Atheists in America face some measure of discrimination, and we want a way to talk about that discrimination so that it’s taken seriously. But our approach thus far is setting us back, and may even be putting us in conflict with identity groups — indeed, religious identities — who could and ought to be alongside us in a struggle towards pluralistic understanding.

Many nontheistic writers and activists have selected the theory of “privilege” as a model of the normalized religious identity in America, and to describe their own disadvantage as American atheists. Both The Friendly Atheist and The Atheist Experience Blog have taken this approach. In a piece titled “Religious Privilege and Citizenship,” Ed Brayton discussed how nonreligious folks are disadvantaged by U.S. citizenship tests which request that you provide a “religious objection” to any question about taking up arms to defend the country.

Sam Killermann at Its Pronounced Metrosexual recently compiled a popular list of what they deemed “examples of Christian Privilege” in America, writing:

“If you identify as Christian, there’s a good chance you’ve never thought about these things… try and be more cognizant of these items and you’ll start to realize how much work we have to do to make the United States a place that is truly safe and accessible for folks of all belief systems.” The list included items like the freedom “to worship without violence or threats,” “politicians responsible for your governance are probably members of your faith,” and “your faith is accepted/supported at your workplace.”

But absent in these notions of privilege is a dimension of normalization. Privilege, as a mode of describing social inequity, is rooted in the normalization of oppression, and the solidification of distance between classes. So in some ways, this language might thus seem intuitive, that nonreligious Americans face discrimination in a variety of walks of life, and therefore there should be some identity who enjoys a social security and mobility at their expense. However, not all social disadvantages constitute a notion of “privilege” as the term is typically applied in critical theory–and in fact, our current discourse around “religious privilege” or even “Christian privilege” does quite a disservice to a variety of religious identities that we should align ourselves with in our resistance to discrimination.

Read the full piece at Huffington Post Religion!


Walker Bristol is a nontheist Quaker living in Somerville, Massachusetts. A rising senior at Tufts University reading religion and philosophy, he covers social activism and class inequality in the Tufts Daily and has organized in movements promoting religious diversity, sexual assault awareness and prevention, and worker’s rights. Formerly, he was the Communications Coordinator at Foundation Beyond Belief and  the president of the Tufts Freethought Society. He tweets at @WalkerBristol

Karen Stollznow interview, part two

February 20th, 2014 | Posted by:

Karen Stollznow for Q&AToday I published an interview with Dr. Karen Stollznow, author of God Bless America, at Religion News Service. Below is part two of our conversation. 

Chris Stedman: You talk about trying to write about the religious communities you profile in a “sensitive but factual” manner. How do you do that—especially when some of these groups are, as you write, “stigmatized, misunderstood, and mocked for being different”? And how does the way that these groups are often portrayed in the media factor into this?

Karen Stollznow: The best way to be sensitive to these religious communities is to get to know their members personally and to see them as people, not as stereotypes perpetuated in movies, books and online. For each religion profiled I had direct contact with members of these groups. It was also important for me to work with ex-members of these groups, to gain insight from those who are now outsiders, and have a unique perspective as former insiders. I wanted my accounts to be fair to these people but also factual—so I didn’t shy away from the more disturbing topics, such as animal sacrifice in Voodoo, and incest and rape in Fundamentalist Mormon communities.

CS: Where do you see religion in the U.S. heading, particularly considering the current large-scale exodus from traditional religion and the rise of “New Thought,” which you address in your book as being perhaps not-so-new?

KS: I think we’re seeing a slow secularization of the United States, but at the same time, a growing interest in New Age Spirituality. This is a religion-like belief system for those who don’t want to belong to organized religions, yet they still see themselves as “spiritual.” This label is used by many different people, from

'God Bless America' cover, courtesy Karen Stollznow.

‘God Bless America’ cover, courtesy Karen Stollznow.

those who are religious through to nontheists. Many of these people might otherwise identify as “atheist,” if it wasn’t for the negative perception that many Americans have towards atheism.

