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[Image courtesy of Petras Gagilas under Creative Commons License]

1. My parents taught me to seek and represent truth and authenticity

Growing up, my parents taught me that I should not blindly follow human authority – I needed to see whether what other people said to what was actually true.  I also was taught to always be honest; if I did not believe something was true, I was morally obligated to be forthright; lying and hypocrisy was unhealthy.  While God was the source of truth growing up, the drive for truth and authenticity my parents planted in me gave me the courage to leave religion when I might otherwise have stayed out of blind faith in respected church leaders.  My continued honesty regarding my stance towards religion is also largely an outgrowth of the respect for truth my parents cultivate.

2. My parents demonstrated empathy

My mother (as well as my Dad, but my mother, especially) is very passionate about loving and giving and caring for other people.  Her example is part of what drove me to be more empathetic, and as I got to know more people, my empathy became increasingly incompatible with a comfortable belief in hell.  Without that empathy I would not have reached out to as many agnostics and atheists, and without that love and care for them I would not have been able to empathize with them and see the merits of their perspective.

3. My parents ensured I had a strong knowledge of what the Bible said

Growing up memorizing hundreds of verses, having daily Bible studies, and reading the Bible about an hour a day due to a deep, sincere faith in God that I shared with my parents gave me a fairly thorough knowledge of the Bible that I carry remnants of to this day.  Had I not known the Bible as well, I would not have been able to compare it as aptly to some of the things I learned or seen how it applied or didn’t apply to my own and others’ lives.  I also would not have struggled with interpretations of difficult passages nearly as often when I came across contradictory information.  It would have been possible for me to leave Christianity with less knowledge of the Bible, but knowing the Bible fairly well allowed me to leave with a more detailed list of objections – thanks to my Christian parents I left Christianity because I was informed as to what the Bible said, not out of ignorance.

4. My parents showed that committed love was possible

My parents are in a long, committed relationship going on 33 years now, in spite of their occasional disagreements.  Far from keeping me Christian, witnessing their committed love for each other – which in many ways extended to me – showed me that they would still love me even if I became an atheist.  Although I would not advise other mothers to make this decision — simply because of the enormous commitment it was — my mother decided to homeschool her seven children through high school.  The close family relationship we developed as a result showed me that I would be loved and cared about no matter what.  Things were rocky when I came out as an atheist, but somehow we managed to make it work.  This security mattered a lot to me throughout my struggle as a Christian and when I decided to become a non-Christian and, finally, an atheist.  They showed and continue to show that they care.

What did my parents do wrong?

My parents have often have pondered what they may have done wrong to make me an atheist.  I think it’s not what they did wrong that made me an atheist, but what they did right.  If my parents had made blindly following people a higher priority than seeking Truth, or had taught me that love and empathy were less important, or taught me less about the Bible, or made it clear that their love was dependent on whether or not I was a Christian…who knows?  My guess is my story would be different.  I would probably be a Christian, still.  But because of conscientious, loving parents, my love for God and thirst for truth led me to replace a love of God with a secular, honest love for humanity that is manifested in what I do, say, and write.

Although I know it sounds a bit rude to say this, I mean this sincerely — I am deeply grateful to my parents for their hand in raising me to become an atheist — so much so that I have tried several ways of telling them this, politely, to no avail.  So I’m reaching out, potentially, to other parents out there.  If we atheists are actually right (and I obviously believe we are), it’s no surprise that decent parenting, even from religious people, would produce atheists.  If anything, many of us see our atheism as a compliment to the way we were raised, though it does, sometimes, sadden us that you’ll never see it that way.

In any case…somehow it’s cathartic to say, “Thanks, mom and dad, for the hand you played in my becoming an atheist.”  Because, through the teared-up eyes looking at this laptop screen, I’m profoundly grateful for it.

I really, deeply, sincerely am.

Thanks for reading.

[Image courtesy of Munson under Creative Commons License]

1. Protestants are not in the majority

In 2007, the percentage of Protestants was 51.3%.  As of 2014, it is 46.5%.

2. The highest percentage of religious people are “evangelicals,” not “progressives”

Evangelicals make up 25.4% of the population, a greater share than any other affiliation, including Catholics (20.8%) and Mainline Protestants (14.7%).

Evangelicals usually believe in biblical inerrancy and/or infallibility.  What this means is that, when criticizing the Bible, the Anti-Religious are actually attacking the most prominent sect of religion in the United States (contrary to what many liberal  Christians would have us believe). They also are more prone to have worse views of hell and homosexuality than Mainline Protestants — so critiques there are hitting their mark, as well.  This focus is important, as Evangelicals seem to be holding stronger than most other religious groups (only a .9% decrease from 2007).

3. The number of Atheists, though still small, has nearly doubled since 2007, outpacing all Christian affiliations.

The number of atheists has nearly doubled from 1.6% in 2007 to 3.1% in 2014.  This is small growth, but it is significant in that every other Christian affiliation has either shrunk or grown by only .1% of a percentage point from 2007 to 2014.

4.  There are more Atheists than there are members of any Non-Protestant or Non-Catholic religion in the United States.

There are more Atheists (3.1%) in the United States than there are Orthodox Christians (0.5%), Mormons (1.6%), Jehovah’s Witnesses (0.8%), Christians who do not fit in any of the aformentioned categories (0.4%), those of the Jewish religion (1.9%), Muslims (.9%), Buddhists (.7%), Hindus (.7%), and all other religions not mentioned previously (1.8%).  That’s pretty significant — if you’re campaigning for the rights of non-mainline positions on religions, Atheists make the short list.

