The Coming Out Godless Project

(Via Ryk)

I wasn’t actually raised an atheist. Both of my parents technically professed a religion. Dad was Methodist, Mom was southern Baptist. However they never went to church or talked about God or the Bible. Religion was strictly a label and not a very frequently worn one.

I figured out early on that my friends believed in God. At first I didn’t really see it. I went to Sunday school with them sometimes and it was fun but it never occurred to me that anybody actually believed it. When I figured that out I though it was weird and silly. I soon learned to keep that opinion to myself.

I was about fourteen when I finally “came out” I was in a rebellious stage anyway, and I just stopped keeping quiet about it. At first I got a little flack about it. This was particularly funny coming from friends with pentacles on their jackets and Slayer tapes in their stereos. However it didn’t take long before people just accepted it.

No one really seemed to care. It has only been in the last few years that my atheism has been an issue with anyone. Lately people have started to ask questions, sometimes positively other times less so. Recently I have become a “Militant Anti-Theist” I blog about atheism, argue with Christians, belong to atheist groups. For the first time in my life I am seeing it as a part of my identity as well as just a lack of belief. I can’t say if it is good or bad, but I know I am not ashamed of being Godless I embrace it.

(Via Kelsey Graham)

i have been an atheist since i was maybe twelve. before that, my incredibly christian relatives insisted upon forcing me into religion. most of my life until the age of twelve, though, i was an agnostic trying to figure out why i was supposed to believe in god. after coming godless, i had several other religious attempts with different variations to see if they were any different than christianity. they were, but not quite enough for my taste. now, i am a proud atheist and refusing to change. faith just never worked for me.

(Via Gary Roberts)

Easter Sunday was a good day for us when we were kids, second only to Christmas Day. We couldn’t wait to get home after Mass to unwrap our chocolate eggs! We’d remain in our Sunday best most of the day, as family and friends filed through my parents’ house for tea and biscuits. The religious significance of this day wasn’t lost on us either, especially after having just sat through an interminably long sermon by the parish priest about The Resurrection. A scattering of palm-leaf crosses could still be found on the tops of cupboards and shelves, or tucked away behind a picture of Pope John Paul II; souvenirs from our visit to church on the Palm Sunday the week before.

But that was back then. Things are different for me now, as far as church and religion are concerned.

School Years

Just to give you a backgrounder, I was raised a Catholic. In the Catholic schools I attended—particularly junior (or middle) school—Religious Education featured prominently in the curriculum. I remember learning the Catechism by rote then having to recite it in class along with my fellow pupils, or having to say the Lord’s Prayer and the Hail Mary as a group when we were gathered in the assembly hall each morning.

R.E. was definitely an important part of the curriculum and we sometimes had drop-in visits by the local priest, who’d test our knowledge of the bible by putting us on the spot with his many questions relating to the Old and New Testaments.

The headmaster at our junior school, Mr. McGowan, was fond of interrupting our regular classes in order to stage an impromptu Q&A session about the Catholic faith. Mr. McGowan had a predilection for confusing us when asking such questions. One of his favourite methods was to stare at one pupil and call his or her name before asking his question, while actually pointing at someone else sat on the other side of room as he posed his question. The unlucky subjects of both gaze and finger would stare at each other, dumbstruck, as they each waited for the other to answer first. Neither pupil could know for sure who was actually required to answer. Of course, the two would then receive a reprimand for not being able to read his mind.

It was a ridiculously inane way to teach and its sole purpose was to stroke a power-hungry ego, I’m sure. It also had the effect of instilling a sense of dread in our young minds whenever he entered the classroom.

Confessions

My parents were practising Catholics, my father having converted to Catholicism from Protestantism in order to marry my mother. My mother’s side of the family, being Irish, were fervent followers of the Catholic faith. We had lots of cousins on the distaff side, some of whom were nuns or missionaries.

As children, we were expected to attend Mass with our parents every Sunday until we reached 16 years of age, at which point we were allowed to go to church with friends and cousins. We often skipped Mass, however, and would hang around outside St. Gregory’s church, making sure we weren’t discovered until it was over. When Mass was finished and the congregation began to file out of the church, we’d make our way home with the rest of the crowd; at this point, we were usually seen by friends of the family, who’d then be able to attest to our presence there, should our parents ask.