New Age Spirituality is a kind of do-it-yourself belief system for those who want to pick and choose their beliefs. It’s best exemplified by late “psychic medium” Sylvia Browne’s motto, “take what you like and leave the rest behind.” However, the “New Age” isn’t so new, but is an eclectic mix of religions and philosophies, including Buddhism, Christianity, and more modern theories of psychology, self-help, paranormal beliefs, and alternative medicine.

CS: In the final chapter of your book, you talk about Quakers who continue to participate in Quaker communities while also maintaining a naturalistic worldview. This phenomenon occurs in other communities as well, such as the American Jewish community, where a significant majority see no conflict between being a nontheist and being Jewish. Do you think that nontheists will become more accepted in other religious communities in the U.S.?

KS: There is a big difference between conservative Quakers and liberal Quakers. For this latter group, Quakerism is a charitable community as much as a religion—after all, it is also called the Religious Society of Friends. They believe that a person can have a direct experience with God, whatever “God” is to the individual.

For nontheistic Jews, I think identifying as Jewish is more about heritage, history and culture than religious belief. Voodoo adherents often see themselves as Catholic by religion and Voodoo by cultural identity. Nontheism is also compatible with Buddhism, where nontheists adopt the philosophical elements but not the religious ones. I’m one of those nontheists who enjoy the occasional Catholic mass for the pageantry and the wisdom of the more humanist aspects of the sermons.

As for other religious communities accepting nontheists, there are numerous possible outcomes. Conservative religious communities are more inflexible and will be less likely to welcome nontheists, unless they’re willing to convert. More progressive religious communities might become more accepting of nontheists, although nontheists will only be attracted to religious communities that allow more metaphorical interpretations of religious views, and offer useful philosophies and opportunities for creating positive social change. Ultimately, nontheists won’t want to become involved with most religious communities because of their focus on spiritual rather than secular matters.

Earlier today, an excerpt of Daniel Loxton’s review of Alom Shaha’s The Young Atheist’s Handbook was published at Religion News Service. Loxton’s full review appears below.

YAH Biteback Cover JPEG“I remember the first time that I ate bacon,” begins The Young Atheist’s Handbook. This was a small moment, back when author Alom Shaha was waiting tables at a breakfast buffet. And yet, accepting a joshing co-worker’s lighthearted dare to taste bacon was also a “momentous, pivotal moment in my life, requiring courage, strength, and determination,” for Shaha was raised as a Muslim. “It might not be an exaggeration to say that some Muslims would rather die than eat pork,” he reflects.

“I wanted to try bacon,” Shaha writes, “not just because it smelled good, but also because I wanted to commit this act of rebellion against the religion I had been brought up to believe in but had largely rejected.” He instantly loved the flavor, which was diminished only by the “visible disgust on the face of one of the other waiters, a friend of mine and fellow Bangladeshi, who took his religion a little more seriously.”

What is it like to be the sort of person who recoils in disgust from the thought of consuming a crispy strip of sizzling, savory bacon? I have no idea. My mouth is watering simply from writing the word. To be repelled by bacon is to be situated within a physically different experience of the world. I might almost ask what it is like to be a bat.

As I’ve tried to absorb this slim, unusual, wonderful book, my thoughts have returned to again and again to challenge of empathizing with the lived experience and diverging perspectives of other human beings.

The Young Atheist’s Handbook is not in fact a handbook, but a personal memoir. Alom Shaha is a London-based science teacher. He was born in Bangladesh and raised in the UK. Some aspects of his life—his Muslim upbringing, his experiences as an immigrant confronted by racism and religious bigotry in his new homeland—are quite far removed from my own background as a sandy-haired Canadian raised by hippies in the Pacific Northwest. Other facets of Alom Shaha’s life, such as the challenges of atheism and the joys of geek-culture, are as familiar as the back of my hand. And in still other sections, The Young Atheist’s Handbook brought the shock of unexpected recognition—the feeling that another human being can understand a central, secret part of my lived experience, even though they were not there.

