13. Something Familiar; Something Peculiar; Something for Everyone!

One of my favorite quotes is something plucked from a Time Magazine interview with Richard Dawkins, wherein he stated:

“What I am skeptical about is the idea that whatever wonderful revelation does come in the science of the future, it will turn out to be one of the particular historical religions that people happen to have dreamed up… it does seem to me to be a worthy idea. Refutable – but nevertheless grand and big enough to be worthy of respect. I don’t see the Olympian gods or Jesus coming down and dying on the cross as worthy of that grandeur. They strike me as parochial. If there is a god, it’s going to be a whole lot bigger and a whole lot more incomprehensible than anything that any theologian of any religion has ever proposed.”

Love that.

He’s right, of course. If there were anything awe-inspiring about an old white guy in bronze-age jammies, I suspect we’d see more of them in big-budget films. Imagine: Jesus reprising the greatest roles of Marlon Brando, Al Pacino, and Chuck Norris – a fish in one hand, an animal-skin scroll in the other, making Vin Diesel cry… More from shame than from fear, I'd guess. Still… I smell money, there. Cartoon Network, I hope you’re paying attention.

As I write this, I realize that many who’ve rejected the current brand of mythology aren’t ready to make that open leap, and may benefit from a transitional form of fable. Now, we have Bertrand Russell’s flying teapot, and the Invisible Pink Unicorn – but those are for illustrative purposes concerning that which cannot be seen/disproven, and in practice, run counter to entire notion of skepticism. But not to worry. To those lovely individuals, I suggest having a go at some on-the-fly religious invention.

I’ll go first.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you… The Visible Pink Dolphin.

The first thing you’ll note in the grand list of “Reasons My God is Superior to Abraham’s” is this: I’ve documented proof of his existence. You can see him, touch him – even hop in the water and give him a tickle, if you’re so inclined (you weirdo). Second, hearing his voice isn’t indicative of failing medication or anointed wisdom; and can be recorded for future reference, so there’s no potential break-down in communication when his orders (pertaining to the all-important salvation of every living thing) are conveyed through a single, very-fallible, very-corruptible individual. Third, he’ll never frown on you. It’s anatomically impossible for him to do anything but smile in your general direction. Fourth, he’s no intention of ever directing your life. Whether or not you snarf down a bit of bacon on a Friday or accidentally brush up against a bed that’s housed a menstruating female (gasp) has very little to do with him. Fifth, he’ll never ask of you any unseemly thing; like sacrificing your first-born son, or ramming a plane into a building. (To say nothing of the whole “Job” incident.) Best of all, no tithing! Apparently, cash and sea water aren't a brilliant mix. As such, the most he’ll ever expect is that you toss the beach ball back into the water from time to time, when you’ve the occasion. And lastly, no cumbersome, inapplicable manifesto to memorize, even in select chunks. His entire philosophy can be summed up in Sam Cooke’s “Twistin’ the Night Away”.

From here, you can invent rituals as you see fit (they're important, I'm told), so long as you change them on a daily basis. It's good to keep things fresh, and will seem a nice change when compared to practices that have stagnated since their conception, eons past, when individuals (whose mental-prowess was doubtless inferior to yours) developed them. Just make sure they’re suitably absurd – the more brow-raising a religion is, the more credibility it seems to garner. Touching your nose to the floor or ensuring your meat is taken from a cud-chewing creature hasn’t much on using your lunch break to submerge your head in the sink for a bit of mid-day fin-worship or, better yet, standing from your desk at random intervals to shout “Sea World is the highest form of blasphemy”.

And remember, when they call you out on your chosen brand of insanity, don’t be discourteous… Return the favor.

12. Come On, Come Out.

I suppose it all comes down to this atypical mindset we atheists seem to share. No driving ideology means no driving desire to go forth and convert the world; and convincing us to congregate has been likened to herding cats. (Some say this is because we’ve no need to converge and reassure ourselves of our correctness. But I think it’s just as likely that we prefer to avoid anything and everything that might seem to emulate dogmatic structure.) Either way, we keep to ourselves. The result being the perpetuation of this myth that we are few and deviant; a handful of miscreants to be tolerated, or not, by whatever church happens to dominate the region we inhabit. The second adjective can be chalked up to malignant indoctrination. But the first? Well, that one’s on us.

Rough polls show that 8-14% of American citizens are atheists/agnostics/non-believers/skeptics – taking up a larger chunk of our nation’s demographical charts than Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, and every other outlying/oddball religion combined. Yet, only a very marginal percentage of those actually consider themselves “atheists”. Those who do not will often cite the negative stigmas associated with the word (not its lack of appropriateness) as the reason for their refusal to use it. “Yes, you could call me something along those lines – but you simply don’t say those kinds of things directly. Not here.” For many years, I was of the same opinion. Why use the word? Why give myself a name? I’d no interest in socially hobbling myself, after all – and that seemed to be all the term was designed to do. So I kept my head down, thinking it was for the good of all of us rutting godless types. Even now, unless I’m in the mood for chewing up and spitting out a lusty bit of ideological hors d'oeuvres, I can be slow to admit my skeptical nature – something I know I’ve mentioned before. It is often the Conversational Admission of No Return *queue ominous bass-notes*. But isn’t that the point? I’ll lay odds that none of us would be too terribly skippy about making a U-turn from what and who we are; so why aren’t we saying as much?

