I suppose my journey to atheism started with spirituality. When I was a kid, I attended a Unitarian Universalist church in Seattle. We had both a Solstice and a Christmas pageant, celebrated Easter and the Equinox. My parents sought not to force an ideology upon me, but to expose me to many traditions so that I could piece together my own collage of beliefs. I remember one day, standing in my living room, when someone inquired as to my religion. Bewildered, I said “I don’t know…” and turned to my mother, who replied “Good.” When my sisters were born, though, our house and traditions were suddenly too small.

We moved to a cohousing community about half an hour away when I was nine or ten, and my father moved back to Seattle soon afterward. He was and is a very scientifically minded person, fascinated with the acquisition of any kind of knowledge he can get his hands on, and I believe his transition to atheism came soon after my parents split. I began attending a New Thought church with my mother (and later my stepfather). In this place, I was taught that god is just a word for some spiritual thingy that makes up everything, a person’s natural state is perfection, that our thoughts affect what happens to us, and that heaven and hell are merely states of mind. After a while, though, I became disenchanted with that fat box of joy. They started asking people to tithe after every service. They acquired a new TV spot, associated themselves with Deepak Chopra, and built a new “celebration hall” with the money they constantly milked their audience for…. The average wealth of the people attending rose visibly, and not because the church was making anyone richer. Our old holding-hands-during songs tradition was abolished without a word. Not to mention the fact that we were building ugly new buildings instead of, say, helping people through devastating world crises. Attached to my previous participation in the music program and to the friends I’d made there, I dangled on for a little while before I gave up.

As I began my college career last year, I discovered my fascination with anthropology and psychology; the reasons people are how we are, and how we perceive the world around us. And in the light of my recent split from the New Thought movement, and the insight I was being given into humanity, I turned my questioning nature upon my own beliefs. I’d read Pharyngula before, and was already better versed in biology and the scientific method than most people my age, but had held tightly to my vague, earthy spirituality. Under closer scrutiny, I was shocked at my conclusion:

None of the important values I was holding onto and associated with spirituality- self-fulfilling prophecy (a well-known psychological phenomenon), respect for life, empathy, getting to know oneself- needed to be assigned to any sort of supernatural being or force. There was just no reason I had to believe something quite frankly silly to be a whole, happy person living on a fascinating speck in a vast and astounding universe.

So I did. And now I’m an atheist.

Natasha K
United States

My path to atheism was paved with history books.

I was interested in my native Catholicism, so I read Elaine Pagels on the origins of Christianity. Starting from her books, I was led to the similarities between Catholicism and ancient Egyptian beliefs. It could not have been chance that those people, who were not Catholic, believed in the same things as me. It couldn’t be unless those beliefs and mine were the same in some way: they are the legacy of that time and people to me. That was the biggest and most crucial step.

Then, I read up on Santeria. It’s part of my native culture too, but I didn’t consider it an option to believe in. Given the way Santeria was presented to me in my childhood, it was the opposite. Santeria was never a live option, in exactly the same way that dog-headed and falcon-headed gods were not. Yet the parallels to Catholicism were too obvious. I noticed another obvious thing. In some Catholic circles, Santeria is viewed with extreme contempt. I noticed that contempt, and I noticed how much racism was tied up in that contempt. It bothered me.

Santeria is a New World religion and it may be a syncretic religion; it may be the combination of Catholicism and certain Yoruba and other African religious practices. In that view, the saints and orishas represent the same underlying principles. Or maybe, it’s not syncretic at all. On this view, the saints that are associated with the orishas are a dodge and a defense mechanism. That dodge enables an older, persecuted religion to survive in secret in a new environment, even if in a changed form, and even if some believers eventually forget the dodge. Funny about that, how that process is similar to what happened to those Egyptian ideas from so long ago.

Either syncretic or not, Santeria’s history has played out in the last 500 years, and there are clear historical records to be read. Sorry Osiris, Horus and Isis; sorry Chango, Yemaya and Cachita; sorry Santa Barbara, Regla, and Caridad del Cobre, but I just can’t believe in you.

It didn’t take much imagination to extend that same logic to Jesus and Mary and Genesis and Yaweh and all that.

