Atheism vs Spirituality and the Democracy of Knee People

Last night, towards the end of a very long car trip, "Egbert" suddenly asked me, apropos of apparently nothing, after a long period of silence, "do you consider yourself to be spiritual?"

I thought for a second and then answered that I did--did he? "No, I'm an atheist, remember?" I suggested that one could not believe in god yet still believe in the existence of spirit. He then asked if I considered myself an atheist--which I sort of do, in that I don't believe in a deity, or an entity that is "god" --but, I also believe that it's ultimately unknowable and so in that sense I'm agnostic. Then again, I have a complicated belief system that includes a sort of interconnectedness of spirit (on which concept he has not registered an opinion). Egbert's stated belief is that if there was a god, he would have shown himself to us by now. (I decided not to complicate things by discussing the many ways in which many people have believed that this "showing" has in fact occurred.) We have talked about god many times in different contexts, and his consistent position (except for a few weeks after his father managed to convinced him he was wrong) has always been that there is no god (however, he does believe in ghosts, so his empiricism or materialism or whatever it is has its limits).

Poor Egbert is his school's token atheist. It's a public school, in which everyone is religious--his homeroom teacher even prays during the "moment of silence." He's been told many times by other kids that he's going to hell for not believing in god. He's become a sort of freak exhibit--kids dare each other to ask him if he believes in god so they can be titillated by his answer. And (aside from the several other ways in which he appears to his classmates to be weird) he also doesn't recite the pledge of allegiance.

Because he attended Montessori school through second grade, Egbert had never heard of the pledge of allegiance till third grade. I had completely forgotten about this ritual and didn't think to talk to him about it before the first day of school. It wasn't till I dropped him off at his classroom, and was walking out of the school and heard it over the loudspeaker that I remembered. That evening I asked him about it. He said he had stood with everyone and listened but didn't know what was being said. I explained and he decided he didn't want to recite it. I didn't (honest!) suggest that he not recite--I left it completely up to him, telling him that it was his choice whether or not to recite and he was required by law only to respectfully sit or stand during the recitation.

I thought it interesting that Egbert would independently decide not to recite the pledge, since I stopped saying the pledge when I was a kid--at some point, I think perhaps second grade, and certainly by third (last grade I completed),  I check in with him about it sometimes, because I don't want him to feel he must maintain a position forever if it becomes burdensome; but, despite some ribbing he receives, he still stands firm. (I suppose we're both stubborn or perverse enough to be more unyielding when opposed.) We did actually compose an alternate pledge--one which we felt we could recite wholeheartedly: "I pledge allegiance to the people of the United States of America, and to the Democracy for which we stand, one nation indivisible, with liberty and justice for all."

It's interesting to me also that he is willing to out himself as an atheist, when his atheism has cost him some friends over the years, even before his current religious environment. In first grade, he had a friend whose family were free-will Baptists-- Egbert told him there was no god, which did not go over well. I explained that he couldn't tell people that, for two reasons: first, for people who do believe in god, denying his existence is hurtful to them. And second, it was as epistemologically wrong to say that god doesn't exist as to say that he does--since god's existence can be neither proved nor disproved scientifically, either belief is a matter of faith, not fact. Although he understood this, and modified his position from "there is no god" to "I don't believe in god," it didn't help save his friendship with his very best friend in first and second grade, a Lutheran (although it's possible this loss may have had as much to do with him teaching his friend to sing Mme Thenardier's part in "master of the house," which I was rehearsing at the time for a concertized version of Les Mis).

During the car trip, prior to thinking deep thoughts about spirituality, Egbert entertained himself by filming a series of "knee people" videos. The knee people are characters created by filming one's knees wearing hats and/or glasses while providing voices for their commentary. The knee people live in a country called the Democracy of Knee People, and like to eat gingersnaps (just in case you ever entertain them, and want to know what to serve). The knee people don't seem to struggle with their cosmic views, apparently unaware of the fact that they're only a small part of a larger sentient organism...

