Every April for nearly forty years now, thousands of people have descended on the city of Stevens Point, Wisconsin, for a weekend-long trivia tournament—the largest trivia tournament in the world. A local college radio station runs the competition; they read trivia questions over the air and play songs in between while teams call the station, giving the answer to the latest question. Tournament officials allocate points based on how many teams answer each question correctly.
While the trivia tournament heats up, a number of “side” competitions also take place. One of the more interesting involves a scavenger hunt. At a certain time, a few members from each team arrive in their cars at a designated starting point. As they listen to the radio station, they hear a set of clues designed to guide them to a particular destination. If they reach the destination within the proper time frame, they receive a stamp worth a set number of points.
An example of the driving clues given over the radio might be: “Pass the chasm and continue running after the money. Then take the second right. Go past the sun and make a left. Go straight past the two silvers and collect your stamp.” The clues are symbolic and not always easy to decipher. As the competitors begin the scavenger hunt, there is usually a line of cars heading the same direction, and it’s tempting to follow the crowd to find the clues.
We’re crossing a bridge—that must be the chasm underneath—and that sign says there’s an ATM in the store to our left—the money! Let’s take the second right turn we see. There’s a yellow letter o in that store’s logo … Is that supposed to be the sun? Maybe … make a left. Does anyone see anything silver? Where are we …?
It’s easy to fall in line with the others. Even if you missed one of the clues, it’s reasonable to think others in front of you caught it. They couldn’t all be wrong, could they? But at some point, you reach a dead end. You can’t find what you’re looking for, but you’re certain you’ve followed the right path up to this point. The answer must be here … but where?
Some teams realize sooner than others that something went wrong. They drive back to the starting point and rethink their path. They are more careful the second time, keeping their eyes open for clues they missed earlier. This time they ignore the cars in front of them, and when they finally reach the end point, it’s easy to see that previously they had taken the wrong road.
A chasm …? Hey! There’s a Gap store up ahead. But the ATM was back there … wait! There’s a Chase bank sign to our right! That’s perfect! Make the second right! We’re by a cemetery … Where are we going to find a sun here? All I see are gravestones. In fact, there’s one with Jesus on a cross … Oh! I get it! They didn’t mean sun, they meant Son! Make a left! All I see down this dark road are speedlimit signs. We have to drive twenty-five miles per hour … Isn’t a silver anniversary your twenty-fifth? I see two signs like that! We did it!
It makes perfect sense in retrospect.
This is the best way I can describe how I felt once I became an atheist. People often assume I hate God or that I habitually push God away, or even that I resist imposing a moral code on myself. The truth is, those sentiments are completely unrelated to my beliefs. When I examined Jainism, the religion of my childhood, I could no longer follow the logic in its most fundamental claims. I kept hitting dead ends. But when I reexamined life using the reasoning of atheists, everything started to fall into place.
Religion tries to answer unanswered (and sometimes unanswerable) questions, ones philosophers have struggled with for millennia. Atheism also seeks answers to questions, but when we don’t know an answer, we admit it. Atheists believe in the Big Bang, for instance. The calculations indicating an expanding universe that is nearly 14 billion years old—and the existence of cosmic microwave background radiation—tell us there was this bang, even if we can’t replicate it in a lab. But we don’t know for sure how it began, because that is beyond our ability to calculate or observe. What launched the Big Bang, what was the catalyst, and why did it occur? Without the ability to observe or test conditions as they existed before the Big Bang, any explanations as to the origin of the universe lie outside the realm of our knowledge. Sure, a number of hypotheses speculate on what could’ve happened, but no single theory I have read is supported by more evidence than any other. Still, I appreciate the honesty of an answer that admits “we don’t know for certain.” Rather than a dead end, it’s the beginning of several different paths, each of which can be explored further, and each of which may have some element of truth to it.
