the id, the ego, & the single misfiring brain cell

this is how it happened

A friend just related to me how she lost her faith and what it was like, then she asked for my story. I don't think I've told this story here, or at least not in the sort of detail I feel compelled to tell it now.

As most of you know, my father is a preacher (I think he prefers the word "minister"), which makes me a PK who became a hard atheist. If you're like most Christians, you want to understand exactly how something like that could happen.

I grant you up front that Satan led me astray, but that's ultimately unhelpful and is too vague to be of interest. It just makes you ask exactly how one goes about being led astray by Satan? What is it like? How do you know?

This is my story.

the early years

I was lucky enough to be born into the one true faith. I'm told my mother had to leave church one Sunday to give birth to me. After that, I think I never missed a service.

I learned to read, largely, from the Bible. I remember having a tiny New Testament with Psalms that my Aunt Verna had bought for me. Mother caught me conducting a "sermon" to my stuffed animals in my room using this Bible. I must have been 6 or 7 at the time.

The Bible and being Christian was not just important in our world; they were the reason we were here on earth. You'd have to live this to truly understand it. Any question you have about life or behavior can and should be answered by God, through the Bible. Any answer you find that contradicted the Word of God is to be ignored or rebuffed. If anyone speaks to you of other gods, you know those gods are false. Evolution? You may have to take courses about that silliness in school, but you have implicit permission to ignore everything they say and even flunk that class on account of the evolution bit, if necessary. Geology? The age of the earth and the universe? When people say "billions of years," you know they have bought into that clap-trap scientists are pushing that has no basis in fact, and you should walk away.

I was a very good student. I was interested and smart enough to grasp new concepts, but not so intelligent that I grasped them too quickly, which more or less ensured that I studied faithfully. It helps that my parents had given me good work ethics, leading through example. I faithfully did my homework (in my younger years, not doing my homework or not going to class simply did not occur to me).

I was a very good bible student, too. I knew the proof-texts and arguments for why we were right from a tender age. I memorized pieces I found beautiful or moving, beginning with scripture. (In the seventh grade, just for fun, I memorized the Gettysburg Address; I still know it by heart.) I also listened to sermons. I made notes. I looked things up. I knew what I believed, and why I believed it. By the time I was baptized at 8, I could explain it to you.

The church of Christ believes in an "age of accountability." While the Bible doesn't speak of this explicitly, it implies it--and this doctrine--to me--makes sense. There comes a point that a person has enough knowledge to understand the difference between right and wrong, at which point she becomes accountable for that knowledge. I "knew" right from wrong, based upon the information I'd been exposed to, by 8 years of age.

Note my caveat, because it is important. I also knew God existed. How could I not? I'd never been exposed to any alternate point of view. If you've only ever been told that grass is red and no one had ever suggested to you that it is actually green, you would know grass was red.

I believe there is another "age of accountability," however, that's more profound. This one comes about when you are exposed to outside ideas and begin developing the ability to think critically. This is where Satan steps into the picture.

Exposure to outside ideas is pretty unavoidable in our modern world, unless you're Amish or Mennonite or a Fundamentalist Latter Day Saint or such. I'd say it's dangerous to shield children from competing ideas, even. How can you expect them to know they believe and to not waiver in that belief unless they have all the facts? How, more importantly, do you expect them to communicate their beliefs with others if they don't know what others believe?

Around 13 or so, I began to have doubts. This must have been the beginning of my more profound age of accountability, although I don't recall being exposed to any outside ideas of note. At that point, I simply realized I didn't really believe. I couldn't visualize Christ on the cross. Not really. I couldn't make myself care.

This was an entirely private struggle. I didn't go to my parents or any other person of faith to speak to them of my doubts. I knew the Bible, I thought, at least as well as they did, and I knew they would quote scripture to me. I saw no point. Further, my realization that I didn't care that Jesus died for me shamed me. Everyone around me believed. Of this, I was certain. The more I watched them, the more convinced I was that they were normal, but something was desperately wrong with me.

I threw myself into my faith. I multiplied my efforts to "do everything right" and thus build my faith. We already went to church five times a week, but when I wasn't at church, I studied to show myself approved unto God. I policed my own thoughts and desires. I went through all the motions and did everything I knew to correct my personal flaw.

Somewhere through there, I took biology in high school, where we did a brief overview of evolution. Considering the time and the place, I consider it strange that the science department even dared go that far. I blew off the lessons. It was my duty. The "test" consisted of a free-written essay in which we discuss the competing theories of evolution and Creationism. The only real requirement that I remember was that we were not, under any circumstances, to preach. I did--it was my duty--and I got a B, a "poor" grade of which I was sinfully proud.

