During the past year, I immersed myself in the world of internet non-believers.  Although I am hardly a newcomer in my own disbelief of deities, I had never bothered to read the words of other non-believers.  My primary focus had been sociology, sex/gender, feminism, and LGBT issues.

This past year has proven to be a learning experience.  After a year of atheist immersion, I find myself missing feminism, in spite of its flaws.  It’s amazing how much one can learn to appreciate home while traveling abroad.

Odd, that.

One of feminist theory’s strengths is that it recognizes that people’s identities are complex constructs that include influences and experiences from a whole host of demographic characteristics.  How one experiences social forces is complicated by a variety of contributing factors that extend far beyond sex and gender.  One is not merely female or male (or something beyond that dichotomy).  One’s identity also includes one’s race, class, sexual orientation, gender expression, age, geographic origin, and so on.  Out of this recognition of intersectionality flows a far more detailed understanding of how people experience discrimination and prejudice.  While feminism’s real-life implementation of this approach can leave something to be desired, I have found that it still tends to yield a far more nuanced understanding of social issues than the native perspectives of other philosophical pursuits.

An intersectional approach has been largely absent in the writings of atheists and agnostics.  While I suspect that many non-believers might roll their eyes and dismiss such concerns as “politically correct babble”, it might actually provide a deeper understanding of what non-believers experience in a culture that is dominated by theistic philosophies.

At its root, non-believers are a body of people whose perspectives on spiritual and religious matters place them in a minority position. Like any minority, they face specific kinds of discrimination and negative attitudes which are perpetrated by the majority/dominant populace.  Those who embrace the dominant spiritual and religious beliefs are accorded certain privileges that work toward the collective benefit of their group.  Those who do not share the views of the dominant populace face certain kinds of disadvantages and these disadvantages impact non-believers in ways that constrict their lives.  These disadvantages and privileges are structured into common social conventions and many social and governmental institutions.

The above paragraph is easily modified to describe virtually any minority populace who faces discrimination and oppression.  There are common classes of experiences shared by various minority populaces because those populaces all exist as outgroups in relation to a more powerful and usually more numerous ingroup.

From what I’ve witnessed, it seems as though the newest batch of atheists and agnostics are just starting to realize the scope of this reality.  There’s a lot of emphasis on lining up one’s ideological ducks to ensure proper, logical thinking regarding the existence of deities, the evolutionary origin of life, and general scientific concepts, but the discourse grows a bit thin when it comes to more sociological matters.  There’s certainly a general awareness of being a minority viewpoint, but in many respects, people seem to be “reinventing the wheel” when it comes to grappling with the social dynamics that govern non-believers’ struggles with the dominant culture.

In some ways, I think this reflects a divide that I have encountered in the academic world.  Rarely did I see intermingling take place between those who hailed from the social sciences and humanities vs. those who hailed from the biological sciences, physical sciences, and engineering.  I was one of the few students whose eclectic academic pursuits took her into both realms of academia.  The divide was striking and as best I could tell, reflected two very different ways of encountering and understanding the world.

The current batch of vocal non-believers seems to embrace a way of approaching the world that reflects the biological and physical science backgrounds of some of the more popular atheist authors.   While this is useful in backing up one’s philosophical positions with evidence from the natural world, it largely misses the mark when trying to grapple with issues of a social hue.

Numerous questions come to mind.  How does being an atheist impact one’s relationship with others?  What does it mean to be an atheist mother raising children in a Christian society?  Since women are still seen as the primary caretakers of children, and thus responsible for their moral guidance, does this reduce the likelihood of women embracing atheism?  How does one handle being atheist if one hails from an ethnicity whose cultural traditions center upon religion?  Do secular gatherings meet the needs of single mothers and fathers?  Are they impacted differently?  How does a childhood filled with negative messages about atheists impact one’s sense of self and one’s attitudes toward other non-believers as an adult non-believer?  How does religious and cultural pluralism benefit all philosophical and spiritual minorities, including atheists and agnostics?  How does it exclude them and how can pluralism be modified so that this is remedied?  Could a shared history of discrimination make natural allies of atheism and oppressed minority faiths?  Can internalized negative attitudes toward non-believers impact the emotional well being of atheists and agnostics and contribute toward higher levels of conflict in their organizations?  If one is poor and strongly depends upon the support of one’s family and community, how likely is one to risk ostracism by rejecting the religious traditions of family and community?  Does this introduce class issues into the topic of atheism?  How does coming out as a non-believer impact one’s familial relationships when one has already experienced prior strain upon those relationships by coming out as LGBT?  How do the privileges of religious people lead to the exclusion of non-believers from the many social institutions that are geared toward fostering social ties, social networking among professionals, and community support in times of need?  How does this exclusion effect a person when one faces other forms of oppression such as racism, homophobia, and sexism?

Yes, I have seen atheist/agnostic writers try to tackle some of these questions, but they often seem to be doing this in a vacuum.  There has been some recognition that there is a commonality shared with the experiences of LGBT people.  This is not surprising since LGBT issues have been widely scrutinized by the public during the past ten to fifteen years.  LGBT people are impacted negatively by dominant religious beliefs, just as non-believers are.  The connection is an obvious one and thus fosters a natural association between the two issues.  However, non-believers largely miss the intersection of their own experiences with those who hail from other communities.  (Plus, other than the occasional news article, I see little evidence that straight, non-transgender atheists/agnostics have actually read much literature produced by LGBT people.)  There is a goldmine of information out there if one looks for it.  The foundation for understanding such questions has already been laid by others.  Hence, there is a need to broaden one’s base of knowledge.  Otherwise, one is left to waste time and energy covering ground that has already been explored.

So, what do I recommend?  Above all, diversify your reading. There are piles upon piles of books, blogs, magazines, professional journals, and web resources written by people who come from other minority backgrounds.  Read about the struggles of African Americans, women, LGBT people, farm laborers, religious minorities, the poor, immigrants, and so on.  Pick up an introductory text for sociology or anthropology.  If you are a college student, take courses that explore queer theory, women’s studies, and racial oppression. Learn how social forces interplay between groups in conflict.  Think about how other people’s experiences resemble and differ from your own.

Be forewarned: what you learn might very well make you feel uncomfortable at first.  From what I’ve been able to surmise, the more active parts of the atheist community seem to be largely populated by white males who lie outside of the LGBT spectrum of identities.  Consequently, as a good number of you explore these materials, many of your assumptions and privileges are going to be challenged and that’s never a comfortable endeavor.  Nevertheless, you will develop a more nuanced understanding of your own experiences as a member of a minority group by understanding how others have coped with discrimination and prejudice.

Furthermore, if you want to foster environments that attract non-believers from beyond the usual demographic pool of middle class guys with light complexions, you’ll need to understand the perspectives of those who tend to shy away from atheist gatherings.  You might discover that you have certain attitudes that inadvertently create discomfort in those people outside of your particular group.  Speaking as a transgender person and a woman, there are certain blind spots in the atheist community that annoy me and thus serve to alienate me.  Given some of the spectacular scuffles I’ve seen in the atheist blogosphere lately, I’m guessing that I’m not alone.

Besides, venturing beyond one’s usual haunts can give one new perspectives on prior bodies of knowledge. My foray into the atheist blog world has certainly helped me realize the importance of what I learned from feminism and it has given me a more nuanced understanding of my own “home-base” of philosophies.  I strongly suspect that other non-believers could benefit similarly.  Venture outside of your comfort zone.  Learn.  Isn’t that part of the spirit of empiricism?

I’m not surprised. It would have been weird to have had a slew of atheists agree that one of the most popular atheist publications ever written was a bit too snarky, shoddily written, and lacking in objectivity. I would have pinched myself to see if I was dreaming or perhaps assumed that I am actually living in The Matrix. Alas, The Matrix is a figment of Hollywood’s imagination and here in the real world, I appear to stand in the minority position.

Why is this?

I think this might be a question of timing and perhaps a touch of life experience.

I’m left thinking about my days as a budding feminist, some twenty years ago. I remember reading fiery texts written by a good number of radical authors. It was a bracing experience and spoke to my own travails as a gender variant person. These authors addressed the ways in which the social construction of gender brings forth a variety of nasty consequences that harm anyone at the wrong end of the gender hierarchy. It was quite affirming and I voraciously read these materials while taking college courses which addressed these issues. I even jumped headfirst into feminist political activism. In time, I came to refer to myself as a radical feminist and was proud to do so.

Sadly, after a number of years had passed, I began to notice a problem. While radicalism’s single-mindedness can accomplish great deeds, it can also lead to a place of hatred and ill will. When one’s radicalism is focused upon fighting prejudiced philosophies, deeds, and institutions, what does one do when radicalism brings forth its own form of prejudice? Does this not become self defeating? Does it reproduce the same patterns of social interaction that one seeks to remedy?

I wrote this a little while ago:

Radical feminism appealed to me because it placed the blame for the fucked up ways of patriarchy squarely upon men’s shoulders. No words were minced. No excuses were made. Radical feminism was a fiery, take-no-shit approach to dealing with sexist oppression. It appealed to me because its intensity reflected my own anger and hurt. Finding one’s anger and hurt reflected in a philosophy and a movement can be a beautiful thing. It can provide a space of healing. It places the blame for the crazy messed-up feelings upon the true source of your pain and it makes no apologies. It turns the pain away from your core and aims it outward. It brings relief from self-hatred. It brings relief from the craziness. It’s powerful. It’s wonderful. It allows you to simply grow.