Being willing to leave certain questions unanswered, such as the atheist response to the question of what caused or preceded the Big Bang, is far different than doubt. Doubt for me had to do with giving serious consideration to certain religious beliefs and teachings and finding they heightened confusion rather than explaining life as I knew it. I have given careful thought to various Christian teachings, even though I was raised in an Eastern religion. For example, there is the belief that murderers who “accept Jesus” will go to heaven when they die, but someone like Mahatma Gandhi, who used nonviolence to combat India’s caste system and to fight for the country’s independence, went to hell because he was a Hindu and not a Christian. The Christian explanation for this is that God says we are all sinners and only through Christ’s death and resurrection can we be redeemed. The murderer who accepts Jesus is taking advantage of God’s offer of redemption, while Gandhi didn’t. The conflict I have with this explanation is that it contradicts common-sense notions of justice. How could someone who took another human’s life reap greater eternal rewards than a person who dedicated his life to helping others?
The idea of an afterlife is also troubling. The atheist view of death, which is that death is the cessation of existence, makes much more sense to me—considering the fact that I’ve never met anyone who died and then came back to verify what happened after death. The life that matters is this life, the one on Earth, the one we know for sure exists. So it makes sense that we should spend this life working together and helping one another. We’d be wasting our precious time on Earth by constantly opposing or attacking one another.
I never understood people who said that without God we would be grossly immoral people, killing, raping, and looting. (I’ve never seen any of those activities at any atheist gathering I’ve attended.) Atheists can respond to this claim by saying, “If you need God to prevent you from killing others, I’m glad you’re religious. I can be good without God.” Treating others with respect is good for the other person, as well as the person who shows respect. Furthermore, it’s good for society as a whole. You don’t need a religion to tell you being kind and respectful is the best way to live.
I find that atheism gives me honest and logical answers, admitting at times that it can’t answer every question. Meanwhile, the claims made by a variety of religious faiths require me to believe things my reasoning cannot reconcile.
To help dispel the false stereotypes many religious people have of atheists, it’s important to understand the way atheists think and what we believe. I recognize that my experiences do not reflect those of every other atheist or of all nonreligious people, but I’m convinced we experience and approach life with some common underlying themes.
Being an atheist involves more than mere denial of God’s existence. An atheist’s outlook impacts all aspects of life. There is a shared set of beliefs as well as less-essential issues that nonreligious people can choose whether or not to adhere to. Just as there is tremendous variety among Christians, not all secular people are the same. You would be in error if you called a Lutheran a Presbyterian. Likewise, some humanists may get upset if you describe them as atheists. No one wants to be stuck with an inaccurate label.
It’s difficult to encapsulate an entire belief (or disbelief) system. Moreover, even the terms disbelief or nonbelief are often mistaken to mean that people like me have no beliefs at all, instead of merely lacking religious beliefs. But the following simple definitions should serve our purposes.
• Atheists are people who don’t believe in a God, gods, or the supernatural.
• Agnostics hold that an answer on these matters one way or the other cannot be found and, thus, to varying degrees, they don’t take a stand.
• Freethinkers, when faced with any claim, rely on their own reason and experience—so they may or may not be religious.
• Humanism encompasses the ideas of atheists, agnostics, and nontheistic freethinkers as it pursues moral and ethical values derived from human empathy, reason, and experience. Some humanists are religious in a purely social sense, in that they join with a community of other humanists for ceremonial activities and the celebration of special occasions. Secular humanists, by contrast, reject or have no interest in this expression of their philosophy.
I could define myself by many of these words, though atheist has always resonated most with me. To help you see the world as an atheist sees it, it might help to consider a few religious themes and questions and look at the way an atheist typically approaches those issues.
When I became an atheist, I noticed religion everywhere I went, perhaps because at the time I was searching for signs of confirmation or denial of my new belief paradigm. For example, in high school I observed many of my classmates praying before taking a big test. Believing that prayer had no actual effect, I began to think, Why didn’t they just study? What good will prayer do if you don’t know the material? When the test papers were returned, those students never seemed to do much better than the students who didn’t pray. The same type of thing happened when I acted in theatrical productions, where some students would pray before a big performance. After months of rehearsal, I reasoned, there wasn’t much more an actor could do but to get on stage and play his or her part.
