My husband and I adopted a baby through the state. The birth parents had their rights removed due to drug abuse. We found out after the fact that there was a large, intact, really nice extended family who was open to having a relationship with their Grandson/Nephew/Cousin. We got together last Christmas, grandma visited several times, we had a few playdates with small cousins. Then we became Facebook friends (ie, they found out I was an Atheist liberal.) They have stopped communicating with me in any way. I feel bad for my son who is only three that he will not have a relationship with his birth family because I am an Atheist. People are so shallow.

My story is still being written, I am in the middle of telling the world that I don’t believe. I am slowly telling my parents that I don’t believe. First, I tell them that I am liberal. Done, then I tell them that I love heavy metal. Done. Then I tell them that I believe in evolution. Done, then I slowly ramp up the sacrilegious jokes. I showed my dad the clips of Richard Dawkins reading his hate mail! My parents must be fucking retarded if they have not noticed yet! How do I tell them, I don’t want to have to spell it out for them but… I think that may be my last option.

It’s that merry time of year once more when churches morph into a placid haven for every simple soul haunted by baseless illusions of broadway grandeur and a soapbox for off-key musicians of every kind. Indeed, for the humble admission price of lending one’s ears to bronze age drivel, and the timeous surrender of hard-earned pennies into a refashioned sock, the theatre has literally come to a house of worship near you. For those of you misfortunate enough to have observed the “the Starry Messenger”, one can rest assured that one’s dose of churchly drama will not provide quite the same length of dreariness however, the central message is of course eerily similar. In the many generations since the non-event of the virgin birth, adults of our species can still be observed donning their fake wings and re-enacting the preceding non-event of a young woman being confronted with a heavenly creature boldly announcing the magical expropriation of her womb. So enthralling do adherents of the christian faith find this tale that it is of course the standard fare of December sermons and has been for as long as one would care to investigate. So enticing are the economic benefits of its reproduction that to the extent that playstations and sugary treats have not usurped its once unquestioned dominance, the fairytale is rehashed, rephrased, reproduced and stamped into the starry eyed innocence of the young with wanton abandon.

Were I a man of superstition, prone to wishthinking, I would long since have come to the unavoidable conclusion that in a deviant act of heavenly, or hellish, tomfoolery, a power greater than I has assigned dark comedy to haunt me wherever I would rather not go. Indeed, how else but by black magic is one to explain the fantastical comedy of events that I had the pleasure of witnessing at one such theatrical production. Deep into the very midst of this churchly affair, with the communal act of cannibalism having been completed and with the usual misconstruction of the Isaiah prophecy having found its way into the liturgy, a veiled maiden appeared from behind a curtain with the name Mary. Young and beautiful she was, humming to herself in blissful ignorance and youthful naivety, quite unaware that her fertility and features were such as to tempt the very gods into a pre-marital sexual affair. Suddenly, from the behind the same curtain, accompanied with the customary burst of special effect smoke, appeared a heavenly minion, winged and blonde, dressed in the very whitest of robes, truly an angel of the most high. In a raspy voice, intermingled with the tell-tale fuzz of an amateur sound director, a promise was made, a prediction of a holy and immaculate conception of a child, as so selectively told in the Gospel of Luke. Predictable, as all prospective teenage mothers would be hasty in doing, notice was had of the fact that such reproduction is quite uncommon and Mary, rightly so, queried “how is this possible, I am but a virgin”. To which the angel of god responded in shameless fashion, “That’s OK, God will come on you”.

Any godless heathen with a certain degree of experience with any combination of sexual relations would of course be hard pressed not to exploit this exchange for one’s own amusement in so serious a setting but from various corners of the house of God, the grunts, grimaces and giggles were audible, and whilst it began with what were no doubt a bunch of bored adolescents, the rumbling quickly spread and the cast of actors were struck by a moment of stunned silence as they realized the implication of their poor choice of words, no doubt berating the biblical scholars of the latest rehash of the New International Version for retaining such phrases in so sexually enlightened an era. Noticeably Mary’s cheeks took on a bashful red hue, suggesting but for a moment that this particular actress may have been more knowledgeable of earthly matters than the simple Jewish maiden she had been asked to portray, god’s will notwithstanding.

Naturally, quite instinctively, one is drawn to the enviable dilemma of how best to regale future generations with the happenstance of this fateful day. Does one cite the colorful antics of Trevor Nunn’s “A comedy of errors” in comparison, or does one gather the jovial amongst you around one’s favourite barstool repeating by way of annual tradition this story until it becomes a legend in its own right, a pro-fairyism if you will? Then it struck me, yet again, that in the midst of this serving of infantile humour and comedy one is confronted with the stupendous ignorance and idiocy of it all. The merriment in this tale is not one of language or circumstance but rests on the absolute absurdity of the tale itself. Here I was, drawn once more into the religious company of my fellow men and women, many of whom seek to maintain that the creator and heaven and earth, the loving patriarch and ruler of all, based on a mistranslation of an ancient text, and in correction of a wrong he himself had created and could have erased at a whim, sent himself as himself to be himself as a man, to be born of a virgin in the backward waters of primitive Palestine for no other reason than that he sought to have himself crucified to satiate his own thirst for a human sacrifice. Not only that, but that this magical manifestation of a god walked the earth justified by nothing but biological impossibility and cheap trickery and who by deed or revelation alone would leave nothing in substantiation of this alleged supernatural endorsement.

