I've a big, fat, ugly problem with the idea that one cannot be happy or blessed if God or Jesus isn't thrown into the mix.
Y'all, this idea is everywhere lately.
A very very very Christian friend of mine wrote, "I may not see myself as anyone worth much of anything, but Jesus loves me, cherishes me–who could ask for more?"
It reminded me of a local Methodist announcement board (y'know, those that they have outside the church with often quirky and "clever" sayings for all to see?). It said "In order to make God great, you have to be less."
I rolled my eyes at first, but an acquaintance said "truer words!" and mine eyes were opened.
This is the problem. Not humility! But the feeling that without god, I am worthless and with god, I am worthless. The same church had before advertised "If you follow yourself, you've a fool for a leader" or some shit like that.
Do you feel awesome about yourself yet?
Then--and I don't frequent this discussion board at all anymore because it just pisses me off--I ran into a blog post over at Feminist Mormon Housewives because someone I like wrote it. Nat discusses the YW value of faith and asks "how can we best put this into action?" She talks about faith being nothing if you've no faith in yourself. It's well worth the read but the comments...well, here's your cliff's notes:
"Where's the mention of the Atonement? Of Jesus Christ? Of our Heavenly Father? Faith in oneself is nothing without Jesus."
FUCK. THAT. Y'ALL.
It made me so mad.
On a related note, there's the idea I've ran into all my life--Mormon and not--that if I just gave my anxiety to god he'd take it away.That I lacked faith if I couldn't or "wouldn't." Even my father, who knows how awful our condition is, gives some credence to this idea.
Dad, Dad, Dad.
He of all people ought to know better. I think he has an inkling, but we know how hard it is to deny lifelong teachings. You tell yourself that even though life is hard--nay, damn near impossible--now, it could be tragic if you changed anything.
But God doesn't take anxiety away. He adds to it.
Just because you walk away from God doesn't mean the anxiety and bullshit goes away with him. Not entirely. I've this sneaking suspicion that it's because God doesn't exist. It has nothing to do with God or his religions. It has everything to do with chemicals and constructs and how your brain is structured.You only have so much control, but you do have some control. I've learned this and am still learning this, and it has nothing to do with God.
Learning that you're worth it gives you faith. Denying your problems don't work. Trusting in God and not in yourself doesn't work. At all.
There's something amazing about the process of discovery of your own worth. That you, not God, can do it. That you, not God, did it. All because you believed in yourself. That's powerful. That's hope. That, y'all, is harder than belief in the divine.
Showing posts with label atheist. Show all posts
Showing posts with label atheist. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Monday, May 16, 2011
Feminism and Atheism
I reconnected with an old friend of mine almost three years ago, and one of our first conversations brought up the concept of feminism.
"I have a hard time describing myself as a feminist," I said.
"But you sound like one. You believe like one." (paraphrase)
And I knew that, but it still bothered me to give myself that label. Not because I'm against labels (in fact I'm all for them, in a personal sense), but because I'm uncomfortable with the many negative connotations. It's one of those ideographs, words that make people stop thinking. That's not what I want.
Now I feel I'm unworthy of the label. I'm not activist enough. I'm not passionate enough. I'm not aware enough of misogyny in my life--aside from the church. I imagine that the more I involve myself in the outside world the more I'll feel it. However, I'm not expert enough to argue the cause very well.
But it's progressing. At the beginning of the semester, a class of mine was discussing Kate Chopin's short story, "The Story of an Hour." Because we had earlier discussed how the personal beliefs of the author can sometimes play a part in her work, I decided I'd bring up my observation that Chopin seemed feminist. My professor dismissed me.
"No. I've read excerpts where she professed a love for her husband. She doesn't hate men."
I picked up my jaw, but I said nothing.
I hated that I said nothing, but I said nothing.
And that is one reason I don't like to consider myself feminist. I'm hesitant to be "that girl." I am thinking about that, though--is it worse to remain quiet, or worse to chance annoying people enough that they'll completely avoid you and dismiss everything you say? I know one doesn't have to be a jerk to spark discussion of controversial topics. In fact, I've learned that changing minds is best done when you're assertive and confident--not aggressive and an asshat. But it's also a matter of venue.
Then there's the atheism.
I lean more this way, and I have for a while. I even changed my "religious views" on facebook to atheism for a little bit, but that was uncomfortable too. But "agnostic" didn't fit the bill either. It's set to "none" at the moment, but only because I don't fucking know.
And I would like to know. There's a peace and a power for me in being able to put a name to the feeling. I can't say I don't believe in god for some reason, and yet the logic of a god (specifically the christian god) doesn't pass the test for me. I'm not theist. I'm more atheist, but I can't say it out loud. I don't know why. Atheism doesn't mean I don't think there's a chance. I also know there are things we cannot explain, but there were things people couldn't explain years ago that science has now explained. Yet that doesn't mean science will ever explain everything. Is everything explainable?
So I don't know. I suppose "atheist" is the best classification. It's just very loaded, very negative. And that's a real problem--people should be able to be atheist without chasing others away in horror, just like Christians should be able to be Christians without other people shying away in horror.
For the record, I'm just as annoyed by militant athiests as I am militant christians.
These are strong terms, feminism and atheism. They mean different things to different people, and I tend to think I need to be all the way in, embrace it, before I call myself either one. As it is I run in with people who think "feminist" equals "man hater" and atheism means "godless fucking asshole christian hater who arrogantly decides she knows everything." It just wears me out.
Because that's not what it means, but no matter how many times you calmly correct false perceptions, many people will never hear it. They don't want to. It makes things far too complicated. And even when I'm up for a debate, I'm not always prepared enough. I don't like debating unless I'm confident I'll win.
I wonder if a relabeling would be smart or even necessary--or if its just another way to dismiss important issues.
"I have a hard time describing myself as a feminist," I said.
"But you sound like one. You believe like one." (paraphrase)
And I knew that, but it still bothered me to give myself that label. Not because I'm against labels (in fact I'm all for them, in a personal sense), but because I'm uncomfortable with the many negative connotations. It's one of those ideographs, words that make people stop thinking. That's not what I want.
Now I feel I'm unworthy of the label. I'm not activist enough. I'm not passionate enough. I'm not aware enough of misogyny in my life--aside from the church. I imagine that the more I involve myself in the outside world the more I'll feel it. However, I'm not expert enough to argue the cause very well.
But it's progressing. At the beginning of the semester, a class of mine was discussing Kate Chopin's short story, "The Story of an Hour." Because we had earlier discussed how the personal beliefs of the author can sometimes play a part in her work, I decided I'd bring up my observation that Chopin seemed feminist. My professor dismissed me.
"No. I've read excerpts where she professed a love for her husband. She doesn't hate men."
I picked up my jaw, but I said nothing.
I hated that I said nothing, but I said nothing.
And that is one reason I don't like to consider myself feminist. I'm hesitant to be "that girl." I am thinking about that, though--is it worse to remain quiet, or worse to chance annoying people enough that they'll completely avoid you and dismiss everything you say? I know one doesn't have to be a jerk to spark discussion of controversial topics. In fact, I've learned that changing minds is best done when you're assertive and confident--not aggressive and an asshat. But it's also a matter of venue.
Then there's the atheism.
I lean more this way, and I have for a while. I even changed my "religious views" on facebook to atheism for a little bit, but that was uncomfortable too. But "agnostic" didn't fit the bill either. It's set to "none" at the moment, but only because I don't fucking know.
And I would like to know. There's a peace and a power for me in being able to put a name to the feeling. I can't say I don't believe in god for some reason, and yet the logic of a god (specifically the christian god) doesn't pass the test for me. I'm not theist. I'm more atheist, but I can't say it out loud. I don't know why. Atheism doesn't mean I don't think there's a chance. I also know there are things we cannot explain, but there were things people couldn't explain years ago that science has now explained. Yet that doesn't mean science will ever explain everything. Is everything explainable?
So I don't know. I suppose "atheist" is the best classification. It's just very loaded, very negative. And that's a real problem--people should be able to be atheist without chasing others away in horror, just like Christians should be able to be Christians without other people shying away in horror.
For the record, I'm just as annoyed by militant athiests as I am militant christians.
These are strong terms, feminism and atheism. They mean different things to different people, and I tend to think I need to be all the way in, embrace it, before I call myself either one. As it is I run in with people who think "feminist" equals "man hater" and atheism means "godless fucking asshole christian hater who arrogantly decides she knows everything." It just wears me out.
Because that's not what it means, but no matter how many times you calmly correct false perceptions, many people will never hear it. They don't want to. It makes things far too complicated. And even when I'm up for a debate, I'm not always prepared enough. I don't like debating unless I'm confident I'll win.
I wonder if a relabeling would be smart or even necessary--or if its just another way to dismiss important issues.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
A Secular Easter
For some reason this feels like our first secular Easter, which is weird because...well, it's just weird. And it's not our first. I don't quite know how to feel about it. People have been passing around pictures of Jesus in a bunny suit, holding a cadbury creme egg (/swoon) instead of a lamb--and, you know, I've laughed even though the point is hardly an original one. We all like to point out that hey, Easter is a pagan holiday. And it is. But somehow Christians have fanagled it to be one about Jesus--and considering the timing, I have to wonder if that's really all that fair. Passover and all, you know. It's not like Christmas for god's sake.
It is ridiculous to equate a really frightening looking bunny with the resurrection of Christ, but you know. Whatever.
I've been walking the atheist walk lately, generally unbothered by everything. Unimpressed. I'm writing my rhetorical analysis paper on retention in the church--24 pages long now--and happily feel nothing about it. The church, I mean. Once you get down to the nuts and bolts of something that isn't true you lose all feeling for it. I'm okay with that. I'm happy with that. I wonder if it's a for real, permanent thing now or if sometime in the future I'll go back to being pissed off enough to rant and rave on a semi-regular basis about it.
I'll just ride the wave, I guess.
But on holidays like this and, it seems, Easter especially I find myself wanting to watch the History channel shows about the life of Christ. I also curiously find myself really interested in shows discussing the Catholic church. I don't want to become Catholic, but I wouldn't be against attending a service or two--preferably in an older building. It's something how influential the Catholic church is, and I often wonder if it bothers the LDS church that the Pope is so revered by all. I learned last night that it was the Catholic church that made our new year begin on January 1st--apparently once upon a time it was sometime in late March.
And I love the music. Maybe it's a nostalgia thing. Maybe it's simply the music itself. But I like it.
There's something reassuring about religion, let's face it. When you get rid of...well, most everything, it's not so bad. Throw in the "you're a horrible person who doesn't deserve Christ's mercy but you're getting it anyway SO BE GRATEFUL, DAMMIT" and it's not so pretty, but when all is silent there's something comforting about it. As a budding constructionist I tend to believe it's just how we've been molded, but that doesn't really matter anyway.
So we're staying home today, away from the drama. I was told it was "okay" but that I needed to "get over it." Whatever. I need to stay home as my anxiety has been through the roof, through the roof, but being away from a crowded home of people who you both love and drive you insane does make the holiday different. Maybe that's what makes it feel secular.
