These last few weeks, I've gotten a lot of questions about my newest tattoo -- a portrait of Abraham Lincoln on my right shoulder.
"Why Abraham Lincoln? Is it because there are rumors he was gay?" Well, no, but I do appreciate the opportunity to make a Gaybraham Lincoln pun, thank you.
"Why Abraham Lincoln? Do you want to make sure everyone knows that you really hate slavery?" Wait, was there ever a question about my stance on slavery?!
"Why Abraham Lincoln? Is it because you're a hipster, and hipsters have beards, and he had a beard, and he was tall and skinny and wore a weird hat -- so he was, in a sense, kind of the original hipster?" ...What?
"So, why Abraham Lincoln?"
These kinds of questions aren't terribly unexpected (well, okay, maybe those specific examples were). Every time I get a tattoo, the first question I get is "why?" But the investigation is always imbued with a tentative urgency, as if the asker is presenting a deeply personal -- almost rudely penetrating -- question. The inquiry always feels a bit loaded, as if I'm expected to answer with the most consequential, most sacred reasoning imaginable. It's as if only something life-or-death could be worthy of permanently etching into one's skin; as if tattoos should be confined to homages to dead relatives or to religious iconography. To be sure, a tattoo is a significant commitment, and not one I take lightly. But once you pass a certain number of tattoos, it can be easy to forget that they are a big deal to a lot of people.
I don't mean to suggest that my tattoos aren't a big deal to me. In fact, I cherish all of them -- I've even come to appreciate the one with the Bible verse that I got shortly before I stopped believing in God. But I was particularly excited about this one for two reasons: it marked the completion of my right arm sleeve (pending some additional detail work on some of the pieces), and it is an acknowledgment of the work I've dedicated myself to.
Illustrated by my friend Grant Hanna, the tattoo is a profile of Abraham Lincoln situated in a tortoise shell frame, surrounded by stalks of rye, draped with a banner that reads: "Take the great high road to reason." I pulled the imagery for this concept from one of my favorite quotes, taken from a letter Abraham Lincoln wrote to Henry L. Pierce and others on April 6, 1859:
If you would win a man to your cause, first convince him that you are his sincere friend. Therein is a drop of honey that catches his heart, which, say what he will, is the great high road to his reason, and which, when once gained, you will find but little trouble in convincing his judgment of the justice of your cause, if indeed that cause really be a just one. On the contrary, assume to dictate to his judgment, or to command his action, or to mark him as one to be shunned and despised, and he will retreat within himself, close all the avenues to his head and his heart; and tho' your cause be naked truth itself, transformed to the heaviest lance, harder than steel, and sharper than steel can be made, and tho' you throw it with more than Herculean force and precision, you shall no more be able to pierce him, than to penetrate the hard shell of a tortoise with a rye straw.
I employ this quote nearly every time I speak on my work as an atheist and Humanist community organizer and an interfaith activist. (For more on this, see my most recent blog post, "Do Atheists Belong in the Interfaith Movement?") I use it because I believe it articulates the importance of engaging those with differing worldviews in a respectful manner; in a way that treats them as intellectual equals and as fellow human beings.
As an atheist who lives in a culture that privileges religious expression, I believe that anti-atheist attitudes will be overcome through invested relationships with the religious, not combative shouting matches. As an interfaith activist, I've experienced the benefit of such relationships firsthand -- over the years I've had countless opportunities to educate religious people on the challenges I and other nonreligious people experience, have given them reasons to advocate for our dignity and respect, and have in turn been challenged to reconsider some of my beliefs about religion.
I firmly believe that if atheists wish to convince more religious individuals of the justness of our cause and bring an end to conflict rooted in religious fundamentalism and anti-atheist discrimination, we must identify our religious pluralist allies, approach them with respect, and ensure that they are invested in our mutual best interests. Once this is done, we can move into identifying other shared interests and work together to end oppression and suffering in the world.
These thoughts coursed through my mind as I lay flat on my back on the second floor of a warehouse-turned-artist-loft on the west side of Chicago, staring at the ceiling, drenched in sweat, dehydrated and delirious. I was visiting Chicago earlier this month for a couple speaking engagements and a dear friend's wedding, and I couldn't pass up the opportunity to visit my tattoo artist. Crouching over me, my friend Serena worked up a dedicated sweat of her own, pressing ink into me and rubbing Vaseline over my increasingly tender skin. As Serena went over lines she had already tattooed near my armpit for a second time, I squeezed my eyes tight and bit my lower lip. Ouch, I thought. This really, really hurts.
And yet the pain always seems worth it. The momentary discomfort is an investment in something lasting. As in interfaith dialogue, it can be painful to step outside of one's comfort zone, but it is a worthwhile endeavor because, in my experience, the consequences are enduring.
