I’ve been an atheist all my life, but I didn’t notice until I was in high school. I didn’t notice because it never felt like a big deal. I didn’t feel discriminated against. I didn’t feel excluded or different. And I didn’t grow up in some bastion of godlessness either. I grew up in southern New Mexico, where Catholicism is the order of the day. I was surprisingly old before I realized Protestantism was the majority in the US, in my US History class when I was a junior in high school. As an adult I realize how lucky I was to grow up in a situation where my beliefs were such a nonissue.

Growing Up

Looking back, there were moments. At Hanukah one year the rabbi’s wife told me I was going to hell when she discovered that I didn’t know how to play dreidel. Before one meal with my stepfamily my stepcousin, who was about eight at the time, chastised me for having my eyes open during grace. I explained to her that the only way she could know that was if her eyes were also open. I was surprised at my cousin’s Bat Mitzvah when all the cousins were asked to come to the front to read a passage. I walked nervously to the front wondering if my family remembered that I had not had a Bat Mitzvah and could not read Hebrew.

As an adult I have learned that there was strife behind the scenes. My Catholic grandparents were worried about the influence of my Jewish mother and wanted to pay for Catholic boarding school to save my soul. I am probably responsible for shortening my grandmother’s life. When she handed me a rosary at my grandfather’s funeral when I was ten years old I asked what it was.

It is probably clear by now, one side of my family is Jewish and one side is Catholic. On both sides my relatives range from devout to high holiday adherents to atheists. My stepfamily is nondenominationally Christian. My mom would probably call herself culturally Jewish. My dad calls himself a devoutly fallen away Catholic. Religion was a nonissue in my house. God was not discussed, but the subject wasn’t avoided either. It just didn’t come up. Just like in the rest of my life.

A Different Narrative

I’m not just previewing the first chapter of my memoirs. I tell you all this to explain that I am not nor was I ever an angry atheist. I am not a recovering theist. I never had to “come out” to my family. My decision to pursue a Masters in Religion was probably a bigger shock.

Yet I have been reluctant to join the atheist community. I only recently started accepting the atheist label. And I still prefer humanist. My reluctance was not because of the stigma and prejudice, but largely because I don’t like to be defined by a negative, in this case a lack of belief. I prefer to be defined by what I do believe in: the innate equality of all humans and right to have and to pursue happiness.

Now that I have accepted the atheist label, I am still reluctant to participate in the community. Why? Because a large part of the conversation is about why or how to leave religion. I didn’t realize how deep my reluctance was until I was asked to participate in the second annual International Day of Doubt. On June 1st atheists around the world posted on Facebook an invitation to religious people who were doubting their beliefs to message them. It was an opportunity to find a community and talk to people who had gone through a similar struggle. I should explain that I am in no way knocking people and organizations that provide support and guidance for those who have realized their beliefs are different from the religious beliefs of their family, friends, or community. I have infinite sympathy for the difficulty of that situation. But I struggled with the decision to participate in Day of Doubt or not. Ultimately I decided not to. My reasoning, right or wrong, was that since I had never been religious I was not the right person to talk to about the struggle of leaving religion if someone did contact me. I am still not sure I made the right decision.

Building Bridges

I’m not just previewing the first chapter of my memoirs. I tell you all this to explain that I am not nor was I ever an angry atheist. I am not a recovering theist. I never had to “come out” to my family. My decision to pursue a Masters in Religion was probably a bigger shock.

Yet I have been reluctant to join the atheist community. I only recently started accepting the atheist label. And I still prefer humanist. My reluctance was not because of the stigma and prejudice, but largely because I don’t like to be defined by a negative, in this case a lack of belief. I prefer to be defined by what I do believe in: the innate equality of all humans and right to have and to pursue happiness.

Now that I have accepted the atheist label, I am still reluctant to participate in the community. Why? Because a large part of the conversation is about why or how to leave religion. I didn’t realize how deep my reluctance was until I was asked to participate in the second annual International Day of Doubt. On June 1st atheists around the world posted on Facebook an invitation to religious people who were doubting their beliefs to message them. It was an opportunity to find a community and talk to people who had gone through a similar struggle. I should explain that I am in no way knocking people and organizations that provide support and guidance for those who have realized their beliefs are different from the religious beliefs of their family, friends, or community. I have infinite sympathy for the difficulty of that situation. But I struggled with the decision to participate in Day of Doubt or not. Ultimately I decided not to. My reasoning, right or wrong, was that since I had never been religious I was not the right person to talk to about the struggle of leaving religion if someone did contact me. I am still not sure I made the right decision.

These phrases coming from the atheist community are not nearly as bad, but they, and similar language and actions, are not helping either. There is no doubt that these kinds of phrases are helpful for those embracing atheistic beliefs, especially if doing so means breaking or straining relations with family and friends. But they also contribute to the prejudiced atmosphere between theists and atheists. They grate against the ears of those who still hold religious beliefs. To them they are attacks.

How is it possible to build a bridge when both sides are attacking each other? It’s not. Attacks on the religious community do not make it easier for atheists to leave them or remain in them but live openly. Attacks affirm some religious people’s prejudice that atheists are not worthwhile people. Theists who refuse to associate with atheists see only the label and not the person. These phrases coming from the atheist side do the same thing. One side must start building the bridge. Hopefully the other side will see construction and will be inspired to start building from their side as well.

It is, of course, unfair to lump all atheists together as attackers. Just as it is unfair to claim that all religious people think atheists are evil. But as long as atheism is strongly associated with anti-theism I will resist association myself. My resistance is not because of the prejudice atheists face from the religious, but because of the intolerance atheists aim at the religious.

This week’s blog is at Applied Sentience. You can read it here.