UPDATE: in middle school, a substitute teacher got angry because Egbert was not reciting the pledge. (As per state statute, he usually stood or sat quietly and respectfully as everyone else recited.) The sub ordered Egbert to stand in the hall as punishment, then yelled at him that if he wasn't going to respect the flag he should leave the country. These wacko jingoistic authoritarians...

Inaugural Celebration Concert

After agonizing over whether or not to go to the inauguration, I settled on a compromise-- the pre-inaugural celebration at the Lincoln memorial. In the event, it didn't feel like a compromise: I ended up feeling that I had chosen the right event to attend.

Since I was able to find very few and very incomplete descriptions of the event prior to going, I didn't really know what to expect. Was it just going to be a rock concert? A huge party? Would Obama speak? The issue was clouded even more when my son, "Egbert," woke up vomiting several times in the middle of the night. When I called my friend in the morning to tell her I wanted to delay our start so Egbert could take a shower and eat breakfast and then see if he was holding things down and feeling okay enough to brave the weather, travel and crowds, she thought we just shouldn't bother: we were getting too late a start, it wouldn't be worth it, there would be too much traffic, she couldn't find anything saying Obama would even be there. We decided to get off the phone and go online (yeah, we both still have dial up) to see if we could find out more. I found an item on the official website that said Obama would kick things off. I called her back and talked her into it.

We picked her up and drove up to the first metro station, at Vienna. There was no place to park in the lot, and there were lines in the metro station, but this was the first indication that there would be any real crowds (Rt. 66 was clear, and while signs announced that it would be closed ahead, we were getting off the road well before that). We found a space easily in the parking garage, though, and were able to bypass the lines (which were for the farecards as it turned out). We got into DC with a minimum of hassle. Once on the mall, we began to get a sense of the occasion, as thousands of people were streaming toward the memorial. My friend hadn't dressed warmly enough, so we tried to buy her a sweatshirt from a vendor, but most had only tshirts (we did find one later). We moseyed along, as we had plenty of time before things got underway, but when we got to the secure perimeter, it had just closed (they closed it early because of the crowds--it looked as if there was still plenty of room inside, but I think they felt they couldn't handle the swarms of people wanting to get in). The closing of the perimeter was itself confusing, because people kept going out, and we'd see more people going in, but military guards kept telling us it was closed, so we gave up. (The only nastiness of anyone that day that I saw, was a couple who began loudly complaining about this). We walked around for a little while, trying to see where we could get a good view of the memorial, but as things got underway we ended up at a jumbotron near the WWII memorial--the closest one outside the perimeter, which meant we couldn't see the memorial at all, as there's sort of a dip there. The crowd was packed in like sardines, and occasionally couples and groups of people would move through the crowd, holding hands and holding their bodies sideways--we'd lean against the people behind us and hold our breaths so they could get by. It was hard to tell exactly when the event started, as they were showing things on the screens beforehand, and then Bishop Gene Robinson gave some kind of invocation--the sound was muffled you couldn't hear much of it, so we weren't sure if it was part of the event at first or not (later we learned that part wasn't broadcast on TV). When the announcer told everyone to "please remain standing for the national anthem," everyone in the crowd laughed, as of course, packed in as we were, no one could have sat down if they'd wanted to.

As the event began, we realized it was going to be a real celebratory event, not just a concert. The performances were about the occasion, not about the stars' egos, and the speeches and readings were meaningful and thoughtful. People danced, clapped and sang along. The woman directly behind me screamed when Obama came out, but screamed longer and louder when Denzel Washington took the stage. I pointed this out to her and we all laughed--it was that kind of day. My friend and I got tears in our eyes several times (Egbert didn't, and decided that this meant that he's "not an emotional person").

The whole event felt very uplifting and unifying. Denzel's reiteration of the "we are one" theme was reflected by the shared connectedness. People helped others to stand and balance on the jersey barriers for a better view, and then to get down. They were patient, and shared information. They smiled sympathetically at crying babies.

