I walked into class on the first day of school, and joined some people gathered around chatting, waiting for class to start.
"This book I'm reading, they have gladiatorial fights to the death, and they have holograms, only they're solid!" A young man with a big, bushy beard, whom I later learned was named John, said excitedly.
"How do you make a solid hologram?" a woman asked skeptically.
"Well, how do you make a lightsaber?" I asked, thinking that it must be the same theoretical principle.
A guy near me became visibly excited at the question. "Pure plasma within a magnetic field!" he answered promptly, holding one finger in the air triumphantly.
"Really?!" I was taken aback, surprised and delighted that I had gotten an answer so readily to a rhetorical question. I almost laughed at how his entire face lit up with happiness at the unexpected Star Wars trivia.
Until the teacher arrived, he spent the next few minutes explaining the history of the lightsaber to me, how the first of them required a huge backpack and worked more like heavy artillery (though I don't think this was in the canon universe).
I smiled all the while, not sure if I was laughing with him or at him, but amused to no end that he was so very excited to tell me.
Getting to know this guy, whom I'll call Mark, over the next few weeks made me rethink my feelings towards Ben, the ChrILF (Christian I'd Like to Forget) that I used to know. I have said in my previous posts that I was in love with him, and that "there was no one I wanted to fuck more."
But now...I wasn't in love with Mark, and I wasn't sure I could be said to be in love with Ben, if I could like someone else. I wasn't even sure I would choose Ben, anymore, if I could. I had liked what he was, or what I thought he was, but I didn't want someone trapped within purity and courting doctrines, or who had not "outgrown" the notion of hell (or who would think I was destined for hell, if he knew what I really was).
I felt rather foolish now, wondering if I had mistaken something else for love: physical longing, pity, wanting to "rescue" him from his strict parents and their doctrines. Or even trying to prove myself acceptable to his devout Christian family, and somehow win some kind of victory.
What am I in love with now? I wondered. I still sometimes felt a longing, that I couldn't describe, but it was more generalized now.
We could wear matching Halloween costumes and go to parties together, I thought, that is...if I actually like Mark. I don't know yet. Maybe if he's no good, I could do fun things with someone else...
Eventually I gave him my phone number, and though he sat next to me, seemed to seek my company, and sometimes looked at me in a way I found very interested and affectionate, he did not call. His radio silence started to affect my liking of him, at least in one way. Maybe he is just a friend, I thought. So now I was not in love with anyone. I was almost feeling a bit jaded.
It just so happens that a few weeks ago, in an acting class I was assigned to act out a scene as the character Julia, from Shakespeare's Two Gentlemen of Verona, who alternates between swooning over a letter from her lover, and hating herself for tearing it into pieces to prove a point to her maid, two behaviors that I have spent years actively trying to avoid. I also had to imagine what it was like to lust after someone, which a few years ago I would have considered a sin.
Great, I thought, now I have to fall in love with Proteus too? When I've been so unlucky in love? This should be interesting...
Though it was a shame, it became apparent that I wouldn't be thinking of Mark during my scene (I wondered vaguely if he wondered about that). And though I still occasionally have longings, I am at least free of my longing for Ben, and know more than I ever thought there was to know about lightsabers.
Send me an email at: atheistjourneysblog@gmail.com
Follow or tweet me here: https://twitter.com/atheistjourneys
Saturday, November 22, 2014
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
Doubts About My Doubts: Am I A "True" Atheist?
I always try to keep an open mind about the possibility of a god existing, and I think often on Youtube personality Rob Dyke's admonition to "just talk to God," (I wrote a post about it a couple of months ago, What Is A Religion?) and how he seems to say that it's okay to cuss God out. Sometimes I even try to "talk" to God. Here is the first thing I usually think of:
"God, I'm still upset that you didn't show yourself to me when I asked you to, multiple times, years ago...or really, begged you to. Even a sense of peace eluded me. Why would you do such a thing? Why would you ignore me? And no, I'm not going to capitalize 'you,' I don't think you deserve it..."
I have seen very flimsy evidence that there is a god, seemingly always either an appeal to emotion or circular reasoning. From the evidence I have available, I don't think God is likely to be real.
