Coming Out
Mar. 3rd, 2004 07:32 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rowynMany of you know this part.
I was born the agnostic child of areligious parents. My father is a Jewish atheist and my mother was raised as non-denominational Christian. I don't know if she holds any religious beliefs or not. Whatever the case, neither of them was inclined to teach their children about religion.
I never resented Christianity as a child. I didn't know what it was. I had a vague positive feeling about the religion. Most of the practitioners of it that I knew were good people. I didn't like the deeply conservative Christian set, or televangelists. But I never thought of that as a fundamental problem with Christianity itself. Every group has its share of idiots.
But I wasn't a believer. Sometimes I envied my friends with faith; it gave them a security and confidence I lacked. I didn't think that I could do that. I didn't have faith. I could no more be an atheist than I could be a Jew, or a Christian, or a pagan. For me, atheism was being confident that there was no divine, and I could no more do that than believe that there was one. Or pick one the religion; they all had their good points, and they all seemed focused on saying 'everyone who doesn't believe this is wrong'. I didn't like that part.
Another thread of my childhood: I longed for magic in the world. Perhaps because I wanted so much for fantasies to be real, I was deeply skeptical. I didn't believe in gods, ghosts, alien visitors, psychic powers, alternate dimensions, etc. But I would wonder: what if I had proof? What if, one day, something irrefutably, undeniably magical happened right before my eyes? Would I believe?
I rather thought not. If flying superheroes brawled with fire and ice in the skies above a packed arena, I would think I was dreaming, or this was a mass hallucination, or staged. Seeing isn't believing. There's a simple, rational explanation for everything, and magic is neither simple nor rational. Maybe it's possible for butterfly-winged people to appear and invite me down a rabbit hole to another world. But it's much more likely that I've gone insane. That's reasonable, certainly. But it also struck me as ... sad. Even the evidence of my own senses would be insufficient evidence.
About three years ago, as I was walking to work, I was thinking about a Christian columnist -- not one of the Pat-Robertson-send-more-money sorts, but a fellow who simply wrote about an advice column on Christian faith. There's this one basic question in evangelical Christianity. It doesn't change much no matter how different the views of the particular Christian speakers are: "Will you accept Jesus as your Savior?"
And I thought to myself, "So, why won't you do that?"
"All sorts of reasons. I don't agree with a lot of what Christians teach. I don't think homosexuality is wrong, I don't think abortion should be illegal -- "
"But that's not the question. The question is 'Will you accept Jesus as your savior?'"
" -- but I can't accept all that stuff that goes with it. I can't believe in a creator that would damn people simply for not believing in the right religion. I can't believe in a divine power that would save me if I say the right words but leave me to suffer if I didn't -- "
"That's not the question. This isn't 'why do you reject some of the tenets of Christianity?' This is 'why won't you accept Christ as your Savior?'"
"But what do I need to be saved from?"
"Isn't it possible that there's something? Why couldn't you at least give it a try?"
And mentally, I threw up my hands. I thought, half-joking, half-grudging, "All right, Jesus. You can be my Savior."
And I laughed out loud. Not because it was funny, though it was, but because I was suddenly suffused with joy. Overwhelmed with it, with a feeling that Jesus Christ was beaming at me like a child with a new puppy, saying "Yay! I get to be her Savior!"
I spent that day in a daze, expecting the silly, goofy, unexpected happiness to fade. There was no good reason for it. I hadn't come to some great revelation through soul-searching study or a miraculous event. It'd almost been a joke. I wasn't sure I'd even meant it at the time I thought it.
But by the end of the day, I did.
Maybe it was just a trick of my brain. Maybe it was a quirk of hormones or the weather or my peculiar sense of humor.
Or maybe this was my miracle.
Perhaps the right thing to do, when presented with evidence of magic, isn't to rationalize it away. Perhaps it's all right to believe.
