The Mixing of Wedded Bliss

In the Catholic Church, canon law deals with mixed marriages (a marriage between a Catholic and a baptized person outside the Church) and marriages in disparity of cult (marriage between a Catholic and an unbaptized person). Distinction is made between inter-denominational and interfaith marriage, and some denominations extend their own rules and practices to other Christian denominations.

I have no idea of the Church’s position if one of the married couple later embraces atheism. That may be grounds for annulment since virtually anything is.

It’s been going on for about 1,500 years, since the first council to address it was about that long ago, it has been brought to us through history, and it is still an issue today. However, Catholics marry non-Catholics all the time, given Catholic Church dispensation or not. The religious groups least likely to marry outside their faith are Mormons and Hindus. Muslims have some strict rules as do Orthodox Jews. But I know of several people who became Mormon for the purpose of marriage. I don’t know if they de-converted after the divorce.

All my biological grandparents were dead by the time I was born. My maternal grandmother, Katherine M., died over 100 years ago of a prenatal illness, an event that she would almost certainly survive today. Her husband died in 1943, long after remarrying and fathering more children with a Lutheran lady and the only grandparent I knew. She was my step-grandmother. Katherine was Irish and Roman Catholic. My grandfather, after whom I am named William, had been born in Wales and was a life-long Presbyterian. I wish I knew more of the story.

Family dysfunction and distress caused by such long-passed events are seldom chosen topics for most formal family history. But I suspect there was some bother over 120 years ago due to this mixed marriage, even though rules were followed, ‘all i’s were dotted and t’s crossed.’

Such religiously mixed marriages were a pain to get approved. But if one wanted to remain within the good graces of the Catholic Church, and in many cases one’s family, it was a must. The farther back in time you go, the bigger the challenge. I have no idea what Presbyterians might have thought, but I suspect there were issues with gramps marring a Catholic and promising to raise all children as Catholic. Issues may have arisen within his family, but I can’t prove it. When I peek at his relationships with his family, I can imagine estrangement.

My mother and her older sister, who we called Lorry, were both raised as Catholics in a Lutheran household with a Presbyterian patriarch. That was their religion and apparently no one ever tried to change it. Aunt Lorry was a strict and upright personality (old maid aunt) who always treated me wonderfully. She was a hard core and strict ‘Latin Mass’ Catholic until the changes of Vatican II began to find their way into the religious practices of the Church, most specifically, the Mass.

While she managed with the priest facing her and speaking a language she understood, the hand shaking, hugs, and kissing during the sign of peace (a Christian greeting common in many Protestant services) were too much and she stopped attending Mass. That was a big deal since failure to attend Mass was considered a mortal sin by many, and only one of those gets you a personal ticket to Hell.

I understood that better than when I learned that my brother-in-law stopped going to Mass because there was too much emphasis on love. Seriously. God forbid such debauchery! (Italian and 30-year USMC top kick.)

The only Catholic girl I ever had any interest in was my friend’s sister, June. We were friends, but never had a romantic relationship. I do not recall ever having a Catholic girlfriend.

I married young, in a church, with a Methodist minister presiding (Air Force Chaplain), to a protestant girl who had disavowed the fundamentalist denomination of her parents. I asked for no dispensation from the Catholic Church, although the Air Force had to grant me permission first. Young enlisted military marriages were problematic, so I understand. They said, “fine.”

Neither of us was religious, but we were not anti-religion either. We did not attend church. In the 70s we had two sons. At some point we decided to exercise our option for a Catholic wedding. Both boys were baptized, and we were (re)married by a priest after weeks of Catholic educational counseling by the unmarried priest.

The priest nearly blew it when he told my wife of almost 10 years that I was the head of the family, and she was to submit to me. We discussed it, and I did what damage control I could, but the harm had been done. While she laughed it off, she knew that he was stating an official church position that neither of us agreed with (add birth control and face-to-face confession to the list).

My wife did not convert to Catholicism until about 25 years later. The boys and I were Catholic, and she was not for most of the time. But you could hardly tell. We tried being a Catholic family until one day she looked at me and said, “I can’t do this.” I agreed that we had tried it, but that it was not working for us.

For the next few years we did not do much church. I don’t recall much practice of religion until we got hooked up with a Methodist Church when we were stationed in California. Our daughter was baptized in the Methodist church, and I think our oldest son was essentially confirmed after some religious classes, which I also attended.

We were doing fine until one day the leadership of the Methodist religion decided to write a letter that spoke for all Methodists, in my opinion. I was still a Catholic attending a protestant church with my family. But the fact that they wrote the letter, ostensibly speaking for me and my family pissed me off. I stopped going, and that ended that. We grappled with other protestant churches for the wrong reasons, but eventually gave that up.

One day in 1999, after reading a book by Thomas Merton, I decided to give the Catholic Church one more try. After moving to a new city, my wife and I jumped into a large Catholic Parish. We did well and grew into church leadership, did about everything possible for about 12 years (missions, teaching, she was the parish administrative specialist/secretary and front-office gate keeper, I ended up President of the Parish Council).

