Of aliens and humans

James Croft occasionally thinks he's an alien among atheists. To some small extent, I can relate. I don't like chocolate, never have, yet I live in a world where so many people love chocolate that the reactions I get when people first learn this about me range from shocked disbelief to disbelieving pity. Sometimes, there's a sense that I've committed some sort of sin by not liking chocolate. I've dealt with this by deciding that loving chocolate is a sign of being an alien, and I am one of the last remaining True Humans alive. Someday, I shall find others of my kind, and we'll rise up to kick the aliens off this planet! It'll make a great movie. In the meantime, I married an alien. Go figure.

Seriously though, I'm not all that surprised that James sometimes feels alienated. While I haven't been to any conventions for atheists or Humanists, my impression of the online community suggests that sometimes individual members will fall into "hyper-skepticism," and try to out-Vulcan each other. More than that though, there's a definite widespread distrust of religious space, religious community, and religious ritual. A lot of that comes from a position that faith -- believing with insufficient evidence, or even against evidence-- is a bad thing. Some of it also comes from the negative experiences that many of us have had with religion, and the negative experiences we see continuing to happen to others. Many of us are angry. I count myself among this angry-at- and distrustful-of-religion group. I'm aware of, and acknowledge, that there are literally millions of religious people who are not using religion to directly make life worse for other people. But I still think religion is broadly harmful to humanity.

James holds with some of that, but not all of it. He told me once that he agrees that "faith has to go," and he absolutely holds Reason to be a primary value. I know he is capable of getting angry at religious groups, and individual religious people. I suspect there's some anger behind his recent post on Scott Lively. But anger isn't his foremost reaction. And as he said in his post:

I’m a choirboy. I grew up going to a religious school (the diffident, non-imposing Church of England sort of religion) and I sung in the school choir for years. I have sung my way through countless masses and services and psalms. I have become familiar, and therefore mostly comfortable with that sort of religious spaces. I love to sing, and so I have lots of positive memories associated with those spaces which have enabled me to do what I love. I haven’t had any significantly bad experiences with religion in my past

Unlike James, I've had bad experiences with religion. Taken individually, most of them are pretty minor. But in aggregate, I'd say my experience with religion ranges from bad to boring. As an example of the bad, the church I grew up with taught (and perhaps still teaches, but I haven't asked) that blasphemy is the one unforgivable sin, and blasphemy is denial of Jesus and God, including atheism. An atheist can never get to heaven, no matter how much they later change their mind and "repent." Now, this didn't actually scare me when I first became an atheist at 12 or 13. It's hard to be scared when you don't believe it. But when I was 14, I tried talking my mother into letting me go to school dances. According to that same church, dancing is a sin. In a moment of desperation, I blurted out that I was an atheist. My mother wailed. She wailed as if I had just died. She pulled the car up to the house, told me to get out, and left to see my grandfather, who was also the church pastor. We never talked about it after she came home, or after. And I avoided talking about my religious views in front of her after that, until just last year.

A little thing, perhaps. There are far, far, far worse stories out there, and in comparison I'd say I got off lucky. But the little things add up.

Moving on to "boring," James said

I’m a drama geek. My parents raised me on theatre, taking me to see plays and musicals very frequently. I spent my teenage years appearing in countless theatrical productions (this is not an exaggeration: my performance CV for my high school and college years is ridiculously long. I wonder how I found time for anything else!). I like to perform, and I have an appreciation for the dramatic – even the melodramatic. I tend to view religious services as pieces of theatre, and I’m attuned to the production values in and of themselves, regardless of theological content. I therefore find religious services interesting as exercises in dramatic production.

Clearly, we have some different experiences of religious services! A typical service at the church I grew up in went as follows: People would sit in the pews. There were three numbers listed on a board, which were the numbers of the songs to sing that day. The organ player would be playing random songs as people sat down, and when she (it was usually my godmother, Louise) started playing the first song on the list, that was the cue for the congregation to open the songbooks and sing. Some sang enthusiastically, but tunelessly. Others sang ok. Some barely sang at all. And some really didn't sing. After the first song, there would be a prayer. Then the congregation would sing the second song. After that, Grandpa or the guest pastor would give a sermon, typically lasting an hour. The congregation would just sit and listen. No call and response, just sitting. The end of the sermon was signaled by the pastor reciting the Benediction, and giving another prayer. Then the congregation sang the third and final song. And that was it. On the first Sunday of the month, there was communion. As the the congregation sang song after song (there was a longer song list that day), people would go up and kneel at the altar, and receive the bread wafer and shot of wine (red, of course) along with a couple of Bible verses ("This is my body . . ."). Once you had your turn at the altar, you could head to the cafeteria. There was usually pot luck.

