• we don’t believe humans have a soul, therefore
• we think this life is all there is – there is no afterlife, therefore
• we think that there is no reward (eternal heaven) or punishment (hell) awaiting us after we die, therefore
• we have no motivation to be good people – we have no good reason to be good and will act in only self-serving ways.

Some might be surprised to learn that I, and many of my atheist brothers and sisters, care more about treating people with care and respect now than we did before becoming atheists. Why? Well, because:

• we don’t think humans have a soul, therefore
• we don’t think there is an afterlife, therefore
• we think this life is all any of us get, and
• we want this life to be as happy and fulfilling as possible, and
• we think every human deserves to have what we have.

Those last three bullets are all about having a heightened sense of empathy around human desires to avoid suffering and be happy.

But what underlies this empathy for another’s happiness? Although I can’t speak for all atheists, I’ve read enough blog posts, comments and forum threads to have seen a consistent answer from many of us, and I’m guessing it boils down to this line of reasoning:

• we share a sense of wonder and awe that our 14 billion year old universe and 4.5 billion year old earth yielded life
• because of this multi-billion year heritage, we also share a deep-seated feeling of interconnectedness – via shared ancestry – with all of earth’s living creatures
• we have an intense appreciation for the struggle to survive among every human – past and present – along with the notion that we are all related
• we are exquisitely grateful for the good fortune of being part of the chain of life
• we share a sense of kinship, care and respect for others within that chain

Evolutionary biologists often theorize that caring and morality are evolved, built-in characteristics of human beings (I’d guess they are right). That’s one way of explaining how we came to care. What I’ve tried to do above is slightly different – I’ve attempted to outline some more personal reasons why we might care.

Then, I went through the anger stage. The most intense moments of this phase came when I learned that the “virgin birth” verse in Matthew is mistranslated. Translating the Hebrew text as “young woman” rather than “virgin” makes a huge difference doctrinally (regardless of NT Wright’s assertion to the contrary). The standard Christian apologists’ assurances that all of the Bible’s translation errors are minor (simple numerical discrepancies, etc.) and have no bearing on doctrine is flat-out wrong! And when I read, in several sources (Including his own writings), that St. Jerome knew that the translation was wrong, but offered some twisted logic for preserving the error, I was furious. I read about how an early Church father (perhaps it was Eusebius?) doctored the writings of Josephus so that they would appear to confirm more explicitly the life and ministry of Jesus. And I read much more that confirmed by non-belief. Even though I was furious with Christian preachers and teachers, much of my anger was directed at myself. How could I have been so stupid? Why didn’t I see through this stuff before? I’m a well-educated woman living in the 21st century. How could I have gone decades without recognizing that religious doctrine is all speculation? That none is any more correct than any other? None of the biblical writers really knew what they were writing about. None of the Church fathers or reformers through the ages knew what they were teaching to be factual. And contemporary Christian scholars don’t actually know what they’re talking and writing about either. It’s all guesswork, wishful thinking and ready acceptance of the traditions of our forebears. Every bit of it.

As in the Chaplain’s experience, I moved beyond anger and into the other stages – the most notable difference being that I also experienced a bit of depression over the loss of my (and my loved one’s) mortality.

That was over a year ago and, like with many losses, I moved on and put it behind me. I’m definitely going through more “stages” – but they are much less about atheism than they are about figuring out what I want for my life and how I want to contribute to life on planet earth -  the really fun part!

One of the lines of thought that keeps creeping into Ed’s conversation is that his life was empty/without meaning and that he was searching for something until he came to Christ. Of course, he wants to share that – he wants me and other atheists to find Christ so that we can plug that hole in our hearts and become fulfilled.

To Ed and all you other Christians/Theists: I am not empty. I am not searching for something. I am quite happy and have no holes to fill.

In fact, it might surprise you to learn that, upon letting go of religion/god/faith/Jesus etc, I felt a great weight lift off my shoulders. I felt tremendous joy in being freed from religion. Not only that, but since de-converting, I have had an insatiable curiosity about the world, as well as an ever-increasing concern for our planet and the life on it.

Does this mean everything is perfect in my life? Of course not! But it does mean that I am a happy, contented, self-actualizing individual with a great deal of gratitude for having breath in my lungs, food on my plate and love in my life.

In other words, I am fulfilled and I’m sorry to tell you that your offer of fulfillment through Christ …offers me nothing.

And I suspect many other atheists are just like me.

It’s been almost a year since I became an atheist. I remember thinking at the beginning of that year that I’d have a lot to say about the ongoing experience (it’s why I started this blog). Well, it turns out, I’d rather spend my time sucking in information (philosophy, science etc) from others.

I’ve never before had such intense curiosity about the universe I’m so fortunate to live in. Actually, that’s not quite true – I haven’t had this sort of curiosity since I was a child.

It really is quite marvellous.

The assumption is that we atheists are mad at God for permitting bad things to happen to us (e.g. the loss of a loved one) or, more broadly, that God permits such abounding evil and suffering in the world (e.g. the holocaust, world-wide starvation etc).

