O jornal londrino The Guardian publicou no dia 23 de
janeiro de 2021 a matéria abaixo, sobre humanistas, secularistas, ateus e
céticos mundo afora - e para nossa imensa felicidade, o Positivismo foi
considerado aí, na figura do Apóstolo da Humanidade Érlon Jacques, da Igreja
Positivista do Rio Grande do Sul. Aliás, a foto de capa da matéria é de Érlon e
ele ganhou a oportunidade de ter uma segunda foto, mais abaixo, dando-nos
grande destaque.
Todavia, importa notar que o título da matéria foi
extremamente ruim, de mau gosto e, acima de tudo, equivocado: nenhum,
ou, no máximo, um dos entrevistados considera que si mesmo é a única deidade
existente. No caso do Positivismo, esse violento individualismo egoísta é
radicalmente rejeitado e não corresponde, de maneira nenhuma, às nossas
concepções. É triste ver que a jornalista tenha empregado um título apelativo
para vender a sua reportagem, pois, no final, embora ela mesma (e seu jornal)
vendam bastante, quem sai prejudicado são as pessoas que, de boa fé, concederam
as entrevistas. (Não é por acaso que a Inglaterra é a pátria dos tablóides
sensacionalistas.)
O original da matéria está disponível aqui.
* * *
‘I
only know one god – and that’s me’: non-believers on the meaning of life
Erlon Jacques: ‘It’s hard to find people with a free mind.’ Photograph: Aubrey Wade
Around the world, growing numbers of people
are rejecting traditional faiths and choosing their own spiritual path. Eight atheists and agnostics open up
Harriet Sherwood Photographs and interviews: Aubrey Wade
Sat 23 Jan 2021 10.00 GMT
Religion may
once have been the opium of the people, but in large swaths of the world the
masses have kicked the habit. In countries once dominated by churches
characterised by patriarchy, ritual and hierarchy, the pews have emptied and
people have found other sources of solace, spirituality and morality.
In the US, those who say they are atheist, agnostic
or “nothing in particular” is up from 17% in 2009 to 26% last year. In Britain,
according to the most recent data, more than half the population proclaimed no
faith in 2018, a figure that rose from 43% to 52%
in a decade.
But there are many different ways of being an
unbeliever – among them labels such as atheist, agnostic, humanist, free
thinker, sceptic, secular and spiritual-but-not-religious. According to Understanding Unbelief, an
academic research project based at the University of Canterbury in Kent,
“unbelief in God doesn’t necessarily entail unbelief in other supernatural
phenomena… Another common supposition – that of the purposeless unbeliever,
lacking anything to ascribe ultimate meaning to the universe – also does not
bear scrutiny”.
Wade, who describes himself as “an atheistic agnostic”, says he was struck by
“how many ways there are of making sense of life’s big questions, with and
without a concept of God or gods. For some people, unbelief and religiosity
don’t go together at all, while for others they are comfortable bedfellows.” In
Japan, for instance, “the distinction isn’t even relevant for most people”.Who
are the unbelievers, and what principles guide their lives? Over the course of
a year (and pre-pandemic), the British photographer Aubrey Wade met more
than 30 people from five countries (the UK, US, Brazil, Japan and Norway) to
find out. “Belief is a word we use all the time, often without being able to
explain precisely what it means,” he says. “In practice, most people hold at
least some conflicting beliefs about the world.”
“The pandemic has given us all reasons to reflect
on what gives our lives meaning,” he adds. “I’ve learned that atheist
individuals and cultures of unbelief are as diverse as religious ones. What
unites them is the drive to seek meaning and purpose in life.”
‘People see you as a
traitor’
Lola Tinubu: ‘Science can also guide one in making moral decisions.’ Photograph: Aubrey Wade
Lola Tinubu, 53, is an atheist and a humanist
who lives in London. She is the co-founder of the Association of Black
Humanists, a group for people, particularly from the African diaspora, who are
free thinkers, nonbelievers, atheists and humanists.
I grew up in a Seventh-Day Adventist family. I had
a happy childhood and felt safe, but we were also taught that the outside world
was evil. I grew up with a segregated view of the world and a fear of others.
My father encouraged me to watch science documentaries with him. After one, he
said, “Science is fact, but our faith is the truth.” That was probably the
moment the penny dropped.
