Atheism, Paganism, and Agreeing to Disagree

I’ve been thinking lately about the crossroads where Atheopaganism lives: straddling lines between atheism, Paganism, and activism.

In the atheistic world, skepticism is a given. There, when you propose something—a policy, a factual claim, a strategic approach to problem solving—it is assumed that you will have both material evidence and cogent argumentation to back your position. Others are welcomed to interrogate, prod at, and refute the position as best they are able. This is a process by which we can arrive at a position which is more likely to be correct than if we did not so critique the initial proposition. The process is central to the operation of science and has been deeply successful in identifying everything that we have learned with high degrees of certainly over the past five centuries or so.

In the Pagan community, it is generally considered to be bad form to interrogate the beliefs of others. It would be rude to ask someone why they believed in a given goddess, for example, and whether they had considered the possibility that the experiences which led to that belief had arisen from some other cause. Daring to suggest that supposed gods aren’t literal beings, for example—or that we should at least be up for discussing whether or not they are—is rejected by some as “non-Pagan”, or even “scientism”.

And yet Atheopaganism exists with a foot in each of these worlds. It is no surprise that we sometimes cause uneasiness in each of them.

When I communicate in atheist forums, on the other hand, I often get strong pushback from people who dismiss the desire for rituals and holiday observances as pointless and superstitious. Even after I pony up the science that shows the human benefits of these religious practices, their value is generally rejected: an example of how confirmation bias is a human characteristic even among those who are working hard not to be subject to such fallacies.

Too much reason for (some of) the Pagans, and too much ritual for (some of) the atheists.

But here’s the thing: I have spent more than 30 years circling with theists. Until the past ten years or so, they mostly haven’t known I was an atheist, but it didn’t make the rituals any less powerful one way or the other. And I stand with them when it comes to freedom of religion, and resistance to discrimination against ANY flavor of Paganism*.

And I have stood with other atheists as they rallied against the cultural discrimination we also suffer, and for rigid separation of church and state, and for science and critical thinking education…and the talismans in my pocket and the symbol around my neck didn’t cause any harm there, either.

Which brings me to that third country Atheopaganism lives in: activism.

I think about the above…and then I think about the vehemence, the vitriol of recrimination and mutual finger-pointing around political issues I see over differences among people who share 90% of values in common. The so-called “circular firing squad”.

The bitterness with which people who are agreed on so many important issues can attack one another is shocking and demoralizing.

It is the viciousness with which Hillary Clinton was attacked by people who agreed with nearly everything she stood for, for example: viciousness not only completely out of proportion to what would have been reasonable, but which was far less intense than the attacks the same people leveled at Donald Trump.

I have no patience for purity politics. No one is pure. No one is perfect.**

The political organizer in me says that we need ALL of us who care enough to act in the coalitions to help achieve goals like progress on climate change and social justice. That to refuse to ally with those we disagree with on one issue drags down the chances of success on many issues.

I have been trying to have conversations about this. They haven’t gone very well. The level of moral outrage displayed by people over points of disagreement clouds the deeper point, which is about all the ways we agree.

At times, I have made common cause in political struggles with people who make me grit my teeth. I’ve done so because my focus was on the goal at hand, rather than on the degree to which my comrades agreed with me on other issues.

And then, I have gone right out and fought those same people on the issues where we disagree…in exactly the same way I have celebrated theist rituals with theists, and then gone on to advocate for Atheopaganism as a valid Pagan path.

All of these issues are intensely personal. They have to do with whether or not we feel personally included, safe, respected, seen, listened to, acknowledged. As such, they stir powerful emotions.

And disagreements about some of them are at root unresolvable. People of good will can—and do— differ on them. In some cases, differences are simply about education: if everyone were operating under the same understanding of the facts, they would probably draw similar conclusions. But in some cases, they are genuine differences of opinion.

Plenty of good people are theists. Plenty of them are atheists.

If—as we say—diversity is a value in our communities, we will have to find ways to coexist alongside those with whom we disagree.

Atheopagans, as a minority within a minority culture, do it all the time.

I hope that in our passion for positions that define difference between us, we do not leap to the presumption that those who mostly agree with us but disagree on a particular issue—or who find themselves caught in the middle—are our enemies.

Being ‘right” is intoxicating. We’re all somewhat prone to its charms. We all want to be in the “correct” moral position.

But there is far more that should unite us than should divide us. And I hope we can remember this as we debate those issues where we disagree.


