God, No… Part 1: Testimony

Folks, I am an atheist.

That is to say, I do not believe in the existence of a conscious entity that (1) created (and maintains, or not) all things, (2) established a moral and behavioral code for human beings, and (3) evaluates and redistributes whatever individual essence remains after a body ceases to function. I suppose you could call that the Holy Trinity of godly purposes.

For those who are still reading, I apologize for the clinical (some would say profane) nature of the previous paragraph. I am well aware of the deep emotional (some would say spiritual) significance that this subject holds in many people’s lives, and that attempting to discuss the matter dispassionately but also inoffensively is akin to walking on eggshells. With clown shoes. Spiked clown shoes. So why travel this path? Waddle along with me and see.

As far as anyone knows, human beings are the only creatures that question their own existence. And boy, do we question it. From the time we ask Mommy or Daddy where we come from, to having a crush on that person who doesn’t seem to know we’re alive, to realizing that our life didn’t come to an end along with that passionate relationship that one summer, to discovering meaning in our life when we took an unexpected turn off the path that we had thought led right to it, to running away from the family at age 82 only to die of pneumonia at the Astopovo train station…No, wait, that last one was just Tolstoy. If life is a journey, then the questions we have could all be placed in context of a travel guide: Where have I been? Where am I now? Where am I going? What’s the best way to get there? What are the accommodations there like? And why don’t people who go there ever come back, or even send postcards?

I am no exception in wanting such answers. And while we’re back to talking about me, here’s a brief digression: one of the best pieces of advice I ever received was, “Zealots are people who are so deeply immersed in their causes, that they have no perspective, let alone a sense of humor, about them. Avoid zealots of any stripe; don’t get involved with them, don’t become like them.” Having encountered a few zealots over the years, I’ve found this advice to be a life saver. Only some of them based their fervor in religion, but all seemed to suck the oxygen out of the room, leaving me gasping when I finally got away.

To be clear: not all religious people are zealots; on the contrary, most I find to be pleasant, engaging human beings. Am I a zealot in my atheism? I hope that the tone of this writing provides the answer to that.

So please, tell me more about your godless beliefs, you ask. Oh, I could write a book, but instead of making you wait a few years to buy it for $2.95 from the remainder table, I’ll give you some choice bits here for free. And I’ll do it in a Q&A format, because that way it looks like a conversation is going on, which is much more interesting to read than solid paragraphs. As Hamlet had his Horatio, as Myles na Gopaleen had his Plain People of Ireland, I’ll have an interrogator to sift me into revealing my innermost beliefs. Oh, yeah. And though I could give my question-monger a clever name like Mr. Italics or Al Terego, I won’t, because I’m still trying to think of a better one. And now, engage!

Were you always an atheist, or just since you knew how to spell it?

That is a tale I plan to unfold in a future essay, the highlights of which will include Catholic elementary school,  the Peanuts comic strip, an incident where I fainted at a Red Cross clinic, William Butler Yeats, and a Leo Buscaglia book for children. Your standard hagiology.

Do you feel like you’re superior to believers?

Wow, such a direct question. Who writes this stuff for you?

Well??

All right, all right. My belief, and my sincere hope, is no. We’re all seeking answers to the same questions, and finding to our frustration that our answers don’t exactly match those of the smart kid in the desk in front of us. But that’s because this is the SAT and that kid is working on the math section while you’re doing the reading section. Or this is where you’re trying to test out of first-year German and he’s testing out of French. Or some other metaphor out of a bad dream that you still have even though you’ve been out of school for decades, and…anyway, remember when I mentioned zealots a few paragraphs back? In 1979, when I was in college, I was able to attend an appearance by the country’s best-known professional atheist, Madalyn Murray O’Hair . The auditorium was packed, and I could tell that she knew how to play to a crowd of young people who were itching to tell the folks back home what kind of free thinking they were getting, to counteract all the years their parents spent bringing them up right. She spoke about how, as a lawyer, she filed the lawsuit that eventually led to the 1963 Supreme Court decision banning the requirement of students to recite Bible verses in public schools. She was forceful, self-righteous, and (to coin a phrase) a nasty woman.