We were also expected to go to the Confessional at least once a month to unburden ourselves of sin. I never really thought I did anything bad as a child, so I used to have a whole list of trivial and not-so-trivial sins on standby, which I’d mix up every now and then when I was in the Confessional, just to make it sound more authentic.

Moral Lessons

I’d have to say that throughout my childhood and teenage years I did believe in God, Jesus, the Virgin Mary, the importance of absolute faith, the perils of sin, the horrors of hell. I remember at times having a feeling of being watched, or judged, and of having a sense of dread at what would happen to me if I should die. Would I be saved? Would I go to heaven? Would I end up in hell? This feeling of being watched was constantly reinforced by the amount of Catholic paraphernalia, either hanging on the walls or standing on any available flat surface in our house and the homes of our aunts and uncles, whom we visited regularly. Pictures of the Virgin Mary, the Holy Family, past and present Popes, crucifixes, crosses, statues of saints and monks and friars of significance could be found in each and every room in the house in which I was raised. There was no escape. You just couldn’t get away from the disapproving frown on the face of some old pope, which would be hanging near a picture of a saint, for example, wearing an expression of beatitude and love.

This was my childhood. The meanings and moral lessons associated with these religious icons were constantly being reaffirmed in our day-to-day interaction and conversations with older aunts, uncles, friends of the family and whatever priest happened to be overseeing our parish at the time.

I remember, one time, lying on the bed beside my mother as she rested during the day—and as Jesus, Mary and Joseph stared down at us from her bedroom wall. I was about 8 or 9 years old and we were talking about baptism, the bible and the Catholic faith. I asked her what would’ve happened to all those people born throughout history before the coming of Christ. I was surprised to hear her say that these people—which included innocent children and babies—could never attain salvation, simply because they hadn’t been baptised into the Christian faith. I’m not a hundred per cent sure if this was actually true according to the Church’s teachings or not, but I remember how horrified I felt for those unlucky, unbaptised masses. I tried putting forward naive arguments, such as its not being their fault they were born when they were, before the coming of Christ; or that they may have led good, honest lives.

But my pleas on their behalf just didn’t cut the mustard—these people were toast.

I believe that was a major moral crossroads in my life, one which led to scepticism regarding the tenets of not just Catholicism, but any religion. Scepticism, in fact, not only for an unjust religion in general, but eventually anything supernatural. It all just started to seem like nothing but myth, with no basis in fact.

Enlightening Times

I would say I have a very down-to-earth personality, one which responds well to logic and reason. I was always interested in science, particularly biology, physics, and astronomy. My putting aside of religion came about slowly, over a long period of time, I now know, in which I wasn’t really aware of what was happening. The process followed on the heels of my scepticism and I just began to believe less and less in any type of religious teachings, without thinking too much about this sea change in me. Any kind of faith that required unconditional belief in supernatural beings—simply because it was written in a book—seemed puerile and lacking. Anecdotal evidence based on revelation and dogma just wasn’t good enough for me.

Throughout history, many disparate and diverse societies had believed in one god or another, worshiping them and even sacrificing to them on a regular basis. There was a time when people believed in Odin and Thor, Zeus, or Apollo. The Ancient Egyptians believed in the sun god, Ra. Reams of literature had been written about each of these deities. I began to realise that if you used the premise that there’s only one god, that your religion is the truth and that all others are false because it’s written so in your sacred book, then the same premise can also be used to explain a whole pantheon of gods (as was the case for pre-Christian Roman society, and even some extant religions such as Hinduism). How could one claim a monopoly on the truth, based on questionable revelation and dubious translation of ancient texts, when other religions could make an equally valid claim? This way of thinking seemed somehow intrinsically flawed.

Aside from these discrepancies I associated with religion, I came to realise I had a problem with how divisive it was, how inhumane and uncaring many of its practitioners were in contrast to the central thrust of its teachings. If anything, religion and its followers were—in the main—more tribal and protective of their beliefs, rather than tolerant and compassionate towards others who held different, or opposing, views.