It took me nearly three decades to leave the
church. When I became non-religious, the first thing I did was look for other
black people who had had that experience. People see you as a traitor. They
say, “Atheism is not African: it’s a European ideology.” A lot of people feel
they can’t tell their friends. They can’t tell anybody. That’s why we formed
our organisation.
The way to understand the world is through
investigation, science and research. Science can also guide one in making moral
decisions. For example, understanding the environment is now a moral issue.
Science has shown that all human beings belong to the same species, so we
should respect each other.
I don’t believe in the supernatural. Everything is
within nature. Humanism also includes a kind of philosophy and moral guidance.
If there’s no ultimate meaning of life, that doesn’t mean our existence needs
to be meaningless; we can determine for ourselves what is meaningful.
For somebody who rates thinking highly, I
nevertheless define myself by the way I feel. My life. My work. I am my
feelings. So perhaps that’s the meaning of life for me: feeling it.
‘We get called devil
worshippers, but there’s no worship’
Adam Cardone: ‘Satanists are born. You can’t become one.’ Photograph: Aubrey Wade
As a child, I wanted to learn magic tricks. I was a
natural performer. When I read the Satanic Bible, I thought,
“Wow, it’s describing me.” Satanism is an atheistic philosophy that
incorporates ritual and magic. It looks like a religious movement in its
trappings, but it’s more of a lifestyle philosophy. Satanists are born. You
can’t become one.
Our founder, Anton LaVey [author of the Satanic
Bible], recognised that humans like ritual; they pine for it. They like
symbolism, whether that be superheroes or religion. Religion has been using
ritual and symbolism since caveman times. LaVey got rid of the theism and left
all the good parts.
We have no formal meeting place. No rules. We get
called devil worshippers, but there’s no worship. I only know one god – and
that’s me. I am responsible for my own destiny. We don’t believe in the
Abrahamic conceptions of Satan. He is not my god whom I pray to. He is a
reflection of me, of who I am. He is a mirror in which I see myself.
LaVey split magic into two categories: lesser and
greater magic. Lesser magic is day-to-day psychology, and how you conduct
yourself so that people listen.
Greater magic is what people imagine Satanism to
be: lighting candles and incense and ringing gongs and chanting. Ritual
transforms you. It’s like a magic show designed for yourself. I’m my own
performance and audience member.
LaVey rode on this grey line of fantasy and
reality, which is what, to me, Satanism is. Fantasy is where we’re able to
explore uncomfortable things, new ideas, to map out our psyche in an
exaggerated fashion. I think it’s healthy to do this – it’s like play. Adults
lose this, and that’s not healthy.
‘God is just another
character in the stories’
Robert Freudenthal: ‘Social action can be seen as a form of religious activity.’ Photograph: Aubrey Wade
Robert Freudenthal, 34, is a member of a
liberal synagogue in London. He describes himself as Jewish but not
God-centred. When he got married a few years ago, he decided to explore
different ways to think about God.
Although I identify as not believing in God in a
religious sense, I am relaxed about the language of God in services or rituals.
In Jewish practice, it’s quite common to have that sort of dissonance. For me,
it’s completely OK to be 100% atheist and still go to religious services. I
imagine quite a few members of the synagogue feel the same.
Religious scriptures can help us understand
ourselves, the relationships we form, and the world around us. I see God in
that situation as just another character in the story, like Moses, or the
Pharaohs, or whoever else.
For me, it’s really important to have a sense of
connection with the world around us, whether that’s seasonal changes, the
natural world, or our history in terms of migration and movement of people. The
Jewish calendar and the rituals provide anchor points to reflect on life.
Observing them locates me within a community, strengthens my relationships, and
encourages me to think about how I can contribute to making the world a better
place.
The struggles of previous generations can help us
understand what’s happening now. The Pesach [Passover] seder, for example, is
more about liberation from slavery and the ways in which we were and still are
oppressed than about God. It’s an opportunity to talk about contemporary
issues. This year we included a chilli pepper on the seder plate to represent
the climate crisis.
In Judaism there’s the concept of repairing the
world – tikkun olam. It’s the idea that social action, doing work in
order to help people, can be seen as a form of religious activity. That speaks
to me. Being part of a religious community offers music, spirituality and
relationships. But more than that, it reminds me I’m on a journey to understand
myself better and motivates me to help others.
