Against Specialization, Especially Religious
PZ Myers posted yesterday in response to Andrew Brown’s whining about the so-called “New Atheists.” Brown makes the following complaint:
They are none of them philosophers and, though most are scientists, none [of the New Atheists] study psychology, history, the sociology of religion, or any other discipline which might cast light on the objects of their execration. All of them make claims about religion and about believers which go far beyond the mere disbelief in God which I take to be the distinguishing mark of an atheist.
Myers rightly points out that Brown has stacked the deck:
[H]e seems to have neglected a few rather more prominent names, which damage his premise rather severely. Where’s Dan Dennett? Shouldn’t he have been named right there with Dawkins, Harris, and Hitchens? Perhaps because he is a philosopher, he isn’t really a New Atheist. And what about A.C. Grayling? He always seems to be vociferously godless, and he certainly ought to qualify.
But there’s another problem with Brown’s argument, one that Myers addresses only briefly: “Philosophers do not have a monopoly on social, political, or intellectual issues, so it is rather irrelevant.” In other words, why should only academic specialists in philosophy, or in “psychology, history, the sociology of religion” (or whatever Brown means by “any other discipline which might cast light on the objects of [the New Atheists'] execration”) get to “make claims about religion and about believers”? How does he determine that only these certain subjects (and that circularly-defined catch-all) can “cast light” on the relevant issues? This, I think, is a much deeper and more troublesome problem than the blatant dishonesty of leaving known atheist philosophers out of the mix.
This is the trouble with our specialist society. While specialization allows people to delve deeply into complex problems that are best examined in narrow fields, it also breeds the popular and contradictory beliefs that (1) specialists are the exclusive masters of their domains, (2) non-specialists, or specialists from other domains, can never offer valid, useful, or insightful perspectives about subjects where specialists work (i.e., no one except another specialist in the same field can evaluate the work of a specialist), and (3) we should nevertheless automatically evaluate specialists in other fields to be telling the truth.
First, if the religious defenders’ factual claims about the nature of reality hold any water, then there is no way that religious specialists can be the exclusive masters of their domain. If an enchanted world is a day-to-day reality, then the work of academic religious specialists would mean almost nothing at all. If you want to have faith or experience God, you shouldn’t need a specialist. (On the other hand, if the psychological benefits of certain actions can be obtained by following a specific set of instructions and practicing them repeatedly, the way some meditative systems work, then having a specialist who can instruct you in these practical matters would be a good idea.)
Second, one of the bigger problems with these ideas about specialists is that, especially for a field like religion, they create a self-reinforcing, almost tautological system that, for utterly stupid reasons, insists that its core principles cannot be validly criticized by people who disagree with its core principles. So we see religious specialists claiming that non-specialists have nothing worthwhile to say, not because the specialists have satisfactorily addressed, evaluated, and dismissed the criticisms offered by the non-specialists, but simply because the critics are not specialists. For example, I have encountered quite a few adherents of Christianity who will confidently dismiss just about any criticism of their religion on the grounds that, after two-thousand years of theological ink-spillage, every possible attack has been sufficiently parried. How else, they argue, would Christianity have survived so long? The critic just needs to study more—i.e., the critic needs to become a specialist. This is just laziness.
On the other hand, atheists and other critics of religion could do a much better job of rooting out the silliness of religion where it lives, by seeking out the most sophisticated and intellectually tempting arguments of religious adherents, engaging them fully, and offering a satisfying discourse in rebuttal. While there are certainly strong and satisfying arguments that underly the rhetoric of the “New Atheists,” religious people are obviously not going to do their homework and work out these structures on their own. But maybe the anti-religious forces just need a new synthesis. And why shouldn’t it come from someone with a non-incestuous, non-specialist perspective? Why would religious people shun the wisdom of the outsider view? Anybody who produces something—writing, art, engineering schematics, manufactured goods, whatever—can tell you the value of getting “another set of eyeballs” on your work. When you fail to step back and get a different perspective, you lose track of reality. But for religious people, apparently, flatly refusing to step back and get another perspective, after thousands of years of intellectual inbreeding, is one of the highest virtues. It’s time they come off it.