See? Boring. Mom would poke me if I started snoring during the sermon. As an exercise in dramatic production, um, . . . it wasn't. That's what always comes to mind when I initially think of religious service. That's what I subconsciously consider "normal" church.

I like theater. I love musicals. And I really enjoy melodrama musicals at Mantorville Theater. If you're not familiar, a melodrama is a play that is deliberately melodramatic, has corny jokes, and requires audience participation. The audience is encouraged to cheer for the hero, boo and hiss for the villain, sigh winsomely for the heroine, and laugh long and loud. Maybe someday I can actually have a schedule that would let me be in one of the plays.  But I think I'll always have a hard time with the concept of religious services as dramatic productions. Still, I think I can see how James might see it that way. I'm given to understand that other religious services are not like the ones I grew up with.

And now to the part where I'll admit to some small envy of James. He said

I get swept up in things. I am emotionally very open and allow myself to be emotionally affected by those around me. I cry buckets through movies, can’t help but sing a tuneful song, always find myself tapping my feet to music. I've even found myself waving my hands in the air during religious services! To me, this is perfectly natural – I find it hard not to do it. But I do understand that other people react differently.

 Yes, I do react differently. As I mentioned in my previous post,

Much of my childhood and teen years was spent deliberately suppressing my reactions to negative emotions. I had no true friends, and was the target of much teasing, even bullying. I was angry, depressed, suspicious, suicidal, etc. I tried hiding all of that behind a blank facade and misdirection. It's possible this learned response has carried over into positive emotional experiences as well, despite my efforts to unlearn much of it and be more open about my emotions.

In addition, my first introduction to Reason as a value was via Star Trek, and the character of Mr. Spock. I was a young kid (maybe seven?) when I first saw Star Trek: The Original Series, and I loved his preference for logic and using intellect to solve problems.  I'm a lifelong geek, and in Star Trek: The Next Generation, my favorite character was Data. Do we see a pattern? The painful experiences of my childhood gave a young me plenty of reason to try emulating Mr. Spock's suppression of emotion.

But. But but but. I am not a Vulcan or an android. Somewhere in my teen years (I think--could've been my early twenties) I realized that emotions are part of us, and that they're a good part of us. Suppressing them is (wait for it) illogical. Spock eventually accepts emotions in Star Trek: The Motion Picture, and Data gets emotions in Star Trek: Generations. But though I've worked at opening up more, I rarely find myself swept up in things. Sometimes I'd like to be swept up more, but it doesn't happen often.

Things that have swept me up: local performances of "A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum" and "Rocky Horror Picture Show," (wish I had video of the local shows-ah, well); hot candle wax poured on my body (yay! Endorphins!); and visiting Lost River Gorge & Boulder Caves on my honeymoon, because holy shit! CAVES! Do you know how cool those things are??

Things that have made me tear up: "Schindler's List," and songs like "Where've You Been?" by Kathy Mattea

Where am I going with this? I'm reserved. Generally speaking, I'm happy to be reserved. Sometimes, I envy those who, like James, can readily be swept up in their emotions. I typically enjoy it when I'm able to "cut loose," and fully experience the range of human emotion, with tears and laughter and wide, bright eyes and childlike giggles as I crawl through a boulder cave. Yet, when it comes down to it, I would not choose to be like James. I like myself. And I completely agree with him when he says

I don’t think my positive response to these sorts of religious ceremonies and rituals is necessarily problematic, and it certainly doesn't represent any softening of my atheism. But it may carry dangers: I may be less astute to the dangers of communal activity like ritual and ceremony than others simply because I enjoy it, for instance. There’s the opposite potential problem too, though: that one’s dislike for such experiences encourages rejection of them when they might in fact have value.

I do believe there are potential dangers to communal ritual and ceremony, but I also think that my instinctive distrust makes it harder to see the possible value in them, value they probably do have--if done with an eye toward the risks. And while James might be an alien (I bet he likes chocolate, too), if Star Trek taught us anything, it's that the alien perspective can very often be a valuable one!

Talking with James Croft

It's been a while since I did any serious writing, and what gets me back to it? I get to have a dialogue with James Croft, of the blog "Temple of the Future"! This is my initial post in that dialogue. We'll see how it goes. 