And yet the basic tenets of these beliefs were supposedly based on compassion, and an adherence to a set of high moral standards and guidelines.

As a gay person trying to lead as good a life as possible and to help people in any way I could (not because a book told me to do so, but because it was in my very nature), I had a lot of trouble reconciling religion with basic human rights, to the extent that religion lost out in my eventual philosophy and interpretation of the world. In short, I finally realised that I was living my life without religion or faith, and that it was okay to be that way. In fact it felt good, if not downright liberating, to be rid of the side effects of religion and dogma. Effects such as guilt or fear at having sinned. Not to mention the mind-numbing, expected obeisance to the Church in general and to God in particular. Independence and freethinking weren’t desirable traits amongst the flock, and certainly weren’t encouraged in any way, shape, or form by the priests in my childhood.

My way of thinking and eventual freedom from religion led me to the belief (if I may use that word) that this life is all we have. Nothing else. Just this one shot at happiness and enjoyment of the world and all it has to offer. This understanding makes faith in any of the major religions, or belief in any of the lesser known world views, seem so trivial. But that’s just my own point of view, something we’re all entitled to—be it religious or not. That’s something I’d like to emphasize here. I know this isn’t how holders of such beliefs would see it, and that to them my way is anathema. But, however firmly they believe in their religion there are many millions of people who believe just as firmly in another, opposing religion.

And the basis for their faith is almost entirely dependent upon the culture into which they were born and raised.

Nowadays, religion fascinates me from a cultural and sociological perspective. It still has the power to shape whole societies and influence the decision-making processes of reasonable, rational people in the 21st Century. Other than that, it holds no sway over me. The only awe I feel at being inside a church is for the architecture of the place, or its historical importance. I appreciate the aesthetics of magnificent buildings, and churches and cathedrals always seemed to be the jewels in the crown of human architectural achievements.

But that’s all they are to me now.

(Via Jerry Buchanan)

Atheism is very much a part of who I am. I join with other atheists in many venues. I used to follow what the Baptist church told me to follow—no questions asked. In my late teens, my closest friend taught me how to question. He and I didn’t agree on many things philosophically, but we did question each other and others.

I believe it’s important to help others in many ways. I currently volunteer in about a dozen projects, either daily, weekly, monthly, or annually. There is no god who will help the ones asking for help. We must be the ones. If a homeless child needs help with education because he misses a lot of school, it’s my responsibility to make sure he gets that help. If a senior needs to get out from in front of the TV, I’m responsible for taking her out for a walk. If a stretch of a street needs a regular litter pick-up, I am the one to do it. God won’t do those things.

While I don’t throw my atheism in anyone’s face, when the subject comes up, I’m very proud to announce my belief.

One thing I do throw in people’s face is skepticism. I am quick to point out the dangers in following “psychics,” astrologers, and other such charlatans. Some say there’s no harm in getting a tarot card reading or some such. Au contraire. These people prey on the emotions and the pocketbook of the vulnerable. They must be stopped!

There is little that I can do. But I can do something. It is important that I do what I can. If you do what you can, together, we’ll make a difference.

(Via yunshui)

My parents were, and still are, fervent Baptists, and so I was raised in the Church from birth. I was something of a sceptic as a child (my mother still recounts how, aged 3, I announced that I no longer believed in Father Christmas because, “there are too many children for him to visit in one night”. Admittedly, this doubt was quickly quashed by the realisation that no Santa meant no presents…) but I was nonetheless so heavily indoctrinated that I happily accepted as truth the stories, with their accompanying pretty pictures, in my Children’s Illustrated Bible. After all, Mummy and Daddy said it was true, and so did the pastor at our church, and so did my teachers, and my friends, so what was to question?

My friends and I were regularly dispatched to various Scripture Union holiday camps – the basic premise should be familiar to anyone who has watched “Jesus Camp” – and it was at one of these that I became “born again”. Aged about 10, I sat down one evening with one of the youth leaders and announced that I was giving my life to Christ. I have to confess, I don’t remember much about the conversation – there were a number of pamphlets to be read, and a prayer I had to recite, although I don’t recall the specifics – but I do remember the youth leader asking me how I felt at the end of the process. My reply was, “I feel sort of… lighter.”

