Author: Martin Hughes

Imagine we’re eating a meal you prepared for me.  You’ve slaved away at it, hard, all day, and finally, that evening, it’s done. It was expensive, made to impress – the best meal you’ve ever made. You’ve brought champagne, expensive champagne glasses, your finest silverware, and your best crystal.  We sit down to eat the delicious meal you’ve prepared, and before you begin to eat a bite, I lift up a finger, as if there’s something we have to do first.  Out of respect, you sit there and wait.

“Thanks Jack!” I say brightly to the wall with a smile.

You’re confused.  “Who is Jack?”

“Oh, he’s the guy who made this wonderful meal.  Isn’t that incredible?  Jack really outdid himself tonight.  I mean, sometimes I’m not sure, y’know – but somehow Jack always comes through.  I mean, thank you, too, for the food.  But I have to thank Jack first, because, after all, he did most of the work.”

“But,” you say, somewhat insulted, “I made the food.”

I begin to look a bit taken aback, and then I recover. “I don’t understand why you’re so angry at Jack, unless you think he really did make the food and you want to take all the credit.”

“It’s not that,” you insist. “It’s just that…I worked to prepare this meal for you and you’re praising someone else for it who doesn’t even exist.”

I bristle. “Stop insulting Jack. He worked really hard on this meal, and I’m not going to just sit here and take this rebellion against him.  I mean, you don’t even believe in him. So why would you even care?”

___________________________________________________________________

Suppose you’re getting married, and you’re sitting across the table from a good friend of yours.

“So, the date is March 16^th. You’re invited.  Can you make it?”

“I don’t know,” she says.  “I’m going to have to talk to Jack about it.”

Then she starts talking to someone beside her, but you see no one there.

“Hey Jack, can I come to [your name’s] wedding.”

She listens patiently.  Then she looks back at you.

“Sorry.  Jack said your marriage isn’t a real, genuine marriage, which means I can’t come. I just can’t celebrate things Jack doesn’t approve of.  I love you, though.  I’m not judging. It’s just…Jack doesn’t approve.”

“What the…who the hell is Jack?” you ask.

“Oh,” she beckons to the empty seat next to her. “This – this is Jack. He is my moral and spiritual leader.”

You’re flustered. This is your best friend. “Lemme get this straight.  You’re not going to come to my wedding because your imaginary friend – “

Immediately your best friend looks flustered. “How insulting,” she says. “Why are you calling him imaginary?”

“Because he’s not real!  You’re making up –“

She is turning red. “DON’T CALL HIM AN IMAGINARY FRIEND. You may not respect him, but I do.”

You’re a bit frustrated and disgusted, and it shows on your face as you sigh in frustration.

“I don’t understand why you’re so frustrated,” she says. “You think Jack is an imaginary friend.  If you really think that, why does he bother you so much?  Something for you to think about.”

She looks beside her and talks to the empty spot. “Jack, can you help my friend understand how wrong they are?  They’re so lost and angry at you.”

By this time you’re done. “Forget it.  If you don’t want to come to my wedding because of Jack, I don’t care.  Just forget it.”

She looks at you sadly.  “Some people are just angry at Jack.  I don’t know why.  He loves you; he just has standards.”  She looks at the empty spot beside her, “Follow my friend, [your name], Jack.  Help them see the light; be on their mind constantly.”

You shake your head and can’t help but smile; she’s so sincere, and it’s just and empty spot.

She catches you. “Please don’t mock Jack. He’s very important to me; he is in charge and has dominion over every area of my life.”

___________________________________________________________________

You’re a voter, and you’re passionate about the upcoming election. There’s an awesome candidate who has integrity and, you’re convinced, could be the best President of the United States in history.  Extraordinary in every way you can fathom; he fits your ideals perfectly.

This is the first time you’ve gone door-to-door to canvas for votes.  You knock on the first person’s door.

“Hey, I’d like to tell you about candidate X. X has a track record of –“

“Hold on,” the person responds.  “I gotta talk to Jack about that.”  He looks to his right.  “Hey, Jack, do you think it’s a good idea to vote for this person?”

He waits.  You’re both standing there awkwardly.  Then he speaks up.

“Jack says he doesn’t like the candidate. His name is offensive to Jack.”

“But…the policies will work.  Just look at the data….”

“That may be true; the data may indicate X will be a great candidate.  I’m not denying that.  But my life belongs to Jack, and Jack doesn’t like the name of X. So I can’t vote for him.”

You shrug, and walk to the next house.  But to your surprise and consternation, you find that this neighbor has an imaginary friend they consult, too.  And on. And on. And on.

Whenever you get frustrated and angry, the people you talk to take that as proof that, deep down inside, you believe in Jack, too.  They laugh at your supposed denial, and every time you crack a smile at their imaginary friend or dare to call it an imaginary friend, they get offended.

In Closing

I have been told several times that my anger at Christianity does not make sense, and that this reaction does not make sense, as I think God is an imaginary being.

I do not think, to put it mildly, this makes any more sense than Extreme Ironing.  And that’s saying something.

[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=njHE4S-HD3I[/youtube]

The reason why I’m angry at God in the first place is because He is an imaginary being. And the frustrating thing about it is that I am deemed disrespectful when I tell people the truth.

I know it’s important to people.  I do.  I know it’s gotten you through dark nights, maybe.  Maybe it makes you happy.  Maybe God means you’ll see your family in the afterlife.  Etc.

That doesn’t make God real.  That doesn’t mean it makes sense if you base your judgments of yourself, me, or any aspect of society on God.  If your God isn’t real, it’s basically indistinguishable, in my mind, from Jack.

Hopefully that makes sense and we can move on from this, “If you don’t believe in Him, why does it bother you that I do” nonsense.

The problem is not my denial.  The problem is the perseverance in belief that an imaginary being has authority over every aspect of the universe, and your consultations of this being in every/any area of your life and outlook that extends that authority to others.

So next time I get angry when I see someone proclaiming the importance of a nonexistent being, hopefully you’ll understand when I insist it’s time for it to hit the road precisely because, not in spite of, the fact I don’t think it exists.

[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0rEsVp5tiDQ[/youtube]

I don’t think we need the Bible.

Because I don’t think we need the Bible, I’m apprehensive when any Christian insists that it, or the God it refers to, is in any way necessary.

Now, I’m not completely naive when it comes to Christianity; I know that there is a wide range of interpretations for scripture. When I was a Christian and engaged in reading and many late-night conversations with Christians of different stripes, I saw that “true” Christianity was very elusive; there were thousands of ways to interpret the Bible.  For example — I spent several long hours discussing whether God knew ahead of time if the actions he performed would result in sin, and discussed the views of open theism (God keeps himself from knowing the future to give man free will — Gregory Boyd was a major theologian here), Arminianism (that God saw the future in one way, and we saw time in a different dimension, so that God knew the future but, in our dimension, we still had free will — CS Lewis held this view), and Calvinism (there was wide variety of views here, but the basic view is that God did know the future and, according to many proponents, worked for the best possible good — of course, this came from John Calvin but there are several other popular individuals, like John Piper and many others, who hold this view).

I spent hours arguing these views and searching the Bible for the “right” view of these things because it deeply mattered to me what kind of God I was serving.  I loved God at the time; I thought He existed, He was the most important being in my life, and I wanted to get to know Him better.  I spent a lot of time with him in prayer and occasional fasting — not out of obligation, but because I wanted to get to know Him, as you would want to spend considerable time with any close friend.  I did not worship the Bible, but I thought it was a way to get to know Him, so the pages were well-worn and marked.

I’ve heard that many ex-Christians were the ones who were most devout.  I think this is the case — the most devout Christians, the ones most eager to get to know God, are also those most likely, in many cases, to find out that there is no one at the center of the machinery that creates the appearance of God, save human beings.  Much like the one who is most passionate about the Wizard of Oz may be the most determined to run towards him, only to find smoke and mirrors.

Once I found myself, after thousands of arguments with atheists and agnostics, and several years of research, come to what was, for me, the indisputable conclusion that the Bible’s description of God was fundamentally unreliable, I realized that I had a choice to make.  I could leave Christianity wholesale, or I could remain a Christian and embrace a more mystical picture of God.  Although concepts like hell, Paul’s views on women, the Old Testament, and much of the commands and laws in the Bible seemed fundamentally unhelpful, every once in a while I found — or so I thought at the time — a part of truth that was helpful to people.

I also knew that there were ways to interpret the more uncomfortable verses so that they didn’t have their fundamentalist interpretations — without giving up the concepts of inerrancy, infallibility, or inspiration regarding the Bible.  Perhaps this sounds somewhat arrogant, but by the time I left Christianity I had memorized so many verses and knew so many different interpretations of the Bible that I was fairly confident I could, in most cases, correlate its verses with the doctrine I wished to correlate them with.

Let me give you an example.

For three years when I was a Christian I went to Southside Church of Christ, a church of around 400 or so people.  I was fairly good friends with the preacher there, Steve Cloer — there are several memories of basketball and lunch that are stored in my mind.  I also developed an acquaintance with several people at the church, and when I visit, on occasion, it is a pleasure to see them.

When I left Christianity, I was, for the first few weeks, trying to build bridges. At the time, however, I was going through a lot of trauma and was very frustrated with Christianity.  Some people keep their disagreements to themselves; I’m not one of those people.  I voice them, and engage in discourse with them.  Arguably, that attitude is what made me an atheist — if I had not sought out opinions different from my own or had been afraid to challenge the opinions of authority, the likelihood is high that I would probably still be a Christian.  But for whatever reason, I’m not built to follow the crowd; I tend to have a hankering for what seems to be the truth, whatever it is, and I tend to seek places in which I’ll be challenged and where I can challenge others.  So that makes me rather vocal in many arenas.

After a few weeks following my coming out as an ex-Christian, I noticed that my penchant for honest discourse was getting me in trouble with many Christians, and that I was getting frustrated by Christians who frequently made personal attacks.  I started pulling punches less and less. Eventually, I started fighting back, fairly hard. All the opinions about Christianity that I had, against my nature, held back for years came gushing out, and a lot of people didn’t like it and tried, in various ways, to shut me down.  Some people were hurt.  And at times I tried to be calm.  But when someone defended the Old Testament genocides while asking “where do you get your morality?”, or complimented the “kill the gays” law in Uganda, or talked about how I was in rebellion towards God, or said they were worried about me going to hell, and several other “triggers” — I let them know my reaction.  Since then I’ve simply gotten thicker skin, or maybe calluses, but at the time the wounds were fresh.

A couple months into this fight, Kent Brantly said something in a comment string I’ll never forget — he said that he didn’t understand all the reasons I left the church, but he would still be my friend.  And that was what I needed to hear right now, because, in sharing my honest views and trying to distance myself from the harmful boundaries of Christian thought, I had been losing some friends and having other relationships fundamentally changed.  This attitude hasn’t changed, although I have, on occasion, said things that Kent thinks are a bit disrespectful; he recently sent me a private message saying he occasionally reads my blog here, gave me permission to write whatever I wanted about our friendship, and says that I should keep asking “the hard questions that most people avoid.”