Recently, James posted about his gut reactions to four different communities that he visited as part of The Humanist Institute, a leadership training program for the Humanist movement. After I read his post, "Loving and Hating Religion--Some Reflections After Visiting Religious Communities," I realized, as I told James on Facebook

Sometimes, your mind just seems so strange and foreign to me. Your gut level reactions are so different from what I imagine mine would be, that I can't help but wonder how to relate to you. And then I wonder, "am I the odd one?" For example, your description of the BJ group seemed cultish and melodramatic to me, but you don't react like that.

To which he responded

Nathan - perhaps we should find a forum to explore that question. I find it very interesting too. Perhaps there is some answer in our different histories and experiences, or perhaps it's just a difference in brute preference over which we have little control.

A few more exchanges, and here we are.

Let me quote the description of the B'nai Jeshurun Synagogue that I referenced.

Entering this gorgeous old building was like walking into a palpable wall of love. You could feel the positive energy in the air, the sense of excitement for the upcoming Kabbalat Shabbat service. People were hugging, clasping hands and bodies together, staring into each other’s eyes like long-parted lovers. They wanted to be there. 

Our guide – BJ (as it’s called, no joke) asks that visiting groups register before attending and offers a member to guide them through the service – was effusive about the value of the community, explaining its history and values with overflowing enthusiasm. Most striking was when I asked her what role the temple had played in her life: she rocked back on her heels as if I had pushed her, and tears sprang to her eyes almost immediately. “I…I…”, she stammered. “I would love to answer that question. But you’ll have to email me. I can’t…it’s too much.” She so loved her community that to think of it almost knocked her off her feet. That’s serious love. 

The service itself was wonderful: a rich explosion of music (including plenty of nigun(wordless) chant for those who didn't know the words), color, and even dance, as the audience leapt to its feet at one moment to snake around the auditorium, arms linked and feet tapping. It was awesome.

All emphasis comes from James. Rereading that description now, my initial reaction of "cultish and melodramatic" seems only slightly overblown to me, but James clearly loved being there.  Why the difference? When I look at that description, I see more than one thing that I can't seem to relate to. "..palpable wall of love." "positive energy in the air" People getting up close and personal like long lost lovers.   I don't recall ever feeling "positive energy" in the way he describes (maybe when I was going through a New Age phase?), and I've no clue what a wall of love would feel like. I love my wife tremendously, and I love my friends dearly (including ones that actually are former lovers), but I don't know if I've ever wanted to be around a particular group of people so much that I would react as the members of that community reacted. And the guide's reaction of almost being knocked over by a question? I've seen that sort of thing in books, but I don't think I ever believed I'd hear of such a thing in real life! And I can't relate to it, not even in thinking about my wife.

My wife, Michelle, is one of the best people in my life. Being with her continues to be the best experience of my life. She has literally become more attractive to me as the years have gone by (something that sounds silly, but is nonetheless true). Sometimes I find myself just stopping to stare at her, losing track of whatever thought was going through my head. She's brought tons of laughter into my life, and new thoughts and ways of looking at things that continue to enrich my life. But I would never come close to falling over just from a question about how she's affected my life. I do not believe, however, that the guide necessarily loves her community more than I love my wife.

Is it possible that I simply don't have strong reactions to experiences in a way that translates physically? This is certainly possible, I suppose, maybe even likely. Much of my childhood and teen years was spent deliberately suppressing my reactions to negative emotions. I had no true friends, and was the target of much teasing, even bullying. I was angry, depressed, suspicious, suicidal, etc. I tried hiding all of that behind a blank facade and misdirection. It's possible this learned response has carried over into positive emotional experiences as well, despite my efforts to unlearn much of it and be more open about my emotions.

Yet, when I try to imagine the experience of being at the BJ community's service, the word "suffocating" is what comes to mind, rather than any positive emotion just looking for expression. It reminds me of the images of smiling cults that one sees on TV, yes, and it sounds over-the-top, true, but it also sounds like a lot of people and noise pressing in on me, making it hard to breath. Of course, that can probably be chalked up to me not liking crowds.

Maybe James is right, and there's simply a more fundamental, hard-wired difference here. After all, I'm an introvert, while James, I suspect, is an extrovert. Or, perhaps it has something to do with how we think, and not just what we think. I think in words, always have. Other people, like my wife, or Temple Grandin (author of "Thinking in Pictures" and "Animals in Translation") think more in pictures and other sense data. Until I read "Animals in Translation," it didn't even occur to me that other people weren't using words in the privacy of their own head to interpret the world around them. I don't have the book available, or I'd quote the relevant passage. Since then however, I've had multiple conversations with Michelle that have highlighted the differences in our individual experience of thought.

