When family tries to inject religion into your parenting

We had a moment of victory this week with our elder son, “C,” who has autism and apraxia and thus cannot speak very well (he’s 6, for reference). His speech has improved greatly since he started kindergarten, though, so occasionally we get some nice surprises. This was a few days ago when C came home and started saying something oddly rhythmic. It took a few seconds for my wife and I to realize that he was reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, which he surely picked up from school. I found it somewhat bittersweet: pretty cool that he was saying something so long and frankly difficult for his age (his pronunciation of “indivisible” was more like “indihisible,” which is pretty adorable) but kind of irritating because I don’t care much for making young children make loyalty oaths they can’t understand, including a religious statement that they may not profess. (I do confess a little amusement, however, at the fact that C’s pronunciation of that part sounds like he’s saying “under gun.”)

Because this sort of thing is a big deal for us, we shared it with the grandparents. My father was over today, and so he got to hear C recite it (which he will do on command if he’s in the right kind of mood and not distracted). And perhaps for the first time since I talked to him about being an atheist, he decided to insert religion into our parenting by telling me – not my wife, the believer, but me – that I should teach him John 3:16. Actually, his exact words were, “I know you might not agree with this, but you should teach him John 3:16.” Uh, yeah, I might not agree with it, maybe a little.

To her credit, my wife chimed in and said, “I’ll do it,” in what she indicated to me was a way of appeasing my dad and getting me off the hook. But I was pretty irritated and made no effort to hide my annoyance.

In a way, I find both the Pledge and the suggested verse to be objectionable for similar reasons, and here’s where I get the closest to agreeing with Dawkins’ “child abuse” insinuation. My son does not understand what he is saying in both cases, and it feels like people are manipulating him to promote their own pet cause. If he grows up to be religious or über-patriotic by his own choice without any coercion, then I’ll be satisfied (albeit not happy). But this is a whole different story – this is my ability to raise my kids as I see fit that he’s interfering in. My wife and I can discuss how we want to educate or not educate our kids about religion, but that’s none of his business, and he certainly doesn’t have the right to suggest that I violate my conscience – to lie to my own child! – in order to satisfy his desire to have them raised religiously.

I shouldn’t be surprised, of course, with my father having been a minister for so long, but it still grates on me. It’s just another example of how religious people make it very difficult for me not to resent how they inject religion into my life against my will. Just let me live my one life and raise the only kids I’ll have, okay, people? Not a hard concept to grasp.

Dissatisfaction and idealism about reality

Sometimes I interact with people who have, for lack of a better term, dissociated themselves somewhat from reality.

No, I’m not talking about theists in general; there’s a very specific kind of person I’m referring to, the kind of person who denies even the most obvious observations about the world. And oddly, it’s actually someone I know personally.

A cause worth fighting for

I have sort of longed for some time now to be an activist. Despite becoming cynical about a lot of things, I really do harbor an inner idealist who sees a lot wrong with the world and genuinely wants to right some of those injustices. I think I have been drawn to this more and more as I have thought about my work as a teacher, where I know I won’t change the world but can have some impact, however small, on individuals.

Since I’ve deconverted, I feel like some of that latent drive for activism is coming out again, helped in no small part by the fact that I actually have a group to work with to those ends. (It is much easier to have confidence for activism when you don’t stand alone.)

My road to recovery (and some tips for the suffering deconvert)

A while back, I sought out medical assistance for what I thought was depression (and the doctor ultimately agreed). It’s pretty easy to trace this back to the source: I had only come out as an atheist very shortly before that, and the stress and anxiety of new conflicts because of my deconversion were getting to me.

Now, about four weeks later, I think I’ve come a long way. Some of it is probably due to the prescribed course of medication (which has been side-effect-free, as far as I can tell), but I think there are some more significant factors that I noticed making a difference even before the medication would have likely had a chance to work. I share these things not because I really am compelled to share my current mental health with people on the Internet but because I think these could be options for other deconverts who suffer from depression as a result of the coming out process.