The decision to get a tattoo is an intimidating commitment, but it becomes easier each time I do it. As I've continued to develop in my approach to religion, I have found myself more and more able to make such sizable commitments in other contexts. We all bear the mark of the history that precedes us -- I've just made this mark literal.
I credit the opportunities I've had to wrestle with religion and engage the religious with equipping me to navigate the difficult choices of life; and like the people and the stories I have encountered, this ink will always be a part of me. To me, this tattoo is a stake in the ground, a permanent nod to the public and personal gravity of cultivating productive and respectful relationships across lines of religious difference.
I hope people will continue to ask about the tattoo; that it will engender dialogue. My commitment to engaging with people of diverse worldviews -- to bringing my full self into an act of encounter with another, and inviting them to do the same, with the hope that together we might contribute to the erosion of the kind of "us versus them" thinking that permeates inter-identity conflicts rooted in religious and secular identity around the world -- is as enduring as the ink now residing in my right shoulder.
My tattoo finally finished, I hugged Serena and was bandaged and sent on my way. Sitting down in a blue plastic CTA bus seat, I sent a picture of the tattoo to my mother in a text message, accompanied by a typically terrible pun: "Drawn-est Abe L-ink-on!" At one time, each new tattoo was cause for a groan and a lecture -- though she took me to get my first at eighteen, she began to express some concern after I got an outline of a capybara inked on my left forearm after college -- but I think she has come to embrace that getting tattoos is a meaningful practice for me. Still, she hadn't expressed outright excitement at any before this one.
"I love it!" she responded in a text. "But why Abraham Lincoln?"
I smiled and picked up the phone to call her. After all, these things are best explained in a conversation.
Do you have any tattoos that have a special significance for you? Please share in the comments!
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Eliot Daley: Welcome, Atheists. But, Really, Why Are You Here?
Yes, reminds me of the time I went out for "one drink" and woke up in Singapore with a tattoo and full beard.
PS. Maybe I'll finally get that tattoo of Einstein.
So I decided to tattoo my ring on my finger. I got two simple black rings with the infinity sign in the middle.
Dual meaning for me but the infinity of my marriage and also that the infinity symbol is a often used as an atheistic symbol.
No I don't, for the reason that you gave before, I don't want to have to come to terms with some permanent thing I have etched on my body, for a fashionable, temporary reason. Support your atheism though :-).
But since I don't wish to get into a fight with people who aren't like my friend... I'll just say this: You have a tattoo of a capybara, too? That's awesome! I like remaining un-inked, but if I got anything, it might be a gryphon. I have a cousin with a Care Bear on her.
What is the atheist cause? I don't think I got the memo.
It will always be an us vs them experience and that is exactly what atheists attempt to set up. The atheists will win converts, slow but steady, but they will never have nothing to offer that is enduring, eternal, other then heartache and suffering.
They have a temporary band-aid to a pre-existing wound, but no cure. Some of us will figure that out, others won't. They will be wowed by the atheists magic show, until at last they figure out that the only thing they ever had to offer was just dust, and it doesn't sparkle.
. . . and the religionists will always have nothing to offer.
Very nice article, and as someone with many tattoos myself, i get the sentiment you have behind them, as mine are maps of my life in many ways.
though I have to disagree with the above quote. I nor any any of my friends who are atheists are interested in convincing and religious people of the justness of our cause, because, what "cause" is there in being an Atheist? I sure have no cause motivated by the fact that i don't believe God(s) exist. It's actually very benign. I feel the ONLY thing that will convince the religious that there are no invisible men/women/animals in the sky creating and controlling our universe, is a great rise in RATIONALISM across the world as well as more parents start telling their children the truth, that no one knows, but most likely there are no such things as God(S).
I'm not even sure why an Atheist would be involved in an interfaith movement. It takes no faith to be an atheist.
What do you think the role of sustained, rigorous critique is in the dialogue you hope to offer? There is something between a shouting match and hand-holding, after all!
I see a tattoo as a much more permanent way to do this, not everyone can troll hp during the work day so body art would be a way to have this conversation without a blog ;-)
But the fact is that the Southerners weren't interested in Lincoln's friendship, nor the justness of his cause. They wanted to secede, so that they could keep their slaves.
And so Lincoln beat them into submission. That's why slavery in the US is no more.
Getting full civil rights required the same treatment. MLK and countless others extended a hand of friendship, only to be spit on, beaten, jailed and killed in response. And so the segregationists had to be beaten into submission via the passage of the Civil Rights act, and the enforcement of it.
We've spent a lot of time and calories trying to befriend those who want to impose a Christian theocracy upon our country. I'd rather we shout at them, and beat them into submission by passing laws such as NY just did, then try to reason with them about that which they are not willing to reason about.
In all seriousness, I think this may be your best piece on HuffPo yet. The style is very similar to your book excerpt, and you just dominate with those Greg-awful puns.