For example, when I think of "Michelle," what comes to mind first and foremost are words--labels and descriptions--like "wife," "lover," "funny" "sexy" "friend" "love" "laughter" "animates the world" "occasionally frustrating" "artist" etc. My understanding of the person and concept "Michelle" is almost entirely in words. Images and non-verbal sounds are in the background, and fuzzy and indistinct (the most prominent of these would be the sound of her laughter, unless I'm horny). When Michelle thinks of me, "Nathan," what comes to mind are sights, sounds, smells, and all these non-verbal, sensory impressions that combine in her mind to mean "Nathan." At one time, we came to the conclusion that our different ways of thinking might be why I like labels, and she hates them. I see labels as descriptive, but with each label only describing a portion of a person, and not always a large portion. She sees labels as limiting and unexpressive of the real person or thing.

So, maybe there's something like that going on with James and I having different reactions. Or maybe there's a difference in our past, such as how we react to emotion, or our experiences with religion, that explains it. Or perhaps something else entirely.

Update on my friend Kyle's condition

Back on May 9th I wrote a post about my friend and brother, Kyle, who was in the hospital. This post is all about updating those wondering about his condition. His condition is good.

Oh, right. More detail. Kyle spent just over two weeks in the hospital while doctors figured out what the hell happened (or at least, close enough to treat), and dealing with the complications from vomit ending up in his lungs, and an infection or two. He actually recovered faster than some of the Mayo staff expected, likely due to his efforts in the past several months to live a healthier lifestyle. While doctors were unable to pin down exactly what caused the cardiac arrest, the primary treatment for all three of the likely causes is the same: getting implanted with a defibrillator that will zap his heart if it ever gets out of rhythm or stops again. Pinning down the exact cause would have been possible, but the doctors became convinced by one of the country's top cardiologists who happened to be visiting Mayo that week that there was no point to putting Kyle through the tests needed (basically, recreate the event) when they could treat them all with the exact same step.

So Kyle's at home now, and apparently back to doing at least some work. He still isn't fully recovered, but there's no reason to believe that he won't be eventually. It'll be a while before he's allowed to lift his left arm over his shoulder, but frankly, he's alive and on the mend. Given what doctors do know about what happened, when Kyle first collapsed he had a roughly 6% chance of surviving. He's incredibly lucky.

Kyle's attitude during all this has been one of severe gratitude. He shocked some of the staff at Mayo by going out of his way to express appreciation for all they've done for him, including the janitor who cleaned his room (side note: how sad is it that doctors and nurses and janitors are shocked when someone sincerely thanks them for what they've done?). He's been floored by the outpouring of support demonstrated by the visits, the cards, the well-wishes, the way his (and my) employer stepped up to make sure his work was being taken care of so he didn't need to worry, the money donated to his family for the medical bills (both through the fundraiser, and independently), and everything else.

And so am I. When I wrote that original post, I went ahead and begged a few bloggers (James Croft, JT Eberhard, Ophelia Benson) I'm in contact with to do whatever they could. I literally teared up when I saw they had shared that post with others on Facebook and Google+. It meant so much to me to see strangers helping out. Thank you. Thank you so much to everyone.

In a later post I'll talk about some of the thoughts and ideas that this whole incident has sparked.

Fundraiser for a true friend's medical bills

On Monday, May 7, a true friend of mine collapsed at home. The quick dialing fingers of his wife, and rapid response by paramedics, saved his life. I had just gotten off the phone with Kyle at 6:00 pm and he was fine, and at 6:25 I was in my car, breaking traffic laws to get to his house (normally 20-30 minutes away) in record time, so I could watch his 2 year old daughter while his wife went to the hospital. It happened just that fast.

While the paramedics worked on him, they were forced to shock his heart with a defibrillator several times when he went into cardiac arrest. He also vomited, and some of that vomit went down his lungs ("aspirated" is the medical term). A good chunk of the last two days has been spent trying to deal with the complications resulting from that aspiration. They've kept him on a paralytic sedative until this afternoon, because in his half-conscious state he was fighting the wires and tubes, and he needed those to help heal. The doctors still don't know for sure what the underlying cause of all this was, but they do have some ideas (forgive me for not sharing all the details--it's not my place). At the moment, it's looking like he may end up having an implantable defibrillator put in, so that if his heart ever stops again, it will shock his heart.

