“Definitionally” An Evisceration

Sam Harris purees Sullivan's metaphysical slush:

Now let me briefly address your primary charge of "intolerance." The sentences that you appear to have found most troubling are these:

Anyone who thinks he knows for sure that Jesus was born of virgin or that the Qur'an is the perfect word of the Creator of the universe is lying. Either he is lying to himself, or to everyone else. In neither case should such false certainties be celebrated.

What if I told you that I am certain that I have an even number of cells in my body? What are the chances that I am in a position to have actually counted my cells (there are on the order of 100 trillion) and counted them correctly? Would it be unfair (or worse, "intolerant") of you to dismiss my assertion as either a product of self-deception or outright dishonesty? Note that this claim has a 50% chance of being true (unlike claims about virgin births and resurrections), and yet it is patently ridiculous. Some claims to knowledge-even about facts that have a high order of probability–immediately brand their claimants as intellectually dishonest. Please forgive me for saying that it is extraordinarily obvious that neither you, nor the pope, nor any other Christian is in a position to know that Jesus was actually born of a virgin or that he will one day return to earth wielding magic powers.

Apart from the concession that he needs faith in order to cope with the harsh reality of life — which would of course give away the game of religion's smoke-and-mirrors deception — there's really no way for Sullivan to respond without seeming a perfect fool.

Evelyn Waugh was an empurpled nasty, but he could be quite funny about his adherence to Catholicism when he wanted to. Recall his most autobiographical fiction The Ordeal of Gilbert Pinfold, particularly the lines:

The tiny kindling of charity which came to him through his religion sufficed only to temper his disgust and change it to boredom. There was a phrase in the 'thirties: "It is later than you think," which was designed to cause uneasiness. It was never later than Mr. Pinfold thought. At intervals during the day and night he would look at his watch and learn always with disappoint how little of his life was past, how much there was still ahead of him. He wished no one ill, but he looked at the world sub specie aeternitatis and he found it flat as a map; except when, rather often, personal annoyance intruded.

That's how I like my believers. "Fuck off, you should see me without the Christ-love." Infinitely more palatable than the easy-listening ecclesiastics of the St. Sebastian of the right.