The Atheist’s Moral Code

As an atheist — really, just as a person — I believe that murder, rape or any harm to another person is wrong. I believe that all people should act with integrity, and that means not lying, cheating or stealing. I believe we should work together for a better world, and that we are all equal and deserving of basic human rights and the necessities of food, water, shelter, security and peace.

My morality is pretty similar to a believer’s morality, without the need to throw in the wrath of a higher power as the reason for behaving properly. That’s not because I’m borrowing some morality from religion, but because morality is part of the human condition. We’ve evolved a moral code that ensures our cooperation and cohesion. Living well together — in tribes, groups, cities, what-have-you — improves our odds of survival. And if we survive, we are more likely to procreate. And if we aren’t running around killing one another’s babies, stealing each other’s food, or otherwise harming one another, our offspring are more likely to survive until the age of reproductive maturity. We just want to pass along our genetic code, and teamwork is one way to make that more likely. Morality makes the team work better together.

Many believers have asked me how I can live my life with morality if I don’t believe in god. Every uncloseted atheist has heard this question and I doubt I’m alone in my exasperation of the small mindedness of it. The Bible is loaded with storie of god sanctioning rape, murder (including infanticide), and slavery, among other atrocities. Many Christians will claim that the Bible was written in a different time, so it must be regarded in that light. If we are to believe Christians’ supposition that the Bible is the source for all morality, this makes no sense. First, this claim illustrates that morality is an ever evolving code. And second, if we are now picking and choosing which parts of the Bible apply to us now, that calls into question the entire text.

I smile to myself when people ask me, “How will you teach your son morals without god?” I think they imagine us burning cats at the stake, having nightly orgies, and going out for rape and pillage jaunts. Folks, I assure you, we’re just as boringly moralistic as most people. 

Everlasting Why

My son is now 2 and a half, and talking in a nearly continuous stream.
It’s amazing to hear him putting concepts together on his own. This
past weekend, he starting asking “why” to nearly everything his dad
and I said and did. “Why do I have to wear clothes? Why is the thunder
loud? Why is the troll (in ‘Billy Goats Gruff’) mean?”

Soren’s Why Mania reminded me of our propensity to wonder and try to
find reasons for everything. Human nature compels us to seek more
knowledge, like an itch compels us to scratch. When I learn something
particularly fascinating, the aha moment is exhilarating and
inspiring, but also comforting. The world makes a little more sense at
that moment.

So I understand people’s need for answers to the unknowable, and why
they turn to religion for the biggest answers of all. But as Soren’s
curiousity lights up and reveals a world of possibility to him, I can
only regard religion as darkness. Religious stories cloaked as truth
only serve to stop our curious questioning. When one day, Soren asks
me why the sky is blue, or why the earth revolves around the sun, or
why people and animals die, I won’t tell him that god made it that
way. I’ll tell him to think about it all, to explore and keep
questioning, to research and investigate, and eventually, to put all
of his knowledge to use making our world into a much better place. Let
curiosity and discovery — not Bible stories — be his comfort when
the answers are hard to find.

The Mystery of the “Daily Bread”

When I arrived home and unpacked from a Memorial Day weekend visit with my parents, I found a “Daily Bread” tucked into a recipe book my mom had given me. Obviously, I’m not one to carry around Christian prayer books, so this was a foreign object in my luggage. I’ve been thinking about this for the last two days, trying to figure out if it ended up there accidentally or if it was planted there by one of my parents (probably my mom)? I find it unlikely that this little booklet accidentally made its way into a recipe book I thoroughly thumbed through before tucking into my suitcase. Though I generally tend to shy away from conspiracy theories, I think the booklet was planted.

My husband asked if it really matters. I’ve been thinking about that for the last few days and my feeling is that it does. It matters to me that one of my parents still does not accept my atheism despite so many half-hearted nods to the contrary. It matters that one or both of my parents think that my lack of belief in god is an issue of lack of education or information and that I’ve arrived here through ignorance rather than careful investigation. It matters that someone in my family wants to change my mind about god, even though I have never tried to change theirs. And it matters to me that they know me so little that they think a piece of religious propoganda will send me running back to Jesus.