Structurally, the book is both simple and complex. Shaha tells his own story in roughly chronological order, with eight snappy chapters unified by themes such as “Being Good,” and “God is Love.” Those looking for the atheist book genre’s standard arguments for non-belief and the expected critiques of religion will find them, presented in an uncommon way. These are sewn throughout his narrative, an informal thread of philosophical reflection upon the joys, frustrations, and tragedies of his own life. Shaha describes this approach with characteristic frankness: “While I have touched upon some of the philosophical arguments for the non-existence of such a deity…I don’t think I have much, if anything, to add to these arguments—at least, nothing that you couldn’t find in a hundred other books, or simply by googling ‘arguments for and against the existence of God.’”

It is a book of remarkable honesty and vulnerability. The atheist subculture is macho in its way, especially online. Against the theatrical bluster of the blogosphere, Shaha has the confidence to unselfconsciously tell us he kisses and apologizes to books he happens to step on. He describes the transformative power of romantic love, argues that “religious love can be the same thing”. He writes about childhood prayers to wake up in Narnia; reveals that he cried during the movie The Crow; tells us about the eyeliner he wore as a goth. He has a tattoo in honor of his mom.

Within 20 pages of chuckling about the bacon, Shaha’s story had me in tears. His mother was, by his account, a wonderful woman consumed by something she couldn’t control. “My mother’s presence in the world,” writes Shaha, “was enough to make me feel safe, protected. When she was well, it was evident in everything she did that we were the centre of her universe: it shone through in the way she fed us, bathed us, held us.” But this woman was unmade, swept away from the children she adored by severe mental illness. Sometimes her sickness manifested as melancholy; sometimes, as something even more frightening. As Shaha matter-of-factly describes it, “the trauma of her psychotic episodes is still fresh in my mind, including one incident in which she dangled my newly born brother over the balcony of our flat. When a psychotic episode took hold of her, her behaviour would become increasingly erratic: she would become sexually disinhibited and, eventually, so violent that she would need to be locked up.”

These passages struck me like lightning. This is a story of crushing familiarity for me, and I suppose for many children of families broken by severe mental illness or addiction. “You can imagine how terrifying it was for us to see our mother in this state,” he writes, and indeed one might try—but I don’t really have to. I’ve seen such a descent into madness myself, tried in desperate futility to stop it with prayer and love, felt the terror and loss and sorrow. My family hid our sorrows as best we could, isolated by the knowledge that it would be difficult for many people to relate to our shared experiences. For Alom Shaha to try to communicate his family’s story when I am not willing to make the same attempt—not in print—strikes me as moving and brave. I admire his disclosure very much.

After a long struggle with “all sorts of medical problems,” Shaha’s mother died. He was 13 years old. He remembers racing, too late, into her hospital room; he remembers being caught in the arms of a Bangladeshi relative:

“Your mother is no more.” That’s a precise translation of her words: “Your mother is no more.” I remember emitting some sort of feral yell, crumpling to the floor, and crying so hard that it hurt. … I was inconsolable then, and I am still inconsolable today. Nothing that has happened in my life since that moment, nothing I believe and nothing I know, can provide consolation.

The Young Atheist’s Handbook is warmed throughout by its empathy, and here we see into its heart. “This is why I suspect that I am in some way predisposed not to believe in God,” Shaha reflects, “because God is the only thing that could have provided any solace. Death gives birth to Gods; without death, there would be fewer Gods, if any.” The consolation of religion is not available to him. This does not make him blind to its value in the lives of other people: “Just as religion can provide some people with answers to the question of how the world is, it gives some people a sense of meaning, solace, and happiness—and who am I to cast judgement on that?”

Shaha is highly sympathetic to those who face bigotry or suspicion because of their perceived membership in some group of Others. His break with Islam could not be more complete (“I am a kafir, an infidel, an apostate”) but he carries with him the lived experience of racism and bigotry, poverty, and the difficulties of living as an immigrant, a person of color, and a member of a distrusted minority faith. “The sting of the word ‘Paki’ is one of the indelible memories of my childhood,” he recalls, with a note of tired frustration for those who hear such utterances as “just words”:

The meaning of these words is deeply imbued with a notion of racial hatred that is hard for some people to imagine, simply because they have never and can never experience such racism for themselves. For example, there is no word that I know of for white people that can make them feel, and indeed believe, that they are inferior by design.

