A crisis of faith can strike at any time in life, usually inspired by some calamitous event that shakes a believer to their very core. For me, this moment happened when I was quite young through an almost sitcom-like set of circumstances—though sadly there was no laugh track to accompany this fallout. At the time, I was a precocious nine-year-old with nary a care in the world—my biggest concerns included being worried about a future full of cursive (I’m still haunted by the unnecessarily elaborate lower-case b) and whether we were having meatloaf for dinner (it was and remains a texture issue). Sadly, those problems would pale in comparison to those that burst forth in response to the harrowing truth my older brother decided to reveal to me and our younger siblings.
After being tipped off by our next-door neighbor, he’d begun an investigation into whether one of the most powerful, omnipotent beings in our lives was fact or fiction: Santa Claus. I must hand it to him—his sleuthing skills were superb for an eleven-year-old and in no time, he found evidence that confirmed the tip from his friend was in fact true. In a far corner of our creepy, unfinished basement that we never ventured to—because we were 99% sure it was haunted—he found a hidden pile of the wrapping paper used on all our Christmas gifts that year. This stash sent my ironclad certainty in the existence of Santa Claus tumbling into a void of doubt.
As my understanding of the world began unraveling in response to this revelation, I scrambled for an explanation, thinking, “This can’t be! Everyone knows Santa wraps presents at the North Pole—otherwise, how would he ever make it to every house in the world?! Maybe he was running behind with our presents and had to wrap them here? I’m sure Santa always has some spare rolls in his magical sleigh for those kinds of emergencies.”
Basically, I did what any good believer is taught to do in a situation where evidence is presented that directly contradicts their closely-held beliefs—deny, deny, deny. I didn’t want Santa—who saw me when I was sleeping and knew when and what I was doing while awake—to know I was doubting his existence, because belief in this jolly gift-giver was integral to being considered “good” and receiving presents. If I could just ignore those few tattered rolls of wrapping paper and return to the pro-Santa narrative, I could still reap my yearly reward for goodness. Try as I might, it was all in vain—the illusion had been shattered and with the blinders off, it was easy to see the many holes in the tale of the now debunked Mr. Claus.
This revelation sent me spiraling in more ways than one and I credit it as the spark that ignited my curiosity regarding the existence of the big guy upstairs, God. It’s not hard to make a connection between the two, even taking out the more obvious Christmas link. Both Santa and God are always watching and know your every thought and intention, and you must be good—as defined by them—to reap your reward, whether that be presents or eternal salvation. Disbelief or contrarian thoughts are not allowed. Those who question the validity of the widely accepted doctrine must be ridiculed and ostracized until they fall back in line. Should they not, they’re branded a malicious naysayer and must be shunned to prevent their skepticism from spreading among the faithful. There were too many connections for me to ignore and, from that point on, I stopped blindly believing the “absolute truths” that surrounded me—even if I feared what the actual truth or repercussions of my questions might bring.
Ultimately, it wasn’t too hard to move on from Santa after the initial shock—it’s an inevitable part of that mythos, one that you’re expected to let go of as you grow, learn, and experience more in this world. However, I soon found the expectations for God, and organized religion in general, were quite the opposite.
Despite growing up in a non-denominational household, in general I believed in and understood the concepts surrounding God—specifically the Christian version prominent in the Midwest. Though my parents did not force us to go to church or adhere to any specific religious rites, it was still hard for me to grasp the idea that not believing was an option. And frankly, what did I have to gain by shying away from the dominant religion and deity in the area? In many ways, I wanted to believe. Who wouldn’t want a handy guide to turn to for definite answers for any problem that might arise? Even more, by participating in this religion I would have an entire community to turn to for support, validation, and encouragement—so long as I abided by the absolute rules laid down as gospel. I understand the comfort that comes with embracing this system of belief; there is an assuredness among the faithful that is quite alluring. But the black and white picture of the world they tried to paint for me was directly at odds with the reality I was living in and, ultimately, could not keep me anchored down. Instead, I embraced the unknown and allowed myself to be swept up in a tornado of new ideas, beliefs, and perspectives that showed me the many shades of grey this world is painted in.