Joseph Campbell and the mythic elements of religion

The freethinkers’ group I’m a part of is about to meet again in a small group discussion format, and the subject is Joseph Campbell, the late mythologist who wrote The Hero with a Thousand Faces (1968). I have never heard of Joseph Campbell before getting the information on the meetup – scratch that, I had seen the name before, surfing through religious documentaries on Netflix (like I’ve been doing frequently lately), but I had inadvertently confused the name with Alexander Campbell (of the Stone-Campbell Restoration Movement). So I sat down over the weekend and tonight and watched some of the documentaries featuring Campbell, including the first two parts of the Mythos series and The Hero’s Journey, a great biographical piece on Campbell. It was…illuminating.

Does analytical thinking decrease religiosity?

A recent study has been making its way around the atheist blogo-/Twittersphere that is very interesting. The study, done by Will Gervais and Ara Norenzayan at the University of British Columbia and published in Science, is entitled “Analytic Thinking Promotes Religious Disbelief,” and its conclusion does lend some credence to the notion that critical thinking erodes faith. But in the spirit of Feynman’s first principle, it’s worth taking a closer look at exactly what the study concludes.

Intellectual honesty and good faith arguments

I’ve had a short exchange with Ophelia Benson (who I have never had a reason to think poorly of) regarding a post she wrote about Bill Donohue, wingnut extraordinaire of the Catholic League. I’m no fan of Donohue except as a means of cheap entertainment (like his quest to boycott Jon Stewart for a “vagina manger” comment on his show), but I felt like Ophelia misconstrued one of Donohue’s statements. I won’t bring that discussion over here; you can read for yourself and see which of us is right in your opinion. But I feel like stressing something about honest dialogue that I was reminded of during the exchange, a concept which should not be a grand revelation to anyone reading this.

Ex nihilism

I alluded here to the common misconception by Christians that atheists believe the universe came from nothing, which is supposed to be a statement of incredulity: “Atheists believe something came from nothing? Yeah, right!” This is not only untrue but incredibly hypocritical.

To wit, this morning, I saw the following tweet which had been retweeted by an atheist user I follow:

God + nothing = universe + God (simplify for extra credit: Cancel #God on both sides) Nothing = universe. Something from nothing. #atheism

—
  (@Allallt) April 25, 2012

This is exactly right (although the math is a bit sketchy): the traditional Christian view is that the universe was created ex nihilo - “out of nothing” – by God, emanating from his words (“Let there be light”).

Any reasoning person should find it bizarre that Christians would mock atheists by falsely attributing to them a view which they themselves genuinely hold, but it’s a pretty classic case of projection. It’s the same phenomenon that leads theists to say “I don’t have enough faith to be an atheist.” When this happens, it needs to be pointed out to them loudly and persistently, not just to get through to them but for the sake of the spectators.

Although I do feel a little bit sorry for people who try this tactic: they obviously subconsciously realize that the criticism of their faith is cogent, and so they turn it around in the hopes of at least ending up with a draw (so to speak). Still, it’s no excuse.

Is “I don’t know” a feasible answer?

One of the things that I have heard a lot in reading deconversion stories is how former believers had questions that they sincerely wanted to be resolved, and when they asked their earnest questions to church leaders (clergy or lay), they did not get satisfactory answers to their questions. Consequently, they abandoned their faith because it could not satisfy their need for understanding.

I understand this impulse, but I was thinking today that there is a tension between this desire for satisfactory answers and our ability as humans to get those answers reliably. Hence the title question: Is it permissible or even obligatory to admit ignorance on some accounts, or should such admissions be taken as evidence of the deficiency of a position?

Secretly heartening moments with students

I’ve talked previously about awkward questions from students, but I had an interesting moment today that made me a little happier as a secular (albeit closeted) teacher.