I'm all for celebrating the beginning of Spring, the budding of flowers and the warming of the earth. New life, fertility, the impending and welcome end of a school year. But it is different, and I find that we're not really talking to the kids about it all. Religion, the meaning of a holiday. I'm not really sure how to, if we ought to. I think we ought to, considering the climate of the rest of the family and what they come in contact with. How to handle it. How to feel about it.
I'm still taking the temperature of a few things, but you know. It is what it is.
Happy Easter, everyone. <3
It is ridiculous to equate a really frightening looking bunny with the resurrection of Christ, but you know. Whatever.
I've been walking the atheist walk lately, generally unbothered by everything. Unimpressed. I'm writing my rhetorical analysis paper on retention in the church--24 pages long now--and happily feel nothing about it. The church, I mean. Once you get down to the nuts and bolts of something that isn't true you lose all feeling for it. I'm okay with that. I'm happy with that. I wonder if it's a for real, permanent thing now or if sometime in the future I'll go back to being pissed off enough to rant and rave on a semi-regular basis about it.
I'll just ride the wave, I guess.
But on holidays like this and, it seems, Easter especially I find myself wanting to watch the History channel shows about the life of Christ. I also curiously find myself really interested in shows discussing the Catholic church. I don't want to become Catholic, but I wouldn't be against attending a service or two--preferably in an older building. It's something how influential the Catholic church is, and I often wonder if it bothers the LDS church that the Pope is so revered by all. I learned last night that it was the Catholic church that made our new year begin on January 1st--apparently once upon a time it was sometime in late March.
And I love the music. Maybe it's a nostalgia thing. Maybe it's simply the music itself. But I like it.
There's something reassuring about religion, let's face it. When you get rid of...well, most everything, it's not so bad. Throw in the "you're a horrible person who doesn't deserve Christ's mercy but you're getting it anyway SO BE GRATEFUL, DAMMIT" and it's not so pretty, but when all is silent there's something comforting about it. As a budding constructionist I tend to believe it's just how we've been molded, but that doesn't really matter anyway.
So we're staying home today, away from the drama. I was told it was "okay" but that I needed to "get over it." Whatever. I need to stay home as my anxiety has been through the roof, through the roof, but being away from a crowded home of people who you both love and drive you insane does make the holiday different. Maybe that's what makes it feel secular.
I'm all for celebrating the beginning of Spring, the budding of flowers and the warming of the earth. New life, fertility, the impending and welcome end of a school year. But it is different, and I find that we're not really talking to the kids about it all. Religion, the meaning of a holiday. I'm not really sure how to, if we ought to. I think we ought to, considering the climate of the rest of the family and what they come in contact with. How to handle it. How to feel about it.
I'm still taking the temperature of a few things, but you know. It is what it is.
Happy Easter, everyone. <3
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Stupid Argument
I just read this one:
I've heard this a few times but the full impact of its stupidity just hit me now. The first time I heard this, I, too, felt it was powerful. The more I heard it, the less powerful it became. And now it's just stupid.
God stays out of schools because he's not allowed in them? Some powerful god, more concerned with carnal policies than in being there for his children. Priority FAIL.
Also, if only good things happen where God is "allowed" as this meme alludes, can we then conclude that god really isn't allowed in other places, homes, etc? I'm pretty sure there are faithful people to whom bigger atrocities occur than "no [TEACHER LED] prayer in schools." I also know that good things--great things--happen where god isn't allowed.
Really, folks. You can do better, can't you? If anything, this only serves to prove the point.
A little boy writes God a letter. "God, why do you allow bad things to happen in schools?" God replies, "Dear son, I am not allowed in your schools."
I've heard this a few times but the full impact of its stupidity just hit me now. The first time I heard this, I, too, felt it was powerful. The more I heard it, the less powerful it became. And now it's just stupid.
God stays out of schools because he's not allowed in them? Some powerful god, more concerned with carnal policies than in being there for his children. Priority FAIL.
Also, if only good things happen where God is "allowed" as this meme alludes, can we then conclude that god really isn't allowed in other places, homes, etc? I'm pretty sure there are faithful people to whom bigger atrocities occur than "no [TEACHER LED] prayer in schools." I also know that good things--great things--happen where god isn't allowed.
Really, folks. You can do better, can't you? If anything, this only serves to prove the point.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Ghostly Logic and Confidence
(yes, i know. but i found this in my drafts and thought "what the hell")
Had the in-laws over a few weeks ago. Big birthday party for all to be had.
The conversation in many ways proved interesting. As it often happens, talk went to how one family member loves to be scared but shouldn't be because she becomes SO FREAKED OUT. So we spoke of San Jose's Winchester House, Alcatraz, and then the TV show "The Ghost Hunters." This also, as it does now, leads to me telling others how much (cough) fun Eric is now when it comes to supernatural subjects. NO FUN. But, in this instance, it was also kind of sexy.
"You don't believe in ghosts?" someone asked him.
No apologies, just a very strong "No."
I swear, I wanted to jump him. There's something unbelievably sexy about that kind of unabashed confidence in the right kind of company. This company.
So we're talking ghosts and whether or not they're an actually existing entity when discussion turns to the logistics of a spirit moving physical objects. My first thought was: really? we're going to decide what's possible and what's not? how can you decide that when you believe what you do?
And then my husband's BIL says "Ghosts can't move physical objects because that's what bodies are for." Duh.
I just kind of looked at him. It spoke, for readers who don't know, to the teaching that everyone living on the Earth came here to acquire a body--a necessity for the afterlife.
This particular man is a good man--one of the best, but he can be a bit arrogant and pious. He's always right, you know? I grew up around this, so I have a bit of a physical reaction to it. So realizing that I knew that he wasn't necessarily right was a very good thing.
It's a matter of where my confidences lie. One of my biggest issues lies in not embracing my own beliefs. The fact that I felt sure enough in myself to not yield to his in the name of propriety was an exciting thing.
More and more I realize I need to sort out what I believe, accept it and love it in order for it to affect my relationships the way it ought to. I look forward to that. It only seems to be a process that lives on its own account and doesn't always seem to be something I can control. In a way that makes it better, but in a way that makes it worse, too. That said, last night it made it empowering, and I'm grateful for that.
Had the in-laws over a few weeks ago. Big birthday party for all to be had.
The conversation in many ways proved interesting. As it often happens, talk went to how one family member loves to be scared but shouldn't be because she becomes SO FREAKED OUT. So we spoke of San Jose's Winchester House, Alcatraz, and then the TV show "The Ghost Hunters." This also, as it does now, leads to me telling others how much (cough) fun Eric is now when it comes to supernatural subjects. NO FUN. But, in this instance, it was also kind of sexy.
"You don't believe in ghosts?" someone asked him.
No apologies, just a very strong "No."
I swear, I wanted to jump him. There's something unbelievably sexy about that kind of unabashed confidence in the right kind of company. This company.
So we're talking ghosts and whether or not they're an actually existing entity when discussion turns to the logistics of a spirit moving physical objects. My first thought was: really? we're going to decide what's possible and what's not? how can you decide that when you believe what you do?
And then my husband's BIL says "Ghosts can't move physical objects because that's what bodies are for." Duh.
I just kind of looked at him. It spoke, for readers who don't know, to the teaching that everyone living on the Earth came here to acquire a body--a necessity for the afterlife.
This particular man is a good man--one of the best, but he can be a bit arrogant and pious. He's always right, you know? I grew up around this, so I have a bit of a physical reaction to it. So realizing that I knew that he wasn't necessarily right was a very good thing.
It's a matter of where my confidences lie. One of my biggest issues lies in not embracing my own beliefs. The fact that I felt sure enough in myself to not yield to his in the name of propriety was an exciting thing.
More and more I realize I need to sort out what I believe, accept it and love it in order for it to affect my relationships the way it ought to. I look forward to that. It only seems to be a process that lives on its own account and doesn't always seem to be something I can control. In a way that makes it better, but in a way that makes it worse, too. That said, last night it made it empowering, and I'm grateful for that.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
A god is a god is a god
I am comfortably atheist regarding gods other than the Christian one. Greek gods, Islamic, whatever. Let's use Zeus. I don't believe in Zeus. Likely you also don't believe in Zeus. I am comfortable in saying Zeus never existed--yet for those who lived in the era in which Zeus was "God," Zeus totally existed.
You dig?
Distance--both geographical and time--has given me not only the privilege but the right to say I reject Zeus as a real entity and his religion as totally unnecessary.
The same goes for today. I wasn't born in ancient Greece. If I was, I'd likely be worshiping Zeus. But I wasn't and so I don't.
I am atheist with regard to these and other faiths and gods, and that is okay to those who share my feelings. My family, also not born in ancient Greece, would not disown me or cock their heads at me. There would be no whispers in the corners, behind our backs. My worthiness would not be put into question. I realize this is a privilege, that not every atheist with regard to Zeus especially was given this right, and while I can never understand what that is like, that's beside my point right now.
Listen, I am totally okay with saying Zeus never existed except within the hearts of those who believed in him. I can denounce other gods and religions, no problem. But for me to embrace atheism with regard to the god I grew up with? It's not so easy.
Why is that? There is no difference that I can see. A god is a god is a god.
Not really like the Christian god is any better than the others. If he is better, it's only because of me and my interpretation. That's all god seems to be, an interpretation. Mormonism is one interpretation, Catholicism another, etc. etc. etc. God seems to be something that lives only in my heart and yours. And yet I can't let it go. There's a chance, I say. Maybe nobody has it right. Maybe there is a god, but then who is that god and why do I need to know? To feel better? I don't know why it would make me feel better. What the fuck would I do with that information--it's not like any god I'd believe in has a set of scriptures. I'd love to believe in the ideal Christian god, but I can't legitimize making that god perfect. I'm not making up that story, y'all. There are too many things I need to edit from what I've got in the Bible, and I've got my own shit to edit. Not to mention that I feel (perhaps mistakenly) that god is manifest in god's believers, and I'm not perfect--nor do I want to be.
So I can swiftly deny one god while holding onto another, even if by the threads. I think this is why I struggle with embracing agnosticism. I can't wrap my head around it.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
My grandpa died today.
Historically, I don't handle death well.
After today I wonder if that is just something I've always told myself. Truth, it has always been the idea of death that I didn't handle well. The idea that one minute they're there, the next they're gone. I'm horribly nostalgic, too. It's also the mystery of death. The thought about the pain that goes with it. The last, secret moments before relief.
I received the phone call on Thursday or Friday about his having a stroke and being at the hospital, how it was "not looking good." They said if I wanted to come, then I needed to come now. I couldn't. I've had bronchitis for a while and didn't think the hospital would smile on me coming down to see him and I didn't know if I'd just make things worse by doing so. The next day I was so out of my mind it scared me. I wasn't able to stand for more than five minutes until today, so when I was told he was on life support but that they were pulling the plug, there was little I could do. But I'm pretty sure my stepmom at least faulted me to some degree for not coming more quickly. It wouldn't be a lie to say that a part of me hesitated to go, but I've done a lot of thinking lately and, with Eric's help, began to look at this situation from a different angle.
Besides, my grandma and my dad--I needed to be there for them. I cannot imagine losing my husband or my father. I wanted them to know I was there for real.