Which, as far as Christians go, and considering all I’ve said about Christianity, is striking. It’s the kind of person Kent is.

It’s not the image of Kent, though, I have heard from many of my fellow anti-theists, and it’s probably not the image I would have had if I had never met Kent, to tell you the truth, because my impression is that Kent is very different from the stereotypes that both Christians and Atheists frequently make of him.  Although I’m not able to ask him directly about many of the concerns anti-theists have in a format I could put into this blog post (Kent is currently working on a book and, although he gave me permission to write this, needs to hold off on direct questions to fulfill publisher obligations until the book is finished), what I’ve seen of him paints picture that is much different than his reputation.

For example — one of the few times I went back to Southside Church of Christ was when Kent Brantly had Ebola.  The church was having a prayer meeting for him.  I drove over to make the last 15 minutes, because…well, Kent was a friend, and he had Ebola, and I wanted to be there to support people who wanted him to get better.  In the parking lot, I met an acquaintance who had left the prayer service, saying it was all too much — remember, we didn’t know whether Kent would live or die.  After talking with him, I went in the prayer service and could feel the pleading in the prayers from Kent’s friends in the crowd of around 200 people — they wanted him to get better.  Afterwards I hung around, talked to the people I went to church with once, and left.  During the service, I may have teared up once or twice…

Now, most of my anti-theistic friends said, according to my Facebook feed, that Kent Brantly was selfish — there were all these people dying of Ebola, and people didn’t care until Kent had it — almost as if God supposedly didn’t care unless a white American caught the disease.  After watching Kent Brantly on YouTube, talking with him, and seeing him speak about his experience at church, I don’t think Kent has the same view — he almost always seems to urge that people not take that view, and that people take the view off him and focus on those in Africa struggling with Ebola.  I thought it was a real shame that his own voice got drowned out due to a far right Christian vs. Atheist war that used him as a pawn to say either that God answers prayer or that God is selective in his prayer and is a symbol of American Christian prejudice (which is often true, it seems, but Kent seems an exception).  Kent Brantly never just said, as far as I can remember, that God saved him without emphasizing that many were dying in Africa and, in addition, mentioning that the medicine that helped him recover from Ebola needed to get to others, as well.

A few months after Kent Brantly recovered from Ebola — and after I saw him meeting with Obama, testifying before Congress, and getting on the cover of Time magazine — I received a private message from him on Facebook inviting me to come to Southside Church of Christ for his account of what he did in Africa.  I had been wanting to hear this story for awhile, so I came.

What I heard blew me away.  Kent Brantly worked regular 19 hour days to cure patients from Ebola, sometimes staying up multiple days without sleep.  He had a laundry list of administrative and one-on-one responsibilities in overwhelmed facilities. He wore full gear at all times when working long hours with Ebola victims in 90 degree+ heat.

I listened to this realizing the scare that swept the United States when, under the best precautions available, Kent Brantly was transported to the United States.  We were terrified with TWO victims of Ebola (Kent and another victim) being transported to a country of over 300 million people.  Kent had to deal with hundreds, and he was there all day, and sometimes for multiple days at a time.  And he he didn’t have to be — he was a physician with excellent credentials.  He could have worked at a nice hospital here in the states.  He could have been making good money here.  He was doing it because he cared about the people and because he loved who he thought was (and thinks is) God.

He also is not as much of an idealist as some of the christians and atheists talking about him might think he is.  In his speech at the church, he talked about how his first patient overseas died — not because they didn’t pray hard enough, but because he did not have the necessary medical equipment to save him.  He said that several other patients died, as well.  He has, as a result of these experiences, no illusion that simple prayer saves people, but faith in God seems to keep him driving forward; that much is difficult to deny.  I have to admit that Kent Brantly’s belief in God does, indeed, motivate him.  Even as the rabid anti-theist I am — I know that’s probably an unpopular opinion, but I think it’s true.

Some of my anti-theist friends have said that Kent Brantly gives people false hope.  I think thr truth is more nuanced.  Although Kent does say some things in Christianeze when speaking to Samaritan’s Purse, the Christian organization that sent him to Liberia, he is capable of engaging in purely secular discussion, as when he testified before Congress and didn’t mention God once. To say that Kent is not aware of the secular landscape, does not care about those who have Ebola, does not realize the role medicine probably played in curing him, and thinks he is somehow more “special” than those under his charge is to take the attitudes of Christian towards Kent (or the kind of person they want to turn Kent into) instead of trying to see Kent for Kent.

So, someone might ask…in light of my continued friendship and respect of Kent Brantly and others like him, has my anti-theist stance softened?

No.

In fact, if anything, it’s strengthened.  The most harmful thing I think one can do with the story of Kent Brantly is use it to empower the concept of God as found in the church Kent attends.  Now the church itself works hard for the community, but it is based on a Bible that seems fundamentally flawed. The fact that a faith in a concept of God kept Kent going does not mean that Kent’s God is right or should be seen as an authority in our lives. It is completely possible, I think, to respect the work that Kent did and his passion for those in Liberia without respecting Kent’s God.

In other words, the reason this experiencd strengthens my anti-theist stance is because I see Christians making the, “Kent did XYZ — therefore the God who thinks gay marriage is a sin and that nonbelievers go to hell is in charge” argument.  That’s my primary reason why I don’t think it’s healthy to allow Kent’s actions, as laudable as they may be, be seen as an endorsement for Kent’s concept of God, who has, in several ways, very damaging aspects.  When you have faith in something good, just because God said so, that leaves you open to just accept some bad ideas that are immune to rational criticism and examination, just because God said so — which can have some disastrous results.  The thing I was afraid of in Kent’s story was that people would look at that and think, “Well, that means I need to have faith in Kent’s God,” which can make them, it seems, blind to the very real problems of Kent’s God.

Also, in talking after the speech to Kent Brantly’s preacher, my friend Steve Cloer (although, like Kent Brantly, we don’t see much of each other these days), although Steve ascribed Kent’s passion to God and said that that passion could only come from God, I disagreed — I’ve seen a similar passion in people of other faiths and people with no faith.  I think there is beauty in human beings, and that ascribing it to one particular God can overshadow that in potentially tyrannical or harmful ways.  It seems far healthier to work for human beings instead of for a God who can dictate the way human beings should act, regardless of human experience – in fact, the very thing that made Kent’s acts admirable in my view was that it helped human beings, not that it helped a God who was beyond and yet over human beings (who, in several conceptions of Christianity, had the power to dictate laws to these human beings that often went against their experience).

My objections to Kent Brantly’s God are examples of why I think it is so important not to sign off on all the opinions of someone you admire — why I try to take opinions on a case-by-case basis.  The fact you agree with someone in one arena does not mean you are obligated to agree with them in another — in fact, it should probably make you more vigilant in insuring that you are being rational in your agreement with that person.  That’s because agreements with wrong opinions can actually hurt other people and yourself.  I think that it is possible to agree with someone on one subject while disagreeing with them on another and still be friends — without compromising that disagreement.  I don’t think anyone should be obligated to respect views that they think are dangerously wrong.  I also don’t think that respect in one arena should shut down challenge or imply that respect needs to be given in regards to another opinion.

And it’s on that basis that I continue to be friends with Kent Brantly, in spite of our disagreements.  And, by extension, it’s on that basis that I’m friends with several Christians who can tolerate the expression of my honest opinion, in spite of our differences.  It seems important to realize, in such friendships, that even the best among us can be dangerously wrong.

After I saw the video, I cried.  That’s the first thing I did.  Just in shock and awe of the situation, just the cruel reminder that this happened, that it was real…I cried.

I’m spent.  I went hard with the Trayvon Martin case.  I went hard with Eric Garner.  I continue to advocate hard for Ferguson. And now there’s Walter Scott.

And then, after recovering, I started wondering…am I going to advocate hard for justice for Walter Scott?

Because it’s not just about Walter Scott, really.  This is a very selfish goal I have: I don’t want to be shot by a police officer.  I want it to be the very last resort.  And if a family member is shot, I want to make damn sure that the killer sees justice.

But I found myself not wanting to have this conversation. I know this is cliche, but I almost wasn’t even gonna write about this until I got my bearings and steeled myself for another leg in this long fight for equality.  But I also felt I should write something.  Because most of my fellow atheists who may read my blog…are likely to overlook things unless I say something.  One of the difficult things here is that I have to address this story fresh, while I’m still reeling, because it’s when people are paying the most attention to it.  The attention span of the majority of Americans is eager to “move on” from instances of racism, so I gotta go now before there’s a chance to do that.

What I decided, then, was to write about why I’m not looking forward to the future of this story’s development.

I’m not looking forward to it, because I know that there is a major divide in this country between black people and white people that will be reflected in these conversations.  I’m not looking forward to white people who are bound to use this as an example that racism against white people is a serious problem (especially as most of my fellow atheists are white men, a demographic that, in my experience and statistically, is rather insistent on that point — just the facts).  I’m also not looking forward to white people saying that it’s racist for me to say that it is predominantly white people who are protecting the officers in this shooting.  I’m not looking forward to another post from other anti-theists who are bound to make jokes about it, or to the hundreds of likes I’m going to see on yet another incendiary status update about this, or to the long back and forth I’m bound to have in the comment section because I can’t stand that problem being there.  I’m not looking forward to Bill O’Reilly somehow turning this into a subtly but strategically racist discussion about how this shooting is proof of the problem of absent fathers in America.  I’m not looking forward to the Kelly File insisting that it’s not about race.  And don’t get me started on Fox & Friends.

I’m not looking forward to people who will straw-man my arguments and say I’m anti-law enforcement.  I’m not looking forward to the far Christian right who are going to be telling me that, because he ran, he should have been shot. I’m not looking forward to the people who are going to use the red herring of black male murder rates to turn this into a “what are you doing about black on black crime” scenario.  I’m also not looking forward to the many stories I’m sure to hear about black teens who killed white people and got life in prison as proof that black on white racism is just as bad as white on black racism.  I’m not looking forward to false equivalency cases of black cops shooting white individuals who went to jail or who didn’t have a goddamn video of shooting a suspect eight times in the back.

I’m not looking forward to arguing about how this is a story about poverty, not about race (for the umpteenth time, when you’re discriminated against, you’re likely to be poor).  I’m not looking forward to the fact that Walter Scott — and by extension, the black man in general — will have his name dragged through the mud for being behind on child support payments. I’m not looking forward to people dismissing my anger at law enforcement by saying, “Yeah, but what did Walter Scott do to provoke the officer?”