Perhaps I’m not being fair. Christianity is a skillfully-designed faith that implores its followers to convert their loved ones so they may be saved and live eternally. My parents want only the best for me and my family, and I can imagine that the idea that I will be damned to hell for eternity is terrifying and heartbreaking for them. My mother has told me that she views the most important role in parenting to be religious guidance (in Christianity, of course).

I don’t know how to make my atheism an easier pill for them to swallow. I thought we had been making some progress, particularly given the conversation with my mother that I recapped in a recent post. Maybe it’s two steps forward, one step back. Or perhaps I am unreasonable to expect that my parents would accept this as who I am.

Soren might grow up to be a preist or a monk or something else that is completely contrary to his parents’ philosophical position. I hope I’ll be able to accept him for who he is, even if I don’t completely agree with him. I can’t say that I would be happy if he came home to tell his father and me that he’s converting to a religion. But I want to believe that I wouldn’t sneak atheist literature into his suitcase, thinking he’d simply lost his way and that a little light reading would set him straight.

Pondering Death as an Atheist

This semester, I’m taking a course in developmental psychology that focuses on the later years of life to death. We talked about death and dying this week, which is a surreal topic even when you’re studying it from a scientific, objective distance. In class, the professor asked students to share rituals surrounding death from their cultures. People talked about sitting shiva, about beliefs regarding reincarnation, and about burial with food and money for a better afterlife.

As the class was talking, I felt disconnected from the conversation because of my lack of religious belief. Death for me is final, like the period at the end of a sentence. It just is. It marks the end, and even if everything before it was beautiful, eloquent and poignant, it’s still an end.

That doesn’t mean I don’t feel terror and anguish at the thought of losing someone I love. Of course I do. And it doesn’t mean that I feel coldly about my own mortality. Evolution has successfully bestowed me with a strong will to survive and ensure that my offspring and loved ones survive. But there is a blankness of feeling for me beyond that, a lack of need to explain what happens next, or to ritualize the dying process and death itself.

After class today, I spent time considering how to conceptualize death for myself, and then for Soren, given that I don’t believe in an afterlife of any sort. Cultures develop religion in part to explain the unexplainable, and to comfort. What comfort will I offer Soren around death? How will I explain it to him?

I strongly believe that I owe Soren truth as much as I know of it. I believe in never lying, and that if he is mature enough to ask, he is mature enough to know. He doesn’t need to know the gory details of life (or death) before he’s ready, but I want to tell him the truth as far as I can, as sensitively as I can. I think that will keep him asking more questions.

The same goes for death, yet I can’t even fully understand the finality of it. All we know through our human experience is being. That’s what human experience is. We slowly awaken from our early childhood with a self awareness and the beginnings of an autobiographcal memory. Our early memories are gradients into reality, without sharp edges of our beginnings as human beings. We know nothing but our existence. That’s our experiential infinity. Death marks the end to awareness and sometimes that end is another gradient and sometimes it’s a straight line.

I can’t imagine nothingness. Even nothing seems like something. In my mind, it has properties — silence, darkness. But it doesn’t matter. It just is.

Theists have asked me how I can live my life with any sense of purpose if I think that when I die, I simply cease to exist. My answer is simply that the finite quality of life makes it that much richer and more meaningful. This world is heaven. This existence is everything and means everything. If we have no absolution for another life, if this is the only one we get, should we not work hard to make it count? To make the world better? To improve the lives of everyone? We can’t ignore the suffering of today in the hopes of a better life beyond, if this is all we have. There is a lot of hope and joy for me in this concept of existence. I suppose that’s the comfort I’ll offer Soren. Maybe it’s really more about life fully lived than about death.

“Can I Tell Him God Made Us?”

During one of our ritual weekend phone conversations, my mother brought up a subject we’ve both avoided for over a year: religion and my son. I was appreciative that she broached the subject, since the last time we talked about it, things got tense. She is a deeply religious person and, in her own words, doesn’t “understand how my daughter, who was baptized, can turn away from god.” Following is our conversation, paraphrased from my memory. I’m sharing this because it was a big step for me in my atheist parenting, and because I was moved by how respectful my mother was of my autonomy as a parent, regardless of how strongly she feels about god and religion.  

Mom: Can I explain to Soren that god created us, and that Jesus is our savior?

Me: You can tell him that you believe god created us and that Jesus is our savior. It needs to be in the context of what you believe, not fact. There’s a difference between presenting your religious beliefs as truth, and presenting them as something you, and others believe.

