Lately I’ve been talking here on the blog about my problems being an atheist dealing with our religious society. And I’ve been hearing something surprising (to me) from other atheist parents: they don’t mind their children being religious.
In fact, columnists from both Salon and Slate recently answered the same letter about this topic. A father whose daughter is being brought up in an evangelical church by her mother wondered how to deal with his daughter’s fear that he’s going to hell. Coincidentally, they both gave him the same advice: go to church with her.
This strikes me as crazy. I can’t imagine Baptists telling their child that they’d be happy to go with them to a meeting of atheists. Heck, I really can’t imagine any Muslim being cool with their child’s interest in Vishnu, Ganesh or Kali. Why are people that are convinced that all religions are wrong so much more open-minded than people that think that one religion is right?
Personally, I’m against my children going to church for the same reason that I worry about autistic kids being given useless treatments: even if they aren’t harmed, they’re wasting time that could be better put to use doing something worthwhile. Every minute that a kid spends learning about the fanciful goings-on of the book of Genesis is a minute they aren’t spending learning about something that actually happened. Every minute they’re singing about how Jesus loves them, they could be playing a game, learning a musical instrument, or reading a book. And every penny they put in the offering plate could be going to a charity that isn’t spreading religion.
I’m not saying that church will hurt them - or even them make them Christian (see exhibit a: me) - just that if I firmly believe that it’s a waste of time, why wouldn’t I discourage them?
Jared had a pretty good time with his first night as a Tiger Cub Scout last night. One of the nicest boys from his class will be in his den, and I think the boy’s very cool dad and mom (who is Jared’s in-school assistant) will be at the meetings. His den mother is very nice and seems excited to include Jared in all of the scouting
Last night he made a train out of little pieces of wood and glue, and then scribbled on top with a yellow magic marker. He did a good job, and some other kids were trying to copy the great job he did piecing it together, saying, “we have to do it the way Jared did!” But I’d say he had the most fun running around with a few other kids taking turns throwing a hat around and then chasing it.
But when I filled out the application for Jared, I started feeling a little worried. On the form, they excerpt the first paragraph of the Declaration of Religious Principle:
The Boy Scouts of America maintains that no member can grow into the best kind of citizen without recognizing an obligation to God and, therefore, recognizes the religious element in the training of the member, but it is absolutely nonsectarian in its attitude toward that religious training. Its policy is that the home and organization or group with which the member is connected shall give definite attention to religious life.
Only persons willing to subscribe to these precepts from the Declaration of Religious Principle and to the Bylaws of the Boy Scouts of America shall be entitled to certificates of leadership.
Oh crap, eh? I guess this exempts me from being a leader, but what does it mean for Jared? I looked up the BSA National Council on the web, and found a page that outlines a scout’s duty to God:
The Boy Scout Handbook (11th ed.) explains a Scouts’ “duty to God” as “Your family and religious leaders teach you about God and the ways you can serve. You do your duty to God by following the wisdom of those teachings every day and by respecting and defending the rights of others to practice their own beliefs.”
I could probably find ways to convince myself that as atheists, we were doing those things by doing nothing, using the standard atheist interpretation of “In God we Trust” printed on our currency: “Trust no one with your money.” And in that context, the requirement for Bobcat Cub scouts that they:
“Put God first. Do what you know God wants you to do.”
…becomes:
“Put no one first. Do what you know nobody wants you to do.”
…which is at least funny, but could lead to Jared covering more surfaces in tiles of bologna. But a Wolf Cub scout has to:
“[t]alk with your folks about what they believe is their duty to God,” “[g]ive some ideas on how you can practice or demonstrate your religious beliefs,” and “[f]ind out how you can help your church, synagogue, or religious fellowship.”
And I don’t see a good way for Jared to do that. Besides which, I like the people in scouting, and I don’t want to feel like I’m lying to them. I especially don’t want to involve Jared in lying.
What’s annoying about all of this is that Jared isn’t really capable of understanding abstract concepts like God and religion. Jared still doesn’t really understand Santa, and thinks that Dora and Diego are actual people. Even if we were dyed-in-the-wool Babptists, Jared couldn’t comprehend, let alone accomplish any of the acts of religious expression the scouts require.
So what do I do? Hope that he gets tired of scouting? Talk my way around any religious discussions? Use my knowledge of the bible to fake it? On that note, let’s end with a passage from Isaiah, chapter 45, verse 3:
I form the light and create darkness,
I bring prosperity and create disaster;
I, the LORD, do all these things.
Yesterday’s grill special here at work was an angus patty with pepperjack and ham on a croissant. They called it the “Cind-wich” after Cindy, the lady who runs the grill. I call it the “Rosh Hashanah Special.” It’s the perfect thing to serve when all of the observant Jews have stayed home.
And luckily, they had it again today: delicious.