For at least the last few years of that, atheism made sense to me and the existence of god and all that, upon which the church was supposedly founded, did not.

I learned so much about Catholicism, the hierarchy, clergy, apologetics, the Bible, the Catechism, and all the good and bad side of church, religion, and the religious. While I ended up with some big-time issues with religion in general, my issue with the whole thing was simply that I did not really believe any of it. I tried to. I tried and tried and tried.

I did not believe any god or gods existed and I gradually morphed into a full-blown, out, minor-militant atheist. My conclusion that no god existed was not based on any issues with religion in general, the Catholic Church specifically, or any of the people or the maniacal clergy.

I’ve seen people identify themselves as a Jewish atheist. I’m not sure I would like to identify as a Catholic atheist simply because that makes no sense. But what of love, marriage, and family?

An acquaintance’s son, because of such mixed issues, decided to marry in a non-Catholic, in a non-church setting. The father did not attend the wedding because of this. None of my business, but I was furious. I could not understand why the guy had put such a minor religious issue before his family. To place such a stupid standard above his son’s happiness escaped my understanding of both love and religion. The man I knew could never undo his failure to show love for his son and his wife, and while they did reconcile, the man died never able to undo the damage caused by his interpretation of religion. It was not the Church’s fault. He made that decision on his own.

Life is not static, neither are people or our beliefs and standards. Things change. I read about and listened to The Graceful Atheist Podcast with the wife of man who was as devout as they come (not unlike Neil Carter and David, the host of the podcast) when the marriage began, but fell away from religion, deconverted, and became an outed atheist. Their marriage survives, but clearly religion is an issue as she is a very active church lady.

Marriage is difficult enough. It’s unfortunate that religion intervenes to make it more difficult.

Bill

Do Atheists have an Anti-Religious Bias?

I know. That seems like a silly (maybe stupid) question.

The online Merriam Webster dictionary defines anti-religious as opposing or hostile to religion or to the power and influence of organized religion. It states that an anti-religious person may have a religious bias (Merriam-Webster.com).

Really? But then, wouldn’t a religious person have a pro-religious bias?

I define an atheist as a person who, at the very least, doubts, questions, or is skeptical of the existence of any god. This doubt, to some degree, may range from there might not be a god to a level of certitude that no deity exists. The problem is that one can be religious based on practices and behavior (not belief) and still share the maybe not doubt.

It gets more complicated when the picture of relationship with a deity is considered. This is when the concept of religion is presented. I claim to be atheist. I also think I understand why people may say they believe in god, why they practice some religion, and why they think I should.

To many, religion and god are inseparable. While the two belong together, I doubt the inseparable part.

Either a god exists, or it doesn’t. While no belief or religion changes anything about existence, religion most definitely effects what theists believe. It also influences how someone thinks and behaves vis-à-vis the belief in that a deity, spirit, or a god. It is not I believe, therefore I’m religious; it’s more like, I’m religious, therefore I believe.

The problem is that religion, while unquestionably a human creation, is the process of how we should deal with said god, which is, hypothetically, not a creation of humans. Religion dogmatizes the protocol with the vastness of spiritual trappings that accompany a god spirit.

I don’t know how many religions exist, but even within each there are likely disputing denominations. Further disparity exists with personal-level religious selective interpretations by people in the millions.

An atheist is a disbeliever in god—all gods and spirits. However, if someone believes in any one god and none of the hundreds (if not thousands) of others, one is still considered a believer even though he or she may insist that none of the other gods ever existed, thus a disbeliever in the majority.

Antitheism is similar, if not synonymous with anti-religious, in that it applies to people who view theism as dangerous, destructive, or encouraging harmful behavior. For example, Christopher Hitchens wrote, “I’m not even an atheist so much as I am an antitheist; I not only maintain that all religions are versions of the same untruth, but I hold that the influence of churches, and the effect of religious belief, is positively harmful.” (Hitchens, Christopher (2001). Letters to a Young Contrarian, New York: Basic Books)

Okay. All religions…harmful. I agree.

A member of a musical ensemble recently told me she was distracted playing music in a church setting because she was not a believer but said that she was not an atheist in the sense that I was. Maybe she intended to say that she was not as militant as I may be. She may have been thinking me antitheist.

The comment surprised me because I was uncertain of her meaning. I would have no problem playing music in a church and sitting through the service. I’ve sat through many. My friend’s view of my personal atheism was much more antitheist and anti-religious than I think I am. Yet, to a degree I accept Hitch’s assessment. And she may be correct in that my atheism, especially as an American atheist, comes with a certain amount of anti-religion bias. I think all religion is nonsense, but I am not a religiophobe, Islamophobic, nor anti-god squad. Yet, the man with a gun over there scares me.

I think religion is pointless because the elusiveness of a god of any kind is part of virtually every religion (nix nature worshipers, some polytheists, and Buddhist-like groups). I also hold that religion has been, and may continue to be, harmful to humanity. I find this erroneous opinion of my view regarding religion to be common even among other atheists and agnostics. I also find it hard to explain because it’s not black and white.