There is a danger, though. If one fails to move forward—beyond the hurt and the brokenness—one can become mired in anger, hatred and fear.

For me, boys and men came to embody everything that was broken in society. They inherited privilege, embraced violence, and reveled in the hate and abuse that they foisted upon women and girls. They came to symbolize the essence of hatred and violence. Deep down, that’s how I felt about them.

Interestingly, this captures how I once felt about most Christians and a good number of people from other religions. As a bisexual trans woman who doesn’t believe in a god, I’ve felt my share of hatred toward the religious. There’s a heaping mound of childhood abuse that I can pin squarely on the shoulders of the religious, just as I can pin that abuse upon males’ shoulders.

Consequently, I’ve spent a fair portion of my adult life dismissing the majority of religious people as evil fucks.  So too, I’ve spent a fair portion of my adult life dismissing the majority of men and boys as evil fucks.  There’s a pattern here and it’s one I’d rather not indulge. Years of hatred and fear can lead to bad places, even when you feel that your hatred and fear are justified.

You might say that you are free of such emotions, but there’s an important thing to keep in mind: one can lie to oneself about the extent of that hatred and fear. If you’re trying to build a better world by challenging the prejudice you find there, then you can’t be guilty of the same problems, correct? That would be hypocrisy. So, you pretend that these emotions aren’t really there:

I pasted on a kind, understanding face when I interacted with them, but at my core, I didn’t trust them. I saw them as inherently flawed and dangerous creatures.

At the same time, I told myself that it was unjust to hate males simply because they are male. That’s prejudice and it’s bad. So, I pretended that I didn’t really hate them. I wanted to be understanding and open-minded, you see. I tried to tolerate them in spite of myself.

The question is, how does one tolerate a group of people when the lens one sees them through focuses upon their flaws? How does one ward off feelings of ill will toward the people one sees as actively bringing harm into the world:

There is a danger in radicalism. Yes, it places blame for oppression squarely upon the shoulders of those who deserve blame. In many respects, radicalism provides a very clear image of how power works in an oppressive system. I’ve no complaints about that. It’s a strength that has fostered wave upon wave of positive change in society. The problem is that radicalism can sometimes lead to defining responsibility for oppression as the sole characteristic of the group in power. In so doing, this can foster the perception that members of the dominant group are capable of nothing more than violence and abuse. Therein lie the seeds of dehumanization and hatred. Therein lie the seeds of prejudice and violence.

This is why I look for balance in a book about religion and spirituality. I want to remind myself that human beings are more than a composite of their flaws. I want to recognize the good, the bad, and the neutral aspects of the world’s religions. An incomplete picture paints a prejudiced portrait and we human beings have a talent for producing such flawed works. The only means I have available to curb my own hatred and fear of the other, is to recognize the other person’s full humanity and know that we both share the flaws and strengths of humankind.

So, I do understand the appeal of books such as The God Delusion. They bring the flaws of religion—or more precisely, Christianity—to the surface and they hold them to the light, glistening in clear relief. If one has been abused by religion and seeks to escape its tenacious and ubiquitous grasp, these writings will find resonant ears. At the start of one’s journey away from the oppression of one’s relinquished faith, these words are a balm and they sooth wounds inflicted by past injustice.

As one travels further along this journey, however, does a greater complexity come into view? Do the words one found solace in at the start of this process come to reveal their own flaws? What if these flaws map a journey whose terminus is an emotional and intellectual cul-de-sac?

What does one do then?

Where does one turn?

1.  Most of what Dawkins discusses is ground I’m already familiar with.  Part of this I can attribute to the widely popular nature of the book and the infusion of its ideas into the blogosphere and wider atheist discourse.  I suppose I can attribute the rest of my familiarity with having been a non-believer for twenty years or so.

2. I find Dawkins’ attempts at contemptuous humor toward believers to be deeply off-putting.  You can make your point without being a jerk.  However, I do realize that being a jerk sells books because it attracts controversy and thus, far greater levels of attention.  Alternatively, perhaps he is trying to entertain his readers and venting frustration, too?  How well does that approach work if you are trying to talk to anyone who isn’t already an atheist or agnostic, or at the very least, leaning heavily in that direction?  I’m guessing that the general populace of believers wasn’t his target audience.

3.  His references are quite sloppy when compared to academic writing.  There are many quotes and borrowed concepts throughout the book that lack endnotes or  footnotes.  I doubt that Dawkins is making stuff up, but I do see this as lazy writing.  That may be fine for the informal world of blogging, but if you are trying to write a book that encourages skepticism, rigorous references would be useful. I expected more from a person who hails from the world of academia.  Besides, gosh darn it, it would be nice for his readers to be able to look up his sources and reuse those quotes and concepts in other venues.

4. Dawkins shines when he is discussing science.  His discussions of evolution and cosmology were quite eloquent and held my interest more than any other part of the book—at least so far.  The man is gifted in this respect and his experience as a scientist shows.  His writing flows with articulate grace when he presents scientific concepts in digestible prose for the layperson.

5. When Dawkins discusses non-scientific topics, his writing seems to meander a bit.  I found myself skimming out of boredom.  I know that part of my boredom comes with my familiarity with these topics.  The thing is, I was already familiar with much of the science that Dawkins presents, and yet, those passages held my full attention.  In some places, it even sent chills up my spine.

6. His critiques mostly focus upon the Abrahamic concept of a deity and/or spiritual concepts.  He focuses upon Christianity in particular.  What about other deities from other spiritual practices?  What about religions that don’t center upon a deity?  This is a weakness that I see in many atheists’ critiques of religion (including my own critiques).  Maybe he’ll get to that later in the book?

So far, I find myself yearning for a book that isn’t The God Delusion.  The book that I would like to read would be an anthology upon religion that has contributions from authors across many disciplines: biology, anthropology, sociology, psychology, cosmology, history, philosophy, etc.  It would be nice to read a book on religion with perspectives that aren’t solely filtered through the experience and knowledge base of someone who specializes in the biological sciences.  Dawkins tries to make The God Delusion a kind of “Jack of all trades” and consequently, sometimes his presentation of the topic seems a bit thin.  I can sense when Dawkins is explaining concepts that aren’t native to his discipline (ethology and evolutionary biology) and I suspect this is one of the greatest weaknesses of the book.  Kudos to Dawkins for trying to discuss the topic across such a broad diversity of fields of study, but still, I am left wanting more.

Also, my “dream anthology” would strongly tone down the “theists are idiots” attitude.  I guess what I’m looking for is a book that is far more scholarly in nature, and I would hope that such attitudes wouldn’t tend to pass muster within that genre. You can challenge someone’s ideas without being mean spirited.

Plus, as my regular readers already realize, I don’t see spiritual and religious folk as mentally challenged, schizoid basket cases.  I may find their beliefs inscrutable and beyond credibility, but I’m still happy to share conversation and coffee with them.  Although this might sound odd to some nonbelievers, I’m open to learning a thing or two about myself and humanity during the course of such a conversation.  Hell, I’ve even been head over heels in love with a few religious/spiritual folk.

I know: I’m probably tainted by religious people cooties.  I’m damaged goods.  You probably should ignore me. 

Anyway, I do realize that being a minority in a world of believers certainly leads to a good bit of frustration because of the  marginalization and discrimination that we face, but nevertheless, angry contempt will only take us so far.  Take a tip from the way LGBT folks have fostered their move deeper into the mainstream: let people get to know you as human beings and show them that your lives are as mundane as theirs are.  Publicly insulting large portions of humanity is guaranteed to earn a lot of attention in a short period of time, but the animosity that is generated will only work to counter the long term goal of moving out of the margins and into common society.  Hatred and contempt reap hatred and contempt.

I do understand that The God Delusion is in some respects, the first of its kind: a wildly popular book that discusses a basis for atheism and does so by approaching the topic from many angles.  There’s no doubt that it has drawn a good deal of attention and generated a lot of discourse.  Nevertheless, I’m still longing for something more.  I’m going to try to finish the remainder of the book, but sometimes I find my attention wandering to the scenery outside my window…

PS: If anyone knows of a book that fits the criteria of “my dream anthology”, please let me know.  I’d love to read it.

PPS: My pre-existing dislike of Dawkins’ haughty attitude led me to purchase my copy of the book used.  I’d rather not give my money to that guy, even if it passes through the hands of a corporate proxy.

I realize that some people will dismiss this new rule as a “politically correct” restriction of intellectual debate.  Tough crackers.  There are plenty of ways to tell another person that you feel they are mistaken without insulting them.  If you feel particularly attached to using this kind of verbiage, there are many venues where you are free to do so.  My blog is not one of them.

That is all.

Edited to add:

It also occurs to me that using the terms delusion and delusional is an attempt to employ the social stigma surrounding mental illness as a means of denigrating another person in a discussion.  This is a manifestation of prejudice against people who suffer from mental illness and is yet another reason why I will not tolerate this kind of language in this blog space.  As with any words that employ prejudice as an epithet, I deplore such language.

You will be warned only once.  Persisting in using this language will result in being permanently banned from participating in commenting.

One of the larger, popular atheist blogs asked people to describe in five words or less what their experience of becoming an atheist was like.  Because I tend to be so verbose, this was no easy task.  I came up with this:

It was a non-event.

Of course, four words leaves out a whole lot of back-story.