The infantile humour is not to be found in a moment of awkwardness, a flash of hypocrisy or the pitiful insistence by believers to impregnate each other and their young with this shameless concoction, it is to be found in the entire construct of the christian faith, the rank idiocy of its founding principles and the communal madness which still haunts our species to this day. This Christmas, when the faithful speak of good tidings, heavenly hosts, magical stars and god incarnate I beg but a moment of reflection upon a due and appropriate challenge, that as queried by David Hume, we ponder briefly the challenge of the more likely: That the whole natural order is suspended or that a Jewish minx should tell a lie?

I came out godless on television yesterday on 11/01/09. I started a group with other freethinkers in Evansville, Indiana and was interviewed about it. We started in May of this year and have grown to over 260 members. It was refreshing to tell this evangelical town that we exist and stand to be recognized.

As I look back now on my past as a young person, I didn’t know anything.
I thought there was a god, but only because it was expected, and fear of someone always watching me.
A few years back my son and I started discussing religion and I came to the conclusion that I really was an atheist. Talk about fear, now that was scary. To deny a god or gods that most people revere is surely a coming out process.
Now, I couldn’t care less who knows.

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.

I am 16, but that is irrelevant as time is illusion. I accept the ebb and flow of things, nurture them, but do not own them.

Five weeks ago I came to the bloody realization that I had been lying to myself for about 19 years, I never questioned God this hardcore or even thought about being an atheist. It made so much sense to me when I came to the realization that I was actually in the right for once. I told my parents, utterly devout people(dad is pastor), and they kicked me out of the house. Needless to say, thanksgiving was just dandy. Now I am off to make a completely new life for myself and it is fucking refreshing!

“Six Confirmations”

Over the past several years I have become increasingly aware of the futility of promoting atheism as a worldview to the general public. This is, admittedly, an almost complete turnabout from my former position, but it has been necessitated by subsequent study, observation, and a desire not to be deceived.

In the past two weeks six events have strongly confirmed this opinion. Two were Skeptics meetings at Caltech, each attracting a full-house crowd (which paid a minimum of $5 per head.) One featured Richard Dawkins discussing his new book, An Ancestor’s Tale, the other a talk on critical thinking and the graphic display of information. Last week at Santa Monica College there was an excellent talk on learning, early brain development, and how easy it is to be deceived. This one also to a packed house with people sitting in the aisles. That evening I went to a meeting of Americans United for Separation of Church and State, which featured a dynamic talk on creationism vs. evolution in the educational system. Many in this group are atheists, but their objective is the very important one of keeping religion and government separate.

The next night at the Glendale Library I heard an impassioned speech detailing dangers in the policies of the current Administration, with special emphasis on their theocratic, corporate globalism aspects. Although in some of these talks there were hints of the absurdity and danger of religious belief, the word “atheism”, to the best of my recollection, was never mentioned.

Finally, last night at a local discussion group the subject of origins came up. I said that in my opinion the least troublesome explanation is that the universe has always existed, and always will, having no beginning and no end. Another member, no fundamentalist, but a “spiritual” type, disagreed, saying she joined a church because she believes there has to be a “first cause.” Ok, I said, if everything needs a cause, then what caused that “first cause” (i.e. God)? Silence all around.

And therein lies my point. The vast majority of humans simply cannot accept what all the evidence shows – that this life is all there is, that there’s nothing beyond it, and that the ultimate questions as to why, when, and how everything came to be may never be answered. These people need an answer, so they turn to religion, which gives them one. Probably a wrong one, but that doesn’t matter. It’s something they can hang onto. Like my aunt who finally discovered why her son had so much bad luck. He was born on Friday the 13th! In her mind, that explained it, and she was relieved.

With highly educated scientists, after hundreds of years of painstaking investigation by their profession steadily pushing “God” further and further into the background, still believing in some form of godism, the conclusion is inescapable: religion is not going to go away. The need for it is hardwired into most human brains. I’m finally having to acknowledge, albeit grudgingly, the truth of a statement I once read in a psychology textbook: Man needs religion, but some have paid a high price for it.

They have indeed, and they will continue to. It’s in their genes. Don’t get me wrong. I’m just as strong and proud an atheist as ever. But I cannot continue deluding myself by expecting vast numbers of people to join me in this view. I should instead support efforts to keep the superstition steamroller from crunching our Constitution into rubble. I would encourage all atheists to do likewise. This effort has never been more needed. It is essential that we win. To do that, we must close ranks and set our sights in the right direction.