‘I needed proof’
Hedda Frøland: ‘Now I believe in the good in people.’ Photograph: Aubrey Wade
When I was a child, I believed in God, but my belief faded. I needed
proof. Now I believe in humanity and the good in people.Hedda Frøland, 18, is a
member of the Humanist Youth Group in Sandnes, Norway. Both secular
and Christian confirmation ceremonies remain culturally important in Norway.
Wearing a nordlandsbunad, a traditional embroidered costume, Frøland took part
in a humanist ceremony, the choice of around 18% of
15-year-olds.
My parents and older sister had Christian
confirmations, but they wanted me to make an educated decision about my faith.
I’m very grateful that I chose another way. A humanist confirmation involves
weekly activities over several months, including a weekend role-play in which you
experience what it’s like to live as a refugee for 24 hours. You learn about
values and critical thinking, and about human rights. I began to feel that I,
too, could make a difference.
The meaning of life, I think, is to make it the
best experience you can, to spread love to those around you. It’s important to
see the beauty in everything, especially in human beings. A lot of people think
they’re not beautiful enough, and that breaks my heart. Your values and
personality are the best sides of you.
‘Donald Trump brought a
white Christian nationalism back into the frame’
Ron Millar: ‘I’d hoped we’d be a much better society by now.’ Photograph: Aubrey Wade
Ron Millar, 63, from Washington DC,
runs the Freethought Equality Fund Political Action Committee, which helps
candidates seeking election to public office who openly identify as humanist,
atheist and agnostic. In 1988, he was the campaign manager for the first openly
gay candidate running for the city council.
I grew up in a fundamentalist church in Pennsylvania.
They believed the Bible was the word of God. It was conservative, but it wasn’t
political – they were just a small religious community, and great people.
Now I run the Freethought Equality Fund, which is
part of the American Humanist Association’s political arm. We endorse
candidates, give them money, and try to get more candidates to run as atheists
and humanists. We need reason, evidence and compassion in public policy; we
can’t have it dictated by bronze age notions about how society should work.
In climate change, we have an imminent threat that,
if we don’t do anything in the next 10 years, is going to change society
dramatically and for the worse. In reproductive rights, we’ve been heading
backwards for the past 30 years, and don’t know where that’s going to end. The
backward trend that we’re doing on voting rights is scary, and we still need to
get LGBTQ people included in the Civil Rights Act.
Donald Trump brought a white Christian nationalism
back into the frame. The angry voices we heard in the 50s and 60s against civil
rights were back, and legitimised by the president.
I’d hoped we’d be a much better society by the time
I reached the age I am. That hasn’t happened; I blame the religious right,
which uses the Old Testament, mostly, to perpetuate the patriarchy.
During the cold war, the narrative was that America
was a Christian country and we were fighting the godless communists. Atheists
and humanists were lumped into that camp. The stigma lingers, but it’s going
away. In 1958, something like 18% said they would vote for a presidential
candidate who was an atheist, and now we’re up to 60%. I describe myself as an
atheist, but use the term humanist, too. Atheism is just, “There is no God”;
humanism says we have a role to help one another. It’s more positive.
‘Beauty and
tradition are my philosophy’
Yuko Atarashi: ‘We have just one chance in this life to meet each other.’ Photograph: Aubrey Wade
Yuko Atarashi, 46, is studying to be a Noh
theatre actor in Tokyo. Noh is a form of classical Japanese musical
drama that has been performed since the 14th century. The plays often feature a
supernatural being, transformed into human form, narrating a story. Japan
regularly ranks as one of the world’s most atheist countries, although many
people still engage in Buddhist and Shinto rituals.
A key concept in Japanese culture is ichi-go
ichi-e, which means to treasure the unrepeatable nature of every moment. Noh
and traditional Japanese tea ceremonies are structured around this idea.
Performing these reminds me that perhaps we have just one chance in this life
to meet each other, so we have to appreciate every moment.
Beauty and tradition are at the core of my
philosophy. I believe in the unchangeable beauty of tradition. Japan has an
ancient culture. If we understand the story of our past, we understand our
culture now.
The purpose of life is to be present in the moment.