So when my sister texted me earlier today to tell me his respiration was failing and his extremities growing cold, I called my mom and asked her to watch the kids for us while. We left at approximately 1pm. I didn't know what I was getting myself into. I prefer privacy when it comes to saying goodbye to somebody--something I'd only done once before, but then my aunt was more alive than dead (she had stage 4 cancer and liked to put on a show of strength for everyone). I also told myself he'd probably pass as we were on our way, and then what was the point?
But there was a point. I just wouldn't know until I was there.
My mom and Eric asked me if I'd regret not going. I knew I might. I thought about my grandma--she has a ton of land with a small farm quite a distance from town, and she's living with her abusive and possibly certifiably insane daughter. At 75, it feels far too much for her.
We walked in the room at about 2pm. I made my way to the side of his bed and watched him. I thought he was asleep. Alive, but asleep. His eyes were closed, his mouth agape. The nurse was there. It took me a moment to figure out what was going on. I quite literally missed him by about two minutes, if not less. It broke me up that we missed him by just seconds. Stories were told about his last days, his last moments, things I wished I could've been there for. Apparently just before he passed he moved both his arms up, something that surprised the family as he was brain dead on the left side and assumed paralyzed.
I've never seen a dead person before. Ever. I've refused viewings, all of that. I didn't want that to be my last memory of the person. I've also not lost very many people close to me. Two, maybe. Maybe.
Eric, having used the bathroom, came in a minute or so after I did. I didn't know if I should've said it out loud, but I did before I really knew what I was saying. "We're too late," I said. That was a hard reality to face.
See, this past holiday season we had opted to visit Eric's mom. It wasn't a big deal for Thanksgiving, so much, but Christmas. I had a feeling it'd be his last. You just don't suddenly deal with mini-strokes and dementia and falling down all over the place (to the point you're put in a nursing home temporarily) and not be swiftly on your way out. Even knowing that, though, I didn't go. First it was a matter of "I don't want to," but no decisions were made. I didn't want to deal with that side of my family--they can be rather labor intensive at times. When we discovered we had no money for gas, the decision, I figured, was made for us.
Besides, I think I figured him to last longer than this.
My dad and my grandma sounded terrible on the phone when I spoke to them only a few days before, but here in the hospital room they were putting on their stoic faces. My dad was taking care of all the crapwork--answering questions, that sort of thing. My grandma was talking about other things but if you looked at her close enough, you could see she was suffering. His death means a lot of things. She kept saying she didn't know where to begin, that this was a nightmare (she walked out of the room for just a moment, and when she returned he was gone). My dad tried to be strong, but every now and again his words and actions would belie him. Five or so minutes after we arrived, my dad went to my grandpa and shook his shoulder, saying "It's okay, Dad. It's really okay." I spoke with him right before we left and asked how he was doing. He said he figured his would be a delayed reaction. He also spoke of taking a moment during a trip to her house to look at all the things my grandfather had made. They used to go cut wood together. He's resigned himself now to not do that anymore. It's sad for me to hear that--every year they did it. They were great friends. If I can say anything about my father, it is this: he is amazing when it comes to taking care of his family.
My grandfather was a Korean war veteran and a machinist. He astounded me with his knowledge. He had his own little saw mill where he could take tree trunks and make 2 x 4s. He made his own nuts and bolts. His garage is something to marvel at. My dad has no idea how they're going to get through it all.
Everyone, of course, began to guess what my grandpa was up to now that he was gone. "He's probably meeting a lot of people right now," they said. "Probably eating a whole load of cookies." "Got a platter of food, I'll bet." Stuff like that. My grandma talked about how some people, right before they die, are reported as smiling and/or waving, or saying hello to themselves, how if that doesn't prove an afterlife she doesn't know what does. Of course I let her have this. I let them all have this. As for me, I didn't believe it. I just didn't.
Same goes for looking at his body. My SIL, after seeing her friend's dead son at his viewing, told me that it was a good experience--she, too, had balked at such things before. She said it reaffirmed to her that our bodies are mere shells. She could tell his spirit was gone. I spent some time looking at my grandfather, wondering if I saw and felt the same thing. I didn't. Other than the lack of breathing, it just seemed like he was in the room. He wasn't, and I knew that--I felt that--but it wasn't like something was missing. If I didn't think about it, he was just sleeping.
I also kept looking at him because I knew I wanted to go touch him and say goodbye. I had asked my dad over the phone yesterday to kiss him for me, but I wasn't sure he'd do that. Besides, I was there. Everyone else would take his hand and kiss his forehead. I wanted to, but I was absolutely terrified. I spent our entire visit debating with myself. I knew I'd regret it if I didn't, but I was afraid of rigor mortis and the cold of the dead.
Right before we left, I determined to approach him. I kissed him on the forehead. I think I said something but I don't remember what it was. I worried for a moment about my hair falling into his eyes but remembered straightaway that it didn't matter anymore. His skin was cold to the touch, but it wasn't a special kind of deathly cold. It was just as if he needed a blanket.
There's something comforting to me about just knowing that he was gone. Not that he, individually, was gone, but I wasn't worrying or speculating over what his spirit was doing or where he was. I didn't wonder about him being in the room with us, as my mom tried to reassure me he was (because we were too late). He was just gone, and it was up to us to make something good of it. It gave me a sense of strength I hadn't felt before.
I've thought a lot lately about being honest with myself. I fight with myself about Jesus--not so much god anymore, but Jesus. I'm holding on to threads, just like I did with Mormonism, but I think deep down I just don't believe. I have the door cracked, of course, but mostly I don't believe. And that's okay.
I'm going to miss him. I keep thinking about how he played "this little piggy" with my cousins and I when we were just little. He and my grandma weren't in a happy, loving marriage but they stuck together. He took great care of her and she of him. For a long time he didn't come with her to family get-togethers, and if he did he was quiet. He'd speak with my dad and my uncle out in the garage, of course, but in the home he was in his seat, sleeping. The last few years he became much more sociable. It was fun to see him that way.
I'm sure there's more to say. This is probably more for me than you, but that's okay. This is my journal.
I'm gonna miss him, but mostly I'm worried about my grandma. I'm sure that's okay. As for myself, I'm pretty proud. I fought through a lot to do what was best.
After today I wonder if that is just something I've always told myself. Truth, it has always been the idea of death that I didn't handle well. The idea that one minute they're there, the next they're gone. I'm horribly nostalgic, too. It's also the mystery of death. The thought about the pain that goes with it. The last, secret moments before relief.
I received the phone call on Thursday or Friday about his having a stroke and being at the hospital, how it was "not looking good." They said if I wanted to come, then I needed to come now. I couldn't. I've had bronchitis for a while and didn't think the hospital would smile on me coming down to see him and I didn't know if I'd just make things worse by doing so. The next day I was so out of my mind it scared me. I wasn't able to stand for more than five minutes until today, so when I was told he was on life support but that they were pulling the plug, there was little I could do. But I'm pretty sure my stepmom at least faulted me to some degree for not coming more quickly. It wouldn't be a lie to say that a part of me hesitated to go, but I've done a lot of thinking lately and, with Eric's help, began to look at this situation from a different angle.
Besides, my grandma and my dad--I needed to be there for them. I cannot imagine losing my husband or my father. I wanted them to know I was there for real.
So when my sister texted me earlier today to tell me his respiration was failing and his extremities growing cold, I called my mom and asked her to watch the kids for us while. We left at approximately 1pm. I didn't know what I was getting myself into. I prefer privacy when it comes to saying goodbye to somebody--something I'd only done once before, but then my aunt was more alive than dead (she had stage 4 cancer and liked to put on a show of strength for everyone). I also told myself he'd probably pass as we were on our way, and then what was the point?
But there was a point. I just wouldn't know until I was there.
My mom and Eric asked me if I'd regret not going. I knew I might. I thought about my grandma--she has a ton of land with a small farm quite a distance from town, and she's living with her abusive and possibly certifiably insane daughter. At 75, it feels far too much for her.
We walked in the room at about 2pm. I made my way to the side of his bed and watched him. I thought he was asleep. Alive, but asleep. His eyes were closed, his mouth agape. The nurse was there. It took me a moment to figure out what was going on. I quite literally missed him by about two minutes, if not less. It broke me up that we missed him by just seconds. Stories were told about his last days, his last moments, things I wished I could've been there for. Apparently just before he passed he moved both his arms up, something that surprised the family as he was brain dead on the left side and assumed paralyzed.
I've never seen a dead person before. Ever. I've refused viewings, all of that. I didn't want that to be my last memory of the person. I've also not lost very many people close to me. Two, maybe. Maybe.
Eric, having used the bathroom, came in a minute or so after I did. I didn't know if I should've said it out loud, but I did before I really knew what I was saying. "We're too late," I said. That was a hard reality to face.
See, this past holiday season we had opted to visit Eric's mom. It wasn't a big deal for Thanksgiving, so much, but Christmas. I had a feeling it'd be his last. You just don't suddenly deal with mini-strokes and dementia and falling down all over the place (to the point you're put in a nursing home temporarily) and not be swiftly on your way out. Even knowing that, though, I didn't go. First it was a matter of "I don't want to," but no decisions were made. I didn't want to deal with that side of my family--they can be rather labor intensive at times. When we discovered we had no money for gas, the decision, I figured, was made for us.
Besides, I think I figured him to last longer than this.
My dad and my grandma sounded terrible on the phone when I spoke to them only a few days before, but here in the hospital room they were putting on their stoic faces. My dad was taking care of all the crapwork--answering questions, that sort of thing. My grandma was talking about other things but if you looked at her close enough, you could see she was suffering. His death means a lot of things. She kept saying she didn't know where to begin, that this was a nightmare (she walked out of the room for just a moment, and when she returned he was gone). My dad tried to be strong, but every now and again his words and actions would belie him. Five or so minutes after we arrived, my dad went to my grandpa and shook his shoulder, saying "It's okay, Dad. It's really okay." I spoke with him right before we left and asked how he was doing. He said he figured his would be a delayed reaction. He also spoke of taking a moment during a trip to her house to look at all the things my grandfather had made. They used to go cut wood together. He's resigned himself now to not do that anymore. It's sad for me to hear that--every year they did it. They were great friends. If I can say anything about my father, it is this: he is amazing when it comes to taking care of his family.
My grandfather was a Korean war veteran and a machinist. He astounded me with his knowledge. He had his own little saw mill where he could take tree trunks and make 2 x 4s. He made his own nuts and bolts. His garage is something to marvel at. My dad has no idea how they're going to get through it all.
Everyone, of course, began to guess what my grandpa was up to now that he was gone. "He's probably meeting a lot of people right now," they said. "Probably eating a whole load of cookies." "Got a platter of food, I'll bet." Stuff like that. My grandma talked about how some people, right before they die, are reported as smiling and/or waving, or saying hello to themselves, how if that doesn't prove an afterlife she doesn't know what does. Of course I let her have this. I let them all have this. As for me, I didn't believe it. I just didn't.
Same goes for looking at his body. My SIL, after seeing her friend's dead son at his viewing, told me that it was a good experience--she, too, had balked at such things before. She said it reaffirmed to her that our bodies are mere shells. She could tell his spirit was gone. I spent some time looking at my grandfather, wondering if I saw and felt the same thing. I didn't. Other than the lack of breathing, it just seemed like he was in the room. He wasn't, and I knew that--I felt that--but it wasn't like something was missing. If I didn't think about it, he was just sleeping.