Mom: Okay. I think I understand that. But I want him to know that Christmas is about Jesus’s birthday and not Santa.

Me: I’d prefer that Soren know the historical context for Christmas rather than think it’s about gifts. I’ve been saying that for the past two years. I want him to understand the cultural and religious traditions behind Easter too — that it’s not about the Easter bunny — as well as Passover, Kwanza, Winter Solstice and many other holidays and traditions. I’m not going to keep him isolated from cultural experiences and historical contexts. I want him to experience those things, ask questions, think critically about the answers he hears and come to his own conclusions over his lifetime. My goal is to make him religiously and philosophically literate, but not indoctrinated.

Mom: What about things like the manger under the tree on Christmas.?I’ve been wondering if you want me to take that down when he’s here for the holidays.

Me: I would never ask you to give up your traditions and keep them secret from Soren. That would be disrespectful of you and Soren. I respect his capacity to learn and decide things for himself as he grows up, with our guidance and encouragement of critical thinking.

Mom: (Pause) Can I take him to church?

Me: Yes, as long as he’s allowed to see it as a cultural experience, as something some people participate in. But not as universal truth.

Mom: But I believe it’s true.

Me: I know, but I don’t and I want Soren to be given the opportunity to make his own conclusions.

Mom: So I can take him for walks and tell him that god made the flowers and the birds and the trees?

Me: First, if you start making this a mission to constantly talk to Soren about god, we’re going to change the rules. And second, — and as I said before — it’s fine with me if you express your beliefs as just that: beliefs. But don’t ask me to back you up. Quite the contrary, I’ll be asking Soren what he thinks about your beliefs, and telling him what I think too.

Mom: What do you believe? Do you believe in god?

Me: No. I don’t. We’ve talked about this and my lack of belief in god still holds true. It’s not a phase. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but it’s authentic to who I am. I also know, because you’ve told me, that you think I’ll go to hell for not believing in god. (I pause, to give her the opportunity to dispute this, but she doesn’t.) It is very important that Soren not be told that if he doesn’t believe in your god, he will go to hell. I don’t want him scared into any religious belief. Hell and soul-saving are out of bounds.

Mom: I would never mention hell to him! (a bit upset at my suggestion)

Me: Okay. Then it’s not a concern. But I have to say it because it’s important to me, and it’s also a central theme in your religion.

Mom: It’s hard for me to understand how my religion isn’t your religion anymore. But I want to respect your wishes about this, and I don’t want to overstep my bounds. This is all new territory for me and I’m afraid to make a mistake and upset you.  

Me: It’s a process for all of us, and I’m learning as I go just like you are. Thank you for respecting our wishes, even though you don’t agree with them.

We ended on a respectful note. I sensed she wasn’t entirely clear on my position or where the boundaries are. We’ll need to have other conversations in the future, which is all the more obvious because she continues to ask me if I believe in god after many years of hearing the same answer. But I feel for her in this situation. She sees that her greatest duty as a grandmother is to be a spiritual guide to her grandson and I am denying her that. Despite how confusing and probably heartbreaking it is for her, she’s being very respectful of the boundaries my husband and I have established. I need to remember to be sensitive and respectful in return.

The Hardest Christmas

I was unprepared for how difficult this Christmas would be. In years past, my husband and I have easily followed along with our family’s traditions because it was easier to grin and bear it. Before our son was born, it seemed senseless to ruin everyone else’s fun because we don’t believe Jesus was the son of god, or that people should spend obscene amounts of money on useless stuff in the name of Jesus. It never made sense to us, but we didn’t have a stake in any of it. And last year, Soren was too young to actually participate in the Christmas frenzy, other than being forced by my mother to wear a frock adorned in sparkly script letters that read, “My first Christmas.” This year, however, he’s nearly two, and we feel strongly about establishing how, when, why and to what extent we will participate in Christmas. I think we have been gentle, respectful, yet firm in communicating to our families and friends on this account, but now, as The Holiday is breathing hotly down our necks, so are throngs of Christmas-obsessed loved ones with questions, demands, concerns, and expressed disappointments.

Many people who love us are very concerned about our Christmas tree — the Christmas tree that does not, and will not exist. The Christmas tree we have never had, nor plan to have. Apparently, this is a great disappointment for at least a dozen people, many of whom have never even been to our house. They seem to think that not killing an evergreen and erecting it in your living room and wasting electricity on lighting is both a depressing way to live through December and neglectful of our son.

