Away Point

At a news conference in Florida this week, John McCain couldn't resist the opportunity to bring up remarks by Jeremiah Wright, calling them "beyond belief." This, despite the fact that Bill Moyers, in an hour long interview last Friday showed the world the broader context in which the remarks were made. McCain, who seeks to position himself above dirty politics, has instead positioned himself as a hypocrite.

You might think that, given the thin glass walls of McCain's own house, he might have chosen to stay silent out of sheer self interest. It hasn't been long since McCain powdered his nose and posed for the camera with John Hagee, founder of Christians United for Israel CUFI. Lest we forget, Hagee is an apocalypse-loving fundamentalist whose best selling books glorify a river of blood running in the Middle East. He and his followers raise money to "return" Jews to Israel so that they can be killed all in one place and bring on the Rapture, Tribulation and Second Coming. Come, Lord Jesus!

To make matters worse, Hagee's despicable religious hunger for a bloodbath has direct political implications. He has used CUFI to throw his weight behind political organizing that will help to bring about what he sees as a biblically prophesied war in Iran -- also a part of his god's will for these End Times. Hagee tours the country rallying the fundamentalist troops in support of a US-Iran war. All this, and McCain dares to call Wright "beyond belief"?!

After McCain flew to Hagee's side for an endorsement and press conference, why didn't we hear Hagee's ugliest remarks over and over on the air? Hagee calling the Catholic church a whore, Hagee saying that Hurricane Katrina was punishment for gay pride plans, or Hagee, shouting halleluiahs at the altar of his bloodthirsty vision? It's all about who owns the media--and who clips the bites. If someone bothered to give us the wide angle picture -- Obama with Wright, Clinton praying with her dominionist cult The Family, and McCain kissing up to Hagee -- the composite story would be about what a very bad idea it is to have our politicians buying and selling religion.

"The kids are proud!" my husband, Brian, commented, "I told them where you were." We were vacationing in the Caribbean, and I had been engaged in one of my quirky travel pastimes--buying children's books and dropping them at a local library. Brian looked pleased with himself, our daughters hugged me, and I squirmed at having been outed.

I was raised on a Bible story in which Jesus is watching Pharisees loudly drop coins into a tithe box at the temple door. Then a poor widow comes along and discretely puts in a mite--a small coin of little value. Jesus says that the widow has given more than any of them, because she gave what little she had while they gave out of their surplus. He also says that the Pharisees will get no reward in heaven; their reward is the attention that they have sought and received. I'm no longer worried about gaining or losing rewards in heaven. But the sense has stuck that public eyes somehow diminish a gift, even if those "public eyes" belong to two small girls.

For several reasons, parents who were raised on similar stories need to push past the discomfort of giving in front of their kids. New research from the University of British Columbia reports that giving makes people happier. In fact, how we spend our money, whether we use it to help others has more effect on happiness than the total in the bank. Other kinds of giving matter, too: time, for example, or knowledge. The important thing is that children learn giving skills.

One time, I sat in my psychology office with a high schooler who had just returned from a Habitat for Humanity trip in Peru. He poured out an exuberant mix of images and ideas. "Where did you get this from?!" I asked him, surprised by his intensity. "How did this stuff come to be a part of who you are?" "From my mother," he answered immediately

I realized there was a part of his family experience that I didn't know. He was in my office because his parents had gone through a difficult divorce and each family member was, in his or her own way, struggling. We had been focused on declining grades, behavior problems and conflicts. Pain makes us self absorbed, and he and his sister and parents hadn't been very focused on the well-being of the world in the months since they had first come in to see me. It was all they could do to muddle their way through the emotional upheaval.

"From your mother," I repeated. "How so?" "Oh," he responded, "She used to take us to serve dinners for homeless people, and she raised money for the animal shelter, and we were involved in our neighborhood clean-up. . . " By the time he finished describing the many ways that his mother had involved him in her service and giving, I had learned an important lesson. Giving was second nature for him, like brushing his teeth. It was part of his normal equilibrium. As soon as he began emerging from the divorce process, it was there waiting, pulling him back into a healthier, happier part of himself.

