Ever Tried, Ever Failed...

The man himself.

There's a quote that's been bouncing around in my head for the past few weeks. It comes from Samuel Beckett's novella Worstward Ho, and it goes like this:

Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.

Seems a bit gloomy at first, doesn't it? What a pessimistic outlook, to believe you're in a constant state of failure. The common saying goes, "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again"—the implication being that eventually, you will.

Beckett's quote makes no such promise. If you try again, you'll fail again. But it's the last bit that's really stuck with me.

Fail better.

That two-word sentence, to me, crystallizes the essence of what makes us human. We're such tremendous failures, the human race. We still have no idea what we're doing, broadly speaking. We're puny, fragile, ignorant things. And yet we keep trundling along. We make mistakes... and eventually, we fail better.

It's not just the human race. It's the essence of science, of how we unlock the world around us. Our understanding of the universe has been built up incrementally, painstakingly over millennia.

There was a time when we thought the seat of our consciousness was in the heart and not the brain. What a spectacular failure. Today we know the specific functions of most parts of the brain, yet we still don't have a clue how they come together to create a "self." We've failed again—but better. Success is not in the nature of science. We don't set out to prove things, but rather to create flawed yet increasingly accurate models of the world.

And it's not just humanity or science. It's the essence of me. I fail constantly. I failed today. I'll fail tomorrow. And when I do, I will pick myself up, dust myself off and say:

No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.

A Friendly Conversation

Recently my dad caught up with an old friend of his. I didn't ask to use his name, so I'll just call him Steve. He became a Christian a few years ago after having been raised Muslim and remaining so for most of his life.

Steve wrote a short book about his experiences, and since copy-editing is on my list of potential career options, my dad volunteered me to read through it. It basically consisted of his life story, with a focus on his conversion to Christianity, as well as various arguments for his adopted religion and against other viewpoints.

The universally accepted meeting
place, for some reason.

After I sent the manuscript back to him, he asked about my own views, and upon learning I was an atheist, he suggested we meet for coffee so he could better understand my perspective.

So last Wednesday we spent thirty or forty minutes discussing atheism and related topics. I was a bit apprehensive going in, but thankfully it was a casual, friendly conversation, with an atmosphere of learning rather than debate.

He asked whether I had been a Christian by "default" or whether it was something I actively believed, so I gave him a bit of my background and conversion to Christianity. And how I became curious in my college years of what the opposing evidence looked like, how my investigation of creationism was the starting point for my eventual departure from the faith. 

From there, Steve asked me for my definition of atheism—always a good start for a discussion on the topic. I was pleased to discover that he easily understood the distinction between strong and weak atheism. I explained the need for evidence in proportion to the extraordinary nature of the claims made, and how the idea of God represents such a departure from everything we know about the world that it has an incredibly high evidential bar to meet.

Steve made a few of the standard points for Christianity, which I let go mostly unchallenged, to make sure we stayed in the realm of discussion rather than conflict. He asked what I think happens when we die, and pointed out that if that's true, it kinda sucks. No argument from me there, though it's not a total loss. He brought up Pascal's Wager, although more out of curiosity as to how I approach belief than as an argument in favor of belief.

The problem of evil was mentioned as an example argument, to which free will was of course the vanilla reply. I brought up animal suffering, which it seemed he hadn't considered in that context before. Steve's response was that if animals were treated differently, people might notice and see it as evidence of divine intervention, thus violating free will. While I don't find that very convincing—even if biblical God cared about free will, he could probably find a way to circumvent at least some of the suffering we see—for an improvised explanation, it wasn't terrible.

Steve thanked me for my time and for what he was able to learn from our conversation. He would pray for me, and that my bar of evidence would be met. Despite my warning that I may not read it due to time constraints, he said he would send me Josh McDowell's book Evidence That Demands a Verdict. And he expressed a hope that I would continue to research Christianity. It brought to mind a post I made a while back about my pro-Christian bias: that I've already given Christianity so much more attention than I would give any other faith.

Even though I don't think any minds will be changed as a result of our conversation, I'm glad to have had the chance to talk with Steve. It's heartening to know there are religious people who are genuinely curious about atheism, and willing to engage in a good-natured dialogue to learn about a different way of thinking.

My Evolution on Gay Marriage

Now that the Supreme Court has heard arguments on two gay marriage cases, that the number of senators publicly supporting it has jumped to more than half, and that public opinion has now shifted decisively in its favor, I thought it might be a good time to chronicle how my own views of gay marriage have changed.

For most of my life as a Christian, homosexuality wasn't even really on my radar. The concept was largely foreign to me. When it did finally trickle into my consciousness, I felt no animosity toward gay people; I just considered it a strange and sinful way of thinking and behaving.

I never held very strong opinions on gay marriage, but the issue came to a head in 2008 with the introduction of Prop 8 in my home state of California. I remember that it was something I went back and forth on, but sadly I ultimately voted in favor. My rationale at the time was that gay people could still have civil unions and get the same benefits without taking on the title of marriage.

At the time, I thought that was enough. My vote on this issue was probably the last truly harmful action I took as a result of my religious beliefs. Though I no longer think that civil rights issues should be put to a majority vote, a small part of me wishes this one would be, just so I and others like me could redeem ourselves.

I didn't think much about the issue again until what was probably late 2010—after I had started questioning my faith, but before I became an atheist. I came across this video by prominent atheist and LGBT blogger Zinnia Jones.

In the first half of the video she rattles off a number of potential disadvantages associated with civil unions, but the second half (starting at 1:30) was what really struck me. If civil unions are identical to marriage in every way but in name, why is there a need to make a distinction at all? What does marriage offer straight couples that they need and gay couples can't have?