But the immigrant community in which he was raised was not set apart merely for the color of their skin, but also by their minority faith. And while naked racism may be less commonly voiced than it once was (one can hardly imagine a modern London police officer calling a child “Paki,” as happened to Shaha), Alom portrait by Desfear and distrust of Muslims has only become more mainstream in the years since 9/11. “Just as the racists I grew up with saw all brown people as being the same—that is, inferior—Islamophobes today see all Muslims as the same,” he reflects. This isolates Muslims, exposes them to violence and hate, constrains the horizons of their lives. The Islamophobia accepted and perpetuated by our culture and media must for many, Shaha writes, “have the same devastating effect that racism had on me as a child. To me, it is an issue of human rights: I worry that many Muslim people in the west now feel like second-class citizens because of their religion.” Bigotry toward western Muslims pushes them toward a transnational Islamic identity (and in some cases, radicalization), creating barriers in their home countries “that only compassion and empathy will break down.”

This perspective is especially vital given that well-known atheists have proclaimed, “There is no such thing as ‘Islamophobia.’ This is a term of propaganda designed to protect Islam from the forces of secularism by conflating all criticism of it with racism and xenophobia.” As a former Muslim, Shaha’s more direct perspective differs:

Although I am an atheist, I nevertheless find it distressing that people can be contemptuous of all Muslims based on their own prejudices about what it means to be Muslim. Some atheists are guilty of this ideological categorisation, too, and it bothers me that some of those who really should know better feel that Muslims and non-Muslims cannot, by definition, get along. I suspect this is a point on which I differ from many more-hardline atheists, but perhaps my own experience of being judged for my skin colour has made me acutely sensitive to such judgements being exercised upon others.

Confronting Islamophobia does not insulate Islam from criticism, but instead creates the opportunity to criticize Islam justly:

I think that it is important for people like me, who are critical of some aspects of Islam, to be clear that our criticisms are not founded on the same racist assumptions [of Islamophobes], or motivated by the same kind of thinking. We can be critical of the ideology behind Islam, as well as the way in which it is sometimes practised, without being critical of those who believe in Allah or attend a mosque. People often unfairly conflate the two and, as a believer in human rights and justice, I find this abhorrent.

Shaha’s compassionate, pluralistic approach to faith and non-belief make The Young Atheist’s Handbook an inspiring, engaging read. It’s one of very few offerings in the atheist book genre that I’d feel comfortable recommending to a wide audience of believers and non-believers alike as a way for each to understand the other better. (Chris Stedman’s Faitheist is another.)

And yet, for all his book’s gentleness, Shaha is not a pushover. Nor is this an agnostic book. Though he understands as a science teacher that empirical science is unable to resolve non-empirical faith questions such as the existence of God, Shaha firmly claims the word “atheist.” This is a “deliberate attempt to use it as I think it should be used in the modern world—not as a scientific term, but as an identity label that signifies important beliefs.” It is a label with political implications; an identity Shaha takes on as a moral duty. “I feel that it is important for people like me to be ‘out,’” he writes, “because there are not enough such people from a Muslim background who are willing to be open and honest about their lack of belief in God, and this makes it difficult for young people from these communities to be who they want to be.” (I’ve likewise openly described myself as an atheist for over 20 years, though I have no particular fondness for the baggage-heavy label. When members of a distrusted minority declare themselves openly, they help to carry each other’s burden.) Moreover, though Shaha is a pluralist who defends and values everyone’s right to ask great questions and find diverging answers without shame or fear of bigotry, he is also an evangelist for his own views. He rejects the suggestion that “religious and superstitious people are simply ignorant or stupid,” but nonetheless believes that “the human race as a whole needs to outgrow religion”—or at least move beyond the more repressive forms that religion can take:

I have something in common…with religious proselytisers of all stripes. I feel that it is deeply unfair that some people may never experience the joy of knowing that they can lead a perfectly happy life, full of meaning and purpose, without God. So, despite my best efforts to be reasonable, empathetic, and understanding about religion, I cannot end this book without this simple statement: I believe that the world would be a better place if there were more atheists, if a greater proportion of the world rejected religion and embraced the view that we humans can make a better, fairer, happier world without God.