But I didn’t. In fact, I felt nothing, save for a vague sense of silliness. Suddenly it seemed a bit ridiculous to be sitting in that room, surrounded by Christian literature, looking into the beaming face of the youth leader as I asked a long-dead Palestinian to make me a better person. Nonetheless, I pushed this mild feeling of discomfort aside, and, beatific smile firmly in place, went to rejoin my friends, all of whom had been through a similar process in the preceding years. Their support, I rationalised, would help me through this moment of doubt. It did. I was baptized the following year, and spent the next half-decade or so raising my hands in church services, speaking in tongues and generally getting over-emotional in the cause of religion. I proselytised to my long-suffering atheist/agnostic schoolfriends, on one occasion giving a memorably incoherent rendition of Behe’s “irreducible complexity” argument to my evolution-subscribing friend on the bus home. It should have suggested something to me that I, a member of the debating society and widely-regarded as one of the smartest kids in a highly selective school, should have had my argument so thoroughly demolished by a boy who had got into said school on a hockey scholarship. But I was a believer…

The vague sense of silliness had stuck with me though. I always felt a bit self-conscious praying aloud, or speaking in tongues (it didn’t feel particularly divine, and I never seemed to be able to speak in French or German, or even Latin, which would at least have had some practical applications – just “bagahabfalamalabollifilliblahashmaz etc”. If that’s the language of Heaven, it’s no wonder God has a hard time making himself understood…). Things came to a head when a visiting pastor to our church (can’t recall his name – he was from Singapore, I think) held a real humdinger of a fire-and-brimstone service. Lots of people were “slain in the spirit” (ie. got over-emotional and fainted), but the high point was when one member of the congregation, whose name I shall keep anonymous to preserve his dignity, went up to the front of the church and announced that, owing to the demonically-inspired TV programmes he had watched as a child, he was possessed by the spirit of He-Man.

That’s right, He-Man. Not Beelzebub, or Azazael, or Mephisto. He-Man, the Most Powerful Man In The Universe. Unfazed entirely by the fact that He-Man is A FICTIONAL CHARACTER*, the visiting pastor proceeded to “cast out” this evil spirit; a process of much shouting and wailing, culminating in the possessed man raising a hand and shouting, “By the power of Grayskull!”

Weirdest. Thing. Ever.

After that, I found it impossible to take church seriously anymore. I started to be the lone voice of dissent in the Youth Group – having actually read the Bible in its entirety, I was in a much better position than any of the other members (or the leaders!) to qualify my arguments. I took particular issue with St Paul, who, to my teenage mind, had perverted the original teachings of Jesus and created a Church entirely out of step with its original premises, and had great fun debating with the rest of the group. In retrospect, I think they had rather less fun than me. Finally, I stopped going to church altogether, and by the time I went to University you would have been hard pressed to recognise a modicum of Christianity in my personality.

The departure of Christianity from my life had left a large, God-shaped hole in my psyche, however, and I was ready and willing to fill it. For a while, hard-left political ideology served as temporary Polyfilla of the soul, but eventually I had to admit that the other Socialist Workers scared the crap out of me. Through my newfound practice of t’ai chi ch’uan, though, I discovered Taoism. Now here was a religion I could get behind! No actual god as such, just a vague, undefined and nebulous “force of nature”. No dogma save “follow the Tao”. No priests and catechisms, no evangelising, no afterlife to aspire to or live in fear of. I have of course, since learned that Taoism has all of these things, but even now, I retain a soft spot for the most basic “Tao of Pooh” form that I originally encountered.