I also kept looking at him because I knew I wanted to go touch him and say goodbye. I had asked my dad over the phone yesterday to kiss him for me, but I wasn't sure he'd do that. Besides, I was there. Everyone else would take his hand and kiss his forehead. I wanted to, but I was absolutely terrified. I spent our entire visit debating with myself. I knew I'd regret it if I didn't, but I was afraid of rigor mortis and the cold of the dead.
Right before we left, I determined to approach him. I kissed him on the forehead. I think I said something but I don't remember what it was. I worried for a moment about my hair falling into his eyes but remembered straightaway that it didn't matter anymore. His skin was cold to the touch, but it wasn't a special kind of deathly cold. It was just as if he needed a blanket.
There's something comforting to me about just knowing that he was gone. Not that he, individually, was gone, but I wasn't worrying or speculating over what his spirit was doing or where he was. I didn't wonder about him being in the room with us, as my mom tried to reassure me he was (because we were too late). He was just gone, and it was up to us to make something good of it. It gave me a sense of strength I hadn't felt before.
I've thought a lot lately about being honest with myself. I fight with myself about Jesus--not so much god anymore, but Jesus. I'm holding on to threads, just like I did with Mormonism, but I think deep down I just don't believe. I have the door cracked, of course, but mostly I don't believe. And that's okay.
I'm going to miss him. I keep thinking about how he played "this little piggy" with my cousins and I when we were just little. He and my grandma weren't in a happy, loving marriage but they stuck together. He took great care of her and she of him. For a long time he didn't come with her to family get-togethers, and if he did he was quiet. He'd speak with my dad and my uncle out in the garage, of course, but in the home he was in his seat, sleeping. The last few years he became much more sociable. It was fun to see him that way.
I'm sure there's more to say. This is probably more for me than you, but that's okay. This is my journal.
I'm gonna miss him, but mostly I'm worried about my grandma. I'm sure that's okay. As for myself, I'm pretty proud. I fought through a lot to do what was best.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Merry Christmas
Sometimes, as some of you might know already, I feel like I can be a bit bitchier than is called for. My "War on Christmas" commentary included--
I realize what I've said cannot be wholly or honestly categorized as violent or to the same standard as others, but I've certainly put in my own two cents, much of what isn't necessarily original. You know, "the date is pagan, blahblahblah"
And while I've said it before, I want to say it again: I understand that the birth of Christ is an integral part of the holiday for many, many people.
I just get annoyed.
Even as an active Christian, this war on Christmas crap bothered me. Happy Holidays was just fine. Seasons Greetings. All of it is better than "Fuck off." And it did bother me to walk into Walmart and hear a very pointed "Merry Christmas" from their employees, knowing it was specifically called for from a company who places Christian things on its shelves and keeps its stuff "family friendly." Honest to god, I see more Glenn Beck crap than anything else in there.
All the while dealing with the guilt that is associated with shopping at Walmart. And now Target.
But that's a whole 'nother post.
I just wish this time of year encompassed everything it claims to be about, but all of this bitching doesn't make it what it is supposed to be. I watch these programs that tell us about love and hope and giving--nothing exclusively Christian, but values Christianity claims, but I don't see it. I see a lot of people fighting over who is the biggest victim. I wish it wasn't.
These days I lean more atheist, one who needs a lot of help in the living authentically department, but I believe in these things too.
Christ hung out with the sinners. He didn't condemn them--he told them to sin no more, but he had compassion. It was the hypocrites he didn't care for. He broke the rules in order to serve the poor and needy.
This is the time of year, I think, when everyone should reconsider their thoughts and actions and keep it to themselves instead of projecting their faults onto others and then judging others for their projected faults. I've been a bit proud myself, thinking I was better because I don't need a carrot. I think we all need carrots, whether it be heaven or a good reputation, a good feeling inside. Years ago I took a class called "Philosophy of Religion" as an LDS investigator under the guise of seeking it all out. The professor argued that pure altruism didn't exist--there's always a motive in doing good. Always. I rejected his argument in totality back then, but sometimes (like now) I wonder more and more if he was right. But is that so bad, and if not, how can I judge those who need heaven in order to do good? I don't think it's good to need heaven because I'd rather deal with people who are good to be good, but is that always the case with these folks?
Again, a whole other post.
I like Christ. I don't think I believe he was necessarily a divine being or even a being period, but I like much of what I read about him. Some of what I read, with special consideration of Matthew 5:48, makes my shoulders turn to brick:
That one always gets to me. When I'm not kicking myself for not being perfect, I'm kicking myself for feeling perfect.
Anyway, what was that Gandhi said? It's so popular these days, especially in light of Anne Rice's distancing from Christianity: "I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ."
But I shouldn't judge. Some of the best people I know consider themselves Christian. Religion has no bearing on who is good and who is not.
And I guess that's the point. This blog/journal here is to work my way through my feelings regarding religion, and from time to time I get up on my high horse and preach preach preach. I'll make fun. And I'll probably do it again and again. Sometimes I'll feel justified, other times I'll apologize and perhaps even delete. I believe in poking fun, and I believe that religion can be more harmful than helpful. I hate the LDS church, even though it was there for me when I needed something good the most. I still don't understand that. There is a lot about spirituality and the need for religion that I don't understand. So I may not like religion but that doesn't mean I don't like its people. I don't know about it being good while acknowledging that it does good things. These days I can't figure out my fascination with Catholicism (I want to attend mass) while knowing what I know about the abuses therein.
Without trying to this year I bought two different kinds of Christmas cards--one said "Merry Christmas" and the other "Happy Holidays." For the briefest moment I considered being an ass and sending people like my father the "Happy Holidays" one, but stopped. This really isn't the time of year for that--and is any time of year appropriate for that? When I'm feeling mature enough I realize there is not. That doesn't mean I wasn't an ass in some other cards, just to the people who would appreciate it.
There are moments I feel pretty good about myself, but they're few and far between. Lately I've done little but degrade myself. But I'm trying. I think most people are.
I think that's all that matters.
So Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays--whatever you like. It doesn't matter. God knows Christians and atheists alike celebrate, and if he's the kind of god Christians claim he is, he won't and doesn't give a shit about labels, just the heart. And it's in this way that I don't think Christmas is exclusively Christian.
Besides, O Little Town of Bethlehem remains my favorite Christmas song. Ever.
What's more, the LDS Hymns version (MoTab?) is the only acceptable version.
I realize what I've said cannot be wholly or honestly categorized as violent or to the same standard as others, but I've certainly put in my own two cents, much of what isn't necessarily original. You know, "the date is pagan, blahblahblah"
And while I've said it before, I want to say it again: I understand that the birth of Christ is an integral part of the holiday for many, many people.
I just get annoyed.
Even as an active Christian, this war on Christmas crap bothered me. Happy Holidays was just fine. Seasons Greetings. All of it is better than "Fuck off." And it did bother me to walk into Walmart and hear a very pointed "Merry Christmas" from their employees, knowing it was specifically called for from a company who places Christian things on its shelves and keeps its stuff "family friendly." Honest to god, I see more Glenn Beck crap than anything else in there.
All the while dealing with the guilt that is associated with shopping at Walmart. And now Target.
But that's a whole 'nother post.
I just wish this time of year encompassed everything it claims to be about, but all of this bitching doesn't make it what it is supposed to be. I watch these programs that tell us about love and hope and giving--nothing exclusively Christian, but values Christianity claims, but I don't see it. I see a lot of people fighting over who is the biggest victim. I wish it wasn't.
These days I lean more atheist, one who needs a lot of help in the living authentically department, but I believe in these things too.
Christ hung out with the sinners. He didn't condemn them--he told them to sin no more, but he had compassion. It was the hypocrites he didn't care for. He broke the rules in order to serve the poor and needy.
This is the time of year, I think, when everyone should reconsider their thoughts and actions and keep it to themselves instead of projecting their faults onto others and then judging others for their projected faults. I've been a bit proud myself, thinking I was better because I don't need a carrot. I think we all need carrots, whether it be heaven or a good reputation, a good feeling inside. Years ago I took a class called "Philosophy of Religion" as an LDS investigator under the guise of seeking it all out. The professor argued that pure altruism didn't exist--there's always a motive in doing good. Always. I rejected his argument in totality back then, but sometimes (like now) I wonder more and more if he was right. But is that so bad, and if not, how can I judge those who need heaven in order to do good? I don't think it's good to need heaven because I'd rather deal with people who are good to be good, but is that always the case with these folks?
Again, a whole other post.
I like Christ. I don't think I believe he was necessarily a divine being or even a being period, but I like much of what I read about him. Some of what I read, with special consideration of Matthew 5:48, makes my shoulders turn to brick:
Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect.
That one always gets to me. When I'm not kicking myself for not being perfect, I'm kicking myself for feeling perfect.
Anyway, what was that Gandhi said? It's so popular these days, especially in light of Anne Rice's distancing from Christianity: "I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ."
But I shouldn't judge. Some of the best people I know consider themselves Christian. Religion has no bearing on who is good and who is not.
And I guess that's the point. This blog/journal here is to work my way through my feelings regarding religion, and from time to time I get up on my high horse and preach preach preach. I'll make fun. And I'll probably do it again and again. Sometimes I'll feel justified, other times I'll apologize and perhaps even delete. I believe in poking fun, and I believe that religion can be more harmful than helpful. I hate the LDS church, even though it was there for me when I needed something good the most. I still don't understand that. There is a lot about spirituality and the need for religion that I don't understand. So I may not like religion but that doesn't mean I don't like its people. I don't know about it being good while acknowledging that it does good things. These days I can't figure out my fascination with Catholicism (I want to attend mass) while knowing what I know about the abuses therein.
Without trying to this year I bought two different kinds of Christmas cards--one said "Merry Christmas" and the other "Happy Holidays." For the briefest moment I considered being an ass and sending people like my father the "Happy Holidays" one, but stopped. This really isn't the time of year for that--and is any time of year appropriate for that? When I'm feeling mature enough I realize there is not. That doesn't mean I wasn't an ass in some other cards, just to the people who would appreciate it.
There are moments I feel pretty good about myself, but they're few and far between. Lately I've done little but degrade myself. But I'm trying. I think most people are.
I think that's all that matters.
So Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays--whatever you like. It doesn't matter. God knows Christians and atheists alike celebrate, and if he's the kind of god Christians claim he is, he won't and doesn't give a shit about labels, just the heart. And it's in this way that I don't think Christmas is exclusively Christian.
Besides, O Little Town of Bethlehem remains my favorite Christmas song. Ever.
What's more, the LDS Hymns version (MoTab?) is the only acceptable version.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
'Tis the *(#*@! season
Made me think of this Salon article. Salon! I dunno how I feel about the billboard because I really hate all these fucking billboards whatever religious/irreligious POV they preach, but good grief.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Agnostic Christmas
Before we officially-unofficially left the church, there was one thing I had grown to agree with the Jehovah's Witnesses on. To quote a friend of Eric's,
"If you teach your children about Santa and they find out that's a lie, then how can you trust that they'll believe you about God?"