Meanwhile, my shame and guilt increased. I was convinced I'd go straight to hell if I were to die, and I was terrified. Paul wrote that "without faith, it is impossible to please Him, for those who come to Him must believe that He is, and that He is a rewarder of those who diligently seek him." He hadn't said, "Those who come to Him must try to believe that He is." I had to believe. But I couldn't.

Eventually, something snapped. I kept going through the proper motions so no one would bother me, but I just quit caring. I'd failed, over years, to make myself believe, and I was emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually exhausted. I didn't know what I believed, if I believed anything. I knew, by rote, what I'd been taught, but I also I knew--intrinsically, because I remember feeling this way for years but never really forming it into a thought that could be verbalized--that I was biding my time until I could escape what I'd come to view as indoctrination.

early adulthood

I moved out of the house at 18 and quit going to church, but moved back home for awhile before enlisting in the Air Force and leaving home for good. I never chose to not go to church. I just didn't go. I hadn't wanted to go for years, but had gone to keep the peace. I'd been taught, from the pulpit, that going to church wasn't enough: you had to want to be there. It did no good to be a "benchwarmer." I would, then, return to church when I wanted to be there. And I was at peace.

When my parents visited me at my technical school in Biloxi, I gave an excuse for my lack of attendance. There was no scriptural congregation anywhere I could get to, and I didn't have a car. This was true, really, but what I didn't mention was that I hadn't tried. I was a long way from confronting them about my lack of belief, and I didn't want to hurt them. At the time, and for a long time afterward, I was content living a life unmolested by religion.

Before my enlisted tour was over (4 years), my parents knew I didn't go to church. I'd grown tired of trying to make it look like I did or was interested. The closest I came to lying to them, I think, was trying to fake my involvement with a local congregation when they visited. This didn't work, of course. Mother told me that she was shocked when the people she'd spoken with after services had no idea who I was. I took the hint, but in the wrong direction. The next time they visited, I just admitted up front that I had no idea when church met on Sunday. Mother was aghast; Daddy suggested we all stop and take a deep breath. Then he said this: "Promise me you'll study hard and be sure of what you believe." I promised I would.

I went back home to visit a couple of years later. No one said anything to me about religion, other than inviting me to join them for services Sunday. I declined. After several days, Daddy finally left Mother alone with me for a couple of hours. Almost immediately, she asked when I'd "turned my back on God." I told her I didn't want to talk about it, but she would not respect my wishes. I got up and left the room. The next morning, I told Daddy I was going back home that day--a few days early--and exactly why. He asked me to reconsider. I understand where he was coming from and I know he was hurt, but that didn't change my mind. I couldn't stay knowing that Mother could not, at that time, offer me even the respect of leaving me alone about my beliefs.

I wasn't involved in or interested in religion for years. I called myself "agnostic," meaning "I don't know, I don't care, and I don't want to talk about it."

At 22, I left the active duty force and went into college. In my first semester, I took Introduction to Philosophy, which introduced me to a fairly extensive list of logical fallacies. To this day, I'm appalled that I was 22 years old and taking an elective course in college to learn these basic flaws in reasoning. This stuff should be taught by the fifth grade.

This marked my first intellectual approach to faith. During the "Is There a God?" section, I played devil's advocate for any given argument. I remember even now the anger of some of my fellow students during those discussions. I wasn't out to upset anyone, and their anger was more often focused on our professor than on me, but the overwhelming defensiveness they exhibited when confronted with the ultimate irrationality of their arguments made me feel sorry for them. Why couldn't they just drop their belief long enough to just think? Why couldn't they place themselves in a hypothetical world without God long enough to understand the other point of view? What were they afraid of? One of my final papers for the course questioned whether there was a god. I didn't have an answer, but the paper was a sincere search for one.

The next semester, I took The Study of Argument, which delved a bit more into the proper way to form a logical argument. It also helped me develop the ability to spot fallacious arguments. It was an interesting course, but in the long run, not as useful as the initial intro to logic, which had changed my world. How? The carefully outlined rules of logic require that in order to have a bona-fide argument, you must agree upon the premises. That is, if you argue that God exists because the Bible says he does, your premises assume the truth of the Bible. If I question this, you must convince me of the truth of this premise before your argument can convince me.

I left college for a while and lapsed back into the "I don't care" mode. At 28, I went back to college. I still didn't have my bachelor's degree. This time, I was determined to at least get that. I changed my major from computer science to English, for which I took a couple of electives and humanities courses that got me to thinking about religion again.

