Kenneth W Daniels
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The deconversion blues

1/22/2012

 
From “George,” a reader: “After two years of nagging doubts, 13 months of focused reading, and then six months of intense study and agony, I've finally come out the other side. As of a couple weeks ago, I've admitted to myself and my family and close friends that I'm no longer a Christian. 11 days ago was my last time at church. I've had a lot of hard conversations, and more are still to come, but I'm moving on with life.

"The problem is, the deconversion testimonies I've read about finding a new freedom in life or raw existential joy don't seem to ring true. Instead, I find myself almost entirely lacking in motivation to do anything. Life is overcast and gray, a film watched through foggy goggles. I feel like a robot following its programming. The Christian would say, ‘Congratulations! You're now experiencing the meaninglessness of life apart from God,’ but when I look at other non-believers who don't have this problem, it's clear I'm doing something wrong.

"I realize that I can't just expect to flip a switch and immediately be freed from my Christian frame of reference. I'd been a true believer for my entire life, and the mentality and habits of faith are extraordinarily hard to break: I still feel awkward not praying before meals; when I'm approaching something difficult or uncertain, my first instinct is still to pray; and I still recoil from things that Christianity (alone) says are immoral.”

I include this message from George because it is unguarded and compelling--and probably more common than he realizes. It’s true that the testimonials of former Christians posted on the Internet are typically positive, inviting stories of liberation from the suffocating grip of fundamentalism. But for every glowing invitation to follow in their footsteps, we have no idea how many tormented souls wish they had not ventured into the stormy, open seas in which they find themselves, without an anchor or bearing and with no land in sight. Why do I think George is not alone? It’s because his experience mirrors so closely my own turmoil that began over a decade ago, and those of others with whom I’ve privately corresponded. 

In fact, I would be surprised if George’s experience were not the norm, at least for those of us whose faith, whose relationship with Jesus, formerly constituted our very identity. It wasn’t that Jesus was just a part of our lives, or even the most important part of our lives; he was our life. Should it come as a surprise to experience the loss of Jesus as we would the death of the one we hold most dear or as a divorce from our beloved spouse? I recall all too well in the year 2000 the knot in my stomach, the nausea, the sweat, the grey fog, the depression, the uncertainty, and the dread that filled my heart as I crossed the threshold from the comforts of faith to the despair of doubt. George, you are not alone, not at all.

If you’ve lived your whole life with the understanding that the universe was created with you in mind, that your life matters infinitely to your creator, that you have a purpose to fulfill for the glory of your creator, that he considers you as the apple of his eye, that he gave up his son for you, that he watches out for you and protects you, and that he’s preparing a place of bliss for you for all eternity, and then if you come to doubt all that, of course you’re going to be depressed! For those that easily skip from belief to unbelief without missing a beat (if such a person exists), I wonder how much their former faith really meant to them in the first place. The loss is felt most acutely by those who had the most to lose. 

Those of us who’ve never used heroin don’t know how much of a struggle it is to give it up; only those who savored a regular high struggle to withdraw. Incidentally, perhaps this is why I (and other former believers) tend to seek out fellow apostates. Though we share a common worldview with lifelong unbelievers, we don’t share the same pre-deconversion or deconversion experiences. And, as George mentioned, we carry into our new life many of the views on morality we grew up with; for example, we may remain uncomfortable with drunkenness, profanity, loose sexual mores, homosexuality, abortion, or liberal political views--things that longtime atheists often don’t have a problem with. I’m not going to delve into these matters here, other than to note that these questions constitute one more source of angst for those of us who’ve grown up as conservative Christians and have left the faith for intellectual rather than moral reasons.

A number of surveys have shown that religious people are on average happier than unbelievers. I have been confronted by Christians who’ve used these statistics to question my new worldview. Likewise, they’ve also confronted me with assertions that, without God, there’s no good reason to be moral, nor does life have any meaning. What these well-meaning Christians don’t understand is that I did not abandon my faith because I wanted to, but because I came to see it as untrue. And if you don’t think something its true, you cannot simply make yourself believe it to be true. It doesn’t matter whether I might be less happy or less inclined to be moral or to find meaning in life; I cannot believe what I cannot believe. I suspect George is in the same boat, wanting in some sense to go back to the familiarity and security of faith but finding himself unable to do so.