I always thought he had a point, both before and after he said it. It had been on my mind. It made sense. But I couldn't teach my kids that Santa wasn't real--could you imagine? I wasn't worried about them but about them spouting off to their friends. Never mind the reactions from friends and family whom I divulged my hesitancies to.
God forbid I didn't teach my kids about Santa!
How dare I even suggest taking such a fundamental childhood experience away!
All of these reactions from fellow Christians.
I'm sure many of you fall or fell into this category and I don't want to judge you. I'm not. It just strikes me as a little odd. Especially when it comes from the camp of "Keep Christ in Christmas." Especially when it comes from a people who do understand the history of where Christmas comes from--why it's not held on or near Christ's supposed birthday. A people who get all up in arms over "Happy Holidays" when it's not necessarily a Christian time of year.
Knock, knock. Hello?
I didn't get it, but I couldn't bring myself to actively teach my kids about Santa, and Eric was on board with me. Our kids learned about Santa through other family and television shows, society at large. So you can imagine I got questions, at least from my oldest (who is rather observant), at a young age.
"Is Santa real?" she'd ask.
"What do you think?"
But now that we're not believers, it doesn't bother me as much. There's still a part of me that doesn't enjoy lying to my kids. It's interesting how things change once you have your own sometimes, in various ways. I was taught about Santa, learned all on my own that he was a hoax. It didn't bother me at all--in fact, probably like many of you, I reveled in knowing when my siblings did not. I didn't make the connection between Santa and God. We tend to think kids have a greater propensity for such conclusions than they do, much like we worry about them seeing or hearing things on a movie that, up to a certain age, goes right over their heads.
So why am I having a hard time with my own kids, especially now? Abbie is so close to figuring it out, she's such a smart kid. I want so badly to tell her, but I'm encouraging her to rely on her own logic. So far she's finding ways for Santa to be possible, but it won't be much longer. I look forward to that day, really, just to congratulate her and include her in the behind-the-scenes action. But perhaps I won't make it and I'll be the one to tell her. I don't know. I hope for the former so, so much.
Perhaps Santa will be a good lesson they can remember years from now if they ever decide to be interested in the church.
If something doesn't seem quite right and you have to reach and stretch to make it rational and probable, something ain't right.
"If you teach your children about Santa and they find out that's a lie, then how can you trust that they'll believe you about God?"
I always thought he had a point, both before and after he said it. It had been on my mind. It made sense. But I couldn't teach my kids that Santa wasn't real--could you imagine? I wasn't worried about them but about them spouting off to their friends. Never mind the reactions from friends and family whom I divulged my hesitancies to.
God forbid I didn't teach my kids about Santa!
How dare I even suggest taking such a fundamental childhood experience away!
All of these reactions from fellow Christians.
I'm sure many of you fall or fell into this category and I don't want to judge you. I'm not. It just strikes me as a little odd. Especially when it comes from the camp of "Keep Christ in Christmas." Especially when it comes from a people who do understand the history of where Christmas comes from--why it's not held on or near Christ's supposed birthday. A people who get all up in arms over "Happy Holidays" when it's not necessarily a Christian time of year.
Knock, knock. Hello?
I didn't get it, but I couldn't bring myself to actively teach my kids about Santa, and Eric was on board with me. Our kids learned about Santa through other family and television shows, society at large. So you can imagine I got questions, at least from my oldest (who is rather observant), at a young age.
"Is Santa real?" she'd ask.
"What do you think?"
But now that we're not believers, it doesn't bother me as much. There's still a part of me that doesn't enjoy lying to my kids. It's interesting how things change once you have your own sometimes, in various ways. I was taught about Santa, learned all on my own that he was a hoax. It didn't bother me at all--in fact, probably like many of you, I reveled in knowing when my siblings did not. I didn't make the connection between Santa and God. We tend to think kids have a greater propensity for such conclusions than they do, much like we worry about them seeing or hearing things on a movie that, up to a certain age, goes right over their heads.
So why am I having a hard time with my own kids, especially now? Abbie is so close to figuring it out, she's such a smart kid. I want so badly to tell her, but I'm encouraging her to rely on her own logic. So far she's finding ways for Santa to be possible, but it won't be much longer. I look forward to that day, really, just to congratulate her and include her in the behind-the-scenes action. But perhaps I won't make it and I'll be the one to tell her. I don't know. I hope for the former so, so much.
Perhaps Santa will be a good lesson they can remember years from now if they ever decide to be interested in the church.
If something doesn't seem quite right and you have to reach and stretch to make it rational and probable, something ain't right.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Faith
I was never one to rip something apart just to figure out how it worked. I just never was that kid.
However.
On our drive home from San Francisco the other night, Eric and I had yet another discussion about faith as it relates to both religion and science. Some of you may think after previous posts that I feel science relieves me of the need for faith as it provides much proof. I thought perhaps this was the case as well, but after going through a few surprisingly interesting discussions on faith during my stint in the clink and after discussions with Eric I know (oh god, that word)--rather, I feel this isn't true anymore.
Again! Must...get...vocab...out...of...brain.
During the summer after high school, I felt an interest in attending a Christian college, learning Hebrew, and seeing the original Biblical texts for myself because I wanted to know for myself. I had to know everything and not trust in what preachers told me. I knew because I had experienced that every preacher and every church in every denomination generally taught varying things. Knowing this is part of what drew me to the LDS church--it was the same everywhere.
So I felt a need to know everything. I knew it was a difficult if not impossible task, but I wanted to try.
Then I read the BYUish codes I had to agree to to get into such colleges (Bethany, in particular) and couldn't even pretend. I didn't believe in the Trinity. I didn't believe in the Nicene Creed. Dead before I even stepped in the door.
The LDS church answered all my questions for me anyways. The KJV was the bestest out there. Living and breathing prophets had spoken with god. These stories were recent, a plus in my book.
Anyway, so you join and you know everything. Woo! (even though you don't, shh!)
Enter disaffection and apostasy and suddenly you're faced with the fact that you don't know shit, jack. I thought I was okay with this. A lot of people, I've found, find a great deal of comfort in this. Then I began to learn a little bit more about my world, about life's history and development and past. Hardly enough to make me an expert but enough to make me blink a couple times.
Then Eric, having gone through a rather rigorous math program, told me he feels he knows enough to take care of the possibility of there being a god. He is an atheist in the sense that he feels chances are slim to none, and he'll just live his life as a good person.
I discussed this a little bit here, and quite a few balked. Nobody wants to say they "know" anymore, and I completely understand this. I had learned I know nothing, something I still feel to this day. But not in a comforting sense. I'm hardly comforted by this.
It's a lot of pressure for me, personally, to know nothing. I'm surrounded by people who know so much. I don't understand how Eric is so educated on so many things. People in general. I don't get where I got off the boat. I feel rather stupid, to put it bluntly.
So I want to know more.
I've been feeling an immense need and intense internal pressure to learn everything there is to know about evolutionary biology, about genetics, about history. But I'm not a biology major, nor will I be one. My love is for English. And I hate lab. While I feel a fascination and a love for biology, I don't have the fucking time to go back and get my math and chemistry taken care of JUST so I can get my biology minor. I'm working my ass off in just this one class to get a good grade. I'd kill myself later. It wouldn't happen. I figure I'll just watch shows with Eric and read a few books. I'd rather minor in history, anyways.
But still, y'all, I want to know more.
So I spoke with Eric about that. There are plenty of people out there (a very small group by comparison I'm told) who are, I assume, non-religious and who don't accept the theory of evolution and natural selection. I do not include the crazy folk over at the Creation Museum, by the way.
But I want to know their side. I want to know what it is that is keeping this from being fact. In my heart, I'm a debater. I have to know both sides. I have to consider everything so I'm not a schmuck who just falls in with the popular crowd.
Eric and the scientific community at large tells me I don't have to know the other side. It just is. It's so close to fact that I may as well consider it fact. Like humans' responsibility for global warming.
There's that word again. Fact. Know.
But there's a bit of faith involved, isn't there? Faith in my books, my professor, science. Is it much different than faith in a book of ancient scripture? Theologians? People who claim to have a direct batphone to god?
Well, that last one probably not. But theologians--they're historians as well, yeah? They understand context. It's part of the reason I loved Jesus the Christ and whatever classes they offered years ago in my stake that went into the nitty gritty (the stuff my institute director told me was "too deep" for my greenie convert self to handle. asshole) that they have, surprise! since discontinued.
In the end, however, you have to have faith. Faith, my old LDS Institute Friday Night Forum discussion said, even to turn on the fucking faucet.
I can accept some things. I have to accept some things: there is evidence for evolution. A lot of it. Science explains, proves, predicts. Every single one of us, I think, as a function of not knowing anything, have faith in science, though. We don't know how some things work, but we figure that someone does. Someone figured it out or will figure it out. We leave it to them. We have faith.
There is no solid evidence for god, which is what makes him/her/it an exclusive matter of faith. But people will still try. They point to the Bible, their personal spiritual experiences, speaking in tongues and crazy coincidences and feelings and by making maps and anthropology, digs and history, by reconstructing Noah's Ark. Even the Mormons, who by lip-service shy away from evidence because that's not with faith is, will seek evidence to prove something to their non-member friends and family. To convince themselves that their warm fuzzies have merit.
Because there's intuition, too. What does science say about intuition?
But while I can say with great confidence that there is no Santa who travels the world in a single night and drops off presents for all the good boys and girls, that there are no fairies (my teenage self sniffs), etc--I can't for sure say much more than that. I'm pretty certain god never sent an angel with a flaming sword to Joe Smith to threaten him with his life if he didn't marry a fourteen-year-old girl behind his wife's back, and despite how she will feel and what she says. I want nothing to do with a god who dismisses his daughters' feelings of self-worth for his own benefit.
Eric says science is better because I can look it up. I can find the answers. In religion, I have to feel out the answers, have faith in something that has little to no backup. Sure King Solomon had a temple--beyond that?
But even scientists don't know everything.
Faith is in that which you cannot look up. Faith in the divine is what seems to have constructed religion when there were no answers.
With time, answers come.
But, like myself, is it possible to ever know everything? Because if not, then what?
Then, I think, faith becomes a matter of trust.
I feel I behave as an atheist these days, but I still have these questions and need to know because I don't want to be duped again. My faith, however, needs to be in myself and not in some divine creature I know absolutely nothing about.
I can cherry-pick teachings and apply them to my life, but beyond that I can't dedicate myself to something divine anymore. And I know it's a bit of blasphemy for many that I want to know, but I do. I know I won't ever know enough to never need faith, but I'm struggling lately with the need to get there anyway.
At least that's how I feel this week.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Agnostic vs. aThEiSt
I feel as if my topic has become kind of popular lately. I'm not saying it's because of me (anyone who visits Main Street Plaza on Sundays, notably, knows that outer blogness tends to post along the same theme--just like General Conference! omg). So, you know, we're kind of tethered that way.
But first, I get it. Especially from all my ex-/post-Mormon readers. Nobody wants to say "I know" ever, ever, EVER again. That's what y'all love about saying you're agnostic. Because you don't know and you don't fucking care to know. It feels good to say “maybe!” I get it. You know this.
