I can’t point to a single event or a specific moment in my life where there was a “POOF!” and a cloud of smoke, and suddenly I was a non-believer. My path to atheism was a gradual one guided by a sense of skepticism I picked up very early on from somewhere. My immediate family was a sort of baptist/methodist mix without being too concerned about the denominational differences or showing up for church on a regular basis, but most of the indoctrination I was exposed to was through children’s programs at the fire-and-brimstone Baptist church/school my cousin’s family attended.
My earliest religious memory is of sitting in a room full of kids where an adult explained that we were all going to die unless we accepted Jesus into our hearts. The whole thing seemed kind of fishy to me, but I figured, hey, they’re adults and I’m just a kid – they must know what they’re talking about. We were asked to raise our hands if we hadn’t been “saved”. I wasn’t sure, so I raised my hand just to be safe, and was ushered into a smaller room with another adult who gave me some words to say in prayer. I clasped my hands and repeated what she’d said, and was then told, “Now you will live forever through our lord Jesus Christ.” It seemed just a little too easy to me. I mean, given the size of the reward I was earning, it seemed like there should have been more work involved; I had won the eternal lottery just by saying I wanted a ticket! But I figured, “Hey, they’re adults and I’m just a kid – they must know what they’re talking about.”
A few years later, my cousin and I spent a week during the summer riding our bikes every day to the same church to attend “Bible School”. Bible School consisted of some guy standing in front of us and using cheesy stage magic tricks (“GOD has blessed me with the power to separate these two metal rings!”) to keep us entertained while he railed about the evils of modern society. He told us rock music was evil, a tool of Satan, and I wondered, “How could that be? Music is just a thing, it can’t be good or evil!” But I figured, “Hey, he’s an adult and I’m just a kid – he must know… wait, y’know what? Adult or not, I don’t think this guy’s as smart as he thinks he is!”
(The next day, a boy in a Cub Scout uniform got up in front of the group and announced that he had gone home and smashed all his rock records. I remember thinking, “Moron!”.)
On Christmas eve, 1980, my Mary Baker Eddie Christian Scientist grandmother had a stroke. She and my grandfather believed that illness was not for mere mortals to trifle with; if you’re sick, just say your prayers and God will heal you if that’s His will. If not, well, He works in mysterious ways and He’s decided that it’s your time. But certainly don’t go see a doctor or take medication or vitamins or change your diet, because those actions would be attempts to thwart God’s plan for you. The extended family had to get together and drag my grandmother to a hospital for treatment. While this crisis was underway, I frequently heard my parents say of me, “He doesn’t really understand what’s going on.” But I did. I understood that my grandmother’s life was at risk, and that the religion from which she took so much comfort was in reality a self-destructive force in her life. But I figured, “Hey, she’s an adult and I’m still kind of young – hmm… now I’m convinced there’s a lot less to this “adulthood” thing than people would have me believe!”
When her husband, my grandfather, fought a long, losing battle against cancer in the early 80s, the scenario was much the same. He accepted medical help much later than he should have and only because the rest of the family refused to take no for an answer. I of course have no way of knowing whether he would have lived for significantly longer if his beliefs hadn’t gotten in the way, but I’m convinced that his suffering could have been greatly eased, and sooner than it was.
I think that truly by the time I graduated high school I had become an atheist, only I didn’t realize it. Ironically I still thought of myself as a Christian, even though I was at best cynical about the existence of any sort of divine being. I suppose I was a “just in case” Christian, a living embodiment of Pascal’s Wager. I went through the motions of a Christian wedding ceremony because our families expected nothing less and I knew of no alternative. I wanted to declare to the world my devotion to this woman with whom I was (and remain) deeply in love, and if that declaration had to be wrapped in a thin veneer of God for propriety’s sake, so be it. Likewise my children were baptized (one following a long sermon about what percentage of one’s income should be tithed to the church!), but all through the ceremony I couldn’t help but feel that my time would have been better spent playing with them than watching someone pour water on their heads.
In the last few years, as I mentioned in my last entry, my non-belief has crystallized and become more open and outward. The rise of fundamentalist power and influence has me genuinely frightened, and I can no longer in good conscience go along passively allowing superstition and myth to rule unchallenged.