When I saw students pass me in the hallways using wheelchairs, I didn’t know how to deal with the injustice. When I was religious, my first thought—by habit—was that God had a special purpose for those people. But as an atheist, I wasn’t so sure. Maybe they just had some bad luck. Or bad genes. I had the same feeling about students with special needs. When I thought of people with autism or those with Down syndrome, it seemed they were simply the unfortunate carriers of a genetic mishap. The lone bright side was that if science could explain the problem, science might eventually resolve the problem.
When I thought about having children in the future, religion suddenly loomed as an issue that could have a major impact. I wasn’t sure if I wanted my children to be raised as atheists—I knew it wouldn’t be easy for them. Then again, atheism was the truth for me, and that idea was what I would want to pass on to my children. If I were dating a religious person, and we got serious about each other, would I consider raising our future children in her religion? No, I wouldn’t. Suddenly, the thought was more complex than I imagined. At the time, I could simply put off trying to find a solution, since I didn’t plan on having kids for a long time.
But now that I’m approaching an age when I could be getting married and having kids, I can no longer avoid the topic. There are some religious ideas I wouldn’t mind my children learning and others I am against. If it meant a lot to my wife to get our children baptized, fine. To me, baptism is just water. But if our children were required to attend catechism classes and learn what I consider to be irrelevant rituals, I would oppose such practices being taught to them. Like other interreligious couples, we would need to work out certain compromises.
In regard to raising children, another issue that may concern atheist parents more than religious parents is whether to tell children anything that is based on folk tales, myths, or legends. Santa Claus, the Easter bunny, and the tooth fairy are only a few examples of fictional characters society presents to children as being real … but just until kids grow up. Some atheists question their children on their beliefs about Santa Claus. Eventually, when the children are unable to cite any evidence that Santa exists, they understand that he is a myth people like to believe even though he is not real. These children are taught from an early age to think critically about what society tells them. It is not all right to believe just for the sake of believing.
But is full disclosure really necessary, especially when children are very young? To prevent kids from enjoying Santa Claus, while their young classmates enjoy the excitement of flying reindeer and gifts under a tree, seems almost cruel. My parents did me no harm by telling me the tooth fairy gave me money for the teeth I lost, or that Santa Claus gave me presents. I discovered the truth at some point, and I even played along with the ruse for my younger sister’s sake—so why not allow my own kids to grow up with those traditions as well? As I said earlier, atheists are not monolithic in how they approach such issues.
Because atheist children are in the minority, they face challenges in certain social situations and in school settings. It’s difficult for anyone, much less a child, to be singled out for going against the majority. For atheists, refusing to stand and recite the Pledge of Allegiance (which includes the words under God) is certainly within their rights, but I would not want my child to feel ostracized from fellow students simply for being true to his atheist beliefs. Even if a child stays seated or chooses to leave the room and stand in the hallway during the reciting of the pledge, he or she is still being singled out on the basis of his or her beliefs.
And it is not just school children who are affected. I plan to be a teacher, but the thought of not reciting the Pledge of Allegiance in the classroom gives me pause. I think my approach will be to stand up for the pledge but not recite it. Even making such a compromise makes me wonder if students might complain. Will I be labeled unpatriotic? Could staying faithful to my convictions endanger my job security as a teacher? Would I be tempted to compromise my beliefs just to protect my job, and thus become a hypocrite?
That is, of course, if I even get hired in the first place. I have rewritten my résumé to delete references to my involvement in secular student organizations. This is unfortunate since many of my accomplishments and leadership roles, as well as the people I would like to list as references, come from the nonreligious world. I know if I said I volunteered with my local church, though, there would be no problem. In fact, it might even help me get a job.
The most difficult issue for me to deal with when I first became an atheist was death. My grandmother on my mother’s side died while I was in high school. I watched my mother and her sisters grieve, and I saw my grandfather go through deep sorrow and withdrawal from daily activities. While he’s now able to continue with his life, he had a hard time adjusting to taking care of himself in areas where he had depended on his wife for so long.
How do atheists deal with death, especially when we believe we become nothing more than worm food? Since we don’t believe we are headed to a spiritual world, atheists use their view of death to make the end of life meaningful. Many atheists are organ donors—I personally wish organ donation was the default setting on drivers’ licenses, with the option to opt out only if you don’t want to donate your organs. And when organ donation is not an option (which often is the case when a person is elderly), many atheists arrange to donate their bodies to science. Medical students across the country, not to mention their future patients, benefit from this. Being of use even after we die is the ultimate way to help someone else.
