The Resurrection of the Blog and The Miracle of Birth

So I’m a dad now. That’s why I took a year off from the blog.

I visited a few churches after the gospel experience. They didn’t live up. A Baptist church. Unitarian. I floundered for a few weeks, trying to figure out what to say after that gospel church. And then my wife tells me we’re going to have a baby. That’ll change a person real quick.

I’ve spent many hours staring at the eyes of my little one, thinking how amazing it is that she exists. She is so tiny and alive, I cannot help but be overwhelmed sometimes. It is easy to see why it is called the miracle of birth, and I certainly understand anyone who sees god’s hand in it. It’s almost impossible to believe. During my wife’s labor, I was reserved, stoic. But at the moment my daughter was born, I was swept away. Serious waterworks.

I have perhaps made it through one of the great tests for an atheist and come through unconverted. Birth feels miraculous, but we know enough now to understand most of it, and it is no miracle in the literal sense of the word. Sure, it is a miracle in that it is amazing and mind-blowing, but it is not supernatural, nor does it need a divine hand to cause it. I suppose other great tests of my atheism will be when I am faced with losing close family members and when I face death myself. But for the time being, I remain confidently atheist.

If anything, I feel more strongly that thanks to god for this birth is misplaced. I recall once again Dennett’s essay “Thank Goodness,” that argues thanks should go to the doctors, nurses, orderlies, and other hospital staff. It should go to those people who invented technologies and conducted research to make the delivery possible and safe. It should go to the countless individuals that have led to today’s quality medical care, with no help whatsoever from god.

I am not unchanged, though. I have greater reverence for life. It is striking to realize that I am part of a great, unbroken chain of life. Every ancestor I’ve had survived long enough to reproduce, ancestors who lived when the pyramids were being built, ancestors who lived through wars and ice ages and Krakatoas, ancestors who lived on Pangaea. My daughter and I belong to an unbroken chain of life that dates back millions, maybe billions of years, to when the earth was young. It is truly awe-inspiring, and even more so when you see birth and realize how dangerous and traumatic it is. I can’t believe people live through it (the mother or the child). How a baby manages to take its first breath, to move its arms and legs, to pump a heart that will beat every second for decades to come—it’s amazing. It’s not difficult to imagine a divinity overseeing us because it is all so damn improbable. But I will not submit myself to an imaginary superforce just because my existence is unlikely. Nor will I teach my daughter to.

So how will I raise this little one?

When I told my mom we were going to have a baby, I think she waited a couple weeks before she asked me about church. It was a topic we’d avoided for a while, as I knew she silently disapproved of the fact that I didn’t go to church. (Something tells me she wouldn’t like the reason I go to church these days.) Anyway, she had stopped pushing me to go to church, but always said that what really mattered was how I raise my kids. I got that line so often when I was dating and then when I got engaged and married.

When mom asked if I was going to take my little girl to church, I just looked at her and said, “No.” I couldn’t sidestep that one. Hurt, she said, “So you’re not going to have her baptized?” “No.” And that was that. We continued watching TV in silence. The subject has not come up again…yet.

In my earlier entries I often struggled with conflicting feelings about the value of church, especially for young people. I will not deny its many good aspects with one broad brushstroke. But my wife and I won’t subject our daughter to lies and closed-minded superstition (not to mention hours of painful boredom) under the guise of “truth.” The challenge is to instill the right values and provide a strong, loving community, without all the other nonsense.

Week 7: What is the Value of a Church Community?

"And, ye fathers, provoke not your children to wrath: but bring them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord." -Ephesians 6:4

Let me begin with baptism, since it is the symbolic beginning of a child’s participation in a church community. Baptism creeps me out. (Baptism of infants, that is.) The child is completely oblivious. He or she is deemed to be part of a church community without having any say in the decision.

Would Jesus or God love the child less if it had not been baptized? Well for 7 centuries the concept of limbo existed as a place to put those children who die without baptism, but the Catholic Church officially decided it didn’t exist in 2005 (http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,1145257,00.html). The elimination of a hypothetical supernatural realm of existence surprisingly didn’t get much attention in the media. Anyway, I don’t think that most people really considered getting to heaven the true purpose of baptism. Rather, it is a symbolic gesture that the church will welcome the child as a Christian. The cynic in me says that it is the beginning of the child’s indoctrination.