Kyle's professional life and passion for the past several years has been helping those people with developmental disabilities have a happier life, with as much independence as they can. For years he worked directly with adults with developmental disabilities, giving them care, teaching life skills, helping them learn to handle and navigate a world that often ignores them and their unique needs, and helping each individual become the best he or she could become. As he has advanced in his career, he has gradually focused on advocating with the Minnesota legislature and elected officials on behalf of people with disabilities. He has helped and encouraged the very people he advocates FOR advocate for themselves, and recognize that they can have a voice that is heard. Last year the Minnesota legislature was debating the new budget, and arguing about where to cut funding. Kyle went to Capitol Hill several times to talk to our elected officials, and helped organize events for people to express their voice. Human services did receive cuts in the budget, but it was not nearly as bad as it had looked like for a while, and I believe that Kyle's efforts, and the efforts of those he helped organize, contributed to that. I recall, while this budget battle was going on, chatting with Kyle in his office, and a client of the company we both work for came to his office and handed him a letter. The letter was hand written, addressed to that client's Representative. Kyle's face lit up with pride and happiness at seeing this client doing something that for her was very difficult, and letting her voice be heard. 

On a personal level, I met Kyle the first week of college, in the fall of 1999. At first, he was just a goofy guy that I liked to hang out with. But one evening someone told Kyle they had seen me in the dorm's common area, and I looked upset. Kyle came to see if there was anything he could do for me. I wasn't actually upset, as it turned out. I had been listening to someone practice the Moonlight Sonata, and was moved by the beauty of her playing. I'm not sure what that person saw in my face that they thought I was upset. Regardless, Kyle and I talked, and that was the first night that I realized this was a man of substance, a man I could be friends with, and a man I wanted to know better. No conversation I've ever had has been more stimulating than the multiple conversations I've had with him over the past 12 1/2 years. I was honored to be his best man (twice), and was honored that he stood as my best man when I got married. He was there for me when I was struggling through my Depression, and even saved my life once. He did not know what I had planned when he saw me that night, but he could tell something was wrong, and the concern he showed was instrumental in me not following through with that plan. He supported me as best he could when I was homeless, and shared in my relief when I got back on my feet and had a place to live again. When I moved from Winona, MN to Rochester, MN, he gave me a place to stay while I got a job and looked for a place of my own. And when I was unemployed and looking for work last year, he strongly encouraged me to apply at Cardinal of Minnesota, the company he works for in the disability services field, despite my fears that I could not show the level of care I would need to, the patience that is required. He saw more in me than I saw in myself, and I have never regretted following his advice and applying. It is the best, most rewarding job I've ever had.

Kyle is my best friend, my best man, my "hetero-lifemate" (as my wife calls him), but above all that, he is -in every way that matters- my brother. He is family.

Not many read this blog, and fewer of you will have met Kyle. Nonetheless, I hope you will help him. A mutual friend of ours started a fundraiser to help pay for Kyle's medical bills. I have given what I can for now, and will give more when I and my wife get paid again (we struggle to stay in the black each month). Please, will you help? He is not just a friend and family, he has been an asset to society. Please, help him and his family.

Here's the link. Fundraiser

Response to Minnesota Marriage Minute video, Episode 18

Minnesota for Marriage has another video out, Episode 18. Once again, they're abusing statistics.

Give it a look, if you haven't seen it yet.

The question they're addressing today is

“Aren’t committed gay and lesbian relationships just the same as marriage relationships?”

They, of course, conclude that there's something very different about committed same-sex relationships.

No doubt many gay and lesbian couples profess love for one another but studies of gay relationships show that they are fundamentally different than the marriage relationship.

Really? Well, let's what these studies say.

"Marriage is characterized by by a lifelong commitment of both love and fidelity. Indeed, fidelity is universally expected in marriage, however, fidelity and monogamy are fundamentally lacking in many gay relationships. One recent study by gay researchers at San Francisco State University found that only 45% of gay male relationships are based on an expectation of monogamy. Other studies have put the percentage of gays and lesbians in open relationships as high as 75%. The New York Times wrote an article about this entitled "Many Successful Gay Marriages Share an Open Secret." The article said that couples having sex outside of their marriage might point the way for the survival of the institution. Dan Savage, a prominent gay sex counselor, is an outspoken advocate of open relationships, not only among the gay community, but among married heterosexual couples as well. He says, quote, "Monogamy is ridiculous and people aren't any good at it. We're not wired for it, we didn't evolve to be. It's unnatural, and it places a tremendous strain on our marriages, and our long-term commitments to expect them to be effortlessly monogamous." This attitude by the nation's leading media and gay advocacy voices shows how redefining marriage will impact all of society. If marriage is redefined to be genderless, our marital expectations will be challenged and the norm of monogamy and fidelity will be undermined. This would have profound adverse effects on children, parenthood, social responsibility, and the public good." 