My views on gay marriage were already tenuously held, but that video was what solidified them decisively in its favor. At this point, I think it's clear that there are no decent arguments against gay marriage, and that most secular arguments have been propped up in order to disguise religiously-motivated concerns. I'm glad to see public opinion changing so rapidly, and look forward to seeing how each sect and denomination will respond to gay marriage's inevitable acceptance.

Life in the Open

In church for Christmas. Nice decor, but
it could maybe use a few more trees.

It's been a little over a year since I came out to my family as an atheist, and surprisingly little has changed. Certainly, they were upset at first. My mom asked me tearfully over lunch why I hadn't told them sooner. A little while later she asked me, not threateningly but solemnly, if I realized what happens if I'm wrong about Christianity. And my dad and I had a few brief, cordial lunchtime debates on religious topics.

Sometimes my parents asked me if I wanted to go with them to church, which I politely turned down except for a few times when it seemed especially important to them—Christmas and Easter, for instance. And a couple of weeks before Christmas they got me a book of arguments for God, which I may work through here if it turns out to be worthwhile. (If so, I'm also thinking about formulating a version of my 30 questions for them to read in return.)

But what I listed above is basically the full extent of their reaction over the past fourteen months. Given that I spend time with them virtually every day, it's surprisingly subdued. For the most part, the topic of my atheism was barely touched after just a couple of weeks.

I have mixed feelings about my family's relative lack of interest in my unbelief. On the one hand, it's great. It's wonderful to be able to talk and have fun with them without feeling distant or uncomfortable. And to be clear, I certainly wouldn't trade this outcome for one where I'm constantly arguing. Still, part of me can't help but be amazed at what a small impact my coming out has had. Having grown up as a Christian, it's all too easy for me to think about my situation from the believer's perspective. If I were an ardent Christian and my sister told me she was an atheist, what would I do? Hmm...

My reaction is confusion, then horror. One of the people I love most in the entire world will be spending eternity weeping and gnashing her teeth in outer darkness! I have to do something, anything to convince her that she's strayed from the straight and narrow! I try to tread carefully around this sensitive topic, but I'm far too curious not to ask what changed her mind. Based on her response, I spend hours researching, steeped in books and articles from renowned apologists, training myself to make the perfect case for the Christian faith. Then, when the timing is right, I broach the subject as tactfully as I can and present my talking points.

Given the seriousness of eternal punishment, the only response that makes sense to me is to expend every available resource in pursuit of saving the lives of my loved ones. Granted, it's important not to come on too strong and drive them further away, but neither will it work to skirt the issue almost entirely.

...So why is avoidance the response I'm seeing here?

It's certainly not that my family is too selfish and unmotivated to come to my aid. They've demonstrated their affection in so many other ways that this holds no water at all. And it isn't that they don't believe what they claim to, just because their behavior doesn't perfectly match their beliefs. I hate it when people draw this conclusion about religious people. It could be that they're nervous about driving me away, just as I would be, but that's probably not the whole story.

I think the best explanation is that humans don't always think through the full consequences of their beliefs. Religious or not, we rarely make optimal decisions given the information available to us. In a way it's not strange to believe in a world of epic spiritual warfare, yet still fret more about what we're having for lunch tomorrow than about saving people from horrific eternal fates. After all, how much time and effort do we devote to worrying about trivial problems like morning rush hour, compared to serious ones like the millions of people suffering from starvation and disease? It's the same basic principle, minus the eschatology.

This may be the most important set of insights that leaving Christianity has taught me—is still teaching me.

Humans are irrational. We make bad, short-sighted decisions. And if we want to bring about as much good as we can, it's imperative that we improve our decision-making, both for our own sake and for others.

So I'm glad that I can live a life in the open, where I'm free to believe what I like without looking over my shoulder. But the next step is much more difficult. Can I live a life where I'm open with myself? Where I constantly challenge the mental weaknesses that keep me from achieving what really matters?

Can you?

San Diego New Atheists & Agnostics Meetups

Over the past few weeks I've been to a couple of events hosted by the Meetup.com group San Diego New Atheists and Agnostics. One was earlier this evening: an informal five-on-five soccer match for which I was tragically unprepared. My lack of endurance running ability aside, though, I had a great time.

Nonbelievers of all stripes showed up, but what struck me about the meetup was how little about nonbelief it was. We had a short chat, warmed up a bit, and got right down to playing. In other contexts it might have been nice to talk at length about our common views on religion and theism. But in a way it was refreshing to see us come together, get some exercise and have some fun without having to frame it in terms of belief or lack thereof.

You can read a summary of the other event, a presentation by Secular Coalition for America's executive director Edwina Rogers, in my guest post over at The Lucky Atheist. I've written a bit about this blog before, but to summarize, Mike Caton runs the only other active San Diego-based atheist/skeptic blog that I'm aware of, and he puts out good stuff. Hopefully we'll see a guest post from Mike over here at some point in the near future.

While We're Young

I was going through all the ancient stuff I had buried at the bottom of my desk drawers and came across this:

It's a letter from my former church congratulating me on becoming a Christian, from way back in July of '96. I was seven at the time.

Seems so innocuous, doesn't it? They were so glad to welcome me into the fold. They assured me I had made the right choice, a vital choice, renewing the sense of relief I had from avoiding damnation. They invited me to the Clubhouse—the name has that enticing air of exclusiveness about it. Actually, they didn't invite me: the subtle use of "when" made it a foregone conclusion that I would attend. Tell your parents what time you want to come, they suggested. Have fun, watch puppet shows, sing songs. And oh, by the way, bring your friends!

