Do you think there may be a leprechaun?

Following on from my recent post concerning the existence of the supernatural, I've pondered some more about how I view classifications of certain types of entities — particularly entities of agency. First, here are some supposed entities that I would class as natural or material: extraterrestrials; artificial intelligences; computer consciousness. And second, some I would class as supernatural: fairies; ghosts; gods. (Neither of these lists is intended as exhaustive.)

Natural or material entities are entities for which we have, or can expect, evidence. Supernatural entities are those for which evidence is, by definition, not possible. Supernatural entities are not susceptible to science and reason (though their supposed effects might be), so if you need to affect supernatural entities directly, you might try magic spells or other invocations instead.

If these are the only two categories available for entities of agency, then some people will accept that both categories are "real", while others will accept only one. Personally I think that the material realm is real and the supernatural isn't.

During a debate I attended on 29 November 2009 at Wellington College, on the motion "Atheism is the new Fundamentalism", the tentative wording of the Atheist Bus Campaign was brought up, and Anthony Seldon, moderating, interjected to Richard Dawkins, "Does that mean there may be a God?"

Dawkins replied, "There may be a leprechaun."

Lord Richard Harries took extreme offence at this. "You can't let Richard get away with that. That's a ridiculous remark. You cannot confuse the God of classical theism, which has animated the whole of western philosophy, with a leprechaun."

"Why not?" asked Dawkins. "Why not?"

The video clip is here (there's a general discussion of agnosticism vs atheism, and the wording of the Bus Campaign, but the above exchange begins at about 6'50"):
http://youtu.be/ea1r2FIW6xQ


Harries' umbrage illustrates the fundamental conceit of theological thinking. By taking the existence of the deity as an unquestioned presupposition, theology has built up an intricate and largely impenetrable cat's cradle of obfuscation. However many billions of words have been written on the subject, at bottom there's no evidence that the object (God) of the subject (theology) actually exists. It's all so much hot air, with a degree of reality exactly on a par with a leprechaun.

Why Dawkins gets a bad rap for his books

Anyone who has actually read a book by Richard Dawkins knows that he writes with transparent clarity. And that's his undoing, as far as his detractors are concerned. If a book has a provocative title — The God Delusion, for instance — persons of a certain predisposition will be predisposed not to read the book itself, and will rely on others to tell them what the book contains. TGD was even described by one detractor as a "barely literate diatribe" — which is so far from the truth one can only wonder if this person read even a single sentence of it.

Dawkins is an educator. His books are written mostly for a lay audience, and he takes care to be precise. This is particularly noticeable in his latest, The Greatest Show On Earth, where he elucidates, in detail, the overwhelming evidence for the fact of evolution. After reading TGSOE, no-one of moderate education or intelligence can fail to have an understanding of why evolution explains how we came to be here.

That his sentences only need to be read once in order to glean the meaning therein, unfortunately counts against Dawkins when he is read by someone used to grappling with the obfuscations of theology. Dawkins' writing is so clear by comparison it can be dismissed as simplistic, superficial or shallow — when it is nothing of the kind. Clarity is the enemy — indeed the antithesis — of theology. That's why the likes of Terry Eagleton and Karen Armstrong dislike it so much.

Clarity is often, as Dawkins himself has noted, mistaken for stridency, militancy and shrillness. If people accuse Dawkins of being strident, militant or shrill, you can be sure they've not read his books or heard him speak. His message is clear — and if his detractors understand it (as they must, if they understand English), they have only one way to attack it — by attacking him. They interpret his clear message as an assault on the intricate convolutions of theological navel-gazing. In the face of Dawkins' exemplary clarity those who resort to such ad hominem attacks can be justly labelled shrill, militant or strident.