This moral intuition and sense of evangelical calling are points of difference between Alom Shaha and I. Twenty years ago I believed, as Shaha believes, that the world would be kinder and saner with more atheists; moreover, I felt that this made it a moral virtue to try to shake people out of their faiths, even if this had the unintended consequence of reinforcing negative stereotypes against atheists as hostile and intolerant. I don’t believe that anymore. Or more precisely: I don’t know whether humanity would hypothetically be better off without faith, but I’ve come to feel that denouncing and opposing religion mostly just makes the world worse—for atheists, and for everyone. Atheist activism, dominated by a confrontational anti-theism that too easily shades into anti-religious bigotry, has largely talked me out of my belief in disbelief.

My sense of alienation from movement atheism has been almost as complete as Shaha’s from Islam. There just doesn’t seem to be a place in atheism for atheists who are friendly or even merely indifferent toward other religious viewpoints. Or rather, there wasn’t until the emergence of newer, pluralism-oriented voices such as Alom Shaha’s. In these, I see atheist activists who are better positioned to challenge anti-atheist bigotry, voices who can more accurately represent atheists like me in the public square. Perhaps paradoxically, it may be just such inclusive, compassionate voices that atheist evangelists should be looking toward if they truly do wish to swell the ranks of self-identified atheists. It’s often ruefully acknowledged that only a small fraction of de facto atheists are willing to associate themselves with the term. There are no doubt many reasons for this, but I can speak to one of them: the constituency of people living without Gods is much broader and more varied than the ideological belief that religion ought to be opposed.

In speaking to this wider complexity of non-believers, The Young Atheist’s Handbook succeeds where a thousand anti-religious polemics fail: it makes me feel a rare little spark of atheist pride. By telling his tale, Alom Shaha breaks down the entrenched dichotomy between compassionate, pluralist atheism OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA(“accommodationism”; Humanism) and assertive, evangelical atheism (“confrontationalism”; New Atheism). He shows us that all these can exist in the same heart. This is a testament to the power of story, the power of the personal. When he shares his hopes and sorrows with us, we share the journey of a fellow human being—as alien, as familiar, and as beautiful as any other lived life.

Daniel Loxton writes for Skeptic magazine, where he is the Editor of the kids’ section, Junior Skeptic. His books include Abominable Science! (with Donald Prothero, for Columbia University Press) and the Lane Anderson Award-winning Evolution: How We and All Living Things Came to Be (Kids Can Press).

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I hope this should be immediately obvious, but it is not okay to exploit the death of a 12 year old child to score a cheap point against religion. It’s troubling that this is something I even need to say, but Terry Firma and the commentariat at The Friendly Atheist seem far too eager to pin the suicide of a 12 year old child on her belief in heaven.

Here are the facts on the ground, as relayed by Firma and reported in unsourced UK tabloids:[ref]and I use the words “facts” and “reported” liberally. Funny how standards of evidence seem so low when it comes to things we want to hear…[/ref] a 12 year old girl killed herself, ostensibly distraught by the 2009 death of her father. She left a note that said “Dear Mum. Please don’t be sad. I just miss daddy so much, I want to see him again.”

Firma writes:

But the account also confirmed for me that the idea of heaven can be both comforting and toxic — make that deadly — at the same time. If Maria’s head hadn’t been filled with nonsensical ideas about heaven, where it’s all about the posthumous family reunions, she’d probably be alive today.

Her death is the somewhat prettier equivalent of the Islamic suicide bombers who think they’ll go on to great rewards in the hereafter.

Religion kills.