The baptism was followed by a practice I’d never seen before. The pastor held the baby, then paraded it down the center aisle, showing it to each pew, saying that this is their new Christian brother. (Richard Dawkins writes about the flaw of referring to a “Christian child” or “Muslim child” since children are not yet old enough to choose for themselves.) Then, at the end of the aisle, she handed the baby to a random congregation member to carry back to mom and dad, saying that it was symbolic of how the whole church would raise the child.

It is fitting that I saw a baptism at this week’s outing, and consequently thought about how I was raised in a church, because I was there with my parents. Visiting my parents for the holidays gave me the opportunity to attend church with them right after Christmas. This was a highly uncomfortable experience for me, since my newfound atheism, still a secret from them, is in such profound conflict with their beliefs and lifestyle.

It’s like for the first time I’m a fish trying to understand the water. Since I was raised with those beliefs and lifestyle, since I was raised in a church community, my entire worldview is shaped by it. And here’s what’s weird—I think I’m better off for it. Throughout my childhood and adolescence, I had a weekly prompting to think about life, to consider how I might live better, to give money as an act of selflessness, to learn about how the world works, and so on. I participated in youth group activities that had a variety of social and intellectual benefits, and were often fun as well. I made many friends, and the group of friends my parents made 30 years ago is still part of our lives.

For all these reasons and more, I recognize great value in having a church community, in following through on that promise made to the baptized infant.

But I cannot, as an atheist, accept the underlying reason for it all. My parents are aware that I’m not particularly religious anymore, but they continually stress the importance of being part of something. “How will you raise your kids?” they ask. For them, the many benefits of the community are perhaps even more important than the beliefs themselves. They think that only through a church community will children grow to be completely moral, well-rounded, good, stable people. Churches may indeed help to nurture children in those respects. But if, in doing so, churches connect all that good social nurturing to false claims, dogmatic teaching, and a worldview that discourages free thought, it may not be worth it.

The real question is this: is a church community the only way by which parents can raise good kids? This is a really tough one, because I must admit that young people I know who attend church are often better people for it. Will I deny my children (if/when I have any) that opportunity? What would we replace church with?

Character education comes primarily from the home and the parents. Sure, a weekly trip to church can reinforce things, but character education, I think, depends much more on the manner in which parents behave. But this is an incomplete answer. Children need social outlets and community environments that teach them in ways their parents cannot. I believe arts programs can be part of that. Athletics often foster sportsmanship, diligence, teamwork, etc. Summer camps that include academics or arts are available to parents who don’t want their kids to have to pray or be taught about the Bible.

A side note: I would like to say that youth organizations like the Boy Scouts are also great, because I had a great experience there, and it helped me to become who I am. Unfortunately, the Boy Scouts exclude atheists. That’s their right, of course, but that doesn’t make it right. They also exclude homosexuals. These two beliefs may help perpetuate good old, small town, Sarah Palin-style American values, but they are closed-minded and offensive. It pains me, but I am tempted to reject the Boy Scouts because it is a prejudicial organization. Does that negate all the good that came from it in my life? No, but it certainly taints it. I hope that eventually they’ll wake up and change, choosing to teach kids that people can be good even if they don’t believe in invisible, mind-reading, all-powerful friends who love them (but not if they’re gay).

Unfortunately, youth programs, arts, and athletics would not provide the same kind of stability that a church would. Those are temporary things, with transient social groups. The members of a church may change, but the entity will always remain, a rock in people’s lives. It’s very easy for me to say I don’t need that rock. I have a job, a loving family, a house, and a good group of friends. I am lucky to have a stable life. I hope some day I can introduce children into that stable life and raise them without relying on a church. I don’t want them to be part of a social institution that preaches unscientific nonsense, encourages conformity, draws its values from an ancient tribe of desert nomads, and, at times, propagates hate towards those who are different. I’ll take my chances finding and creating a community for myself and my kids elsewhere.

I left the bright, whitewashed walls of the southern Presbyterian church feeling guilty. My parents were thankful—almost giddy—that I had chosen to participate in that community with them rather than sleeping in during the holiday vacation. That guilt, which for years has been eating at me on Sunday mornings, still will not go away, despite my best efforts. I am confident in rejecting the idea of God, but not confident in rejecting all the rest of it.

Postscript: Baptism doesn’t give children a choice. However, I do appreciate that most churches place value on confirmation, which is the time when a youth can decide to remain part of the church or not. Unfortunately, by that time, the child has been trained to remain part of the community, so it’s not really a fair situation. I recall participating in my confirmation, and I was surprised that some members of my class chose not to join the church. Looking back, I realize that those young people had greater ability to think for themselves than I did at the time.