I stopped practicing religion because after 30 years of searching for the right one, 12 years in the house of the best I could manage, and swimming in the deep end of my ministerial practice at the threshold of ordination, it dawned on me that it was all one big con. With no evidence of the existence of any god, it was clearly all woo-woo bull shit, even if occasionally psychologically helpful to some, and pointless.

Of course, some religious groups do a lot of good. Practitioners make clear that they are kind to others, the downtrodden, the sick and weak, and in very practical ways comforting to many who need it. None of that do they attempt to cover up like the harm that is done.

But they also play the victim. God is on their side of course, but they still manage to be poor and pitiful, yet fully control government and laws. And all that good? Every good thing done in the name of a religion or a god can be, and often is, done without religion or god, except for the ever-valuable, anti-materialist, thoughts and prayers.

My bias toward any religion? Of course, I have some.

Many religious believers and religions have built in biases toward other religions, sects, and denominations. I saw a bumper sticker that said, “If you support abortion [reproductive choice] you cannot be Catholic.” I may have some bias toward good people who are religious or practice some religion. But only to a limited degree in that the following of religion obviously taints anyone. Anti-fundamentalist? Definitely. I hope I continue to be opposed to any form of inflexible closed mindedness. Especially my own (Ok, boomer).

Bill

Religious and Biblical Scholars: who are they and what do they do?

Have you ever read or heard this phrase? “Biblical scholars agree … (something, something).” The words may get couched with qualifiers like most or many, but virtually never are qualifications for such standing within any group of scholars, bona fides, or verifiable statistics provided. We are to accept something because someone said that most biblical scholars think so, when none of them has ever been asked. We are not told who they are, unless they are the ones doing the reporting.

That’s because there is no agreed-to standard or licensing agency for those referred to as bible scholars or experts. When you see that phrase, it is nonsense (BS is for biblical scholars). It is a fallacious appeal to authorities that may not exist. In fact, unless it is specific as to who makes the claim and is supported by factual evidence, it’s usually made up: a lie.

I find it odd that someone would have to resort to fiction to support a biblical claim.

Yet, there are such biblical experts. In fact, here is a post by one (because he says he is one) that talks about them and what they don’t do.

He says that biblical scholarship is an intellectual enterprise (okay, but usually tainted). He also claims that scholarship in the field of biblical studies is always linked with ideological, political, cultural, and religious commitments (i.e., biases). Most of these folks have a dog in the fight and his name is bias. He is fed opinion and religious dogma through indoctrination and education.

In the discussion, the scholar goes on to state that biblical scholars not only do not study the Bible, they are not theologians or historians, do not read the Bible in Hebrew and Greek, are not objective intellectuals, and do not read the Bible for the church.

Taken individually, or even as an identified group such as Vatican biblical scholars, or those employed by BYU or Ouachita Baptist University, especially if named and verified, opinions can be taken with stronger academic validity than when the broader term biblical scholars (implying all) is used.

A person who has done advanced study in a unique field is a considered a scholar, but the focus may be unclear. One may be awarded a master’s degree in advanced studies, none of which includes anything biblical. My master’s level concentrations included Sociology, Public Administration/Political Science/Government, Education/Educational Systems Management (my MA)/Administration, and a boatload of advanced military stuff. I am a scholar of none, but Monday morning quarterback to all.

A person with a master’s degree in theology (maybe online) may not have taken as much Bible as another person with the same degree, yet an undergraduate from a Bible college may have taken several semester hours of required Bible courses or Bible history.

A person with a doctorate in theology may have a degree focused upon a specialty that was not the Bible, and it probably was filtered by the ideas of a specific religion or denomination. Or, at least, he or she had a view through that lens. I assume that these folks are the biblical scholars.

Generally, they are not secular. They are not without extreme bias (my opinion and experience), and may not be the authoritative experts we assume they are. And remember, everybody has an opinion, even scholars, scientists, experts, and village idiots.

Finally, to determine the opinions of biblical scholars, someone must conduct a survey of each and ask them questions (assuming bona fide credentials). To be valid, the survey questions must be structured and framed by experts so that the answers and assumed results are consistent, valid, and reliable.

So, when you see reference to biblical scholars, be skeptical of an attempt to persuade you with BS fantasy and lies. But you knew that. Right?

Bill

Poetry: When You Go

When you go to church,
synagogue, or mosque, and
you do what you are
supposed to do, and you say or
sing same, maybe even dress
as expected, but you don’t
believe in the one key
uniting thing all the
others do, or you think
they do. They may be
just like you.

You go for reasons
only you know,
maybe you don’t understand
yourself, maybe you must go.
Maybe it’s grandma, who
you do believe in, maybe
it’s for money or glory, or
sex, security, or safety.
Maybe companionship or fellows.
Maybe you are searching
for something.

Some secrets
can never be told and die
with their keepers.

Bill

Did the Catholic Church Corrupt Me (or you)?