Rodriguez
United States

I am an atheist because, if I am to be an honest person, it is the only way I am able to be.

When I was struggling with trying to be Christian in my early 20’s, other Christians who knew I was struggling would tell me to “have faith” and “it will come with time” if I just believe. I was subtly told that I was over-thinking the whole question. (What does it mean to “over-think”?) I tried to be open to God, but I couldn’t stop “over-thinking”. I pleaded with God to reveal himself to me and wondered what was wrong with me that he never did. I wasn’t even asking for much of a sign–I didn’t want a burning bush or a miracle, I just wanted a feeling like so many Christians I knew claimed they had–a feeling of knowing the “truth” and knowing that God was there with me.

I never got such a feeling and I slowly came around to the idea that maybe there was nothing wrong with me. Maybe the reason I wasn’t picking up God’s signal was not because I was a poor receptor but because he wasn’t actually there. The moment I let myself think that, I was on a very quick path to atheism. My “eureka” moment was not “God does not exist” but rather, “I don’t have to believe in God.” It seems obvious to me now, but at the time it was a real revelation (so to speak). I started to see faith for what it is: not the noble, humble position as it is touted, but a lie to oneself–deliberate deceit self-imposed in order to believe in something that’s not true.

I’ve recently become not only an atheist, but an “out” atheist. I talk about it with the religious members of my family. I say it outright if someone asks me if I belong to a church. I updated my facebook “philosophy” to read “atheist” (this was surprisingly difficult for me for whatever reason). I’ve even told a handful of my students when they’ve asked. This newfound zeal came about this year when my husband and I started looking for resources on raising our 3-year-old daughter without religion. We want to raise her to not be afraid–of being different, of being creative, of being smart, of being rational. And so I had to stop and examine how I was living my life and I saw that I had been hiding. I didn’t believe, but I sometimes pretended I did to avoid conflict. I was noncommittal or weakly compromising at best and untruthful at worst, and I don’t want to raise my daughter to think that’s OK.

I became an atheist to be honest with myself and so I had to come out as an atheist to be honest with others.

We teach by example, so I’m working to be an example worth learning from.

Holly
United States

I am an atheist because the gods presented to me in my youth are:

• All loving – while providing the perfect vehicle of hatred and bigotry for their followers.

• Omniscient – except when the intervention of a God is desperately needed.

• Benevolent – while children suffer and die, while women are humiliated and tortured and slain in barbarous fashions simply because they are women.

• Conflicted – “Heal the sick, clothe the naked, feed the hungry” but also “kill them all – men, women, children, animals and trees.”

• Afflicted by Munchausen by proxy syndrome – “I’ll kill my son so you will love me more.”

• Misogynistic

• Used by the international criminal Pope Benedict XVI to assist in the cover up of an international conspiracy to sexually abuse children.

• Unworthy of my praise, my devotion, and my worship.

And other reasons too numerous to mention.

Fester60613
United States

At some point I really thought about it and realized there’s no evidence for a god or gods.

August Pamplona
United States

I was raised Roman Catholic, sent to 12 years of Catholic school. I was an altar boy for 4 years, and the reader of scripture at Sunday mass for 4 more. Usually at this point in the story, people ask if I was molested by a priest, and that’s why I’m an atheist. I was not, but the question stands as a good barometer of the reputation of the Roman Catholic Church.

Religious education is a standing part of the curriculum in Catholic school, and always, I was a child who asked questions. Why can’t we eat meat on Friday? How do we know the Bible is true? Why do we think the Pope is infallible? Do unbaptised children go to hell? Where does the Bible mention limbo?

The answers were always the same. “It’s a matter of faith”, the priest would say. “Either you believe it or you don’t”. As I grew up, the questions continued, and became more pointed. What evidence is there of transubstantiation? The Bible doesn’t mention birth control, why is its use a sin? If people who have not been exposed to the Christian faith don’t go to hell, but people who have been exposed, but don’t believe, do go to Hell, should we evangelize to them? What can a professed lifelong virgin teach us about sexual relationships and marriage? “A matter of faith. Believe it or not”.

