Four weeks from today will mark the beginning of Winter Break. Four months, Spring Break. And just four days separate us from starting to "give thanks"-Thanksgiving Break, that is.
During a time when names like "Christmas" and "Easter" have proven themselves too exclusive, Thanksgiving somehow managed to escape from the specific religious associations that doomed the two former companions on university calendars. After all, no matter how it began, a holiday that's literally about "giving thanks" wouldn't seem to place anyone at the risk of becoming an outsider. It's possible to be thankful even without a god--which is crucial, since it's no secret that quite a few people in universities have foregone exactly that.
A place like ours is one of few where a topic like atheism can be raised seriously, yet even here, the discussion about who (if anyone) is "getting our thanks" isn't without its own sort of uneasiness. Atheism as a religious ideology-or, perhaps, lack of ideology-gets an unusual reception insofar as, a person's mere announcement of atheism is often taken as an accusation.
Bring almost any two sorts of believers on campus together and, no matter how much they may differ, they're unlikely to see any major reason to distrust one another.
But any sort of meeting between the atheist and believer has to deal with another layer of complication. In this university community, whenever belief clashes with unbelief, the issue usually isn't about whether the atheist "can have morals" or is blasphemous; today, it's suspicion of condescension that causes problems. One side is conscious of being typed out as "naA_ve" or "stupid," and the other as "lacking imagination" or being "cold-hearted."
Today, if we were to debate the specific merits of different faith doctrines and deities, our speculations would almost certainly end in irresolvable reflections on a person's circumstances, upbringing, etc. But a debate over belief or unbelief threatens to dig up sensitive questions of a more invidious kind-over qualities like a person's intelligence, maturity or even courage. And few people enjoy feeling like they're held in secret, sneering contempt.
This fear of contempt also springs from the very structure of atheistic disbelief itself. Disbelief works through negation. When presented with any statement of belief in a god, the atheist must, if pushed for an answer, admit that he finds cause to deny it. The theist is, self-evidently, a walking statement of belief in a god. Hence, by no more than declaring atheism, the atheist has, in some sense, set himself against and denied the believer his god.
Technically, a similar denial would also have to take place on matters of specific doctrine between the members of two different religions. But because most believers here tend to concern themselves with the positive nature of their own beliefs, and they hold the largest answers in common, conflict doesn't rear up so quickly. In contrast, the atheist's position may appear to the theist like more of a (negative) statement about the theist's beliefs than any sort of independently founded idea. The result? Guards are immediately raised-on both sides.
This thought experiment's exact outcome would depend somewhat on our understanding of atheism, but it would seem fair to state that atheism and theism involve a psychological dynamic of confrontation that is stronger than that between particular faiths.
But writing at such length over a subtle tension overshadows how smoothly the majority on campus has dealt with it. This ability to tolerate apparently fundamental differences is nothing particularly new; college environments have long diminished the emphasis on "correct" beliefs in favor of their practical effects.
A 1923 essay titled "Religion and the Young Generation," written by a Williams College professor, notes that "The old-fashioned prayer-meeting has indeed been given up.... [Students] spend evenings teaching English or arithmetic to newly arrived immigrants, or their Saturday afternoons directing a Boys' Club, or they study social conditions with a view to the betterment of society and prevention of evil." Looks like we'll always have more in common with our grandparents-and great-grandparents--than we think.
Yet if many of us, believers and non-believers alike, have managed to coexist so well, it may be precisely because we know about grandparents-which means, we know how long it takes to get there, how much the conditions and quality of life can change, how atheism is still something of a joke during idyllic college years, how faith is still largely untested, and how on most days, especially Thanksgiving, these distinctions matter very little.
Philip Sugg is a Trinity junior. His column runs every other Friday.
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