It really was fun. They put on an engaging production in the church auditorium, surprisingly polished for a kid's program. There were engrossing quiz games, props and puppets flying everywhere, funny voiceovers over the loudspeaker—more like watching an interactive play than attending a sermon. The stuff for older kids was considerably more dry and dull, but they really knew how to reel in the six-to-ten crowd. They understood the importance of grabbing our attention from a young age.

I'm probably making all this sound too sinister. I can only assume that these were genuinely nice people with pure intentions. The goal was not to snare hapless children in some nefarious trap. But when good people are misguided, when they're incredibly motivated, when they have years and decades and centuries to hone their sales pitch, when their target audience still believes in the tooth fairy... well, it's not exactly a fair fight.

The Dullness

I'm a quiet and introspective person by nature. I'd rather read a book, for instance, than go to a party. But even then, I'm so dominated by my own thoughts that I find it hard to read books, because I'm stopping every few sentences to think about the implications of some character's actions, or how I would behave in that situation. I'm not saying that my thoughts are especially brilliant or revolutionary, but given how much I think, I find it surprising that it took me so long to really begin questioning religion.

As I was growing up, my religion was the one dull spot in my otherwise vivid internal life. It's strange looking back now, because I can recall my interest in topics like math and philosophy, in fantasy and science fiction, and the weird little doodles and notes I made as a result. Yet when I think of my religious schooling, there's a deep emptiness where the rich world of thoughts should be. I did my daily devotions and attended school chapel sessions just as I performed the various academic tasks of the day. I had no trouble doing "OIA"s in Bible class: observing the basic characteristics of a biblical passage, interpreting its deeper meaning and applying it to my life. But I approached it the same way I might approach an essay in my English class.

That's not to say I didn't care about my faith. I remember attending church each Sunday and chapel each Monday with a genuine desire that this would be the week when the sermon really spoke to me, inspired me to enrich my spiritual life. But it never did. In fact, I found it almost comical how virtually every message was related back to the gospel story of Christ's sacrifice. How many tiny variations, I wondered, could they possibly present on the same theme? Would I spend the rest of my life—the rest of eternity—forcing myself to feel awed by and indebted to this single act of Jesus, feigning interest in the same story told a thousand ways?

Most of the other students in my high school were no more enthusiastic than I was. We were all believers, but only a handful were what you might call "on fire for Jesus." Some of it was probably just the insouciance common in many teenagers, but the shallowness of the material was undoubtedly a factor. It was actually a running joke in my Bible classes that if you were asked a question but hadn't been paying attention, you could answer "Jesus" and have a fair chance of getting it right. There was rote memorization galore: learning the 66 books of the Bible in order, weekly memory verses, and so on. Intellectually stimulating topics were few and far between. Even my apologetics class had no discussion of some of fundamentalist Christianity's most difficult problems: the atrocities, contradictions and forgeries in the Bible, the inefficacy and illogic of intercessory prayer, the Euthyphro dilemma, et cetera.

Yet despite my discontent, it never even occurred to me for many years to question the most basic tenets of my religion. The reality of the spiritual realm was so drilled into me that it took its place among the basic, routine facts of life: the sky is blue, the grass is green, and God sits on his heavenly throne. I think it was largely this total immersion, combined with the eternal rewards and punishments that were ever fixed in the back of my mind, that held me back for so long.

Eventually, though, my natural curiosity overtook this area of my life as well. In some ways my current deep interest in religious topics is a reaction to this dullness, this dearth of serious thought about religion that dominated my first twenty years. It doesn't stop at spiritual matters, though: I've gained a new appreciation for biology and cosmology now that they're no longer shrouded in a fog of the divine. I resent the way in which fundamentalism discourages critical thought, and I hate the fact that other young minds are subjected to the same stifling influences that I was. That's one reason I look forward to the day when faith falls by the wayside: I want the seeds of curiosity to be planted in fertile soil.

A Success Story Already?!

I've only had my 30 Questions Project website up since Monday, but just three days later I got an email from the site's contact form. I was half-expecting someone to have written in berating me for criticizing their religion. Here's what I got instead, from a woman I'll call K.W.:

Hello Tim,

While I don't know if you'll even read this, I feel the need to tell you that your 30 questions really helped me. I was raised in a fundamentalist Christian home and though I've been questioning religion since I was 10, I never had the courage to really call myself an atheist. After reading your list of questions, I can't justify trying to cling to the remnants of the faith I was indoctrinated to have since childhood.

I just wanted to say thank you.

Here's my response back to her:

K.W.,

I'm so glad I could help! I've only had the site up for a few days now, and I wasn't expecting to get such positive feedback so quickly. It's really gratifying to know that this project has made a real difference to at least one person.

By the way, if you want to find people to talk with about this, chances are there's an atheist/skeptic organization in your area (Meetup is a good place to look). Either way, thanks so much for taking the time to write.

—Tim

And her response:

Thank you so much for that. You have no idea how much I appreciate it.

My intention with this project wasn't necessarily for it to have an effect on people right on the spot. Often times the tough questions will percolate in believers' minds for quite a while before they're willing to deal with them. To have gotten someone to question their faith, and made such an impact that they felt the need to tell me about it—all within just a few days of the project's launch—is more than I ever could have hoped for. Even if I don't help a single other person from here on out, I feel my efforts have been worth it just for this.

Church Happenings

One of the perks of being out as an atheist is that I no longer have to attend church every Sunday. Although I didn't usually mention it here—that's what my Twitter account is for—there were always several moments where I couldn't help but cringe. I thought I'd mention a few such moments from weeks past.