In defense of anyone who was raised in a Catholic denomination (there are approximately 24 different Rites or brands), or converted to one, I find it insulting that some ignoramus knuckleheads insist that such persons are corrupted or stupid. Frankly, that is bull shit. I will push back against such nonsense. Since the accusing parties are atheists, their stance is hypocritical, or the pot calling the kettle, etc. Holier than thou atheism? No wonder some of us prefer agnostic.

How I got here

When I was a practicing Catholic of the Roman Rite, I often came to the defense of atheists and atheism. Now an unapologetic atheist, I find myself taking a stance that opposes the position of some atheists (anti-theists, as I see them) who seem to think all Catholics should immediately abandon their faith because church history is unclean. Religion is about God, not history.

Anti-theist atheists, and many others, struggle to deal with the fact that I did not embrace atheism because I rejected religion or embraced evolutionary science. I did neither. Nor did I reject God, as many believers are wanting to think. I simply concluded that it is all man-made nonsense. Since I find no reason to believe a god of any kind exists, religion is pointless for me. But not so for everyone.

A Cultural or Excommunicated Catholic?

I am a baptized Catholic who is an apostate, heretic, and to a lesser degree, a schismatic. I have been automatically excommunicated. Until the excommunication is lifted, it’s forbidden for me to have any ministerial part in the celebration of a Mass or other official worship ceremony. But anyone may attend Mass. I may not celebrate or receive the sacraments or to exercise any formal Church functions. I wouldn’t. I am good with that and I understand it.

I am not a cultural catholic who identifies with Catholic traditions. However, if invited, I would attend church at special occasions like Christmas, Easter, baptisms, weddings, funerals, and such.

What it means to be, or to, corrupt

If someone or something is corrupt, they’re broken morally or in some other way. Corrupt people perform immoral or illegal acts for personal gain, without apology. I have been accused of this because I was raised Catholic. I experienced much more informal corrupting influences outside of the Church in the secular world.

The irony here is that this is the same form of name-calling error believers make regarding atheists. We are corrupt and without a moral compass. Right?

In my case, I was labeled corrupt (indoctrinated would have worked) by a nonbeliever because I spent so many years in religion, particularly as a child. The same person also diagnosed me with cognitive dissonance because I do not regret my Catholic religious roots. He does not understand why I don’t see things his way.

When you corrupt someone, you convince them to do something wrong or even illegal. If you talk your little brother into stealing cookies from the cookie jar, you’re corrupting him. Something corrupt is rotten, spoiled, or out of commission, like a file that makes your computer crash.

To imply, or to directly state, that I was corrupted by the Church is fucking nonsense. In no way was I ever encouraged to do anything wrong or illegal by a Catholic church official or layman. If anything, it seemed to me that everything I wanted to do was morally wrong, according to the Church. In many cases, they had a point.

Should any religion be rejected?

I don’t know. That’s a personal decision. There certainly are a lot of things that should change in virtually every religion and within the minds of believers as well as skeptics. I have concluded that it is highly probable that no god exists, so I do reject all religion since the reason for it does not exist. Religions have done much harm, but also some good. It’s the people that count, not the dogma.

I struggle more with atheists behaving like ass holes, since atheist is how I currently identify. The same person accused me of guilt by association. I worry more about the association issue regarding my skepticism than anything in my past religious affiliations.

In Conclusion

I do not expect the Catholic Church or its people to take all their marbles and report to Saint Peter anytime soon. I don’t expect atheists or any other group to suddenly be enlightened or to behave better. I don’t anticipate any of us will stop criticizing religion. I don’t expect a perfect world.

I do hope that most of us can follow the ancient tradition of treating each other respectfully. I also expect that when I see an innocent group being wrongfully maligned, I will take up the golden rule banner. If that fails, I don’t know what I might do.

Bill

It’s All About How We Feel

All life is full of an unbalanced distribution of pain and suffering. Few, if any of us, intentionally seek out such afflictions. Yet misery finds us. Most animals, certainly humans, avoid these troubles. Unfortunately, many find suicide to be the only recourse to end hopeless permanent misery. While virtually all cling to life, the US suicide rate is at its highest point since WWII (lowest among people of Asian and Pacific Islander groups, highest among Alaskan native people).

Pain has its place. Doctors have denied me relief medication so as not to mask symptoms. I’ve sought medical treatment due to the pain I felt, which signaled something was amiss. I’ve sought support to alleviate my emotional distress, and many of life’s lessons came in the form of pain or shock.

Often, people who become chemically addicted had been seeking pleasure, pain relief, or withdrawal mitigation provided by the substance, either medicinal or nonmedical. Much the same can be said of social addictions. People often help us to feel better.

The goal is the pursuit of feeling happy, whatever that happens to be. A problem is the lie of some drugs, especially alcohol, provide in the form of temporary relief followed by dependence. While relief is the intent, loss of control accompanied by legal transgression is often the result.

And then we have the perverse, unwise, and often injurious idiom, no pain, no gain. I much prefer, listen to your body.

But I want to mention how religion, particularly Christianity, looks upon pain and suffering.

I was religiously taught that experiencing pain and suffering was good, perhaps blessed. While my secular world never supported this acceptance theory, my elementary school teachers, who were Catholic nuns, emphasized the suffering, sacrifice, and martyrdom of saints: holiness.