Here's my thing, though: I never said I knew anything. Many atheists I know don't claim to know anything. Some do, but I'd consider them militant atheists. You know the kind. "I know God doesn't exist." That's militant atheism. That is not me.
It's a matter of definitions, which there are few. Here are mine, and I don't hold them exclusively:
Agnosticism:
1) I don't know, but I think there's a possibility.
2) I don’t know, you don’t know, you cannot know. (Militant)
3) I don't know, but I want to hold on to the hope.
4) I just don’t know.
I fell into definition #3. After a lifetime of Christianity and a decent chunk of my life spent in Mormonism, even considering that there was no god was NOT okay. There had to be a god! It's what I had been taught all my life. To consider otherwise was just too fucking scary. So it was a hope, but I never felt a peace about it. I know that's a very Mormon-y thing to say, but I do believe in trusting your intuition, I believe in having a peace about whatever you do. I haven't had a peace about "not knowing." And it's not because I didn't know, but because I was afraid. To be honest, I still haven't had a peace. Which is why I have to consider...
AthEiSm
1) There isn't a god. Period. (Militant)
2) I don't know, but what I do know indicates there isn't a god, so I'm just going to roll with that until I'm convinced otherwise.
3) Religion has done shit for me or society. I want nothing to do with God.
People really tend to believe atheists are closed-minded assholes. It's funny, because I don't consider myself closed-minded. At least I try my best not to be. I'm actually really willing to leave the door open for most anything. Ask Eric. I think it's become a fault of mine.
Here's the thing. It's weird for me to say this because, historically, I haven't been interested in science at all. But like I said, there are a few things about science and scientists that I especially respect:
1) If a hypothesis (educated guess) is proven false, the hypothesis is discarded or the person considers an alternative hypothesis for the same idea. "Maybe it's the light bulb and not the battery in this flashlight."
2) If a hypothesis is extensively tested and tried and proved, it's considered a theory. It is not considered fact for a loooooong time because there is a likely chance that they haven't considered something or that future technology and discoveries will prove the theory wrong. And for most scientists, this is totally okay. They are looking to learn about the world. Record what you see, not what you want to see.
This is what I consider atheism to be. A theory. What a person sees, not what they want or expect to see.
Listen, to my knowledge there is no way to experiment or test the supernatural. Ask my husband and he will say "oh, that happened because..." It drives me nuts, but he will. He's got an answer for just about everything.
It's no fun.
Anyway, we can say that the supernatural is something impossible. We can say science doesn't deal with the supernatural. That it's untestable, etc. But much of present day knowledge was considered impossible years ago.
Also, God is a faith thing. I get that the answer is that you need a spiritual ear to listen to spiritual things. And I don't doubt that unexplainable things happen--but, you know, what of other explanations?
So, yeah. According to this there is whatever minute possibility that the LDS church is "true" and faeries do exist and there is a band of unicorns over the mountains where I can't see and Santa does, in fact, know when we’re sleeping and knows when we’re awake so he can travel the world one night a year and give us presents (where the fuck IS he, though? I want my laptop) etc. etc. etc.
Whatever. There's a chance. I guess. The Santa thing is pretty convincing. Say it with me: Santa doesn't exist.
It’s okay to know some things.
Like many of you have done just by virtue of leaving the church, a point arrived where you took what you knew and had experienced and you put it together and made a reasonable conclusion. It is a BIG step. A lot of people have severe doubts about the church but stay, if only for a while longer, because the basic doctrine might be true and that's enough to make them suffer a while longer because the basic doctrine is the most important and even damning doctrine.
At some point, though, you have to decide. Now if you're an agnostic because "I dunno, you dunno, nobody knows"--fine. But I'd hardly consider that any more open-minded than "From what I know, the possibility is slim so I'm going to live my life as a good, decent person who helps others and does her best. If I'm given any reason to believe there is a god or whatever, I'll reconsider. Right now, however, I'm kidding myself if I say I believe."
I've left open the door for possibility. Please, please remember that. I am not the only one. Atheists are good people. They can be jerks, but religious people can be jerks too. So can agnostics. We’re people like that. And if you don’t appreciate atheists who go on and on on their blog about why religion is a farce and god doesn’t exist and is only a force for evil in the world, consider your own blog or those that you read and support that go on and on about why Mormonism is a manipulative, corporate farce that steals your money to buy billion dollar malls and tell women they are only to be barefoot and pregnant and subject to their husbands and, oh yeah, Moroni never existed. Also, while we’re at it, Nephi was a self-righteous dick.
Not saying you haven’t the right or a very good reason for doing so, because god knows I’ve done and will do the same thing and giggle like a hyena when others point out the obviously stupid stuff, but y’know. The door can swing both ways.
More later. I think I'll stop there.
But first, I get it. Especially from all my ex-/post-Mormon readers. Nobody wants to say "I know" ever, ever, EVER again. That's what y'all love about saying you're agnostic. Because you don't know and you don't fucking care to know. It feels good to say “maybe!” I get it. You know this.
Here's my thing, though: I never said I knew anything. Many atheists I know don't claim to know anything. Some do, but I'd consider them militant atheists. You know the kind. "I know God doesn't exist." That's militant atheism. That is not me.
It's a matter of definitions, which there are few. Here are mine, and I don't hold them exclusively:
Agnosticism:
1) I don't know, but I think there's a possibility.
2) I don’t know, you don’t know, you cannot know. (Militant)
3) I don't know, but I want to hold on to the hope.
4) I just don’t know.
I fell into definition #3. After a lifetime of Christianity and a decent chunk of my life spent in Mormonism, even considering that there was no god was NOT okay. There had to be a god! It's what I had been taught all my life. To consider otherwise was just too fucking scary. So it was a hope, but I never felt a peace about it. I know that's a very Mormon-y thing to say, but I do believe in trusting your intuition, I believe in having a peace about whatever you do. I haven't had a peace about "not knowing." And it's not because I didn't know, but because I was afraid. To be honest, I still haven't had a peace. Which is why I have to consider...
AthEiSm
1) There isn't a god. Period. (Militant)
2) I don't know, but what I do know indicates there isn't a god, so I'm just going to roll with that until I'm convinced otherwise.
3) Religion has done shit for me or society. I want nothing to do with God.
People really tend to believe atheists are closed-minded assholes. It's funny, because I don't consider myself closed-minded. At least I try my best not to be. I'm actually really willing to leave the door open for most anything. Ask Eric. I think it's become a fault of mine.
Here's the thing. It's weird for me to say this because, historically, I haven't been interested in science at all. But like I said, there are a few things about science and scientists that I especially respect:
1) If a hypothesis (educated guess) is proven false, the hypothesis is discarded or the person considers an alternative hypothesis for the same idea. "Maybe it's the light bulb and not the battery in this flashlight."
2) If a hypothesis is extensively tested and tried and proved, it's considered a theory. It is not considered fact for a loooooong time because there is a likely chance that they haven't considered something or that future technology and discoveries will prove the theory wrong. And for most scientists, this is totally okay. They are looking to learn about the world. Record what you see, not what you want to see.
This is what I consider atheism to be. A theory. What a person sees, not what they want or expect to see.
Listen, to my knowledge there is no way to experiment or test the supernatural. Ask my husband and he will say "oh, that happened because..." It drives me nuts, but he will. He's got an answer for just about everything.
It's no fun.
Anyway, we can say that the supernatural is something impossible. We can say science doesn't deal with the supernatural. That it's untestable, etc. But much of present day knowledge was considered impossible years ago.
Also, God is a faith thing. I get that the answer is that you need a spiritual ear to listen to spiritual things. And I don't doubt that unexplainable things happen--but, you know, what of other explanations?
So, yeah. According to this there is whatever minute possibility that the LDS church is "true" and faeries do exist and there is a band of unicorns over the mountains where I can't see and Santa does, in fact, know when we’re sleeping and knows when we’re awake so he can travel the world one night a year and give us presents (where the fuck IS he, though? I want my laptop) etc. etc. etc.
Whatever. There's a chance. I guess. The Santa thing is pretty convincing. Say it with me: Santa doesn't exist.
It’s okay to know some things.
Like many of you have done just by virtue of leaving the church, a point arrived where you took what you knew and had experienced and you put it together and made a reasonable conclusion. It is a BIG step. A lot of people have severe doubts about the church but stay, if only for a while longer, because the basic doctrine might be true and that's enough to make them suffer a while longer because the basic doctrine is the most important and even damning doctrine.
At some point, though, you have to decide. Now if you're an agnostic because "I dunno, you dunno, nobody knows"--fine. But I'd hardly consider that any more open-minded than "From what I know, the possibility is slim so I'm going to live my life as a good, decent person who helps others and does her best. If I'm given any reason to believe there is a god or whatever, I'll reconsider. Right now, however, I'm kidding myself if I say I believe."
I've left open the door for possibility. Please, please remember that. I am not the only one. Atheists are good people. They can be jerks, but religious people can be jerks too. So can agnostics. We’re people like that. And if you don’t appreciate atheists who go on and on on their blog about why religion is a farce and god doesn’t exist and is only a force for evil in the world, consider your own blog or those that you read and support that go on and on about why Mormonism is a manipulative, corporate farce that steals your money to buy billion dollar malls and tell women they are only to be barefoot and pregnant and subject to their husbands and, oh yeah, Moroni never existed. Also, while we’re at it, Nephi was a self-righteous dick.
Not saying you haven’t the right or a very good reason for doing so, because god knows I’ve done and will do the same thing and giggle like a hyena when others point out the obviously stupid stuff, but y’know. The door can swing both ways.
More later. I think I'll stop there.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Agnostic Pause
It's soooo weird. Y'all know I'm taking this bio class (mostly how I bitch about it, but that's all directed at my prof. the material is actually really cool). Well lately we've been going over stuff that TOTALLY APPLIES TO MY LIFE RIGHT NOW. Except it's not the scriptures! You know how the scriptures are supposed to have all the answers, how the spirit is supposed to--well. Anyway. Apparently my bio book does the same thing.
!!!
Here's what I'm picking up on lately and what it's doing to my poor, tortured agnostic self (really, ugh)*
Basic introduction: First, The Theory of Common Descent. That is, not that humans evolved from apes, but that every organism on earth arose from a single cell billions of years ago and eventually evolved into everything you see and know of today.
It's like a big family tree. Kind of. To avoid a lengthier explanation, a relatively recent common ancestor of humans is the ape, chimpanzee, etc. It is not saying that we're just apes. Just that it's our most recent ancestor than, say, cats are. Like you're more similar to your grandmother than your second cousin once removed. We've evolved from apes via the process of natural selection. Also, evolution is not about being better, it is not about an ideal. It is the ever changing result of natural selection which states that an environment selects for certain genes in existing species.
It's akin to a flood--if we had a flood and there was a gene for swimming, the swimmers would survive because they could likely get to land. Those without the swimming gene would, well, drown. Not to say that swimmers are better PERIOD, just better suited in the flooded environment. Those without the swimming gene may be selected for in another environment better suited to them. Which is one reason why not all apes are humans.
Also, this shit doesn't happen overnight. Millions upon millions of years.