I’m not looking forward to having to deal with the apologists for Michael Slager (the policeman who shot Scott) if he is not convicted.  If he is convicted, I’m not looking forward to all the discussions of people who are sure to say that this is not like the other cases.  If there is an investigation into the area of North Charleston, South Carolina, where the shooting happened and it turns out there is prejudice comparable to Ferguson, I’m not looking forward to being reminded of those who smile in my face while perpetuating widespread racism behind the scenes.  I’m definitely not looking forward to the debates on whether the outrage regarding the shooting are justified or whether racism in North Charleston is a microcosm, as Ferguson (I have to argue) was, of much larger national problems.

I’m not looking forward to having to view the video repeatedly and feel the shots throughout my bones every time, causing me to break down repeatedly.  I’m not looking forward to feeling like nothing I do is going to get people to pay attention.  I’m not looking forward to being more afraid of police officers in a country that is in denial.  I’m not looking forward to this leading, as studies indicate, to more (not less) white Americans wanting police to be tougher on crime.  I’m not looking forward to trying to find a way to stop this problem through tears and frustration and banging on walls that don’t seem to give.  And I’m not looking forward to hearing mostly white people say in response that I should be happy this country has allowed me to eat in a decent restaurant without having to sit at a different table, as was not possible then, and for them to indicate I should be happy with what I got.  I’m not looking forward to trying to unearth the causes of black oppression, turning up stones, and finding that I’m in a worse situation than I thought I was.  I’m not looking forward to repeatedly realizing that maybe I can’t stop the problem.

Also, I’m having so much trouble trying to figure out how I as a black man can act to make the streets and society safer, that I’m also not looking forward to having to give white people advice when they ask me how they can best deal with the problem of blackness and whiteness in this country. I am not sure. Part of me wants to say that I don’t have my own answers; do I really have to figure out yours, too? But then I’m also not looking forward to the people who won’t care, who won’t ask, who won’t take risks, who are fine with the status quo.  I’m not looking forward to the anger the complacence is sure to inspire in me.  So either way, even with the most well-meaning white people, I am not looking forward to dealing with the white people who choose to engage or with the white people who do not.

And I realize that’s a catch-22 for white people, but that’s the honest truth. Oppression in society is like being innocent and locked in a cell, and the privileged people are the guards.  The guards ask you, “What can we do to get you out?”  I don’t know.  If you can do something, do it.  I’ll help you.  But the guards are part of a much larger system that is oppressing me that I don’t know all about; I only know that I am oppressed.  That’s all I know without doing additional research (that you could be doing yourself, by the way).  I know that I am not the problem; I am innocent.  And maybe you are, too.  But we’re part of a system that is bigger than both of us but involves us, and that’s not OK, and I don’t have all the answers as to how to fix it, and that doesn’t mean I can’t be angry that I’m metaphorically (and, considering black male prison rates, somewhat literally) “locked up” or trapped in a marginalized identity that makes me afraid of the country that I, too, am a citizen of, when I’m behind the wheel or walking down the street.

I’m not looking forward to being seen as a problem, to talking about how much a problem I am, to being told to “solve” myself as a problem.  I’m not looking forward to well-meaning attempts to start the conversation, end the conversation, or ignore the conversation. I’m not looking forward to coming up with solutions when we’ve tried that before (remember video cameras) and they often don’t work (remember Eric Garner?  And maybe Walter Scott).

And I’m not looking forward to pondering the fact that the police officer could get away so easily with a lie on Saturday (before the video came out on Tuesday) will make me uncomfortable, and to thinking about the fact that a police officer can get away with shooting someone down like that and expect the case to be dismissed.

That’s really all.  I don’t have hard solutions.  I don’t have the magic bullet; if I did, I woulda shot it already.  Maybe back at Trayvon Martin I would have had something, but right now I’m spent.  Let me get my bearings, prepare myself for this next incident for a couple days, and I might have something more satisfying.

Or maybe not.  Maybe resigned fear is the closest I can come to a solution.  Maybe what I need to do is accept that I’m a second class citizen and shut up with the whining.  Maybe that’s the best route I have left.

I don’t have a tidy bow to wrap around this except to say…right now, I’m just done.  Maybe I’ll come back later, but right now, I’m just blindsided and done.

If you’ve followed my blog at all, you probably know that I’m not just an atheist; I’m an anti-theist.  What this means, from my perspective, is that I don’t think it is a good idea to create or endorse a nonexistent authority figure that people are in any way expected to worship; I don’t just disbelieve in God — I think a belief in God is unhealthy.  I also think that religion has made the space that it can be challenged WAY too restricted, and that it would help many people — especially those in the closet — if we worked to set new boundaries of where it was socially acceptable to disagree with religion.

According to the usual definition, most would think I am an anti-theist.  The other side of atheism, it seems assumed, is much more tolerant of God and sees more value in theism, even if it disagrees with some aspects.  They are, so the impression goes, more tolerant, more nuanced, and are often more willing to meld with religion itself.

From my vantage point, it seems in the best interest of religion to make the anti-theists as isolated as possible, as any respect afforded to religion can be used to further insulate religion from attack — religion seems to use the notion of respect to further insulate itself.

[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O4Qw4THh3BA[/youtube]

Given my view of things, it’s been no surprise to me when some (like Reza Aslan in Salon) argue that only 14.8% of atheists are anti-theists, leaving the impression that the rest of atheists either are somewhat supportive of religion, or really don’t care about it all.  If you’ve been around the blogosphere lately, you may have seen that figure floating around.

But that’s not at all the case.  What seems missed, oftentimes, is that the researchers were using a highly specialized definition of the term “anti-theist.”

It’s basically like this:  Suppose you were an anti-babyeater (maybe that’s a stretch, but stay with me).  Let’s say there was a study done, and those reporting on the study came out and said, “only 10% of people who aren’t babyeaters are anti-babyeaters.”  You might think — hmm…maybe it’s not as big of a deal as we thought; apparently some people who aren’t babyeaters think babyeating is OK.  But in this case, if you take a closer look, you’ll find out that the definition of “anti-babyeaters” was “people who think babyeaters are inherently stupid,” and that they had a different term, called, “pro-humanity” which was defined as, “people who support the eating of animals and think that babyeaters, although they may have some moral flaws, have some degree of intelligence.”  As a result, 10% were called “anti-babyeaters” and the rest…well, although they are, according to the conventional use of the term, anti-babyeaters, they are “pro-humanity” in this study.  Now, if you want to make the number of anti-babyeaters appear smaller, you can leave out the “pro-humanity” category and throw around the figure that “only 10% of people who don’t eat babies are anti-babyeaters” — which implies that there’s a LOT more support for babyeating than there actually is.

This worsens when you carry that figure into the common newspapers, blogs, books, and so on without showing that you’re talking about a special definition, especially when you do so in order to underline the fact that only 10% of individuals are anti-babyeaters, and to leave the 90% remainder under – represented.

That’s what this 2013 study from Christopher Silver of the University of Tennessee– or, rather, those covering the study — seem to do at times.  When discussing anti-theism, the study didn’t use a definition like the common Rational Wiki definition, which states: “[Antitheism] is the belief that theism and religion are harmful to society and people, and that if theistic beliefs were true, they would be undesirable. Antitheism, which is often characterized as outspoken opposition to theism and religion, asserts that religious and theistic beliefs are harmful and should be discarded in favor of humanism, rationalism, and other alternatives.” It was, rather, the following:

The fourth typology, and one of the more assertive in their view, we termed the Anti-Theist. While the Anti-Theists may be considered atheist or in some cases labeled as “new atheists,” the Anti-Theist is diametrically opposed to religious ideology. As such, the assertive Anti-Theist both proactively and aggressively asserts their views towards others when appropriate, seeking to educate the theists in the passé nature of belief and theology. In other words, antitheists view religion as ignorance and see any individual or institution associated with it as backward and socially detrimental. The Anti-Theist has a clear and – in their view, superior – understanding of the limitations and danger of religions.  They view the logical fallacies of religion as an outdated worldview that is not only detrimental to social cohesion and peace, but also to technological advancement and civilized evolution as a whole.  They are compelled to share their view and want to educate others into their ideological position and attempt to do so when and where the opportunity arises.  Some Anti-Theist individuals feel compelled to work against the institution of religion in its various forms including social, political, and ideological, while others may assert their view with religious persons on an individual basis. The Anti-Theist believes that the obvious fallacies in religion and belief should be aggressively addressed in some form or another. Based on personalities, some Anti-Theists may be more assertive than others; but outsiders and friends know very clearly where they stand in relation to an Anti-theist. Their worldview is typically not a mystery. The Anti-Theist’s reaction to a religious devotee is often based on social and psychological maturity.

I’m surprised, after reading this, that the study found 14.8% of atheists who fit that description. And in reading this, I find myself conflicted.

I don’t see all religious people as “backward” — I think that’s a bit extreme.  Some are more forward thinking in ways than I am, but are simply wrong, and it’s not the PERSON associated with religion that I detest — it’s the theistic religion.  And although I think that theistic religion is dangerous, I don’t have a “clear…understanding” of it, and am open to new information.  To say I think my view is superior seems disingenuous; most people (including/especially Christians) think their views are superior, but I am open to being wrong — more so, I think, than I was a Christian; that’s a label I’d want to distance myself from.  I want to share my view; I don’t always feel “compelled” to do so.  I think that religion CAN be aggressively addressed, and I protect the right to aggressively address it and sometimes do so myself, but I don’t insist that other atheists have to.  And, finally, wouldn’t anyone’s reaction to a religious devotee be based on social and psychological maturity?

If someone asks me, “Are you an anti-theist?” straight up, I’m likely to say, “Yes.”  Without hesitation.  I do not support theistic religion, I defend the right to aggressively attack it, and I do so at times myself.  But if someone gave the definition with all the baggage contained in the typology, I’d really hesitate.  That’s not what I mean when I say I’m an anti-theist.  There’s another option in the study that seems much more appealing:

The first and most frequently discussed type is what could be termed The Intellectual Atheist/Agnostic or IAA. IAA typology includes individuals who proactively seek to educate themselves through intellectual association, and proactively acquire knowledge on various topics relating to ontology (the search for Truth) and non-belief.  They enjoy dialectic enterprises such as healthy democratic debate and discussions, and are intrinsically motivated to do so.  These individuals are typically versed in a variety of writings on belief and non-belief and are prone to cite these authors in discussions.
IAAs associate with fellow intellectuals regardless of the other’s ontological position as long as the IAA associate is versed and educated on various issues of science, philosophy, “rational” theology, and common socio-political religious dialog. They may enjoy discussing the epistemological positions related to the existence or non-existence of a deity. Besides using textual sources such as intellectual books, IAAs may utilize technology such as the Internet to read popular blogs, view YouTube videos, and listen to podcasts that fall in line with their particular interests. Facebook and other online social networking sites can be considered a medium for learning or discussion. However, not only is the IAA typically engaged in electronic forms of intellectualism but they oftentimes belong to groups that meet face to face offline such as various skeptic, rationalist and freethinking groups for similar mentally stimulating discussions and interaction. The modus operandi for the Intellectual Atheist/Agnostic is the externalization of epistemologically oriented social stimulation.