The defining moment for me did not occur when I let go of my belief in a god.  It occurred when I stopped believing in Christianity. When I let go of Christianity, it was sweet relief: relief from being condemned by an angry, hateful Christian deity for being LGBT, relief from the fear of suffering in hell, and relief from a set of social codes that were far too restrictive and didn’t make sense. Nevertheless, I didn’t stop believing in a god. I only stopped believing in the kind of god who endorsed common prejudices and social beliefs regarding gender and sexuality.  I stopped believing that god looked favorably upon organized religion and human kind’s tendency to use religion to control others.

My belief in a generic, religion-free god wasn’t really a burden.  However, questioning the legitimacy and relevance of my childhood religion eventually led me to question the existence of all deities.  Seeing some of the worst sides of Christianity during my childhood, in my family, and out in the world, led me to distrust almost anyone who believed in a god. So, I continued my belief in a god for a brief period of time and then shifted to pure agnosticism.   Over the course of several years, I transitioned to solid atheism.

The moment I finally stopped believing in a god, it was almost a non-event.  I can’t place exactly when it happened and it wasn’t a major revelation.  It was like noticing a pattern in the wallpaper that had been there for so many years, but went unseen.  One day, in my mid-twenties, it simply “clicked”: the human notion of god was nothing more than an act of projecting the human psyche upon the universe.  We anthropomorphize the universe in an attempt to understand it and feel more comfortable with it.

Years have passed and since then, my feelings toward religion have softened.  I’ve met a lot of fabulous Christians.  I’ve gotten to know people from a variety of other deity-centered faiths who are decent folk.  Religion is no longer the big hairy monster I once saw it to be.  With these experiences, my fear and distrust of religious people have eased.  Even so, I still feel very little trust and respect for repressive, conservative people of faith.  I doubt this will ever change for I have good reason to strongly dislike such people.  Nevertheless, I have grown comfortable with religious people who are humane and open-minded in their faith practices.  I see beauty and worth in those religions which embrace a caring, empathy-centered ethic and truly welcome all people from all walks of life.

I have also softened my regard toward the existence of deities.  I still find the deities of organized religion to lack credibility, but I firmly believe that it’s impossible to prove or disprove the existence of deities should one leave the finer details of such entities completely open.  The formless god that I came to believe in after letting go of Christianity is the god I hold no opinion upon.  She, he or they may exist, or they may not.  I do not know.  However, religion usually tries to color in the details, and that’s why I find religious notions of god/goddess/etc. from across the globe to lack credibility.  They try to define the inscrutable.

Because of my partial agnosticism, I feel intellectually neutral toward a lot of theists, polytheists, and other spiritual folk.  I don’t feel the need to try to convince people that their beliefs are unfounded.  Furthermore, my dirty little secret as a “partial atheist” is that I have my own godless, oddball spirituality, and consequently, I tend to be demur in the presence of other spiritual folk.  I like my coffee black with sugar.  You like yours with milk.  Who am I to argue?

So, in the larger scheme of my life, finding my atheism was a non-event.  I don’t feel a desire to tell theists they believe in unusual things.  I still have my own version of woo, although I’ve rarely explained the details to anyone.  I think proving or disproving the existence of deities is an act of futility, comparable to peeing into a gale-force wind.  My philosophy can be summed up as this: if someone’s beliefs aren’t hurting people, then I probably should mind my own damned business.  If, on the other hand, someone is using their beliefs as a weapon of social repression, I will challenge them without pause or remorse.

On the whole, I suspect that my beliefs probably annoy the crap out of both atheists and theists of a more radical flavor.  The mischievous part of me enjoys annoying people who are annoying, so I’m cool with that.

So, I have a few questions for the tiny number of readers at my blog.  What was it like to discover your non-belief or belief in a deity?  What did it mean to you?  How did it feel?  Did it change your life?

Please be gentle with each other, y’all.  I have a moderator’s stick and I know how to use it. 

Oh, and since I’m a wordy lass, I’ll forgive you if you write a long comment.  No five word restrictions at my blog.  No sirree!

Sometimes we atheists are full of shit.

There. I said it.

Do you see the billboard at the top of this blog post? It’s the latest in a billboard campaign sponsored by a group called the American Atheists. It warms the heart, doesn’t it? Doesn’t it make you want to go out and give one of us a big hug?

It reminds me of why I so often want to separate myself from the label atheist. The more I see things like this, the more I feel that agnosticism is my preferred home turf. Sometimes, I even find myself wanting to believe in a deity just to piss off some of my more obnoxious atheist compatriots.

*sigh*  Lets set aside the sarcasm for a short moment and look at this a little more closely.

The term scam implies a conscious intent to deceive others and exploit that deception for personal gain.  So, according to the billboard, all religions are scams.  Hence, all religions are designed and run with the purpose of using religious belief as a vehicle in deceiving others and the people who are associated with these institutions use that deceit for their own personal gain.

Since we’re talking about billboards, let’s put a visual to this.  This, according to our friends at American Atheists, is the incarnation of all religions and the people associated with them:

Does this reflect reality?

Perhaps I’m a little reality-challenged, but as best I can tell, tons of religious people and their leaders are quite sincere in their beliefs and they also believe that they bring good into the world via their faith. You may think that god and various other supernatural concepts are complete bunk, but that doesn’t mean others’ beliefs are automatically corrupt plots to hurt the unwary.  Do you folks actually know any religious people?  Not the virtual ones you shout at from your internet forums and your expensive conventions, but, you know: actual, real-life religious people?

I know a number of religious folks personally—one is even a pastor at a church—and as much as I don’t believe in a deity, I still recognize that they are decent folk who are sincere in their beliefs and they have the best intentions at heart. Heck, except for a god-belief, I pretty much share many of their values and I see their church supporting the same causes I support. (I’m thinking of a particular progressive congregation as I’m writing this.) God or no god, I still respect them as human beings. If I were to say they were part of a scam I would be coming from a place that is incredibly mean-spirited.

How many people employ their sincerely held beliefs to deceive others for their own personal gain and do so with every intention of bringing good into the world? Does that sentence even make sense?

As a non-believer, this billboard reminds me of why I feel uneasy with people on both sides of the god debate. We both have a habit of painting the other side with extremely broad brush strokes.  There are mounds and mounds of dark spirited verbiage launched between the two camps on a daily basis. I wish people on both sides would just shut up for a while and contemplate each other’s common humanity. Instead, we denigrate each other as the epicenter of villainy. We call each other names. All the while, we assure ourselves of our own wholesome, wondrous superiority.

Yay for us. Fuck the other people. Sometimes, it seems as though that’s our common refrain.

Put another way, the noisiest people on both sides tend to spew invective at the other without the intent of anything approaching meaningful communication.  It makes both sides look like a bunch of shallow, mean-spirited assholes. If that’s the kind of image that people want to project, by all means, put up some more billboards just like this one. I’m sure the more obnoxious Christians on the other side of this issue will answer these billboards with something equally vile.

Then, we can all be satisfied with having wasted our money on maintaining our hateful, two-dimensional perceptions of other people.

We could use that money to help poor people, flood victims, or war refugees, but hey, who cares?  We’ve got bigger fish to fry.  Shouting stupid, ugly things is more important.

God, if you exist, can I move to a different planet? Maybe another universe?

A belief in hell is one of the aspects of Christianity that I find to be completely abhorrent. Not all versions of Christianity emphasize or discuss the existence of hell, but you can be sure that the further to the right Christian theology leans, the more integral hell becomes.

As a child, hell was a concept that I lived in constant fear of. You see, I was a gender variant, LGBT child. I realized that I was different from other children sometime in the first or second grade. I kept this realization to myself, knowing that my difference was a sign of a “sick” and “defective” character. I realized that god hated who I was, but in spite of this knowledge,  my best efforts failed to change my defective character.  I suspected that god would most likely punish me for my corrupt nature and consequently, I lived in constant fear of his wrath.

Let me tell you, living under this kind of fear is really destructive to a child’s emotional well-being. I lived in fear that I would suffer in hell for all eternity. I remember spending my idle moments during summer vacation obsessing about death. The thought that I would die someday would enter into my young mind unbidden and would grip me with a single notion: when I leave this earthly plane, god will cast his judgment upon me and banish me into eternal torment. I will be alone, suffering unspeakable, unending torture. My future held only darkness… unending, torturous darkness.

I was just a little kid. I had no emotional defenses against this horror. I lived in terror of my future and I hadn’t even left elementary school. I obsessed over every little fault in my character and mistake in my actions. I confessed any possible wrong doing to my parents in the hope that I could compensate for my incurable “sickness.” Hopefully, if I was an extra good child, god would overlook my corrupt nature and allow me into heaven. I was wracked by guilt and obsessed with walking the straight and narrow. My parents were annoyed by my constant confessions and they had no idea why I was behaving this way. Eventually, the magnitude of their annoyance won out and I ceased my odd behavior.

Just before adolescence,  I stopped attending church and Sunday school.  Thankfully, as time passed, my fear of hell began to subside.  My obsession with death faded into a bad memory.  I made the decision to reject Christianity when I was 17. It took a good twenty years before I could walk into a Christian church and not feel sick to my stomach.

I am going to be blunt: the concept of hell is an abusive, sick belief to teach to a little kid. My childhood experience with the fear of hell is the primary reason I grew to hate all religion with a burning passion, and this hatred lasted for many years. This generalized hatred for religion eventually subsided, but on some level, I still feel a sense of animosity toward more traditional variations of Christianity. The damage that Christianity did to me as a child was simply barbaric. There is no better word to describe the cruelty of a spiritual philosophy that emotionally tortures young children and in the process, damages their psyches. I make no apologies for the bitterness I feel toward traditional Christianity, for that bitterness is well deserved.