Let me start by pointing out that we have no reason to believe that any of the reported information is true. Reporting from an unsourced tabloid isn’t something we should accept as reasonable evidence for anything, and neither a google news search of the 12-year-old’s name nor a reverse image search of the photos in the article turns up any sources apart from the UK tabloids and blog commentary. I’ll resist the urge to rant at length that religion is not specially bad and atheists are not specially rational, evidence-sensitive, or less susceptible to the problems they point to in religious believers.

But let’s grant for a second the tabloid-reporting that The Friendly Atheist now apparently takes part in. None of that, if true, would change how factually inaccurate, sensationalist, and exploitative every sentence of Firma’s commentary is.

Even if someone leaves a suicide note detailing their wish to spend eternity with their father, there is no good reason to suppose they killed themselves for religious reasons. It’s telling that Firma looked at a 12 year-old so hurt by her father’s death 4 years prior that she killed herself not as indicative of, say, clinical depression, but rather the asinine and melodramatic conclusion that the belief in heaven—cue dramatic music as I vom everywhere—can kill.

It’s hard to determine causation from a sample size of 1, since there are a host of different causes that might produce the exact same data we have available (i.e the suicide note). Firma says that this girl would still be alive today without the belief in heaven, but there is no way at all to know that—people readily and often construct post-hoc narratives to explain their feelings and behavior, and it’s entirely possible[ref]read: much more likely than the idea that she just killed herself because she believed in heaven and wanted to see her dad again.[/ref] that the child was suffering from an intense mental illness and simply used the death of her father to rationalize the grief, despair, or hopelessness she was feeling. It would make no sense to pin the blame on religion when what caused those feelings to begin with was mental illness.

And again, this is all granted the story is even true and let me repeat we have no reason at all to believe that. Literally none. It’s an unsourced tabloid story that exists on the internet only as a tabloid story why do I even need to write this blog post?

Even more, there’s no way to generalize from that one anecdote to broad psychological facts like “the belief in heaven is dangerous because you might hang yourself to see your dad,” since this anecdote starkly contradicts more or less all available evidence on the relationship between religion and suicide. Religious believers are less likely to kill themselves, and study after study will tell you that.[ref]e.g.[/ref] I take it that those (sourced, not tabloid-based) facts don’t quite so conveniently fit Firma’s “religion bad, atheism good” narrative, so I doubt they’ll be mentioned any time soon.

Science, unlike Firma’s piece, isn’t based on confirmation bias and anecdotes. If we want to learn whether belief in heaven is dangerous or might otherwise cause suicides, we need to look further than British tabloids to actual patterns in behavior. Those legitimate looks turn up empty for the “look how harmful the belief in heaven can be!” hypothesis, so the melodramatic clincher that “religion kills”— in line with the rest of Firma’s writing, it seems—looks like little more than irresponsible and alarmist pulp.

Vlad Chituc is a Research Associate in a behavioral economics lab at Duke University. As an undergraduate at Yale, he was the president of the campus branch of the Secular Student Alliance, where he tried to be smarter about religion and drink PBR, only occasionally at the same time. He cares about morality and thinks philosophy is important. He has a pretty dope dog and says pretty dope a lot and is also someone that you can follow on twitter.

Sam Harris has a new article on his site that somehow transitions from “why are perpetrators of mass violence almost always male?” to “and here’s why Islam is bad.” It’s summed up with some commentary on The Friendly Atheist by Terry Firma.[ref]Terry Firma says in his bio that he has had “feature articles” published in The New York Times. I was kind of skeptical and, after a Google search and some digging around on the Times site, all I could find was this comment he left on a blog post. It’d be nice if someone could clear that up. UPDATE: Hemant clears that up.[/ref]

