photo by Ken Fager

I’m sick of assholes. I’d be less colorful in my language, but I also don’t think being censored necessarily leads to a better life. Maybe I should add that to my list.

I’ve penned a few quick tips for how to stop being an idiot who makes life unpleasant for yourself and those around you. Most of this is specifically directed at the atheist/theist community. If it applies to you, you probably won’t think it does, but someone out there might be picturing your face or username right about now, so it pays to give a few of these a whirl just to say you tried. Heck, it might just help us become a better society, and wouldn’t that be just peachy?

photo by Paul Kelly

I’m sorry I haven’t been writing actively as of late. I sit here in my chair after a weekend of relaxation, escape, and nature only to find myself back in the machinery of life—the mechanical nature of my habits, my job, and my schedules.

And it makes me ponder a bit. I’ve found myself falling into an apathy related to my atheism lately that I’m not sure should be there. I’ve attempted to explain why atheism isn’t a big deal. Even with the mentality that our non-belief is just fine, normal, and not worth a huge stink, I still feel a smoldering passion within my gut when I consider my own story, my past, and the plight of other non-believers who truly are struggling in their current situations. For instance, I received an email this week from a distressed reader:

Over the past year I have began to question my beliefs that I have had since childhood and I’m down right confused and ridden with guilt mainly… Waiting to be “struck” down I suppose. I am working through it slowly, but being married to a “minister” doesnt help.. again.. riddled with guilt… and fear.

It breaks my heart that the search for truth leaves anyone feeling this way, but it especially pains me to hear it from someone who is afraid to leave religion and faith behind. I know just how conditioned Christians (like my past self) are to fear doubt and deviation from the faith. The guilt is tremendous, and it feels like failure to be going against something you’ve been accepting as an authority all your life. I remember hearing that small voice in my head that told me I was “just rebelling” or “going through a doubting phase” or that I shouldn’t make any certain decisions based on my doubts because I could be punished (for lack of a better word) by God for straying and not being strong enough in my devotion. I recall those emotions with a shudder and a sigh.

No one should feel this way.

It’s becoming more clear to me that I may not care as much about debating theology or commenting about other beliefs I find ridiculous (as fun as that may be—especially on the internet when the quick jab and the snarky wit are king) as others do. Instead, I am coming to deeply care about the journeys and stories of others in the atheist community. Where have we come from, and where are we going? Do we have enough support and friendship to spare for those who are not quite strong enough to go it alone? Can we move forward together? Is my dream of atheist community  just a silly, romantic, and futile idea in this period of individualistic living?

So I may not be writing much, but I’m still figuring this whole atheism thing out… day by day. As we all are.

adaptation of Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel ceiling by Tom Blackwell

J. Anderson Thomson is a psychiatrist at the University of Virginia. In a recent LA Times opinion post he expounds on the biological reasons we humans created the idea of God in the first place, and what role that belief serves psychologically.

I find these reasons for faith fascinating, and I see how they have been present in my own life.

Like our physiological DNA, the psychological mechanisms behind faith evolved over the eons through natural selection. They helped our ancestors work effectively in small groups and survive and reproduce, traits developed long before recorded history, from foundations deep in our mammalian, primate and African hunter-gatherer past.

For example, we are born with a powerful need for attachment, identified as long ago as the 1940s by psychiatrist John Bowlby and expanded on by psychologist Mary Ainsworth. Individual survival was enhanced by protectors, beginning with our mothers. Attachment is reinforced physiologically through brain chemistry, and we evolved and retain neural networks completely dedicated to it. We easily expand that inborn need for protectors to authority figures of any sort, including religious leaders and, more saliently, gods. God becomes a super parent, able to protect us and care for us even when our more corporeal support systems disappear, through death or distance.

Among the psychological adaptations related to religion are our need for reciprocity, our tendency to attribute unknown events to human agency, our capacity for romantic love, our fierce “out-group” hatreds and just as fierce loyalties to the in groups of kin and allies. Religion hijacks these traits.

In addition to these adaptations, humans have developed the remarkable ability to think about what goes on in other people’s minds and create and rehearse complex interactions with an unseen other. In our minds we can de-couple cognition from time, place and circumstance. We consider what someone else might do in our place; we project future scenarios; we replay past events. It’s an easy jump to say, conversing with the dead or to conjuring gods and praying to them.

I know (quite acutely, in fact) that I have a great need for attachment and a sense of another authority; I also possess a tendency to be intuitive or over-analytical about what someone else is thinking and feeling. I have certainly assigned motives and reasons to events that have no human agent.

All of these factors only encompass what I know consciously about myself and how faith has played a role in my life in the past. The chemistry of my brain and the more subtle evolutionary reasons for belief–well, those cannot be controlled. I can only use my reasoning and understanding to choose a different reaction when confronted with the concepts of a great “Other” or supernatural events.