It was in that moment the true colors of the faithful became clear to me—as soon as I voiced my disbelief, I became a threat. I can understand this to an extent; if a person has dedicated both their mortal existence and immortal security to a specific system of belief, me saying “I don’t believe in that” is going to ruffle some feathers. However, I’ve never supported the idea that religious proponents shouldn’t be allowed to worship in their designated spaces however they see fit, so long as it doesn’t infringe on the freedom, autonomy, education, or opportunities of those who disagree with their beliefs. Sadly, many of the religious persuasion do not readily reciprocate that grace and understanding for those who choose their own, nonreligious paths.
While I understand spreading the “good word” and recruiting new and disillusioned people to the flock is part of God’s big plan, I was still shocked at how vehemently some believers fought to bring me back into the fold. I would’ve never been considered devout in any religious regard, but the shift to being open about my disbelief brought an onslaught of questions, attacks, and downright nastiness.
To some, I was the picture of arrogance – who was I to question centuries of belief, even if those beliefs had been consistently edited throughout that time based on the goals those in power? To others, a danger – by expressing thoughts on some of the hypocrisies, inconsistencies, and moral fallacies within their doctrines, I might motivate others to start asking the wrong questions. For me, the hardest attacks to endure were those focused on my character. The ones that claimed I’m incapable of being a moral, ethical, compassionate, considerate human being simply because I don’t share the same beliefs as others. Basically, I’m incapable of being good.
While none of these were fun experiences, this blitz confirmed I had made the right decision by blazing my own trail. Imagine how sad and narrow one’s existence must be if there is only one rigid path to follow, one right answer for every situation. Perhaps that’s where their passionate attacks stem from— their own frustration with the lack of flexibility regarding the lives they’ve chosen. That being said, my choice to diverge from this predetermined path forced me to confront a colossal question: what do I define as good?
It’s a query that academics, philosophers, and, of course, religious leaders have pondered for centuries—and there is no outright, easy answer, which I believe drives people into the arms of religion even more vigorously. But as someone who had decidedly rejected those arms, I now had the freedom—and responsibility—to piece together what I think goodness is and what it means to be a good person.
Though it has been years since I began this work, I do not have a perfect answer—I doubt I ever will. My world is constantly evolving, shaped by the new experiences, information, and people that come into my orbit, all of which influence my understanding of goodness. It’s through trial and error, listening, and the ability to be wrong—or at least understand that my ideas might never resonate the same way with others—that allows me to continue to expand upon my ideas of goodness. There’s a flexibility there that provides infinitely more opportunities for growth than a rigid system ever will, and therein lies its strength.
Try as I might, I know I am not a good person all the time—that was never in question or the goal of my goodness quest. But I can say with confidence that I have taken greater strides toward being the best person I can be by removing myself from systems that adhere to inflexible, never-evolving concepts of good. These ideas should be challenged by myself and others—if I’m incapable of understanding and explaining what goodness means to me, can I truly consider myself a good person? If I’m simply parroting the ideas of goodness taught to me as absolute and eternal without a thought, am I actually good—or just obedient?
It’s questions like these that fuel my never-ending pursuit to understand and embrace goodness. Though they can cause discomfort, regret, and fear, the ultimate result is a better understanding of yourself and the world around you. To me, those benefits far outweigh the challenges that come with breaking away from any preconceived notions of good.
I’m confident those shifting winds of change I embraced all those years ago continue to blow me to the right paths more often than not. I know I can be kind, generous, helpful, moral, considerate and hold so many other positive traits because I have and continue to put in the work to understand myself, others, and the environment around me as best as I can. Believe whatever you’d like, but I know this for certain: I can be—and am—godless and good.