This is the 200th article in The Atheist Attic. And as some might have noticed, I tend to get a little reflective on anniversaries.
Recently, I was invited to be the guest speaker at this past month's meeting of Atheists and Other Freethinkers, one of several freethought groups here in Sacramento. Yes, I headed a small freethought group for over a year in Utah, and yes, I teach fiction writing classes at The Learning Exchange here in Sacramento, but the idea of being a guest speaker frankly intimidated me. But what the heck. I decided to do it.
The title of my speech was "STRANGER THAN FICTION: An Atheist Writer and the Approaching American Theocracy." Mainly, I discussed my transition to atheism, my activism (including this website, of course, as well as the Freethought Society of Northern Utah), and my forthcoming novel, ONE NATION UNDER GOD.
The interesting thing, and what causes me to mention all this here, is that in preparing my notes for the speech, I found myself thinking of my early years as an atheist. And I find it interesting, seeing the progression over the years.
Like most theists who become atheists, the transition itself wasn't an easy one. I mean, there's a whole buttload of confusion to deal with. Although I wasn't terribly religious, as religiosity goes, I did go to Sunday School and Youth Fellowship meetings every week. And I really liked the church folks I dealt with. My Sunday School teacher and his wife, Bill and Maxine, were people I considered good friends, as were my youth fellowship directors, Mike and Becky. Lovely folks, all of them.
And when I entered that initial questioning/doubting period, I felt a bit guilty… as though I was letting these friends down, somehow. I remember one incident very clearly. At a Youth Fellowship meeting, we were discussing an upcoming potluck dinner, at which we kids were going to be presenting brief speeches about certain foods of the Biblical era. When my name was mentioned, and my food assigned (peas, I think), I copped an attitude and said, "Hey, I'm not even gonna be there." (I was a teenager, so maybe the attitude wasn't necessarily the result of my questioning period.)
This caused some surprise, because up to then I'd been very active in such things. Becky apologized, with some confusion, and said, "I just assumed you'd be taking part in this." I (again, somewhat rudely) told her that she shouldn't assume such things.
Later that night, Mike gently confronted me and correctly pointed out that I'd hurt his wife's feelings. And, while I sincerely apologized for doing so, I still couldn't bring myself to explain why I'd reacted the way I did. I didn't for a moment consider explaining what I was going through. Not just because I didn't know how to broach the subject, but because, in truth, I wasn't entirely sure what it was that I was going through.
It was a tough time, very emotional. But nowhere near as emotional as what was to follow. Because once you've gotten past the questioning phase, and have concluded that there's no big sky-daddy or everlasting playground, you also come to the gradual realization that you've been lied to for however many years. Granted, they weren't deliberate lies. No one was trying to hoodwink anyone else. Theists shared what they felt was the truth. Can't fault them much for that.
But remember, I was about sixteen by the time I declared myself an atheist. And if you care to stop for a moment and recall what you were like when you were a teenager, I think you'll agree that there's a lot of rebellious anger there already, and adding the above-mentioned epiphany to the mix is definitely a dangerous combination.
So, like many atheists, I grew angry. But I wasn't totally stupid. Even at that age, I knew quite well how society looked upon atheists. And I didn't particularly want to completely ostracize myself from society. I did enough weird things in my time to be considered a freakazoid… but I didn't want people to hate me.
Keeping mostly mum about my religious beliefs seemed a safe way to play it. But come on… I was a teenager and had a lot of resentment inside for having been a sucker for my whole life (not to mention a variety of other things that add up inside us all). Sooner or later, this was bound to lead to a meltdown if I didn't have some sort of outlet.
The outlet came in two forms: speaking with those who shared my views, and irritating those who didn't. Any opportunity to vociferously speak my mind, I took.
And again, like many new atheists, I became somewhat of an extremist, condemning religion in all forms without a second thought. I didn't care what religion anyone was, or how deep their faith ran… anyone who believed in anything like a deity or afterlife was an idiot. Period.
This phase lasted years. Eventually, however, I grew up a bit.
In time, most atheists who've followed this pattern of growth come to accept that religion isn't going to go away. We even understand that many individuals get something of benefit from their belief system and, indeed, some couldn't function without it. We also eventually discover the very strange paradox: extremely intelligent people who also happen to be deeply religious. No matter how bizarre we find these things to be, they happen to be true.
And so we (sometimes reluctantly) redirect our anger away from religion in general and focus it more specifically on the clearly negative things that come from misapplication of it. This generally works only temporarily, because it's so easy to say, "But if religion didn't exist in the first place, this problem wouldn't exist either, because it's a direct result of religion." It's easy to say, because it's true.
Still, we do understand that the problems of religion are caused by a tiny minority of religionists. For every Jerry Falwell spreading vile views, there are hundreds of thousands of utterly benign believers.
On the other hand, for every big, bad name, there are probably a thousand lesser-known names who may even be more dangerous. These are the ones who are out of the public spotlight, the ones who are pushing in their communities to get Creationism taught in public schools, the ones who beat up "fags" in the local bars, the ones who dominate their wives because the Bible tells them that women are subject to the will of the man.
This is what sickens most atheists. Because it's easy for us to point the finger at a Pat Robertson and show how dangerous he is. But we don't know those thousands upon thousands of others. We can't point at them. And in our hearts, we know that they are the real cancer. Robertson and Falwell and others may be the visible tumors, but the rest are the cancerous cells that hide from the light of our radiation therapy. They're the ones who perpetuate the evils of religion.
And so we maturing atheists find ourselves frustrated. This is the frustration I feel presently. Because once again, it all comes down to religion bringing out the worst in people. It's so hard not to point that particular finger.
But then comes what is usually the final stage in the growth of the atheist: the point where we finally see the difference between spirituality and religion. And make no mistake, there is a clear difference. It's like the difference between written laws and common sense. One is external and one is internal. One is the result of what we're told, the other the result of what we discover.
Many atheists are uncomfortable with the word "spirituality" because it implies that we have a "spirit." However, I do not equate the word "spirit" with the word "soul." A "soul" is generally implied to be a specific part of us, like an invisible organ. But I view "spirit" as more like another emotion or personality trait.
I might say, "He's very spiritual" in the same way as I'd say, "He's very loving." It has nothing to do with some "divinely" given thing. It's just another part of us that we can ignore or exercise… like our emotions or our intellects.
For me, spirituality comes easiest when attached to certain experiences. Many of these are experiences of nature: the ocean, the redwoods, etc. Others are distinctly human: music, art, etc.
And yes, I do understand that for many people, their spirituality and their religion go hand-in-hand. And that's fine. For them.
I regard religion, today, in much the same way as I would regard, for example, drug use. If you're not hurting anyone else, feel free to indulge. It's your body, your mind. I choose to abstain, and will get my high from something less harmful, thanks.
Yes, I realize that the religion as drug analogy works only to a point. While it's true that the ones who abuse drugs or religion are the real problem, drugs don't specifically encourage bad behavior. Certain passages of the Bible, however, most certainly do. And that's why I still maintain that the world would be a better place if everyone wouldn't do drugs, or adhere to religion. But it's a personal choice, after all. I don't approve of drug use any more than I approve of religion, but I don't condemn those who keep it private and under control. (I'll draw the line at making a "love the sinner, hate the sin" comparison.)
All in all, it's been a pretty interesting ride. I'd never consciously sat down to think about my growth as an atheist, before now. And who knows? Maybe there's still another step to go.
