I was raised by my grandparents while my mother went away to college. My genetic father was not
on the scene at all (long story).
My grandmother was very religious and so I was raised in the Luteran church (Trinity Lutheran)
in a small town in central Kansas. I learned the sories of the Bible, memorized catechism,
got stars on my work for reciting things well, and probably appeared to be an ordinary kid
at the time.
But I don't think I ever fully believed what I was being told. The disconnect was very early.
I was told to pray and that this was a way to communicate to God. Since my grandparents both
said this, and they were taking care of me, I tried to do what they said. But I never had any
sort of response. All I had was me talking to a void.
I was also very interested in science as a kid: dinosaurs, astronomy, etc. And it quickly became
clear that there was a conflict between the millions of years described in the science books
and the few thousand years described in the Bible. So, very quickly, I settled to the idea that
the Biblical stories were similar to Aesop's fables: little morality tales to teach us how to
act, but not something to be taken literally. This worked for a while.
But eventually, I realiized that the people in my Sunday and Wednesday school classes thought the
stories were literally true: that Joseph's coat of many colors was a historical fact and NOT
simply a story about sibling rivalry (and other things). I found this perplexing, but kept my
doubts to myself because I didn't want to upset my grandmother.
As time went on, I kept memorizing catechism and doing well in the tasks assigned to me. Then
I realized that I would have to say I actually believed these things to be confirmed. And I realized
that I simply did not believe these things. So I had a moral quandry: should I lie and say I
believe when I didn't or should I refuse to lie and thereby greatly disappoint my grandmother
(who always wanted me to grow up to be 'a fine christian boy')? I saw it as partly a question
of my own well-being: my food, clothing, and shelter came from my grandparents.
Well, as luck would have it, my mother graduated and got a job (and married) so I went to be
taken care of by her. My mother was not as religious (for a number of reasons) and did not
require me to be confirmed nor even to go to church. So, while I would still disappoint my
grandmother, a refusal to go to church would not jeapordize my well-being.
None-the-less, I was still interested in the ideas of God and the supernatural (even if I didn't
think the Bible was an accurate description). I explored spritualism, buddhism, meditation, and
whatever I could to test the ideas concerning these things.
After a while, I realized that I was constructing castles in the air and that none of it actually
had any good evidentiary basis. I saw it as an elaborate fantasy; a pleasing work of fiction.
But I found that I did not actually believe any of it. Buddhism came the closest (there is even a
quote saying that is relief of pain is not your goal, find your own path--I did).
It is now 30 years later. I go to places of worship (churches, temples, mosques) only for
ceremonies I have been invited to or as a tourist (Istambul has some beautiful mosques). Once
I stopped worrying about the supernatural, I found a freedom (and responsibility) to figure out
for myself twhat I consider to be 'good' and 'my purpose in life'. To walk away from the fictions
and hold myself to evidence was incredibly liberating. I have been happier and more at peace
since the full break than I ever was prior.
So, was I ever a believer? When I was young, I believed what I was told until I had reason not
to. I certainly held the 'God concept' as a possibility and understood it to be almost universally
believed. But the evidence of my own investigations (or lack thereof) was always a counter to the
claims of others. Ultimately, I found that I just didn't believe and that I thought that others
were wrong. To admit that was a very positive thing for me.
on the scene at all (long story).
My grandmother was very religious and so I was raised in the Luteran church (Trinity Lutheran)
in a small town in central Kansas. I learned the sories of the Bible, memorized catechism,
got stars on my work for reciting things well, and probably appeared to be an ordinary kid
at the time.
But I don't think I ever fully believed what I was being told. The disconnect was very early.
I was told to pray and that this was a way to communicate to God. Since my grandparents both
said this, and they were taking care of me, I tried to do what they said. But I never had any
sort of response. All I had was me talking to a void.
I was also very interested in science as a kid: dinosaurs, astronomy, etc. And it quickly became
clear that there was a conflict between the millions of years described in the science books
and the few thousand years described in the Bible. So, very quickly, I settled to the idea that
the Biblical stories were similar to Aesop's fables: little morality tales to teach us how to
act, but not something to be taken literally. This worked for a while.
But eventually, I realiized that the people in my Sunday and Wednesday school classes thought the
stories were literally true: that Joseph's coat of many colors was a historical fact and NOT
simply a story about sibling rivalry (and other things). I found this perplexing, but kept my
doubts to myself because I didn't want to upset my grandmother.
As time went on, I kept memorizing catechism and doing well in the tasks assigned to me. Then
I realized that I would have to say I actually believed these things to be confirmed. And I realized
that I simply did not believe these things. So I had a moral quandry: should I lie and say I
believe when I didn't or should I refuse to lie and thereby greatly disappoint my grandmother
(who always wanted me to grow up to be 'a fine christian boy')? I saw it as partly a question
of my own well-being: my food, clothing, and shelter came from my grandparents.
Well, as luck would have it, my mother graduated and got a job (and married) so I went to be
taken care of by her. My mother was not as religious (for a number of reasons) and did not
require me to be confirmed nor even to go to church. So, while I would still disappoint my
grandmother, a refusal to go to church would not jeapordize my well-being.
None-the-less, I was still interested in the ideas of God and the supernatural (even if I didn't
think the Bible was an accurate description). I explored spritualism, buddhism, meditation, and
whatever I could to test the ideas concerning these things.
After a while, I realized that I was constructing castles in the air and that none of it actually
had any good evidentiary basis. I saw it as an elaborate fantasy; a pleasing work of fiction.
But I found that I did not actually believe any of it. Buddhism came the closest (there is even a
quote saying that is relief of pain is not your goal, find your own path--I did).
It is now 30 years later. I go to places of worship (churches, temples, mosques) only for
ceremonies I have been invited to or as a tourist (Istambul has some beautiful mosques). Once
I stopped worrying about the supernatural, I found a freedom (and responsibility) to figure out
for myself twhat I consider to be 'good' and 'my purpose in life'. To walk away from the fictions
and hold myself to evidence was incredibly liberating. I have been happier and more at peace
since the full break than I ever was prior.
So, was I ever a believer? When I was young, I believed what I was told until I had reason not
to. I certainly held the 'God concept' as a possibility and understood it to be almost universally
believed. But the evidence of my own investigations (or lack thereof) was always a counter to the
claims of others. Ultimately, I found that I just didn't believe and that I thought that others
were wrong. To admit that was a very positive thing for me.
