics baked in by 400 years of history. By saying that they were better than blacks, white people created a hierarchy, and that hierarchy continued to have layers in black culture that contributed to (even if it wasn’t the only cause of) black infighting for a less torturous spot.
The problem is the hierarchy. And it’s hypocritical to encourage black groups to give up their jockeying for higher spots in the hierarchy when white groups are not giving up theirs, and are trying to preserve it with an us-and-them mentality long after race-based segregation was outlawed.

Cooperation, integration, and a more extensive sense of communal responsibility — not patronizing in a way that reconstructs hierarchies, but one that takes the form of solutions enacted by blacks and whites that respects the experiences of the most marginalized groups most seriously — seems to be the key here towards ending a crabs-in-the-barrel situation.
Personal responsibility and self-sufficiency are concepts, I think, that do just the opposite.

PS: I want to thank all 34 of my patrons for making posts like these possible.

I’ve heard a lot of people say that black people in this country are always looking for and getting handouts. The key is to stop giving them handouts and force them to work hard to succeed. Personal responsibility.

The kernel of truth in that assessment is that racism is unlikely to vanish in my lifetime, so I have to deal with it as I work to create the best possible life I can for myself and those I care about. Complaining about it won’t put food on the table; you can rant and moan about discrimination, but that doesn’t mean it will end. If you are stuck with your circumstances, as many of us black people are, you might just have to succeed in spite of your unfair circumstances, or even find ways to use those unfortunate circumstances to get ahead.

I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I found something incredible about the stories of black people who persevered, in the face of enormous odds and pressure, and created lives that they wanted.

And I think some of these black people got ahead when they realized that the unfortunate reality was their reality, and tried to make their way forward in spite of that reality. Not all of the ways they did this might have been kosher according to the law (several successful recording artists managed to become well off because they initially sold drugs, for example), and sometimes they had to cut corners, but in many ways they are people who took a broken system and, like a genius artist, found ways make it work for them. No, their lives were not perfect, but their circumstances were designed, due to 400 years of engineering, to make them second-class citizens, so to make their way they had to be somewhat unconventional.

But the enemy in these circumstances are the barriers to success. Yes, many black people overcome them, but the point is ultimately to overcome them.

Because…well, think about it. If the people saying black people should toughen up were REALLY concerned about making black people stronger by forcing them to deal with and fight discrimination, why don’t they insist on being discriminated against themselves? Why don’t they insist on discrimination?

If fighting hard against enormous difficulties is just part of making black people stronger, why not insist on going through those enormous difficulties yourself? Why not insist that black people be treated better, and you be treated worse, if being treated worse is truly what provides people with character?

It’s a simple rule. If you don’t want barriers yourself, don’t press them on other people.

Do you admire how black people succeed, oftentimes, in the face of discrimination? Good. But if you think that means we shouldn’t do anything about discrimination, imagine what it is like to be discriminated against. Do you want people to look down on you because of the color of your skin? No? Then don’t do it to other people.

Don’t force us to be heroes when you yourself are a coward.

That’s why it’s hard to trust most people who say that black people need toughen up — especially when they support Trump, one of the whiniest complainers in the history of American politics.

Maybe, I think, the concept of personal responsibility, when applied to black people, is not about making people stronger. Maybe it’s about being comfortable bullying people, and rationalizing that bullying by claiming it’s helping when you know full well that you couldn’t, and wouldn’t, take half the abuse.

Maybe it’s time to be honest about what we would like for ourselves, and realize that we are all in this together, and that what we think will empower us to be the best versions of ourselves might apply to someone else. Education, fair application of the law, a leg up, a chance. And when we give others the chance we want for ourselves, maybe that’s when we’ll grow.

Together.

Thank you for reading.

PS: I want to thank all 35 of my patrons for their support.

I was thinking, yesterday, about the positive sides of the God I used to believe in.

There’s a lot I don’t like about the God I grew up believing in until I was 28, and I’ve written plenty about it elsewhere. The vengeance of the Old Testament, the narrow-minded rules from the people in the Bible who created Him, the way theology is often used to control people, the unwarranted authority — all that upsets me.

