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

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

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—-

Miraculous Miracles

For there to be a miracle, there must be some sort of supernatural entity. Call it a god. The event happens when the supernatural entity transgresses a law of nature in a good way. Some may credit the paranormal or the occult with the event, but such happenings are usually referred to as magick, not miracles.

For miracles think of things like rising from the dead, walking on water, or curing leprosy or cancer with a short cheer two thousand years ago. No tricks or sleight of hand may be involved. It must be real, and someone needs to see it. Statues dripping water should not be located just below toilets or the urinal in the mens’ loo.

Dictionaries have added definitions of miracles that are not miraculous. Natural events or accomplishments with highly improbable positive outcomes are included as miracles, even though they are not. For example, “It’s a miracle he passed the test. Her recovery was a miracle.” And some might even invoke divine agency by saying it was miraculous instead of improbable or extraordinary.

Neither the Miracle on the Hudson (plane landing) or the Miracle on Ice (Olympic ice hockey game) are considered supernatural miracles, but amazing events. (But not really all that unusual. Sully was an excellent pilot and the USA ice hockey team was also great). And then there is the Hail Mary pass in football. Mary is a fan of which team?

When my son (Steven, if you’re keeping track) doubted the existence of any gods, he said he wanted a miracle, or a sign, in order to accept a deity. I grabbed a loaf of bread and set it in front of him and I claimed, “This is a miracle.” He said, “that’s not what I meant.”

While bread is one of nature’s awesome wonders in that a seed can be made to grow and be transformed into food, it is not a miracle in the sense that it is natural and routine and there is no evidence of supernatural interference.

Now, there was that one deal with Jesus and the cursing of the poor fig tree (Matthew 21:18–22) that some call a miracle, but that sounds like black magick woo-woo to me.

In the Abrahamic religions miracles play a vital role in each belief system. In Christianity, they’re essential. For Jesus to prove his divinity, he allegedly performed miracles. Muslims rely on miracles too, beginning with the writing of the Koran.

Jews may manage with fewer, but they have the parting of the Red Sea, the Plagues of Egypt, and some raising of the dead and others. Undoubtedly, a modern Jewish believer will be far less prone to attribute extraordinary events to a supernatural intervention, but his or her belief in God’s power will not allow them to deny the very possibility of miracles occurring.

A Hasidic Jewish saying has it that a Hasid (a kind of Jew) who believes that all the miracles said to have been performed by the Hasidic masters actually happened is a fool, but anyone who believes that they could not have happened is an unbeliever. The same can be said of miracles in general.

Most religions have some form of tie with supernatural miracles. The rest of us use the term in the second sense, which simply means unusual, but often it is not even that. A close family member of mine was recently extremely ill. She did what the doctor said and added other things like proper rest, and eating healthy (including ensuring intake of supplements and electrolytes). On her next visit to the doctor, he declared her recovery miraculous. Her recovery had indeed been much faster than anticipated. While many used the miracle term, no one claimed supernatural intervention.

The Catholic Church’s process for determining one’s sainthood ordinarily requires that at least two supernatural miracles must have been performed through the intercession of the dead but blessed person who is not yet sainted. The idea is that if they are indeed in Heaven (where a saint must be), it is assumed they would intercede with god as requested by prayer. My point is that two miracles are required. One is insufficient. (God, just to be sure, would you do that one more time?) However, this requirement is on and off and seems to be completely waived off at times.

This is not a complex issue for me because I don’t believe in god or spiritual stuff. But for believers, it is very complex. David Hume’s “Of Miracles” section of his mid-18^th Century book, An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding, is considered a classic about miracles and belief.

Preparing to write this, I read Miracles by C. S. Lewis. In the introduction of the book Lewis claims that one must have the right philosophy. In other words, for one to believe in miracles, one must first believe in miracles. Later in the book he criticized circular logic. Don’t waste your time (believer or not). Most of the alleged apologist writings of C. S. Lewis were intended for Christians. Perhaps most others are as well. In Miracles, Lewis admits as much. But, you do sell more spiritual books when you preach to the choir.

Thomas Paine, one of the Founding Fathers of the American Revolution, wrote “All the tales of miracles, with which the Old and New Testament are filled, are fit only for impostors to preach and fools to believe.” That’s what I think too.

If everything is a miracle, is anything?

An Atheist Walked into a Church

Atheists go to church for a variety of reasons, especially those of us who are former believers. We understand going to church and usually have little or no fear or discomfort about attending. We know why people practice religions.

If invited to a wedding I might go, and certainly the reception (food, drink, party) would be a must. Funerals are a drag, but if there is an Irish type afterparty, I might consider it.

The last formal funeral I attended was my sister’s. It was a Catholic Funeral Mass or Requiem Mass. I was still a practicing Catholic at the time. My other sister, who died first, had had a memorial service at the funeral home, as she had done for her husband. That sister insisted upon a graveside service for our mother when she died, presided over by a paid retired priest, so no church required.

But my father had a full Requiem Mass (demanded by his daughter) 12 years prior. I dislike funerals, wakes, memorial services, and all of that, but I attend when I feel like it is expected. Embracing atheism has not changed that, other than I have a different opinion about the soulful status of dead people.

When a former supervisor of mine died, I was still working with the guy although he was no longer my boss. I went to his memorial service in a chapel because I felt socially obligated. I also felt like a hypocrite for going. I despised the man almost from the first moment I met him, but I kept that to myself. As I walked back to my office, I felt relieved that duty was done. I would do it again, despite how I felt about him. I try not to hold grudges against the dead. That would be like playing god.

