Camp Inquiry encourages children's skeptical side
Deep in the Holland woods, D.J. Grothe wowed a group of kids at summer camp with a series of magic tricks. Seemingly impermeable steel rings were combined and separated again; rubber bands were melded into each other; coins vanished and returned in the unlikeliest of places.
Then, Grothe, national field director for the Council for Secular Humanism, did something even more amazing: He gave away the trick, detailing exactly how anyone can do magic.
It was another day at Camp Inquiry, where instead of swapping ghost tales or learning Bible stories, children take a critical look at claims of magic, the supernatural and even religion.
The camp’s mission: Help young people “confront the challenges of living a nontheistic [or] secular lifestyle in a world dominated by religious belief and pseudoscience.”
The unusual camp, now in its third year, brings together curious children from across the country to hone their skills as skeptics and critical thinkers.
Twenty-seven campers spent the past week following in the footsteps of Charles Darwin, digging up fossils and learning how to face moral dilemmas.
Paranormal and forensic investigator Joseph Nickell, of Discovery Channel and National Geographic Channel fame, paid a visit Wednesday morning to explain away alien sightings, Bigfoot, crop circles and the Shroud of Turin.
“The best way to find the truth in such matters is the scientific method,” said Nickell, who urged kids to respond to claims, myths and urban legends by demanding proof.
The program, held in Camp Seven Hills, is sponsored by the Amherst-based Center for Inquiry, a think tank of secular humanists, atheists, agnostics and others with a nonreligious bent.
It’s a far cry from the popular vacation Bible camps regularly offered through churches.
For campers, it’s also a rare opportunity to mingle with other kids and adults who share similar skepticism about God, faith and religion.
“Everyone here understands you,” said Klaudia Drdul of Buffalo, one of the few Western New Yorkers at the camp.
Organizers don’t specifically address faith or religion in their planned programming, which also includes a variety of art, music and leisure activities.
But the topics arise frequently in casual discussions among campers. Some profess to be atheists, others refer to themselves as secular humanists, and a few say they believe in a higher power.
In her hometown of Chicago, Bria Sutherland, 14, admits, she steers clear of explaining to friends and peers that she doesn’t necessarily believe God exists.
“You don’t bring it up,” said Bria. “But here, it’s an open topic for discussion.”
Americans in overwhelming numbers say they believe in God. In the Pew Forum on Religion & Public Life’s U. S. Religious Landscape Survey, 4 percent of Americans identified themselves as atheist or agnostic. Another 16 percent said they had no particular religion.
But both of those statistics were growing, and secular humanists say those trends point to an upswing of interest in the idea of “unbelief.”
Ryan Lee, 15, of Tucson, Ariz., came to the conclusion that he was a secular humanist after his parents gave him the green light to figure it out on his own.
“They essentially said, ‘Well, what do you think?’ ” said Ryan, who said he plans to return to the camp next year.
Brothers Austin, 13, and Jordan Fischer, 12, of New York City, said they were raised Catholic and occasionally attend Mass but are encouraged by their parents to think critically about religion, as they would anything else.
“People use God as an excuse for things they don’t know,” said Austin, adding that he believes in God “to some extent.”
The brothers learned of the camp through advertisements in Skeptical Inquirer and Free Inquiry magazines, which are published by the Center for Inquiry.
“All the other [camps] are team building, physical stuff, a lot of playing. This is more intellectual,” said Jordan.
Children as young as 7 and as old as 16 are invited to attend the camp, which costs $600 for seven days.
Angie McQuaig, an elementary school principal in Augusta, Ga., enrolled her son Zachary, 7, and also assisted as a camp counselor.
“If I were to call it anything, I would call it a free thought camp, rather than an atheist camp,” she said. “This is a brain spa here.”
A transplant to Augusta, McQuaig described herself as a “closet skeptic” in the Bible Belt. She planned the trip as a respite — both for herself and her son.
The camp allowed Zachary to talk freely about his thoughts and beliefs without fear of being ostracized, McQuaig said.
“There’s really a moratorium on him talking about it at school. . . . That type of critical thinking is not really embedded in schools,” she said. “This is a place where he can talk about it.”