In my experience, most atheists/agnostics want to be this type, whether they are or not.  I certainly do.  Do I enjoy debate and discussion? Yup.  Am I intrinsically motivated to do this?  Yes. Do I cite various writers on belief and non-belief? Sure. Do I try to associate with intellectuals of many different ontological positions? Yes. Do I read popular blogs, view YouTube videos, and listen to podcasts regarding religion? Certainly.  Is my online social networking connected to debate and dialogue?  Yes.  Do I, in addition to social media, meet in person frequently to have discussions with religious and nonreligious folk?  Of course.  So I’d be an IAA, according to this study (along with at least a couple of the Four Horsemen, I think).  Probably not, so much, an Anti-Theist.  Although…I do get aggressive sometimes, I am against all ideas of God, I do protect aggressive discourse…so given a simple choice, I belong in the anti-theist camp.

But I get taken OUT of that anti-theist camp, thanks to the study, leaving myself open for people to disenfranchise my stance afterwards and say the number of anti-theists is “only” 14.8% — not including me.

The plot thickens, though, with a third stance that does pretty well in describing me:

The next typology relates to being socially active. These individuals are termed the Activist Atheist/Agnostic. Individuals in the AAA typology are not content with the placidity of simply holding a non-belief position; they seek to be both vocal and proactive regarding current issues in the atheist and/or agnostic socio-political sphere. This sphere can include such egalitarian issues, but is not limited to: concerns of humanism, feminism, Lesbian Gay Bisexual Transgendered (LGBT) issues, social or political concerns, human rights themes, environmental concerns, animal rights, and controversies such as the separation of church and state. Their activism can be as minimal as the education of friends or others, to much larger manifestations of social activities such as boycotting products, promoting legal action, or marching public demonstration to raise awareness. Activist Atheists/Agnostics are commonly naturalistic or humanistic minded individuals, but are not limited to these types of ethical concerns. It is not uncommon for AAA individuals to ally themselves with other movements in support of social awareness. The Activist Atheist/Agnostic’s are not idle; they effectuate their interests and beliefs.

So…I’ve often been accused of being a Social Justice Warrior (SJW) — a pejorative term for people who are obsessed with “egalitarian issues.”  And I am obsessed with them — humanism, feminism, LGBTQ issues, political concerns, human rights — yes, definitely.  I write about these concerns and engage in activism regarding these concerns.  And I have yet to meet an atheist who was not interested in “controversies such as the separation of church and state.”  I’ve been in marches, promoted legal action at times, and “educated” other people regarding these issues.  Sometimes these efforts have had me working side by side with religious people, although I do not support their beliefs in the least.

So I guess I’m also an Activist.  Which means you could you take the “activist” label here and divorce it from the “anti-theist” label — I’m not gonna lie; that kinda disturbs me.  Or you could use the “intellectual” label to take away representation of both.

It seems a stronger study might have put people on a continuum, or plotted them on an x-y axis, because there are several different tendencies here.

All told, the three types I discussed here made up a total of 75.4% of the atheists surveyed.

I’m not saying they were all anti-theists according to our conventional definition of the word; that would be absurd.  But I am saying that I identify, rather insistently, as an anti-theist, and yet I fit better in the two other categories according to the study definitions than I do in the “anti-theist” category.  And my definition of an anti-theist isn’t weird or fringe — like I said, it pretty much can be found in Rational Wiki, a decent indicator of what people think when the term “anti-theist” comes to mind.  I venture that many in atheist organizations can relate, as well, to my opposition.  To tell you the truth, with that extreme definition of anti-theist — again, I’m surprised that 14.8% were found.

That study has been cited in several places, by the way: here in Raw Story, here  in Religion News Service, here in the Daily Beast, and here in CNN.

Understand, I’m not saying it’s a bad study.  It’s interesting and informative, though I think it could be done better; it was fun, when it first came out, to look at the different types and see which you most resembled.  But using that 14.8% figure to imply that only that number is strongly against religion is misleading.  Especially if you’re using it to say that most atheists and agnostics are OK with religions rituals.

But if you’re playing by that game, fine.   Only 12.5% identified as atheists and agnostics identified as ritualists — who took part in religious rituals.  Which, by the way, I don’t have a major problem with; at least they’re honest.  I am in a position, myself, where I need to buck up against that.

Well, you counter, if you’re insistent, what about the nontheists — the people that don’t care.  Maybe most atheists are, relatively speaking, just less obsessed?

Well, the nontheists came in last place at 4.4%.

But don’t worry about it — like I said, there’s more to it than meets the eye, anyway.

[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AIlLud7oLZs[/youtube]

So, on Fox & Friends recently, I saw something that made me…surprised.

I swear I wasn’t angry about it, though, because that would make me one of those “angry atheists.” I’m sorry, did that sound bitter? I swear, I’m not bitter, I’m just a little…”concerned.”  Is that an OK word, Christians?  Is it OK to be “concerned,” or is that a bit much?

The city of Madison, Wisconsin decided to make atheists a protected class, free from discrimination.  To be sure, this was on the books beforehand at the federal level, with Title VII of the Civil Rights Act of 1964…but, the argument goes, having a city ordinance boosts this federal policy at the much-harder-to-enforce private, local level of business within a particular municipality.

Now, it’s true that, along with Muslims, atheists happen to be the least liked religious group in the United States, according to the Pew Forum.  But that’s a bit beside the point.  What’s truly shocking here is that, before this happened, only religious people were going to be more explicitly protected as a class at the local level.  Some people, though certainly not all,  might just think that’s unfair and needs to be fixed.  This city did and fixed it.

The thing about being an ex-Christian atheist is that the same people who used to talk in stereotypes about atheists behind their backs frequently become very diplomatic to them to their face (unless, of course, you come across as angry).  I’m used to seeing Christians try to be on their best behavior, with apologies for those other Christians that don’t get it so that I won’t criticize their practice of “true” Christianity.

But there is still a Christian base to speak to, if you want to get ratings for your show.  You have to key into the Christians’s living room stereotypes, since that’s what over 80% of our country is.

Fox & Friends did that.  And it’s not an anomaly.  It’s the highest rated cable news station in the country; fairly prominent.  And what it did to connect to its audience was astounding.

How It Went Down

After introducing the Madison, Wisconsin law, the female host asks former Department of Justice official J. Christian Adams a question.

So where does this hostility come from in the first place….

I was about to be impressed. This discrimination law was going to bring up a conversation of hostility towards atheists that was the reason why this law wasn’t on the books in the first place…

…towards Christians?

What?  How the heck — what? How did an ordinance against discrimination towards atheists become about hostility towards Christians?  Seriously?

I swear, I was just surprised — don’t worry, I wasn’t angry. I was willing to give Mr. Adams a chance.  Maybe the Christians had some legitimate concerns, or there were specific instances in Madison, Wisconsin where discrimination towards Christians happened.

Adams answered,

Well, this ordinance was driven by the Freedom From Religion Foundation,

Great start.  They were a loving, caring group of people that help me transition from religion and seemed very open minded. I was looking forward to his honest statement that they were an organization to help protect nonbelievers and preserve the separation of church and state.  This was a logical step – they would want people who left faith to have the same freedoms as atheists that they did as Christians.  It only seemed fair.

So that’s what I was expecting, as it was my experience.  But instead he said, dismissively:

…it’s a group of angry atheists…

Wait, what?  That is so cliché.  How did you just group us together like that?  It’s so much more complex than that.  That’s just buying into stereotypes.  I can’t…really?

I swear I was not angry.  I was just surprised.  But I was hopeful…maybe there’s hope yet.  Maybe he’ll admit some atheists might just be a tad upset for legitimate reasons, and at least better our reputation slightly…

…they have a very large and powerful group of supporters…

No, we don’t.  That’s a myth; we atheists are only around 2.4% of the population, and that’s ALL ATHEISTS in the United States, not just those who are part of the Freedom From Religion Foundation.  Meanwhile, over 80% of US citizens are Christian.  To call us “very large and powerful” seems, perhaps, a bit out of proportion.

But still, there’s hope. Maybe he’ll say something less cliché…

…and they hector governments to pass anti-Christian, anti-religious ordinances.  They team up with government…

Well, I think the FFRF doesn’t want Christianity and religion governing our public square in order to intimidate atheists.  They do want us to be free from religion, and secular government – separation of church and state – often obliges, since that’s, like, part of the First Amendment.

At the same time…although that’s a bit skewed, it’s a breath of fresh air.  Best thing he’s said so far, even thought the language was fundamentally flawed.

…for example, they were behind the IRS, getting the IRS to target and monitor sermons and homilies by Christian pastors just within the last year, so this is a group that’s filled with hostility towards people of faith…

Wow. Really? Wow. Like…really? Wow. I was…really? Wow………

For about thirty seconds I had to pause the video and wrap my brain around that.  Really?  That was so dishonest.  But I’m not saying that because I’m angry, because I’m not.  It’s just logic…

Do you know why the FFRF was getting the IRS to target these people?  Let’s let a 2012 Christianit Today article explain it:

More than 1,500 pastors explicitly broke the law last Sunday by endorsing political candidates from the pulpit. Amid a tense election year, their participation in the annual protest “could hold more sway than in previous years,” CNN reports.

Pulpit Freedom Sunday, an annual event organized by the Alliance Defending Freedom (formerly the Alliance Defense Fund), flaunts an IRS tax code restriction stating that churches risk their tax-exempt status if they endorse specific political candidates or positions on ballot issues. The aim of the event is to “provoke a challenge from the U.S. Internal Revenue Service in order to file a lawsuit and have its argument out in court.”

The preachers – more than 1500  of them, were deliberately breaking the law.  And the IRS was afraid to challenge them, politics being what it is. And in 2014, the FFRF was like, “Y’know, you should probably look into that.”

And it was about time, because they had been doing this every single year since 2008 and no one had said anything about it. As that article stated:

The IRS has not responded with direct legal action against churches participating in Pulpit Freedom Sunday since the event began in 2008.

So in July 2014, the FFRF finally challenged the IRS.  After several years of the pastors blatantly breaking the law. And the IRS did not punish any pastors but instead settled with the FFRF.  Basically, they did not go after them, because, y’know, politics.

And the pastors deliberately broke the law again that October, a month before election day – 1800 of them this time, breaking the previous records.

That’s right. That’s the major detail you left out, Adams.  The preachers would LITERALLY go to the podium of the non-profit organization of the church, defy IRS statutes, and say, “vote for proposition x” or “vote for candidate y.”  Some of them even mailed their sermons to the IRS, daring the IRS to target them.  And the IRS was scared at the public relations nightmare that would be, so they didn’t do it, and haven’t done it.  Even the FFRF hasn’t successfully challenged them yet.  Not one pastor has gone to trial.