Recently one pastor, Phillip, had taken to sharing stories about his atheist neighbors. (When he mentioned that they were atheists, a lady next to me went, "Whoa!"—as if he were describing his close encounter with a great white shark.) He portrayed them as deeply angry people who become enraged at any mention of Christianity. He joked that his neighbor's wizard Halloween costume looked a lot like Moses, and the neighbor was deeply offended. The congregation cheered in delight, as though celebrating some small victory over "the enemy." Even if Phillip's depiction was completely accurate, presenting it on its own was irresponsible: since most of these people know little about atheism, many will undoubtedly use these stories to make judgements about atheists as a whole. Thanks to situations like these, it's no wonder that we rank among the most disliked and distrusted minority groups in America.

Phillip also made references to aerial photos of Noah's Ark on Mt. Ararat and gilded chariot wheels found in the Red Sea from the Egyptians drowning during the Exodus. The former is a confirmed hoax, and the latter is highly suspect to say the least. The wheel claims originate from amateur archaeologist Ron Wyatt, who also claims to have found the Ark of the Covenant, the tablets of the Ten Commandments, and the original sites of Sodom, Gomorrah and the tower of Babel. Even the cripplingly biased creationist organization Answers in Genesis has called Wyatt's claims "fraudulent." Curiously, no evidence has been presented for the existence of the chariot wheel beyond a few blurry photos.

The pictured object looks suspiciously modern, and despite supposedly being made of gold, it doesn't seem to have been buried at all over what would amount to roughly 3,500 years. Meanwhile, the Egyptians themselves, who are known to archaeologists as meticulous record-keepers, made reference neither to owning 2 million Hebrew slaves nor to letting them escape, which would surely have been one of the most significant events in their multi-thousand-year history.

Pastor Mike is an even worse offender. A few months ago he demonstrated his deep understanding of evolution by calling it a "primordial jelly oozing monkey business theory." Another time, while reading Mark 16, he repeatedly went out of his way to emphasize how incredibly reliable the Bible is. Yet he didn't even mention what must undoubtedly have been the reason for this tangent: since Mark 16 is absent from the earliest manuscripts and fits poorly with the preceding text, it's widely regarded as a forgery. It's as though he wanted to reassure his congregants, but thought their faith was so fragile that he didn't dare even tell them that this opposing viewpoint exists at all.

Mike also mentioned that the Jewish historian Flavius Josephus wrote about Jesus. I wasn't particularly shocked when he didn't mention that scholars consider much or all of the Testimonium Flavianum to have been inserted later by Christians—that's to be expected from a fundamentalist preacher. My jaw only dropped when he said that Josephus became a Christian based on the evidence of Jesus, which to my knowledge not even conservative scholars believe. I don't think he was being intentionally deceptive, but it boggles my mind that a pastor can stand in front of a thousand people and demonstrate such ignorance of something so basic to early Christianity.

So it shouldn't be too surprising that I'm glad to be largely finished with church attendance. But then again, I won't mind coming back every now and then, if only to get a reminder of what I no longer have to endure.

The Debate Begins

At the moment I work thirty hours a week in my dad's office, and as such I go to lunch with him quite often. This has now become the setting for what may turn out to be a long series of informal debates on God and Christianity. The first one was today, and although my dad was quite determined—he actually took a note card with him—the tone was friendly enough. We went through a whole flurry of topics ranging from prophecy to cosmology, so I have a feeling we'll be retreading the same ground in more detail later on.

The first thing we did was go back over the definitions of atheism and agnosticism. It's admittedly a somewhat difficult concept to grasp at first, as is the difference between "I believe there is no God" and "I lack belief in God." The distinction ultimately lies in the idea of burden of proof: it's the theist who's making a claim that something exists, and the atheist who's holding out for sufficient evidence of that claim. Eventually I explained it using a very simple analogy: Imagine a thermometer with a notch two-thirds of the way up labeled "God exists." For the atheist, the fluid in the thermometer (the evidence for the claim) has not reached that notch (the threshold for rational belief). That seemed to work well, so I'll probably be using that comparison in the future.

We also talked at length about miracles. He described an event a few decades ago in which, when driving at night, he changed lanes on a whim—just in time to avoid a parked car that he hadn't seen. He suggested (while not putting too much stock in it himself) that this could have been divine intervention. I pointed out that we tend to disproportionately remember extraordinary events, and introduced him to Littlewood's law—the idea that given the sheer number of small events that take place in our lives, we should expect "miracles" at a rate of roughly once a month. I didn't go into the general unreliability of memory; I'll save that for another time.

He also asked about spontaneous remission of cancer following prayer, to which I pointed out that such remission occasionally takes place whether or not people are praying. He'd heard about some crying Catholic statues as well. In response I brought up the Hindu milk miracle: In 1995, hundreds of believers in India and abroad witnessed statues of Ganesha "drink" milk that was fed to them with a spoon. Neither of us believe in a miracle that took place in modern times, with countless verifiable eyewitnesses and even video evidence, so it's only natural not to believe in lesser miracles either.

Another back-and-forth:

You may not be able to prove God, but you can't prove love exists, either, even if you can measure the chemicals.

—Love is by definition a feeling, so the very experience of love shows that it exists.

But couldn't the same be said of God?

—No, because God is supposed to be an autonomous agent who acts independently of our subjective experience.

