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When I say I’m an atheist if it comes up in conversation, the most common response I receive is the look of disbelief — in all its irony. If I stood in the middle of a grocery store aisle shouting profanities, I would most likely elicit a similar response. That look, that shock.
Why does the atheist have such a blackened image? Do our beliefs warrant the comment from George Bush Sr., “I don’t know that atheists should be considered as citizens, nor should they be considered patriots. This is one nation under God.”
America appears to be moderately tolerant towards different beliefs, yet atheism doesn’t seem to fit into this irrational puzzle of anemic acceptance.
We tolerate Catholics, Christians, Jews, Mormons, Muslims, even Buddhists and those who label themselves ‘spiritual,’ but as an atheist, I feel like I should be donning black, muttering in a closet somewhere with “Thus Spoke Zarathustra” and a handle of vodka.
Atheists are assumed to be unstable wanderers, picking up alcoholism, depression and failed marriages like dandelions along their dark path of meaningless existence. To whom do we go for help? What is life without the belief in God? Apparently, we have nothing to hope for, nothing to believe in.
Allow me to illuminate the reality of the atheist, using myself as the example. Atheists typically know a little something about religion. I have more than a general knowledge about the Christian idea of ‘God.’ For 16 years, I attended Christian or Catholic schools, subsequently, from the first grade forward. Daily Bible reading was mandatory and biblical theology courses were required each semester.
Moreover, the Bible is the book which I have read most frequently and one which I continue to read. I have read and studied the book under both literalist and liberal teachings. I have studied under religious fanatics and pragmatists, dissected the classics from Anselm and Augustine to Spinoza and Aquinas.
I’ve attended Sunday school and Jesus camps, evangelical churches and congregational churches; I’ve ‘experienced’ the holy spirit and praying in tongues. I have seen the evil religion has done in the name of God; I have seen the good deeds accomplished by religion. After all this, I am an atheist, and admittedly I am still somewhat human and the last time I checked, I was an American citizen.
In the words of Stephen Roberts, “I contend that we are both atheists. I just believe in one fewer god than you do. When you understand why you dismiss all the other possible gods, you will understand why I dismiss yours.” There exists only one difference between you and me, and it depends on your viewpoint.
I see the difference as you believing in God and me not believing in god. You may perceive this as my soul willingly cannon-balling into Lucifer’s lair, chained in eternal perdition. That’s fine. An atheist refrains from a logical response when eternal damnation enters the conversation, just as one would cease attempting to reason with someone who claims they had an imaginary friend.
The crux is that people throughout the world have different religious experiences, believe in different gods, follow diverse traditions and read different holy books. Who are we to say that the religion we were born into or the god we follow is the only path to eternal life in the next world? Who are we to consider ourselves the spiritually elite?
Ultimately, it is my attempt to ameliorate the denigrated face of atheism, to shatter the stereotype coupled to its name, to show that we atheists do wear color; we do indeed smile, and our aim in life, just as yours, is to live well, to treat others with kindness and respect, to love our families and friends, to embrace integrity and character. We live for this life and find meaning in ourselves and the world around us.
I will leave you with Ayaan Hirsi Ali’s words on her recently adopted atheism, “It is not a creed. Death is certain, replacing both the siren-song of Paradise and the dread of Hell. Life on this earth, with all its mystery and beauty and pain, is then to be lived far more intensely; we stumble and get up, we are sad, confident, insecure, feel loneliness and joy and love. There is nothing more; but I want nothing more.”
Erin Mccann is a fourth-year biology student.
