Ad infinitum -- Even a nonconformist needs a support group
By Joe Barron -- (Montgomery Newspapers - PA)
July 30, 2008

As the clouds gathered and the rain fell Sunday afternoon, I sat in the darkling pavilion at Fort Washington State Park, eating veggie burgers and salad with a group of people brought together by their lack of belief in a God.

It was the picnic of the damned - literally, depending on one's theological attitude toward unbelief.

Emily Brosius, a resident of King of Prussia who sat on the bench next to me, recalled her mother telling her, "I'm never going to see you again if you don't come to heaven."

Her mother still holds out hope she will see the light eventually, Brosius said, but given the amount of intellectual reinforcement she found at Sunday's picnic, a reconversion seems unlikely anytime soon.

They went by many names: atheist, agnostic, freethinker, rationalist, skeptic, humanist. The nuances might strike an outsider as obscure, but they are probably no finer than the difference between, say, a Presbyterian and a Congregationalist.

The picnic was organized by the Greater Philadelphia Coalition of Reason, an umbrella organization established to put nonbelievers in touch with the group most congenial to them. The participating clubs are the Humanist Association of Greater Philadelphia, the Freethought Society of Greater Philadelphia, the Philadelphia Atheists Meetup and the Secular Society of Temple University, with support from the American Humanist Association, Freethought International, and Atheist Alliance International.

It appears that, as with cars and soft drinks, America is about choice. I never knew there were so many atheist societies, and it never occurred to me to think about it.

Since I left my own church 35 years ago, atheism has seemed like a kind of negative space. Defining myself by what I didn't believe hardly seemed like a solid foundation for a friendship, let alone membership in a club. To my mind, it would be like joining a coalition for the non-Swedish. \ Once everyone agrees on their non-Swedishness, what's left to talk about?

As a reporter, I have learned to keep most of my opinions to myself, and in doing so, I've become friendly with many people in Springfield who live happily beyond my cultural frontiers. Yet we all need and seek out like-minded company, the feeling of security that comes that is found only in a group of sympathetic people. Outside of my immediate family, most of my friends share my interests and outlook, and, if they don't like the same music I do, they must at least learn to tolerate it.

Perhaps it is legacy of our tribal past, but human beings value conformity, and when we run into anyone who stands in opposition to the group, we demand explanations. Like any intellectual minority, nonbelievers learn quickly how to defend themselves, even to the point of bluntness, and Sunday's picnic brought me in contact with the most articulate group I've had the pleasure of meeting in a long while.

Barry Dancis talked about the historical relationship between religion and science, which, he said, has turned to antagonism only within the past two centuries, with the rise of science as an independent profession. Then I spoke with Javier Pazos of the Kensington section of Philadelphia - of all places! - who faulted utilitarian ethics because, he said, they can be used to justify the torture of prisoners.

I had trouble with some of the self-advertising. In the age of T-shirts, we can turn ourselves into billboards for the cause of our choice. I have stopped wearing tops with text and photos, but many of Sunday's picnickers proudly displayed their philosophy on their chests. "I am your friendly neighborhood atheist," said one.

Monica Jones of Delaware wore a bright red T-shirt emblazoned with the word "atheist" in white script. I asked her if she was being deliberately provocative. She was only trying to provoke thought, she said, and in any event, Christians are comfortable wearing religious jewelry.

She has received only one negative reaction to the shirt, she said, when a woman gave her a memorably dirty look at a shopping mall, but most reactions, when they occur at all, have been positive, and Jones' experience seems to be shared by the secular community at large.

Martha Knox, director of the humanist society, told me the voice messages on her organization's phone run about 60 percent for and 40 percent against. She has received anonymous calls calling her an idiot, but no direct threats, she said, and she has never felt herself in any danger.

Pazos chimed in that statistically, Knox would be more far likely to die in a car accident or be struck by lightning. There it was again - the kind rationality I find so attractive. It was only a small example, but it betokened a larger attitude: the willingness to limit discourse to what we can know, and a sense of comfort with the world as it is.

I've never been a joiner, and I doubt I'll be signing on with any humanist group, but I would like to see some of these picnickers again, No doubt I will, although, if the believers are right, the venue will not be nearly as pleasant as a park pavilion on a Sunday afternoon.