This is against common sense, I would think, right?  Is it angry to posit that leaders of 501 (c)(3) non-profit organizations, when speaking as representatives of these non-profit organizations, should not be endorsing particular political candidates or political stances on legislation.  That’s just the law.  That’s not hate or anger, is it?  I mean, that’s just the law.  And it’s been flauntingly violated by pastors for seven straight years in this country.

Does it make me angry to say that?  Because I’m not angry, I’m swear.  It might seem a little bit like it, but I’m not at all.

And Adams left all that out, and is just picturing it as the FFRF getting the IRS to target and monitor sermons.

Adams probably knew there was more to the story.  He had to, being in the DOJ and all. From all appearances, he lied on national television in order to tell his audience what they wanted to hear — that atheists were naturally angry, hostile people.  Which we’re not, of course, because I’m totally not angry, at all, about this.

Well, that was the worst of it, I thought. Surely that was it…

Then the male host, Tucker Carlson, comes in.

Right, so it’s never just about tolerating their views, it’s about attacking other people’s views.

Well, when they’re breaking the law, yes.  The pastors have free speech rights; no one is saying they don’t.  But if you want to keep your nonprofit status, you have to follow certain guidelines. That’s just the law.  That’s not saying you can’t preach. It’s just…someone angrier than me might say it’s dishonest.

But I’m not angry. No, because then I’d be one of those “angry, hostile atheists” and you’d see that as license to stop listening to everything I’m saying.  So no, I’m not angry.  Would Christians be angry if atheists were doing this kind of thing to them?

Hmmm…anyways, no, I’m not angry.  Please listen to non-angry me.  I’m not angry, I swear.  Not at all.

So, anyway, you’re bringing this up – this hostile, angry atheist stereotype up – very dishonestly, in a story to talk about how we shouldn’t discriminate against atheists?

Well, I was thinking, maybe even though they think we’re angry and hostile, they’ll at least think we should be treated equally and fairly, right?  I mean, that’s something.  You learn not to ask for much these days.

Tucker Carlson goes on,

Madison City Councilwoman Anita Weier is one of the voices behind this, and she says, ‘This is important because I believe it is only fair that if we protect religion, in all its varieties, we should also protect non-religion from discrimination.  It’s only fair.’  And that does in some sense seem fair…

Yes! Finally.  That’s something.  They can do a terrible hatchet job on the FFRF, they can misrepresent Pulpit Freedom Sunday, they can play into all the prominent atheist stereotypes – but here, here they admitted that this did, “in some sense,” seem fair.

Finally. That’s something.

Then he finishes:

…but that’s not exactly their aim, is it?

Well, there was still hope.  Maybe they would provide evidence that their aim was something else.  Maybe, in spite of the dishonesty before, they would be honest about, perhaps, the wider aim of the FFRF to provide a protected space for people who wanted to be free from religion’s control over their lives, and engage in a discourse I could relate to concerning how much control it should have, although I might disagree.

Adams answers,

No, and it never works out that way.  Not only does it bring lawsuits, but don’t forget this is a local ordinance, Tucker, and that means that a whole body of bureaucrats spring up that will be charged with hectoring people of faith, badgering, in Wisconsin, people of faith…

OK, maybe there’s a point there.  I disagree with things like putting the ten commandments in courthouses (really, the ten commandments?  I mean, I don’t like the Bible, but half of those no one follows anymore anyway – the Golden Rule, although it’s not perfect, is much better.  Why the ten commandments), the old prayer in school thing (you can pray, just don’t do it in a school-sponsored way that makes non-Christians feel like outcasts), the nativity scenes on the courthouse lawns…we disagree with those, but we’ll have a debate on that.

That’s a strong disagreement, but it’s not in the crazy-town arena of disagreement.  And I’ve heard it before, a zillion times, so I was ready for that.

Adams goes on:

…who might not want to hire somebody.

Wait, what? Hiring practices? Seriously?  But then I dismissed it – it’s probably just a misplaced concern, I thought, about atheists applying to be pastors or something.  Obviously that’s legitimate.  OK.  I relaxed.

Then Adams went on (rather emphatically):

Y’know, there’s a lot of Christians or Jews who might not want to hire somebody who is an atheist…

I was expecting a legitimate concern a secular audience could “get” here that preserved the separation of church and state,

In fact [Adams continued as he leaned forward and raised his eyebrows] It’s in the New Testament.

I felt like the rug had been ripped out from under me.  I swear, don’t worry, I swear, I wasn’t mad.  I just wasn’t ready for that…

And he kept going,

It says things such as to avoid them and disassociate with them, in Romans, Thessalonians, Corinthians.”

But I still thought he was talking about being in the pulpit or something, which would make some sense, so I still wasn’t angry; it’s not the first time I’ve heard verses like that given in my direction.

You might have a job, for example, where you want someone who believes in a higher power…

Yes, he’s definitely talking about preaching.  OK.  I don’t like the scriptures, but at least he’s making sense now.  Not getting angry is easy, haha…

…for example, maybe you’re running an airline –

Wait, what? An airline?  An airline?  An AIRLINE?  A GODDAMN AIRLI — wait, um, I mean, that’s strange…I was just surprised, I swear.  I’m not one of those angry atheists you hear about.  No, not me.  Not angry at all.

…and hiring pilots, who you prefer they maybe believe…

Um…maybe this seems a tad bit sacriligious…but, uh…isn’t it discrimination to hire pilots who only believe in God? It’s a bit difficult to think of anything worse than discriminating between pilots based on their belief in God…

…in hell.  I mean, I know that sounds extreme…

…………………………”extreme”?  No shit.

…but that shows you why religion is so important to so many people.  And to tell people you can’t [restrict your hiring to] only people of faith, intrudes on their free exercise of faith.

I don’t know what to say.  I honestly…does that make sense to you? I mean, I don’t want to be that angry atheist, so I swear I’m not mad at this opinion that you should avoid atheists and discriminate them in a job like hiring an airline pilot.  I’m not mad.  Is it OK to be a bit confused, though?  Just a tad? A little bit? Or is that too much?  Does that make me into an angry atheist, too much?  Should I smile a bit more? Would that work for you?

The female newscaster goes on,

Well, the Freedom From Religion Foundation is trying to make this a trend across the country; they’re encouraging other cities to pass similar legislation and they say this [puts up a quote from Annie Laurie Gaylor, Co-Founder of FFRF], ‘We encourage freethough activists – including the increasing number of local public officials who are atheists or agnostics, to work to introduce and replicate this protection at their city, county or even state levels.’ Do you think that’s gonna happen?

I wonder why on earth the FFRF would think this is necessary – especially since atheists are obviously not being persecuted.  I mean, look at this fair and balanced story. Where on earth would atheists and agnostics get the idea that they are in danger of discrimination?

Adams answers,

Yes, I do, because these people are so committed to their own version of theology, they have such hatred of Christians and Jews publicly exercising their faith.  This is a story as old as time.  This [Easter[ weekend, guys, is a story of escaping and overcoming this kind of hatred.  Christians and Jews have been putting up with this for thousands of years, people who don’t like what they believe, so we’re pretty much used to it by now. But once again, it always seems to find new ways to attack and destroy and erode  at the free exercise of religion.

Because there is obviously no hatred towards these atheists who you want to “avoid and dissociate” with, who you’ll openly discriminate for jobs such as being an airline pilot, who you’ll deliberately misrepresent and lie about in order to portray them as hostile and worthy of discrimination.

Oops – did that sarcam sound angry?  Please, I’m not angry, I swear; don’t tune me out yet; I just, uh…. have some concerns I want to get across.  If I talked about how wonderful Abrams was, would that make me sound less angry?  Would it? Um, I’m sure he’s awesome.  Very passionate.  A man on fire for his God, and it’s so sad how angry atheists aren’t more understanding to him and those across America cheering his message.  Better?

Then Tucker Carlson:

Of course there’s a political element here, I mean, of course if there’s no God, then the highest authority is government.

Wait…surely this wasn’t going to be a “bring God back into government” speech, right?  There is some sense of separation between Church and State, right?  Just a little bit?

Adams answers,

Well that’s of course right, Tucker, and that’s why this country was founded on exactly the opposite principle that men have individual dignity, women have individual dignity, because they’re created in the image of God.  And that’s what these people can’t stand is that we live in a country that respects and treasures religious belief.

Except some Christians – like those pilots Adams talked about earlier – believe in this thing called hell that these atheists you’re supposed to “avoid and disassociate with” might be going to forever…

Remember, please, that this is on national cable news.  They’re talking to an audience of people who, um, actually believe this.

But I’m not angry, I swear.  I swear.  Not at all.

It’s the end of the segment, though.  They’ll say bye, and it’ll be done.

Then the female newscaster closes out,

J Christian Adams, thank you so much for being on fire with your faith this morning.

………all us atheists.  Why do so many get angry when people are on fire for Christ?…

I’m just making observations, though, don’t mind me.

I’m not angry, I swear.

“You see, the bodily resurrection of Jesus isn’t a take-it-or-leave-it thing, as though some Christians are welcome to believe it and others are welcome not to believe it. Take it away, and the whole picture is totally different. Take it away, and Karl Marx was probably right to accuse Christianity of ignoring the problems of the material world. Take it away, and Sigmund Freud was probably right to say that Christianity is a wish-fulfillment religion. Take it away, and Friedrich Nietzsche was probably right to say that Christianity was a religion for wimps.” — NT Wright

“If only for this life we have hope in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied.” — Paul (I Corinthians 15:19)

On Being Expected To Show Respect To Christianity Easter Weekend

Easter is a difficult time of the year for me.

The hardest part of it, honestly, is being expected to revere something that I simply don’t revere. And I know I’m not alone. While the Christians on status updates regularly praise Jesus, a lot of atheists on my page write about how disturbing the whole thing is. For many of us, especially us ex-Christians, seeing Jesus discussed a lot deeply bothers us.

It is absolutely impossible to address all forms of Christianity in one post, but I’ve never come across one I remotely liked. Too often even the most liberal forms of Christianity are giving too much credence to the Bible, and I can’t endorse that book. The moment I admit a single verse of it may have come from God, I leave open the possibility that there is a God who would command things in a book. A lot of Christians disagree with me, and several atheists do as well. There is a major movement among atheists to be more tolerant of Christian viewpoints. But I cannot endorse any part of a book as coming from God when other parts of it say that homosexuality is (or ever was) a sin. Or that we are sinners who need to be saved. Or that we need to follow commandments of a God who doesn’t exist.

This Easter weekend, many atheists and agnostics across this country are going to be going to church for, perhaps, the only Sunday of the year. Many of the “nones” who have left church and rarely go are going to be attending as well. At a get-together with some Christians discussing theology last Thursday, one of the preaching ministers at our gathering said that Easter Sunday is the “Super Bowl” of preaching – it was where the best preacher was chosen, the best suits were pressed, the best sermon of the year was expected to be preached.

