Foto Friday #3

In honor of Mother’s Day, I offer this pic of a gorilla mother and child:

– the chaplain

Sermonette #5: Breaking Out is Hard to Do

When I drive out of the complex in which we live, I turn left. Rarely do I ever need to turn right. The other day, needing to turn right, I turned left out of habit. Much of our life is built around routines followed without much thought, including religion. We accept beliefs handed down to us without questioning. As far as religious practices go, even though worship expressions may vary at times, the underlying thinking and life-style expectations remain the same.

In the USA, and somewhat in Canada, there is a significant religious college movement. In both countries, many of the early universities that we now view as secular institutions were founded by Christian denominations. While they included religious instruction and majors, their purpose was to educate the whole person in an age before governments started institutions of higher education. During the late nineteenth century, and throughout the twentieth century, religious colleges continued springing up across the land. Today, there are hundreds of small religious colleges dotting the landscape, each with its unique brand of religion and its unique standards of belief and conduct.

While most Christian colleges are liberal arts focused, a good number of “Bible Colleges” sprang up with a narrower curriculum and even stricter codes of conduct than the liberal arts colleges. Bible colleges tend to be more fundamentalist in nature than their liberal arts counterparts. Christian teenagers graduating from high schools are often encouraged to attend a Bible college, even for just a year, as a means of ensuring that they would not be corrupted when they transferred to a secular university.

For the most part, those who enter faith-based liberal arts and Bible colleges are intellectually on a par with their counterparts attending secular institutions. While religious institutions often do not have as extensive a library collection or the same range of modern equipment as their secular counterparts, class enrollments between 20 to 50 students provide greater interaction, and, at some level, a more intimate learning experience than is sometimes available at larger institutions. A strictly controlled residence atmosphere with quiet hours to facilitate study and a campus life that frowns upon wild parties tend to help students to give more attention to their studies.

While these students are generally inquisitive and intellectually strong, for the most part, faith is the one area in which they tend not to raise many questions. It is often the case that students at these colleges have blindly accepted the faith handed down to them by their parents and faith communities. If asked why they hold a certain belief, the initial response is often a puzzled look, followed by a statement that it was what they were raised to believe, and if it was good enough for their parents and grandparents, then it is good enough for them.

Although questions about the application of faith and the understanding of Biblical passages are often raised in classrooms and dorms, for the most part, the questions are framed and explored within a well defined box. Those who raise more probative questions are viewed askance. Those who raise questions about homosexuality, creation, the divinity of Jesus, the authority of Scripture, divorce, premarital sex and sex outside the context of marriage, salvation, the resurrection of Jesus, etc., are marginalized as flaming liberals, or, even worse, have the validity of their salvation experience questioned. “Liberal” is not a label most Bible and Christian college students embrace. It is even less desirable to be seen as one who harbors serious doubts or may actually be unsaved.

Only the most secure, articulate and clear-minded student could stand being a maverick in such an environment. Hence, few students at Christian colleges seriously question their faith and the teachings of the church. They are like sponges soaking up what is fed to them regarding faith, and, upon graduation, they squeeze out of their own sponges the same recycled water. Many of today’s evangelical and fundamentalist church leaders on the national, regional and local congregational levels have attended these colleges. Leaders who venture outside the box are quickly marginalized and career advancement ends. Only the like minded climb up the hierarchical career ladders.

Accordingly, transitions in thought and lifestyle are neither smooth nor easy. Even when one has rejected the teachings of one’s parents and friends with regard to religion, sometimes one is still torn between what we want and believe versus what we have been taught is “right.” The baggage we have inherited from parents, friends and our worship communities has shaped our values. The baggage can still be upon our shoulders months or even years after rejecting the fundamental assumptions upon which the baggage is based. Even when one has critically dissected the issues and intellectually rejected the doctrines, we can still live, out of sheer habit, in accordance with what was rejected, and thereby create a discrepancy between what we hold in theory as true and what we live in practice.