“God”  and faith are crafted to fulfill some of our needs and natural inclinations. They are presented to us as a catch-all solution to these inborn “problems.” Do you need love and someone to care for you? God will do it! Do you have a tendency to cling to a group and fear the “others?” Religion is perfect for you!  Do you get that tingly feeling that someone is in the room with you when you meditate? That’s a god!

This, of course, doesn’t mean gods are real, but it does illustrate that we have a desire to answer questions and fulfill needs that come naturally to us. When we supply imaginary beings as the answer to the human condition, we’re doing ourselves and our descendants a disservice. It’s much more difficult to see the world objectively and accept the fact that we’re on our own, but it’s empowering and spurs on positive change in society. Why take personal responsibility when it’s much more comforting to know someone else is in charge of the rules who wants us to succeed? Because we will be a better, more altruistic society if we take charge of our actions and how they affect others.

We can be better as a species if we recognize religion as a man-made construct. We owe it to ourselves to at least consider the real roots of religious belief, so we can deal with life as it is, taking advantage of perhaps our mind’s greatest adaptation: our ability to use reason.

I agree!

"Angel of Grief" Glenwood Cemetery, Houston, TX (photo by teejayfaust)

A former coworker of mine just lost his sister to cancer after years of riding the rollercoaster of hope and fear. His love for her inspired me, and it reminded me acutely of what it was like to watch a family member die from the disease.

I have only experienced fresh grief as a Christian. My father died in 2003, and I sought comfort and peace in the hope that he was “in a better place” and free from pain, experiencing the joy and bliss he always desired in life. He was a very passionate believer, and he would always tell me we’d “be together again” when my time was up. I found this to be very soothing and helpful, because I didn’t want to let him go. I wanted more time with him, and I desperately wanted him to be healthy again. I was so fearful of being separated forever. Magical solution? Heaven. Duh.

I’ve never lost a loved one as an atheist, so I honestly can’t speak to what it feels like to say goodbye to someone knowing we will never be together again. I imagine this could be a healthy, helpful way of letting someone go, processing the loss, and moving forward. Is that so?

What matters most to me now is understanding someone’s role in my life and how that helps me be a better person. That way, they live on in me, through me. My father is part of me down to my very DNA. He’s gone, but he has a legacy that affects me and every single person I encounter. I am very fortunate to have had such a great life with him while it lasted. Isn’t that what grief should be about?

What about you?

We can all can talk a good game about how great it is not to be oppressed by the burden of hell, yada yada… but only someone who has actually experienced a loss can talk about what grief is like.

Has anyone out there experienced intense grief as both a faithful religious person and as an atheist? How did your experiences differ on a personal level? Could you share with as much transparency as possible (as you feel comfortable)? Were both healthy experiences? Was one more comforting than another? When someone says “It doesn’t matter if so-and-so has faith in Heaven if it comforts them,” do you agree or disagree?

Saying grace before carving the turkey in the home of Earle Landis, Neffsville, November 1942. (Photo from Penn State Live)

On Saying Grace

I read your blog post “Do You Participate When You Don’t Believe?” and I was wondering… I was brought up in a heavily Christian family and we always say Grace on holidays- especially Christmas and Thanksgiving. How can I avoid this politely and without offending anyone?

–Nicole (Colie the Magical Closet Atheist)

See my answer after the break.

Thanks for writing, Nicole! My family prays before meals as well (and sometimes after). I think there are a number of options you have before you. Here are a few:

1. You could explain your objections respectfully to your family at another time in hopes that their understanding will help them not feel confused nor offended when grace time comes and you choose not to participate. Depending on your family, this could open doors for discussion and education or it could open a wider rift between you if they either don’t accept your non-belief or if they do not know you’re an atheist yet.
2. You could leave the table during grace or join the meal after grace is said. There is a possibility this could be seen as a dramatic gesture of protest, and I would recommend this if you feel grossly uncomfortable about religious prayer and feel as if it violates you on a personal level. My guess is that you do not have those feelings.
3. You could sit with them at the table in respectful silence while they pray. You could bow your head out of respect, habit, or just to fit in with the accepted gesture of reflection. Or you could keep your head lifted and eyes open, but show your politeness by not objecting, sneering, smirking, or otherwise mocking their practice while they pray.
4. If you are expected to pray aloud, then I would do one of two things: Abstain respectfully (this will work best if they know you are not a Christian already) or speak your own thanks and hopes in a way that remains totally secular. You are participating, but you are not praying and will not be lying (in my humble opinion). Statements can be phrased like, “I’m thankful that we all arrived safely today and that I have always had a warm, loving home to return to,” or, “I hope that this food and our conversation will be uplifting to all of us, and  I am so thankful to be here after such a busy week.” No deities, just your feelings!
5. You could pray. I know you do not want to participate in this option, but I’m putting it out there for those who have no objections to participating in ritual when someone asks you to. Since you would not think anyone is listening, it’s not like you would be blaspheming or breaking any rules set by anyone else. You could think of it as playacting for your family (if you’re truly afraid to ever hint that you might not be a believer) or as simply meditating on good things.