So, what's wrong with their argument? Several things. First, take a look at "Indeed, fidelity is universally expected in marriage. . ." All you have to do is look at any polygamous culture (such as some in the Middle East) to falsify that statement. Or, you could look right here in the United States. Wikipedia cites numbers of 15% of married hetero couples having agreements that would allow extramarital sex (unfortunately, the most recent study on the issue that Wikipedia cites is from 1983, and when I poked around on Google Scholar for more recent studies about hetero open relationships, I was unable to find anything useful. Perhaps someone else knows of something?).

Second, they don't actually address the New York Times article they cite (found here). They simply take it as a given that the article is clearly wrong. Some passages from the article:

The study also found open gay couples just as happy in their relationships as pairs in sexually exclusive unions, Dr. Hoff said. A different study, published in 1985, concluded that open gay relationships actually lasted longer.

[. . . ]

According to the research, open relationships almost always have rules.

[. . . ]

A couple since 2002, [Chris and James] opened their relationship a year ago after concluding that they were not fully meeting each other’s needs. But they have rules: complete disclosure, honesty about all encounters, advance approval of partners, and no sex with strangers — they must both know the other men first. “We check in with each other on this an awful lot,” said James, 37.

Notice that it's not exactly willy-nilly, sex with whomever they please when they please.

That transparency can make relationships stronger, said Joe Quirk, author of the best-selling relationship book “It’s Not You, It’s Biology.” 

“The combination of freedom and mutual understanding can foster a unique level of trust,” Mr. Quirk, of Oakland, said. 

“The traditional American marriage is in crisis, and we need insight,” he said, citing the fresh perspective gay couples bring to matrimony. “If innovation in marriage is going to occur, it will be spearheaded by homosexual marriages.”

Yeaaaaaa. . . . What's the divorce rate right now? Among heterosexual couples? Even if they can't agree with having open marriages, I suspect that an awful lot of couples could learn a thing or two about openness, honesty, trust, and communication from couples that have successfully negotiated open relationships. At any rate, Yanta did not address the reasons the New York Times said that open marriage may show a way to save the institution of marriage.

Now, the Dan Savage part annoys me for a couple of reasons. One, is it shows Dan Savage using the naturalistic fallacy when he calls monogamy "unnatural." I could just as easily say "Using chemotherapy to treat cancer is unnatural, therefore, using chemotherapy is bad." More importantly for this post however, is the implicit assumption by Yanta and Minnesota for Marriage that Dan Savage speaks for the the LGBT community. He doesn't. Yes, he's prominent. However, Pat Robertson is also prominent, but he does not speak for the entire Christian community. Even the Pope doesn't speak for every Catholic.

However, what's really wrong with this video is that the argument it makes and conclusion it draws really aren't connected. Let's assume for the sake of argument that an important quality of marriage is monogamy and not having sex outside your monogamous marriage, i.e., fidelity (note that being polyamorous, I obviously don't truly agree with that, but I'm willing to see what it does to the argument). Nothing in the New York Times article or the quote by Dan Savage, nor in the statistics quoted by Yanta, demonstrates that same-sex relationships are inherently different from heterosexual relationships. All it demonstrates is that a large number of homosexual people (and also some heterosexual and bisexual people) do not yet accept the idea of monogamy as a value. If Yanta's argument could be said to demonstrate that gay relationships are inherently different from straight relationships because a percentage of gay people are in open relationships, then Yanta's argument must also be said to demonstrate that straight relationships are inherently different from straight relationships because a percentage of straight people are in open relationships. That seems a contradiction, wouldn't you agree?

The importance of fidelity is separate from whether same-sex marriage should be allowed, and judging by the prevalence of adultery (without an agreement to be open), is a point that you would need to make to the heterosexual couples at least as much as you would to gay couples. Many same-sex couples would (and do) actually agree that fidelity and monogamy are important (25% - 55%, based on Yanta's own stats), and may very well join you in making that argument. That is, if you weren't sidelining them by claiming that their relationships are obviously inherently different from yours, or inherently wrong.