But I have learned, as an atheist, that the fact something is true does not mean that it is necessarily pleasant. There are some truths I’ve had to encounter that are hard, and there are refuges I had as a Christian that are hard to find as an atheist.

I wish, for example, that there was a divine plan. Don’t get me wrong; there is something beautiful about not having to scratch my head about what God is doing in my life. The things that happen just happen, making for a simpler life. What’s difficult, though, is that sometimes, times are just hard. And the hard reality is that they don’t necessarily get better. When that happens, I do wish that all the bad things that happened were part of some overarching divine plan. It would give me more peace.

But…the fact is that the bad things don’t seem to be part of that supposed plan. They just seem to “be.”

And that raw reality sometimes makes me anxious, because it’s hard to be OK with the dark parts of the world that hurt people. I want to believe that they will one day go away. But there are no guarantees that this is the case, and several indications that it is not. So in a way, I pursue a hope of the world being beautiful knowing full well it will never happen. I wish I could have more confidence.

I also wish that there was a divine morality. I don’t like the kind of Christian morality I grew up with, but sometimes this world is confusing. Now, don’t get it twisted: there are things I like about the morality I like now, as there is something beautifully empathetic about determining morality by trying to carefully understand human beings and thereby determine the moral constructions that will make people happiest. Trying to fit people into the mode of the Bible I grew up with doesn’t really seem to work; it seems unrealistic, and the hard work of negotiating morality among human beings feels more embodied, real, rational, and useful.

At the same time…there are moral dilemmas that are really difficult. And sometimes, I have a difficult time trying to figure out exactly where I stand, morally, on several issues.

Those times are often deeply painful and anxiety-fueled, because I really, genuinely, want to do the right thing. I want to help people. I don’t want to be wrong and hurt them, and it’s so hard to know what’s right sometimes, especially when people on several sides of an argument have very real concerns that seem to clash against each other. It’s difficult to think about the most healthy path when there’s are clear risks on every path, and mutually exclusive, dueling principles that have to be decided between.

Sometimes, in these excruciating moments, I wish it were simpler. I do kinda wish there was a God who knew what the most healthy path was, who had a divine plan for everything that was going on, so that I didn’t have to think so hard about figuring out morality, and so that I didn’t doubt myself so often.

Unfortunately there’s not, so I continue to struggle, sometimes through anxiety and angst, trying to figure out the most moral decision when every decision often looks terrible.

I also kinda wish there was a heaven. I don’t miss the concept of hell…but it would be nice to, after a difficult life on earth, indulge in the wonder and beauty of heaven. That would be beautiful, as well.

And then there’s the concept of having a friend who genuinely cares about you who is over the whole universe. I don’t like the concept of having him poking in, nosy, like the all-seeing police. But the idea of having a friend who is all-powerful who cares about you and empathizes with you…that’s a nice feeling.

Unfortunately, this doesn’t exist. True, there are beautiful aspects of atheism, but it’s not the ideal world; it’s just the world that exists. I mean, it’s like…

I would like to believe I have a billion dollars and won’t have to work for the rest of my life, but having a realistic view of my finances makes things much less stressful for me than the frustration I’d encounter if I believed the lie. That’s what atheism is for me. I don’t just believe it because it’s the ideal way for the world to be, because in some ways…if I were to pick and choose what I wanted the world to be like, I’d be living in a different world (and with a different number in my bank account, on top of World Peace). But that world is not real, and pretending it is gives me a deeper pain. The least pain, for me, is in living according to the truth — at least, on this question. If there is a lie I still believe, it’s that we really can find better versions of ourselves, that we can construct better moral codes, and that we can eventually going to live in a more desirable world.

I know I could be wrong, but the hope in that belief enables me to get out of bed the next day. I guess that’s the closest thing I have to “faith,” I suppose.

Thanks for reading.

PS: Thank you to all 35 of my patrons, and anyone who gives a one-time donation, for supporting my blog! Y’all are awesome.