When I think of the hell-believing Christians in the world, there’s something that I just don’t understand about these people: why do they even trust their god? Let’s think about the moment of creation. Here we have an entity that is about to create the world and all of the living things on it. This entity, being all knowing, is aware that some of the people it will create are going to do things that will eventually displease it. Nevertheless, it creates the world and its inhabitants anyway, it finds that it is displeased with some of the inhabitants (surprise, surprise), and it then decides to torture those humans for all eternity. And the real clincher is that it knew from the start, that it was creating feeling, aware beings who it would eventually subjected to an eternity of pain and suffering. Oddly, it uses the excuse of, “I’m not the one doing this to you. Because of the flaws I created within you, you ‘freely’ choose to engage in actions that displease me. Hence, you are responsible for the never-ending suffering and pain you will experience in hell.” God also created Satan, fully knowing Satan’s future role in tormenting human souls. Since god created everything that exists, this also means that god created hell. Hence, hell is a god-created torture chamber and Satan was created to serve as the master of those environs.

Hell-believing Christians can try to portray their god with all the loving, flowery imagery they want. Their god created living, feeling creatures knowing that it would condemn some of them to eternal pain and suffering. Being all powerful, it could choose to create a universe where its inhabitants are not subject to the grisly horror of eternal torment. Rather than unending torture, it could extinguish an offending soul’s existence or it could even choose to correct the flaw that offended it in the first place.  However, this entity chooses not to do so.  Instead, god chooses torture over viable alternatives.

There is no way to avoid the fact that their god is a sadistic, evil entity. Knowing that their deity behaves in a sadistic, evil way, why trust it? So what if god claims it will put people in heaven if they follow its rules. Really? Given the sadistic nature of their god, how do they know it won’t change its mind and toss them onto a bed of sharp stakes repeatedly, for all eternity, simply because it is amused by their pain? Just remember, according to the bible, god drowned most of humanity in a world-wide flood. In the story of Job, god and Satan conspired to make god’s most favored follower suffer through countless torments while he was still alive, just to test Job’s faith.  If torture and suffering is what god imposes upon its least favored, the world at large, and its most faithful, can you really trust god?  At the very least, god doesn’t seem to play nicely with its toys.

If this is the entity that runs the universe, we are all severely and thoroughly fucked: faithful follower and non-believer alike.

The sad thing is, this teaches children and adults that violence, brutal retaliation, and revenge are divine. The highest authority in all creation condones unending pain and suffering as just retribution for anything from incorrect theological beliefs to falling in love with the wrong person.

I know that many traditional Christians see their religion and their god as “loving”, but lying deep within traditional Christianity’s beliefs is a terrible cruelty and violence. Traditional Christians are expected to love, with all their heart, a figure that will hurt and torture them if they do not obey its wishes. They are taught to see brutality as acceptable behavior in a figure who is portrayed as having a loving, caring nature. They are taught to see this relationship as healthy and affirming and they are socialized into this kind of thinking from childhood onward.

Anyone who has survived an abusive relationship with an adult family member or a romantic partner should realize that this kind of theology models the psychology of an abusive relationship and essentially places a stamp of divine morality upon it. Put another way, this theological model teaches children that an abusive relationship is healthy and affirming.  This model teaches children to normalize an association between brutality, love, and authority.

As I implied earlier, I know that there are Christians out there who do not buy into the notion of hell. I don’t have a problem with those particular believers. As for the rest of you: you are teaching barbaric, emotionally damaging beliefs to defenseless young children. You are teaching your kids to love an irrational, sadistic, abusive entity. You are teaching children to associate justice and authority with cruelty and abuse. You are teaching children that this is good and wholesome. Have you really thought this through? You are maiming their psyches.  You are defiling their innocence.  How can you do this and look yourself in the mirror each morning?

This is as disgusting as it is disturbing and it needs to stop.  Not tomorrow and not next year…  It needs to stop now.

This uncertainty rests upon far more than simple discomfort with intemperate voices. You see, I am a deeply spiritual person. I have been for many years now, in spite of my godless ways. My spirituality is an important part of my life. At its core, my spirituality registers as a bone-deep sense of connection with that which is: people, nature, the universe, and everything. Some might wonder how an atheist managed to embrace such airy-fairy, “New-Age” sentiments. Well, as a human being, I am a deeply social creature and as an outgrowth of my social nature, it is only natural for me to seek out a sense of connection with all that surrounds me. Why should I not embrace this? It is in my nature to do so and it hurts no one. On the contrary, it has been a crucial part the process of finding care and compassion for the people in my life and the world that surrounds me.

I don’t think this sense of connection has to fit into a single, prepackaged, secular format. Different people will express this sense of connection in different ways. Some symbolize this connection as a god or a goddess, some conceive of it as a collective soul, some call it nirvana, and some call it the bond of common humanity. I’m going to say something that is almost sacrilegious among many atheists: it doesn’t matter to me how a person perceives this sense of connection. If you want to call it a god, go right ahead. I prefer not to, but that’s my taste and my taste alone. I like my coffee black. You like it with milk. So be it.

Now, I’m familiar with the standard refrain of contemporary atheists: this sense of deep, reverent connection is a byproduct of evolution… an illusion of the brain. Well, that’s fine, but you know what? I don’t care. No, it’s not rational. It’s not logical. Nor is it empirical. However, it is very much a part of my being. I would not trade it for the world. It guides me. It has helped me through some of the worst of times. It gives me a reason to live my life. I rather like this sense of connection.

I think one of contemporary atheism’s problems is that it fails to take into consideration the emotional needs of actual human beings and in the long run, this hampers the effectiveness of the movement. Lying at the heart of this issue is the problem that atheism fails to offer a viable substitute for the fulfilling sense of connection provided by spirituality and religion. Because of human kind’s highly social nature, I strongly suspect that this desire for connectedness is a basic human need. Consequently, if atheism leaves this emotional need unaddressed, the movement will fail to generate the level of public interest necessary to broaden its appeal. Thus, dismissing people’s source of emotional connection as a foolish delusion will only take the movement so far. You might convert those whose faith is on the brink of collapse, but you’ll inspire nothing but invective from those of deeper faith. In fact, equating this sense of connection with things like a belief in Santa Claus or unicorns ultimately makes atheists look mean spirited and emotionally stunted. This is a public relations disaster in the making, folks. You can do far better than this.

While I’m critical of contemporary atheists’ response to religion and spirituality, I do not trust organized religion. I see the deep connectedness of spirituality as beautiful, and yet, I fear that it can be twisted and warped into a tool of social control. Spirituality cuts to the core of our being and if some organization or group gains control over this aspect of self, we open ourselves to the social machinations of group politics, power, and conformity. In our vulnerability, we open our selves to deep emotional manipulation by the collective and its leaders. Sadly, a mechanism that can serve to create connection between people is distorted by some religions into a tool that serves the needs of one group—and its leaders—to the exclusion of all other groups. In the process, that which might serve to create bonds between human beings is used instead, to create prejudice and division. That which might serve to foster love and trust is used instead, to generate fear and hatred of those with different religions, beliefs, and ways of living.

While we are on the topic of prejudice and division, I will state that which is obvious to most atheists and agnostics: organized religion has a remarkably poor track record with minority rights. So often, religion’s function in society is to preserve the status quo. It serves as a means of passing on the traditions of one generation to the next and as such, it actively resists social change. Unfortunately, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, sexual repression, and the oppression of minority faiths are very much a part of various cultural traditions across the globe. One need not look far to find a priest, pastor, rabbi, or imam who is calling for the continued oppression of women, LGBT people, and members of less popular faiths. One need not look far to find a religious figurehead calling for restrictions on sexuality that completely defy human nature. Until organized religion cleans up its misogyny, its hatred of LGBT people, and its profoundly repressive views of sexuality, I shall question the humanitarian worth of many forms of organized religion. Similarly, until organized religion cleans up its sectarian bigotry against other religions, I shall question religion’s ability to foster peace and understanding.

Because of my distaste for religion’s tendency to generate prejudice and division, I support atheism’s opposition to the excesses of organized religion. I see atheism as a potentially useful force in opposing the oppressive actions of religion-based bigotry. However, I say potentially useful because I have seen evidence for a rising tide of intolerance, hatred, and prejudice in many corners of the atheist community. Calls for the complete abolition of religion and spiritual belief are now common among the most vocal portions of atheism. I can not help but see such sentiments as thinly disguised bigotry against all people of religious and spiritual persuasion. One need not search very long before one finds accusations of psychological dysfunction, stupidity, and general inferiority made within atheist writings, speeches, and internet discussions. This worries me and I can not abide such sentiments, regardless of who manifests these feelings. Religious or atheist: ultimately, your bigotry carries the same seeds of destruction. In a world filled with strife and violence, your hateful sentiments endanger us all.

In this din of conflict, I find myself needing to shift to a different mental and emotional space. I feel the need to look into my heart and find a place that resists the volleys of hateful rhetoric that are being slung from all directions. I refuse to look upon this as a war of words and concepts. I refuse to look upon this as yet another manifestation of “the eternal battle between good and evil” or more recently, “a battle between rational thinkers and deluded cultists.” I have grown bored by this drama and a I seek other quarters… a refuge from the intellectual and emotional posturing that so many sides of this conflict seem fond of.