On Easter Weekend, more than any other moment of the year, atheists and agnostics and unaffiliated spiritual people are appealed to. And this is the height, as well, of Christian enthusiasm for their religion.

Not all of us give respect to religion, even at this time of the year. But many of us do. As disturbing as the doctrines of Christianity are to us, even many of us who are the loudest at almost any other time of year go anyway and force ourselves to sit in the pews in order to show family and friends that we care about them and respect them. Even when the message of the pastor, who too often preaches directly to us at the altar call (and, in those smaller churches where we atheists are known and stick out like a sore thumb, perhaps look directly at us while doing so), makes us our most uncomfortable, many of us stay there.

Many of us, though, would like to talk back at that altar call. Several of us want to explain to you that we really understand the festivities because we were part of them ourselves, and explain to you how we changed and why we are so thoroughly opposed to coming up to the front of the church at the altar call. We want to explain why we’re nonbelievers — not just at that moment, but especially at that moment, when the pressure for us to respect Christianity is at a fever pitch.

I’m not claiming here to represent every single atheist. That’s impossible. But I do think I speek for hundreds of thousands of us here when I say what I’m about to say. Aren’t you curious what we would say if we could talk back if we could answer the callenges the pastor in front of us was preaching?

If so, read on.

Going To Church

It was my old church: The Hills Church Of Christ. You might have hears some strange things about the Church of Christ – that they don’t let women serve communion, they don’t have instrumental music, they are ambivalent about kitchens, they’re very conservative, etc. The Hills Church Of Christ is a megachurch that is so progressive many don’t count it as a Church Of Christ. The let women serve communion and, occasionally, talk to the congregation. They have a full band. They have not only kitchens, but a Starbucks-style café. The Church was originally constructed like a shopping mall so that it could be sold as one, if needed, so it really does look like a mall. There is a state-of-the-art kids/teen center connected to it, a gymnasium, a bookstore, a kids play area in the middle that’s about twice the size of what you’d find in McDonald’s. They have missions all over the world, can raise a couple million dollars in a single weekend, spend the majority of their incoming funds on programs outside the church, have several satellite campuses, and a lot of different small group Bible Studies all over the metroplex.

So it’s a very nice megachurch. It’s a kind of one-stop-shop for your social needs, your needs to give back the community, outreach when you’re going through a difficult time, praise to God, friends, missions, etc. A zillion different social programs, and so on. I have a lot of fond memories of the place, to be honest. Many good times, and I still hang out with several people from that church on the weekends every once in a while.

It had been about a year or so since I last went. I try to go to church every once in a while so that I don’t lose sight of what it feels like to be part of the religion I’m writing about – I know from experience on both sides of the fence that Christianity looks very different on the outside than it does on the inside.

This Sunday, I was going to church so I could speak somewhat intelligently about what it might feel like for atheists, agnostics, and “nones” to go to church on Easter Sunday. I chose my old church, the one I was most nostalgic about, because I wanted to experience the nostalgia and the whole bit as I went.

As I somewhat anticipated, I walked away from the service feeling very conflicted, and it took awhile for me to figure out exactly how to parse out why. I could go in chronological order to discuss it, but I’d like to skip to the sermon, because that encapsulated my feeling conflicted.

So the preacher, Rick Atchley, seems like a cowboy – wiry, no-nonsense, intelligent, thoughtful, and straightforward. It was no accident that his church had grown; the guy was effective and strongly, forcefully getting a point across, as well as at being friendly and thoughtful. He told good jokes. And he just had a kind of natural aura of charisma about him. His eyes indicated that this was someone who cared about people, but also someone who was not willing to yield to falsehood. Someone you could trust, who could also keep you in line. A man of strength and conviction, so to speak.

He was talking about the resurrection of Lazarus. Long story short, his first point was that you should trust Jesus when times are hard, because God will always show up on his timing; just because things are difficult, you shouldn’t lose faith. His second point was that you should get rid of the “old grave clothes” of your former life. You should follow Christ and put old ways of thinking that are not in the arena of following Christ out of your mind. One example he repeated was marriage – instead of thinking that your marriage isn’t going to work out, you should trust God and his timing, and you should put away the “old grave clothes” thinking that might prompt you to give up on that relationship.

He was preaching this message to a chorus of “amens.” And I was, I admit, a bit infuriated as I repeatedly shook my head. Sometimes marriages need to end, and giving people false hope was not helping them make decisions. It’s like telling someone to sit in a room with an open door and saying someone is coming to give them a million dollars when no one is coming. And then, when they start to doubt someone is coming, scold them and tell them to just have faith that someone is coming instead of encouraging them to honestly and rationally analyze the situation and make their decision.

Now, a Christian will probably say here, “That’s not my Christianity. My Christianity encourages me to make rational decisions.”

And that’s not surprising, because afterwards, when I talked to my old megachurch pastor for the first time in my life, that’s exactly what he said.

Mixed Feelings

When I talked to him, I told him my history of coming to his church and that I became an atheist. He seemed a bit surprised, but nodded as I told him my concerns.

He made a division between sin experienced here in the world, which we deal with, and our hope in Jesus Christ, which would last forever. I did not see this pronounced in the sermon, but in talking with him he said that there were rational things we could do to combat sin here on earth, in this sinful world, but regardless of that, what he was giving people was a hope that, eventually, things would be perfect. He said that he had visited too many people in cancer wards and held the hands of too many people going through tough times for him to give them my point of view, which is that life is pointless and things may never get better. And then, being a busy megachurch preacher and a bit of a family man, he had to cut off the conversation there and attend to his family.

So that’s where my mixed feelings come in. I mean, my parents, for example – even being the rabid anti-theist that I am, I have to admit that my last act if my parents only have a few days to live will not be disabusing them of their theistic convictions. I have to admit that, on a personal level, for some people, there is a hope in Christianity that simply is not provided by my atheistic view of the world.

I get the sense that preachers think that we atheists resent their happiness and are trying to take it away. To some extent and in some cases, maybe that’s true; I’m not a mind-reader, and most of us human beings probably have a desire for some kind of utopia, whether we think we’ll see it or not. But many of us have a much larger issue with this scheme, and it is frustrating to have that dismissed because Christians are focused on us being “mad at God” as if that’s some kind of counterargument.

Maybe the reason we’re mad at the concept of God isn’t the reason you think.

Maybe the reason we’re upset is because we want to be free from religion’s control.

Understand: I’m not saying that every Christian out there is trying intentionally to ruin a non-Christian’s life. I’m not saying Christians, as a group, are lying when they talk about God. What I’m saying is that, as an atheist who does not believe in God, I think it’s dangerous when you encourage people to allow your decisions in life to be guided by the advice of someone who does not exist – dangerous for them and dangerous for the people they interact with. I think that a hope that does not exist in reality can damage the lives of those who believe it and those who don’t.

I should tell you that there’s a division between atheists here.

Some atheists say, “Yeah, Christianity is wrong, But we can still use the hope it contains to do good for the world.” That group, admittedly, is becoming more popular these days. But do you really want your religion to be controlled by people who don’t believe it? I say, “Christianity is wrong, and it is unethical to manipulate people with false hope; we need to be honest with people.” One sees the carrot-on-a-stick method being used and is like, “Yeah, we can still do what we want to do; we just gotta adjust the carrot.” I have a problem with the entire carrot-on-a-stick method. I think it’s fundamentally insulting, harmful, and degrading, and I’d like to be honest with people and tell them straight. Although my language may be harder than those who may seem more “accommodating,” I think my straightforwardness is, ultimately, more respectful.

So the conflict is between two things. When the carrot-on-a-stick approach is used and the “carrot” is a mirage that doesn’t exist, I have to admit that the hope can motivate people. It can make people happier, it can cause change, it can make people feel better about their lives. That’s the honest truth. The problem is that when the direction of the “carrot” is controlled by a pastor, a Bible, a church, etc., it basically takes over people’s sense of direction for their lives. It takes over the way they treat other people and the way the feel about themselves. It fundamentally insults their dignity and allows whoever is controlling the “carrot” to devastate their lives at an immeasurable level.

How The “What If You’re Wrong?” Question Deconverted Me

One of the things that really bothered me as a Christian was the question of whether I was wrong. I was living my whole life striding towards a goal that may not be there. I was missing out on directions that I thought would help and validate other people, as well as myself. What if I was like the horse plodding along with the carrot in front of my face, working for the good of someone who didn’t even exist all of my life?

Leaving Christianity was like leaving carrot-stick thinking. The carrot grew more and more beautiful the harder it was to acquire or work towards, and the harder life got. It was the anticipation of a future perfect moment that made it so beautiful. When I left that thinking, there was, at first, mixed in with the relief I wouldn’t have to chase the carrot anymore, a sense that nothing could ever compare to a life chasing the beautiful carrot. But I realized that wasn’t quite true. Chasing after an imagined joy and experiencing real ones took some adjusting, just as the stallion who thought all his life that the carrot was the most beautiful object he could acquire might have to adjust to the beauty of running free in the fields. But it honestly did not take long for me. I’m not saying that life is perfect. But it is freer, and I can explore more arenas of knowledge, and I have to worry about sin a lot less and can worry about what works for people a lot more; I no longer see people as there for the ideals – the ideals need to be adjusted according to people. No non-existent being influences my decisionmaking, and that’s a very beautiful thing.

So what about people going through hard times?

The largest-ever study on intercessory prayer, which was conducted in 2006, cost $2.4 million, and had 1,802 patients, showed that those who were prayed for did WORSE than those who weren’t prayed for. Why? Because, the researchers theorized, the people who were being prayed for my have gotten performance anxiety stress that actually worsened their health. I find this pretty obvious, based on personal experience with others; for example, people who are depressed can feel an obligation to feel less depressed that makes them actually feel more depressed, in my experience.

False hope can hold people to unrealistic expectations and make life worse than just being honest with people. Maybe a story more beautiful than a resurrection you try to push people into believing is the story of two people at a hospital bed, experiencing love together as one of them takes their last breath, and the decision that that love is the most beautiful moment in one’s life.

That’s something I could live with. That’s taking life in instead of passing it by for a mirage you’ll never see.

And that’s why I didn’t answer the altar call after the Easter lesson.

Hopefully you understand.

1. On How “OK” It Is To Openly Discuss Religion

Just to clarify, I’m angry, primarily, at Christianity, as opposed to Christians. And I know a lot of Christians are angry at Atheism, too. It’s OK to talk about it. It’s OK, as well, to disagree (strongly) during the talk and I am not obligated to like what you have to say, but it’s still OK to talk about it. We’re all stuck in the same existence, anyway, so we might as well.

2. On Hating Christianity, Not Christians

It’s come to my attention that many people think I hate Christians. Let me clarify.