It's pretty much fact from what I can tell, but here are the three alternative hypotheses my text offers (and later refutes):
Okay, I had all three hypotheses identified/described, but there's no reason for them. They're debunked. They take up a lot of space. Here's what it comes down to:
Scientists have proven that complex molecules can arise from simple, non-living material. Poof! But even if everyone accepted the Theory of Common Descent, here's where my stubbornness comes in. I asked my husband about it:
"So where'd the simple, non-living material come from?"
"Probably something more basic, like elements," he replied. Calmly. Ugh.
"Where'd the elements come from?!" I add.
And on and on, ad nauseum.
But I'd have to be intellectually honest if I'm going down this road: Where'd God come from? The thing is, I've always been content with the idea that God just always existed. Even the LDS teaching that God was once a man who was then exalted to become a god and create his own people who then are exalted to become gods, etc. always unnerved me.
And so I'm sitting here, taking this class, learning about the world and how scientists figure everything out. I get that they don't have all the answers, but they have a lot of them. And they're totally okay with finding new evidence that proves their theories wrong. And I really love what they do: record what you see, not what you expect to see. Consider possible alternative hypotheses: are there any other reasons for this conclusion?
I know science doesn't deal with god, but god sure as hell tries to deal with science. See aforementioned hypotheses and the apologetics that arise from revealed science. It ain't just for those Mormons.
I've my own inner apologist. She's gotten past the whole Maybe God is just testing us and sending us detour evidence. We need to have faith! That's my dad's church talking. Think "dinosaurs." They're also partly responsible for God can inspire those writers to know exactly who Jesus was, what he did, and the thoughts and actions of those who followed him. Also, I get it. Historically, stories have been passed down orally as well, but have you ever played the telephone game?
While my own inner apologist grows quieter by the day, she's still there. Driving me batshit. I don't dig apologetics anymore. I worry myself about the what-ifs enough all on my own.
I don't know. Lately I'm wondering if I might be atheist. Atheism isn't about claiming to know for sure that God doesn't exist, just a belief that all evidence points to "probably not" so you live your life. It's not as if I'm afraid of losing my salvation, because I'm not. I do believe that if there's a god I want anything to do with, I'll be fine.
There's a part of me that wants to believe in God, but there's no really good reason why. Except maybe because I grew up Christian and god was always a part of my life. "Jesus loves you!' and all that shit. I always had someone to talk to, someone who had my back, someone who did only the best for me whether I knew it or not. Someone to help me find my keys. Now it's a matter of having faith in myself, and I'll tell you: I've never really had that. But I really like the idea. I like what it's doing for me.
What's my belief in god, however small, doing for me? What's the point of it?
In the end, I buy neither the biblical account, nor the Book of Mormon account, and I don't really want to come up with my own account. I know some people just figure there's a god and we're his fishbowl, but that's not something I want to expend any energy on.
I do like the idea of eternity, though.
So am I atheist? I don't know. Saying so would in part be very, very relieving but only because I'll have made a decision. I feel as if I'm forever wavering, unable to make a decision. But a decision of what? To what degree I think it's possible god exists? You know? Because I'm not looking back. There's nothing there for me.
As an agnostic, I often feel like I'm trying to have my cake and eat it too. But it's not as if atheists claim to "know" God doesn't exist. And it might be due to my own recently skyrocketing insecurities WITHOUT reading quotes like the following (for my blog)
"Isn't an agnostic just an atheist without balls?" - Stephen Colbert (yeah i know, satirist. still)
"There may be fairies at the bottom of the garden. There is no evidence for it, but you can't prove that there aren't any, so shouldn't we be agnostic with respect to fairies?" - Richard Dawkins
"You happen to be talking to an agnostic. You know what an agnostic is? A cowardly atheist." - Studs Terkel (i know, who?)
So.
In a way, this feels like the very beginning of my disaffection from the LDS church. I couldn't say outright "I don't believe." The thought of saying that petrified me. Atheism doesn't mean I've closed the door completely, just that chances are slim. I'm not entirely sure about that.
See, I still believe in supernatural things. You know, ghosts. Mostly because it's fun, because I've heard some pretty convincing stories from people close to me--not to mention that it drives Eric up the wall. He's got an answer for everything, so I like to bug him.
Me: "Babe! 'Ghost Hunters' is on!"
Him: *groan*
But you know, I don't believe in god but I do believe in ghosts? Logic fail?
I just figure it's no fun to know everything. But one can make reasonable conclusions.
Besides, I'd like, have to change the title of my blog.
I don't know.
!!!
Here's what I'm picking up on lately and what it's doing to my poor, tortured agnostic self (really, ugh)*
Basic introduction: First, The Theory of Common Descent. That is, not that humans evolved from apes, but that every organism on earth arose from a single cell billions of years ago and eventually evolved into everything you see and know of today.
It's like a big family tree. Kind of. To avoid a lengthier explanation, a relatively recent common ancestor of humans is the ape, chimpanzee, etc. It is not saying that we're just apes. Just that it's our most recent ancestor than, say, cats are. Like you're more similar to your grandmother than your second cousin once removed. We've evolved from apes via the process of natural selection. Also, evolution is not about being better, it is not about an ideal. It is the ever changing result of natural selection which states that an environment selects for certain genes in existing species.
It's akin to a flood--if we had a flood and there was a gene for swimming, the swimmers would survive because they could likely get to land. Those without the swimming gene would, well, drown. Not to say that swimmers are better PERIOD, just better suited in the flooded environment. Those without the swimming gene may be selected for in another environment better suited to them. Which is one reason why not all apes are humans.
Also, this shit doesn't happen overnight. Millions upon millions of years.
It's pretty much fact from what I can tell, but here are the three alternative hypotheses my text offers (and later refutes):
Okay, I had all three hypotheses identified/described, but there's no reason for them. They're debunked. They take up a lot of space. Here's what it comes down to:
Scientists have proven that complex molecules can arise from simple, non-living material. Poof! But even if everyone accepted the Theory of Common Descent, here's where my stubbornness comes in. I asked my husband about it:
"So where'd the simple, non-living material come from?"
"Probably something more basic, like elements," he replied. Calmly. Ugh.
"Where'd the elements come from?!" I add.
And on and on, ad nauseum.
But I'd have to be intellectually honest if I'm going down this road: Where'd God come from? The thing is, I've always been content with the idea that God just always existed. Even the LDS teaching that God was once a man who was then exalted to become a god and create his own people who then are exalted to become gods, etc. always unnerved me.
And so I'm sitting here, taking this class, learning about the world and how scientists figure everything out. I get that they don't have all the answers, but they have a lot of them. And they're totally okay with finding new evidence that proves their theories wrong. And I really love what they do: record what you see, not what you expect to see. Consider possible alternative hypotheses: are there any other reasons for this conclusion?
I know science doesn't deal with god, but god sure as hell tries to deal with science. See aforementioned hypotheses and the apologetics that arise from revealed science. It ain't just for those Mormons.
I've my own inner apologist. She's gotten past the whole Maybe God is just testing us and sending us detour evidence. We need to have faith! That's my dad's church talking. Think "dinosaurs." They're also partly responsible for God can inspire those writers to know exactly who Jesus was, what he did, and the thoughts and actions of those who followed him. Also, I get it. Historically, stories have been passed down orally as well, but have you ever played the telephone game?
While my own inner apologist grows quieter by the day, she's still there. Driving me batshit. I don't dig apologetics anymore. I worry myself about the what-ifs enough all on my own.
I don't know. Lately I'm wondering if I might be atheist. Atheism isn't about claiming to know for sure that God doesn't exist, just a belief that all evidence points to "probably not" so you live your life. It's not as if I'm afraid of losing my salvation, because I'm not. I do believe that if there's a god I want anything to do with, I'll be fine.
There's a part of me that wants to believe in God, but there's no really good reason why. Except maybe because I grew up Christian and god was always a part of my life. "Jesus loves you!' and all that shit. I always had someone to talk to, someone who had my back, someone who did only the best for me whether I knew it or not. Someone to help me find my keys. Now it's a matter of having faith in myself, and I'll tell you: I've never really had that. But I really like the idea. I like what it's doing for me.
What's my belief in god, however small, doing for me? What's the point of it?
In the end, I buy neither the biblical account, nor the Book of Mormon account, and I don't really want to come up with my own account. I know some people just figure there's a god and we're his fishbowl, but that's not something I want to expend any energy on.
I do like the idea of eternity, though.
So am I atheist? I don't know. Saying so would in part be very, very relieving but only because I'll have made a decision. I feel as if I'm forever wavering, unable to make a decision. But a decision of what? To what degree I think it's possible god exists? You know? Because I'm not looking back. There's nothing there for me.
As an agnostic, I often feel like I'm trying to have my cake and eat it too. But it's not as if atheists claim to "know" God doesn't exist. And it might be due to my own recently skyrocketing insecurities WITHOUT reading quotes like the following (for my blog)
"Isn't an agnostic just an atheist without balls?" - Stephen Colbert (yeah i know, satirist. still)
"There may be fairies at the bottom of the garden. There is no evidence for it, but you can't prove that there aren't any, so shouldn't we be agnostic with respect to fairies?" - Richard Dawkins
"You happen to be talking to an agnostic. You know what an agnostic is? A cowardly atheist." - Studs Terkel (i know, who?)
So.
In a way, this feels like the very beginning of my disaffection from the LDS church. I couldn't say outright "I don't believe." The thought of saying that petrified me. Atheism doesn't mean I've closed the door completely, just that chances are slim. I'm not entirely sure about that.
See, I still believe in supernatural things. You know, ghosts. Mostly because it's fun, because I've heard some pretty convincing stories from people close to me--not to mention that it drives Eric up the wall. He's got an answer for everything, so I like to bug him.
Me: "Babe! 'Ghost Hunters' is on!"
Him: *groan*
But you know, I don't believe in god but I do believe in ghosts? Logic fail?
I just figure it's no fun to know everything. But one can make reasonable conclusions.
Besides, I'd like, have to change the title of my blog.
I don't know.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Looking Back: Religious Progression
It's weird reading my old posts. I was so afraid to say or admit to certain things, afraid to offend people I didn't even know. I conceded often--which isn't a bad thing, necessarily, but...I dunno.
I sometimes feel as if there's not a hell of a lot more for me to say, like I've already said it all, just cleaner and more PC. To continue or repeat those rants would be a bit of a snore. Staged and scripted. I've felt a bit dry lately. I don't like to write unless I'm driven to write.
Anyway, it's interesting to see how some of my readers changed throughout the course of that blog. A few people left when they felt I crossed the line (how dare i criticize a leader!), but for the most part people kept with me, and I appreciated that.
But I have at least one (non-member) friend who felt I was far too conciliatory, and I think I always knew she was right. Let's face it, though: I was saying a lot of really controversial crap, at least to the TBM and even wavering-TBM crowd. To myself. It scared me a lot to say some of the things I said and it took me a while to stand up firmly to it, even if for only a few points. Two people I know from my own stake visited the blog. One girl kept with me for a while and we eventually had to part ways on facebook, and the other came only once to say "c'mon, we're not all that bad are we?"
Members take this shit so personally.
I even found out later that my dad was worrying about me. My dad! Mr. "Well-where-are-the-golden-plates-now, hmmm?"
I mean, shit, you can't please anybody. Hard as you might try, it's not gonna happen.