My husband and I have also heard many gasps in incredulity about the gifts we won’t be giving Soren for Christmas. People actually seem to believe that our son is going to suffer great damage if he doesn’t peel away shiny wrapping paper from new toys on the 25th of December. They seem to be confused that we aren’t kidding or being humble or cute because they plan to give us gifts despite our repeated pleas to the contrary. Let me clarify: we don’t need anything. We don’t want anything. And it’s not even a lack of want (as atheism is a lack of belief). We want to receive nothing. We aren’t being polite or humble. We aren’t kidding. We aren’t confused or simply unsure of what we would want if we wanted anything. We want people to not even consider getting us anything. Please. Just spend time with us. Set aside an afternoon and hang out with us. That’s all we need. Because time with the people we love is the one thing we don’t have enough of. But people look at us like we’re strange. They act hurt and disappointed. It’s like we have robbed them of the meaning of Christmas. Which is funny because we’re trying to give them back some meaning of Christmas. That’s ironic coming from atheists.

I am not going to show up to our families’ houses on Christmas spewing anti-Jesus rhetoric. I would never do that. I would never try to convince the people we love, or anyone, that their gods don’t exist. I would never ask people to foresake their (mostly harmless) traditions because I disagree with them. But I expect the same amount of respect from them.

Man-bashing Has Become a Hobby

My girlfriend recently wrote me an email complaining about a minor infraction committed by her husband. She closed the email with, “I hate men.” Unfortunately, I hear this kind of language often from women. “I’d expect that from a man.” Or “Men are so unreliable.” Or one of my favorites, “You can’t trust a man to do anything right.”

I have several problems with this statement or anything like it for the following reasons: 

1) Many women in our society have adopted a reverse sexism. They spew male-loathing openly, loudly and in front of their children. They spread hate for nearly half of the population, including their own sons.

2) Blaming relationship difficulties or annoyance on an individual’s gender removes the responsibility from the individual. After all, that person can’t help being a man, right? That means that nothing will change because no one is really responsible.

3) By categorizing behaviors by gender, we perpetuate problematic stereotypes and teach our children gender roles that have nothing to do with biology. We make our children far more sensitive to gender than necessary and we define our children rather than letting them be who they are.

Women have suffered sexism for countless generations. The Bible and the Koran position women as sinful, dirty, disposable and lesser beings. In modern Western culture, women experience covert sexism in the workplace and often overt sexism at home. But hating back is not the solution. It’s part of the problem.

As mothers, we need to stop the man-hating rhetoric and teach our sons and daughters that they are equally worthy and responsible in this world. Hating anyone simply encourages them to hate you back.

Christmas is Bad for the Environment

When this recession (which is now officially over) got into full swing, I had a lot of hope that people would rebuke the consumerism of yesteryear and cut back. I am an optimist at heart (which is usually the cause of most of my disappointment) and I actually believed that people would look at their spending habits and reconsider purchasing useless stuff. I thought that the recession would have a hugely positive impact on our wallets and on our environment.

Now, as we head into the holiday season, with Black Friday just two days away, my hopes are dashed. I have seen a dozen Facebook status updates today about the long shopping lists people have for Friday, what time they plan to wake up to hit the malls, and all the debt they will be in come Saturday morning. I’m dumbfounded.

I hate when people buy my son Christmas gifts. I actually feel repulsed by those boxes wrapped in flashy paper and dripping with ribbons and bows. (Household waste increases by 25% between Thanksgiving and Christmas… as if we need to waste MORE.) Whatever is in the box, my son does not need and I would rather he not have. With the recession still a painful memory or devastating reality for so many, I had imagined this Christmas would be different than Christmases past. I imagined a new frugality, a return to the humility that I assume Christmas was intended to represent. Apparently, it was all a fantasy.

Atheism is lonely

A few weeks ago, I went to a seminar at an Ethical Society near my home. The seminar was about raising children without beliefs in gods. I’ll write a different post on that topic later, because the seminar was outstanding and helpful. For this post, though, I want to share my feelings of simply being in a room, for the first time, with about forty other nonbelievers.