One instance of that group cooperation I didn't at first understand: I observed from a distance a fire truck parked on the closed-off 17th street between us and the reflecting pool, with three firefighters standing on top. They were constantly taking photos--without stop. At first, I could only guess they were taking pictures of everyone in the crowd in case something happened, but since they just seemed to be pointing and clicking that didn't make much sense either. My friend thought they were just taking photos of the event for themselves, but that didn't make much sense: they'd have had dozens of rolls of film or memory cards of the same scene.

When our joints began to ache from standing for so long, we decided to walk around and see if we could get a different view, and as we approached the firetruck, we saw what they were doing: since they had a better view than those of us on the ground, they were taking photos for people with their cameras. Dozens of people stood around the firetruck, cameras held aloft, and each firefighter would take a camera, click a few shots toward the memorial, turn around and click a few toward the monument, bend down to hand that camera back and grab the next one. For over two hours, they did nothing but take hundreds of photos with hundreds of cameras. I hadn't brought my camera, because I couldn't find the film I thought I had, and though I had originally planned to stop and pick some up, when our start was delayed, I scrapped that plan. Today, of course, I found my film (in the basket with the lentils and beans, naturally!) But, it didn't really matter, as my friend is a professional photographer and brought her camera bag with her.

Up by the monument it was easier to see the memorial. The way it was lit inside made it hard to tell if you were seeing Lincoln inside or some stylized black-and-white banner hanging from the columns. We finally decided it was the actual statue but looked weird from the lighting (which, looking af the photos on WaPo's website today, cast double shadows on the wall behind). The jumbotron speakers didn't do the best job of amplifying the sound--you had to be in the right spot, and sometimes the sound seemed to fade in and out. It also wasn't synchronized with the video very well--and especially when Obama was speaking, it was disconcerting to see his mouth move and then a few seconds later to hear what he'd just said.

After Obama was done, Pete Seeger and then Beyonce finished things up with "this land is your land" and "America the beautiful" (respectively). By then we were walking away, tired and cold, towards the National Gallery (where we got some hot chocolate and saw Franks' "The Americans" exhibit), but we could still see and hear as we passed the jumbotrons along the way. As it happened, taking time out to go to the gallery enabled us to miss the worst of the crowds leaving the mall. The metro was packed but manageable, and people were sharing their perceptions and experiences on the train. We made it home (stopping at a Five Guys on the way) around ten, excited, happy and exhausted.

"what gives me the greatest hope of all is not the stone and marble that surrounds us today, but what fills the spaces in between. It is you - Americans of every race and region and station who came here because you believe in what this country can be and because you want to help us get there." --President-elect Barack Obama, January 18, 2009.

Santa Claus: the controversy

A recent essay in the WaPo discusses the Santa controversy--apparently some parents hold that santa belief is akin to child abuse. Please! I always believed in Santa and I turned out OK (well, IMHO. You may have your own view). Actually, I believed in all kinds of magic, including the idea that I could communicate telepathically with animals and inanimate but personified objects (ie, cars), until I was at least 12. Egbert is almost eleven and still believes in Santa, but his faith is wavering. He's been questioning. He even contemplated this year setting up an elaborate security system with video cameras to catch Santa in the act. Luckily, we don't have a video camera or he'd probably have set it up, complete with laser tripwire (he does have one of those). Surprisingly, he didn't ask if he could use the video on my macbook. Maybe it's better in this situation to bemoan the things you know you can't have? Maybe he isn't really ready for the answer? However, he has been spending a lot of energy on it: recent discussion sessions have been held on the following topics: "do you think Santa is a real person or more like a burst of energy?"; "who is Santa, anyway?" and "Where does Santa live? I mean, you'd think Arctic explorers would have found his workshop by now."