It's just interesting to see the progression and it makes me wonder where I'll end up. I look for quotes sometimes for this blog and find the sentiment that agnostics are pansies who can't make up their minds because they're scared. Fence-sitters. That's kind of where I was eighteen months ago, a fence-sitting-mormon girl. Hated it.
I hate that some may regard me as sitting on the fence of belief. But that's my problem. After all, I did take the leap and record my religious beliefs on facebook as "agnostic" and haven't looked back. But I had to be ready first, just like when Eric was later ready to list himself as "atheist."
Eric and I had a talk the other day and concluded that we're really just a hop, skip, and jump away from being on the same page. I consider myself agnostic because, like I've already mentioned, I don't think we know anything so to say we do seems a bit presumptuous to me. However, I'm leaning more on the atheist side. I'll be okay in the end either way, I figure. There's still the question of the ultimate point of creation, whether it be of a creator or a bunch of atoms bursting (and where did those come from?)--and that keeps me agnostic, too. Eric's college courses led him to believe there just isn't enough evidence to worry about it.
It is a fact that the more we learn from science the less religion needs to answer for the unknown, this even though some adopt a cafeteria-style approach to scientific theory and fact because the Bible says the Earth is only 6,000 years old!
I'm not quite ready to proclaim a confident disbelief or if I'm even sure I feel that way. But I wish I was. Then again, is it so bad to be a bit more open to things? I think it depends on where I am honestly: open or scared. Letting go of god and all that comes with him is frightening, and I've a lot of respect for people who've been able to do that.
I'm not even sure anymore if I have a hope in god. The more I consider the idea of returning to the Earth at death, the less I find I need him. The more I realize people are good without god, the less I find I need him. The more I find that life goes on just like it always has, the less I find I need god.
If I have a hope it is in that everything will work out. That I'll learn to trust myself and that that will be enough. Faith in oneself is just as hard, if not harder, as faith in a benevolent supreme being.
But it frustrates the fuck out of me to find myself praying to whatever when I'm scared. In there, I suppose, is a hope. But it seems like an awful selfish one when there are people in the world who suffer exponentially worse than me. That doesn't mean I don't matter, but I'm aware that I'm much more fortunate than many others. That said, I don't find myself thanking "god" for my so-called blessings. I find I can be thankful just for the sake of being thankful. It feels more honest.
I allow sentiments that suggest I'm a wuss to get under my skin far too much. I just spent two to five years afraid to leave a church I obviously didn't agree with because I didn't want to hear about it. Because I'd been told what would happen if I did. I wrote my last blog with the initial intention to prove a member could be liberal and a faithful mormon, but it was intellectually dishonest. I wasn't all that faithful. I ended up exposing myself as the rule and not the exception. I wanted to be strong, and while some of my posts--especially toward the end--suggested some strength, I was still very much afraid. Only time can heal that, I've found.
Right now I'm ready to resign, but I won't until my husband is ready, too. After all, it's his family, his community (he grew up here), and 30 years to my 10. I can wait.
So I'm a waverer. It's part of a process. At least now I'm not afraid to admit I drink coffee and have the occasional beer or cocktail or say the leaders and even the scriptures are assholes and full of crap.
And I can't help but wonder if leaving the LDS church is a bit of an inevitable gateway to atheism (or if that's a bad thing). I know it doesn't have to be, but it feels that way. I can't see the way to reach any other conclusion, especially as one who has been to many other (christian) churches before.
My above-mentioned non-member friend had her own struggle with Christianity and came out on the believer's end, and that intrigues me. I guess I just always felt I'd come out on this end because even there, at my other blog, when I'd go on about Christ I wasn't speaking of myself so much but to those who were reading so they'd listen to me a bit more. I don't take issue with Christ so much, anyway. I like much of what he's purported to have said and done. My biggest issue was the church's self-serving narcissistic bullshit with the occasional Jesus Christ punctuation.
Besides, it's a debate strategy. It's also, to me, a matter of respect of other people's beliefs.
But it bothers me that I'm generally the one to respect and feel others don't feel the need to respect me because I'm the apostate. Eric says it's that way because we're the ones who have changed the rules. I don't know. So I'm afraid to "blaspheme" sometimes. To offend. I don't know if anybody I know has found this blog or not (my ex-roomie is rather sneaky), and so I still hold back a little. Is this a matter of respect or just fear--and where's the line? Example: I don't care who knows my sekrit temple name, but I know it'd be crossing the line for the few friends I've left.
Topic for another post.
And I don't know. One of my personal mottos is to "never say never." So who knows. I may find myself an unorthodox believer someday. I don't want to ever consider myself a zealous one again, shiver. I just never want it to be out of fear. I never want to be put in a box in any sort of shackles because I don't feel I can handle this life on my own, with those I love around me. Shouldn't that be enough?
Life is too short for that.
I'm happy with where I am--to an extent. I still feel in a bit of a purgatory spiritually, like I have to pick a side. Perhaps that is my inner people-pleaser more than it is anything else. I still haven't found my peace. My husband has. Other people have. I'm still looking and waiting for my own.
I guess in some ways I'm still The Liberal Mormon That Could.
I sometimes feel as if there's not a hell of a lot more for me to say, like I've already said it all, just cleaner and more PC. To continue or repeat those rants would be a bit of a snore. Staged and scripted. I've felt a bit dry lately. I don't like to write unless I'm driven to write.
Anyway, it's interesting to see how some of my readers changed throughout the course of that blog. A few people left when they felt I crossed the line (how dare i criticize a leader!), but for the most part people kept with me, and I appreciated that.
But I have at least one (non-member) friend who felt I was far too conciliatory, and I think I always knew she was right. Let's face it, though: I was saying a lot of really controversial crap, at least to the TBM and even wavering-TBM crowd. To myself. It scared me a lot to say some of the things I said and it took me a while to stand up firmly to it, even if for only a few points. Two people I know from my own stake visited the blog. One girl kept with me for a while and we eventually had to part ways on facebook, and the other came only once to say "c'mon, we're not all that bad are we?"
Members take this shit so personally.
I even found out later that my dad was worrying about me. My dad! Mr. "Well-where-are-the-golden-plates-now, hmmm?"
I mean, shit, you can't please anybody. Hard as you might try, it's not gonna happen.
It's just interesting to see the progression and it makes me wonder where I'll end up. I look for quotes sometimes for this blog and find the sentiment that agnostics are pansies who can't make up their minds because they're scared. Fence-sitters. That's kind of where I was eighteen months ago, a fence-sitting-mormon girl. Hated it.
I hate that some may regard me as sitting on the fence of belief. But that's my problem. After all, I did take the leap and record my religious beliefs on facebook as "agnostic" and haven't looked back. But I had to be ready first, just like when Eric was later ready to list himself as "atheist."
Eric and I had a talk the other day and concluded that we're really just a hop, skip, and jump away from being on the same page. I consider myself agnostic because, like I've already mentioned, I don't think we know anything so to say we do seems a bit presumptuous to me. However, I'm leaning more on the atheist side. I'll be okay in the end either way, I figure. There's still the question of the ultimate point of creation, whether it be of a creator or a bunch of atoms bursting (and where did those come from?)--and that keeps me agnostic, too. Eric's college courses led him to believe there just isn't enough evidence to worry about it.
It is a fact that the more we learn from science the less religion needs to answer for the unknown, this even though some adopt a cafeteria-style approach to scientific theory and fact because the Bible says the Earth is only 6,000 years old!
I'm not quite ready to proclaim a confident disbelief or if I'm even sure I feel that way. But I wish I was. Then again, is it so bad to be a bit more open to things? I think it depends on where I am honestly: open or scared. Letting go of god and all that comes with him is frightening, and I've a lot of respect for people who've been able to do that.
I'm not even sure anymore if I have a hope in god. The more I consider the idea of returning to the Earth at death, the less I find I need him. The more I realize people are good without god, the less I find I need him. The more I find that life goes on just like it always has, the less I find I need god.
If I have a hope it is in that everything will work out. That I'll learn to trust myself and that that will be enough. Faith in oneself is just as hard, if not harder, as faith in a benevolent supreme being.
But it frustrates the fuck out of me to find myself praying to whatever when I'm scared. In there, I suppose, is a hope. But it seems like an awful selfish one when there are people in the world who suffer exponentially worse than me. That doesn't mean I don't matter, but I'm aware that I'm much more fortunate than many others. That said, I don't find myself thanking "god" for my so-called blessings. I find I can be thankful just for the sake of being thankful. It feels more honest.
I allow sentiments that suggest I'm a wuss to get under my skin far too much. I just spent two to five years afraid to leave a church I obviously didn't agree with because I didn't want to hear about it. Because I'd been told what would happen if I did. I wrote my last blog with the initial intention to prove a member could be liberal and a faithful mormon, but it was intellectually dishonest. I wasn't all that faithful. I ended up exposing myself as the rule and not the exception. I wanted to be strong, and while some of my posts--especially toward the end--suggested some strength, I was still very much afraid. Only time can heal that, I've found.
Right now I'm ready to resign, but I won't until my husband is ready, too. After all, it's his family, his community (he grew up here), and 30 years to my 10. I can wait.
So I'm a waverer. It's part of a process. At least now I'm not afraid to admit I drink coffee and have the occasional beer or cocktail or say the leaders and even the scriptures are assholes and full of crap.
And I can't help but wonder if leaving the LDS church is a bit of an inevitable gateway to atheism (or if that's a bad thing). I know it doesn't have to be, but it feels that way. I can't see the way to reach any other conclusion, especially as one who has been to many other (christian) churches before.
My above-mentioned non-member friend had her own struggle with Christianity and came out on the believer's end, and that intrigues me. I guess I just always felt I'd come out on this end because even there, at my other blog, when I'd go on about Christ I wasn't speaking of myself so much but to those who were reading so they'd listen to me a bit more. I don't take issue with Christ so much, anyway. I like much of what he's purported to have said and done. My biggest issue was the church's self-serving narcissistic bullshit with the occasional Jesus Christ punctuation.
Besides, it's a debate strategy. It's also, to me, a matter of respect of other people's beliefs.
But it bothers me that I'm generally the one to respect and feel others don't feel the need to respect me because I'm the apostate. Eric says it's that way because we're the ones who have changed the rules. I don't know. So I'm afraid to "blaspheme" sometimes. To offend. I don't know if anybody I know has found this blog or not (my ex-roomie is rather sneaky), and so I still hold back a little. Is this a matter of respect or just fear--and where's the line? Example: I don't care who knows my sekrit temple name, but I know it'd be crossing the line for the few friends I've left.
Topic for another post.
And I don't know. One of my personal mottos is to "never say never." So who knows. I may find myself an unorthodox believer someday. I don't want to ever consider myself a zealous one again, shiver. I just never want it to be out of fear. I never want to be put in a box in any sort of shackles because I don't feel I can handle this life on my own, with those I love around me. Shouldn't that be enough?
Life is too short for that.
I'm happy with where I am--to an extent. I still feel in a bit of a purgatory spiritually, like I have to pick a side. Perhaps that is my inner people-pleaser more than it is anything else. I still haven't found my peace. My husband has. Other people have. I'm still looking and waiting for my own.
I guess in some ways I'm still The Liberal Mormon That Could.
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