I am not suggesting that one should adopt an attitude of, “now I do what I want, the world be damned.” Clearly, such an approach, applied too broadly, is reckless. Our challenge, as individuals and collectively as atheists, is to seek for truth, understand its dynamics and apply it to our lives. Fundamental principles such as the sanctity of life and the respect of each other’s personhood need to be fleshed out and defined in a functional manner. We need to wrestle with how those principles and others that we hold close to our hearts work themselves out in concrete life experiences. We need to move beyond the theoretical to the practical. We need to take concrete situations and apply lessons from them more globally.

In sharing our issues and questions, we can build a collective knowledge base that helps others who are on the same path or who will follow us. In such sharing, I become stronger when you challenge me to articulate and defend my rationale, and through hearing your wisdom and gleaning from your life experience. Some of this work is underway in the atheosphere. Let us each continue do our part and maybe even be more intentional as we build a collective story and pool of thought to help and guide each other.

– the deacon

The Christ-Centered Marriage

As I cruised the atheosphere this morning, I came across Possummomma’s 400th post (congratulations, Pmomma!). It includes a segment in which she discusses the effects of her acceptance of atheism on her marriage:

I know your husband is an agnostic-Catholic. How is that working in your home? Was he unhappy about your change in beliefs? If my girl friend came home and said she’d stopped believing in God, I don’t know if I would be happy with it.

Pdaddy took it well. We’d both voiced criticisms and doubts…I was just the first of the two of us to put time into researching those doubts. And, it didn’t change the basis for our relationship. I know some theist couples base their relationship on serving god or putting God first, but we were never like that. And, our children and friendship (between p-daddy and I) has always been the foundation of our marriage so atheism wasn’t a deal breaker.

That passage took me back nearly 30 years, to the time when the deacon and I were engaged and envisioning a lifetime together as faithful servants of God. In our conversations, we always affirmed that God/Jesus had to be our first love. He would be the hub of our marriage. It sounded ideal to two conservative evangelical Christians attending a Christian college. Even after we had married and were serving side-by-side as pastors and teachers, this was the ideal that we taught to many couples in our flocks.

The thing is, Jesus never actually participated in our marriage. Oh, sure, we prayed before making major decisions and we prayed for fellow believers who were experiencing difficult circumstances; we prayed before meals and in church; but we certainly didn’t pray before doing the routine things that married couples do every day: buying groceries, getting the car fixed, making love….

I think, for the deacon and me, our religious faith was primarily individual on one level, and social on another. We shared church-going and other religious experiences side-by-side, but we never felt Jesus sitting between us. Besides, it’s supposed to be a personal relationship with Jesus, right? Jesus and me, happy as can be. Which brings me to another point: I never really understood how I was supposed to relate to Jesus as my lover and confidante, yet make the commitments required to sustain a viable, thriving marriage with my husband (maybe polyamory isn’t my thing). And, to be honest, I never gave it much thought. The deacon is flesh and blood, here and now; he’s the one who stayed by my side through a miscarriage, the death of my father, the births of two children…. Jesus certainly wasn’t holding me in his arms or changing diapers. I never felt Jesus’ presence in my marriage and, to be honest, I never missed it. The deacon was all I ever needed in that department.

Even though the deacon and I were sincere Christian believers, the reality is that our relationship has always been a lot more like Pmomma and Pdaddy’s. The deacon and I are friends, lovers, parents, children of our parents, and siblings among other things. Until a few months ago, Christianity was a feature in our lives, but it was not the center of our relationship (even though we probably would have told you it was). I honestly can’t tell you what it means to have a Christ-centered marriage, because I haven’t got a clue what one looks like. I suspect, however, that if either the deacon or I had taken the Christ-centered ideal more seriously than we did, my renunciation of Christianity would have been a major impediment to our continuance as a married couple. It wasn’t. To the contrary; my coming out ignited a new stage of openness and acceptance in our relationship. For the first time in our adult lives, neither of us fears that we won’t be able to live up to each other’s lofty religious ideals (if that was Jesus’ contribution, it hindered rather than enriched the relationship). Instead, since we now relate to each other entirely on an earthly plain, we are much more prepared to accept and work with each other’s imperfections and to appreciate and nurture our strengths. Our marriage is, and always has been (it’s only now that I can recognize it) founded on human connection rather than divine intervention.