There were a grab bag of other subjects. He asked about Old Testament prophecies predicting details of Jesus' life. I responded that some details were probably invented by the gospel writers after the fact, and some of the "prophecies" weren't even meant to be prophecies in the first place. He was under the impression that the eye couldn't have evolved, when in fact we have a detailed understanding of how it could have come about. He also found it absurd that matter could have created itself. I haven't studied the details, I said, but we don't really know what happened before the big bang. It may be that matter has always existed, or that it's not even useful to talk about a "before" in the traditional sense (like asking what's north of the North Pole).

The whole discussion was quite genial, and although I don't know that my dad got any nearer to my position, I think it was a success. He even said that in a strange way, these discussions brought us closer together, and that's more than I ever could have hoped for.

Breaking the News

Man, life can get complicated, can't it? Here's the short version of what happened in the past 24 hours: I almost threw up, Neil finally let up on the ultimatum, and I still went ahead and came out to my parents as an atheist.

Like I said, life can get complicated.

Before I continue, I should say a few things about Neil. I think what he planned to do was very wrong. I think much of what he said to me was also very wrong. But from my continued messages with him, I can tell that he really was acting out of concern for my parents, however misguided the response may have been. He apologized for what he said to me, and he didn't force me to go through with telling my parents. Again, to be clear: My decision to tell my parents was mine alone. You can blame him for other things, but not for that.

Now then, on to what happened.

Yesterday, before Neil relented, I called my sister and asked her to come home from college (just a 10-minute drive) to be there for me when I told my parents. She readily agreed. I came home from work, went to tennis practice, watched Super 8 with my parents. I was crying a little, but I didn't let them see it. Twice that evening I nearly threw up from the stress. I stood retching over the toilet bowl but managed to restrain myself. My mom came in once and asked what was wrong.

I told her it was a long story.

This morning, about eight hours away from when I had planned to tell them, I got the message from Neil: I was safe. My emotions were shot. I was happy, shocked, relieved.

But there was another feeling mixed in there as well: something like dread. I realized that if I just let it go, I would have to experience all of this twice. I planned on breaking the news at some point no matter what, so if I continued to keep this a secret, I would have to go through these sickening pangs of anxiety all over again. And despite the potential consequences, I really, genuinely didn't like keeping this from them. I decided, what the hell, I've come this far. So I battled nerves and nausea for a few more hours, waiting for the right moment, and finally forced myself to through with it.

And...
It went really well. Certainly better than I expected. We keep models of the people close to us in our heads, and this past year I must have mentally simulated a hundred "coming out atheist" conversations with my parents, with results ranging from blissful acceptance to angry shouting matches. But since I've never been in any serious trouble with them or confessed any big, damaging secrets, I didn't really have a baseline that I could use to gauge how they would truly react. I hoped for the best but feared the worst—which, since I'm not financially independent, could have been pretty bad. Over the years I had heard my dad react to atheism with hostility and contempt, so what if he took the same approach towards me and my own conclusions? And my mom can be emotionally fragile even in relatively ordinary situations, so for all I knew she could have been mourning for days on end. But people are hard to predict, and I've never been happier in my life to have predicted wrong.

I sat them down at the kitchen table, and after several stops and starts, I told them that last year I had started questioning Christianity, that I had spent a long time reading and thinking carefully about my beliefs. Finally I told them outright that I didn't believe in God. There was no mention of Neil or anything besides my unbelief and how I came to it—I wanted the focus to be on my personal journey of faith and doubt, and I just didn't feel like overcomplicating things.

I could see tears well up in my mom's eyes, although my dad remained stoically calm. Since I hadn't mentioned the "A" word yet, that was naturally the first thing that came up. I transitioned, a bit awkwardly, into explaining the technical definitions of atheism (lack of belief in gods) and agnosticism (lack of knowledge about the existence of gods), and that I classify myself as an agnostic atheist. I don't know if it really sank in, but no conflict came of it, and that's good enough for me.

It was remarkable to see the dichotomy in their responses, their ways of lightly questioning my decision. My mom's emphasis was squarely on faith. She asked me if I had prayed about my loss of faith (I did, in the beginning). She told me that we shouldn't be proving or disproving God, but rather listening as he speaks to our hearts. My dad's approach was focused totally on logical argument. He actually produced rudimentary versions of both the cosmological argument and Pascal's wager, though he wasn't familiar with them in a formal, rigorous sense. There was a little back-and-forth on those subjects, but before things got too far I told him we should save it for another time.

They told me they would pray for me, which I said I appreciated—even though I don't think it'll accomplish anything, it's still a sign of affection. They recommended Lee Strobel's books, to which I said I'd already read one and part of another. They asked me to still come to church now and then, which I agreed to, though I told them it wasn't likely to change my mind. And that was that.

Of course, there's still a long road ahead. There will be some tense moments, some heated discussions, and quite possibly even some arguments, but I'll do my best not to let those turn into rifts that drive us apart. I'm truly glad not just that I managed to tell them, but that I was able to do it on my own terms.

The Ultimatum

Note: This post has gotten really popular since someone posted it to Reddit and it hit the front page of r/atheism. I wasn't expecting such a massive response, but I really appreciate all the support. I should note up front that Neil has since apologized for the combative tone he took in this exchange, although he's still set on making me go through with this. Also, this should go without saying, but please don't post threats or anything that vein; that's not helpful. Thanks so much. (Edit: Follow-up post here.)

Warning: drama ahead.

Neil is a Christian who preaches at university campuses, including UCSD. By sheer coincidence, he's also an old friend of my parents—not a particularly close one, but he posts on my mom's Facebook wall now and then. Several months ago, while I was still in college, he happened to find out that I was an atheist. I asked him not to tell my parents—this is a very personal decision that is mine alone to make—and he agreed. He then began asking at regular intervals whether I had told my parents yet, and finally a couple of days ago he decided to take matters into his own hands. He told me that if I didn't tell my parents within the next week, he would call and tell them himself.