My personal choice is #3. All but one member of my immediate family knows I am an atheist. I choose to sit with them at the table but keep my head lifted and eyes open. I sometimes put my hands in my lap, look around, watch the, or simply think on my own thoughts while I wait for them to finish. I always try to be polite and not make a fuss because I tend to be a peacemaker—I don’t enjoy arguing, debating, or making waves in my family life.

When I’m at work (a Christian company) and I am expected to pray aloud, I have chosen not to abstain, but to say my secular wishes and hopes for those around me and the company. This, again, is to keep the peace (and my cover, as I am at risk of losing my job if I am “out” as an atheist).

What you choose may depend on your relationship with your religious family. From your nickname, it seems like you may be fully closeted even to your family. How would they act if hey did know? If other relatives are around, would your behavior change in any way? I’m sure my readers might have other wonderful insights for you as well.

All the best!

Godless Girl

photo by TrevinC

“Life sucks and then you die.” Or so said my coworker when she heard about my break-up with my boyfriend yesterday. I laughed, and she promised she would pray for God to take away my troubles. Another acquaintance tried to comfort me by saying I shouldn’t be afraid about finding another man in the future. God would provide, and we have nothing to fear.

Well, sometimes life does suck, being lonely is no fun, and once in a while I wonder if I will find a mate for the long haul who will be an amazing match for me. But am I afraid? Does being an atheist have anything to do with my heartache? I don’t think so, no.

Fear and Humanity

Do atheists fear the world? Is fear a bad thing? Would believing in God protect us from trouble and remove fear from our lives?

(Read more after the cut…)

The Secret Atheist posted a response to an Oswald Chambers quote on fear:

“The remarkable thing about God is that when you fear God, you fear nothing else, whereas if you do not fear God, you fear everything else.” —Oswald Chambers

There was a time when I thought that all non-Christians lived their life in constant fear. Fear of the future, fear of death, fear that they would be wrong in the end and have to face judgment.

[This] is a lie spread by Christianity in order to protect itself from unbelief. If believers think that without god there is only fear, they will be less likely to question their beliefs.  … I don’t fear everything. I don’t fear god. I don’t fear death.

At first blush, I agree with his reaction to Chambers and those who quote him. I also spent my life thinking non-believers had no hope in life and no comfort in trials. When my father died, I thanked Jesus that I had him to help and console me and that I didn’t have to mourn hopelessly like non-Christians did.

I think I see what Ozzy (as one of my favorite authors as a believer, we’re on a nickname basis ) was saying in the sense that fearing God basically meant having a reverential respect and sense of incredible awe towards Yahweh’s powers. If you think your deity is perfect, good, loving, and can do anything for you that you ask for, then I can see how the world and our struggles might appear less daunting or intimidating. If I had Superman in my back pocket, I’d feel pretty safe.

Unfortunately, this view takes away the dignity and power and capability from the individual and places it all on an unknowable, untouchable, invisible being who doesn’t show up in tights and a cape when life goes awry. As believers, we do not teach ourselves to be able and influential if all we focus on is our inability and God’s super-ability.

I much prefer the humanistic point of view that we are empowered to do good, and to do it as best we can. Sure, there will be impossible obstacles to overcome along the way, and no, we won’t have an escape from struggle. But we will know that we chose to act, and we made the world a better place despite any fear or failure.

Life is hard, and some of it is frightening, but we need not bend to fear or tell ourselves that a supernatural superhero is going to come save us. We don’t need to be weaklings or self-deprecating. Even the most imperfect of us can do the most good. We need to work and toil together and hope for what’s real.

photo by TreMegLan

A Personal P.S.

I truly appreciate the kind tweets, emails, and texts many of you have sent in response to my broken relationship. I don’t often know how to reveal that side of my inner life to people—even my closest friends and family. Having virtual and long-distance hugs and kind words come from you really does make an impact on my feelings. Thank you so much. I’m very sad about things ending between him and I , but I am very thankful that we handled it like grown-ups and have split amicably. I’m sure this will be a good thing for both of us in the long run.

Which is more difficult: asking for forgiveness or forgiving someone else?

I think they’re both tough, so let’s focus on me for a second while you ruminate.

