I mentioned in my recent post I should us this space to explain -- mainly for my own sake -- why I'm an atheist. It's no simple, single thing. I want to write on each and examine each in turn. Doing that will take a few posts, at least. And, each post will take some time and thought to complete.
Before I do, I want to write on something simpler. One of the more common concerns atheists hear is that they (we) are smug. That we're know-it-alls, rude, and son on. Lots of people have written on this, and there's little I could hope to add to any larger conversation in my small corner here.
I don't aim to be a smug know-it-all. I don't know it all. My thinking that there is no god isn't a matter of certainty, but one of skepticism. For a bunch of reasons, I'm not convinced supernatural things exist, nor do we have need for them.
I have no bone to pick with religious people. I'm surrounded by them, many in my own family and friends. I spent my adult life until now largely hiding I'm an atheist so that I wouldn't hurt those people. That really was the main reason.
Recently, I felt the stress of hiding my own thoughts wasn't worth it. I still care what those people in my life think about this. I don't want them to feel insulted, nor do I want them to worry about me. I want them included, not excluded. I'd be happy to discuss things with them, but I dread any arguments or passive aggression.
In that abstract -- that is, looking beyond myself and people I know personally -- it may be that atheists can't overcome this critique about smugness. What I detect out of critiques that atheists are hard-hearted and smug is a sense of incredulity rooted in faith. How could any person question the great vastness of god and the universe? Just who do atheists think they are? How dare they?
In other words, from their perspective, the smugness is all about -- for them -- the given that there is a higher power. To question it is to assault heaven in some way, and good folks shouldn't do that.
It's at points like these that atheists and theists clash head on. It's a point where there is no even ground. Either one believes there is some kind of higher power, and therefore questioning that is hubristic and smug. Or, one thinks there is no such power, and discussing it with others is no affront, no big deal. For these points, I have no easy answer. I know what I think about it. I know what I would talk about. But, I see no way that conversation works out short of a conversion of one kind or another!
So, I don't aim for smug. I aim for starting out thoughtfully, and hoping my counterparts would credit me enough to have a conversation rather than a clash.
Monday, January 7, 2013
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
Junior choir in hell
To steal a line from my favorite college professor, I'm a retired Methodist. It's a good line. I've used it before. Prior to that, I was a pressed-gang Methodist, which included a steady dose of sunday school, church and the one thing I dreaded most, "junior choir."
Junior choir was a weekly exercise in singing saccharine songs about Jesus without really thinking about it. I have no idea what we sang, really. All kinds of traditional and then-modern catchy tunes about Noah and the first Christmas and give God the glory, glory. (Oh, man, do I ever hate that song.)
We had choir practice every wednesday after school right across the stret at the Methodist church. One of my best pals was Casey, and Casey's mom, Marilyn, was choir director, which made it tolerable. She ran my home town's equivalent of the Brady Bunch, and, man, did she ever know how to keep a few dozen kids in line. She's a miraculous woman. She ran a tight ship, and she genuinely cared about a bunch of kids who mostly wanted to be somewhere else. We liked her for it. I liked her plenty, even if she did yell my full name and kick me out of practice once or twice for talking too much. Getting kicked out one time meant my own mother got so pissed she whipped my thighs with the wire end of a fly swatter. Not exactly a recipe for loving the lord. (Don't worry -- she's a great mom. Kids are nutty.)
I don't know what all the grown ups thought about us in junior choir. Mostly, I think all the moms liked to hear their kids sing anything. Now that I'm a parent, I'm suspect part of it was also getting kids out of the moms' houses for a while.
What were we supposed to think about choir? I don't know. This is the stuff I thought about:
1. I can't wait until sixth grade is over so I don't have to be in junior choir anymore. What? They thought up youth choir for junior high and high school kids? Damn it!
2. When is practice over so I can get a couple of old Brach's candies from Marilyn's candy basket that she keeps in the room behind the organ? The Neopolitan coconut ones are pretty good. Who knew? Plus, maybe I can go home with Casey and Marilyn and we can ride the 4-wheeler around the farm!
3. Why does my mom force me to miss the Wednesday episode of the G.I. Joe cartoon miniseries EVERY TIME? I still haven't seen what happens in the underwater battle with the giant tube worm things or when Snake Eyes gets lost in the northern wilderness. This is bullshit!
Here are things I never once thought:
1. You know, this is a really great lesson that I should probably respect my mother and father more.
2. Singing these goofy songs about Jesus is really great. I can't wait to sing on Sunday!
3. You know, these orange choir robe pull-over ponchos make us look like safety cones, but I at least they're pretty much one size fits all!
On Sundays, we had to put on those horrendous orange ponchos and sit as a group in the front three pews. We routinely made all kinds of aerodynamic innovations folding up our church bulletins into paper airplanes and throwing stars. I had a flat-wing design I stole out of a book at school that looked like a prototype stealth bomber. But, any test flights of same were sorely frowned upon.
