Coming out of the faith closet

Leaving one’s religion behind can be upsetting, so many folks decide that even though they don’t believe, they will keep this news to themselves and continue to "play church." You know these people; they’re everywhere. They make a show of baptizing their children and attending services on holy days, or they eat ritual foods, starve during ritual fasts, and take part in the big deal celebrations. Among their friends or siblings they may ironically scoff at their pretense of belief (“I only do this to keep Mom and Dad happy.”) or they may go along with their more devout spouse just to keep the peace. For the most part, those with false piety are harmless. Lots of families have a “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy for their suspected infidels, and as long as they continue to eat the wafer, as it were, everything remains okay.

In some cultures, however, it’s quite dangerous to reject religion: not just because mother may be cross with you, but because the religious regime in charge might put you in jail or chop off your hands. And in some very insular religious groups the community will shun nonbelievers, expelling them both physically and psychically from their family and social networks. In the face of this kind of fundamentalist lunacy, one wonders how many outwardly religious folks are spiritual scam artists, for reasons of familial unity or self-preservation, or perhaps because they like their hands.

Though for some of us the process of coming out of the faith closet is relatively straightforward and nonthreatening, it is not always very easy. There’s no step-by-step handbook for going rational, no bumper sticker or promise ring or special handshake to seal the deal. It's hard to find a mentor or sponsor because non-religious people generally don't flaunt it in public. The really open rationalists—the activist atheists—aren't very helpful as role models as they can be just as crazy as the faithful.

The marketplace hasn’t caught up to fulfill the needs of the emerging rationalist consumer. You know that a trend has really taken hold when it becomes an enduring part of pop retail self-help culture—think immunity boosters and Chicken Soup books. But religious defectors have no shopping choices. To my knowledge, greeting card companies haven’t launched a special line for those who are announcing their spiritual emancipation, although it would be fun to see.

“Mommy was a crabby Christian, her pastor preaching death and doom, now she’s sleeping in on Sundays, let’s trust her soul won’t go ka-boom. Happy Solstice.”

Leaving one’s faith is a multi-step process. There’s the brief, cathartic act of coming out of the faith closet, and then there’s the rest of your life explaining and defending your beliefs. It’s funny how your beliefs, or lack of them, will now be considered fair game for public and familial discussion and disapproval, even though it’s considered impolite, or even an actionable hate crime, to question or even simply tease members of religious groups about their practices or garb or thinking. But now that you’ve gone on record saying that moral standards are obsolete, and that religious people should be persecuted for their acts of unconscionable political, sexual, and intellectual violence, or… no, wait, you didn’t say any of that. But you may be treated as if you did.

It would be easier if everyone who left formal religious involvement could join a non-religious surrogate or substitute entity, like a spiritual version of the Elks Club (and the Unitarian Church doesn’t count—they try, I know, but they’re hopelessly Christian-y.) Then we could just tell people, “I’m an Elk now,” and we could substitute the new belief set for the old. We could still have weekly meetings to talk about important community and personal issues, a nice building, lots of friends who care about us, and rules and rituals, but without the intellectual silliness. 

That's it: I'm an Elk now.