If we want our children to make their beds, we show them how it's done, we coach them through it, and we nudge them along. If we want them to be readers, we read to them; we tell them it is important; we read together so that reading becomes part of our bond. If we want them to be kind to animals, we teach them how to pick up a cat and we remind them what it feels like for an unfed pet to be hungry. We talk to animals in peculiar ways, pet them, and invite the children to join us. In all of these we model, explain, and encourage the desired habits and then provide opportunities for supervised practice. But if we want them to be civic minded or charitable, we expect them to pick it up by osmosis.

Let me tell you what happened as a result of my husband exposing my library adventure. Not long afterward, back home, our then six-year-old picked up a book about manatees. She has always been fascinated with marine mammals. In fact, at one point her stated goal in life was to become an Orca whale. This time, she came down stairs crying, saying, "Mommy, I want to send money to the manatees. I don't want them to be extinct."

She painstakingly dictated a letter to her aunt in Florida, asking about how to help manatees. She drew pictures of manatees being hit by boats, with a big circle and slash around them. And she set about raising money by pulling weeds, picking up messes, and making a one-box garage sale in which she sold--this is the bonus part--her only Barbie.

When she was still at it two months later, I helped her to sell drinks and brownies at a local parade. By then she had involved our next door neighbor girl and her little sister. A friend of ours dropped by, and as he was leaving, he drew five dollars out of his pocket. "This is for Brynnie's manatee fund," he said. "Our boys pulled weeds in our back yard because they wanted to contribute."

Now, I've never really focused before on helping manatees, but I'll confess, I love it. I get that in-love-with-my-kid feeling whenever I think of her quest. "She's becoming a regular mooch," my husband said when he came home from work to find an elaborately decorated 'Change for Manatees' box on top of our drier. "No," I reminded him. "It's not mooching, it's fundraising." My husband hates begging favors as much as I hate the public eye. But if we both have to squirm a bit so that the girls can grow their helping instinct into a giving habit, so be it.

  This post is part of a dialogue, In Two Minds: The Anatomy of a Christian Hate Letter, between former minister Brian Worley and psychologist Valerie Tarico . In the series, Brian Worley, an ordained Baptist, describes some of his encounters with Christian friends and family since he deconverted and Valerie Tarico responds.  In Letter 3 Brian talks about what attracted him to the Christian faith and he puzzles over why Christianity provokes such intense and even violent reactions toward apostates and outsiders. 

Dear Brian,

  As a former minister, you find yourself searching for the best way to talk with friends and relatives about your Christian deconversion. You look back at interactions with your friends and brother and wonder if you should have done something differently. And you ask: “If someone’s faith is working for them and others without showing toxic results, should skeptics then just avoid the religious subject altogether?”

 (As an aside, you also expressed disappointment that your new Christian neighbor lost interest in friendship once he realized that you weren’t a possible convert.  If you don’t mind, I will address this experience with the “friendship missionary” in another letter.  For now, let’s focus on your question about yourself, what you might have done differently, and how to approach these conversations in the future.)  

 
In our culture, perhaps in most cultures, religious faith is guarded by a powerful set of taboos. Primary among these is a taboo against questioning assertions that are based on religion.  If someone makes a statement about the efficacy of Prozac or the best route to peace in the Middle East, or the competence of the local school board, any of us feels like we can respond with assertions of our own.  In fact, we often feel free to put forth opinions even when we know very little about the matter at hand.  But if someone makes a religious assertion, the rule is:  If you think what they’ve said is mistaken or even harmful, keep it to yourself.
 

Many former believers respond to this taboo instinctively.  It seems that you prefer to take a public stance and hit Christianity hard by writing articles for your website. Personal acquaintances know that generally you will keep a low profile with them about their Christianity otherwise, unless they decide to push the issue. For years after my Evangelical beliefs crumbled, I practiced a form of “Don’t ask, don’t tell.” But, for two reasons, I no longer think that this is the solution.

First, “faith” when it is a euphemism for beliefs without evidentiary basis, is not inherently benign.  I am reminded of the quote from Voltaire, “Those who can get you to believe absurdities, can get you to commit atrocities.”  Time and again, history has documented benign, peaceful forms of Christianity flaring into outright violence.  But even in between these dark ages, dogmas can have a corrosive effect on the moral priorities of believers.  As Sam Harris has said, dogma separates questions of morality from real questions of suffering.  It distracts genuinely decent people from the real world contingencies that govern our well-being and that of the web of life around us.