Now, let me first say that I take no pleasure in keeping my unbelief a secret from my parents. I do so only because although I have a wonderful relationship with them, I have no idea how they will react, and given that I live under the same roof with them, things could get hostile if those reactions are especially bad. I think Neil's concern is sincere, but heavily misguided. He apparently believes he is entitled to destroy my freedom to reveal my unbelief on my own terms—essentially, to force me into coming out as an atheist.

Here is the conversation I've been having with him over the past day or so, starting with his initial notice:

Tim,

I have been bothered in my concious about not speaking to your mom and dad about your situation. I think you are really doing them a disservice. I am sure your parents love you and will listen to you with an open mind. To continue to live a lie is not a good thing for any of you.

I feel I must speak to them so I am giving you advanced notice of this. In about a week I will call them to discuss this situation with them because I care about them as my friends. We used to be close when I was in the R.E. business and I am very fond of both of them.

Please speak to them openly or I will have to. I hope you understand.

Is this you blog by the way? http://othersidereflections.blogspot.com/

Thanks, Neil

It was difficult to react calmly and politely in light of the friendly warning that he's about to potentially rip my life apart. Nonetheless, I think I managed it in my response:

Neil,

I'm sympathetic to your situation. I get that you don't like having to keep a secret.

But I feel you need to fully understand my situation as well. I have a great relationship with my parents, unstrained by any sort of ill feelings, and even in the best-case scenario things would get very awkward between us.

It's not like I enjoy keeping this a secret. I think all the time about how I'm going to tell them. I've even made tentative plans a couple of times, which I've later backed out of, but I was still fully expecting to tell them in the not-too-distant future.

This is a deeply personal matter, and when and how I tell them should be my choice to make. I would ask that you stay out of it. If you can't bring yourself to do so, then I guess I don't have any choice but to tell them before you call. If that's really what you're going to force me to do, I understand that you'd be acting out of concern, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't resent you for it.

And yes, that is my blog.

—Tim

Here's Neil's rather lengthy (and preachy) second message:

Tim,

Your response convinces me that this is the right thing for me to do. Of course you won't agree with that, but I must do what I think is best for you and your parents.

It is one thing for a young person to go to "Christian" school and see no real Christianity among the students and then to start to doubt their faith. That is a normal outcome and is understandable considering their is very little real faith exhibited in these so-called "Christian" schools. Many kids, tolerate it for awhile, and will pretend they still believe in Christ so they can keep the peace at home and still enjoy the blessings of family fellowship and the monetary blessings that go along with it. For a person to ask questions, and to really struggle with their faith under these circumstances is quite normal.

However, you have crossed over and now have become an evangelist for the other side. Sad to say, but that is reality and I don't apologize for my bluntness. You see, now you are no longer questioning your faith but now you are being used to destroy other's faith in Christ or at least to plant seeds of doubt in their hearts. This is not harmless skepticism but outright declared war against God and His people.

You have obviously made your choice about your faith but you still want to maintain your shroud of secrecy and enjoy the benefits of a good relationship with your parents and not reap any of the consequences of becoming an atheist. This is very selfish Tim. You may think you are sparing your parents from being upset by not being truthful with them but is this how your dad and mom raised you? Gary was always honest in his real estate dealings as I remember and I know he would not want his only son to be living a lie and not being truthful with him and your mom.

I know you do not fully understand the consequences of making such a decision to become a mocker of God and of His followers, but the consequences are severe indeed. It is one thing to question and eventually abandon one's faith. But you have gone way past that now and are bent on hurting others with your writings. This is not only wrong, but evil. You think you will find relief from your inner guilt by bashing Christianity and God but you won't find lasting peace in this. The Bible is very clear about this:

Galations 6:7 Do not be deceived, God is not mocked; for whatever a man sows, that he will also reap. 8 For he who sows to his flesh will of the flesh reap corruption, but he who sows to the Spirit will of the Spirit reap everlasting life.

I don't blame you at all for having doubts about Christianity. As I said to you previously, you were never born again, or born from above if that is the term you prefer, so it is impossible for you to really know God personally. Because you do not know God personally, you went searching, but you end up reading all this atheist garbage and your think it stimulates you and makes you believe these people are "intelligent" and "free thinkers". God calls them fools.

Why so? Because in their heart they know God is real but they bypass their heart and rely on logic. Logic that is not based upon real truth but upon man's truth and therefore you become deceived into thinking they are correct with their assumptions and accusations.

So you may find some relief from your inner turmoil for a time by throwing God and His Word under the bus. You obviously spend a whole lot of time reading what these fools think is real knowledge and now you have joined their ranks and are helping to hurt others who may be struggling with their faith.

From your blog:"Relax. Let it go. Realize that your mental acrobatics are futile, and accept that the Bible is not a reliable record of Jesus' life—or of most other things, for that matter. It may be upsetting at first, but once you've unchained yourself from this ancient book for a while, you'll probably feel a lot better. At least, I do."

Tim, you couldn't be more wrong. Billions of people over thousands of years have trusted the Holy Scriptures and found true faith in Christ and have experienced the life changing power of the gospel. I was a lost atheist/agnostic who was only living for money and the things of this world and in a moment, I was changed forever by the power of God's Spirit. Ask your dad and mom and they will tell you how my life changed dramatically.