The problem with the sort of New-Age spirituality that I gleaned from Taoism, though, is that it comes with a lot of baggage. As a t’ai chi practitioner (and later instructor) I was encouraged to believe in the “chi” energy that Taoists say infuses the universe. This led on to Reiki (I’m a fully qualified Reiki Master, y’know – meaning that I paid a few hundred quid to hold my hands above some equally deluded hopeful for half an afternoon), crystal healing, kinesiology, dowsing, naturopathy, and a whole slew of others. (To be fair, my personal jury is still out on a couple of these: acupuncture, for instance, seems to work even if only as a placebo, and t’ai chi is still one of the best martial arts and forms of physical exercise that I’ve encountered). The irony was that I nonetheless looked down my nose at practitioners of those esoteric arts to which I hadn’t subscribed. Homeopathy came in for serious criticism (it’s WATER, FFS!), as did iridology, astrology and palmistry, and don’t even get me started on yogic flying… but I failed to realise the hypocrisy of my position for quite a while. When enlightenment came, it came slowly – but my trusty inner cynic won through in the end. I think the final straw was quite recent; an online debate with a very old and dear friend (whose personal journey had paralleled mine, but resulted in quite a different outlook – he’s a very devoted churchgoer) on the reason for our diametrically opposed views prompted me to re-read The God Delusion et al. I sat down, took a look at my thinking, and changed my religion on my Facebook profile to “Atheist” – you don’t get a more sincere declaration of nonbelief than that!

*re-reading this, I see now how that wouldn’t have been a problem.

(Via Ken Watts, What Atheism Means to Me: Part 1)

SOME TIME AGO, when I first put a scarlet A from the Out Campaign on my site, I also posted a brief explanation of what I meant by it, at the time.

Since then I’ve had to reconsider—not so much to change my views as to sharpen them. But I do see things a bit differently now.

Partly, this is a result of conversations with Christian friends. Most of the Christians I know are relatively liberal, and very intelligent. I’d like to think the two go together, but, unfortunately, I know some intelligent conservatives as well. The world doesn’t always satisfy our deepest cravings.

In these conversations, I get asked an interesting question. It would be meaningless to anyone who hadn’t, at one point in their life, been a very, very, serious Christian. But I was, and so I understand it.

After learning that I am no longer religious, or that I now self-identify as an atheist, they ask me about “my relationship with God”.

The question doesn’t bother me. (Well, not in any cosmic sense. It usually causes me a bit of discomfort in a social sense.) What does bother me—in the sense that it has made me think about exactly what I mean by “Atheist”—is my answer.

Because, in the moment, I do know exactly what they mean, and I have no trouble reassuring them that my relationship with god is better than ever.

An odd thing for an atheist to say? An even odder thing for an atheist to believe?

Yeah.

Regular readers blessed with sharp eyes may have already noticed a hint of the explanation. The word “god” in my response is not capitalized.

That doesn’t mean I don’t consider it important—quite the opposite.

I’ve made something of a point in these pages of distinguishing between Capital letter terms and small letter terms: between “Truth” and “truth”, “Patriotism” and “patriotism”, “Belief” and “belief”, “Morality” and “morality”.

The basic difference, in each case, is the difference between Orthodoxy and reality.

Not that Orthodoxy absolutely excludes reality. It’s an impediment, not a complete barrier.

In fact, the experience of having a real (small-”r”) sense of welcome and open connection with myself, my world, and the—excuse the theological expression—ground of my being is what I experienced as my “relationship with God” when I was in my friends’ place.

I wouldn’t have put it that way, then. I had different models, a different vocabulary. But that is how I would describe it now. And that sense has only gotten deeper.

In fact, I wonder, sometimes, if it is possible to fully enjoy that experience without a little Orthodoxy.

Note to my atheist friends: if the last sentence bothered you because it sounded vaguely heretical from an atheist point of view, you qualify.

But let me rush on to reassure you. I don’t mean that atheists don’t experience this connection. I think the connection is inborn, and the normal state of affairs, in all of us.

What I do mean is that it may be harder to notice if you’ve never had enough Orthodoxy around to disconnect you from it—to make you feel separated and out of touch with yourself, your world, the ground of your being. (And I might add that not all Orthodoxy is religious.)

If you’ve never experienced that disconnect you may be too much like a fish in water. You may not notice the connection, even though you have it.

That brings me back to the sophomoric title of this series: “What Atheism Means to Me”.

(Via Ken Watts, What Atheism Means to Me: Part 2)

IN MY FIRST POST, I outlined some of the things that caused me to refine my ideas about atheism, which brought me back to the sophomoric title of this series: “What Atheism Means to Me”.