Most weddings are fun. I don’t recall when I last attended one in a church setting, but I’d go again. Maybe not in Afghanistan cuz they do terrorist bombings at weddings there, and Muslims don’t drink anyway. I am up for a good, safe wedding, secular or religious.

If I was invited to a Quinceañera, I would go to the Mass. Quinceañera is the Hispanic tradition of celebrating young girls’ coming of age near their 15^th birthday. They are celebrations to embrace religious customs, the virtues of family, and social responsibility. Such cultural celebrations are fun. I never went to an associated Quinceañera Mass when I attended church because the Mass was in Spanish and the church was packed — standing room only that overflowed out the door into the parking lot. I do not expect to ever attend one for that reason, maybe the afterparty.

If I sense that someone is trying to proselytize me by inviting me to church, I would not cooperate and would certainly back away. That would be to keep the peace since I think turnabout is fair play, and I think apostasy is a healthy option for everyone. But you know how they get when we try to make it a level playing field.

If I did go to a Catholic church, I’m not sure what I would do regarding the Catholic gymnastics during Mass (sit, kneel, stand). I understand the Mass, and I know exactly what’s going on. But kneeling and standing relate specifically to prayer and honoring JC and the gospel readings. However, when people at Mass do not participate, they become conspicuous, and I am not one for any self-spotlighting. I would not want peeps to think me a Southern Baptist.

In any case, I have not been to a church service of any kind in at least eight years. But that is not so long.

A 95-year-old man I knew (Joe) was a former Catholic who got talked into going to Mass and taking communion (I would not do that). He did. He told me that he had not been in a church for about 80 years. He just wanted to see what would happen. Nothing did. He finished our chat explaining his conflict with faith and reason and why he still chose reason. Joe never said he was atheist, and I never asked, but I feel certain he was.

It’s hard to explain going to church for any reason if one is openly a non-believer, especially when one uses the atheist moniker. Some people do not attend church at all and simply identify with no religious preference. Many of those are closeted atheists. Other hidden atheists continue to attend church and feign religious practice for long periods of time. We know that happens because so many of us did.

I may attend church depending on the situation, religion, and the mutual acceptability of the groups in question. But it would be a mistake to assume that I will not attend out of arrogance and disbelief. I’m still waiting for my Pagan and Wiccan friends to invite me to one of their rituals.

Bill

What are you afraid of?

This essay is based upon the post, The How of Atheism?, from the blog ‘TheCommonAtheist.’

Fear is a normal human emotion. Usually, it’s a beneficial one. But it can be a choke point in human progress.

For example, when I first started riding a motorcycle I progressed to high-speed highway driving. With no seat belt, no metal cage surrounding me with air bags, and no safety devices, other than what I was wearing; traveling upwards of 70 miles per hour surrounded by cars with drivers poorly skilled or foolish, with parts of my body passing unprotected only inches from hard, hot pavement, and all of me exposed to natural and unnatural elements; I was scared riding my motorcycle. It is inherently dangerous. Known danger begets fear, but sometimes the same risk elicits pleasure.

Anytime while riding a motorcycle you need to be alert but relaxed and loose enough to respond at any speed. Instructors will tell you to be relaxed because body tension will hamper both physical response and mental judgment. I agree. Being alert and aware was no problem. However, the amount of body tension caused by fear is overwhelming and no amount of relax, relax, calm down was going to alleviate it. Experience over time helps, but the other side of the confidence curve has probably resulted in more serious accidents than bodily tension.

Fear of extinction (Psychology Today’s term for fear of death or dying) is a big deal. It’s normal, they say. If you add to that religion’s threats of permanent torture (Hell), you have raised someone’s anxiety level regarding death significantly. But not for everyone. There have always been atheists in fox holes and some have died there. In the USA, we remember them on Memorial Day.

To many believers merely doubting the existence of god is your ticket to Hell. It doesn’t matter how wonderfully charitable and loving you’ve lived your life. Religion has its dark and irrational side.

In his post, Jim postulates that atheism mitigates that fear better than a religion, especially Christianity or Islam.

I do not fear extinction. I agree in that I fear the pain and suffering of the dying process more than I fear its completion. Leonard Cohen said the same thing in an interview. Cohen also said, I was dead before I was born, and I recall no problems (I’m paraphrasing).

I recall my mother declining my offer to call a priest for last rights when she was dying. Mom was not atheist, but she said that after years of ignoring her religion she was not about to start then, a remarkable thing for a Catholic to say about the last sacrament in the face of death. She also said, “when you’re dead, you’re dead.” I did not request elaboration.

Leaning on parts from Jim’s post a bit more, Atheism is

trusting your own judgment and weighing evidence,
realizing that humans are easily deceived and manipulated by guilt,
accepting the natural goodness and innocence of humanity,
accepting human rationality, reason, and the inevitability of death.
acceptance of the here and now and responsibility derived from reality;
a fundamental rejection of fear-based belief in gods and religious prescriptions of morality associated with fear of retribution.
And it embraces the uniqueness of the individual and it is a personal claim to integrity.

To paraphrase (Jim and Paul), Oh death, where is my fear of thy sting?

Here are a few more quotes that are linked to the source. But they certainly stand alone and are based more on academic research than this old skeptic’s pondering.

So non-believers are not only distrusted; they also stir up morbid thoughts, and perhaps raise discomforting doubts about what happens after we die.

First, that fear motivates religious belief, and second, that religious belief mitigates fear. And…While the fear of actual death—painfully, slowly—is apparent, the existential crisis encountered at the prospect of nothingness appears to cause the most anxiety.

Bill