It’s humbling to ask someone to forgive me because it requires a public admission of wrong that could have otherwise been swept under a rug somewhere and forgotten. I don’t like bringing something to someone’s attention if they didn’t know about it already. Even if they are fully aware that I’ve done something stupid, it’s still hard for me to suck it up, swallow my pride, and focus on that mistake, blunder, or vile action. I fear embarrassment, and would really enjoy being right all the time (even though I rarely am). What can I say? I have a ridiculous ego. Asking for forgiveness means doing the hard work to repair a broken trust and relationship. It means owning up to one’s darkest behaviors and thoughts. It’s difficult.

Granting forgiveness to someone else challenges another part of my me. I don’t often hold grudges, but when I have been deeply hurt, I tend to pick at the emotional scar until it bleeds all over again. I have the kind of mind that dwells on or over-thinks words others have spoken or ways I’ve been treated. And when I scratch those painful scars, they never get the chance to heal even if I know that letting them fade away would be best. As strange as this sounds, I must want to feel angry and hurt if I keep rehashing those old wounds over and over again. Forgiveness means letting go completely that need to over-think and dwell upon old pain. It means taking the biggest step towards letting go. It means moving on and giving freedom to the person who owes a debt to me. I’ll admit that sometimes being able to forgive is hard.

So what about you? Which do you think is the most difficult to do: asking or giving?

photo by sarahephoto

Happy one year “outiversary” to me!

It was exactly one year ago that I came out godless to my mother. Declaring myself to her is the biggest step I’ve taken in my transition out of Christianity into atheism. It was scary! I can happily relate that she and I are slowly repairing the broken emotional divide between us, and I see a life of acceptance and respect ahead. At least, that’s what I dearly hope for every day. Love you, Mom!

I just wanted to spread heaps of love today and give out virtual hugs to all of you who have been with me through this long, complicated process. Revealing such a deep, personal  secret to one’s family is difficult, but I have all of you to thank for the courage you give me to be myself and be proud of it. It’s not over yet, but I’m on my way!

Read more about coming out atheist and share your own stories

photo by Clare & James

How diverse is your circle of friends? Are you surrounded by people of one belief system? Do you ever avoid getting to know people with vastly different opinions and convictions—even without consciously doing so? Why or why not?

I don’t understand why someone would choose to discount an entire group of people because of their belief or non-belief in deities. Unfortunately, I see this happening on both sides of the theism debate.

A Christian Perspective

As a Christian, I was encouraged to be close friends only with others who shared my values, views, and theology. Certain Bible verses were used to support the separation of one group from another:

Iron sharpens iron, and one man sharpens another.
–Proverbs 27:17

Message: Make sure it’s a Christian that sharpens you and helps form your character.

Do not be bound together with unbelievers; for what partnership have righteousness and lawlessness, or what fellowship has light with darkness? Or what harmony has Christ with Belial, or what has a believer in common with an unbeliever?
–2 Corinthians 6:14-15

Message: Christians and non-Christians are like oil and water—they don’t mix. You have nothing in common, so don’t even try.

For this you know with certainty, that no immoral or impure person or covetous man, who is an idolater, has an inheritance in the kingdom of Christ and God. Let no one deceive you with empty words, for because of these things the wrath of God comes upon the sons of disobedience. Therefore do not be partakers with them; for you were formerly darkness, but now you are Light in the Lord; walk as children of Light …
–Ephesians 5:5-8

Message: Since those godless folks are going to hell, don’t be fooled into thinking something good will come from being buddies. Stick with your own kind.

This isolationist perspective keeps ideas, conversations, and learning from flowing freely between people. When we never hear anyone else’s ideas or see them in “normal life,” we rely on assumptions and stereotypes about someone else’s point of view. If I never had known any atheists, I would never have realized that they could be moral, loving, and unceasingly kind people—and all without faith or God!

An Atheist Perspective

When I talk about how most of my closest friends are devoted Christians, I hear words of pity and sympathy. One of my non-religious friends has admitted that he probably wouldn’t have become close with me if I’d been a Christian. I observe a lot of “us vs. them” talk on twitter and on atheist sites around the internet.

I have more secular friends now than I ever did before, and I do enjoy the knowledge that no one is going to critique my atheism when we get together. But it’s not like I fear confrontation every time I talk to a believer. People are often much nicer and more accepting than we expect. In my diverse friendships, debates are rare but good discussions are plentiful.

I may be “anti-theism,” but I am not “anti-theists.” I accept and love people who hold very different ideas than I do, and we get along just fine. Why? Because there’s more to life than philosophical debates and evangelism.  Friendship is about choosing to care for someone and investing time, attention, and effort to that person’s life. Being close with a friend doesn’t require us to be on the same page about politics or religion. That may add another level of intimacy, but it’s not as vital as one might think. I think feeling comradeship with those who share your views is important for atheists and Christians alike; we shouldn’t be afraid to branch out and have a great time with someone new.

What Do You Think?

Do you avoid becoming close with people who don’t agree with you on religion?  Are atheists and Christians truly oil and water? Do beliefs make such an impact on what friendship is all about?