While the rational part of my mind has great difficulty accepting the existence of a deity, in my heart, I am far more agnostic than atheist. Like it or not, I tend to be a person who listens to her heart. I value intuition as much as I value empiricism. My agnosticism ranges beyond notions of deities and instead, focuses upon the basic nature of reality. Deep within me, there is a whisper that says I am more than the atoms, flesh, and neurons that compose my body. I sense that there is something more to reality than a surface level that I can only touch, taste, see, smell, and hear. However, I do not know what that deeper level of reality is. As best I can tell, I do not have a reliable way of knowing. I am only one tiny human being, limited to her five senses, trying to understand a universe that transcends her limited faculties. I do not know that which is. I can only perceive, guess, and imagine.

And so, I do not see it as my place to challenge the spiritual or naturalistic beliefs of others. I place my feet upon neutral ground because I do not have the answers. Ultimately, I do not know how to unlock the riddle of existence. I make no claims to sacred belief. I make no claims of true knowledge. I possess only the meager tools of imagination, perception and thought, and within the bounds of my limited mortal existence, I approach this exploration with humbleness in my heart.

So, believe in what you will. It doesn’t matter to me so long as you harm no other in the process of exploring your relationship with this world. It is my right to guess and perceive and ponder, as it is your right. Believe in a goddess, if you find comfort there. Believe in a god, if that is more to your liking. Believe in the atoms and quarks that make us whole. If it brings you peace of mind, then so be it. I do not expect your tastes to conform to mine. So long as you do not allow our differences to divide us, I say, “go in peace.”

This morning it occurred to me that there must be a great many things in the universe which do not exhibit signs of intelligent design. In fact, there are probably things in nature whose very existence flies in the face of intelligent design. Of course, this all depends on the perspective from which one understands the use of the word “intelligent”.

If there is a thing in nature which seems to serve no useful purpose whatsoever, and we suppose that thing had a designer (namely “God”), then is the design intelligent? Moreover, if there is a thing in nature that is completely destructive, and we suppose that thing was designed by God, is that intelligent? To put it another way – would an omniscient, omnipotent (and, therefore, obviously intelligent) being who creates a universe in which the inhabitants are given everything needed to survive and flourish, purposely put into that universe objects or phenomena that have no use or could, in the course of their normal function, annihilate the inhabitants? Does that seem likely?

I am not an expert on science. However, I do have an interest in it. To my knowledge, the scientific community has made no claim that the body known as Pluto (once classified as a planet) is an essential part of our solar system – i.e. that we could not survive without it; that we would suffer some ill effects if it were to fly off into deep space. Given Pluto’s small size and the eccentric nature of its orbit, it would seem likely that there would be negligible gravitational impact if it vanished and I can’t think of how we here on Earth would be any worse off if it did (unless it hit us in the process). All the same, I could be wrong. But if I’m not wrong, then what evidence of intelligent design is there in the existence of Pluto? Even if I am totally wrong, there must be some object that, were it to disappear entirely from the universe, would have no consequences for humanity. Stars in our own galaxy wink out of existence all the time. They’re born violently, exist for billions of years with no effects on us, then they go super nova and vanish into clouds of ionized gases. And what of the Gamma Ray bursts that are produced in some areas of the galaxy? If one should occur in relatively close proximity to us, we would meet a most unpleasant end. Are we really to assume that these processes are part of some greater being’s design? Or is it more likely that everything in nature came into existence as a result of random sequences of events; overseen by no one or nothing at all?

If I understand the precept known as “Occam’s Razor” correctly, we should attempt to sufficiently answer the question of our creation by introducing the fewest assumptions and postulating the fewest entities. In other words, the simpler the explanation, the more likely it is to be correct. So, which is simpler – that the perceived natural order of things is just a perception, or that an unknown, unseen, all-powerful entity is an uncaused cause for our existence?

Contrary to the impressions I might give to anyone reading these posts, I’ve yet to make up my mind. However, I am leaning decidedly in one direction. I would welcome any opposing points of view to aid me in my quest for satisfactory answers.

Rosenbaum sees atheism as “a theism … a faith-based creed.” He describes atheists in terms that are usually applied to the hard-core religious: “credulous,” “childlike,” intolerant,” “unbending,” and “Inquisitor[ial].”

Huh? Atheism is a theism (meaning, presumably, a kind of theism, a subset of theism)? And this is because, like theism, it is based in faith? Rosenbaum seems to have forgotten how to consult a dictionary, or maybe he is as ”radically skeptical” about dictionary definitions as he is about God’s existence.

Redefining atheism as a subset of its opposite is a sloppy trick, made all the more transparent by the words themselves. The prefix “a-,” from the Greek, negates the word it is attached to. So “atheism” means “not theism.” There is simply no way an atheist can simultaneously be a theist, any more than a disease can be both symptomatic and asymptomatic.

This confusion—or poorly executed sleight of hand—rests insecurely on another, larger befuddlement—namely, Rosenbaum’s implied equation of “faith” with “faith in God.” His syllogism is: Theism is faith-based, and atheism is faith-based; therefore, atheism is a theism. Even if we accept the second shaky premise—that atheism is faith-based—the conclusion still does not hold.

Because atheists have faith in science, Rosenbaum claims, they are no different than theists, who have faith in God. But this is simply wrong, and we must say so, even at the risk of being called “intolerant” and “unbending.” Faith in science is not theism, regardless of how you slice it.

In his rush to declare that agnosticism rules, Rosenbaum is impervious not just to distinctions but also to nuance. He seems to regard all faith as the same, and it is in either an “on” or an “off” position.

In fact, everyone has faith in certain propositions, but there are as many levels of faith as there are levels of evidence, probability, and reason. Faith exists in an inverse relation with whichever one of these applies. The less evidence there is for a proposition, the more faith is required to believe it. The less reasonable the arguments, the more faith is required.

Take probabilities. Nearly everyone has faith that the sun will appear on the eastern horizon tomorrow morning. There is no necessity for this to happen, however. Some cosmic event might interfere to prevent it. But there is an extremely high probability that it will occur, and so we don’t find groups of people endlessly debating it.

Let’s go a lot lower on the scale of probability. Boarding a passenger jet is something most people can do with relative confidence because the probability of its crashing is relatively low. However, our faith that we will arrive safely at our destination is probably not nearly as great as our faith that the sun will “rise” tomorrow morning. There are still plenty of people who get panicky on jets or refuse to travel in them altogether.

Let’s go “way low” on the scale of probability, which will take us “way high” on the scale of faith. Most Christians believe that Jesus was resurrected a couple of days after his death on the Cross. What we know with a very high level of certainty about the laws of nature tells us that the probability of any such resurrection having occurred is practically nil. No case of a two-day-old corpse returning to life has ever been scientifically documented. Belief in Christ’s resurrection therefore requires enormous faith. (Those who have such faith should not be too quick to congratulate themselves, however, as faith sometimes comes much more easily than skepticism.)

What I’ve just demonstrated about the inverse relationship between probability and faith also applies to the other two pairs: reason/faith and evidence/faith.

Like the Christian’s resurrectionist claims, any theist’s claims about God require enormous faith because they are unsupported by reason, evidence, or probability. The best Rosenbaum can come up with is the argument—supposedly from “reason”—that something could not have been created from nothing and that God is therefore a possible explanation for the existence of anything. This argument doesn’t fly any better than the “flying” spaghetti monster, but Rosenbaum dresses it up with fancy Latin phrases anyway. (“You know about the pons asinorum, right?”) The first-cause, unmoved-mover god is just a terminator used to cap an endless regression. It is no more logical than the giant tortoise on which the earth is supposed to rest according to Hindu mythology.

I don’t want to skip too lightly over this point. Once again, Rosenbaum is setting up a false equivalence with his claim that the atheist’s faith in an ultimately knowable universe is no better than the theist’s faith in God as a first cause. The equivalence is false because, once again, the probabilities are on an entirely different scale. Scientific understanding of the universe has made spectacular strides in the past century. We now know things about space, time, gravity, matter, and energy that early scientists could only have dreamed of knowing, and anyone who doubts this need only recall NASA’s 1997 mission to Mars. The improbability of our ever fully understanding the universe is due to our physical limitations, not to the inherent “unknowability” of the universe.  The claim that the universe is ultimately, if not proximately, knowable has high probability precisely because we have come so far along a trajectory toward understanding it.

So, do even the most rigorously rational and atheistic scientists have faith? Yes, but not much, and in fact very little when compared to any sort of theist.

Indeed, what have theists been up to during all those centuries when the scientific method was yielding such impressive results? Mostly just reacting, writing apologetics, revising notions of God to fit with realities that can no longer be ignored. Absolutely no progress has been made toward either shoring up the theistic hypothesis or explaining why the usual standards of evidence should not apply.

Rosenbaum likes to play “gotcha!” with the question: “Why is there something rather than nothing?” His rule for this game is that if you can’t provide a satisfactory answer, then your atheism must be a sham. But I’m not playing, and neither should any other self-respecting atheist. Rosenbaum is imposing a completely arbitrary condition on atheism. Once again, he might have consulted the dictionary. Mine tells me that atheism is (a) the doctrine or belief that there is no God, and (b) a lack of belief in the existence of God or gods. (I’ll take the second of these.) It says nothing about rejection of all varieties of faith, uncaused causes, creation ex nihilo, or scientific solutions to ultimate questions. Rosenbaum has just erected another straw man, and he is about to erect yet another.

He now quotes the famous 19^th-century agnostic Thomas Henry Huxley to show why atheism is wrong:

This principle may be stated in various ways but they all amount to this: that it is wrong for a man to say that he is certain of the objective truth of any proposition unless he can produce evidence which logically justifies that certainty.