But is there hope for those of us who give up our religion out of intellectual integrity, with no benefit to ourselves or to society? Are we just to grit our teeth stoically, tell the world we don’t believe, and forgo the benefits of religious meaning, morality, and community? I have written at greater length on the questions of morality (chapter 8; see also this blog post) and meaning (chapter 9) of my book. It’s my conviction that unbelievers have no fewer legitimate reasons or any reduced capacity to be moral compared to their religious counterparts, and there’s no reason we cannot lead fulfilling, meaningful lives. However, the loud insistence of the church that this is not so can actually make us believe it has a monopoly on the true source of morality, meaning, and joy, even as we make our exit from the church. Our long-term dependence on religion for these benefits is real and does make it difficult to envision a fulfilling life outside the church. In the months and sometimes years following our deconversion, we suffer this loss acutely. But over time, we adapt to the “new normal”; we “come out” to everyone, we keep many of our old friends and make some new ones, we find activities that give life meaning, we adjust to the idea that the universe was not made with us in mind--and eventually the turmoil we experienced in the beginning fades away into a bad memory. In other words--and this is the main point I want any struggling readers to take home--it gets better with time. Not only to we adjust to loss, but we eventually our situation improves as we begin to see the world closer to how it really is; as we shed our egocentric notions of cosmic importance, as we let go of the congitive dissonance we experienced when we tried to fit square pegs into round holes; and as we no longer have to see others as targets of conversion lest they suffer for all eternity separated from God. For some the benefits come sooner than for others, and I can only hope that your deconversion blues will soon begin to fade, though there may always be a social price to pay, as there continues to be for me.

Finally, though it’s conventional wisdom that believers are happier than unbelievers, the truth is more nuanced than that. According to this study, firmly convinced and engaged believers are happier than lukewarm or uninvolved believers. The interesting thing is that the same phenomenon holds true for unbelievers: those that are just lapsed churchgoers (those who might have left the church for interpersonal or financial reasons, for example, or those who simply lost interest without intense study, or those who are unsure whether they believe or don’t believe) are less happy than those who are confident and open in their unbelief. In other words, whether you’re a believer or an unbeliever, if you’re uncertain or half-hearted about what you believe, you’re less likely to be happy than if you’re a confident and/or committed believer or unbeliever. So it’s natural that as you’re going through the uncertainty surrounding deconversion, even if you suspect that Christianity is untrue, if you have natural lingering doubts about your doubts, you can expect to live with the blues until your pressing doubts are resolved in one direction or another. But again, it gets better with time, since generally over the years you come to terms with your doubts and become more settled in what you believe.
Jerry
1/22/2012 11:50:23 pm

Having been a non-believer for most of my life (despite a few flip-flops), I can't relate to this on an emotional level, but I have some practical advice for George, and anyone else struggling with similar problems. I'll respond to George's words.

"I still feel awkward not praying before meals"

If you feel compelled to say thanks before meals, go ahead. But think about where that meal really came from. Think about the stove or microwave you cooked it with. Think about the fact that the food was there at the grocery store, waiting for you to purchase for a few dollars, without having to hunt for it or gather it. How did that happen? Think about all the steps between God/nature and that meal, and give thanks to those who made it possible. In time, and probably not all that much time, you'll come to understand that thanks to God, even if he does exist, are misplaced, and that the debt of gratitude you owe for that meal is to mankind, of which you are an important part.

"when I'm approaching something difficult or uncertain, my first instinct is still to pray"

It is natural to reflect at difficult times. But instead of praying to a god whose existence you've come to doubt, think about what you can do to improve the situation. A variation on the serenity prayer can help here. Ask yourself whether you can change the situation, or at least some aspects of it. If you can change it, think about what steps you need to take, and take them. If you can't change it, think about what steps you can take to adjust to it. And remember to break it down. There are few situations that are <i>completely</i> beyond our control. Chances are there is something you can do to better the situation, and in time you'll see that taking action yourself works much better than prayer.