I do not hate Mother Teresa, but I hate the Christianity that drove her to despair.

I do not hate the lgb teen Christian sitting in the pew, but I hate the bible verses that caused them to feel they had to choose between giving up romantic love and hell.

I do not hate the Christian woman who prays to be healed of cancer instead of going into treatment, but I hate the Christian doctrine of prayer that led her to trust in God more than medicine.

I do not hate the Christian couple that put their life savings in the offering plate, but I hate the Christian con that convinced them to do it.

I do not hate the parents who teach their children Christian principles that they were once taught, but I hate that the parents, also, were told they needed to be saved from themselves in Sunday School.

Etc. Etc. Etc.

I don’t hate Christians. I love Christians, and that’s why I hate Christianity.

3. On Feeling Love

There is more love in humanity than we give it credit for; people just have a tendency to externalize love as “God” because they feel unworthy of it, and the chasm between ourselves and our own love that we have externalized causes us to hate ourselves, and because we are afraid of this hate we externalize it, too, and call it “Satan.”

I know I do not love alone. I know I’m part of a vast process that nobody fully understands. But this I do know: I’m part of it. So I don’t have to earn access to love; it is mine simply because I’m here. No apologies, no guilt, no subservience, no externalization necessary. The love I feel is mine, and the love I see in existence is all of ours.

I’m worth it. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.

4. On The Christian’s Concern About My Morality 

Hell in Christian theology does not exist to punish the evildoer — if the “evildoer” agrees with your standing as a Child of God (and is part of the “club” himself through this belief in God) then he is not punished. Statistics show that Christians committ traditional sins about as much, and in some cases more, than non-Christians. So Hell does not exist in theology in order to punish people for doing bad things.

You have a high standing in Christianity. It is naturally a human impulse to accept people who enrich that standing, magnifying their value, and reject people who challenge that standing, minimizing their value. This is why hell exists: to diminish the standing of those who criticize the God-given standing of Christians. And while this may be offensive, it makes a LOT of Christian action make more sense (the accusations, the hurt feelings, the insistent proclamations, the street preaching, the multiple denominations, etc.). This explains why belief that validates your position with God, not right action, is the primary requirement for avoiding hell.

When people ask about morality, then, they are often asking, “Why do YOU think I am person to be treated with respect and deference and love, since you don’t believe in my standing with God?”

Because I do. And I don’t need the threat of hell to do that. I respect you because I think you’re worth it, in and of yourself.

5. On Hating God

I hate the God of the Bible and I don’t believe in Him. But I love religious people (and people in general) and I believe in them. So, even as I rant and rail against Christianity, and don’t pull punches when someone attacks my nonbelief, and regularly critique the things Christians claim to believe, I think it’s extremely important that I don’t lose sight of what it was like to be a Christian, that I keep in contact with the Christian community, and that I show that I believe in them even if I don’t believe in their Bible’s God. And maybe that belief in something that exists will fade allegiance to what does not, extinguishing it with the power of a hug (or a firm handshake with a genuine smile, if you prefer).

6. On My Most Generous Opinion Of Jesus

I think Jesus loved people. I think he cared about people. I think that he maybe had some ideas that weren’t true about himself. I think some of his words are useful, just like some of most men’s words are useful. I think some of his words have damaged culture and crippled individuals in the way that they’ve tried to operate in the world. But I don’t hate him. I don’t have a vendetta against him. I’m not shaking my fist at him. I just think he was wrong. He was somebody with good intentions that was wrong; that’s what I think. And I’ve been there. I’m probably there right now. So I don’t hate people in those positions. It’s not a personal attack. Sometimes people are right, sometimes people are wrong. Sometimes I may be right, sometimes I may be wrong. I may be wrong all the time. But the best I can do is be honest with myself and be honest with the way I’m looking at the world and be honest with other people. And, in the midst of that honesty, try to make the world the best place I can make it in the best way I know how. And that’s what I’m trying to do. I hope you can understand that. Thanks.

7. On How I Find Peace

I live knowing I was always here and will always be here, because pulsating through every infinitesimal part of my being is the energy behind the matter. And energy cannot be created or destroyed, so neither am I.

I am part of the energy in the universe. I will always be. I have no need for additional assurances. That is plenty. And as I sit here and feel the core of my being here in the silence of this room, staring alone as the pixels mark the page to someone I can’t see on the other end, or maybe to no one at all, I feel peaceful. Let the world rush, let the love spark and die, let hate burn and ignite, let the world spin like a top and the universe tower above me, and I, steady and calm and still and deeply meaningful in my own right, will feel peace.

8. On How Ridiculously Offensive Christianity Tends To Be 

Sometimes I am passionate about debate concerning Christianity. At other times, I take a step back and the whole thing looks so ridiculous that I wonder why it is not a open and shut case. Virgins don’t have babies. Dead men don’t rise from their graves after 3 days of being stone cold dead. People generally do not walk on water. Paul was wrong; women should not be kept silent in any organization, let alone the church, regardless of the context. Nobody I know who is breathing actually turns the other cheek regularly in everyday life. Maybe in a few strategic instances, but not in everyday life. No one gives all they possess to the poor or give to everyone who asks of them. The entire Bible is incredibly inconsistent– you generally have to bend over backwards to make all the texts seem to match and even then it is very questionable. People don’t deserve to spend an eternity in Hell simply because they don’t believe an ancient book that was compiled over 300 years after the fact by the politically expedient command of a Roman emperor and that has so many errors in it that we are not sure what the originals look like — originals which themselves were, for the most part, compiled from other sources which were not very reliable either, most likely, even if they had been talking about things that made some semblance of sense.

It is absolutely dumbfounding to me that people think I am going to hell because I don’t believe such a fantastic story on such flimsy evidence. It’s worse than being disowned, pitied, or seen as deserving of Hell because you don’t think the Tooth Fairy exists. It is hard for me to believe that I once believed this story the more I see outside of it, like waking out of a ridiculous dream.

One thing that kept me from continuing in Christianity is that I could not tell people who I knew did not deserve it that they were going to hell. It astounds me when people have the balls to say anything similar to me, and then expect me to just take it politely while treating their ridiculous beliefs with respect they refuse to give my very rational, perfectly normal doubts, and even myself as a human being. No. I will respect you as a human being, but I have absolutely no respect for your beliefs. And that is not unfair: I am on the higher ground here. I still respect you as a fellow human being; I am NOT the one saying that you deserve corporal punishment for disagreeing with me.

Whether you like it or not, if you say you believe in the Bible, that is exactly what you are telling me and everyone else who does not agree with that book. And yes, that realization was one of the reasons I left. Christianity may get a moral pass, but it is an overwhelmingly cruel system and I didn’t have the stomach for it, especially as it was untrue.

9. On Why I’m So Obsessed With Christianity

I’d like to move past Christianity. I would. Really. The world is SO much more interesting without it. But it seems like every time I reach for that more interesting world, Christianity pops up again in some way, shape, or form — family, friends, politics, and roadblock-constructing assumptions in society. 

The old problems stay problems, for the most part, and new ones crop up every day. 

And I’d leave except…. The problems would still be there.

10. On The Question Of Whether I Wanted To Become An Atheist So I Could Sin

If I wanted to be an atheist just so I could “sin,” I wouldn’t be an atheist. I’d be an In Name Only Christian. Much easier in the Bible Belt.

I’m an atheist because I care.

11. On Whether Leaving Christianity Was Selfish

You know…for a while, I think I really believed there was probably a place I would be tortured for all eternity if I left Christianity. But I cared so much for people supposedly going to hell that I couldn’t stop studying and thinking about it, trying to figure out how to convince them to be saved — although the more I studied and thought, the more I felt in danger of losing salvation myself. It was a hard place. It was excruciating.

People have told me that my decision was selfish. I don’t think there’s anything wrong, necessarily, with selfish decisions, in and of themselves…but, honestly, when I was struggling with the concept of hell, I saw the flames in front of me. I pictured the torment in tears and terror. Unlike most Christians (from what I can see), I really expected and imagined the flames burning my flesh forever.

It was a hard choice. Everything that seemed good and naturally right to me, for the most part, said to stay with Christianity.

But I cared too much. Even though I THOUGHT I WOULD BURN IN TORMENT FOREVER…full of fear, I held the hands of strangers I loved and began the dangerous journey of trying to understand them. I knew that this empathy was dangerous to every hint of my well being, and it was tense and hard and dark. But when the push came to shove, I looked humanity in the eyes, side by side with a burning pit of sulfer, and said for the love of it,

“Alright then; I’ll go to hell.”

Maybe I am a selfish person. But I know this: that choice was the bravest, most selfless thing I’ve ever done in my life.

12. My Reaction To The Church Going Out Of Its Way To Accept The LGBTQ Community

Once I (a black man) went to a predominantly white church and an older (white) gentleman came up to me and said, “I’m SO glad you’re here. Y’know…that’s one thing I like about this church. We like ALL kinds of people here. All kinds. I mean, this church is so tolerant; you’re going to love it here. Anyone can come in. Doesn’t matter if you’re white, or you’re black…” he went on this vein for about ten minutes.

That awkwardness I felt…that seems analogic to the way the lgbtq community feels when the church applauds itself and allows others to applaud them for being so “accepting” of the lgbt community.

Actually, it’s probably worse, because a lot of churches go out of their way to “accept” the lgbt community without stating that their sexual activities aren’t sins.

13. My Reaction To Christians Who Apologize On Behalf Of The Church

“I’m so sorry that Christians were so mean/didn’t teach you the right gospel/didn’t emphasize grace enough/weren’t Christlike/didn’t love you enough. I just want you to know, I’m a Christian and I’m not like that/I don’t preach that because I love people, and I just want to share the grace of Christ with you in love, man. Because I’m no better than you; when it comes down to it, we’re all sinners. It’s JESUS who saves us. If someone lied to you and said that Christians are better or didn’t tell you enough about God’s grace, I’m SO sorry.”

First, nothing you said there is original. You’re doing the very thing you’re apologizing for, and I’ve heard it a zillion times before.

Second, you’re assuming that I’m wrong, and I don’t agree with you. But rather than engage in honest discourse about it, you just pity me in my assumed wrongness — without any logic or proof behind it; nothing but your tears. I’m not wrong on Christianity, so your pity is a waste of time and it kinda frustrates me/pisses me off.

I mean, I guess that’s kinda better than heartless nothing. But I what I REALLY want is for you to LISTEN TO ME instead of having a funeral. Because I’m not attending it. Because I don’t care how sorry for me you feel — it doesn’t make you RIGHT. And that’s really what I care about. Because if you’re gravely wrong, as it seems extremely clear to me you are, it doesn’t matter how you frame it or cry about it or apologize for it — you’re still conducting your life and influencing mine in a terrible way, and you need to change it up.