Those bulletins were a life saver. Not only did they act as an painfully slow checklist reminder for when we could get out of there, we also used them to play hangman and that little game where you each draw one line on a grid to make squares and then put your initial in the squares you complete.
We choir brats sat through about half of church, got up and sang some songs, and then scattered among the congregation to sit with friends or family. Some of us poor schmucks got roped into handing out the offering plate or lighting and snuffing out the candles.
If the intent was to get some of those songs and sermons to stick, it didn't take with me.
The thing that gets me now is how in the world I thought church was somehow insincere back then? I mean, I didn't know much. It'd be easy to chalk it up to being a dumb, selfish kid. Ok, I probably was that. But, it all felt so phony to me, and it still does.
There's sincerity neslted in there, too. Mainly it comes from people in towns becoming friends with church as a mixing tank. But, the minute anyone starts talking about the second coming or sin or forgiveness, I'm headed for the exit for somewhere that has better music.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
My life as a godless heathen!
I'm an atheist. That isn't too hard to write. For a long time, it wasn't too hard to be one, either. I did it quietly. Very quietly. But, then again, no one asked much, either. In fact, they still don't.
But, the other day, my wife came home from a "girls night" with her aunts and cousins. They're a chatty bunch, and somehow the conversation came round to just that question -- what do you believe? I think with some egging on from her sassy older sister, my wife had no fear sharing with the other ladies that she, too, is an atheist.
Her mother was slightly aghast. A couple of her aunts just seemed amazed and ask some basic, earnest questions like "So what do you think happens when you die?" My wife replied, "Nothing. That's it." My impression? They either never had "met" someone like that, or never considered the idea much at all.
Somewhere along the line of questioning, my wife earned a wink and a nudge from another one of the ladies. The biggest shock of the situation seemed to be the ladies' realization that our two children aren't baptized, but there wasn't any fight. Just a little tut-tutting, maybe.
And that was that. I'm sure it's still bothering my mother-in-law some. For one, I hear she was much relieved to know that the sassy sister-in-law is "just" an agnostic, and might still believe in something.
All told, it was a low-drama coming out event. Considering the cast, no strangers to family dramas, that's a pretty good outcome.
Then there's my side of the family. It's a great family. Nothing to complain about. We get along. Pretty typical Midwest, middle class stuff. If they knew I was an atheist (some probably realize already), my hunch is that wouldn't change much. If anything, it'd make them act weird about it -- say, worrying about what I think at Christmas (we celebrate it pretty normally), or praying at a Sunday dinner at mom's.
My brother-in-law became a Methodist minister a few years ago, and my sister is very active in the church, along with their kids. He baptized many of my nieces and nephews. I've known them forever. Me and the brother-in-law, along with my brothers and dad, still joke around with jokes that'd make most ministers blush. My sister's very caring. It's all very pleasant.
Of course, it also means the level of religious observances ratchets up, doesn't it? Every summer, my sister tries to recruit my kids for a church camp she's been active with for years (in fact, that's where she met the minister brother-in-law). It's about the only awkward moment of prosetylization my wife and I deal with, aside from the occasional Bible school invites our children get from well-meaning friends (which is to say friends' moms, of course). My line these days is a polite decline, maybe an excuse that my daughter has plans for another camp, which is true. What I'm afraid to say is "That's not the right thing for our kids, and I don't think the preaching that goes on at those events is right for such young minds."
My wife is braver about these things than me. I think she's had fewer odd ball religious encounters than me, too, but she's still braver and more honest. I know it bothers her. Not the atheism -- not much chance she'll change there, I think. I mean the fear bothers her. She probably doesn't think of it in those terms -- that it's fear keeping us from making friends like our church-going neighbors do. We talk about it -- that our beliefs and values contribute to a shallower pool of social contacts. We're conscious of this, and she watches acquaintances share strong relationships largely because they met at church and participate in events together. We know our children will have less social activity and cultural know-how than I did growing up going to church on Sundays and taking part in youth group events.
The other day, she decided to do something about that. She went to an introductory meeting with the local free-thinkers and atheists group. And, I ranted like an idiot about how that didn't seem like the right solution, and that defining oneself by lack of belief in something seemed an odd thing to do.
But, I'm glad she went. I'm glad even if she never goes again. Like I said, she's braver than I am, and I'm happy about that. In less than a month, my wife did more than I've done in a lifetime in regards to our shared values.
So, it got me thinking. And, I realized a few things.
For one, I've never really done a good job explaining -- even to myself -- just why it is I'm an atheist. I really need to do that. This is a good space to do it in.
Second, there really is danger out there for openly atheist people. Families disintegrate over this stuff. People get harassed or threatened. But that's far from my front door, or even my family's. Why am I hiding? For safety's sake? For shame? These are terrible reasons.
And, finally, I might actually find some friends out there in the wide world. Maybe they're even nearby.