At some point around age 17, I realized that if that was all they had, if that was their best argument, then the truth was, I don’t believe it. I don’t believe a word of it. When I accepted that as the truth, it was like a weight lifted from my shoulders. There’s really no reason to worry about eternal damnation–the whole story is bullshit.

Over time, it has become increasingly clear to me that the whole notion of substitutionary atonement is not only unbelievable, but intrinsically immoral. No amount of suffering by an innocent can ever assuage the responsibility of the guilty. The “get out of hell free” card is just too easy, the application too random, and the evidence too lacking to merit respect. A diety that would create such a system is a monster, and not worthy of our worship.

Morality is a code of behaviour that gives you the best chance of living a happy, satisfying life. Science is the tool for understanding the world as it really is. We’re all going to die some day, so make the most of this opportunity and help others who are in the same boat as you. The ways we are all alike are far more important than the trivialities that make us different.

Being an atheist in America today is not a popular position, but it does carry the substantial comfort of being true.

Marty Heath
United States

I am an atheist because it just makes sense. As a kid, I loved to read. I read anything that had words. I read street signs and fairy tales and the all of the Bible and those naughty magazines and raunchy novels that the grown-ups thought they hid well. I suppose being so voracious, it was easy for me to associate the Blue Fairy and Santa Claus and Jesus as fictional characters, with the downside being that even the grown-ups believed in Jesus. I mean, catching my dad rolling in our Christmas bicycles solved the “Is Santa real?” question pretty solidly, but going into church and playing Mary holding a little brown baby doll and calling it our Lord for an audience of proud faces was downright confusing. How was it different than playing Wendy of Peter Pan for a school play? It was fun, but no one really believed that you could fly with happy thoughts and fairy dust.

I didn’t get it then. I really didn’t. Most churches had brown haired, blue eyed Saviors pictures on the wall, while our African Methodist Episcopal church hung a dark skinned bushy-haired Jesus picture and they were supposed to be the same? Oh, wait, that wasn’t right. According to my pastor and family, them white folks had it wrong and co-opted Jesus to look like them. We were right. But wait, wasn’t he supposedly born in the Middle East? I learned quickly what questions I was allowed to ask at risk of getting yelled out, threatened with hell or outright punished for being a “smart-mouth.”

Before I even had a name for what I believed, I kept my questions to myself as I learned about dinosaurs (that weren’t mentioned in Noah’s story), and reproduction (that, at least for humans, requires sex), and other things that didn’t quite go with what I was told was the Truth According to God’s Word (and don’t get me started on the stuff that didn’t go well with how I understood reality). To my mind then, it was just adults playing at pretend, so I pretended with them. I pretended devotion at church and joined the kid’s choir and ushered and read scriptures and holiday speeches, my fear of displeasing my family greater than any love I could have for some deity.

I wish I could talk to that little girl and reassure her that someday, it will be okay to ask the questions, and the word you were looking for is “atheist”. I almost wish I had the desire to have children of my own so that I could teach them that it’s okay to ask questions, to say “I don’t know”, and to find things out on their own. Also, that I would love them no matter what they believed.

Even if they were little “smart-mouths”.

Niki M.
United States

I am an academic researcher in Immunology and Infectious Disease; I have a general passion for science and scientific thought, and value science education tremendously.

Until the beginning of 2003, I was a believer. The belief was not taught, but came naturally to me as a consequence of the environment I grew up in. I was born to and raised by parents who practise the Hindu religion. As a matter of fact, to my parents, the Hindu religion (I avoid the term ‘Hinduism’) was not at all about the kind of teeth-gnashing, attention-clamoring, intemperate, uncivil hooliganism that has become the face of Hindu-ism in modern India. To them, it was a philosophy; a unifying theme of ‘One god – many manifestations’ – that easily included the god-heads of other religions of the world; a kind, understanding, all-embracing way of life, that taught temperance, the value of life and love, and worship through discharge of duties to the fellow human being. It was such a basic and deep understanding that they never stood much on ceremonies and rituals. Growing up in this environment, I never really felt any clash between my spirituality and my science, because I felt that the two belonged to two completely different non-intersecting planes.