The passion (read suffering) of Jesus is emphasized dramatically as being caused by human sin. Thus, much, but not all, of Christianity is enamored with pain and suffering. I won’t over-do that here. It gets deep. There must be books and books about the art and science of suffering. Some even claim that one’s suffering contributes to the quality of one’s art.

Like most Catholics, I was taught to offer it up. They could have simply said, just deal with it. But on the mystical road to God works in mysterious ways, one must make life’s pain and suffering serve a useful purpose. That’s religion. And let’s not leave out the it’s your fault, and you should feel guilty and repent. Penance. More suffering which ironically may include prayer.

Fortunately, none of the physicians working in pain management tell their patients to do that, although many cautiously allude to it. However, I have not recently checked any Catholic hospitals.

I have had discussions with my medical providers about some of my pain, and we jointly decided I should endure exercise pain and work through it as it is the best alternative to dangerous surgery. Most properly done exercise is beneficial. I agreed, but dang! I wrote a poem about it.

Still, my goals are to feel good or at least free of most pain and suffering, to remain healthy, and to live as long as reasonably possible. I ascribe to the idea that there is a long enough or too long, but we only seem to know that point when we reach or pass it.

Religions want to tell us what and how god is, and how we should feel about life, death, and god. Some seem to want it both ways. The health and wealth folks are into get mine here and now, but most Christians and Muslims seem ready to accept that heavenly gratification will happen after we die. That is when we will be truly happy and pain free—and dead. I mean cold stone dead.

Many have decided that god is all for the good, and whatever it is they chose to believe is what they want to believe because that is what makes them feel good. And that’s my point. We all want to feel good. They see the wealth and well-being of theirs juxtaposed with their own suffering as God’s will or his mysterious ways.

Be it religion or reality, it’s all about how we feel. I feel as though I am championing the obvious, but for some, this is controversial.

Bill

God ≠ Religion ≠ God

Belief in a god or other spirits does not require practicing a religion. I emphasize the difference between the two things: a belief in a god and doing some religion. Religion makes the rules for dealing with that god, and in some cases other gods.

If something like a god exists as a spiritual or physical deity, with or without interest in humanity or any of Earth’s flora and fauna, then he, she, or it must exist outside of human contact or detection. If not, we would be able to detect a god and the whole question of existence goes away.

Then, we are left to fight over religion, something we have done for thousands of years. There could be anything out there. But, if no god exists, which seems likely without contact or detection, religion becomes pointless as rules for interacting with something nonexistent, which is silly.

Over the years, gods of one kind or another have been given names. You’d think they’d come with their own names, but they need us to name them. Think about it. Why would they need names anyway? Is it so we can tell them apart? We had to name them.

What ever happened to these gods we named: Baal, Isis, Osiris, Saturn, Furrina, Venus, Odin, Thor, Mars, Jupiter, Diana of Ephesus, Pluto, Nin, Istar, Sin, and Mami, to list only a few of the many who were worshipped and believed-in by millions of people? Admittedly, a few gods got their own planet.

Many people claim to believe in some god (usually it’s Jesus in these times and parts of the Universe) yet choose to practice no religion whatsoever (often because some church or preacher pissed them off). They, along with atheists and many others in between, are called nones because we mark or write none for the question that asks what religion you are.

I’ve never seen the question asked like this—Do you believe in any god or gods? That is unless it’s being asked by someone like employees of Pew Research while conducting a religion survey. Many of us lie about that part and say yes when we don’t believe. Back in the 1950’s if you wanted to file with the Draft Board as a conscientious objector, that was the first question asked.

The question usually asked is of what religion do you consider yourself a member, or something very similar. But that’s no big deal.

A bigger deal, which is much more interesting, is that there are many people participating in and practicing religious rites and rituals of one kind or another (even preachers, priests, and other ministers), but who do not believe any god exists. Some of these closeted atheists should win Academy Awards.

Other atheists are made to feel welcome at places like Unitarian Universalist churches and are comfortably open about their disbelief (I honestly don’t get this, but I’m far from an expert). Most others are faking belief (Baptists, Mormons, Catholics, Muslims, Hindus, you-name-it) as best they can for whatever reason they may have.

I stopped believing in a god before I stopped going to church. In fact, over the years I was on-and-off or hit-and-miss as in I’ll try this religion thing one more time. I think that’s the case for many other people. The sequence often goes like this: belief based on what we are told, doubts from thinking too much, disbelief as doubt grows, hanging in there, and finally leaving the faith/church/cult/whatever.

In my case, during the process of my deconversion (not a fan of that word, but that’s what it’s called), I held a senior leadership position in my large Roman Catholic parish (aka, church). Before I left, I was on the threshold of moving on to a new job in another state. I waited until I moved. Then, I simply did nothing. It was easy, if a bit semi-deceptive.