The sad fact is you have already made your choice to mock God, His Word and His followers. You are on a slippery slope that will lead you to hell and for this reason alone it is necessary that I share this with your parents. Resent me if you like, but I must do what I think is best for all of you. I have nothing to gain by doing this but I feel obligated because of my respect for your dad and mom.

Sincerely, Neil

Since I realized I probably wouldn't get him to change his mind, my second response was short:

That was quite a change in tone, Neil. In a blink of an eye, you went from polite and concerned to essentially calling me a selfish fool and my actions evil. I would have liked to be friends with you, but that will be extremely difficult now that you've berated my unbelief and forced yourself into a very personal family matter.

You said you would give me a week. That's fine. I'll break the news before then.
—Tim

Here's his third message. Because I responded to some of his points individually, my response will be interlaced with his, in green.

Tim,

Yes the change in tone is because after reading your secret blog, I can see that you are in no way questioning your faith, as you led me to believe, but are instead dead set against God and now delight in mocking Him and His people.

What do you mean by this? I never said I was "questioning my faith." I told you outright that I was an atheist; how can I be "questioning my faith" if I have no faith? If by this you mean that I'm not willing to consider believing given the evidence, you're mistaken. I may use a bit of levity on my blog now and then, but that doesn't preclude being willing to entertain opposing viewpoints.

You say " I wanted to be your friend" but since I have met you, you have never asked me a single question at all but instead you were only concerned in me keeping your secret.

I'm a shy person by nature, Neil. Combine that with the fact that you've done virtually nothing but tell me I'm lost and confused and a sinner and asking me when I'm going to talk to my parents, and I don't think it's too surprising that I didn't go out of my way to chat about the weather with you. I would have liked to be friends with you at some point, but that point would have been well after those comments had ceased.

Time to come out of the closet and face the music Tim. You want to mock Christians and yet allow your parents to believe all is well?

The truth is Tim your spiritual understanding is very immature and your writings reflect that.

Exodus 21:20-21, Neil. By all means, tell me all about how my spiritual understanding isn't "mature" enough to grasp God's wisdom in allowing the Israelites to beat their slaves to the point of death.

For example, you talk about a study where prayer is tested to see if it helps people who are sick. They come to the conclusion it doesn't help at all and instead of questioning the results you accept and promote it as truth.

You totally discount the fact that people pray to their own "god" in many different ways. That some may be true believers while others are merely religious people who do not know the One, True God at all. You think God is going to allow Himself to be put in a test tube for their study? Please, think a little Tim.

Do you really think I haven't considered this argument? It's an unparsimonious, unfalsifiable cop-out. You could pray to an inanimate object and get identical results. In fact, you could claim that God was the very embodiment of evil and still justify those results by saying that the evil god is simply laughing at the frustrations of theists trying to prove he exists. You can make your deity consistent with any state of affairs, but that doesn't make your explanations even remotely probable.

God is an awesome mighty God and He will not bow to man in any way. I am saddened that you so easily have been deceived and that you have last what faith you had.

I still think your intentions are good, Neil, but as they say, the road to hell was paved with those. I'd like to maintain a civil level of discourse, but your insulting and condescending attitude is making that increasingly difficult.

By the way, I just talked to my sister about this, and she's agreed to be there for me when I tell them if I want her to. Here are her exact words when I told her what you had chosen to do: 

"Isn't that blackmail or something?" 

I hope that gives you something to think about. 

His fourth message, in which he ignores all but a few words of my response:

Tim,

Blackmail? Just what am I gaining in return? I have nothing to gain but to know that I am doing my best to help you and your family.

I know you don't see it this way but that is the truth.

Arrogant? Condescending? Isn't it rather your atheistic beliefs that are supremely arrogant?

You belittle people who have faith in Christ yet you can't even explain away the very first verse in the Bible?

Where did all the matter originate from Tim? What rational reason can you give for the existence of the universe ?

And my final response:

Neil, blackmail is defined as "the use of threats or the manipulation of someone's feelings to force them to do something"—no personal gain required.

Other than that, I'm not getting into this, tempting though it is. Your questions have been answered by various atheists a hundred times over—whether those answers are to your satisfaction is not my concern. Apparently nothing I say will change your opinion on anything we've discussed, so I see no reason to continue.

I'll let you know when I've told my parents. It will be within the next 7 days.

I'm still not sure how I'm going to tell them. There's a perfectly fair chance that not too much will come of it other than some initial distress and later awkwardness, but those more serious potential consequences are looming in the back of my mind. I called my sister last night, and she's agreed to be there to support me if I want her to. And yes, she really did call this blackmail right out of the gate. I always knew she was a smart one.

Edit: I'm hoping to sit them down and talk with them tomorrow afternoon. My sister will be there if I need her.

Edit 2: This morning Neil told me (in the comments below) that he wouldn't force me to go through with telling my parents. I haven't decided for sure, but I'm thinking about doing it anyway. I've come this far, and I don't feel like going through all this emotional turmoil again.

Edit 3: The follow-up to this post is here.

The Holy Sacrament... of Doom

Communion is the Christian practice of eating a small wafer and a sip of wine or grape juice, which represent the body and blood of Jesus—or which literally are his body and blood, according to Catholic and Orthodox traditions. The ritual is meant as a way of remembering Jesus' sacrifice, although unbelievers often view the idea of eating flesh and drinking blood as bizarre and morbid, metaphorical or not. The church I go to with my parents (since I'm not out as an atheist) holds communion on the first Sunday of each month.

It's scarier than it looks. You'll see.