I haven’t met a lot of atheists in my real life. Sometimes I come across people who are questioning organized religion, and I really enjoy talking to them. But I don’t run into people willing to share that they are atheists. I have a feeling that atheists are all around me, but that we’re all too far in the religious closet to feel comfortable exposing ourselves. When I was at the Ethical Society, sitting next to nonbelievers, I was overwhelmed by the feeling of belonging, the sense of community, and the power of not being alone. I realized as I sat there and listened to other parents sharing stories and feelings very similar to me own, that I have been seeking community. Atheism is lonely.

I don’t think it has to be lonely. We can find community with one another if we have the courage to acknowledge our convictions. Easier said than done, though.

Organized religion is powerful because it provides community, culture, pre-established rules and laws, and a way of living that’s out-of-the-box. It’s stickiness over history is because it doesn’t take a lot of effort to figure out and there are scores of people who believe similarly. Atheism requires effort, including a rejection of established norms. And that means building traditions, cultures, philosophies from scratch and often alone.

Just as much as the Baptists living next door to me, and the Catholics across the street and the Jews down the road, I need community. Sitting among fellow nonbelievers for the first time a few weeks ago, I realized what I have been missing.

The Problem with Christmas

“You’re going to deprive your child of Santa?”

That was one of my close friends when I explained that my husband and I are atheists, so we won’t be celebrating Christmas. I was surprised that Santa was what she was most concerned about. Here’s how the conversation unfolded:

Friend: “But Santa has nothing to do with God.”

Me: “True. Which presents two issues. One: he has come to represent materialism, and has replaced the central purpose of Christmas in American culture. And two: Santa doesn’t exist just as we think God doesn’t exist. We would be hypocrites if we encouraged a belief in one and not the other.”

Friend: “But you will be depriving your child of the joy and fun of Christmas.”

Me: “There are many other joys to be had in the world. Most children on this planet don’t get a visit from Santa on Christmas Eve. And they don’t have Christmas trees either.”

Friend: “So you aren’t going to have a Christmas tree either?”

Me: “Why would we have a Christmas tree if we don’t celebrate Christmas?”

Friend: “I don’t know. That just sounds so sad and depressing to me.”

This wasn’t the first time I heard my lack of religious belief described as sad and depressing. Granted, my friend was referring to our rejection of Christmas traditions as sad and depressing, but I think the implication is still there. Ironically, I view Christmas as sad and depressing. Piles of gifts that no one needs or wants. Shopping seasons that begin in August. Stressed out parents who can’t afford the gifts their children demand, and therefore feel inadequate. Churches holding toy drives for poor children whose parents can’t afford to give them heaps of gifts. And what is it all for? I see the giving theme, but giving has become hypercommercialized. Our society has come to believe that we need stuff to be whole, merry, and well. And what we give is now a reflection of our worth as people. Parents give children expensive Christmas gifts to show the extent of their love and success. Churches hold toy drives because their members feel generous and good in giving to poor children, but are they giving the children what they truly need to better their lives? The idea that a child who has nothing to open on Christmas must be a poor, sad child is beyond conprehension to me. It’s just stuff. Plastic, disposable, nonessential stuff that provides temporary pleasure.

Not to mention that half of the paper waste in America is produced at Christmas every year. But the environmental impacts of our Christmas shennanigans are another blog plost entirely.

All that said, and my conversation with my friend aside, the Christmas Question is a big looming one in our house. How do we, as atheists but members of Christian families, participate in a religious holiday that has become less religious and more holiday? By refusing to take part in any Christmas rituals, we will, at least in our families’ eyes, be rejecting family traditions. By participating, we won’t be authentic to our own ideas of the world and our own values. What does that teach Soren? But at the same time, we want Soren to have memories of his grandparents that include family traditions and rituals. The difficult thing is that most family traditions center around religion.

Even by this Christmas, when Soren is nearly two, we’ll be faced with the dilemma. Do we tell him about Santa — a fictional character like god — and let him participate in holiday traditions that are important to our extended family and friends? Or do we tell him the truth — that Santa is a fictional character that represents generosity and the joy of giving? Will my parents be distressed if they can’t have that Santa excitement with their only grandchild? And more importantly, am I robbing Soren of something if I tell him Santa exists or if I don’t? Is it hypocritical to tell him about Santa but encourage him to think critically about existence, reality and science?

Merry Christmas.