But our “radical skeptic” seems not to have questioned whether Huxley’s principle applies to all atheists or even whether he even intended it to. I personally did not recognize myself in Huxley’s description. I call myself an atheist not because I claim that God does not exist but rather because I do not believe that God exists, as in the second dictionary definition I just cited. I see no evidence for his existence, and yet my level of certainty, which is very high, entitles me to call myself an atheist. If my level of certainty were much lower, then I might call myself an agnostic. The fact that one can not be absolutely certain about these matters does not make one an agnostic.

Imagine a scale running between -100 for pure atheism and +100 for pure theism, with pure agnosticism at zero. Certainties—warranted or not—are highest at the two ends and lowest in the middle.

How is one to know where one’s personal beliefs fall along this continuum?  Perhaps one way would be to measure brain activity of subjects who are instructed to curse and shake their fist at God. In my case, such gestures would be entirely theatrical, devoid of either fear or anger, because I would not believe I was addressing anyone. A true theist would refuse to follow the instruction, and the thorough-going agnostic would be extremely conflicted. In this connection, what are we to make of the photo shown below? Could Pope Benedict be just a little bit agnostic about God’s looking out after him?

Nothing says, “I trust you, God,” like three inches of bullet-proof glass.

Some atheists may make the claim that Huxley’s atheist has made, but others—even of the so-called “aggressive” variety—are more likely to take a position similar to my own. This undercuts Rosenbaum’s key argument in a very fundamental way. Is he talking about atheism, or just about a certain variety of atheism? In pointing to the shortcomings of certain atheist writers, is he making a solid case against atheism? Or is it just a case against certain behaviors that theists, atheists, and agnostics may all share?

The word “atheist” only describes a person’s stance toward the God hypothesis, but it says nothing about that person’s temperament or his or her habits of thinking in other areas. An atheist who has arrived at his or her disbelief in God by applying rigorous rules of evidence may not apply those same rules in matters of political ideology. So, for example, Communists of the Stalinist era may have jettisoned religion along with Tzarist government, but they adopted a political system that strongly resembled a religion, complete with saints, holy books, pilgrimages, “sacred” tombs, authoritarian ideology, and all the rest. Their credulity was simply displaced from the sacred realm to the secular one. The failures of atheistic Communism should not be imputed to atheism but rather to Communism itself, which was based on a flawed understanding of human nature.

But enough defense of atheism. A word about Rosenbaum’s agnosticism is in order.

Rosenbaum’s agnostic is an equal-opportunity doubter for whom any religious truth claim deserves as much skepticism as any other. This post-modernist doubter is (undoubtedly) hard-pressed to take any position whatsoever on questions that may be answered by recourse to evidence, logic, or probability. This is radical skepticism, indeed. Atheism and theism are just narratives serving some purpose that has nothing to do with our quest for truth. Both are driven by what he sees as “unwarranted certainties.”

Rosenbaum is of course correct in characterizing atheists and theists as more certain of their positions than agnostics, but he doesn’t allow the legitimate possibility that only one of these two positions may be correct. His inclusivity and “fairness” might be admirable in certain scenarios, such as dinner conversations, hiring practices, classroom management, or marriage counseling, where impartiality and rapport are so highly valued. But how useful are these traits to anyone trying to establish the truth of a proposition? Certain pursuits—especially philosophy, law, engineering, and science—cannot be successful if they are too observant of such niceties. The Bhopal disaster, the Gulf Oil Spill, or the Challenger explosion are reminders of how badly things can go awry when engineers, fearing to “rock the boat,” fail to take firm positions about clear and present dangers.

In matters of theoretical science, we don’t insist on agnosticism or even consider it warranted after our knowledge reaches a certain level. In the 16^th century, agnosticism about Copernicus’s heliocentric theory may have been a reasonable position, but in our day, anyone who declares himself an agnostic about this is regarded as delusional. Around 1970, agnosticism about anthropogenic climate change may have been called for, but it is now—and with complete justification—characterized as “denialism.” Considering the speed with which climatic events are unfolding, such agnosticism may be considered delusional within only a few more years.

As for theism, the question, “Is there a god?” can be answered affirmatively—and with virtually any degree of certainty—if we discard all the rules of evidence. But the answer then becomes meaningless, because any question about immaterial beings can also be answered affirmatively. Where there are no objective standards of truth, there are only subjective experiences, and these are immune to verification. As meaningful as these may be—and even “true” in a phenomenological sense—they do not constitute evidence in support of the truth claim.

Of one thing we can be certain: There is no evidence for the existence of the Judeo-Christian god as “he” is usually conceived—omnipotent, omnibenevolent, omniscient, creator of the universe, etc. Adjust the attributes in any way you please, and there is still no evidence.

Of course, absence of evidence is not evidence of absence, so empirical methods alone will never help any atheist “prove” that god does not exist. What the theist is left with, however, is a claim that has no more credibility than any of an infinite number of other claims that can be made about spiritual beings. Science-fiction writers and Hollywood have shown us the limitless possibilities for imagining such beings. Modern science has given us the tools for understanding that they are only fictions.

http://therockpool.wordpress.com

It is so exciting and affirming to me to experience a little bit of another life, different from my own in many ways, and yet, underneath the initially unfamiliar phrases and customs, just the same. There really is so very much of the human experience that is universal.

The blog is a compilation of “thoughts on life” from a number of younger women who range in cultural/religious backgrounds from LDS to Muslim. It has been so interesting to me, discovering that most of the ideas, issues, questions and conflicts that I have faced in my own American Evangelical Christian experience, are present in the communities of each of these women. I have watched videos of Islamic “pastors” (Imams, I believe?) speak on the very ideas I was raised with in my own family and church. I have read stories of an LDS woman’s husband “fathering” a little-league team of fatherless boys and how it made her love him even more. I have heard the laments of young women from every background wondering where on earth all the decent men are, while simultaneously devising ways in which to avoid being questioned by friends and family on their “relationships status”.

It is amazing to me that there has been so much conflict between cultures through time, because if you take just a few minutes to really listen to someone, you realize that their stories are the same as yours, their values very similar, their hopes and dreams and desires for life nearly identical. It is just the terminology and “packaging” that are a little different.

My accidental discovery of this blog could not have come at a better time. I have left Seattle for a week to visit my friends and family out in Central Washington, and it has been wonderful. But also very confusing.

You see, for me, this new journey into truth – my setting out to face reality as best as I can, and to live honestly in light of what I find – is completely uncharted. My reason and logic, my experience of human beings (including myself), what I know of history and biology and physics, what I’ve read on the development of the Bible and the Christian religion and my own experience with it, as well as what I’ve discovered about the statutes, values, and practices of other religions around the world, makes me pretty certain that A) there is no personal god out there listening to each of us individually and waiting to guide us or protect us, etc. and that B) if there is some sort of impersonal “life force” type of god (which I am not at all ruling out), that god does not belong to any one religion or denomination, and is definitely not going to be sending me or any other person to any sort of eternal hell for not figuring out what exactly his/her/its nature is and what he/she/it is all about.

I think there very well might me some sort of Life Force god out there, that people who follow most spiritual paths wind up connecting with at some point. I also think people are different, and experience spiritual life in different ways, and that is why there are so many different religions in the world. What I am still trying to decide right now is whether or not having some sort of religion to hold onto in tough times, to provide a framework/foundation on which to build a stable life, is necessary for living the kind of life I want to live.

In my mind, I can picture what it would be like to be a loving, caring, serving, conscientious, thoughtful, respectful, honoring, generous, persevering, hopeful atheist.  I can picture raising a family from that perspective. I can imagine a community of atheists/agnostics/deists living and working together and loving each other – caring for each other’s children, sharing each others burdens, talking about values and principles and the meaning of life. I think atheists have just as many reasons to live the life I’ve described as people of faith do. But the thing is, I haven’t seen it. I have known individuals here and there who don’t believe in God and yet live good, upstanding, loving, contributing, communicating, open, free and decent lives, but I honestly have never witnessed any sort of community like that. And I think that sort of community is SO important. I think it is the thing that is responsible for producing the admittedly higher levels of intentional self-sacrifice and “good-doing” that exist within faith communities. I have no precedent or model out there to look toward, however. (At least not any that I know of.)

This fact makes leaving the Christian community I was born into a little scary. Although I just CANNOT believe so many of its fundamental assumptions, and cannot support a number of its life prescriptions, the culture of Christianity – of my family – still feels natural and comfortable and safe because it is all so familiar and, in many ways, so, so, so good. When I am here at home, where I am the only one who thinks the way I think, I start to question myself. I try to picture coming back to Christianity – what it would be like, if it would even be possible, how it could work. I always decide that it can’t.

All that to say, my encounter with The Rock Pool was fortunate because it reminded me that the world is so much bigger than my family, my hometown, my circle of friends, and even my country. It reminded me that I am not the only one out there who thinks weird things about life – we ALL think things that seem totally bizarre to others. It reminded me that I am not the only person who has grown to see things differently and experienced conflict with loved ones because of it. And most of all, it gave me hope for the world – that one day people might really learn how to listen to each other and realize that, deep down, we are essentially all the same, and that, though we use different terminology to talk about life and what it is and what it all means, we are mostly all saying the same things.

Oh, with what eagerness I await that day! May the World of Blog continue in its quest (intentional or not) of bringing people together…

Last night I watched Invictus, the recent movie about Nelson Mandela and his enlistment of the South African Rugby team to help lead the country into reconciliation after the apartheid. It was really good. My favorite movies these days (and books too), seem to be ones about real people, especially those who have persevered through hardship and changed the world. It is impossible not to be inspired by them.