14. On How Dealing With Christians Has Made Me Less Surprised About People Doing Bad Things

Honestly, when a bombing happens or a terrorist attack or a murder or a kidnapping…it doesn’t faze me anymore. People are like, “How could you do something so terrible???” And because I’ve had to figure out, for my own psychological health, how Christians can defend the genocides of the Old Testament without batting an eye, and defend the concept of hell, I get numb. I shrug. I totally get it.

It’s child play compared to this blind support of the concept of hell. Serial killers just torture for a while and kill. Most Christians praise a God who supposedly allows/enacts (depending on your theology) eternal torment (or something like it, again, depending on your theology). I still can’t get over that.

 

The first Friday of April 2012, I came to a decision.

I remember that I had pulled over on my way to the grocery store.  I had almost made this decision a couple times before, only to shrink back when I wondered how family and friends would react.  I knew that there would be many questions people would want answered, and I had to be ready for that, as well.  I knew that I would make people angry, sad, and hurt.  And I knew, knowing my personality, that I would not be able to keep quiet. As a Christian I was always very intentional about engaging in discourse with people who disagreed with my views, and I knew I would probably do the same thing, to a major extent, as an ex-Christian as well.

That night, though, I realized there was no good reason for me to believe Christianity was true.  People didn’t need a Savior; they needed validation from flesh and blood human beings. The Gospels were indisputably unreliable, and the resurrection of Jesus was ridiculous nonsense to me by that time.  The God of the Old Testament was a monster.  Hell scared people and there was no reason to think it even existed.  And so on, and so on, and so on.  Every pillar in Christianity that I had believed for years had, over the past few years, been clearly shown to be indefensible.  And the divide between what I was increasingly suspecting in my mind and my everyday activities as a Christian was taking its toll on my psychological health — as someone who wanted to make a positive difference in people’s lives in an honest way, Christianity became more and more intolerable for me.

I tried, for awhile, to check out mystical/emergent/progressive Christianity.  But every time it referenced the Bible, I got sick to my stomach, because I knew that the Bible said many very disturbing things that I could not, in good conscience, support. I was unwilling to support one part of the Bible when I thought the verse right next to it was dangerous.  And if I was picking and choosing what I liked and what I didn’t like, anyway, what did I need the Bible for?  It was better to just do away with it; I was interested in Truth.

I remember that, at 12 years old, I made a heartfelt commitment to Jesus Christ.  Although most Christians will insist that I never was a Christian because I eventually left, to me, that felt real.  After I made that commitment, I felt that I had lost the old self, the sinner, and become a new creation.  I was all smiles.  My life seemed to have a new light in it.

That day, at 12, when I died for Jesus felt awesome, but the supposed new life he gave me began to fade, however, over time.  At first, I noticed that there were Christians in denominations outside of mine who had dubious salvation status, and that widened my picture of Christianity and gave me doubts about my own denominations.  Then, as time went on, I discovered different religions, different ways of thought, and different people that the Bible said were sinners.  I knew from getting to know them that it was far more complicated than that, and I grew increasingly impatient with the caricatures of non-Christian people that were painted in the Bible and in the church that glossed over the deeper personhood of those individuals.  Including and, eventually, especially atheists, who I had to admit frequently had some decent points that Christians ignored by trying to give them a bad reputation.

What I saw in other people’s lives caused me to re-examine Christianity.  I did not leave because other people seemed like decent human beings — although that did drive up the stakes, as I wanted to be sure whether they were going to hell or not.  I get the sense that many Christians view Christianity as a buffet, where you can choose from several different definitions of hell or heaven or morality that suit you.  That wasn’t my case — I wanted to know if hell actually existed; I wished to know what was true, not just get validation on I wished to believe.

Because of that, I increasingly developed more compassion for the fundamentalists in the church.  They got a bad rap, the street preachers, but, then again, they were actually doing things that the Bible said to do.  I think that many Christians heap abuse on street preachers to distance themselves from them, but almost every time I have seen a Christian and a street preacher talk, the street preacher seems to have more scriptural support, even though they may come across as more heartless in viewpoint…but if you get beyond the caricature, you can see that they are frequently trapped in a lie that tears their hearts apart, and their presence on the street is them crying out in their own love and pain.  And talking to them as a Christian, trying to convince them to change, showed me that these were individuals who put their reputations on the line because they really loved me and did not want me to go to hell, and they were doing this in spite of progressive Christians, atheists, and…well, a culture in general that regularly insulted them.

I wanted to now for sure whether or not hell existed so that I could help people I really cared about.  And if it did not exist, I did not want to lie to people and say that it did, because I saw that as hurting and frightening people unnecessarily. If the Bible wasn’t true, and Jesus didn’t really rise from the dead, I was going to reject Christianity strongly, because it was unnecessarily creating divisions in people and lying to people by virtue of the book so much of it was based on.

Anyway, long story short, this evening, after several years of deep thought, experiences, and struggle, along with frequent prayer requests for doubt, and a week before I was scheduled to lead a weekly video series Bible study on apologetics, I had come to a breaking point.  I realized I could not teach the series on apologetics I was scheduled to teach, and I had to drop out somehow.  Teaching it would be dishonest, as I honestly found, at that moment, that I didn’t believe any of it anymore, and it would be way too hard for me to uphold something that was so clearly false to me.

So I sent a text to the person who set up the schedule and said I wouldn’t be able to teach.

At that moment, at the age of 28, Jesus died for me, and that 12 year old self I buried so that the new me could live for God began to come back, and I’ve been rediscovering myself and who I am.  Yes, there were relationships that changed in difficult ways, as I anticipated.  But there were more wonderful things that took me by surprise.  For example, I’ve discovered a bigger heart for people than I thought I’d have as an atheist; I always thought atheists were belligerant and angry and didn’t care as a Christian, and now I knew that they are angry, oftentimes, because they care.  It’s been beautiful to know I did not need God to have a heart for people — in fact, not having God has helped me love people more easily than before.  I’m also ravenously curious, I want to explore things and gain new knowledge about the world around me.  I like asking questions and not being told to “just believe” within certain parameters.  I like starting conversations with people from different faiths.  I enjoy not having to check a 2000 year old book for my stance on any issues, anymore.  I really like the new friends I’ve made, the smiles I’ve discovered, and even the occasional tears I’ve encountered.  I have enjoyed being honest, not having to hold back — the freedom of stating where I’m coming from without worrying what some powerful being thinks.  I like not looking at people as if they are hell bound.

So today, Good Friday, is a bit of a celebration for me.  Jesus died for me that day three years ago and has stayed dead since, and I’m happy about that, because that means that I don’t have to deny myself, take up my cross, and follow him, or that I have to live for Jesus because my “old self” is dead.  The fact that Jesus is dead  has allowed me to discover countless beautiful ways that I am alive, and it has brought people around me back to life in beautiful, wonderful, amazing ways that would not have been remotely possible had not Jesus died for me so that I could discover my life, and live it more abundantly.

*sigh*

Goddamn.

Are you a Christian who is annoyed by the criticism of your religion from anti-theists?

Get over it.

Honestly. Instead of complaining and telling us to shut up, you should be beside yourself with happiness.

I’m not kidding. I mean, that’s what Jesus says in the Sermon On The Mount (Matthew 5:11-12):

Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me.  Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven.

So keep your head up and smile, Christians.  You should be thankful for this if you follow Jesus.  I mean, I, personally, think that’s ridiculous nonsense, but you obviously value the advice very highly, most of you, seeing as how you’re so enthusiastic about Jesus and all, so…why don’t you, like, do it?

Of course, if it’s not about following Jesus, but about your own ego and comfort, I could see how you could be offended.  And, frankly, that offense convinces me even more that I should criticize your belief strongly, because it indicates that the belief that people are sinners who need Jesus is not something that you believe because you believe in Jesus, but is really about an ego trip.  Your view of others as unsaved is not about God; it’s about you trying to protect a view that makes you comfortable and/or happy. Which seems a bit more selfish than most Christians claim to be.  Honestly.  If you really are passionate about saving non-Christians, why would you tell us to shut up when our criticisms are most honest, blunt, and frequent?  Wouldn’t you be overjoyed that we’re actually being up front and honest with you, and this is your chance to talk about God to save us?  So when you complain, that’s proof to us that it’s not about God; it’s about you and your ego.  And, more broadly, that ego translates to political power that indicates Christianity is little more than a tool for control, and our criticism makes you afraid of losing it.

I mean, I’ve read your book.  I know what the Bible says about responding to people insulting you.  When you get all upset about my criticism of religion, I am likely to criticize you MORE, not less, because then I don’t really see you as hiding behind a genuine belief in God.  I see you as using that as an excuse for the way you look at people who you want to see as different than you for whatever reason — whether they are atheists, or lgbtq couples, or people from other religions, or people from any other group you may look at differently because of your religious affiliation. I see your choice to love a dead man over living flesh and blood as a sham you perpetuate so that you can lift yourself up while putting others down.

When I see you get upset over criticism,  that’s proof for me that you don’t really believe in Jesus, frankly.  It makes me think your hiding behind him, using him as an excuse to make decisions that are more selfish than you care to admit.

And I’m not lying to you.  For example — when I was a Christian, I loved it, for the most part, when people challenged my faith, precisely because of that verse.  Believe it or not, I actually thought that I was serving God by taking the abuse, so I really tried to welcome it.

When I left Christianity, I thought other Christians had the same view of things — and to my surprise, I found that criticisms of their faith were often met with resentment, not the rejoicing and gladness Christ prescribed.  The only conclusion I could come to was that this was more about them — Christians — than it was about God.  And that makes me have a lot less respect for your religion, because, frankly, that’s indicating that you agree with me — that underneath it all, you don’t really believe in God.  You believe in people and in trying to be comfortable and happy regardless of who you offend or hurt with your doctrine along the way, and when you say, “I’m sorry; that’s just what God says about xyz,” you’re lying through your teeth.

Let me say, finally, that my criticism of Christianity is not just selfish.  I mean, I have been hurt by Christian people who prefer to respect someone I think is dead over me, who is standing right in front of them, but that is dwarfed by the fact that most of Christendom thinks that we are sinners who need to be saved by God in order to deserve anything more than an eternity in hell; most believe we have to die to who we actually are and sign up to follow and be fundamentally transformed by a God-concept crafted thousands of years ago.

I have seen that hurt the world in many ways and I want to stop it, so I’m speaking up.

Here’s an idea:  Instead of throwing a hissy-fit when we criticize your religion this weekend, why not take some time out to actually listen and understand?  Maybe, just maybe, we have some legitimate concerns that explain our insults and our anger.

Or you can make your life even more unpleasant by ignoring your Jesus in telling us atheists to tone it down, which will actually increase our cynicism and criticism (rightfully so, I think, because that shows that this is really about your ego), and the vicious cycle can continue.

Your choice.

But I don’t have to follow that “do not judge” nonsense in your book.  I’m totally going to judge your choice here, whatever it is.

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