It's been three years. I expect a conversion to faith is supposed to change one, but I don't know that it's changed me much. I still don't go to church, I still don't believe in the things I said were keeping me from Christianity. I haven't even read the whole Bible.
It's been three years, and prior to today, I have told exactly one person about my experience. My decision.
I've been afraid to. I know several people who don't much like Christianity, and several people who don't much like people who say they believe in Christ, but who don't follow the teachings of the Bible. I can think of people who wouldn't care, one way or another. But people who would approve? Of a wishy-washy sort-of-Christian? Wouldn't it be better to be an honest agnostic than a woman who says "I accept Christ as my Savior, but I'm not sure about a lot of the rest, and I really feel, deep in my heart, that some of it is wrong"?
And I should feel alone.
But I don't.
This is not up for debate: I will not not return to agnosticism. I have a hold on faith: it may be slender, but it is mine. I will not give it up.
This is not a statement of "I know the Truth and I know I'm Right". I don't know. I could be wrong about any number of things, on either side.
But ...
I believe.
I was born the agnostic child of areligious parents. My father is a Jewish atheist and my mother was raised as non-denominational Christian. I don't know if she holds any religious beliefs or not. Whatever the case, neither of them was inclined to teach their children about religion.
I never resented Christianity as a child. I didn't know what it was. I had a vague positive feeling about the religion. Most of the practitioners of it that I knew were good people. I didn't like the deeply conservative Christian set, or televangelists. But I never thought of that as a fundamental problem with Christianity itself. Every group has its share of idiots.
But I wasn't a believer. Sometimes I envied my friends with faith; it gave them a security and confidence I lacked. I didn't think that I could do that. I didn't have faith. I could no more be an atheist than I could be a Jew, or a Christian, or a pagan. For me, atheism was being confident that there was no divine, and I could no more do that than believe that there was one. Or pick one the religion; they all had their good points, and they all seemed focused on saying 'everyone who doesn't believe this is wrong'. I didn't like that part.
Another thread of my childhood: I longed for magic in the world. Perhaps because I wanted so much for fantasies to be real, I was deeply skeptical. I didn't believe in gods, ghosts, alien visitors, psychic powers, alternate dimensions, etc. But I would wonder: what if I had proof? What if, one day, something irrefutably, undeniably magical happened right before my eyes? Would I believe?
I rather thought not. If flying superheroes brawled with fire and ice in the skies above a packed arena, I would think I was dreaming, or this was a mass hallucination, or staged. Seeing isn't believing. There's a simple, rational explanation for everything, and magic is neither simple nor rational. Maybe it's possible for butterfly-winged people to appear and invite me down a rabbit hole to another world. But it's much more likely that I've gone insane. That's reasonable, certainly. But it also struck me as ... sad. Even the evidence of my own senses would be insufficient evidence.
About three years ago, as I was walking to work, I was thinking about a Christian columnist -- not one of the Pat-Robertson-send-more-money sorts, but a fellow who simply wrote about an advice column on Christian faith. There's this one basic question in evangelical Christianity. It doesn't change much no matter how different the views of the particular Christian speakers are: "Will you accept Jesus as your Savior?"
And I thought to myself, "So, why won't you do that?"
"All sorts of reasons. I don't agree with a lot of what Christians teach. I don't think homosexuality is wrong, I don't think abortion should be illegal -- "
"But that's not the question. The question is 'Will you accept Jesus as your savior?'"
" -- but I can't accept all that stuff that goes with it. I can't believe in a creator that would damn people simply for not believing in the right religion. I can't believe in a divine power that would save me if I say the right words but leave me to suffer if I didn't -- "
"That's not the question. This isn't 'why do you reject some of the tenets of Christianity?' This is 'why won't you accept Christ as your Savior?'"
"But what do I need to be saved from?"
"Isn't it possible that there's something? Why couldn't you at least give it a try?"
And mentally, I threw up my hands. I thought, half-joking, half-grudging, "All right, Jesus. You can be my Savior."