"I still recoil from things that Christianity (alone) says are immoral"

When you find yourself doing this, ask yourself whether the thing really is immoral, and if so, for what reasons? A moral philosophy needs to have some basis, some underlying principles. If your underlying principle before deconversion was simply 'because the bible says so' then how do you explain the fact that you (I assume) also recoil at the thought of stoning someone to death for working on the sabbath or for disbelief? Do you recoil from the thought of forcing a woman who has been raped to marry the man who raped her?

The point is, you <i>already</i> use your own mind, not the bible, to determine right from wrong. At a macro level, this is easy. <i>Of course</i> genocide and slavery are wrong, despite the fact that the bible clearly supports them. At a micro level, it's a little more difficult and subjective. As long as you arrive at your own answers honestly, and recognize that others may arrive at different answers just as honestly, you will find that your recoil, or lack thereof, adjusts to your thinking.

If you do these sorts of things, you will find it to be empowering. The worst thing about religion, in my view, is that it teaches us that man is 'fallen'. Take a closer look at how far we've come, from smoke signals to cell phones, from the cave to the condo, from competition to cooperation, and you'll see that you're already a part of it.

You may find yourself recoiling from your own 'sin' of pride, but that's a good thing too to some extent. We are all fallible, and a little humility never hurt anyone. Find your own way, but never forget that you are one of billions finding their own way too. We can all make mistakes, and we can all self-correct.

Good luck, George, and whatever you do, keep thinking.

(Btw, Ken, I really enjoyed your book.)

Ken Daniels
1/23/2012 12:40:56 pm

Well said, Jerry! Thanks for responding to some of George's questions that I had left unanswered. I appreciate your contribution and invite others to add their words of wisdom for those like George who have a tough slog ahead.

Ken Daniels
1/24/2012 09:59:57 am

Jerry, thanks again for responding to some of George's specific questions I didn't touch on in my post. I'll add something from my experience to George's comment about the habit of praying. To this day, nearly 12 years after my deconversion, I still find myself inadvertently repeating to myself a prayer I often prayed deliberately as a believer: "Father God, keep me close to you; I love you and I need you. You are my God, my friend, and my king." I related this to a believer several years ago, and he took this to mean I was still just a wayward believer, that God had me marked for himself, and that I would one day return. We'll see...

Like George, sometimes when another person is in a difficult situation, I sometimes have to catch myself so as not to say, "I'll pray for you." One problem with prayer is that it can make the person who's praying think he's actually doing something beneficial for a person in need, when he's doing nothing of the sort. His time is better spent doing something practical for that person, or doing nothing at all--at least then he would feel a little guilt for not doing anything, as opposed to salving the guilt with the thought that prayer is a good deed.

Mary
1/23/2012 12:45:10 pm

I went through such a time of anger and sorrow when I decided I could no longer believe in the God that I had believed in for 25 years. However, like you Ken I could no longer force myself to believe in something that was not true. To George I would say time will help and he will see that a belief in the bible Jesus no longer makes sense.

Jay B.
1/23/2012 01:31:04 pm

Ken, thanks for the thoughtful post, as usual.

As I have been approaching the 2 year anniversary of my deconversion, I have been thinking a lot about this same topic as of late.

I think you are right in that those of us who really took our faith seriously face a lot of these same thoughts, especially early on. As for me, it is getting easier with the passage of time. My emotions are not quite as strong as they were at first, and I find I am not thinking about it constantly as I did immediately following my deconversion, although I do still think about it quite a bit.

In discussions with some of my deconverted friends, I have described my deconversion as much like the experience Neo had in the film "The Matrix". Taking the red pill and waking up and falling down a long tunnel, wondering if you will ever hit bottom. I did finally hit bottom, but it was an excruciating experience, and it took close to a year or so to start feeling somewhat normal again.

I do still have "God" and "Prayer" thoughts from time to time, but for the most part I dismiss them fairly easily now. As Carl Sagan once wrote, ..."For me, it is far better to grasp the Universe as it really is than to persist in delusion, however satisfying and reassuring."