I thought it was better and easier to let my term expire quietly and move on rather than to go through all the business of resigning early and trying to explain why. As part of the process of finding a replacement for me, future leadership candidates asked me a lot of personal spiritual questions that I dodged or declined to answer. I recall saying, I’m not the person you want to ask that question of. I was lying. I knew the answer, but I avoided embarrassment for us both. They didn’t understand, of course, but it was better than don’t ask me, I no longer believe any of this (expletive).

Three or four years passed before I openly and clearly said that I am atheist. Before that, I knew, or at least thought I was. But saying the words to any other person seemed scary. I was wrong. It was not scary. It was just the opposite. It was a relief and not something I should have been worried about. If friends and family can’t handle the truth about me, that’s on them.

If I lost any friends I’ve not noticed. Certainly, some relationships have changed, but so what? I’m sure there were some believers who added distance between us, but others would privately confess to me that they were also atheist or some form of unbeliever, or that a loved one of theirs was.

Only a few centuries ago, Christians killed fellow Christians, Jews, and Muslims over religious differences. Now many Muslims seem set on killing the same three groups, including fellow Muslims (it’s a religion of peace, don’t ya know?). In some places, Hindus and Buddhists seem to be at it.

They are all united in that they all get their holy tit in the wringer if you’re atheist. The problems and shortcomings of religion, while denied by many, are obvious to most people if it is not their personal religion of choice we are talking about. But do they ever consider how foolish it all is if no god exists? Religion becomes a symbol of mankind’s stupidity over the eons.

Therefore, I don’t spend much time hammering religion. I can, and sometimes I must make my point. But the key question should be do you believe in any god? If so, then religion is rightfully a secondary issue. If not, then religion is immaterial.

What religion am I? It’s immaterial.

Bill

Allegory: The Man in the Room (2.0)

Note: I first published this allegory a year ago on the Our Literary Journey blog site (before I started this one). Based upon the comments at the time, it was well received. Some of you will remember it. For those who haven’t read it, here it is with some edits and corrections.

The Man in the Room (2.0)

I don’t recall exactly when I learned a man was in the room. I’m sure someone told me.

For years, I watched as other people behaved as if they knew he was there. This was serious business. People (called martyrs) died because of this man. As a child, I never doubted what I was told about the man in the room. I not only believed he was there, I also knew a lot about him. He was old with a long gray beard, but handsome. He was quite distinguished and grandfatherly.

The man in the room was more important than anyone, even more than the President or the Pope. The President, and especially the Pope, also believed there was a man in the room. The Pope even had secrets that the man had entrusted to him. The man in the room was even more important than I was, or my parents, or any king.

Everything was about this man.

People wanted me to devote my life to the man in the room. We gave up things and made sacrifices either for him or to him. We did good things, like give money and stuff to the poor and needy because the man in the room wanted us to. The more we showed that we cared about the man, the better we were treated by our teachers, preachers, and parents.

The man in the room made the rules for everybody. He picked special adults and told them what the rules were for all of us. Everyone I knew agreed that there was a man in the room, and he was in charge forever. He was super powerful. He could do anything. He was in total control of everything. He could be invisible and even bring dead people to life.

He had always existed and always would.

Eventually, I learned that the man in the room made everything; even me, and you, and the Pope. I learned that he made me for a reason. I was to love and serve him and to do his will outside of the room. Everyone was. Even people who didn’t know it were supposed to serve him. That was my first world view, my purpose for being, but I didn’t fully realize it.

People would talk to the man in the room. Sometimes, they would ask for something. I was taught how to talk to him. I did this for a long time, but the man never talked back to me. Apparently, he only talked to certain people using his thoughts. That made sense. I sometimes asked the man for things. I was told he was always watching me, so I assumed that was why he never gave me anything I asked for.

I knew people went into the room to see the man. One day, I decided to follow some people, hoping to see him. When I opened the door and stepped in, I saw no one, not even the people I had followed. It was an empty room and there was no man or any person to be seen. I wondered why I had seen no one else and why he apparently left the room when I entered. I had been assured that he always remained in the room.

I decided to find out why I had seen no one in the room, especially not the man I was searching for. Since everyone was so positive about the man, I was sure that I had made some mistake.

After leaving the room by the only door, I decided to ask my mother why I had not seen the man. Mom got nervous and seemed upset. She told me to ask my father. I did. That was a mistake. Dad became angry and sent me to my room. He told me that next time he might beat some sense into me.

I decided to try a more neutral person.

I asked one of my teachers who I could trust if there was a reason that I couldn’t see the man. I could see the irritation in her expression, but she kindly explained to me that if I could not see the man, it meant that I did not believe strongly enough. I needed to have more faith. If I believed strongly enough, I would see the man.

As I asked others and I talked with friends, I realized that some people did not see the man either. A few of them never went into the room, or they denied any room existed. But they never told me that there was not a man to be seen. Most others told me that they did see the man. I was told that those of us who did not see the man were at fault. The issue was our lack of faith. And my lack of faith was evidenced by the fact that I asked too many questions and talked about it too much.

I thought the problem was clearly with me. I could see the room, but never saw the man. Others did. I needed more faith. I simply had to try harder.

If others could see him, why not me?