But when I think about what I would say to God, if I were to have such a "conversation," the first thing I would say would be that I was upset with him. I've been told by some Christians online that I hate God. That I know he exists, but I'm mad at him, so I play a childish game of ignoring him, which also makes it easier for me to sin.
But I've also heard atheists argue that you cannot be mad at someone who doesn't exist. Yet when I "pretend" that he is real, in my own mind, I am bothered emotionally by his behavior, by his distance.
And I wonder if I'm just doing what I think God did to me: ignoring him entirely. I also wonder if I'm just programmed to think in terms of "hating God," as an atheist. But "hate" is a very strong word, and I don't want to waste my life hating anyone. I would rather be happy, whenever I can. "Hate" is not the right word to describe how I feel about God (when I pretend that he exists). It's more like the feeling I get when I'm upset with a loved one or family member, when I have to say something about what bothers me.
But with everyday people, when you say something, you know they've heard you, hopefully they'll respond, and you'll be able to have a conversation about it. With God, I feel like I'm speaking in an empty room. No closure.
Maybe I do believe in God, I think sometimes, if I have feelings about him...But why is my "belief" full of doubts? If I truly believed in God, would I really have doubts about his existence?
When I first started thinking that I was an atheist, I decided that I would not be "married" to the label like I was when I was a Christian. I was constantly trying to "prove" I was a Christian, doing mental gymnastics to justify my beliefs logically and morally, and dismissing opposing arguments that made sense with the almost pleading thought that it wasn't true, it couldn't be true, because it was contradictory to the bible, or to what most mainstream evangelical Christians believed.
(I now reject arguments sometimes because they contradict what I believe about the world or a loving god, which is a huge difference and feels so much better; for example, I believe a loving God can't be against homosexuality because it hurts people to believe that their desires for love and physical connection are evil. A theoretical God wouldn't want to put people through that.)
I occasionally hear Christian arguments that stump me, and wonder if I'm not as smart as other atheists who seem to have ready answers for everything. I'm also not sure I can change my entire view of God, science, morality or the bible based on one argument alone. Oftentimes I get confused, and don't know what I believe, though I seem to know what I find unbelievable or unacceptable. (My very first post, When You Don't Feel Like An Atheist, was about a similar subject: praying in my mind out of habit, and the ensuing confusion about what I was.)
When I was a Christian, I was afraid to admit that I had doubts, for fear that I would be looked down upon by fellow Christians or be a bad witness to nonbelievers. Now I wonder if other atheists will think I'm dumb, or if Christians will jump on the chance to say, "See! You know there's a god! That's why you're confused!"
But why, then, did I feel this way when I was a Christian too?
If a Christian came to me, struggling with doubts about their faith, I don't believe it would be right to try to deconvert them, or say, "See? I told you so!" I don't know why they're confused, so it would be incredibly arrogant for me to think I do.
"I'm sorry," I would say. "I have been there. It's not easy."
I would perhaps tell them that if God were real, he would know their sincerity, that they're really trying to please him. That they may not end up an atheist like me (which would probably be something they fear, "losing their salvation"), but even if they do, it will be all right. Above all, I would tell them that either way, we were still friends, and that I wouldn't have a preference for how I want them to be.
And I wouldn't assume that if they sought the truth long enough, they would become atheists.
There's a reason I called my blog Atheist Journeys. Since at one time I didn't think I would ever be an atheist, I can't say for certain that I won't also become something else one day (though I don't think I'll ever again be the kind of fearful Christian I once was). In a way, I do consider my atheism to be a phase, a phase I may be in for the rest of my life.
I imagine I will always have beliefs, and doubts, and even doubts about my doubts (though I wouldn't go so far as to call my double-doubts beliefs). Maybe someday I will even find a way to make sense of them all.
Send me an email at: atheistjourneysblog@gmail.com
Follow or tweet me here: https://twitter.com/atheistjourneys
"God, I'm still upset that you didn't show yourself to me when I asked you to, multiple times, years ago...or really, begged you to. Even a sense of peace eluded me. Why would you do such a thing? Why would you ignore me? And no, I'm not going to capitalize 'you,' I don't think you deserve it..."