Mandela spent 30 years in a cell the size of a large walk-in closet. I didn’t get the details on how, exactly, he was treated while there, but, well…it was prison. And he was separated from his wife and children for the entirety. He missed millions – billions – of the precious moments that make life, life. He wasn’t even let out to attend his own son’s funeral. How bitter that experience would make most people. How did he survive that with not only his sanity and gumption intact, but with the magnanimity that allowed him to forgive and love and to work tirelessly on behalf of the country that had abused him? How? What was IN him? Where did that hope and grace and energy come from?

My Christian friends would probably say it came from his Methodist faith (or from the spirit of Jesus, whom he knew in the context of Methodism), but the thing is that Mandela’s story is not unique. There have been people all throughout history who have persevered in the same way, who followed other religions, or very different versions of Christianity, or no real religion at all. While it may be that his religion provided a framework of values for him to hold onto, I don’t think it facilitated any sort of mystical connection with a supernatural being that gave him some sort of added spiritual power. His choice to hold on to hope and choose to love and forgive was most likely just that – a choice. I doubt he felt anything supernatural at all while locked in that prison cell (then again, extended isolation has been known to breed such things as visions and revelations, both bad AND good). But my own experiences cause me to conclude that it was “life wisdom” – a thing that, by my definition, comes partly from a good education, partly from innate intelligence and a constitution prone to philosophical thoughtfulness, partly from the ability to step into another’s shoes, and ultimately from having positive, loving relationships with other human beings at some point in life. This is just my hypothesis, of course, but I am in good company.As the Dalai Lama once said,

“I have a certain amount of appreciation for others. It didn’t come from Buddhism. It came from my mother.”

Anyway, I want to print the poem by William Ernest Henley that, according to the movie, was a sort of rallying cry for him during his time in prison, and for which the movie is named. It is full of truth – truth that I need to be reminded of right now, particularly, but could benefit from on almost any day of the year.

INVICTUS

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

Amen to that, I say!

They love to do it.

Coming to the door.  Hit the doorbell.  You answer and they introduce themselves.

Salesmen?

Salesmen of a different kind.  Pitching salvation.

Selling you out of a fiery hell.  Selling you out of your soul.

They came to the door at 8:00 pm this evening and I was more than happy to answer.

I used to argue.  I used to fight with them.  I used to try to get them all riled up.  It’s no use.

I engage them.  I tell them I understand where they are coming from.  I discuss what makes them who they are.

Listen:  If I try to argue I’m right and their wrong, I’m not better than they are.

In fact, I love engaging them.  I love trying to find out from where they come.  What’s the motivation to them going door to door selling a god.

Knowing that my kids may read this gibberish, I will say this:  They get excited thinking it’s a door-to-door salesman of religion.  They watch.  They know I’m so purely atheist that they think I’m going to lay into these people.

They were watching.  I turned around after closing the door and they were peaking around the corner.  Probably disappointed.

Welcome to the High Road.

Go here to read the rest.

I’d be a liar if I said that I always take the “high road.”  The past week has certainly lead me to one or two places where I eagerly knocked a few heads together.  It’s pretty easy to lash out when you are facing down a group of people’s prejudices and those prejudices are aimed squarely in the middle of your forehead, laser sights radiating ill intent.  It was tempting to rip their faith to shreds, and I came dangerously close to walking down that path.  It’s particularly tempting to aim for someone’s vulnerable spots when one is deeply hurting or threatened.

In the end, I withdrew from these conflicts because I simply grew tired of facing down stubborn hatred and prejudice.  There are times when one faces a prejudice so deep that it becomes futile to forge onward.  It’s a great relief to stop banging one’s head into an impenetrable wall.  Sometimes a throbbing headache feels better than repeated impact.

I also decided to withdraw from these conflicts before I completely lost control of my anger.  When one tires of beating one’s head against a wall, sometimes the next impact is made with a pickax.  That’s when things escalate in ways that aren’t necessarily helpful to anyone.  Ideally, I try my best not to fall into a state of mind where my next action is to verbally tear someone apart.

Mostly, I try to remain civil in the face of incivility.  I try.  I sometimes fail.  I try again.

1) Comparing homosexuality to an unrelated activity that you personally disapprove of but do not see as a valid basis for discrimination or legal repression.   (If you compare homosexuality to abortion and you also imply that you’re one of those folks who finds abortion to be an upsetting but legally justifiable activity, you shouldn’t be too surprised if a number of LGB folks get up and leave the room.)**

2) Classifying homosexuality as a randomly occurring phenomena that must be tolerated simply because the occurrence of such things are beyond human control.  (If you think “shit happens” provides a decent analogy for LGB folk’s existence, you’re probably doing something wrong.)

3) Stating that even though you support LGB folks, you’d rather that people be straight.

Don’t be surprised if you find that LGB folks become a wee bit annoyed after you say things like this.

Just to be clear, who I fall in love with isn’t an unfortunate, random, unavoidable flaw in character that should be tolerated because it can’t be avoided.  It’s nice that you wouldn’t want folks to discriminate against me, but wishing that I’d fall in love with men instead of women is a pretty half-hearted level of support.  My love for another human being is not substandard to yours.  If that’s what you truly feel, in your heart of hearts, then I have great difficulty in thinking of you as an ally.  You are, perhaps, a fair-weather friend but beyond that, I’m not so certain I can trust you.

There is a difference between tolerance and acceptance.  One can tolerate the presence of another person who is different in some way but still see the other’s difference as an unfortunate happenstance.  Acceptance occurs when one sees another human’s life and their ways of being as equally valid, regardless of the differences that may exist.

**Please Note:  For the record, I am pro-choice and I place no judgment upon women who decide to terminate a pregnancy.

1. When it comes to the deities that are defined by the “big three” (Islam, Judaism, and Christianity), I’m fairly certain that those entities simply don’t exist.

2. The less detail one ascribes to their deity, spirit force, or what have you, the more difficult it becomes to prove or disprove the existence of such an entity.  As descriptive detail decreases, my perceptions of the phenomenon in question grow increasingly agnostic.

3. It’s a huge, mind blowingly complex universe.  It’s so freaking huge and complex, that most human beings can’t grasp how huge and complex it is.  I doubt that anyone can truly know how this whole mess works.  This includes both theists and atheists.

4. Number 3 leaves me with a sense of wonder and mystery that I rather enjoy.

5. Evangelists make me feel uncomfortable. This includes evangelists of both persuasions: theists and atheists.  I don’t like it when someone shoves a bible or a Watch Tower magazine in my face.  Similarly, I imagine that folks grow annoyed when I shove a copy of my favorite atheist tome in their face. Consequently, I tend to assign equal stature to evangelists and annoyingly assertive used car salesmen.

6. I abhor attitudes that foster intolerance, hatred, and discrimination.  I value promoting acceptance and tolerance between differing groups of people… including theists and atheists.

7. I try my best to value diversity of belief, as I value all forms of diversity.  It is NOT my objective to rid the world of religion.  If everyone came to hold the same set of beliefs, I would be saddened.

8. Religion and a belief in the supernatural do not bother me, so long as people do not harm others in the process of practicing their beliefs.  If belief becomes a basis for prejudice and harm, I feel compelled to challenge that prejudice and harm.

9. I apply the same standard to atheism. If non-belief in a deity or the supernatural becomes a basis for prejudice and harm, I feel compelled to challenge that prejudice and harm.

10. No matter how you cut it, human beings are not rational creatures.  We run on emotion, intuition, instinct, and perception.  Logic is a wonderful and useful tool, but our brains aren’t composed of microchips and solder.  Unless human beings replace their brains with motherboards, I suspect that belief in the supernatural is probably going to continue.

11. While I usually trust science when it comes to explaining how the universe works, I do not position science as my ideological god.  Scientific research usually requires money and the support of large institutions.  This inevitably brings the specter of power and politics into play.  Power, politics, and objectivity often make poor bedfellows.  Hence, science is not infallible.  Science may be one of the best resources we have in understanding that which surrounds us, but like all tools, it has it’s limitations.

12. When it comes to the subject matter of human beings, everyone has an agenda and everyone has prejudices of varying forms—conscious or otherwise.  Scientists are by no means exempt.  Consequently, I do not fully trust science when it comes to research surrounding human behavior and human psychology.  I am a cynic, and my cynicism doesn’t exempt science from its scrutiny.

13. Regardless of belief or non-belief in the supernatural, I believe that it’s paramount to make love and kindness central to one’s approach to the world.  There is already too much violence and hatred in this world.  There’s no need to add to it.

The weirdo in me loves the number 13, so I’ll stop here.

HeadDesk Kitty needs Excedrin.

There are some topics that are extremely difficult to discuss with the average atheist. There are some topics that are extremely difficult to discuss with the average theist.

Finding someone who can walk the boundary between those two extremes is a rare and precious occurrence.

That is all.

♥

♥

♥

Addendum:  What does it mean when you begin to suspect that your allegiance runs with neither theists nor atheists?  What then?  Where does that take you?

]]> http://hopeintheseen.wordpress.com/2010/04/17/bad-timing/ Sat, 17 Apr 2010 18:30:19 +0000 Edzell http://hopeintheseen.wordpress.com/2010/04/17/bad-timing/

I had this terrible talk with my mom a few weekends ago. The timing of it was just completely…off…in so many ways.