I should mention that an atheist’s views on death and the lack of an afterlife do not imply atheists are insensitive to death and to those who grieve. Especially when a relative or close friend has died, I keep my views to myself and let others deal with death according to their beliefs. When my grandmother died, I didn’t dare tell my mom I didn’t believe Grandma was in heaven. I let the religious processions go on, and I watched the body be cremated (which is a common tradition in Jain culture).
Instead of wondering what happens after death, atheists focus on making the most of this life. Therefore, as difficult as it is to do at the funeral of a friend or family member, the focus for atheists is on the great life the deceased person lived on Earth. In that sense, funerals become celebrations of life. While atheists do not believe a spirit still exists, they gain comfort by the fact that the life of the departed lives on in future generations’ memories.
In this way, there is an afterlife. Not in a literal or a spiritual sense but in the sense that our legacy lives on after we depart. By donating our bodies and leaving our loved ones with fond memories, we are leaving a part of us for future generations.
It is assumed in America that people believe in God. So where does that leave those of us who don’t believe? On television, it’s rare to flip through the channels without seeing a televangelist and even rarer to see atheists represented on television, even in a scripted sitcom. In local newspapers, religions of all varieties are showcased (often on the “Religion” pages), yet articles on atheism are rarely published. And I get upset when any nonreligious person, including me, is labeled in the media as an “avowed atheist.” The media never refer to an “avowed Jew” or an “avowed Christian.” The phrase implies that atheists feel shame and wouldn’t have admitted they were nonreligious if they had a choice.
And think about being a nonreligious person and hoping to win a majority of the popular vote in an election. It would be political suicide for a candidate to declare himself or herself an atheist. It doesn’t seem to matter to the voters what a candidate’s specific religious views are. As long as a candidate has some faith, it’s always better than having no faith.
This bias is fed by the way the media portray atheists. It’s common to hear critics of atheism quoted as saying all atheists are out to destroy religion. While there are popular secular writers who would prefer a religionless world, most atheists I’ve met would at least be more tolerant of religion if it had no government sponsorship.
When the media bother to notice us at all, the news items almost always relate to stories about lawsuits, such as attempts to take the phrase under God out of the Pledge of Allegiance or to remove a nativity scene from public property. Opponents of these efforts would lead you to believe that atheists raise these issues to attack religion, but that’s not true. Our real motivation is to respect constitutional guarantees against the governmental establishment of a particular religion. If atheists truly sought to remove religion from public life, I would imagine we would fight to change the line in the Pledge of Allegiance to, “One nation, under no God, indivisible.” But, of course, this is not the case.
We can’t talk about the beliefs of atheists without addressing the most fundamental question there is: what is the meaning of life? Again, this lacks a simple answer, but atheists have a straight response: we believe that all people choose the meaning in their lives. Some atheists bring meaning by providing for their families. Others dedicate their lives to important causes. Atheists are highly motivated to achieve more in the present life because we believe this is the only life we have.
Maybe that explanation doesn’t satisfy you, and you’re still wondering what atheists believe the ultimate purpose of life is. Well, I’m not sure it’s a question anyone can answer.
Even if you disagree with my beliefs, understanding my views will help you see why I react in certain ways—and why I am perplexed by certain things—in a church setting. In the next four chapters I’ll describe the churches I have visited, and I’ll tell you what I felt, experienced, and observed when I was there. I found much that is of value, and I have tried to take those ideas and integrate them into my life.
As I visited each church, I asked myself, Does Christian faith answer the big questions of life in a more satisfactory way than nonsupernatural explanations do? I looked for the answer to that question on Saturday nights and Sunday mornings for several months as I sat in fifteen different worship services.
As you join me in a great variety of church settings, you’ll have an opportunity to look at Christian worship, teaching, and preaching the way I do. I’ve learned a lot from going to church. Now you will have a chance to see things in a new light by hearing the Christian message again—this time as it sounds to an atheist.