 

*With the notable exception of racist “folkish” Heathenism, for which I will not lift any finger save my middle ones. There are positions that are just too extreme to make common cause with.

**I don’t have any patience for those who make no effort on behalf of the causes that define our times, either. They might be in our community, but I don’t consider those “allies”—I consider them dead weight. Particularly when they have high visibility and large audiences and could, if they wished, use them for good instead of mere self-promotion.

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Beyond Faith. Beyond Fundamentalism.

Let’s start by acknowledging that the definitions are fuzzy.

There is no universally agreed-to definition of what a “religion” even is.

Spirituality” is just as indeterminate. So all we can do is look at religions of the world and try to identify the elements that compose them.

When I do that, I conclude that a religion, functionally, comes in three pieces: a cosmology, which is a description of the nature of the Universe which is subscribed to by adherents of the religion; a set of values which define what is Sacred, what is important, and how we should live; and a set of practices such as rites, holidays, traditions and other sacred activities which enact the religion in the culture which embraces it.

Much of the material available on this site is about the second and third elements: about Atheopagan values and principles and rituals and practices. But this post is about the first religious component: cosmology.

I don’t write about that much, and there is a reason for it: because Atheopagan cosmology is defined by the entire body of scientific knowledge, and stops right there.

When it comes to describing the nature of the objective Universe “out there” beyond our skins, what there is credible, verifiable evidence to believe, we believe. What there is only anecdotal, subjective, unverifiable, unrepeatable conjecture about, we do not.

This is not a radical proposal. It’s the natural conclusion of critical thinking and application of the scientific method. After all: in the entire history of humanity, no verifiable phenomena have ever—ever—turned out to be caused by supernatural causes like gods, spirits, fairies, prayer or magic, readily though we can imagine them. And science has again and again discovered their actual causes.

Ours is religion without faith. We don’t have faith because we don’t need it: we have evidence, and that’s enough. If new evidence comes along and the scientific consensus about the nature of the Universe changes, our beliefs about the Universe update accordingly.

Maybe someday there will be verifiable and credible evidence that invisible self-aware disembodied intelligent entities that are entirely undetectable by all the instrumentation of science nonetheless exist, and are influencing events here on Earth…even though there’s no evidence of any such influence, either.

I’m not holding my breath for it, but it could happen.

The point is that we have a standard for what we believe which accommodates new evidence, rather than having static beliefs in support of which we cherry-pick evidence in order to maintain those beliefs. Understanding that the human sensorium is easily fooled, we do not take subjective individual experiences, including our own, seriously enough to believe extraordinary claims on the sole basis of such experiences. Only scientific evidence-gathering, analysis and peer review.

Only that.

It’s not perfect, but it’s better than any other system we have for determining what is most likely to be a true description of the nature of the Universe. Others lend more weight to their personal and subjective experiences, or simply believe tales of gods as literal history rather than metaphorical myth. That’s all right for them; we just don’t think it accurately describes reality.

Now, does that mean that to Atheopagans, personal experience isn’t important, or meaningful? Of course not. Atheopaganism is all about creating meaningful personal experiences! Our standard for what we believe merely states that we can’t rely on subjective experiences to tell us factual objective truth about the nature of the Universe.

Since around 2000, there has been a movement within the broader Pagan community to advocate that, just as in Christianity and Judaism and Islam, a Pagan “must have faith” in literal gods in order to be a “real Pagan”. While this is silly on its face—when it comes to definitions, they don’t get much fuzzier than “Pagan“—it also flies in the face of the decades of participation in Pagan community by people who have never believed in gods, but have viewed them as ideas: as poetic cultural expressions invented by humans to put human faces on insensate forces and phenomena.

To be clear, not all of the so-called “devotional polytheists” take the unreasonable position that being a Pagan “demands” that one believe in invisible intelligences with magical powers. There are plenty who do not, and I want to emphasize that.

But those who do—who claim, for example, that you are “doing it wrong” if you don’t believe in “divine energy”, or who argue that Nature-centered Paganism “isn’t Pagan“, or that “naturalistic Paganism is an oxymoron“—are, in my opinion, a threat to core Pagan values of diversity, tolerance and inclusion.

They are what we said could never happen, back in the 1980s when I first became a Pagan: they are Pagan fundamentalists.

We used to joke about it. But here it is.

Fundamentalism is dangerous. It does not belong in a diverse and creative community. It leads inevitably to purges, divisions, purity tests and social cruelty.

