I grew up fundamentalist Protestant in the deep South.  Church three times a week, Bible reading and prayer most nights at home, the whole nine yards. Looking back on my childhood, though, I think religion’s grip on me began to slip at an early age.  The problem was, I simply didn’t feel guilty about “sins” such as swearing, petty gambling, and such.  (I mean, seriously, how many real sins does your average eight-year-old commit, anyway?)  I felt pangs of conscience when I hurt somebody, but not when I committed a victimless “sin.”

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This is a story that I have written numerous times, however I never feel that it is comprehensive enough, or at the same time concise enough. That is how I am with my writing. Especially in factual cases, such as this; I aim to write with honesty and provide each detail of the events that led to my atheism showing the logical progression that it took, being both in-depth and at the same time avoiding the sense of clutter and babbling that plagues me. I often feel that my writing becomes incoherent and am never totally satisfied with the final result. But here I begin once more the story of my deconversion from the Christian faith.

Like the majority of middle class westerners, I was born into the dominant religion of Anglo-European tradition – Christianity. My earliest and fondest memories of family include attending church and reading Bible stories. Though my early childhood wasn’t a particularly religious one, there was always an element that was drawn to the warm sense of group identity that came with visiting my ‘uncle’s’* church. *(He wasn’t actually my uncle. The pastor of a Baptist Church and my mother’s former guardian during her time under the care of the Bernardo’s foundation as a child, I had come to know him and his wife colloquially as aunt and uncle, and their children were referred to as my cousins – due to this I still have a strong familial bond with them to this day.) This church remained an occasional place of attendance during my growing-up and was a significant influence on my developing faith.

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I grew up in Norway, by default born as a member of the Norwegian State Church; a bland form of Protestantism, blissfully ignored by the vast majority of its members for the vast majority of their lives. I expect many still hold some form of belief in god and Jesus, without letting this in any way prevent them from living exactly as they please, but the churches seem to be primarily used for the family traditions that are baptisms, confirmations, weddings and funerals. The second of these is seen by most teenagers as a fantastic money making scheme, and a few months of weekly bible classes are well worth the ridiculous amount of presents and money this ritual traditionally entails.

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As a child, I was brought up in a vaguely Christian way – my mother was raised Lutheran and my father Methodist, but neither held too closely to tradition. They read me Bible stories, the non-threatening ones meant for children, and prayed with me at night; I learned to think of God as a benign watcher who would save me from bad dreams. The only times we entered a church were weddings and funerals.I grew older, and made friends with girls who went to VBS and AWANA at the Baptist church, so I of course wanted to go too. This was allowed, and I excelled at AWANA because of my great skill at memorizing Biblical verses (I am good at memorizing in general, it’s my one talent). The father of one of my close friends became more deeply involved in the church, and by the time he went to seminary school she was all covered up even in the summer and her mother listened to Christian radio all day. She had to grow her hair and it wasn’t long before I wasn’t allowed to be her friend anymore. Nobody put it that starkly, but there was a serious sense of disapproval from her parents and I got to see her less and less. It was confusing, since I was only 11 and didn’t think I had done anything wrong. It was years before I understood that I actually hadn’t. 

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When I look at the world around me, I know that it could not have happened by chance or caprice. There is a divine order, a structure, a cosmic beauty underlying everything: from the awe I feel when I see the stars in the sky, to the beautiful scent of roses, to the sight of a burning sunset, to the love I feel for my friends and family. How could any of this have happened on a mere whim?

And that is why I am an atheist.

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I am one of the very fortunate who has never had to fight my family on religious matters. My parents raised me in a very secular fashion and did not speak of spiritual matters when I was young unless I brought them up.

I was 10 years old. And like any nerdy 10 year old, I was in love with dinosaurs, sharks and other monsters of biology. I decided that I would read “Jurassic Park,” all on my own without any parental assistance. It took months, averaging maybe 5 pages a day, but I was resolved.

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I went to Baptist church and Baptist school until fifth grade. One day during religious class, after the teacher said that people who don’t take the lord as their savior go to hell, I asked what happens to all the people who never have the chance to hear about God. “Everyone has heard about God,” she said. That just can’t be true, I pointed out— there are still remote tribes being discovered in the Amazon, for example, and that was even more true 200, 300, and 500 years ago. There have been literally billions of people who never had the chance to hear the Bible version of God, did they all go to hell? She just stubbornly maintained that EVERYONE has had the chance. It was so completely and obviously wrong that whatever child-like faith I’d had broke and drained away in an instant.

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I could waste time being disappointed in myself that it took 50 plus years for me to realize I am an Atheist; a much better use of my time is to realize that I now know the full extent of work required to rewire the hardwiring of a thorough brainwashing. I know the value of this knowledge in helping me to understand the tactics of my enemy who did this to me when I was a small child.

My enemy is religion, specifically Christianity.

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Because religions are just stories.

And bad stories at that. I was brought up as a Buddhist, and the canon was full of old, tired tropes. Reincarnation, supernatural powers, heaven and hell, the whole gamut. The story of other religions are no different. The heroes just have different powers and the miracles come in many varieties. To be honest, I fell for the Buddhist stories until I entered university, and this fact still embarrasses me to this day.

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I am an atheist because I was only ever a theist due to an emotional bond which had time to fade, and reason did not save it.

My mother is Catholic, and I was raised and confirmed in that tradition. Regardless of my present unbelief, the Church will count me among its ranks until the day I die. (Even if I convinced some priest or bishop to unhappily record my renouncement, I suspect he would not pass on the minus-one to the higher-ups.) As a child, I often quietly spoke to God as if He were a foot away and could hear my every thought. Every time I did this I would wonder if He was really listening, but it was nice to always have someone to talk to.

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