There may be some atheists who are angry, but I am definitely not one of them. The problem of evil and suffering is one argument I use to rule out the existence of god, but I am certainly not angry.

How could I be angry at something that doesn’t exist?

Most atheists rule out god based on reason and evidence (or lack of evidence). Any assumption that we are mad at him/her/it demonstrates a difficulty in understanding how our decision could be arrived at in this way. My view is that anyone with this assumption has let their own emotions color how they think others would ponder the question of god’s existence.

The assumption also arrogantly assumes we are unaware of our own emotions. Tsk, tsk…

All this to say I’m not mad at god. I have the same opinion of god that I have of unicorns.

Point taken. However, becoming an atheist didn’t affect me in that way at all. In fact, becoming an atheist was accompanied by a rejection of the paranormal. Why?

The answer is that becoming an atheist was an outcome of examining evidence and arguments for and against the existence of god. In other words, it was an act of dedication to critical thinking. Applying that same process to the paranormal led to the same outcome – I rejected all of those things.

I remember quite clearly how rejecting god was like pulling out the bottom of a house of cards – belief in the paranormal came tumbling down as well. Not only was there no god, but there were also no boogie men hiding in the dark. I’m not saying I used to believe in the paranormal but, when I began examining god more closely, I also examined the paranormal and stopped taking pseudo-science seriously.

My world changed practically overnight.

The Reverse Must Also Be True!

I’ve been watching my kids grapple with the imaginary stuff of the world. They want Santa to be real. They fear monsters under the bed. They think there are scary, wild things in the basement.

Why?

It’s my fault. Our fault. We parents of children. We adults of society. We teach our children that there are things – imaginary things – around us that we cannot see. We teach them that fairies come while they sleep to take fallen teeth. We teach them that a big, jolly magic man slides down the chimney to leave toys. We teach them that there’s a white-haired old man in the sky watching their every move, listening in on their every thought. We teach them that there are devils in the world trying to hurt and make people do bad things.

All this. All this teaches our children to be superstitious. It is the building up of the house of cards I just tore down in my own life.

Every time we teach a young child that there is something imaginary that they cannot see – that they cannot ever see, it opens their minds up to be superstitious in other areas. We provide a doorway for superstition to stay with our children into adulthood. Frankly, I’m surprised people aren’t more superstitious.

Ghosts, God, Santa Clause, Satan and the Tooth Fairy are all attacks on our ability to be rational and accept only what can be proven with evidence and critical thinking.

If I got to start over as a parent, I’d eliminate every imaginary thing. There would be no tooth fairy (but there would be fun around the loss of the tooth). There would be no Santa Claus (but there would be presents and an appreciation for life’s gifts). Imaginary things would be banished in my home based on the notion that imaginary things do real damage to a child ’s mind.

Imaginary things impede children from fully growing up…

…and that’s only a good thing if you’re Peter Pan.

My wife has also largely abandoned religion (believes in “a greater force” but not a personal god) so we are, for the most part, on the same page with regard to religion.

But we also agree that moving the kids to a new school now is not the best idea. We don’t want to disrupt a stable educational situation, nor do we want them to have to make new friends (especially my daughter). So, we’re going to let them finish elementary school, and then we’ll transfer them to public junior high. This will work well since many of our kid’s classmates will also attend the public school due to there being very few Catholic schools in the area.

So, although not ideal, the whole thing provides a transition we can live with. In addition, I have a plan for systematically displacing religion’s impact on my children’s psyche.

Step one is to educate them about the thousands of religions and religious denominations. This will get them thinking about the very low probability that one religion is the right one (and the implication that the rest are all, to one degree or another, wrong). To that end, I’ve placed orders for this and this. I may add this to the list.

Step two is to introduce them to rational arguments against belief in god. To me, this step is very much like telling a child that Santa doesn’t exist. In fact, when I begin on step two, I’m going to intentionally draw parallels between the existence of Santa and God. Of course, there will be more explanation than that, but the Santa parallel will provide the bridge of showing how something you once believed in, can be absolutely false.

At first of course, the news will be disappointing to them (and probably a bit scary) but, when accompanied by strong reason (e.g analyzing the problem of suffering) and evidence-based thinking (e.g. no evidence), I am confident that it will become the only idea that makes sense. Of course, sharing our own beliefs will go a long way toward helping them see that non-belief is acceptable.

My daughter is ten and is figuring out that Santa doesn’t exist (she seems to be staying quiet about it – probably for the benefit of her brother). It’s definitely time to teach her. I’ll also start my son on step one and will proceed to step two when I think he’s ready. The last thing I want is for him to run off to school yelling, “there is no god” among a classroom full of believers.

My children will ultimately make up their own minds, but at least they’ll have access to all the options – all tempered with a good dose of rational thinking.

I’m going to follow up this post with another on my thoughts around the relationship between belief in God, Satan, ghosts and lots of other unproved stuff.