Jesus will just have to find himself another bride - this one’s taken.

– the chaplain

Chloe Liked Olivia

A Room of One’s Own, published in 1929, is an expansion of two lectures that Virginia Woolf delivered at Newnham and Girton colleges on the topic of women and fiction. Woolf’s overarching theme is that “a woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.” She supports this assertion by examining the economic and social constraints under which women lived for centuries. In addition to discussing the lives and works of such notable authors as Jane Austen and Emily Bronte, Woolf examines the way women were generally portrayed in literature. Woolf’s thoughts about this issue were prompted, so she reports, by reading the simple sentence, “Chloe liked Olivia.” Woolf goes on to say,

I tried to remember any case in the course of my reading where two women are represented as friends. There is an attempt in Diana of the Crossways. They are confidantes, of course, in Racine and the Greek tragedies. But almost without exception they are shown in their relation to men. It was strange to think that all the great women of fiction were, until Austen’s day, not only seen by the other sex, but seen only in relation to the other sex.

A little later on, Woolf says,

Suppose, for instance, that men were only represented in literature as the lovers of women, and were never the friends of men, soldiers, thinkers, dreamers; how few parts in the plays of Shakespeare could be allotted to them; how literature would suffer! We might perhaps have a good deal of Othello; and a good deal of Antony; but no Caesar, no Brutus, no Hamlet, no Lear, no Jaques - literature would be incredibly impoverished, as indeed literature is impoverished beyond our counting by the doors that have been shut upon women.

According to Woolf, not only were women proscribed from writing throughout much of human history - the literary roles they were alloted (by male authors) were rigidly constrained. Off the top of my head, I can think of two current fiction series that feature groups of women or female buddies: Lisa Scottoline highlights a female law firm in several books and James Patterson has a series that features a Women’s Murder Club. If you’re familiar with other female buddy fiction series (and you probably are), mention them in the comments.

Moving on from women’s roles in literature, let’s look briefly at women’s roles in movies. Specifically, taking my cue from the ideas that Chloe liked Olivia, that Chloe and Olivia were friends who had interests other than romantic intrigue and child-rearing, I want to consider the “buddy movie.”

The first buddy movie that I remember in any detail was Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. I had previously seen some of the Dean Martin/Jerry Lewis movies on TV reruns, but I can’t recall anything about them except that Martin was the straight man and Lewis was the buffoon. In the years since Butch Cassidy hit the screens, I’ve seen countless other buddy movies, such as 48 Hours, the Lethal Weapon series (I believe there were 4 of them), The Odd Couple, Grumpy Old Men and Grumpier Old Men, The Last Boy Scout and Men in Black (I think there are 2 of these). As you’ve no doubt noticed, all of these movies feature men. Furthermore, you can probably name many others that I’ve omitted. As always, you may note them in the comments.

Now, let’s look at female buddy movies: Thelma & Louise, Outrageous Fortune, Big Business, Fried Green Tomatoes and, if we’re willing to enlarge the circle of buddies from two to three, perhaps 9 to 5, are the only ones that come to mind immediately. Of these, only Thelma & Louise is listed as one of Amazon’s 25 Best Buddy Movies. Think about that. 25 movies. 24 of them feature male pairs. The last time I checked, men did not outnumber women 24 to 1. What is going on here? Do Hollywood writers believe that women are not friends with other women? Do they believe that women’s friendships with other women are far less interesting than men’s friendships with other men? Are moviegoers so uninterested in women that they prefer movies about men to such an outrageous degree? Why? As one who enjoys reading books and viewing movies about both men and women, I’m perplexed by the lack of attention that women continue to receive in film and literature. It’s the 21^st century! By all means, let’s continue exploring the multiple facets of men’s lives. But, please, let’s also start viewing women in roles other than wives, mothers and jealous lovers. I know for a fact that women make fabulous friends, and I, along with Virginia Woolf, want to read their stories.