What I’ve come to see, since I put the scarlet A on my site, is that it’s not really about whether or not someone or something called “God” exists. It’s about knowledge, how we get it, and how we know which ideas to trust.

“But there is no evidence that this designer, even if one exists, is anything at all like a human being, let alone an ancient near-eastern king.”

I didn’t get here by the normal road. I never rejected God, or even the idea of god—and there is a sense (which I’ll get to) in which I still haven’t.

I was surprised, in fact, to find myself an atheist one day, when I caught myself thinking about it clearly.

It all came down to the meaning of the word “God”—which has two referents, even in a religious context: the inner experience which some Christians (and some atheists and members of other religions) have, which I outlined above, and an exterior, Orthodox, cultural definition and collection of knowledge which lays claim to being objective.

The orthodox definition shows up in all those “proofs” of God’s existence. They each have holes you could drive a Buick through, of course, but I won’t be dealing with that here.

Rather, if you just take them at face value, without questioning, what do they really prove?

Some examples:

1. The argument from a first cause:

It claims to prove that there had to be a beginning cause of everything, and usually ends with something like “this cause is what we call ‘God’”.

So, even if the proof works, it hasn’t proven that Jesus rose from the dead, that Mary was assumed, that “receiving Jesus as your lord and savior” will get you into heaven, or even that there is a heaven.

It hasn’t proven that “God”, as defined by the proof, is anything like a human being, that he is fairly represented by any given religion, that he has a will, that he has desires, that he “acts”, that, in fact, he is a “he” or “she” and not an “it”.

Even if the proof is sound, it demonstrates nothing that is not currently being considered in the realm of physics.

2. The argument from a prime mover:

Much the same situation. It claims there has to be a source of movement, or energy. It then says “this we call ‘God’”.

And, again, what would that prove? Certainly not whether abortion is right or wrong, or even whether such a thing as right and wrong exist.

Nor does it prove that this “prime mover” is identical to the “first cause” of the previous argument. It merely gives them the same name.

At most, it would demonstrate something that properly belongs, as in the previous case, to the realm of physics.

3. The argument from design.
This is the argument that there must be a “designer” since the universe is so beautifully designed. But there is no evidence that this designer, even if one exists, is anything at all like a human being, let alone an ancient near-eastern king.

Even if we were to (quite arbitrarily) toss out evolution and other natural processes as candidates, there is no guarantee that such a ‘designer’ would be anything like the normal, culturally accepted, idea of “God” as defined by religion, or have anything to do with a “first cause” or a “prime mover”.

But I came at all this from the other side: the interior, experiential side.

(Via Ken Watts, What Atheism Means to Me: Part 3)

IN PARTS ONE AND TWO , I described some experiences which caused me to refine my idea of atheism, and some of the problems with claims to exterior, objective, knowledge about God.

“I began to think that perhaps it was a little dishonest to use the word in a way in which almost no one else used it.”

But I came at all this from the other side: the interior, experiential side.

I began my journey as a believer. I’ve left the “b” in lower-case, because I really did believe in all I was taught, not as a cultural stance, but as a basic world-view. That, I think, is what saved me. (pun, I’m sorry to say, intended)

Since I always assumed that “God” was a term that designated something real in the world, and not just the accepted mumbo-jumbo of my tribe, I was always open to the possibility that the ideas handed down to me, Orthodoxy itself, might be flawed.

And so I struggled mightily, to reconcile what I was taught about God with what I knew about the real world and also with my own, internal, experience.

The result, which was over thirty years in the making, was an understanding of God as the totality of existence, which included myself, and person I was talking to, the person I had never met, supernovae, my dog, Hitler, Jesus, the quantum field, the mosquito biting your arm (hey, it’s my list), the anthrax virus, and even George W. Bush.

I used to say, jokingly, to my friends that I was God, but that they shouldn’t be alarmed, because they were, too. This didn’t, of course, mean that I expected to perform miracles, or raise the dead, or claim to know what was right or wrong for others.

I arrived at this view precisely because I was so dedicated a theist, and because I wanted nothing more than to understand God as well as I could, and to interact with God as a reality, and not a mere cultural fiction.