I have also found joy, wonder, and yes, even happiness, in looking at the universe around me through the lens of science. I'll close with another of my favorite Carl Sagan quotes: "I maintain there is much more wonder in science than in pseudoscience. And in addition, to whatever measure this term has any meaning, science has the additional virtue, and it is not an inconsiderable one, of being true."

Regards,

Jay

Ken Daniels
1/24/2012 01:17:28 pm

Jay,

Thanks for your perspective--I'm glad for all those who've chimed in to give George and others a real sense of what it's like to make such a dramatic and far-reaching change in your life.

Yes, Sagan was one of my heroes. I love that zinger in the second quote you included from him: "...science has the additional virtue, and it is not an inconsiderable one, of being true."

Holly
1/24/2012 12:11:24 am

I can relate to much of what is said here. It's been almost 3 official years for me. I used to think about it literally non-stop. It has lessened, but I still think about it a lot. I too think how if I shared these feeling with my Christian friends and family they would say my tension is caused from walking away from Christ. I remember heari g testimonies in church from people who walked away from Chris and claimed that there "was no peace." I can relate to that to some extent but realize this tension is not because I walked away from Christ, but because my entire life was focused on my christian belief system and it's difficult to reconstruct and deprogram. And it can be lonely because nobody wants to hear it or try to understand. There's no going back and those of us who deconverted for intellectual honesty reasons know this. But it has gotten better and I think it will continue to. I am encouraged by the secular groups popping up and the quality and inspiring young people, like just recently, Jessica Ahlquist, who are stepping up and representing our view with such grace. We all need to hang in there!

Chris
1/24/2012 03:12:29 pm

Once again you've written a great post. You're a veritable Paul of Tarsus with the pen, Mr. Daniels =)

I must say that my experiences are a lot like what you've described. In fact, I think on some level I haven't really accepted the implications of atheism because I'm terrified of living in a meaningless world. Intellectually I know that atheism (or at least skepticism about God) is well-founded...but I'm so scared that life outside of a God-centered life will be meaningless, devoid of joy, and immoral.

But why should this be so? It is true: there are many greedy, petty, sad unbelievers...but also morally great, emotionally fulfilled ones as well. Maybe the only way I can join that noble crowd is to endure the storm.

James Hutton
1/24/2012 04:01:22 pm

As usual, a fantastic post. It was interesting to read about George's experiences, and then wonder why they were so different from my experience. When I finally bit the bullet, I felt wonderfully free.

I think it's because I had already read a bit about humanism. Back when I was a believer, I had one of those 'unsettling experiences' when I read about humanism and part of me thought it was a better way to live than being a Christian. I shut it down of course but when I became a non-believer I very quickly and happily settled into humanism, where I am comfortably today.

I'm not going to go into all the reasons I think humanism is great and everyone should agree with me and all that, I'll just leave it with the suggestion that those are wondering where to go forward in life to look into it, and maybe read a book or two on amazon, and see where it takes you.

As always, you all have my admiration for your intellectual honesty and courage.

James

Sam
2/19/2012 11:14:29 am

Sorry to comment on this one month later ...

It took at least a year before I could officially say I was "not a Christian" out loud, to other people. It's been about a year since I allowed myself to admit that, and I know my logical reasons are sound ... But I have to admit I keep waiting for someone to convince me that I'm wrong, for Jesus to come back into my heart.

I guess now what's hard for me is to admit that I miss Jesus.

Isn't that strange?


Comments are closed.

    Author

    Kenneth W. Daniels (1968-), son of evangelical missionaries, is the author of Why I Believed: Reflections of a Former Missionary. He grew up in Africa and returned as an adult to serve with Wycliffe Bible Translators in Niger on the edge of the Sahara Desert. While studying the Bible on the mission field, he came to doubt the message he had traveled across the world to bring to a nomadic camel-herding ethnic group. Though he lost his faith and as a result left Africa in 2000, he remains part of a conservative Christian family. He currently resides with his wife and three children in suburban Dallas, TX, where he works as a software developer.

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