Years passed. I lived my life and almost forgot about the man. However, the man in the room issue never went completely away. People began to assume I could see the man, just as they claimed. I stopped talking about him as though I could not see him. In a way, I lied by pretending.

For a while, I returned to the room often. I decided to ask a man in the room expert if there was reason for my failure and if there was anything I could do. Again, the blindness was my doing. If I would believe more, I would see him. That still made sense to me.

I wondered how to have more faith.

Since I was certain that there was a man in the room, that it was my lack of faith that prevented me from seeing him, I decided to take even more drastic action.

I became a man in the room fanatic. I joined organizations. I took all the classes and attended all the learning groups I could find. My expertise grew and qualified me to teach classes to both children and adults regarding the man in the room and the things they should do to be better followers. Eventually, I became a man in the room leader in a large and important relevant group.

I held firmly to the belief that there was a man in that room. Finally, one day I saw the room again. No one could have done more than I to be a true-blue follower, believer, and expert. I had not seen the room in years, but then one day there it was.

That was my moment, my time, my life-long goal of seeing the man was to be that day.

I proudly opened the door and triumphantly marched into the room, and there sitting in the chair in the corner was me as a child.

The child looked up and said, “I have been sitting here your entire life. I wanted nothing more than to meet the man in the room. For over 50 years, I have waited and searched, while you have worked and prayed and believed. But, look around. There is no man in this room and there never has been. I have gone to other rooms with the same discovery.”

I felt broken and deceived. I had wasted so much of my life hoping to see a man who never existed. Again, I walked out through the only door. When I looked back, the room was gone. I thought, and I wondered, and read and studied all the possibilities. I felt myself changing. I began to say negative things to people regarding what may be in the room.

I had lived most of my life with almost constant thought about the man in the room. Over many months I slowly became a person who openly expressed doubts.

Then one day a friend asked if I still believed that there was a man in the room.

I looked at my friend and said, “For more years than you have been on the earth I have searched for the man in the room. I did more than enough. I have decided that I was deceived. After a lifetime of trying to find a man, it is my conclusion that he does not exist and never has. The man is a myth and has always been.” I was relieved to know that I had finally found a truth that escapes so many.

One day, someone else asked, “What is the point of you saying that there is no man in the room?”

I responded, “There is no room, only one told in stories. There is no man, invisible or otherwise. Too much life is wasted over nothing. Either there is man, or there isn’t. Faith is irrelevant. Belief does not make it so any more than failure to believe makes it not so. It is reality based upon evidence.”

Another man overheard that comment. He approached me and said that I may not make such a statement if I have no proof that there is no man in the room. He said that I was asserting a fact that I could not prove. He wanted me to say that I only believed or assumed that there is no man in the room.

I objected by claiming that I was asked a question (what is the point?) to which I provided my best answer. I postulated nothing. My answer to the question is not an affirmation that there is a man, but an admission that there is no evidence that there ever was a man in the room. Since he was not in the room when I looked, that was all the proof I needed. The fact that others believe there is a man in the room because someone told them has no bearing on reality. It only supports what they already believe.

My conclusion is different than their belief. No one ever told me that there was not a man, only that there was. When I tried to find the man, or to ask why I could not see him, no one said he was not there. They only told me that my inability to find him was my fault.

I no longer believe what people told me. But since I did everything I could, and I did what they told me I must do, and I still did not find any evidence of the man, I concluded he does not exist.

One of the things that helped me with my conclusion is the Hans Christian Andersen story, The Emperor’s New Clothes, and the resulting idiom regarding pluralistic ignorance. I should have known from the beginning that there was no man to see because I could not see him. That should have ended it. But I did not want to accept that what people were telling me were the same lies they had been told.

Almost everyone I knew insisted that I was wrong. When I realized that the Emperor was naked, I knew why I wanted there to be a man in the room. I wanted there to be a man, and I wanted him to be as I was told he was. I wanted to be like most people. I’m not.

Now, I know the truth. I need no proof of what does not exist.

Bill

Angry with or Afraid of God

I understand. Anger is a normal, if often unhelpful, human emotion. Likewise, fear can be disrupting and controlling, or it may keep us safe. Yet, despite experiencing such emotions since childhood (still do today), I have never experienced those two, or any others I can think of, like love, regarding what I considered a god.

If someone had called me a god-fearing man, I would object. I was not afraid of god, though many people wished I was. Through various stages of my life and maturing religious beliefs, I cannot recall ever being angry with any spirit, even the devil himself.

I’m certain that being raised in the environment where I was, being up to my ears in the Roman Catholic Church, its traditions and dogma, left me with a concept of the Christian gods (Father, Son, Holy Ghost; all one god) that is different from how others might imagine the same god.

For most of my life, I have been a man who essentially believed in a god to one degree or another, or tried to. Much of my personal religious effort was focused on growing; on believing stronger or more ardently than I did. I said the prayer, Lord help my unbelief, so many times; more often when I realized which way my theism was going or had gone, which was south. The prayer (of course) changed nothing.