– the chaplain

The Theistic Me vs. the Atheistic Me

Before I present the meat of this post, please indulge me while I make a brief announcement. If you scroll down my sidebar (Not now! Later, after you’ve read the post!), you’ll see a big link for Another Goddamned Podcast. The podcast, which features a fine group of intelligent, articulate atheists, is posted every Tuesday. If you haven’t listened to any of their discussions yet, you may want to take some time to do so this weekend. If you can’t do that, you will certainly want to listen to this Tuesday’s (April 29) podcast, which will feature an extraordinary guest: Me, the chaplain, owner and host of An Apostate’s Chapel and relatively recent de-convert from Christianity, or convert to atheism, depending on how you choose to look at it. I recently joined the regular cast for a discussion of my de-conversion experience. I haven’t heard the rough cut yet, so I can’t predict exactly what you will hear. What I can tell you is that I had a great time chatting with the AGDP gang.

Okay. That’s this week’s plug for Another Goddamned Podcast: presented by a fine group of intelligent, articulate atheists, plus one. Check it out.

**********

Spanish Inquisitor recently wrote a post in which he shared some interesting emails he’s received. An interesting question that arrived in my emailbox last week was this one:

What does the atheistic you miss, if anything, about the theistic you?

My initial, knee-jerk reaction to this question was, “Absolutely nothing.” Upon further reflection, however, I realized that one thing I do miss about my former, believing self is my idealism. When I was a theist, I sincerely believed in such Christian ideals as unconditional love, humility, sacrifice and so on. I can’t say how well I did with the humility thing. After all, bragging about one’s humility negates the claim, doesn’t it? I can, however, recall a number of times when I sacrificed, to the point of enduring really difficult circumstances, in efforts to live up to my unrealistic ideals (a sacrificial spirit is crucial to living a holy, Christ-like life), or to advance the Kingdom of God (another ideal that I took very seriously).

Right now, my understanding of those ideals is changing drastically and I’m much more skeptical than idealistic. For one thing, I’m not sure that Unconditional Love actually exists. The closest thing to it, in my experience, may be parental love, but I wouldn’t bet my life savings on that proposition. Maybe I’d bet a few pennies or nickels on it. Maybe I wouldn’t bet anything at all.

With regard to humility and sacrifice, I think there is value in both of these ideals, on the condition that they are not compelled. Healthy humility is learned via the school of experience. Every child wants to be the best at everything he or she does. Children quickly learn that wishing doesn’t make it so: they’re good at some things, sucky at others and fair-to-middling at most. As for sacrifice, people learn that it is often better for their group if individual members distribute goods equitably and give to others what they could otherwise appropriate forcefully. But this may be, ultimately, self-serving. The individual’s greater, long-term interest may lie in the realities of safety in numbers or interdependency. Individuals often gain a lot more by maintaining good relations with other group members than they do by going it along. Humility and sacrifice, understood in terms like these, are simply ways of dealing intelligently with human limitations and realities in a harsh, uncaring world.

On the other hand, common Christian teachings regarding humility and sacrifice are often used to administer “spiritual discipline” and keep people in their places. Greta Christina wrote a post recently in which she objected to the idea that “Everything Happens for a Reason.” Ordinary Girl also wrote a good response to Greta Christina’s post.

Some points Greta Christina raised are her objections to the notion that God Has a Plan for Your Life (check out the infamous Four Spiritual Laws, if you’re not already familiar with them; the tracts used to have really fugly covers in a color marketed as goldenrod)

and the facts that this notion readily allows people to evade responsibility for the things that happen to them (or that they do to themselves) and to avoid learning from their mistakes (or the mistakes of others that have ill effects on them). Ordinary Girl noted that, when good things happen to Christians, they often interpret these events as signs that God is blessing them and that they must somehow be deserving of those blessings. On the other hand, when bad things happen to Christians, they are told that God is teaching them patience or humility or selflessness or obedience or something else along those lines. Shit never just happens. To the contrary, Paul taught that “in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” (Romans 8:28). It doesn’t matter if we can figure out what the hell that purpose may be. It exists. Accept it humbly and unquestioningly.