I’m only talking about my own journey here. I can’t claim that everybody who takes that stance would end up in that place, or where I ended up later.

Because it didn’t stop there.

The bigger God got for me, the more inclusive the idea became, the less power Orthodoxy had. God was real, both in my experience and in an objective sense. Everything physics or chemistry or any of the sciences proved was more information about God.

And that was when god lost the capital “G”. The idea of god had become completely real for me, and in doing so had lost all connection to tradition and authority.

There was no longer a distinction between god and anything else. By this time I no longer had a connection to religion. I was living a completely spiritual, and completely secular, life.

And then Dawkins had to spoil it all. He started the out campaign, and made me think about things a little more clearly.

What, exactly, did the word “God” mean?

I had to admit, that for most people, “God” did not equal the sum total of a secular universe. And I began to think that perhaps it was a little dishonest to use the word in a way in which almost no one else used it.

So I put a scarlet A on my site, and wrote a post, explaining my position.

But I think I’m a little clearer about that position, now.

(Via Ken Watts, What Atheism Means to Me: Part 4)

I BEGAN THIS RAMBLING ESSAY with a question which my Christian friends have asked of me, now that they know I am an atheist—what has happened to my relationship with God?—and with the fact that my most common answer is that it’s better than ever.

Along the way, I’ve pointed out that there are two referents for the word God:

1. The internal, subjective, experience, and

2. The set of beliefs which are taught to believers, and which claim to be objective knowledge about the real world.

And I’ve given a brief account of the evolution of my understanding and experience, until I came to the place where I put a scarlet A on my site, and wrote a post explaining my position.

But I think I’m a little clearer about that position, now.

I now think that the real point is not about God, or god, at all. It’s about reality with a small “r”, and about the relative value of Orthodoxy and experience.

It can be summed up in the answers to two questions:

1. Is there “something out there”, which we can be in relationship with, and which is “bigger than all of us”, and yet remains a mystery?

Yes.

It’s the real world, and we are part of it.

We relate to it, both objectively and subjectively, constantly—by using the best models we can find for interpreting it, by being true to our own inmost nature, by relating to each other, by taking care of the planet we live on, by doing science to learn more about it, by feeding the cat.

In fact, we can’t avoid relating to it.

You can call it god, if you like, but the name you give to a reality doesn’t change that reality one whit. (You can call an electron a “wave” or a “particle”, but you’re only naming the model you’re using. The electron remains itself .)

2. Is there any evidence at all that any one of the thousand and one Orthodoxies that can be found in almost any state or nation has any claim to knowing more about ultimate reality than the average person on the street? Is there any way at all to judge which one has better models than another?

None whatsoever.

Your pastor, priest, or favorite theologian has no reason to believe that he or she has more insight into the nature of the “first cause” or “prime mover” than you do.

Their pronouncements on that subject, like an ancient Roman priest’s pronouncements on the nature and desires of Zeus, are about culture , not ultimate reality.

As such, they may be useful, even extremely valuable in some cases, but they shouldn’t be taken literally—and definitely shouldn’t be taken as infallible.

Insofar as theology claims to be the source of objective knowledge about external reality, it has been clear since the enlightenment that science was the new theology.

What has all this got to do with my answer when people ask me about my “relationship with God”?

Why do I answer that it’s “better than ever”, and why do I believe what I say?

It’s got to do with the difference between reality itself and the models we use to perceive, and talk about, reality.

The “relationship” they’re speaking of is a real thing: the awareness of a connection with life, the universe, and everything—and the act of embracing that connectedness.

I’m actually grateful to my Christian background, since it’s where I learned the importance of that stance.

But I’ve also found that Orthodoxy gets in the way—stands between a person and reality by dictating the models that must be used, and the conclusions that must be reached.

So, paradoxically, it was my very seriousness about Christian spirituality that ended up leading me away from the church.

It was that relationship, that connection, that brought me here. And I’m more aware of that connection, more at home with it, more connected than I was in the church.

The difference between me and a theist doesn’t lie in the reality itself, but in our models, our interpretations of that reality.