5.  There are now more Americans in the “Unaffiliated” category than there are Catholics

In 2007, the number of Catholics (23.9%) was larger than the number of the Unaffiliated (16.1%).  As of 2014, the number of Catholics (20.8%) is less than the number of the Unaffiliated (22.8%).

6.  The Unaffiliated are getting younger and the Christian population is getting older

The Unaffiliated (22.8%) have an average age of 36 (down from 38 in 2007) — about a third of those under the age of 30 are Unaffiliated.  The average age of Mainline Protestants is 52 (up from 50 2007), and the average age of Catholic adults is 49 (up from 45 in 2007).  The lowering age of the Unaffiliated indicates that more people in the next generation are leaving religion, and the rising age of Christians indicates that people are less likely to return to Christianity later in life — the ages are stagnantly and steadily rising; they don’t balloon around the age of 40 or so.

7.  More Americans are having religiously mixed marriages

Among marriages that occurred since 1960, 19% were mixed in religion.  However, among marriages that took place since 2010, 39% have been religiously mixed.  The indication seems to be that religion is mattering less in considerations of compatibility in romantic relationships.  As the Pew Forum noted, “The rise in intermarriage appears to be linked with the growth of the religiously unaffiliated population.”

8.  Older people are leaving religion, too

As the Pew Forum states, “people in older generations are increasingly disavowing association with organized religion.”  The share of those who are unaffiliated rose from 9% to 11% among those born from 1928-1945, from 14% to 17% among those born from 2007 to 2014, and from 19% to 23% for those born from 1965 to 1980.  Again, people aren’t leaving religion and coming back.

People are leaving religion for good.

9.  The probability is high that the son or daughter you raise religious will become unaffiliated.

It seems that people who are raised religious become unaffilated; they aren’t raised that way.  What that means is that there is an increasingly high probability that your son or daughter who you are raising religious will switch over.

 

 

[Image Courtesy of mario under  Creative Commons License]

“I think that the word ‘spiritual’ has possibly been hijacked by religion in the following sense: There are an awful lot of scientists who call themselves religious.  But if you actually challenge them and ask them what they believe, it turns out they don’t believe in the personal God at all, but they have a sense of reverence and awe for the mysteries that we still don’t understand about the universe, and they have the sense of emotional reaction to looking up at the Milky Way, for example, and some people will use the word ‘spiritual’ for that.

“And I don’t care what word you use — I mean, words are our servants, not our masters — so by all means, call yourself ‘spiritual’ if you have that reaction, as I do.

“But don’t let religious people hijack you, therefore, and count you as part of their number because you call yourself a spiritual person.  Don’t let them hijack you and say, “Oh, you obviously must believe in God.”  Or, even worse, that you believe that Jesus is your personal Lord and Savior because you are filled with an emotional upwelling of feeling when you look at the Milky Way.  Let’s be clear about the words that we use and don’t let other people hijack them or hijack you and assume that you’ve joined their party because you have a normal human reaction, whether it’s to the stars, to poetry, to music, or whatever else it might be. I mean, all the scientists I know are ‘spiritual’ in the sense that they have a poetic reaction to things like music and art and the wonders of the universe, but that’s very, very different from believing in something supernatural.” — Richard Dawkins (2013 — see first YouTube clip)

For a long time after I left Christianity, I didn’t know whether I was an atheist or not.  The definition of “God” or “gods” was hard for me to determine until I recognized that even if beings with the power and knowledge of “God” or “gods” did exist, they wouldn’t be holy deities.  “God” would just be some individual.  Sure, He/She/It could be powerful, smart, loving, etc.  But it’d still just be some individual, just like all of us.  I don’t think there’s good evidence to think that there is a powerful, authoritative being anywhere, but even if there were – it would just be that. Nothing necessarily more special than a table or a chair or a more powerful, knowledgeable human being; it would simply be there, and it would be us who decided whether or not it was meaningful or should be followed.  It wouldn’t inherently have  authority; that’s an externally bestowed title that would be based on a subjective decision that we would make based on our allegiance or lack thereof.  And because a characteristic of God or gods seemed to be inherent (as opposed externally bestowed) authority…I’m a strong atheist.  Not only do I think that there is not good evidence that God or gods exist — I also think that the concept of a god’s existence is fundamentally incoherent.

I reject pantheism for similar reasons – even if everything were somehow connected, that would just be a phenomenon – again, like a table or chair.  I don’t see that as something anyone should necessarily have to worship or anything.  It would just be a simple fact of life, like anything else.  How we would make decisions in light of that simple fact would be based on our own goals and desires, not those of a disembodied principle outside ourselves.  So there is no real sense, in my view, of thinking or saying that even a pantheistic God exists; even if something with most of its qualities did exist, it would no more be “God” than the phenomenon of gravity. I don’t see any sense in morally privileging it or seeing that way of thinking as having inherent authority.

In this blanket rejection of God, I have become an anti—theist, because every definition of “God” I have come across so far has used the concept of God to somehow dictate to people how they should live over and above their own judgment. I think the appeals to authority here would be fundamentally problematic even if something like “God” existed – because, again, “God” would just be, like, some guy.  Maybe a powerful, smart, loving guy, if you choose – but God would still just be like a guy with no inherent authority.  The fact that all these beings who are given the title of “God” do not seem to exist only makes things more problematic, especially as they seem to be manipulated by other human beings.