(As I was writing all of the above, another thought occurred to me. Is it possible that one of the reasons a larger percentage of gay relationships are open is precisely because gay relationships are marginalized by mainstream society? If you're being told that your attractions and relationships are wrong even though it is simply a part of who you are, and you are not harming anyone, then I would not find it at all surprising if that led to you being willing to buck society by trying out new relationship models.)

Minnesota Marriage Minute video, a response to Episode 17

Minnesota for Marriage has released Episode 17 of their Minnesota Marriage Minute video series, this time addressing the question:

Shouldn't marriage be redefined to accommodate the growing number of children of gay and lesbian couples?

Obviously, their answer is going to be "No." The interesting part is what reasons they give for saying "no," through the voice of Kalley Yanta. Yanta starts by saying that there are actually very few same-sex couples raising children, only 22% of same-sex couples in fact, using numbers from the Williams Institute at UCLA. It appears that Yanta's numbers may be out of date, actually, as the number is actually closer to 17%. The US Census Bureau (which the Williams Institute based some of it's numbers on) found some errors and revised their numbers in Sept, '11. The Williams Institute prepared a new snapshot using the revised numbers. Yanta does also use some numbers pulled from the Census data.

So, basically, when I checked the numbers and did the math, I came up with 0.21 percent of households in the US are same-sex households, and 0.04 percent of the total population is a same-sex couple raising their "own" child (which the Census defines as "never-married children under 18 who are sons or daughters of one partner or spouse (Person 1) by birth, marriage (stepchild), or adoption."). These numbers are lower than the ones Yanta uses, which of course she would undoubtedly believe strengthens her argument, which goes like this:

Why should the definition of marriage, which has served us so well, be redefined for the 99.88 percent of households, in order to accommodate the desires of the 0.12 percent? 

That's her entire argument. Well, let's consider an analogous situation. Prior to Loving v. Virginia in 1967, multiple states had laws on the books that banned interracial marriages. Just as today, we have laws banning same-sex marriage. Loving v. Virginia overturned the laws banning interracial marriage, and three years later the US Census Bureau conducted the census of the US. In 1970, the total population was 203,392,031, and the number of interracial marriages was approximately 65,000. That's a percentage of 0.031. That's less than the current percentage of same-sex couples (since same sex marriage is only legal in a handful of states, compared to interracial marriage being legal in all states in 1970, I'm using the figures for total same-sex households, not just those legally married; it's certain that many of those unmarried same-sex couples would like to be married, but cannot be legally). I don't have numbers for how many of those 65,000 interracial couples had children, but obviously the percentage of the total population would have been less than the percentage of same-sex couples with children in 2010.

So, why was it ok to redefine marriage in 1967 to accommodate the desires of 0.03 percent of the population (or less, if you just look at whatever number had children)? Equality, of course.

No matter how small a particular sub-population is, we do not have a right to deny that population equal rights with the majority. Ever. One of the strengths of a republic like America is that the minority is protected from an absolute tyranny of the majority. Or at least, that's how it's supposed to be. That's what the 14th Amendment, the 1st Amendment, and the "balance of powers" is supposed to help ensure. This is part of what the Supreme Court recognized in 1967, and why they overturned the miscegenation bans that were in place at the time.

Some thoughts on marriage

This is sort of a thinking out loud post, so I'm not sure you should expect any attempts at tight arguments. Looking into this question of same-sex marriage has me pondering: what exactly does marriage mean to me?

There was a time when I wasn't sure that I would ever get married. I'm polyamorous, but marriage is illegal between more than two people in any state, never mind what gender they are. Marriage says something pretty powerful about your commitment, and since I don't accept the idea that in a poly relationship there is such a thing as First or Second (for me-- if you're in such a relationship, and the arrangement is known by all involved and is satisfactory to all involved, I've nothing to say against it), I wasn't sure that I would get married until and unless it became possible to marry more than one person at a time legally. Yet, I am legally married.

I got married because I loved and love my wife. At the time, I wasn't involved with anyone else (nor am I currently, sadly), so perhaps that made the decision easier. But I also came to a conclusion that there was no reason to deny myself and her legal benefits and rights (like next-of-kin rights, if either of us is ever unable to make medical decisions for ourselves) that are granted to married couples. If either of us ever gets in a relationship with another that develops to a point wherein we would like to marry that person as well, then we will likely have to simply have the ceremony and accept that we don't have the full benefits of legal recognition.