It’s only recently that I’ve taken to wearing Dawkins’ “Scarlet Letter of Atheism” pin, declaring myself as an active part of the Out Campaign (click on the lovely little “A” on the bottom, left corner for more information on this movement); always with the hope that I’ll spy another on one of the many lapels floating about town. It hasn’t happened. Not yet. Though I find myself growing more optimistic, of late. Today, for the first time, a stranger took interest in my modest red badge and asked its meaning. To be honest, I was briefly caught off-guard. When I responded, the gas station clerk said simply, “Ah” and made a play of counting the change in his hand. Naturally, I braced myself. Something in his expression made it clear he’d more to say on the matter. For all I knew, he was contemplating the odds of keeping his job if he were to throw the change in my face. But, when I looked closely, what was present around his eyes was very far from contempt. Finally, with a wary glance at his co-worker, the man leaned in and quietly confessed, “I’m a non-believer, myself, so...” Then he flashed a smile, and a discreet thumbs-up.

There are more of us than even WE realize. Imagine how the nation’s view of us could be altered if only the growing lot of us were willing to declare ourselves. Yes, there are complications. Yes, there will be downfalls. But, like every social movement before us, the outcome will be driven by the actions we are willing to take; the volume of our collective voice. And the first step is to hop from behind the closet door.



Be active. Join the Center for Inquiry or give the Out Campaign a look-see. Snag a pretty pin (or a sticker, whatever floats yer boat). And when someone asks your religious affiliation, say it loud, say it proud, and know that you’re not all by your lonesome in opposing the real monsters under the bed: Federally-endorsed religious conviction and the absence of reason.

11. I’m (passively) mad as hell and I’m (kindly, if you please) not gonna take it anymore!

Being that I’m a one-time librarian, I’m sure you’ve guessed that I’m fond of books. More than, actually. You can lay odds that any bookstore visit, planned or no, will find me purchasing a goodly-sized stack of pulchri libri (if the weight doesn’t threaten the health of my skeletal system, I've failed on a colossal scale) on any silly number of subjects. Quite often, they’re of the sort that either support my non-religious thesis or argue against it. (*Insert Wilford Brimley voice-over* “You test your opinions, and you test ‘em often.”) What results is – far too frequently – the sudden and powerful desire to render myself invisible, to fetch a non-fictional version of a sonic blaster for use on that unwatched section of wall behind the bargain books ("Just slipping out quietly, don't mind me!" *ZAP!*), or, at the very least, the wish that I'd a very large backpack and no moral qualms with a bit of larceny. All of this to avoid the necessary encounter with the cashier, which invariably goes the same way…


One: Cashier smiles and voices personal tag line. Something along the lines of, “Did you find everything you were looking for today?”

Two: I smile in return, yapping the appropriate reply, and place items on the counter.

Three: Cashier takes note of the material being purchased.

Four: Cashier stops smiling.


Occasionally, the process plays out with a touch more flourish than this. (i.e.) The instance where the cashier actually caught sight of the titles before I approached the counter. (Ahh, if only I’d more vid capacity on my cell…. Would've made for a lovely YouTube contribution. Boy-who-smacks-testicles-with-skateboard, eat your heart out. ) Smiling, laughing and conversing with the customers both in front and behind me, the young man fell dead-silent when the line came to me. He turned away, didn’t look me in the eye, didn’t voice a word – not even to relay the total. Patiently inspecting his cuticles, he waited while I leaned around the counter to read the sum for myself. Mirroring his wordless attitude, I doled out the cash for my purchase and took my crabby leave, realizing (though it simply sucks to confess as much) that I’d allowed myself to exit that store feeling demeaned.

Only much later did it occur to me that the young man’s behavior might not have been entirely of his own volition, but guided by certain religious restrictions imposed on a far too large and impressionable number of missionaries in training.

He did have that look about him…

Regardless, this unpleasant dance was one to which I’d become accustomed. I’d shut my mouth and head to my car, socially slimed and mentally whining: “Wanny-boo-boo, no one likes me." Then, one bright and shiny day, something changed; a notion was implanted; a switch was flipped; or maybe an over-indulgence of Obamania tickled my can-do’s into a tizzy – I can't say for sure. But, recently, when the stage was set for the thousandth time, and I approached the counter with the twice-purchased “God Delusion” gripped in my puny fingers, there was a smile on my face. And when the cashier took note of the title and stopped speaking… I didn’t. By the end of the transaction, she was smiling once again – even laughing at my meager, conversational jests.

Success!

It was a pathetic victory, but a victory all the same. My years of silence had taught those I’d encountered (and me as well) next to nothing; only that ill-treatment and subversive stereotypes of those whose beliefs depart from the norm will be tolerated. I couldn’t be bothered to alter their interpretation of me, however incorrect, however corrupt. In that way, I was adding to one of the greatest downfalls of our otherwise-peachy nation: the idea that Christianity is who and what we are; and all else be damned.

Well I’ll not be (damned, that is), if it’s quite alright by America. And if it isn’t…. naturally, I’ll be forced to point out that she’s gone barking mad, but still… I suppose it’s to those like me to change her mind.