A lot of people have noticed that the “God” or “gods” of various religions are, basically, puppets, which is why the number of the “nones” seems to be rising.  But I’ve noticed something else in myself, as well, that made me hesitant to call myself an atheist at first.  I’m not sure how to describe it, and I think others aren’t either.  But we tend to call it “spirituality” – without actually knowing what, exactly, it is.  It’s a fascinating concept/feeling/tendency, and I’ve found myself spend a lot of time contemplating what I mean when I think of the word “spiritual.”  I don’t like the word, because it includes the word “spirit,” which seems to point to a God of gods I (as I just explained) reject.  But I do think that the word refers to a feeling that I have felt and, in ways, occasionally still feel.  What is that feeling, exactly?  What does it correspond to?

I’ve noticed that this feeling arises when I feel most connected to and aware of the entirety of existence.  I think spirituality might be an attempt to try to make that connection concrete somehow, to explore its contours.  What we call “spirituality” would be the attempt to figure out what it means to be part of existence, possibly.

[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Are53Pg0hZ8[/youtube]

I say “possibly” because “spirituality” is notoriously difficult for me to define.  I do know that it’s a feeling that I sometimes have had in church.  Perhaps the most ecstatic spirituality I ever experienced as a Christian was in a broken down building in a missionary school that was training men for the mission field.  Even though I’m an atheist now, I can’t deny that in the midst of the fervent prayers, the singing, the “speaking in tongues” – I felt something.  I think prayer doesn’t work, I think the lyrics to most of the songs are bullshit, and I think “speaking in tongues” isn’t a real thing.   But the thing was…I don’t think they had to be real, or I that I even had to believe they were real, for me to experience a deep sense of connection to the entirety of existence that overwhelmed me.

1.  I’ve been told multiple times that if I open my heart up to the spirit of God — for real this time — my heart would be OK with the Bible’s God and identify with His sense of justice.

Leviticus 24:14 “Whoever utters the name of the Lord must be put to death. The whole community must stone him, whether alien or native. If he utters the name, he must be put to death.”

My heart says that’s a disturbing violation of church and state.  It doesn’t get it.

I guess it’s a spirit of God thing…

I think I like my heart the way it is.

 

2.  I’ve been told multiple times that if I open my heart up to the spirit of God — for real this time — my heart would be OK with the Bible’s God and identify with His sense of justice.

Deuteronomy 22:28-29a (NIV)

“If a man happens to meet a virgin who is not pledged to be married and rapes her and they are discovered, he shall pay her father fifty shekels of silver. He must marry the young woman, for he has violated her.”

My heart…it doesn’t really like that.

I guess it’s a spirit of God thing…

I think I like my heart the way it is.

 

3.  I’ve been told multiple times that if I open my heart up to the spirit of God — for real this time — my heart would be OK with the Bible’s God and identify with His sense of justice.

Deuteronomy 13:6-9 

“If your very own brother, or your son or daughter, or the wife you love, or your closest friend secretly entices you, saying, ‘Let us go and worship other gods’ (gods that neither you nor your ancestors have known, gods of the peoples around you, whether near or far, from one end of the land to the other), do not yield to them or listen to them. Show them no pity. Do not spare them or shield them. You must certainly put them to death. Your hand must be the first in putting them to death, and then the hands of all the people.”

If that were my family, I wouldn’t do it. No.

But would you stone me?

I guess it’s a spirit of God thing…

I think I like my heart the way it is.

 

4.  I’ve been told multiple times that if I open my heart up to the spirit of God — for real this time — my heart would be OK with the Bible’s God and identify with His sense of justice.

Exodus 21: 7-8

“When a man sells his daughter as a slave, she will not be freed at the end of six years as the men are. If she does not please the man who bought her, he may allow her to be bought back again.” 

I guess it’s a spirit of God thing…

I think I like my heart the way it is.

 

5.  I’ve been told multiple times that if I open my heart up to the spirit of God — for real this time — my heart would be OK with the Bible’s God and identify with His sense of justice

Deuteronomy 21:10-14a
“When you go to war against your enemies and God, your God, gives you victory and you take prisoners, and then you notice among the prisoners of war a good-looking woman whom you find attractive and would like to marry, this is what you do: Take her home; have her trim her hair, cut her nails, and discard the clothes she was wearing when captured. She is then to stay in your home for a full month, mourning her father and mother. Then you may go to bed with her as husband and wife. If it turns out you don’t like her, you must let her go and live wherever she wishes.”

“But,” you protest, “she was allowed to mourn the fact that you slaughtered her family and stole everything she owned FOR A WHOLE MONTH! PLENTY of time. And she would have been PERFECTLY HAPPY in that culture to marry you a month after she saw you burn her city to the ground and killed or enslaved everyone she ever loved in this world.”I still don’t get it.

I guess it’s a spirit of God thing…

I think I like my heart the way it is.

Six years ago, when I was a Christian, I was in a room at a church with several whose lives had been torn apart by drug addiction.  I had gone out of curiosity, to see what I could do to help.  According to others at the church, I was a good, decent, well-churched young adult, and I was encouraged to go there because it was thought that I might be able to offer some advice and guidance.  Maybe share with them a few Bible verses, give them some insights, and be a kind of role model.

I was not prepared for what I saw.  Person after person who talked in that room was depressed, distraught, and disappointed over the “sins” they had committed over previous week.  And as some of them talked you could see them clutching, tightly, to their Bibles — far more torn apart and worn than mine.  You could see the fervency in their eyes, the desperation in their voices from the thought that this book — if they could hold onto it tightly enough — could save them.