—
Oh, in case you wondered: definition of heathen

1. Natural Atheists: Those brought up by atheist parents who never experienced the conflict between religion and rationality.
2. Apathetic Atheists: Those whose faith was not particularly strong and who, without a compelling drive to believe or not believe, defaulted to atheism – becoming an atheist involved very little internal debate and conflict.
3. Dissonant Atheists: Those who grew up with belief but who were overwhelmingly torn up over the incompatibility between faith and rationality. These people sought one thing – to rid themselves of the terrible cognitive dissonance cat #1 and #2 atheists are spared from.

I’m here to talk about category #3 atheists because, well, I fall in that grouping.

Three Things You Must Know About Category #3 Atheists

1. We Sometimes Wish Were Wrong (Even Though We Know We Are Not): I think one of the biggest mistakes theists make is to assume an atheist’s decision to ditch god was arrived at without deeply studying the issue. They honestly believe that all they have to do is raise a little awareness and, viola, they will have an easy conversion. This is not the case for cat #3 atheists. For us, becoming an atheist was the biggest decision of our lives. After all, becoming an atheist, not only means (for 99.9999% of us) getting rid of god, it also means abandoning the idea of immortality (ourselves and our loved ones) and that makes it a very, very big decision. Many of us go through a very real grieving process over all of this. With all this on the line, do you really think we’d only put a half-assed effort into our decision?
2. We’ve Heard It All Before: I’m amazed how often – in my short, six months as an atheist – I’ve been challenged by someone who thinks they have the ultimate argument for religion. Trust me, you have nothing new to offer us on this discussion. Why am I so cocky (clue: see #1 above)? We’ve heard all your objections and questions before – probably many times before. Where have we heard them? We heard them inside our own heads during our de-conversion process. We’ve run the scenarios and questions many, many times – over and over – in our minds and, eventually, logic won out over these objections and we accepted reality. Most cat #3 atheists will have read multiple books on both sides of the argument, spend hundreds of hours on the web, and viewed countless Youtube debates (frankly, once you’ve seen Christopher Hitchens or Sam Harris demolish the likes of Dinesh D’Souza a few times, our own debates seem …rather lame). What you need to know is that by the time you come into the picture, your objections are not at all new to us.
3. You are Projecting: What we’ve come to realize about your questions and objections (e.g. “What’s the purpose of life without God?” and “Why be moral?”) is that you’re projecting your thoughts, insecurities and fears onto us. Sure, we can answer your questions but, we know in doing so that our worldview troubles you, and that you ask those questions to help you imagine what it might be like to be an atheist. My advice is to keep on asking these good questions, but to also make sure you ask them of yourself. I think you’ll find that you can imagine there’s no heaven. You may even find that it’s easy if you try.

To be blunt, what all this means is that you have very little hope of converting a cat #3 atheist to your religion (you probably won’t have much luck with a cat #1 either). Seriously, your best chance probably lies in converting cat #2 atheists so you might want to start by asking a few questions before wasting time on the wrong category.

Now you have a better understanding of us. You also have a more specific target conversion market.

You’re welcome.

I tried again. “It’s not just bowling – it’s neon bowling“.

My friend: “Mark, do you like eating shit?”.

“Uh, no”.

“If I put chocolate on some shit, do you think you’d eat it”?

I laughed and dropped the subject.

I’m weary of the chocolate-on-top-of-shit argument for god.

Even people with a belief in god see the ridiculousness of fundamentalist Christianity. A 6000 year old earth, hatred of homosexuals and the jealous, vengeful god of the Old Testament do not ring true in 21st century society.

Common sense leads moderate, liberal Christians to focus on the kinder, gentler aspects of the New Testament. Only problem is, in doing so, they conveniently leave out two important parts:

1. If you reject the god of the New Testament, not only are you denied entry to heaven, but you are also condemned to eternal hell. Note: Eternity is a helluva long time.
2. Jesus Christ endorsed the Old Testament. How do you resolve this little problem? If it was good enough for him, why isn’t it good enough for you?

So much for the kinder, gentler version of Christianity the moderates and liberals want us to believe their religion is about.

But, hold on – there’s more. The cherry-picking of moderates doesn’t end there. As each year passes, we get even kinder and gentler versions of Christianity where believers try to convince us that we are to pay attention to even less of the Bible (e.g. let’s try not to talk about eternal damnation part). Does Rick Warren ring a bell for anyone?

This, is what I will henceforth call the Chocolate on Top of Shit Argument for God – the idea that, if we ignore enough of the Bible, and put a coat of chocolate on top of the crap underneath, it will magically become palatable.

Attention new-age Christians: No matter how much chocolate you put on your religion, it’s still based on some pretty mean, awful torturous ideas. Ideas based on virtually no evidence. Ideas that don’t jive with hundreds of other religions (they don’t like the taste of your chocolate shit any more than you like the taste of theirs).

All this to say that I don’t care how much you tell me “Jesus loves you” – I just can’t buy it. I can’t buy a sales-pitch that has all these shortcomings and that ultimately ends with the threat of eternal damnation.