I am right smack dab in the middle of student-teaching right now, and between that and job-hunting and keeping up on university requirements, I barely have time to feed and clothe myself, let alone deal with this humongous, on-going crisis-of-faith in my life…which really wouldn’t be a crisis at all if it weren’t for the fact that most of my friends and, even more painfully, my family, firmly believe that I am, at best, headed for a life of pain and misery.

I feel like I need two of me – one to go about my daily life, planning lessons, folding my clothes, dealing with financial aid, filling out job applications; and another to learn Greek and Hebrew, travel the world, talk to Buddhist monks, meet new people, write a “This I Believe” essay, and look for love. So much to do and learn and explore. So little time. So little me…

Anyway, this conversation I had with my mom was just completely unproductive. It really was inevitable, I guess. We haven’t talked much about the specifics of where I am at spiritually since I was home at Christmas. For me, that has been alright because I have reconciled myself to the fact that Mom and Dad and I are likely never again going to be on the same page when it comes to matters of faith or politics and decided that, nevertheless, we have in common the human condition and twenty-something years of beautiful memories full of love and laughter to share and that the discomfort of differing ideas occasionally butting heads is worth the preservation of such beauty. For me, it has been enough to talk about my brother’s college prospects, my dad’s patient load at work, and what my mom has been learning during her ultra-sound training.

It is different for them, though, especially my mom. We have always shared with each other what is really on our hearts, and for her, the deepest care and worry she is carrying is for me…and she can’t really tell me that. Ugh. I wish I could fix this all somehow.

Anyway, the conversation happened while I was wondering around U Village trying to get some shopping done. It came up while we were talking that I wouldn’t be going to church the next day (which happened to be Easter Sunday) and Mom asked me if I was ever going to go again, and my answer, while vague, was pretty much in the negative. That’s when Mom started crying and anxiously questioning me and all of her true thoughts and feelings came pouring out. She asked me how I could POSSIBLY believe what I said I believed. I told her it was really hurtful to hear her say that, which she totally could not even remotely understand. She can only see it one way – herself in the right and me in the wrong. For her, there is no question whether God exists or not. For her, and (I am realizing now) most of the Christians I have been raised among, faith in God is really not so much a matter of faith at all. There is very little acknowledgement (at least publicly) that God might possibly not exist or that the billions of people in the world who firmly believe other things about God/life might be closer to the Truth. It is amazing how close-minded people can be while earnestly insisting that they are the most open-minded people on earth. (I do not exempt myself here, BTW. We are ALL guilty of defending our own blind spots).

The conversation pretty much just spiraled downward until we both finally acknowledged that it wasn’t making anything better and that it was much too huge a talk to have over the phone with one of us having to shout over the bustle of a crowded shopping center, from within the midst of one of the most stressful periods of her life. We are going to have to have it eventually, and I think it could lead to some healing down the road, but right then was NOT the time. I am thinking this summer…when I am home…just Mom, Dad and I. I know they are never going to be alright with my position in terms of eternal ramifications (unless they somehow come to hold a more liberal interpretation of scripture), but maybe, someday, they will be okay with it in terms of our relationship and how I live my life.

I think what they really need to know is that my love and respect and admiration for them has not diminished, even one bit. I don’t think they can see right now how that can be possible, but it IS. Soon I will write about it.

Coincidentally, that very same elder called my home later that week to inquire about how we liked the church and if we were planning continuing there, etc.  I did love the preaching and I so wanted to be a part of that church.  They seemed to be so “biblically sound” (shudder).  When he asked me if I had any questions, I thought hard about whether to ask about what was on my mind, but being who I am I couldn’t hold back.  I told him that I noticed that there weren’t really any women involved in the worship services, aside from singing.  I asked him if that was purposeful or was it that there just weren’t women willing to step up.  He said that the male dominated leadership on Sunday morning was by design and he gave me all the typical scriptures to back up ”the leadership’s” philosophy.  He informed me that that is the way it is and will be and if I had a problem with that I might want to choose another place of worship.

I was a little taken aback by his words; it did seem a bit defensive, but I immediately let him know that I was willing to accept their decision about that. (Kook-aid anyone?) Undaunted, I asked him about the prayer meetings on Sunday nights and if women are typically “allowed” to pray then, He said that they were, but for some reason didn’t very often (go figure).  Then I did a baaaaad thing.  I made the silly mistake of thinking we were peers having an intelligent conversation and said, “I think it might be because the women are intimidated.  When you say things like, “even the women can pray.” It sounds condescending.”

He responded politely and calmly, “You know what this is, Barbara, don’t you?”

“No, I asked, what?”

He told me it was my sin rearing its ugly head.  He informed me that my attitude toward male leadership is a result of the fall.  He explained how God told Eve she would desire to rule over her man, but he would rule over her.  He chuckled softly and said,  “You just might need to pray about that.”

I immediately felt horrible, like a Jezebel or something.   He had pushed a button in me.  He had hit upon one of my biggest struggles and heartaches in my Christian walk.  I was always feeling like I was falling short as a Christian woman because I couldn’t shake the idea that we should be treated equally.  Why I didn’t run like the Devil (excuse the pun) away from that place?  I think it was because I truly believed the lie that women are to submit and there were things we were not allowed to do, due to our mother Eve.  The struggle between Christian doctrine, and what I knew to be true, were in conflict and the desire to be a “good Christian,” would always win out and to my detriment, I might add.

As fate would have it, what that Elder said would come back and haunt me eight years later when I would hear a similar comment made about a very dear friend and talented woman at our church, when I asked our pastor about her whereabouts and what had taken place.  It went something like this, “Well, she has always had a problem with the male leadership having authority over her here.”  It was at that moment, I believe that my blinders starting coming off.  I was done keeping quiet and making nice; it was the beginning of the end for that church and the beginning of a new and freethinking life for me.

Sometimes it’s really hard to look back and see what a mind-numbed robot I was, but I’m learning that regrets are counter productive and I am really thankful that I no longer feel duty-bound to fit into the “ good Christian woman” mold.

Free at last, free at last, thank goodness for my brain, I’m free at last!

Not long ago, my husband asked me to say grace at dinner.  Unbeknownst to him, I no longer believed, but  I began, as I usually would have; it felt silly to me. I didn’t like it. What should I pray for? Everything I thought of just seemed ridiculous to bring before the God of the universe, if such a God actually exists.  “Bless this food” just seemed inadequate.  What does that even mean?  I thought of praying for the war in Iraq to end, for the end to hatred and bigotry, or maybe even the cure for cancer, but I think my family would have thought I’d gone ’round the bend, for sure.  Not that they wouldn’t want to pray for those things, but not at the dinner table; that would be very out of character.  There are certain prayers for certain circumstances, don’t ya’ know.

I don’t even remember what I prayed for now; I just know my family looked at me in a way that said, “What the…?”   Oh well.  What do you do?  I can’t imagine what would happen if I simply said, I think I’ll pass on the grace thing today.  It would be…heretical, especially around our dinner table. We’ve always prayed.  If I decided to stop saying grace, what would I replace it with?  I’ll have to think about that and try some ideas out next time.   Maybe when I’m out to dinner with Christian friends… ah yes, praying in public, especially in a restaurant…well, that’s a blog for another day.

“Are you going to women’s retreat and will you room with me?”

It seemed simple enough.  My throat tightened a little, but I remained calm, “No, I’m not going this year,” I said.  I felt better just in saying it.

“Well, why not?” she surprised me by asking. You need to understand, this is not typically a confrontational woman.  She asked, so I answered.

“Because I just don’t want to this year.” That seemed simple enough.  What I thought, but didn’t say was, “I’d rather have my eyes poked out.”

She continued with her query, which was feeling more and more like an interrogation. ”Well, why don’t you want to?”

Okay, maybe I should put it another way:  “It’s just not something I’m interested in right now, please don’t take it personally.”  Then it happened—something changed.

“But I do take it personally, where are you at spiritually, anyway?”

Her whole face had changed.  Mind you this was not said kindly or lovingly.  I felt my heart start to race.

I said, “Look, I just don’t want to go.”

The immediate response was, “I get it; don’t worry you won’t see me asking you to go again.”

Ouch, that was a bit stinging. Now, I was confused.  Okay, I thought, get me out of here or pour me another glass of wine, no, wait, just give me the bottle.   I tried to explain to her that I had already been asked by a couple of other women and I was feeling a little pressured.

She responded by snidely saying, “Oh, well, you must have way more friends than me, because no one else has asked me, you must be lucky that way.”

I was completely and utterly stunned.  I was wondering if I should offer to give her back the knife she had just shoved into my sternum, but I refrained.

She proceeded to accuse me of shutting her out and why don’t I go to church so much anymore, etc., etc.  I was wondering why she wouldn’t have had this discussion in private instead of in a public place, around other people.  I mean, if she had truly cared about me and my wellbeing, she would have, right?

I would have loved to have poured my heart out to her; shared with her my journey and my de-conversion process, but looking at her and seeing her reaction, I knew I couldn’t.  It would have been inappropriate.  I know it will come out eventually and the thought of it makes me want to run like the wind.  The hard reality is our friendship is contingent on me being a Christian.  I’m learning this the hard way.

Finally the evening ended (thankfully) and she gave me a big hug and said, “I will always be your friend.”

I hugged her back and asked, “No matter what?”

She said, “Yes.”

I cried all the way home knowing in my heart it wasn’t true.

I expected an apology call the next day.  I mean, she really was unkind, and it would be like her to be remorseful, but I didn’t receive one.  I did receive a cute note three days later telling me she was praying for me…thank God.