These people were far more devout than anyone in my Bible Study, than the any pastor I had known, than just about any Christian I had ever met.  Because the Bible, for them, was not just something you sang songs about.  It wasn’t an excuse to have get-togethers in a building and have Sunday dinners afterwards.  There was far more sincerity in their eyes than in any of the well-monied or conventionally successful individuals who went to the church.  Far more desire to protect their faith than I have seen in any Christian apologist, before or since.  Because they thought the problem was that they didn’t believe hard enough that a man came back to life after three days of stone cold death for all the drugs they had ever taken.  There was an anguish and yearning there that fueled a deep, deep faith.  This wasn’t aesthetics; it was their lifeblood.

After the meeting was over, I went to a bathroom stall, shut the door, and wept.  It was too much. It wasn’t fair

I wasn’t a more mature Christian than these people.  They were far, far, far more spiritual and committed than I could ever hope to be.  And to see them at the end of their rope because of the advice of others like me who didn’t have one iota of what it was like to walk in their shoes, that had an infinitesimal fraction of the fervency they had…that really affected me deeply.

I’m not saying I went to a “health, wealth, and prosperity” church.  It wasn’t that — if you had asked anyone in that church whether God had anything to do with finances, they would have insisted that He didn’t (except maybe to mention Dave Ramsey, possibly).  Certainly no one at the church would admit to the things I’m saying in this post…

And yet, when I left the meeting, I was told sincerely by another advisor who showed up, “I’m so glad you came to the meeting today.  You’ll be such a good mentor for them.”

Because, among that seemingly successful crowd, believe it or not, I was someone who seemed among most sincere.  And I was, to some extent, possibly.  I prayed in private a lot, I tried to give the glory to God for all I did, I had memorized thousands of Bible verses, I largely depended on the Bible for my everyday life, and so on.

That’s part of why I don’t think thanking God is humble these days, six years later (and an an atheist now), after I’ve had a time to think about this and many other similar moments.

It’s kinda like thanking God for the stuff that makes your life nicer is like saying that God did something special in your life that he didn’t do for others who often seem so much more passionate about being committed to Him.  I guess the reason it really bothers me is because that’s not true.  I really don’t think you get what you get because some God deemed you to have it.  You get it because the world worked a certain way, you did certain things, and that was the result. And even if there were a God and He did deem you to have something, doesn’t it seem a bit arrogant for you to thank God for His “blessing” when your neighbors in third world countries are starving?

I know that may sound offensive to you…but what else am I supposed to think?

Some say, “Well, we can thank God when we have a lot and when we have a little; it’s just God’s plan.”

That seems nice, maybe, when you’re comparing two people who are fairly well off.  But is it really humble to insinuate that it’s God’s plan for you to eat a nice meal and it’s also God’s plan to have a little girl in a third world country starve to death?  Is it just me, or does that seem a bit arrogant?

Is it really humble to say that your trust in God came through and worked for you when, just a bit farther down on your Facebook timeline, someone who is even more desperately clinging to God than you is destitute and struggling?

It just doesn’t seem humble to me; it seems haughty. I know that’s probably not what you intend, but when I look at it…that’s what it looks like.

And it also seems like a bit of a lie, whether you intend it or not…almost as if you’re saying that belief in God will make a difference, which results in people who believe in God far more than you probably do who get the impression that they are supposed to be struggling while you live a decent life because the God they love and devote themselves to says that’s the way it’s supposed to be…and if you go to several churches, you’ll hear sermon after sermon after sermon advising this — either to 1) simply accept God’s will for your life if you’re destitute, or to 2) just accept that God’s will is not for you to be destitute and struggling — that if you trust in and love Him will give you money.

Both the “thank God for what He decided to give you” and the “follow God and you’ll have what you need” versions of Christianity seem a bit cruel to me.

In looking at the world with an honest, fair mind, it seems that it’s not about thanking and following God…it’s about what you have the ability to grasp, and the way you go about getting it, and the people who help you along the way, along with several other rational, more concrete factors.

So instead of thanking God, I think it’s a bit better to just be honest about the bare-bones of how you got to where you were.  Maybe the reason you’re a successful engineer who isn’t on the streets hooked on meth isn’t by the grace of God, but because you grew up in middle-class suburb, never was even offered meth, went to a private school, and got a full ride to Columbia because you studied with the best SAT prep coach in the area.  That honesty may sound arrogant if you’re used to thinking that true humility is giving thanks to God, but I have found that it’s actually a bit more helpful and humble, partly because it actually helps uncover the reasons why we got to where we are and shows others how to get there, too.  It also shows them that God isn’t picking and choosing where people are “supposed to be” — this isn’t about who is right or who was wrong or who God chose to do what.  Rather, it’s about the way the circumstances happened to be.

That honesty can help us look less at what God has supposedly allotted people and look more at the actual factors that enable or dissuade success.  It can help give people actual evidence-based solutions instead of ones depending on a God who “works in mysterious ways” that cultivate confusion.  It can help us work to make circumstances so that people around us can have happier lives, and it can help people to look more logically at the actual nuts-and-bolts of their circumstances so that they can more logically and productively solve their problems.

In any case, I think thanking a God whose plan seems to be clearly better for some than others doesn’t really mesh with humility very well — it seems more helpful, honest, and humble to use logic, reason, and evidence to determine how you got to where you are and, thus, how others can get there, too — without hoping that God chooses to bless them the way that He chose to bless you.

It just seems like a bit of a nicer, more honest, humbler way to go.  At least to this former Christian-turned-agnostic-turned-antitheist.

Makes sense?