And I laughed out loud. Not because it was funny, though it was, but because I was suddenly suffused with joy. Overwhelmed with it, with a feeling that Jesus Christ was beaming at me like a child with a new puppy, saying "Yay! I get to be her Savior!"
I spent that day in a daze, expecting the silly, goofy, unexpected happiness to fade. There was no good reason for it. I hadn't come to some great revelation through soul-searching study or a miraculous event. It'd almost been a joke. I wasn't sure I'd even meant it at the time I thought it.
But by the end of the day, I did.
Maybe it was just a trick of my brain. Maybe it was a quirk of hormones or the weather or my peculiar sense of humor.
Or maybe this was my miracle.
Perhaps the right thing to do, when presented with evidence of magic, isn't to rationalize it away. Perhaps it's all right to believe.
It's been three years. I expect a conversion to faith is supposed to change one, but I don't know that it's changed me much. I still don't go to church, I still don't believe in the things I said were keeping me from Christianity. I haven't even read the whole Bible.
It's been three years, and prior to today, I have told exactly one person about my experience. My decision.
I've been afraid to. I know several people who don't much like Christianity, and several people who don't much like people who say they believe in Christ, but who don't follow the teachings of the Bible. I can think of people who wouldn't care, one way or another. But people who would approve? Of a wishy-washy sort-of-Christian? Wouldn't it be better to be an honest agnostic than a woman who says "I accept Christ as my Savior, but I'm not sure about a lot of the rest, and I really feel, deep in my heart, that some of it is wrong"?
And I should feel alone.
But I don't.
This is not up for debate: I will not not return to agnosticism. I have a hold on faith: it may be slender, but it is mine. I will not give it up.
This is not a statement of "I know the Truth and I know I'm Right". I don't know. I could be wrong about any number of things, on either side.
But ...
I believe.
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Re: A modest lurker here
Date: 2011-08-19 10:01 pm (UTC)Hah, by the way, it's about time you mentioned the incomplete mesh, because... I probably shouldn't spoil our heartfelt conversation by bringing this up, but the practice of polyamory is one of those things that lie beyond my range of acceptable (which means I certainly wouldn't let MYSELF engage in this), and not simply because I blindly follow religious tradition, but also because I've read an opinion of a professional psychologist and therapist on this topic that managed to convince me even more in the rightness of monogamy (although I haven't checked her references, the short explanation itself seemed sufficient). However, the last thing I want is being preachy or obnoxious, so I'd like that we, as they say, agree to disagree.
It reminded me of another problem one has to deal with all the time as a believer: how should a Christian handle those of his neighbours' ways which society quite rightfully (i.e. appropriately applying its ideals of freedom and mutual respect) accepts but he doesn't? I think it's wrong to renounce your beliefs, civil or religious, merely to please others if you know for yourself that they're right; on the other hand, hitting your poor neighbours in the head with a Bible every time they do a thing that's disapproved in it is clearly not much better an option. I wish I knew how to behave around people with morals different from mine, considering that as a religious person, morals are not a matter of taste for me, but essence of vital, cosmic importance, which drives me in a lose-lose situation where I have no choice but judge other people if their actions suddenly don't suit my personal commandments; how to not burst in pharisaism but keep loyalty. I didn't even know with what reaction I should have comed up right now, when you mentioned polyamory. I'm afraid that in real life it very well might be rude (not that I'm evil, but neither I am delicate):( Maybe you've found an answer to these questions at some point?
Re: A modest lurker here
Date: 2011-08-19 11:13 pm (UTC)In general, I try to be gentle with those who don't share my convictions. I do not with my demand that my conservative Christian friends approve of my unmarried status live-in boyfriends, much less of my multiple lovers. I think the best way I can convince them to agree is by stating my ideals and then living by them as best I can. Cutting them out of my life is probably not going to change their minds, nor is castigation or anger. I will work, quietly, to make sure that my activities remain legal and not persecuted by the state. But I am not going to thump anyone over the head with these ideas, or tell them that they're doing terrible harm to polyamorous people by refusing to accept their lifestyle, or any of that. Not just because I don't think that's true, but more importantly because I don't think it would *help*. My obligation to my convictions is to promote them in the most effective way possible. Not the loudest or most violent or most vituperative, but most *effective*. And my experience is that low-key and non-confrontational is the most effective way to convince people.