Second, our silence creates a tremendous imbalance.  Traditional Christians, particularly Evangelicals, believe they have a divine mandate to speak openly and frequently about their beliefs.  Their highest moral imperative is to save others from hell by convincing them (kindly and graciously, perhaps) that their beliefs about what is real and right are lethally mistaken.  This means that if the rest of us honor a taboo against religious critique and dialogue while Christian missionaries follow a higher calling, we end up with a public monologue on matters of morality and meaning.

But, you might ask, isn’t it possible that some forms of Christianity in some people are beneficial?  Mightn’t they provide a sense of internal purpose and peace that leads believers not only to feel good but to do good in the world, more than they would do otherwise? This is not only possible, but seems to me to be true--of both Christianity and most other religions.

So, shouldn’t we leave this kind of Christianity unchallenged?  No.   I would argue that the kinds of Christianity that lead to personal and community benefit without the risk of Voltaire’s “atrocity” often are based in large measure on faith rather than belief.  They have at their core the essence of things hoped for, a humble awareness that all theological understandings are provisional. Consequently, they tend to center themselves in a set of values and practices, rather than a set of exclusive truth claims.  This kind of religion doesn’t need to be sheltered by taboos. It participates in our collective struggle to understand the Reality that some of us call God and some of us don’t.  Approached with genuine warmth, adherents of this kind of Christianity often are able to see their moral and spiritual kinship with outsiders and to take part in learning that is genuinely reciprocal.

What, then, is the right role for you and me and others like us?   I think the solution is neither bold confrontation nor silence.  Like you, I’ve tried both.  And in my experience, like yours, confrontation and arguments simply don’t work, even when we former believers are trying to be calm and rational.  In past letters, you and I have talked about how brittle belief can be and why believers need to slam doors.  But sometimes the fault is ours. 

When any of us decide to break old taboos we tend to do so dramatically.  Think about early feminism.  Think about young teenagers.  Think about the civil rights movement.  The first phase of breaking free is often empowered by an intense defiance. Otherwise it just wouldn’t happen. I’m reminded of the comic book hero, the Hulk, who must sense mortal danger before he can transform into a great green monster.  Then he can break through handcuffs and prison doors and stop all manner of evil, but he also smashes through a lot of ordinary buildings and offices and cars, and he frightens people as he goes. 

We former Christians are like good kids who turn into fifteen-year-old rule breakers.  We break the rules dramatically because that’s the only way we can know we’ve really done it.  Often we’re angry at the harm done to us, the unnecessary control, our own compliance with it – and even when we try to be calm and polite, the anger comes through.  In the otherwise benign invitation you sent to friends and family, most readers probably never got past the title of the article you alluded to, “The God of the Bible is a Sheep Beater.”  Similarly, my own family members can’t get past the title of my book, The Dark Side. I’ll never forget a comment by my dear Christian friend, Katherine, who read an early draft of my book cover to cover:  “Just because something is true, doesn’t mean you have to say it.” 

One of the great things about the community at ExChristian.net is that people can be as mad and defiant as they need to be for as long as they need to be.  But what works for venting isn’t the same as what works for communication.  When we are far enough along in our healing and growth that we want to participate in healing and growing the world around us, then a different approach is needed. 

Fortunately, when you are breaking a taboo, it doesn’t take much of a break to rattle the status quo.  Sometimes all you have to do is to have your face uncovered and refuse to sit in the back of the bus.  Just being willing to identify yourself as a former Christian  – and then to continue being the decent person that you are messes with people’s categories.    Just being willing to say quietly and respectfully, “I don’t believe in gods” or “Actually, I do believe in coincidences” can give people food for though.  Just being willing to say, “Hmm, that doesn’t seem moral to me.” Or “I think that the universe is so wonderful it doesn’t need supernatural explanations” --simple statements like these may be enough. 

The goal is not to change someone’s mind but simply to let them know that within their community there are alternatives. The most important thing is to ask yourself is whether your words sound like an invitation or an argument.  What kind of words create an invitation depends on your relationship with the other person and the context.
 

Christians will give you the openings by saying things like, “I’ll pray for you.”  Or “Praise the Lord.”  Or “God bless you.”  The presumption always is that your silence means what they’ve said is ok, that the rules stand.  Taking that opening as an opportunity to say anything that offers an alternate view, however mild, is radical.

Warmly,

Valerie