So anyway, I married out of love. I married because I had this wonderful partner who brought a joy to my life I'd never really known, and I wanted to express and demonstrate that commitment to friends, family, and society at large. I wanted to share in the seriousness that people treat a marriage. When you refer to someone as "my girlfriend" or "my boyfriend," people tend to not see that relationship as being on the same level of seriousness and commitment as "my wife" or "my husband," regardless of how serious the couple sees the relationship, and regardless of how serious and committed the couple is in reality. In a similar way, I don't think people take non-legal status marriage as being of the same level as a legal marriage, which is very frustrating and hurtful to those who have no choice in the matter. If you're married (or even if you're single), how would you feel if you were hearing "well, your marriage isn't a real marriage"? Just imagine that for a while. Don't just imagine that someone is saying it to you directly, because many people aren't so rude as to say that to your face, but also imagine that it's simply something that seems a subtle, yet pervasive part of the culture (like . . . pink is for girls, blue for boys, or something). Your marriage isn't real, despite all the love and commitment you've put into it. What feelings come to you?

So, love. Commitment. Sharing with society, and sharing in society's acceptance of that relationship. There is, of course, something to the idea that if the love is there, the rest of the world simply shouldn't matter. That's true, to a point. I would still be with my wife even if society didn't accept our relationship, and I would still be committed to her. But we are social creatures, we humans. We evolved as such, and we build our society and social mores around that social nature. We're so damn social that introverts like myself often have a hard time dealing with a society that doesn't understand why we need time alone. And we're so damn social that introverts like myself still want to be a part of the social world that is society. As such, most of us who get involved in long-term, romantic, loving, and committed relationships are going to want to make that relationship a part of society by publicly and legally declaring our love in the form of marriage. I am no exception.

So that's it. That's the whole and entirety of why I got married. I found someone (who happened to be a woman) that I loved deeply and romantically, someone I was committed to, and wanted to be with for the long haul, even for the rest of my life, and she shared those feelings. She and I already recognized and knew this, but wanted to have our relationship recognized and acknowledged by society. We wanted society to know that we loved each other, and had committed to being with each other, and we wanted society to take that seriously. In our society, the way to do that is by getting married.

Our ceremony was brief, but it meant the world to us. We wrote it ourselves (with a few adaptations from a marriage ceremony book, and tradition), and wrote our own vows. We invited her eldest brother to be the officiant, and he accepted. My favorite colors are black, red, and silver, while hers are black and orange. Black, red, and silver work together a bit better than black and orange, so we chose those as our colors. I wore a black suit, with a red shirt and silver tie, and she . . . she was absolutely gorgeous in a scarlet dress that she designed herself, and that was brought to life with help from a local costume designer. We chose the music, and got a musical acquaintance who had done other work for weddings to turn our choices into "wedding sounding" music ("Paint It Black" was played in a "wedding style" as she walked up the aisle; it was great :)). She choked up during our vows, and I smiled far more than usual all day long. My best friend stood as my best man (I was best man for his both of his weddings, so he owed me one; I don't think he minded though, as he couldn't stop grinning it seemed), and another good friend stood with him. She had her sister (we forgot to tell her she was expected to give a toast at the reception; whoops) and brother standing on her side. The musician gave us a discount because she mentioned Dungeons and Dragons in her vows (it's how we first bonded). For my vows, I admitted that she was right "most of the time." At the reception, we "danced" to "Little Red Riding Hood," by Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs. I got tipsy on white wine (but was sober by the "wedding night"). And I smile now, with something in my eye, to remember it all.

Then my smile fades, because I remember why I'm thinking about marriage, and what it means to me. I've been looking into arguments against same-sex marriage, and they mostly seem to come down to tradition (which is a piss-poor argument for denying rights), religion (but not every religion agrees on the issue, and America is supposed to have a separation of church and state), and procreation. And this last is the only one that ever gave me pause, because clearly a same-sex couple cannot have children in the biological sense. But when I look at what my marriage means to me, children simply don't enter that picture. Yes, my wife and I are planning to have children. However, children are not the meaning of my marriage. My marriage will mean the same to me even if we never have children.

Why then, do we deny marriage to same-sex couples? Am I unique in my feelings on marriage? I doubt it. When's the last time a romance movie had a couple get married because they really wanted to have kids? I can't think of one; the premise of the romance movies is always love and commitment and love some more. It looks to me like this culture has accepted that marriage has a meaning built on love, and not procreation. So, why?

Why?