The pastor at this church takes a particular interest in a certain biblical passage addressing communion:

"Therefore whoever eats this bread or drinks this cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner will be guilty of the body and blood of the Lord. But let a man examine himself, and so let him eat of the bread and drink of the cup. For he who eats and drinks in an unworthy manner eats and drinks judgment to himself, not discerning the Lord’s body. For this reason many are weak and sick among you, and many sleep." (1 Corinthians 11:27-30)

He emphasized the bolded part above, proclaiming that those who take communion insincerely "eat and drink damnation unto their own soul." As I began to doubt Christianity but continued to take communion, this terrified me. Judgment? Damnation? Did that mean that if I was wrong and Christianity was true, I would go to hell automatically for taking communion while not believing?

On the first Sunday of each month, a private drama played out in one second-row seat of that church. I couldn't just decline the ritual; that would probably be taken by my parents as a sign of doubt. But I also couldn't brush off communion as meaningless, since I still retained that overwhelming fear of eternal torment. So instead I tried to temporarily psych myself into a state of belief for long enough to scarf down the cracker and grape juice. After a while I realized that wasn't going to work, so at one point—I'm not making this up—I surreptitiously pocketed the cracker and poured the sip of grape juice on my hands during the preceding prayer, then pretended to eat and drink. Luckily no one noticed that I smelled like grapes for the remainder of the sermon.

These are the sorts of crazy things that a real fear of hell can make someone do. I still take communion, but it doesn't hold any meaning for me (although last time I was grateful for the grape juice since my throat was a little parched). If this passage means what the pastor implied it does, that only highlights the unbelievable pettiness of a being who would send someone into endless suffering for drinking some juice out of a plastic cup.

By the way, for some reason my pastor never mentioned the final sentence quoted above: "For this reason many are weak and sick among you, and many sleep [i.e. die]." Hmm, so taking communion unworthily causes illness and death? That's a very testable claim. Maybe we should try it out. I would bravely put life and limb on the line to volunteer for the unbelieving experimental group. Seriously, though, this idea is as silly and demonstrably false as the Scientologist belief that learning about OT III (the Xenu story) before one is ready could cause pneumonia. Cases like this make me reluctant to treat Christianity as though it's worthy of serious discussion.

Talking It Out

Two weeks ago my sister found out that I was an atheist. Things went better than expected, but I didn't talk to her face to face about it until yesterday. I walked to the UCSD campus, and we had an awkward but perfectly amicable discussion about my situation over lunch.

We didn't talk at all about my actual reasons for rejecting Christianity and becoming an atheist, because I didn't want things to get too heated. She did say she was surprised that I hadn't simply declared myself agnostic, which I cleared up pretty easily by explaining the technical definitions of atheism and agnosticism. Atheism relates to belief, while agnosticism relates to knowledge. Most atheists (myself included) don't claim to know that no gods exist, and thus would be classified as agnostic atheists.

My sister said that while she was sad that I had left the faith, she wasn't going to condemn me for it. She respects the atheist position, and acknowledged that there are a lot of dumb Christians out there, but said she didn't like people that call Christians in general stupid. I told her I agree: intelligence isn't really something that factors into religious belief one way or another, because people tend to keep their intellectual pursuits separate from their religion. She was also surprised and dismayed to learn that a couple of people have already tried to tell me I was never really a Christian—as if they could know better than I do what goes on in my own head.

Mostly, though, we talked about how I plan to tell my parents that I've stopped believing. Both of them would certainly be very upset. My mom would probably get pretty emotional, while my dad could get angry and defensive if we started getting into specifics. We discussed several potential options: a slow phase-out starting with a decision to stop attending church, an indirect solution like a bedside letter, or a more forthright across-the-table talk. In any case, she agreed to be there for the big reveal if need be.

Overall I think it went very well. My sister was very kind and understanding, although I'm a bit concerned that she might be less supportive if she knew that my attitude toward Christianity was one of strong distaste rather than mere disbelief. For now, the important thing is that our relationship isn't at all strained or defined by our beliefs or lack thereof. We can still talk and laugh about that annoying professor or the latest episode of that hilarious TV show without our differences getting in the way.

The Secret's Out

I've been an atheist officially for a few months now, but I've been keeping the fact that I'm no longer a Christian from my parents and sister for well over a year. Only a small group of people are aware of my unbelief. So imagine my surprise when I got this message from my sister on Facebook:

Yo. Brother. Why'd you join the rational thought @ ucsd club..? O.o It's pretty much an atheist club...

Someone added me to the Rational Thought @ UCSD group on Facebook a few days ago. I couldn't find any references to it on my personal page, so I assumed that no harm would be done. I don't know what the tip-off was exactly, but apparently I was wrong. After I read her message, I decided I had no choice but to tell her the truth.

[Sister's name],

I'm sorry. I've been wanting to tell you, mom and dad for a while, but I haven't been able to work up the courage to do it. I've been studying Christianity for a long time now, and after a while I just wasn't able to believe anymore. Given everything I know right now, atheism is the best stance for me to take. I'd like to ask that you not tell anyone for the time being, mom and dad included. It's important to me that I'm the one to tell them.

I want you to know that I love you, and that I'm still the same person you know and love, regardless of what I believe or don't believe.

If you'd like to talk more about this, I would be glad to set up a time and place to meet.

Love,

Tim

I don't know that I've ever been more anxious about anything in my life, but maybe I should consider this a blessing in disguise. Had she not found out, who knows how long I would have had to live while keeping this secret hidden. I guess I'll just have to see how things go. I'll update this post later once she responds.

Update: Here's her response:

Okay... I wont tell them. I love you too, and not any less, of course. ♥
im willing to talk if you want, but im fine with whatever you want/feel comfortable with.

Clearly I have the best sister ever.