This emerged particularly when she took questions from the audience. When asked why she spoke about believers in such condescending, even vicious language, her eyes widened. Her attitude came from intellectual contempt, she said, for those people who clung to foolish, outdated notions, and refused to come out of the Dark Ages. I had not heard that phrase before, or at all since, and whatever I felt about her cause, I was thoroughly repulsed by the way she sold it. When an obviously scared young woman expressed her confusion and overwhelming emotion at hearing such upsetting talk, Ms. O’Hair’s response was to shrug and say that she didn’t think of herself as scary at all. And when another young woman stated at the microphone that Ms. O’Hair clearly lacked “joy” in her life, the audience shouted her down, to the point that no response from the stage was necessary.

I found the experience enlightening, but not pretty. I had never before encountered someone who openly declared a disbelief in God, certainly not while growing up in northeastern Oklahoma, a well-worn notch in the Bible Belt. But while my courage to speak my mind in the face of contrary opinion was strengthened, I also learned that someone I basically agreed with could take it too far, to be a zealot. Or at least an asshole. And so I try not to be either.

Do you belong to any organizations that share your beliefs? Shorter answer, if you please.

I remember someone once asking if atheists had a church. My flip answer was along the lines of “Why? What would we do? Play bingo and claim tax exemptions?” But actually, no. I’ve never felt the desire to connect with American Atheists (founded by O’Hair) or other such groups. The Tucson chapter used to run Dial-An-Atheist, their counterpart to the recorded prayers people could get by phone, back in the days when people sometimes called a number deliberately to hear a recording. I called it only a couple of times. The angry tone and vitriol didn’t inspire me so much as it provided an example of how not to express my views. I do read books and articles on my own, but I’m not planning to attend anybody’s meetings, particularly if I’m expected to bring dues money or a side dish.

Do your family and friends know about this?

They do now. Just kidding–none of them read my blog. Actually, I decided years ago to be honest about this to anyone who asked, figuring that most people wouldn’t anyway. Those who do know still associate with me, or did the last time I checked. I know full well how divisive an issue this can be, and when the subject arises, I try to be a goodwill ambassador for my cause, and make the occasion a “teachable moment.” Which is sort of why I wrote all this to begin with. Some of the most enjoyable conversations I’ve had on the subject were with confirmed believers, including one or two people in ministry. I’ve found common ground most of the time, which I consider to be a fine achievement. As for my family, well, they’ve known me a long time and still invite me to visit. Actually, in some ways, the subject has brought us closer. Imagine that.

Do you worry at all that, well, you might be wrong?

No, no more than anybody else does, or should. More than once someone has brought up Pascal’s Wager, which is sort of a combination of theology and probability theory. My response is that it’s a false dichotomy; if one person believes in God, and another disbelieves in God, then actually they could both be wrong. Or, in the words of the philosopher Homer Simpson, “But what if we’re praying to the wrong god, and every time we do, the real god just gets madder?” So yes, I could be wrong, but I believe in “to thine own self be true” (and, it seems, in referencing Hamlet whenever possible) and hope for the best. I suppose that, if I’m right, I’ll never know it. But I can live–and die–with that. I don’t anticipate any kind of deathbed conversion. Fear of death (or lack thereof) is a topic for another essay.

So, why again are you telling us all this?

I do this partly to clarify my beliefs for my readers, by means of clarifying them for myself. Keep in mind the category of my website where this appears. Perhaps some people will be surprised, others will see it as old news, still others will nod and chew on it awhile. Part of my faith, I suppose, is that anyone actually cares what I have to say on the subject. You’re still here, aren’t you? Hello?

This is the first of what I anticipate to be a tetralogy trilogy series of at least two essays on the subject. Stick around. I might learn something.

[Curious about the signs? Discover them here.]