[Image Courtesy of Alan Light under Creative Commons License]

It seems to me that organized creeds are collections of words around a wish. I feel no need for such…  It is simply not for me. Somebody else may have my rapturous glance at the archangels. The springing of the yellow line of morning out of the misty deep of dawn, is glory enough for me. I know that nothing is destructible; things merely change forms. When the consciousness we know as life ceases, I know that I shall still be part and parcel of the world. I was a part before the sun rolled into shape and burst forth in the glory of change. I was, when the earth was hurled out from its fiery rim. I shall return with the earth to Father Sun, and still exist in substance when the sun has lost its fire, and disintegrated into infinity to perhaps become a part of the whirling rubble of space. Why fear? The stuff of my being is matter, ever changing, ever moving, but never lost; so what need of denominations and creeds to deny myself the comfort of all my fellow men? The wide belt of the universe has no need for finger-rings. I am one with the infinite and need no other assurance. — Zora Neale Hurston

Ever since I stopped being a Christian, it has seemed as if Christians think I’m “in a phase.”  I’ve come across this occuring in the lives of many other atheists I know, as well.  People tell them, “I understand you’re going through a phase,” or “you seem like you’re still trying to figure things out,”or something similar.

I’ve been wondering why, exactly, that is, because I don’t really think I’m going through a phase.  I feel like what I’m doing is a bit more permanent than that.

Of course, one possibility is that Christians are intending to be patronizing, and some probably are. But I haven’t been able to shake the sentiment that there is something added there, because some of the people who have said that have been very close to me and were probably not intending to hurt me; they probably just didn’t understand where I was coming from.

The problem, I think, is that the myth of Christianity encourages a kind of stasis and confidence and insulation.  Regardless of the evidence that comes to you, you have to hold on to it.  You’re not supposed to let go.  Jesus is who you are looking for, and doubt of your beliefs that comes in the face of evidence is something to overcome as opposed to something to explore.  Or, at least, that was my experience, as a Christian who tended to ask “too many” questions and be too inquisitive (some doubt was fine, I was told…but after a few years, Christians increasingly told me I kinda overdid it).

I think most Christians think that what it means to “find yourself” is to have a home base and confidence that is constant.  No matter what comes your way, you’ll hold on to it.  You’ve found what you’re looking for, and you’re not moving.

So when they see someone on the outside of Christianity asking questions, doing investigations, changing their mind according to the evidence, and so on, they tend to think that the person is looking for the same certainty the typical Christian has, and may eventually come back to it.

Thus, the reason they think we atheists are in a “phase” is because many (though not all) of us tend to be skeptical, we tend to change our minds based on the evidence presented to us, and we tend to be more open to being wrong.  We don’t hold as many of our views with as much certainty as we did when we were a Christians or part of another religion.

To a Christian, this looks like we’re lost and searching for something, like we’re always in transition.  But it doesn’t feel that way on the inside.  I don’t feel like I’m lost and searching, so much as I feel like I’ve found something and am exploring.  For years I was in a bubble of religious myths, and now that I’ve broken out of it, I’m in a fascinating relationship with reality.  Before I would see doubting as a detriment; now I tend to see it as an asset, as something that happens naturally when I look at evidence.  Before I tried to have faith, and now — I just let go of faith and try to make decisions based on what there is evidence for. Before, I was hesitant to change my mind if the change seemed to differ from what God’s Word or Christendom in general seemed to proclaim.  Now, if there is strong evidence that I’m wrong, I have the freedom to change my mind.  And I don’t intend to go back to the bubble; the exploration has led me far beyond it.

[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HTaj4nNH5ko[/youtube]

In many ways, this life seems a lot more solid than the life I had as a Christian, when I was reaching for meaning in a story that seemed fantastic and seemed to fly in the face of evidence and common sense.  Logic, reason, evidence, and empathy in regards to beings who much more clearly exist seems to be an all-around more naturally confident basis to live my life on.  I’m not exploring a bubble of myth anymore, and my world feels much more real because of that.  I’m exploring reality.

It’s not a phase.  It’s a relationship with existence.  And I love existence, deeply and beautifully and, for all I can see, permanently.  It’s not a temporary phase, this ever-deepening relationship with what actually exists behind the veil of myth.  It’s a lifelong relationship with reality.

It’s beautiful.  Really.  I know it’s not like this for everyone, but when I left religion, the world around me seemed so much more…real.  Sometimes I just step back, look at all of existence, and smile.  Music feels more alive, nature is more exhilarating, cosmology is so much more fascinating than before, when I had to fit these items in a box labeled “religion.”  People are so much more easy to relate to now that I don’t have to fit them in some prepackaged theology.  It is exciting to discover something new every day.  It is exhilerating to find out I was wrong yesterday because of new evidence — to realize I don’t have to cling irrationally to faith.  It is awesome to explore the universe, constructing theories and testing them and looking the results of others who have done the same.  I’m not searching for the faith of religion; I’m done with that.  What I’m doing now, this exploration of the real world, is way too exciting too abandon.

I’m not saying things are perfect.  There is pain and suffering in the world.  But what I like about the stance I have is that I don’t have to pretend that a myth solves the problem. A commitment to logic, evidence, and empathy ensures that I ease situations with solutions that are proven and tested and actually work.  Far more satisfying than a simple “I’ll pray for you,” similar to the way that a physician is more satisfying than a pastor in a hospital.

I could definitely live the rest of my life like this until my deathbed…there’s something deeply satisfying about knowing the body you have will break down and forever be integrated with the reality you are part of here and now….

[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=afGkv0IT4dU[/youtube]

So, in short, I guess what I’m saying is that no, this is not a phase; I’m in a permanent lifelong relationship with reality….the whole universe is in front of me…and I’m part of it…as Neil Degrasse Tyson put it, I am a manifestation of the universe looking at itself…

[Image Credit: Lauro Roger McAllister under Creative Commons License]

And  it’s awesome.

Thanks for reading.

