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problem with defining faith as “an attitude about things we don’t know” is that it functions in exactly the same way as an attitude about things we do know. From a critical perspective the question is, “How can an attitude that does not have sufficient justification to warrant belief work in the same way as an attitude that flows from actually having sufficient justification to warrant belief?” And the straightforward answer is: it cannot.
Because people adopt this kind of attitude it’s therefore fair game to call them on this and say, “You are not justified in this assurance or conviction that you have. And the fact that you are not worried about it shows that you have not aimed your intellectual honesty at this attitude—in fact, you seem to be afraid or unwilling to do this—when the honest thing would be to say, ‘My faith is not like knowledge, it is not justified, but is something else … maybe (charitably) a choice.’”
An alternative definition of “atheist” is: a person who doesn’t pretend to know things he doesn’t know with regard to the creation of the universe.
Some noted atheists, like American historian Richard Carrier, view atheism as an identity (Carrier, 2012). Others, like Horseman Sam Harris, do not. My opinion is that self-identification as an atheist is a personal choice. (Personally, I’m more interested in balancing my home and work lives, or in getting a full night of sleep.)
I am frequently asked if atheism is part of my identity. My answer is always, “No.” As odd as it may seem, given this book, my career, and my speaking engagements, atheism is not a part of my identity. My lack of belief in leprechauns is also not part of my identity. I don’t define myself by what I don’t believe or what I don’t do. I don’t do a lot of things. I don’t practice tai chi. The lack of tai chi in my life is also not part of my identity.
I do not define myself in terms of opposition to other people: I don’t refer to myself as an atheist even though the vast majority of people do not consider themselves atheists.
When friends who are atheists come to our home, we don’t sit around talking about the fact that there’s insufficient evidence to warrant belief in God. We also don’t talk about the fact that we don’t do tai chi. I don’t identify as an atheist because nothing extra-epistemological is entailed by the fact that I do my best to believe on the basis of evidence. Neither my reasoning nor my conclusion about the probability of a divine creator means I’m a good guy, or I’m kind to my dog, or I’m a patient father, or I have an encyclopedic knowledge of science fiction, or I’m fun to have at a party, or I am good at jiu jitsu. If “good critical thinker” were to be substituted with “atheist,” then perhaps it would be clear that atheism entails nothing beyond the fact that one doesn’t believe there’s sufficient evidence to warrant belief in God.
Whether a person is an atheist or a believer is immaterial with respect to morality, and yet, moral ascriptions are frequently made to atheists and to the faithful. For example, currently there’s a (hopefully) short-lived movement called Atheism+. Among Atheism+’s tenets are social justice, support for women’s rights, protesting against racism, fighting homophobia and transphobia, critical thinking, and skepticism (McCreight, 2012). The problem with this is, as Massimo Pigliucci writes, “a-theism simply means that one lacks a belief in God(s)… . That lack of belief doesn’t come with any positive position because none is logically connected to it” (Pigliucci, 2012). Many people try to make atheism into something it’s not. Atheism is not about racism, homophobia, or not practicing tai chi; it’s simply about not having enough evidence to warrant a belief in God. Atheism is about epistemology, evidence, honesty, sincerity, reason, and inquiry.
Finally, perhaps because I don’t view atheism as an