When I entered the Pagan world in 1987, one of the things I was impressed by early on was the level of tolerance for diversity of beliefs and practices. We were a weird and woolly bunch and we liked it that way. Some embraced every flavor of supernatural “woo” imaginable. Others like me were scientific rationalists celebrating the Sacred Earth. We got along, circled and shared community together. When we did have conflicts, they weren’t about someone “not belonging” for believing the “wrong thing”.

I am happy to share rituals with Pagan theists. Their thing isn’t my thing, and I’m not going to invoke their gods in my rituals, but we share far more in common than renders us distinct. It is more “Pagan” to accept that we are all making our ways on our own religious/spiritual paths according to what works best for us than it is to arbitrarily declare who may and may not wear the label “Pagan”.

In fact, I would argue that we should err on the side of inclusion. If someone wants to call themselves a Pagan and participate positively in our community, I say we should let them. There are certainly people in our broader community now, as in every religious community, who are there for fellowship and a sense of “belonging” with those whose values they share far more than they are for rituals or practices or worship. So long as those people are respectful, why NOT allow them to call themselves “Pagans”?

Where, exactly, is the harm in that?

It’s a cold enough world as it is. Surely we can be hospitable to those who find our community a good place to be…and in the process, inoculate ourselves against the pernicious nature of fundamentalist thinking.

Five Great Reasons to Be an Atheopagan

This is a bit of a bandwagon post. John Beckett and Jason Mankey have just posted about “Five Bad Reasons to be a Pagan” and “Five Good Reasons” to be one, respectively. They’re at Patheos, which I no longer link to, but you can find them easily if you like.

Their posts got me thinking about how happy I am with my Atheopagan practice. It’s been ten years this year since I stripped the god-imagery that I really didn’t believe out of my practice and completed my essay on why I wasn’t going to pretend any longer.

At that moment, a profound sense of relief and “rightness” swept through me. Finally, I felt I was practicing spirituality with both feet firmly on Planet Earth. I could fill with love and celebration at the glory of the natural world without cheapening it with the idea that it was trying to communicate with me, or cared about my path or behavior. I could confront the fact of my impending death without kidding myself about afterlives or reincarnation. I could conduct meaningful symbolic rituals without either being self-conscious about them as “pointless” nor presuming that they had power and significance beyond those they have for me. And I could stop pretending that there are exceptions to what science can study and assess.

Arriving at Atheopaganism—divesting myself of old and discredited “occult” systems and theologies, embracing the science that affirms the power of ritual and religious practice—has proved tremendously beneficial to my inner life. It has thrown my arms wide to the sheer wonder and beauty of What Is, without having to make it wear the forms of goddesses and gods and other pretense.

Here, then, are five great reasons to be an Atheopagan:

Connectedness to the Magnificence of the Real. You can keep your scientific rationalism, your critical reasoning, your insistence on believing only in things for which there is credible evidence, and still enjoy the benefits of religion through Atheopaganism.

In Atheopaganism, we don’t feel the need to gild the exquisite lily of the Universe. They are enough: the good Earth, the mighty Cosmos.

A Path of Exploration and Growth. Atheopaganism both demands that we grow as people, and provides us with tools with which to do it.  Through ritual, through inner journeys, through personal work, we seek to be the best people we can be.

Values and Principles. Mainstream Paganism is a bit thin on articulated values and principles. But Atheopaganism is more explicit about how to live a life of integrity and goodness. We hold truth, beauty, love and life sacred. We conduct ourselves to be the best humans we can be. We are actively engaged in making the world a better place. We are the people we have been waiting for.

Freedom. Atheopagans have no rigid religious dogma. We have no hierarchy of leadership.  We have no ordained system of religious observance. Ours is a make-it-yourself religious path whose keystone is to do what works for you. We encourage adaptation of the cycle of holidays and the structure of ritual to fit your local context and your personal tastes. Atheopaganism is your religion, for you.

Happiness. This is your life. It’s the only one you’re going to have, and by comparison to the processes that evolve life and the Earth and the Cosmos, it is incredibly brief. Atheopaganism is about embracing that life. engaging it at all the levels from the intrapersonal to the societal. It is about being joyous and connected and grounded and powerful and alive.


Life is a precious gift. We should live it to the fullest, and that includes coming to know ourselves deeply, to connect deeply with one another, to celebrate the beauty of the journey and to improve the world while we’re here. Atheopaganism is a means to all of these ends: a path for a richer, fuller. more profound life.

At least, it is for me. I hope you feel the same.