When Paul wrote that God works in all situations, he was basically telling Christians to suck it up and live with whatever circumstances they were enduring. For instance, he commanded them to be submissive to their religious and political leaders. (Romans 13:1 - “Everyone must submit himself to the governing authorities, for there is no authority except that which God has established. The authorities that exist have been established by God.”) Are your leaders corrupt or incompetent? Too bad, tough luck. God put them in positions of power, even though they know jackshit about governing. Live with it, “my country, right or wrong.” Are you a slave? Then be the best damned slave in the world; you’re a slave because God willed or allowed it. (Ephesians 6:5, our favorite NT author again - “Slaves, obey your earthly masters with respect and fear, and with sincerity of heart, just as you would obey Christ.”) Are you poor? Then be grateful for whatever charity others give to you. Jesus himself allegedly taught that the world will always have lots of poor people (Matthew 26:11 - “The poor you will always have with you”). Live with it. The world is the way it is because God made it so, or (if one buys Original Sin and Free Will) allowed imperfect, corrupt human beings to make it so.

Conservative Christian leaders often tell their followers that they shouldn’t rock the boat, they shouldn’t make waves, they shouldn’t disrupt the status quo, they shouldn’t question their leaders too deeply, they shouldn’t doubt what they’ve been taught, etc. (to their credit, more liberal Christian leaders encourage their followers to fight for social justice, to ask lots of questions and so on). The conservative teachings I’ve noted are dehumanizing and patronizing to those who are wronged, and self-serving for those who want to retain power with as little opposition as possible. Thus, the Pope is infallible when he (and he is always a he) speaks ex cathedra. Thus, the general of The Salvation Army is God’s Man (or Woman - 2 of the 18 generals (an *ahem* impressive 11%) have been women) of the Hour for His Army; lower-ranking officers and foot soldiers should heed his commands and obey without complaint or protest. (That last bit is somewhat exaggerated, as leadership styles across the international Salvation Army run the gamut from extremely authoritarian to rather openly consensus-oriented, albeit within the constraints imposed by a hierarchical structure rivaling that of the RC Church.)

Some Christians - not all, by any means - believe that when your child is born with a horrible congenital defect, it’s God’s will. Accept it and cope with it. He’s teaching you perfect love, patience, dependence on Him…. When ministers are assigned to parishes for which they are ill-suited, they are assured that God always works through the ecclesiastical system to place them just where He needs them. He’s teaching them wisdom, patience, obedience…. Such tenets are shallow and stupid, at least, frequently manipulative and, at their worst, abusive.

Given my current thoughts about some of the ideals I held as a theist, you may find it strange that I miss my old idealism. The thing I liked about my idealistic self was that I was willing to look outside of my own interests and believe in something bigger and more significant than myself. I’m not a thoroughly selfish person now, but I sometimes miss - just a little bit - having something to believe in, or having a greater purpose than reproduction and survival. Rationalism and humanism just haven’t, to this point, given me the same sense of mission that I had as a Christian. A sense of mission, of participating in something Big, is intoxicating. Surrendering that may be one of the most difficult parts of shedding religion.

Would I revert to theism if it were possible to do so? No. Although I sometimes miss my idealism, I absolutely cherish my current freedom of inquiry. As an atheist, there are no boundaries to the questions I may ask and the areas that I may explore. My curiosity is insatiable. I love feeding it and would never again surrender the freedom to do so to superstition, dogma and pat answers. I love learning new things too much to return to a state in which I believed I had the answers to what I mistakenly thought were life’s most important questions. I’ve traded in my poorly founded idealism for vast intellectual freedom. In my view, that’s not a bad trade at all.

– the chaplain