It was in the past eight years or so that I acutely became aware of a disconnect. I am not ashamed to admit that this possibly resulted from three major life events: (a) getting married to a wonderful woman who is a non-believer, (b) both of us moving to the US, and (c) being introduced to PZ Myers’ Pharyngula by my wife – the last two events being of seminal importance. In the US, I was far away from the overly-pervasive faith- and belief-laden environment of home – which helped. My eyes were opened to the contemporary world. The Pharyngula posts, relentless discussions, my introduction to the erudite, reasoned writings of Dawkins and Hitchens – all contributed equally to shape the way I see the world now, by making me aware, pushing me to question my beliefs, burning away my brain-fog of wishy-washy spirituality, and administering a healthy dose of rationality and skepticism. In fact, it wouldn’t perhaps be inappropriate to consider myself a “Born Again” Atheist, given how utterly radically I was transformed.

What an awakening it was! Not aware of anything more than undercurrents of Hindu and Islamic fundamentalism at home, I saw and learnt to recognize the horrible face and full import of religious fundamentalism and all the cesspits of human detritus that accompany it, such as hatred, bigotry, misogyny, homophobia and so forth. I found it grossly offensive to my sense of what is right. I saw people killing and being killed in the name of religion; I found a growing sentiment of ‘my religion is the best; the rest are all hogwash’. I watched with horror religious observances taking such precedence in people’s lives that they oftentimes forgot, or started ignoring, the basic, fundamental qualities that make us human, including logic and reason. I was shocked and amazed to find the so-called religious leaders tout faith as the panacea to all problems, when clearly blind, unreasoning faith was inciting more hatred and mindless violence in many parts of the world. All very different from the concept of faith I had grown up with. It shook the foundations of my beliefs, and I started deconstructing religion with reason. Soon it all came away unraveled.

I thought, “This cannot be right! If there is a God who cares, this is not the kind of madness that should be pervading mankind!” More and more I looked around, I couldn’t find any evidence for the existence of any god, only the very human quality of post hoc rationalizations leading to flawed arguments for the assumed presence of a deity. Nothing beyond figments of very human and very limited imagination, it occurred to me. I also realized that religion had nothing to do with a higher power or divinity. Instead, it was fraught with the basest human inequities, craze for power, greed, lust, subjugation through fear and guilt. The rest was all myths built by humans around this core to give it a lasting aura of respectability and prestige. And this was not unique to any particular religion; all of them, Hinduism, Judeo-Christianity, Islam, even lesser-known religions of the world, were full of hypocrisy and glaring inconsistencies. I came to understand that morality and ethics, in order to be viable guidelines for a way of life, did not really need the crutches of religion and observances; on their own, they could survive as eminently sound, logical and reasonable practices to build a life around.

It did not take me long thereafter, to renounce any contact with religion. What helped steel my resolve was a sense of betrayal by my parents, my country, my upbringing, my shielded existence until this point. Nothing in my prior 30 years of life had prepared me for this reality; nothing had truly opened my eyes and inculcated any questioning attitude. Nothing ever goaded me to see the now-obvious disconnect between my science education and the quavering tendrils of my erstwhile faith. I felt ashamed, small and inadequate.

My denouncing make-believe gods and coming out as an atheist must have pained my parents, although they were gracious enough to leave me to my thoughts, rather than try to impose theirs on mine. But even today, my mother keeps trying to reignite that spark of faith in me. But never again. More and more I look at the world today, atrocities fomented (and sanctioned) by the religions and committed by the religious zealots come to the fore. To find nothing wrong with religion is living in a state of active denial, a practice many of the so-called ‘religious moderates’ indulge in – and that includes my parents. They feel that people who incite violence and hatred in the name of religion are not the truly religious; the truly religious would focus on the messages of peace, non-violence, brotherhood, love and duty, central to most religions. Note that these lofty ideals are occasionally embraced by the religions when it suits their purpose. And to think that those ideals represent the whole idea of religious practices is, at best, delusional thinking, and represents the No True Scotsmen fallacy.