Aside from the fact that a good education will not teach you what to think, but teach you how to think and what to question--which can be devastating enough--psychology and the history of western civilization were probably the most individually destructive to my understanding of the world. It's hard to miss the psychological investment of religious belief and how it perpetuates itself, once you've studied psychology. Then when the history course introduced Jesus, it hinted that the story has never been historically substantiated. The book said, "according to tradition..." or "it is said." It was polite, but all the same implied that the historicity of Jesus was in question.

This struck me as odd, to say the least. Of course there was a historical Jesus! What did the textbook writers mean by suggesting otherwise? I didn't have time to look into at the moment, and life moved on. I would return to this question a couple of years later.

Somewhere through there, Daddy send me a copy of Has God Spoken? by O. E. Stroebel. I tucked it into my bookshelf at the time, busy as I was with school, but after I graduated, I plucked it out to have a look.

the turn

It didn't happen exactly like that. Nothing ever does. I'd been out of school for a while, and I had moved to Hephzibah, Georgia (just outside of Fort Gordon in Augusta). Soon after I moved there, people began knocking at my door, inviting me to church. I was polite. I told them I wasn't interested but I wished them the best. My opinion was this, and still is: they believe enough to go door to door to ask others to join them. They are doing what they say they believe, which I respect. They may go in peace, and with my blessing.

Many atheists are apt to find fault with my attitude here, and that is their prerogative. I don't attack believers for simply believing, or for inviting others to share something that has brought them joy and peace. I consider this equivalent to my inviting you to read Eckhart Tolle's The Power of Now. It has helped me be a happier person who is more at peace; maybe it will have the same effect on you. In my view, this impulse is invariably something to be applauded--not to be spat upon or reviled.*

* There are limits to this, of course. If I say, "Thank you, that's very kind," but don't follow up, you may safely assume I appreciate the thought but have my reasons for not pursuing your suggestion or offer, which means you should not pursue the matter, either. If you do, you're being pushy and rude, and I will eventually respond in kind. That is, if you demonstrate your inability to take a hint, I will give you a boot to the head.

After several people had come to my door and I'd politely wished them a nice day, I got to thinking about religion again. Every person who leaves the faith has one problem they can't get past that precipitates all the rest; mine was the problem of faith. "Those who believe in Him shall not perish, but have everlasting life," not those who try to believe in Him. Everything else I am required to do hinges on this. How can I love God if I don't believe He exists? How can I fear a God I don't believe exists? These are also required of me, according to scripture.

Maybe my problem was the idea of faith itself. What is it, exactly? The Bible defines it for us, and I use this definition above Webster's for what should be obvious reasons. "Faith," wrote Paul, "is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen."

Have you ever tried to break this down and put it into English that makes sense to the modern man? The NIV puts it like this: "Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see," if that helps. In simple modern terms, Paul said this: Faith is believing when you have no rational reason to believe, or more simply, faith is belief in the absence of proof.

The first time I made this connection, I couldn't believe it (so to speak :) ). Christianity's entire basis is "Just push the I Believe button"? Really?! I struggled with this a while, reading what the Bible has to say about faith. How do you get it? "It comes by hearing, and hearing by the word of God." And what does this mean? Believe what you're told. Put them together and you are faced with the requirement to believe what you're told without proof.*

* It's important to know the that faith Paul speaks of isn't possible with proof. We're required to have faith, which Paul defines as belief in the absence of proof, which means that proof of what we believe negates the possibility of faith. Think about it.

My problem was this: My "I Believe" button was broken. I was no longer capable of simply believing what I was told without proof. I had lost the ability to "become like a child." Further, I was quite certain that regressing to childlike anything was not something anyone in his right mind would desire.

Once I realized, in plain English, what God required of me, I knew I couldn't do it. Others, perhaps, are able to believe without question. I wasn't one of them. I just didn't believe, which meant that I was, by definition, an atheist. I was 32 years old.

I accepted the fact of my atheism fairly quickly--Satan was indeed in charge--but I was stunned. A proverbial carpet had just been yanked out from under me. The foundational assumptions of my world were negated in a single blow. What was right and what was wrong? How did I know? What could I believe, and why? What did it mean to believe? To know? How would this change my life?

The biggest change was the simultaneous sense of freedom and responsibility I felt. The freedom was due to my being convinced that no one was watching my every move. No one was keeping score. I could make mistakes and learn from them. At the same time, I had no one to blame but myself if I failed. I had no one to appeal to for help but myself. Life got better and life got worse, but it wasn't God rewarding or testing me. It was just life. I could be anything I wanted. I suddenly understood this. There were no limitations except the ones I placed upon myself.

Immediately, I wanted to fill in as many of the gaps in my understanding of the world as I could. It was the year 2000. I had the internet.