Family is the most important thing for me, somewhere I can be completely
myself. I live with my husband and his parents; we don’t have children of our
own.
At death, we reach an end. We came from nothing and
go back to nothing. We should give devotions [small offerings as a way of
paying respect] to our ancestors, because it’s through them that we exist. But the devotion is
delivered to the life they lived, not the dead person.
In Japan, we say there are more than 8
million kami [gods or spirits]. Anything that surrounds us can
be a kami. I visit the Shinto shrine for little daily life rituals, to reflect on
my emotions and to give my appreciation to something or someone. And for
weddings. For funerals, I’d go to a Buddhist temple. I don’t deny the need for
religion. It’s a concept that provides rules people can rely on, but I don’t
feel I need to rely on anything.
‘Atheists make a big
mistake when they lose respect for people who believe’
Erlon Jacques: ‘Our doctrine doesn’t offer miracles.’ Photograph: Aubrey Wade
Apostle Erlon Jacques, 47, leads the last practising congregation of positivists in the world, at the Temple of Humanity in Porto Alegre, Brazil. The secular religion was developed by Auguste Comte, the French philosopher, in the mid-1800s. It was adopted by key political figures in the establishment of the first Brazilian republic. Comte imagined a science-based positivist society in which religion would still be necessary, but would no longer require a god to have moral force. The primary tenets of the religion are altruism, order and progress.
I inherited a broken church, with no light or
running water. I’m still at the beginning of rebuilding. The most important
thing I do is to open the temple every Sunday and explain the religion to
people. It’s my life’s mission now.
I have around 20 brothers and sisters attending.
But it’s hard to find people with a free mind. Our doctrine doesn’t offer
miracles. Reality is sad; there’s no justice, peace or harmony in the world. Many churches offer a fantasy.
The essence of our religion is human connection
through altruism. Supernatural gods are not required, but we understand that
people need symbols. We have faith in love, science and humanity. I have a deep
respect for Christianity and other religions. Many atheists make a big mistake
when they lose respect for people who believe.
Comte taught us to continuously update the dogma to
reflect changing times. People think positivism is conservative, a thing from
the past, but our religion is open-minded, avant garde even. For example, gay
marriage is completely OK for us.
My daily practice is the positivist prayer. There is no
need to say anything; you can do it in your mind. But we recommend the use of
music, poetry, meditation, reflection, thinking about the cosmic order, to help
generate pure intentions and promote feelings of fraternity. The essence of the
positivist religion is to replace egoism with altruism. Being a positivist has
taught me what’s important: family, love, work, friends. Not God, or priests.
Before I converted, I was selfish and irresponsible, concerned with my personal
pleasure. I didn’t value these things. Now they are what gives purpose to my
life.
‘Reading about the lead
singer in my favourite band, I knew I was an atheist’
Jake Vargas: ‘I certainly have values: I value justice, equality, reason.’ Photograph: Aubrey Wade
Jake Vargas, 25, a student in Lincoln,
Nebraska, doesn’t “believe in the supernatural world at all”.
Having an understanding of the natural world and
science – to my mind, the other side of theism – helps me understand
transphobia. So many of the reactions people have are fear and disgust, which
are primal emotions. Genetic diversity is necessary for any species to
flourish, and diversity in humanity is a very natural, normal and necessary
thing. Transgenderism, whatever its roots, is just another part of human
diversity.
My parents were raised Roman Catholic. They didn’t
raise me with any particular religious belief, but they would mention God
occasionally: if I told a lie, my mother might say, “Well, God knows.” So I was
raised with the assumption that God exists. But I didn’t go to church. I wasn’t
baptised. I would say my parents were lapsed Catholics.
I actually remember the moment I knew I was an
atheist. My favourite band is Muse, and I was on Wikipedia at
midnight, as 14-year-olds often are, reading about the lead singer. It
mentioned his religious beliefs, that he was an atheist. I remember a cold
feeling washed through me, and I thought, do I have some sort of prejudice
towards these people? Do I actually believe? And the answer was no.
I certainly have values: I value justice, equality, reason. You might say offshoots of that are compassion, empathy, activism through work and interpersonal relationships. Even something small like tact. But those things aren’t sacred to me. I don’t think they exist on a plane that is somehow beyond speculation. And I question my own values all the time.