I no longer interpret life, the universe, and everything through the model of a larger than life, invisible human being—both because of the peculiarities of my own internal journey and also because I just don’t think the model is a very likely fit, from a practical point of view, given what we really do and don’t know about—well, about life, the universe, and everything.

But the reality, the experience itself, I now find to be better, and deeper, more real and satisfying, than when I called it “God”.

Which makes me believe that “better than ever” is the most honest, and relevant, answer I can give to their question.

At least, that’s what I think today.

(Via Sonny Myhrr)

When I was a baby I saw my father for the first time and at that time I knew I would Die young and suffering. My grandfather died young suffering. I saw an image of him while I was in my crib looking into the sunlight!

I have always been smart and a quick learner. An example of that is when I was 3 I wrote to Fox the t.v. station and requested that the little house on the prairie would be stopped from being aired. I did this because my older half sister watched it religiously and I hated it.

I don’t believe in God or much of anything spiritual except that art and love are a positive force. I have a few diseases that are genetic and I suffer greatly! The spiritual claim ignorance toward me when I exclaim my pain.

I have been suffering since I was four. I called a church at the age of 20 and asked the catholic priest if it were possible that the Devil were after me. He said that the holy bible holds the answers but the fact is that it is a schizophrenic literature hands down.

I think the devil is a woman who can become men and women and may have created the versions of spirituality. I feel she is not greater than anyone as a matter of fact she might be despised and destroyed by each thing ever. So she is what I consider the religious to believe in.

I am 29 years old and will die within 10 years. I would rather not have witnessed this life nor lived it but I see no reason to give up just because I am surrounded by sin and things that will never ever be worth while.

The new album by Drowning Pool is like I wrote it, word for word it is how I feel. Listen to it if you have read this and don’t understand. I am godless and love being independent and free!

(Via Jeff Clanton)

There was no set day. No event. I’ve been an atheist for over ten years. I argued existence in college with buddies and I’ve made it known on occasion to my family for years. Recently, I became active in the movement. My participation includes debating and posting on YouTube, posting the great YouTube vids I’ve found on my Facebook and MySpace pages and inviting my Christian friends to discuss religion.

I’ve had a few friends delete me since becoming outspoken. Sad as it was, I felt very liberated by my decision to make a stand for what I know to be reasonable and good. Surprisingly, many of my Christian friends have been supportive in my endeavors and see the problems I present. Many of them have commended me for having the courage to speak about my views in spite of their unpopularity. I’ve earned their respect. It has been my great pleasure to learn that most of the fears I carried about what people would think are of little merit compared to reality.

(Via Nigel)

I was raised Christian. My parents started out as good Baptists, ‘heard’ from God to move from England to Australia, became Pentecostals, ‘heard’ again to move from Australia to Canada and left the organized church. I pretty much bought into all of it.

I wound up on an ‘End time farm’, involved in the ‘Move of god’. The end times were here and god was going to make us his chosen people.

So what happened to make me an Atheist?

As a young married couple my wife and I found ourselves rebelling against the authority of the eldership at the communal farm. We left but still attended meetings of the Move cult. As we lost interest in this we started attending more mainline churches. We more or less lost interest in those too.

I suppose I was a backslidden christian for the next 20 years or so. I didn’t hate god but quit praying. I more or less just didn’t care.

And then … Our younger son came out to us. He is gay. He told us how he went to church as a kid and prayed to god that he could be normal and not be attracted to other boys. (God didn’t help much there.) Anyway, one of the things he told us was: Either god created him as he is, god screwed up and he turned out gay or ‘I am what I am’ and there is no god. My original understanding was the first option but it started me thinking. He is what he is and there is no god.

Wow! It has been a journey since then and has taken a few years to really start to get my feelings together. I am using reasoning and reading as much as I can. I don’t believe. Prove me wrong and I will listen. Just don’t quote the bible.

(Via Godless Bastard)

I never came out of the atheist closet because I was never in it. Even as a small child I knew that religion was pure bunk. I’m no smarter or more aware than anyone else, and not that I would expect every young child to come to such a terminal realization, but I just can’t wrap my arms around how any sane and (even marginally) intelligent adult would believe such utter nonsense.