I went to my office and did a search on the word "atheist." One of the top sites was Acharya S's The Greatest Story Ever Sold. It's a pretty lurid read for a fresh atheist. She argues that the Jesus thing is all a fairy tale. (A few years ago, I bought her book, I don't think I read a third of it before I grew disgusted with the lack of scholarly enquiry that characterized her arguments. I gave it to a friend shortly thereafter.)

From her site, I linked to the (now-defunct) Internet Infidels discussion forum. Here, I discovered that not only was I among thousands (on that board alone) who thought as I did, but I learned through discussions on this board that no assumption or assertion is beyond question.*

* There are some things that don't do you any good to question, of course, like "What if you're just a brain in a jar?" or "How do you know you weren't created just now with all your memories intact?" I fail to see what possible use such questions are.

I was drawn in. Satan had me by the throat. And I was angry. The intensity and depth of my anger surprised me. It was powerful and undeniable, but I didn't understand what was happening. And my anger had endurance.

You may believe, if you wish, that I'd merely sought out people who finally told me what I wanted to hear, that I had "itching ears," as the scripture says. And there is some truth to that. I wanted to hear something that made sense to me, and so much of what these people said about religion did make sense to me, whereas so much of what I'd been taught all my life didn't.

I spent months, even years, on that board discussing every question regarding religious beliefs in general and Christianity specifically. I went back and read the Bible (well, most of it). I was in the grip of Satan now, and my entire perspective was altered. Favorite old stories were suddenly laughably ridiculous to me. How many times were all the "cattle" killed in the course of these plagues? (Five or so, I think.) Just how stupid were the children of Israel, who repeatedly saw incredible miracles wrought by God yet continued to build golden calves to worship? When God "replaced" Job's slaughtered family after he won his bet, was that really the same? Etc. Hearing the word of God doesn't revive your faith once you no longer believe God exists; quite the opposite.

Soon, I fetched the book Daddy had given me--Has God Spoken?--and I began to read. The book provides scores of scientific arguments for the inspiration of the Bible. Reasons to believe that the Bible is the word of God. I began to write my responses to them. I was twenty pages into a response letter (single-spaced) when I stopped. I was wasting my time and energy, and the only possible result would be that I would alienate my father. I exited the document and put the book back on the shelf.

There were several years in there where various members of my family pleaded with me, dropped hints, or even attacked me for daring to question their religion. For a long time, I was polite...or as close to it as I could get at the time. I didn't want to fight with them. I just wanted them to leave me alone, and to respect my choices. They couldn't bring themselves to, of course. My soul was their responsibility. I got letters from various family members full of scripture. Most were condescending. One or two were vicious. Some of my family simply avoided me.

I'm sorry to say that this unwanted attention--what some would call spiritual abuse--only stopped when I counter-attacked. I was hurt by their lack of concern for my feelings, despondent at their refusal to respond to or even acknowledge my carefully written arguments and responses to their sermons, and just so tired of it that I was sick. I no longer cared whether they stayed in touch or not, to be honest. This was the sort of attention I didn't need. So I struck, and I struck hard.

Shortly thereafter, they stopped sending me scripture. My parents quit bothering to invite me to worship with them. But they left me alone.

Many are back in touch now, but we don't talk about religion. It doesn't come up. We can enjoy one another without bringing this into our relationship. I've invited discussion, even--once I was sure of what I did believe and why--but very little has been forthcoming. Maybe they're afraid I'll snap again. I wouldn't blame them. I think, also, that they have a very good idea now of what they're up against.

They study the Bible. They believe it. They needn't go beyond that in their inquiries, really. The Bible is enough. This leaves them helpless when they must face me, because my main question is philosophical: Why do you believe in God? The Bible assumes His existence and requires belief in Him, so it they are woefully unprepared to meet me on my field of battle. I think they know this.

I'm past most of my anger. I'm happy for those who find peace and joy in their beliefs, I pity those whose beliefs bring them misery and pain, and I will openly attack those whose beliefs bring others misery and pain. I believe religion--like a surgeon's scalpel--can be a force for good as well as a force for bad, depending on who uses it and for what purpose. I'm disturbed at how religion encourages people to not think, or at least to not think beyond a certain point, but I can also see what a gift this is for some people.

I believe we only get one shot at life and then we die, and the rest is silence. I've made peace with this realization. You needn't pity me or pray for me, unless doing so brings you a measure of happiness.

That is my story. Satan won.

d

p.s. I've used the word "Satan" because the faithful believe Satan is the guiding force behind apostasy, and my goal here is clear communication with a specific target group. What I meant, of course, was "reason."