 

Christians often seem to make the mistake that their Holy Book gives them magical mind-reading powers to know oh-so-much-more about atheists than atheists know about themselves.

They seem to think this, oftentimes, because their book tells them that, deep inside, we atheists really know that God exists and believe in all the fantastic stuff that they believe in.  We’re just blocking it out, for whatever reason (usually they seem to think it’s because we’re just, like, naturally angry people, or something).

This just in from Captain Obvious: We atheists do not believe in God.

It’s not about being in rebellion against God, because we don’t think God exists.

It’s not about not realizing Christ’s love for us, because Christ is dead (if he even existed).

It’s not about what’s wrong with our hearts, because a heart that isn’t OK with people being condemned to eternal hellfire and isn’t worshipping the fictional God who commanded the Old Testament genocides is working just fine, thank you very much.

It’s not about us being angry at God because, again, we don’t think God exists — what we’re angry at is the harm done by a book of fiction.

It’s not about our parents not raising us right — if we grew up to have a better relationship with reality, that’s a compliment to our family, not an insult.

It’s not about us looking at the Church more than Christ, because Christ doesn’t exist — no, you don’t get to pawn off the church’s issues onto a being who doesn’t even exist.

It’s not about not believing in the “right” version of Christ, because the “right” version of Christ is the one that says he isn’t around.

It’s not about being in a “phase” in most cases — in many cases, it’s about being in a lifelong relationship with reality.

Many Christians need to get through their minds that 1) We really, truly, don’t believe in God and 2) That means we think Jesus either didn’t exist or is dead.

Bible verses and Christian platitudes aren’t magic, and patronizing tones don’t coerce us into respect, but leave us thinking that you’re largely ignorant as to where we’re coming from.  Blank stares and silence are unlikely coming from people convicted by your christsplaining and more likely to be coming from people stunned that you actually believe this bible-based nonsense about who we are and where we’re coming from. Our more passionate responses are not anger at a God we don’t think exists, but frustration that your arrogant ignorance about where we’re actually coming from just doesn’t get it.

If you think a book says everything you need to know about me — well, I’ll just leave you to it.

But if you want to drop the christsplaining and have an actual person-to-person discussion about the actual evidence, using logic and reason and not automatically assuming you know everything there is to know about me (including the supposed fact that I wanna have an eternal relationship with zombie Jesus)…I’m waiting.

Thanks for reading.
_______________________________

Have you had any Christsplaining moments?  Let us know in the comments.

Many atheists who have left religion are angry.

They have good reason to be.  There is often pressure from being in religion that too often ends in suicide, as is clear here and here,  for example.  Others have experienced various forms of religious trauma syndrome. Still others have PTSD symptoms that are perpetuated by religion, as this story notes:

Recently I was diagnosed with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). Interestingly enough, the PTSD stems mainly from my religious experiences and only partially from my time in Iraq. I would like to share what I go through every day with my PTSD symptoms, because hopefully my story can help someone else who has similar troubles. I really want to connect with people who experienced similar traumas to talk more–I don’t seem to find too many people that can identify with me in the Army. So here is what I go through every day:

I’m so sick of my symptoms today–anxiety, anger, panic, depression, hopelessness. Like death is around every corner. I was starting to feel positive earlier today, like there was a light at the end of the tunnel, but then I read more of John Loftus’ How I Became an Atheist this evening. I need to read that book because avoiding the topic has gotten me nowhere, but every time I read it all the negative feelings start coming back, like I am headed towards hell.

I will try to dissect these feelings. On the one hand, I felt positive today. I’m starting to believe in myself and my own recovery. I feel more confident, like I really am worth something, which contrasts with the bible that tells me I am worthless without god.

A read through hundreds of deconversion stories discuss similar stories of deep pain and loss — if you don’t believe me, follow the link and read them for yourself.

Here’s the thing: many Christians, reading this, don’t believe that it’s a big deal.  It is very important for Christianity to be sunshine and rainbows, for many, so the first response is that we just didn’t hear the right Christianity, or something similar. And they often act as if it’s the first time we’ve heard these things.

[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tU7TdZSRcpo[/youtube]

To many Christians, this discussion is healthy, often because of what their church says weekly, or advice from evangelists and apologists, or — most likely — because of what the Bible says.  Or maybe it’s because we just haven’t read Mere Christianity by CS Lewis or The Case For Christ by Lee Strobel (newsflash — we’re probably more familiar with him than Christians are) or Reasonable Faith by William Lane Craig, or The New Evidence That Demands A Verdict by Josh McDowell or I Don’t Have Enough Faith To Be An Atheist by Norman Geisler and Frank Turek or The Reason for God by Timothy Keller. Believe me, atheists — especially those in more Christian areas — tend to be more familiar with these books than non-Christians, in my experience.

So when the response is anger from someone who religion — your religion of Christianity, to be specific — has hurt, the response is often indignance.

How dare we share the feelings of those unjustly hurt by religion.

How dare we show the pain religion inflicts on hearts, minds, and bodies.

How dare we have the honesty and the empathy to state that yes, we are angry.

How dare we find ways to laugh at the items of faith that once made us tremble, to show that there is nothing in them to fear.

The nerve.

It’s much like someone complaining about someone screaming “call an ambulance” in a theatre when someone beside them has a heart attack.  This does not obligate you to scream, as well, but to focus on the fact that his screams are disturbing people in the theatre more than the fact that he is concerned about the heart attack, or to be critical of his tone or volume in the theatre — that says more about you than him.

In some situations it is possible to be a physician in regards to religion and other ideological stances — distanced, measured, calm, collected.  The physician may yell less, especially if the operation after the man comes in goes successfully.