There’s a general tendency I’ve noticed among critics of Islam to paint themselves as the straight-talkers concerned with facts, while everyone else is just appeasing Islam while caving into Political Correctness or intellectual cowardice. But it seems like both the original post and Firma’s commentary actually seem to show how poorly supported by facts such strong anti-Islamic rhetoric actually is.[ref]Your first hint might be that Harris isn’t referencing “cancer” or “aging” or “parochial apathy toward the 30,000 children who die preventable deaths every day because of global poverty” or like, literally anything else when describing what he sees as “the most terrifying and depressing phenomenon on earth.”[/ref] First, Harris writes in his post:

Whenever I point out the role that religious ideology plays in atrocities of this kind—specifically the Islamic doctrines related to jihad, martyrdom, apostasy, and so forth—I am met with some version of the following: “Bad people will always do these things. Religion is nothing more than a pretext.” This is an increasingly dangerous misconception to have about the human mind.

The fact that otherwise normal people can be infected by destructive religious beliefs is crucial to understand—because beliefs spread. Until moderate Muslims and secular liberals stop misplacing the blame for this evil, they will remain part of the problem.

This perfectly highlights the attitude I mentioned above, while showing how almost absurd Harris’s claims are on their face. Let’s take seriously for a second the idea that specific beliefs are to blame for religious violence, and that this is a problem because beliefs spread. How would we expect the map of all suicide bombings to look, then? Would we expect them all to be bunched by geography or political conflicts[ref]As they very obviously are. lol facts.[/ref] or by where Islam has (very widely, I might add) spread?

If it’s “the Islamic doctrines related to jihad, martyrdom, apostasy, and so forth” driving such kinds of Islamic violence, would we expect to see the modern suicide attack pioneered by the (secular, nationalist) Tamil Tigers? If suicide bombers are just motivated by getting heaven-virgins and killing infidels, would we see suicide attacks limited almost exclusively to the specific, secular context of occupation? If Islam is dangerous because it’s an idea and ideas spread, then isn’t it weird that violent Islam seems so geographically isolated? Why don’t we see violent Islam in Minnesota? Or even Indonesia, the country with the most Muslims in the world but, as far as I know, no suicide attacks or regular infidel-murdering?[ref]I can’t even handle all these facts I am ignoring because of political convenience wow I wish I were as intellectually brave as Sam Harris someone teach me integrity plz.[/ref] What a dangerous misconception about the human mind, right?

Even more misleading is Ferma’s commentary on Harris’s article. Ferma writes:

How do we know that hundreds of millions of Muslim support these atrocities? That’s a key fact from the major international Pew Research study that came out half a year ago. The PDF of the full report is here, but here’s one eye-popping finding:

The survey found the global median for Muslims opposed to violence in the name of Islam was 72 percent.

So a solid majority of Muslims do not openly engage in (nor openly support) killing for Allah. 72 percent! Terrific! Except… well, what about the other 28 percent? There are roughly 1.3 billion Muslims on this planet.

Wow, with eye-popping statistics like that, it almost does seem like Islam might be a uniquely violent religion instilling cruelty in its adherents. Except that, of course, Ferma does no work at all to put these statistics into any kind of relevant or appropriate context. So let me fill in the gaps.

28 percent of Muslims in the world say that violence against civilians might sometimes be justified, sure. But how does that compare to other religious groups? What about people in the U.S.? Let’s look at some Gallup data:

So 21 percent of American Muslims say that violence against civilians is sometimes justified. But then again, 58 percent of Protestants and Catholics say the same. Even 43 percent of American seculars do, too. Compared to that, it doesn’t really seem that the 28 percent looks so bad.

Let me reiterate this: atheists in America are more tolerant of targeting and killing civilians than the global Muslim population is.

A lot of people complain about the word “Islamophobe.” If there’s something better to describe people who irrationally and prejudicially hold some religions and religious groups to different standards, I’ve yet to hear it. Until then, I think it’ll do.

Vlad Chituc is a Research Associate in a behavioral economics lab at Duke University. As an undergraduate at Yale, he was the president of the campus branch of the Secular Student Alliance, where he tried to be smarter about religion and drink PBR, only occasionally at the same time. He cares about morality and thinks philosophy is important. He has a pretty dope dog and says pretty dope a lot and is also someone that you can follow on twitter.