A few years ago Egbert suddenly announced that the tooth fairy wasn't real: "the tooth fairy is YOU, Mommy." I responded with incredulity: "what? you think I fly through your window at night just to put some money under your pillow? I don't even have a ladder that high!" He replied that, of course, I didn't need to do that--I could just walk across the hall. But I didn't answer that and he didn't push it. He also recently announced that he no longer believes in "mommy magic"--and he tried testing me on my mind-reading abilities (okay, they're not as impressive as they were a few years ago). As it happened, a friend called me in the middle of this test to say she couldn't meet me as we'd planned as she was sick. I told her to go to bed and drink some tea, and she said she was drinking some at that very moment. "See? I knew that she should drink some tea, and she was drinking it!" He looked at me pityingly: "That's not mommy magic. That's great-minds-think-alike." (On another occasion, he scornfully derided my suggestion that I knew something through mommy magic by saying it wasn't that, but "emotional intelligence," that gave me the insight.)

As far as the question of whether Santa is an actual person or a burst of energy, I responded that I thought both. "You mean, he's a burst of energy that turns into a person when he comes down the chimney?" Yeah. Something like that.

Elections--then and now

Egbert and I were very excited about the outcome of the election. He is a quick thinker and before the election when a classmate remarked that Obama was not experienced enough to be president, Egbert pointed out that the minimum age to be president was "35, not 75."

On the day of the election, I was driving through my congressional district visiting polls and checking that there were no problems. It was a great day--raining constantly, but with Democrats everywhere full of an excitement I've not seen before. I called my mom and told her I thought Obama was going to win Virginia, just based on that excitement. I also spoke to Egbert, who told me he felt happy and sad at the same time: happy because he thought Obama would win, but sad because he might not.

I remembered the day after the election in '04-- Egbert refused to acknowledge Bush's win. He was sure that Bush hadn’t won the election, but was only “winning” it, as he said the votes from all the people in the whole country can’t be counted in one day. He even said, of his Bush-supporting teacher, “won’t Alma be embarrassed when Kerry wins?”

Back then, he said that there was no point in protesting against the war, because the war would only end when “George W. Bush” is no longer president. Even George W. Bush doesn’t know what it would take to change his mind, he says. He had Bush pegged as someone who never changed his mind, even when proven wrong on an issue: When he would change his own mind about something, and was called on it, he'd say wearily, “look, I’m not George W. Bush, ok? I do change my mind sometimes.”

Bob Frapples, Dr. Pepper and Mr. Pibb

My son and I often engage in silly word play that (I think) is hilarious and quite clever, for a ten-year-old. On Sunday, for instance, he suddenly announced that when he grew up, he would change his name to Bob.

He said he wanted to change it because his first name, "Egbert," is too unusual. I suggested he could go by his middle name, "John," instead, but no--he would continue to use his given name for now, and change it to Bob at age 18. He asked if I knew any people named Bob, and I said I only knew bob for apples. "Who is Bob Frapples?" I explained the whole apple bobbing thing, and he decided that (a) he would change his name to Bob Frapples and (b) he wanted to bob for apples at his 11th birthday party. Which, he then said, ought really to be called his 12th birthday party, because, besides the 10 birthday parties he's had so far, there must have been one on the day he was born. He was a little peeved to learn that there hadn't been. Why wasn't there a party on the day of his birth? Wasn't it a joyous occasion? I didn't go into the whole cesarean-section-recovery thing, but explained that newborn babies don't like loud noises or crowds of people. And besides, they can't eat cake. --What? Why not? --Because they can't eat solid food. --Well, what do they eat, then? --Uh... what do you think they eat?

As he approaches puberty he's becoming more and more leery of anything potentially having even tangiential sexual content, so he wasn't going to go there. He thought for a minute and said, with an air of making a wild guess: "Pibb Extra?"

This sent us off (for some reason) onto a whole tangent about Dr. Pepper and Mr. Pibb. We decided they were the soda equivalent of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. And therefore Pibb Extra was... the most hideous version of Mr. Hyde... er, Pibb?

Well, I guess you had to be there. The weird thing is that I don't know that Egbert has ever had any Mr. Pibb, and he's certainly never had Pibb Extra, whatever that might be. But, today, on the windowsill upon which I force (through guilt) my coworkers to place their aluminum cans that they are too lazy to recycle (I do it for them) I saw an empty Pibb Extra can. Coincidence?