In some situations, an insistent, strong insistence is needed.

That’s what I want to communicate, and why I at times sound shrill — religion a source of vast amounts of unjust suffering, and at times I declare that insistently, or I try to become a voice for those it so cruelly hurts.

Also — I think a respect for experience is needed.  If you are not living in a predominantly religious area (and don’t read much about how religion harms individuals in other parts of the world), it seems likely that you will not think that atheism is a big deal.  Fine.  That does not give you license to wag fingers to someone who is trapped in the Bible Belt — a completely different situation.  Same with aspects of gender, race, and familial background.  Atheism may be just about a lack of belief in God or gods, but it is also often manifested in the noises made when you strike up against religion.  The more you, in your situation, come up against religion, and the more connected your past is to religion, the more pain you may experience regarding the subject.  The more belligerant and insistent you may have to be to set up boundaries for yourself and others.

And this pain is not self-inflicted.  Make no mistake — it comes from a religious environment, most of the time, that there are legitimate reasons to be angry with.

I think it is, in many situations, ignorantly arrogant to say that you know what someone else’s temperance should be in their lack of belief of God or gods. We obviously should not harm people, but I do think anger is, at times, an appropriate response in someone’s situation, when they want to make an idea clear.  And I think, in other situations, my job is not to wag fingers at the person who is angry, but to interpret that anger in a way that will clarify to hearers where it is coming from and the reasons it may, at times, be justified.

That’s basically it.  Don’t judge people too quickly who handle their atheism a bit more “stridently” than you do, especially if you don’t know their situation.

I am frequently fairly insistent, as I am an African American, which is an ethnicity that is strongly religious, I live in the South, I have deeply religious family members, and I know many people who have been deeply hurt by religion and others who are in the closet.  I am in a position to speak up, so I often speak up strongly. I don’t insist that others do the same, but I think that  strident speech is often appropriate.

If we’re angry, perhaps you can ask us why, and we can clarify it to you.  I assure you, there are many legitimate reasons — it is rationally based anger.  And in more nonreligious countries, the louder insistence may not be necessary — just as, if people are paying attention and calling the ambulance, you don’t have to shout as much.  But you don’t need to go far in those deconversion stories to see that, in many places, the louder voices seem to be appropriate for the situation discussed — especially among those on whom religious forces have inflicted the most pain.

I’d like to continue trying to represent them.

Thanks for reading.

In no country in the world (save, possibly, for North Korea — although they do practice Juche, which is arguably a religion) are people who identify as atheists currently the majority of the population (most of the nonreligious in Scandinavian countries, as well as most Buddhists, do not choose to wear the “atheist” label, even as many don’t believe in God). Why are there so few, one may wonder?  And what is changing for their numbers to organically rise in some countries?  There may be several reasons; here are four possible ones.

1. The Criminalization Of Impiety

We saw, with Stalinist Russia, that the sword has the ability to deconvert millions of Christians – even though Christianity has an old and rich history.  Millions of Christians flipped over, quickly, to atheism (possibly artificially, because much of the country flipped back to being Christian once there was freedom to do so).  If this is the case with something as prevalent as Christianity was in Russia, it would be much more effective for Atheism, which has never taken hold of a country for more than a few decades (while religion has grasped and ruled countries despotically for thousands of years).

The thousands of years of torture and fear and social censure that have been applied to individuals deemed impious over the millennia was systematic and has demeaned the anti-religious for about as far back as we can trace impiety, it seems, with few exceptions.  Back in 1200-1500 BC, which is about as far back as we can trace these accusations of impiety, we can find the following phrase written in the Rig Veda, of one tribe, the Aryans, accusing other tribes, the Dasa and the Dasayus, of impiety (which seems to be part of their logic for fighting and eventually defeating them) when declaring, “Far from the sun keep those who hate devotion, the godless, prospering in their vocation.”

More recently, in Ancient Greece, Anaxagoras, who lived from 500-428 BC, was sentenced to death for impiety. A contemporary – Socrates – was also famously sentenced to death for impiety. By this point, you could be sentenced to death merely for not being seen as religious enough — let alone being an outspoken atheist.  In addition, the law of the Old Testament commands the killing of those who do not follow God in several locations.  Indeed, before the 18th century, the word “atheist” was a slur more than a title someone might actually feel they could openly associate with themselves — in fact, the word was used to insult Christians, and Christians defended themselves against it as early as the second century AD by reassuring  accusers that they were “innocent of atheism and impiety,” (according to the Cambridge Companion to Atheism pages 20-21).  Near the end of the second century Christians were accused of being “the most atheist” of the pagan sects. Nor was this a recent slur — as the Cambridge Companion to Atheism notes, “The accusation of ‘atheism’ must have been very widespread, since the Christian apologists did their best to rebut the charge.”

In short, much of the reason why Christians were treated as badly as they were was because people thought they were more atheistic and impious than they actually were.

Many religions in general (and Christianity, as an example) have had several generations to ensure that atheists were kept to a minimum or, at least, silenced.  Even today, when Facebook, Macs, and PCs are all the invention of atheists, there are few Christians who would trust an atheist to public office, and in many places a social marginalization is in effect regarding the title.

In places where the reputation of atheists is improving, the number of atheists seems to increase.

As a side note, comments from religious individuals rubbing in the fact that, for millennia, outspoken atheists tended to be in the minority (where the possibility wasn’t eliminated altogether) seems a bit uncouth, as their constant, systemic marginalization perpetuated over thousands of years was the main source of the low numbers.