So, I don't believe in any god. I don't believe morality comes from god or the Bible or supernatural sources, but it does come from the good behaviors and minds of human beings. There is no life after death, and this is nothing to fear. Prayer doesn't work, but good thoughts certainly are nice. I have no supernatural soul. I am not born tarnished and in need of redemption. All things don't happen for a reason. I'll never see loved ones who've died before me again. I have memories of them, though, and I love that. I may lose those memories someday, and that's just ok, too. Sometimes life is improbably sublime, sometimes it's not.
Right now, thinking about a new year ahead, life's pretty good.
But, the other day, my wife came home from a "girls night" with her aunts and cousins. They're a chatty bunch, and somehow the conversation came round to just that question -- what do you believe? I think with some egging on from her sassy older sister, my wife had no fear sharing with the other ladies that she, too, is an atheist.
Her mother was slightly aghast. A couple of her aunts just seemed amazed and ask some basic, earnest questions like "So what do you think happens when you die?" My wife replied, "Nothing. That's it." My impression? They either never had "met" someone like that, or never considered the idea much at all.
Somewhere along the line of questioning, my wife earned a wink and a nudge from another one of the ladies. The biggest shock of the situation seemed to be the ladies' realization that our two children aren't baptized, but there wasn't any fight. Just a little tut-tutting, maybe.
And that was that. I'm sure it's still bothering my mother-in-law some. For one, I hear she was much relieved to know that the sassy sister-in-law is "just" an agnostic, and might still believe in something.
All told, it was a low-drama coming out event. Considering the cast, no strangers to family dramas, that's a pretty good outcome.
Then there's my side of the family. It's a great family. Nothing to complain about. We get along. Pretty typical Midwest, middle class stuff. If they knew I was an atheist (some probably realize already), my hunch is that wouldn't change much. If anything, it'd make them act weird about it -- say, worrying about what I think at Christmas (we celebrate it pretty normally), or praying at a Sunday dinner at mom's.
My brother-in-law became a Methodist minister a few years ago, and my sister is very active in the church, along with their kids. He baptized many of my nieces and nephews. I've known them forever. Me and the brother-in-law, along with my brothers and dad, still joke around with jokes that'd make most ministers blush. My sister's very caring. It's all very pleasant.
Of course, it also means the level of religious observances ratchets up, doesn't it? Every summer, my sister tries to recruit my kids for a church camp she's been active with for years (in fact, that's where she met the minister brother-in-law). It's about the only awkward moment of prosetylization my wife and I deal with, aside from the occasional Bible school invites our children get from well-meaning friends (which is to say friends' moms, of course). My line these days is a polite decline, maybe an excuse that my daughter has plans for another camp, which is true. What I'm afraid to say is "That's not the right thing for our kids, and I don't think the preaching that goes on at those events is right for such young minds."
My wife is braver about these things than me. I think she's had fewer odd ball religious encounters than me, too, but she's still braver and more honest. I know it bothers her. Not the atheism -- not much chance she'll change there, I think. I mean the fear bothers her. She probably doesn't think of it in those terms -- that it's fear keeping us from making friends like our church-going neighbors do. We talk about it -- that our beliefs and values contribute to a shallower pool of social contacts. We're conscious of this, and she watches acquaintances share strong relationships largely because they met at church and participate in events together. We know our children will have less social activity and cultural know-how than I did growing up going to church on Sundays and taking part in youth group events.
The other day, she decided to do something about that. She went to an introductory meeting with the local free-thinkers and atheists group. And, I ranted like an idiot about how that didn't seem like the right solution, and that defining oneself by lack of belief in something seemed an odd thing to do.
But, I'm glad she went. I'm glad even if she never goes again. Like I said, she's braver than I am, and I'm happy about that. In less than a month, my wife did more than I've done in a lifetime in regards to our shared values.
So, it got me thinking. And, I realized a few things.
For one, I've never really done a good job explaining -- even to myself -- just why it is I'm an atheist. I really need to do that. This is a good space to do it in.
Second, there really is danger out there for openly atheist people. Families disintegrate over this stuff. People get harassed or threatened. But that's far from my front door, or even my family's. Why am I hiding? For safety's sake? For shame? These are terrible reasons.
And, finally, I might actually find some friends out there in the wide world. Maybe they're even nearby.
So, I don't believe in any god. I don't believe morality comes from god or the Bible or supernatural sources, but it does come from the good behaviors and minds of human beings. There is no life after death, and this is nothing to fear. Prayer doesn't work, but good thoughts certainly are nice. I have no supernatural soul. I am not born tarnished and in need of redemption. All things don't happen for a reason. I'll never see loved ones who've died before me again. I have memories of them, though, and I love that. I may lose those memories someday, and that's just ok, too. Sometimes life is improbably sublime, sometimes it's not.
Right now, thinking about a new year ahead, life's pretty good.
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