I am often asked by friends and family why I choose to denounce religion so stridently (Yes, I am a Gnu Atheist!), why I can’t simply ignore the perversions of religion, and let everyone choose what they want to believe in – even if I don’t believe in religion or any god. I found out long ago that I cannot change anybody else, except myself. As a working scientist, I deal with empirical evidence. There is no evidence for existence of a god, any god, but there is plenty of evidence that the responsibility for much of the plight of human beings in today’s world devolves directly on religious belief and blind adherence to dogma. That is the core problem. Religion cannot submit itself to logical enquiry; it demands blind acceptance, ‘faith’ and unthinking acquiescence to utterly ridiculous, often outdated, and superstitious belief systems and traditions.

The nature of religious belief is so insidious, that it needs to pervade, to spread like a cancer away from its source. An astonishing majority of the population of believers is deeply busy in trying to disseminate their odious doctrine to others, and none-too-gently, too! It is more often ‘My religion is better than yours, so convert or die’ kind of treatment, or it is done on the sly – ‘Want medical care? Come to Jesus’ kind of way. Religious indoctrination has progressed to such ludicrous levels that the ‘faithful’ often pull out the ‘religious belief’ card at every possible instance to explain their intransigence and imperviousness to common sense. They are trying – very actively – to spread their brand of stupidity to education, healthcare, politics, and other walks of life. If this is not actively countered, it will end up destroying our basic humanity.

Kausik Datta
United States

I had the good fortune to be born into a family of secular Jews who did not believe in god or go to temple. I never believed myself, and I am puzzled to this day why anyone would believe such nonsense. Some years ago, I began to wonder whether there was any chance religious people were on to something, so I read a lot of objective books and articles on religion and atheism, and I did not find a shred of evidence for god, and saw that religion was a pathetic tangle of lies and wishful thinking. After my initial bout of reading, I became hooked, and I love to read about atheism, and I read you and Jerry Coyne every day. I am still mystified, however, why any sane person could believe such rot.

Steve Beck
United States

I struggled with my faith for a long time, but it was a religious program that ultimately shattered it. It was a Sunday in the early afternoon, and these guys were talking about the story of Samson, and how he was God’s avenging fist against the Philistines. The story never sat well with me, because Samson really comes off like a prick to me. Sure, he’s killing the enemies of God, but they weren’t his enemies until he gave them his ridiculous and impossible riddle to solve. He then, to continue his tantrum, burns the crops of the innocent people who didn’t actually have anything to do with threats to his wife, then murders 3000 more people, and that’s just the start of the story. He didn’t seem to me to be motivated by God so much as an incurable and disgusting rage that just happened to work out good for the Jews.

That got me thinking about all of the stories, and none of them really makes any sense. I don’t mean in the “it seems nonsensical to have a talking snake tempting Adam and Eve” sort of logistical sense, I mean that almost all of the stories can be explained easiliy away as the stories of an uneducated people who were largely living in slavery and dreaming of the time when their God was going to fix everything for them. And I get that. They are the stories you tell at the end of the day when your life feels like crap, and you just want to have something to believe in that keeps you going and offers some hope. The Lovely Lady and I talk at night about our future, how we’re going to take over the world and make everything better. Some of it is legitimate planning (not to take over the world, but how to get to where we want to be) and some of it is pipe dreaming.

That afternoon, watching that show, I recognized the Bible for what it is. It’s a collection of pipe dreams from a broken people wishing for something better. In a sense, that’s very beautiful, so long as you avoid the angel rapists, the instructions on slavery, the murder of homosexuals, the wrath of God, the ridiculous fables of floods, the horrifying letters to early Christians admonishing them for every last mistake they made, the brutality of the crucifiction, and pricks like Samson. Oh, and you need a pretty big stomach for swallowing all the suspension of disbelief you need to employ to accept a resurrection, miraculous healings, manna from heaven, talking snakes, guys murdering armies with no better weapon than a donkey’s face bits, repopulating the entire world from a small stock of animals and people, people surviving a lion’s den, and a loving God murdering the first born of Egypt.

Suddenly, I felt very, very foolish. I accepted my atheism that day, and I became a loudmouthed atheist at the same moment. I wanted the people I loved to see how foolish they were being, buying into all of this rubbish. I couldn’t help it, and still can’t. I’m proud to be an atheist and I want to unshackle the minds of everyone I know. It’s just who I am.

“Big Ugly” Jim Martin
Canada