Also, exceptions do not prove the rule.  The fact that one might, with enough searching, be able to choose a couple outspoken atheists over the past thousand years who got away with criticism proves the point, it seems, that the majority were forced into silence – especially if those who spoke up could afford to because they were, for example, highly regarded geniuses and of noble ancestry (Hume – who has been cited as an exception to the rule although he never outright said he was an atheist – was both).

2. Lack of information

We don’t usually want to change our minds, and we tend to trust the authorities we grew up with.  So many of us will tend to believe what our parents tell us.  In addition, if an “expert” respected by the community said something about the world, you had to take their word for it, for the most part – it was very inconvenient to check and see if what they were believing was true.  Now, we can do that.  If someone makes an argument, in many developed countries people are apt to use their cell phones to double check that the information is correct. The easy access to information probably makes it harder to protect erroneous beliefs.

Correlation does not equal causation, but there is data to suggest that Internet use might be correlated with the lack of religiosity.  For example, the MIT Technology Review published an article on this discussion with the following information:

…we get a possible answer [to the rise of the “nones”] thanks to the work of Allen Downey, a computer scientist at the Olin College of Engineering in Massachusetts, who has analyzed the data in detail. He says that the demise is the result of several factors but the most controversial of these is the rise of the Internet. He concludes that the increase in Internet use in the last two decades has caused a significant drop in religious affiliation.

This decreasing amount of “nones” seems to indicate a decreasing interest in God.  As a Harris poll indicated in 2013:

In a separate line of questioning, focused on Americans’ degree of certainty that there is or is not a God, two-thirds of Americans (68%) indicate being either absolutely or somewhat certain that there is a God, while 54% specify being absolutely certain; these figures represent drops of 11 and 12 percentage points, respectively, from 2003 testing, where combined certainty was at 79% and absolute certainty was at 66%.

Meanwhile, combined belief that there is no God (16%) and uncertainty as to whether or not there is a God (also 16%) are both up from 2003 findings (when these levels were 9% and 12%, respectively).

I’m not saying that atheists are going to be in the majority, or that it’s an open-shut case, but there does seem to be plausible evidence that the rising irreligiosity in the West is caused by the greater access to education and information.

(It might be noted here that some places with a high degree of access to information, like South Korea, are becoming more Christian. I would counter that, in many cases, this seems to be a result of the dynamic I explained in Reason 1 – where, due to relatively short (compared to Christianity and other religions) periods of enforced irreligiosity, the numbers of the irreligious were artificially lowered and then sprang back when they were free to do so.)

This would also explain why, where there are higher degrees of irreligiosity (as in several third-world countries), there is lower degrees of access to information.  Indeed, the United States is already an anomaly as, arguably (as of 2009), the most religious country in the industrialized world.

There is a large school of thought in Christendom and in Atheism that sees religion as an academic matter – that sees the Christian story as an entertaining theory to be discussed, when disagreed upon, in the equivalent of hallowed, air-conditioned halls or informal gatherings with enforced, tolerant voices of measured calm.  There are also atheists who prefer to look at the Bible merely or primarily as a rather interesting piece of literature that simply has relevant metaphors to explore, and these atheists can discuss the Bible as if they are meeting for a book club discussion of, say, a Twilight series novel.

These atheists are very well respected, oftentimes, by their Christian comrades as being more tolerant, more intellectual, and as having a rather deep and more measured understanding of the biblical text than their more shrill counterparts, the “militant atheists,” tend to have.

In case you haven’t noticed, I am not of this polite school of counter-apologetics, nor do I have any desire to be.  I have no desire to speak in a hall in which my comrade and I mutually compliment each other on our tremendous respect for our intellectual abilities in a way that even remotely indicates I think any views deserve respect that license the disturbing views of the Old Testament, the hell of the New Testament, the definitions of sin, the internalization of shame from nonexistent beings, and any of the other elements constituting the long list of travesties in the book as it is commonly interpreted, especially by its more conservative advocates.  I would much rather, I think, engage in a forcible shotgun shell insertion sthrough my temple than suffer through such discussion.

I will not for a moment give quarter to the disturbing nature of many denominations of the Christian church, will not shy away from dishing out harsh criticism where needed, and will call out bigotry, heartlessness, misogyny, and serious errors in prescribed psychology — in addition to logical and factual errors — as they come up with discussion — using non-misogynistic and non-homophobic “obscene” words, as need be, to show that this is not polite tea-table conversation, but conversation of grave matters concerning deeply damaging and disturbing views that ought to be treated as such.

In attacking these views, I care very little whether those who insist on a regular subscription to them begin to think less of me; if anything, I take that as a compliment.  But I promise that I will try my utmost to be fair and empathetic even as I strongly speak against views that are manifestly detestable, and my insults will keep their focus on ideas and reversible attitudes as opposed to unimpeachable characteristics of individuals.  For example, I may say an idea is stupid, and I may even say that a person is stupid with regard to a certain subject in a way that may be remedied by additional information, but I will not say that a person is permanently stupid in a way that fundamentally insults their intellectual capabilities.

There are, in my experience and by my barometer, no shortage of atheists who think this is too strident and who try a politer approach – although even the ones who seem to me to be, at times, exceedingly polite are seen, often, as exceedingly rude by the Christians they engage in debate.

These atheists may continue in their way, and sometimes to preserve this way they may have to condemn or speak against my approach. I have enough understanding of their position to accept the occasional rebuke, but it is unlikely my stance will change.

My view is that any view stating that a significant contingent of humanity deserves eternity in hell, especially for arbitrary and bigoted reasons, deserves no respect, and it will get none from me.

I sincerely fucking hope that this shit provides you with some goddamn level of understanding of my conduct in future discussions.

Thank you for your time.