One day a friend told me that she was angry with god because her first marriage ended when her husband left her for another woman. Then her second marriage was to a man who eventually died from alcoholic liver disease (he was still alive when she told me this). I remember wondering how she could blame god for the problems in her life which were caused by the men she loved. At the time I pondered my own faith. Would I ever have enough faith (belief) in god to feel such anger toward him? Today, I doubt the sincerity of her anger.

I was able to share neither her emotional experience nor her theological logic. She is now on her third marriage and, as far as I know, god got it right this time, or maybe the third time adage applies.

I have never been angry with Santa Clause for not bringing me what I had requested; nor at the tooth fairy for leaving such paltry sums of cash under my pillow in exchange for baby teeth. I have never been angry with unicorns because of their preference for human females, nor at leprechauns for not sharing their rumored wealth. I may have mumbled the words, oh lord, why me? or what did I ever do to deserve this? But I was never angry with god (or the Catholic Church) for worldly misfortunes befalling me or those I loved. My atheism is defined by my skepticism, not by my anger or temperament.

Since the time when I said (and wrote) I am atheist, I’ve learned that the concept of disbelief is so foreign to many who believe in god, to one degree or another (just as I did), they attempt to rationalize it by thinking that I really do believe in god, but I must be angry with him for some reason. My friend on her third marriage turned to the refuges of church and religion and to god for solace during her difficult times. She has not embraced atheism or rejected her church (former Catholic now Episcopalian) and religion. If anything, she has become more involved in all of that.

For me to be angry with god would require greater faith and stronger belief than I’ve ever had. When I get angry at anyone, I may cut off communication, but I know they still exist (unfortunate in some cases).

I have always rejected most religions as do most Christians. Now I simply reject all religions more fervently than in the past. When I de-converted, I needed to add only a few religions to the list.

While I remain furious at the Catholic Church hierarchy for how they handled and continue to handle all sexual abuse (cover up), so are many practicing Catholics (although far too many play apologists and make insanely poor excuses for the priests and bishops).

If I discover one day that I am wrong and god exists, I may ask, what the fuck were you thinking? Depending on the answer I get, I may then become angry with god. Until then, I see no reason to waste my emotions on the invisible (and nonexistent) man in the sky. Either he is not there, or he doesn’t give a shit. Either way.

What is the meaning of life? What is our purpose on earth?

I dug into the conclusion of Sam Harris’s book, Waking Up: A guide to Spirituality Without Religion, for those questions. They’re common. Religious people of all sorts use them to challenge nonbelievers because they are so esoteric and intended to flummox. There are others with the same intent. Religious folks think, no god means no meaning or purpose. Interestingly, people who do not believe in any gods see it in the opposite way, particularly regarding religion.

No one need answer such questions, but we certainly may. I personally would enjoy such a discussion with almost anyone. If my life has no meaning or purpose, just WTF have I been doing for the past six decades?

Questions like this remind me of memorizing the answers in the Baltimore Catechism during early elementary school. Two relatable questions from that book are:

Question 6: Why did God make you?
Answer: God made me to know Him, to love Him, and to serve Him in this world, and to be happy with Him for ever (sic) in heaven. (life’s meaning?)

Question 9: What must we do to save our souls?
Answer: To save our souls, we must worship God by faith, hope, and charity; that is, we must believe in Him, hope in Him, and love Him with all our heart. (life’s purpose?)

Catholic grade school children had to memorize the questions and answers word for word and were given grades on the subject.

I would paraphrase a quote often inaccurately attributed to St. Francis of Assisi, Preach the gospel. When necessary use words. There is no evidence that he ever said that, but it is a good point whoever said it.

I also like a phrase that writers attempt to apply – show, don’t tell. I cannot change the world, what other people think, or undo the past. But I can (for the most part) choose my behavior and actions. I hope you understand my meaning and purpose.

For both the meaning and purpose of life, we must live into our personal meaning and each of us create our own purpose by making the one life we have something of greater value. I think we should be caring with nature and other people. We should embrace life’s natural compassion, charity, community, and contemplation. We don’t need religion or a god for that. In my opinion, they get in the way of thinking.

As nihilistic as that sounds, reality is not subjective but how we interact with it is.

Nobody knows all the answers. What’s the meaning and purpose of life? I have my thoughts … so do you. I create my purpose of life and it is to live the best life I can. If you need more than that, good luck. Questions about life’s meaning should be multiple-choice. I feel like the meanings of my life are the same as they’ve always been. It has nothing to do with any god and never has regardless of what the Catechism said.

Philosophically, there are people who make the claim that life has no purpose and is meaningless (i.e., nihilists). Yet, those people go on living for some reason. I wonder why. Maybe their purpose is to run around telling everyone else how meaningless it is. I disagree even though many inside-the-box believers insist that such claims to meaning and purpose without god and religion are pointless.

If other people need god or religion to give their life purpose or meaning, who am I to take away their crutch? I know from my experiences with reading and talking to others that admitting the truth about god and religion changes little about life’s purpose and meaning. In many cases, life becomes more meaningful within the reality of this one life and this one world, right here, right now.

And if you are up to it—-