“Evolution Confirmed – Again”

When I was young, very, very young, I was a Christian. I grew up in a very hardcore Christian family, and so never really questioned in my earliest years anything about religion.

The process of becoming an atheist was unnoticed by me, meaning that I simply didn’t care enough to think about it. I have always been a doubter of everything my family showed me and taught me, and a doubter of everything for that matter. That doesn’t mean that the doubt was merely rebellious, in an irrational, anger, blind way, but rather curious, independent, and benevolent. I had to see and learn everything firsthand, and still do. So I basically just ignored everyone around me who was only talking about meaningless Jewish history or the prospect of being good solely “because God’s watching”.

The question of religion presented itself by way of me volunteering at the zoo in some teen program, where I could walk around the zoo with one of the small animals and let the people pet them, which was really fun. That was the first time I was ever introduced into an environment that was not overtly Christian, that was where I could finally talk about religion and the concept of God in a skeptical way, and that was when I finally, concretely thought to myself that I was an atheist.

I had no internal conflicts about my atheism, but many about whom to tell. Today I tell my family that the reason I kept that secret for so long was because I did not want to hurt them. That is true, but I wonder whether it was really because I was sort of afraid of the reactions. I often thought about what they would think, how they would react, and how deep they would get if they talked or argued about it, if at all.

To this day, I have told only ONE person: my mom. Now, my father, two kid sisters, and grandparents “somehow” also know. The only reason I told her was because she had been nagging at me for awhile and relentlessly about how I need to find “God’s Will” for my life. Also, I let her know only because I thought she would still think I was going to Heaven somehow, and wouldn’t have a heart attack or anything like that, since, to her, I had already once been “saved” at some point in my life.

“What would they think?” I was wrong to think that they would still believe in my “salvation” and passport to Heaven. Apparently I had never really been saved and am currently going to Hell. Even though I still find that funny, I really didn’t want to put them through that kind of emotional state. Now, however, even though I love them, I do not feel any sympathy towards anguish which exists solely in their minds and on a fallacy. Obviously, I seriously miscalculated what they would think.

“How would they react?” Not well. They would cry. A lot. Then yell some, go talk with some counselor about the curse of having a wayward son, and cry some more for good measure. Again, I miscalculated the true level of their ignorance and insanity.

“How deep would they get if they talked or argued about it, if at all?” I love them, but they are indeed swimming in the kiddie’s pool. The whole of the “arguments” I have heard so far consists of pure drama and popular bromides, with such phenomena as “So, do you just hate God, now?”, “Does God know that you don’t believe he exists?”, and “There are no atheists in foxholes.” This last was said by my dad the day I aced the D-LAB (the hardest test ever devised) and officially signed up for my U.S. Air Force job: airborne linguist. Out of all the things anyone has ever said to me that I would usually regard as stupid and therefore worthy to be ignored, this is the one that stung, badly. I almost considered making a scene and somehow banning him from coming to my basic graduation at Lackland.

As of the time I’m writing this, I’m living with my grandparents, a few miles away from Montgomery, where my parents live. I’m just doing odd jobs here and there until I ship out in exactly six weeks from today, and I have vigorously avoided any arguments with any of my family; I hate arguing. Every time I sit still and think about whether this issue with my family will ever die down, I always come to the conclusion that it will and soon. But I also concluded years ago that my family wouldn’t react the way the have, so I am not making any predictions when it comes to illogical stuff like that.

Also, my family now hates Ayn Rand, as I’m sure many do. They have cursed her many, many times for “converting” me over to atheism and remind me time and time again that she is burning in Hell, which can apparently serve as both a scare tactic and an irrefutable argument. They overlook the fact that just because I knew who she was when they found out about my atheism doesn’t mean that I knew her when I “converted”.

Lastly, they do not know how lucky they are, and I, to a certain extent, that they only found out about me recently. But before I say anything please know that I am NOT speaking for all atheists here. One of my biggest problems as a child was my irrational, negative feelings toward Christianity. I am very proud of myself for getting over being overly angry at someone simply because they are a Christian. I used to think that if an adult reached a certain age of intellectual maturity, than there was absolutely no excuse for still following the Christian faith. (As a side note, I would like to mention that all of my arguments for atheism and against religion are in the field of morality, as I could care less about the origin of the universe and of man.) It has taken me time to realize that just because the Christian tenets are evil (again, NOT speaking for any other atheists out there), does not mean that all Christians are necessarily evil. I do admit to the fact that there may be, and probably are, benevolent AND religious people out there, even though I have yet to meet them. Today I still try to hold on to this thought when confronted with my family, and can only hope that the people here in Alabama will eventually grow a little more lax.