I say 'I' through all of this, but of course it can all apply to your beliefs and how you respond to those who violate them, too. If you really feel that preaching or thumping will be convincing, you can try it.
And I think that there are some things where a more extreme approach is necessary -- I can't see patiently tolerating a white supremicist calling for a return of legalized slavery, say. D:
But Bible-thumping street preachers telling me I would burn in Hell didn't bring me to Christ: they pushed me away. It was my friends who lived good, peaceful lives and talked about their beliefs only when I brought it up that made me open to Christian beliefs. I don't think they'll ever get me out of polyamory -- but if they do, it'll be much the same way.
I hope that's some help to you.
Re: A modest lurker here
Date: 2011-08-20 07:48 pm (UTC)Well, THAT's out of question. That's why I specially clarified that I'm not talking about the cases where someone's convinctions are absolutely unsupportable.
>My obligation to my convictions is to promote them in the most effective way possible. Not the loudest or most violent or most vituperative, but most *effective*. And my experience is that low-key and non-confrontational is the most effective way to convince people.<
You couldn't put it better, this is very wise. In fact, that's what was actually promoted by Jesus Himself: "By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another". I have always comprehended it as not just a rule of in-Church etiquette, but as a tip for communication with strangers (I suppose this deduction is natural, for a church wich cultivates love between its children but simultaneously directs hatred for the non-followers would be the most fucked-up schizophrenic sect imaginable).
It's wrong to gossip, but I can't help but share.
Among Russian LJ users there is an outstanding woman whom I consider my Christian role-model. She's a scientist who has come to Christ after 30 years of atheism - I found out about her through a Christian radio broadcast about science which she hosted, and it was her who made me "stop worrying about" evolution and neurophysiology. After another failed effort of holding a gay-pride in Moscow, when the entire blogosphere was fussing about homosexuality and LGBTQ rights, she came up with a few posts and comments on why she thinks homosexual behaviour shouldn't be actively praised by society in the end, as well as vulgarity of certain pride parades (look, I know that heteronormativity is hugely ostracized in the US nowadays, so let's not touch this subject and my views towards it; I hate discrimination and would prefer some kind of civil unions to exist, so the concerned people wouldn't feel like second-class citizens - but let's just say that on large scale I trust St. Paul). Anyway, that's not the point. (Just bear in mind she made her point quite impartially and openly invited anyone to discussion. And when it became known that during the disturbance they severely injured a lesbian girl's head, she (the user) in her post quoted Corinthians 5:9-13, meaning: "Fuck off the poor girl, mind your own chastity")
About that very time another LJ user posts an entry about some transsexual priest and their conflict with Catholic Church. I scroll down to the comments and see a familiar nickname: a Russian Catholic lady, whose journal I used to read but stopped due to her insufferable bigotry, insolence and peevishness. Naturally, she immediately starts to preach about what's norm and what's not and how we must persist the depravity, yadda yadda. I sink in ennui reading this, reflecting on the gap between the formal rightfulness of these words (it's not like the official Church claims anything different) and the feeling of unholy disgust they evoke. Then the aforementioned scientist joins the discussion - and, knowing her position in such debates, I get immensely intrigued by what she's about to say...
Re: A modest lurker here
Date: 2011-08-20 07:48 pm (UTC)Actually, I must have already been avare of the answer when I asked you the previous question; but I use to forget it and I'm very grateful that you let me remember once again :)
(Sorry for the F-words in this comment, I have a guilty weakness for them :X)
Re: A modest lurker here
Date: 2011-08-21 08:45 am (UTC)