I have seen very flimsy evidence that there is a god, seemingly always either an appeal to emotion or circular reasoning. From the evidence I have available, I don't think God is likely to be real.
But when I think about what I would say to God, if I were to have such a "conversation," the first thing I would say would be that I was upset with him. I've been told by some Christians online that I hate God. That I know he exists, but I'm mad at him, so I play a childish game of ignoring him, which also makes it easier for me to sin.
But I've also heard atheists argue that you cannot be mad at someone who doesn't exist. Yet when I "pretend" that he is real, in my own mind, I am bothered emotionally by his behavior, by his distance.
And I wonder if I'm just doing what I think God did to me: ignoring him entirely. I also wonder if I'm just programmed to think in terms of "hating God," as an atheist. But "hate" is a very strong word, and I don't want to waste my life hating anyone. I would rather be happy, whenever I can. "Hate" is not the right word to describe how I feel about God (when I pretend that he exists). It's more like the feeling I get when I'm upset with a loved one or family member, when I have to say something about what bothers me.
But with everyday people, when you say something, you know they've heard you, hopefully they'll respond, and you'll be able to have a conversation about it. With God, I feel like I'm speaking in an empty room. No closure.
Maybe I do believe in God, I think sometimes, if I have feelings about him...But why is my "belief" full of doubts? If I truly believed in God, would I really have doubts about his existence?
When I first started thinking that I was an atheist, I decided that I would not be "married" to the label like I was when I was a Christian. I was constantly trying to "prove" I was a Christian, doing mental gymnastics to justify my beliefs logically and morally, and dismissing opposing arguments that made sense with the almost pleading thought that it wasn't true, it couldn't be true, because it was contradictory to the bible, or to what most mainstream evangelical Christians believed.
(I now reject arguments sometimes because they contradict what I believe about the world or a loving god, which is a huge difference and feels so much better; for example, I believe a loving God can't be against homosexuality because it hurts people to believe that their desires for love and physical connection are evil. A theoretical God wouldn't want to put people through that.)
I occasionally hear Christian arguments that stump me, and wonder if I'm not as smart as other atheists who seem to have ready answers for everything. I'm also not sure I can change my entire view of God, science, morality or the bible based on one argument alone. Oftentimes I get confused, and don't know what I believe, though I seem to know what I find unbelievable or unacceptable. (My very first post, When You Don't Feel Like An Atheist, was about a similar subject: praying in my mind out of habit, and the ensuing confusion about what I was.)
When I was a Christian, I was afraid to admit that I had doubts, for fear that I would be looked down upon by fellow Christians or be a bad witness to nonbelievers. Now I wonder if other atheists will think I'm dumb, or if Christians will jump on the chance to say, "See! You know there's a god! That's why you're confused!"
But why, then, did I feel this way when I was a Christian too?
If a Christian came to me, struggling with doubts about their faith, I don't believe it would be right to try to deconvert them, or say, "See? I told you so!" I don't know why they're confused, so it would be incredibly arrogant for me to think I do.
"I'm sorry," I would say. "I have been there. It's not easy."
I would perhaps tell them that if God were real, he would know their sincerity, that they're really trying to please him. That they may not end up an atheist like me (which would probably be something they fear, "losing their salvation"), but even if they do, it will be all right. Above all, I would tell them that either way, we were still friends, and that I wouldn't have a preference for how I want them to be.
And I wouldn't assume that if they sought the truth long enough, they would become atheists.
There's a reason I called my blog Atheist Journeys. Since at one time I didn't think I would ever be an atheist, I can't say for certain that I won't also become something else one day (though I don't think I'll ever again be the kind of fearful Christian I once was). In a way, I do consider my atheism to be a phase, a phase I may be in for the rest of my life.
I imagine I will always have beliefs, and doubts, and even doubts about my doubts (though I wouldn't go so far as to call my double-doubts beliefs). Maybe someday I will even find a way to make sense of them all.
Send me an email at: atheistjourneysblog@gmail.com
Follow or tweet me here: https://twitter.com/atheistjourneys
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