Most people are taught misguided — and often religiously-driven — ideas about positive human characteristics. There is, for example, really no mystery about morality. It is innate in us, not because God inscribed it upon our hearts, but because we humans are, by our nature, social creatures. We either get along or we die. Atheists are no less moral than any other group. In fact, atheists are underrepresented in America’s prison population. The most atheistic countries, like Sweden and Denmark, enjoy exceptionally low crime rates and boast high levels of social equality. A recent study even named Denmark “the happiest place on Earth.” So people can — and millions do — lead moral, meaningful lives as atheists.
I think atheists need to be evangelical about their atheism. I am not looking to tear something down. I don’t want to rob people of the happiness and comfort that they derive from religion. Rather, I want them to know that they can find meaning in their lives by turning inward and making that meaning for themselves, as opposed to believing that they have to follow the dictates of some kind of celestial overlord to micromanage their life. People need to harness the power that is within them. This idea is so empowering and so exciting. When I was Mormon, for example, I was very liberal, and I was a Democrat, but I wasn’t the most active Democrat. I wouldn’t go out and protest. I wouldn’t write letters to the editor. But I’ve done that more now that I’m an atheist. I think that there’s something about atheism that makes activism possible.
It’s odd that people think that without another life, this one would be would be worthless. We measure value by its finitude, like money. I don’t see why that same principle doesn’t apply to life. Life is important because there is so little of it. It should be cherished in a way that I really don’t think it is in Mormonism or other religions. While there may be no cosmic meaning to life without God, there is certainly meaning in life. My friends, my family, and my future all imbue my life with meaning. For me, atheism has been really beautiful.
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Jessica Ahlquist: Courage in Cranston
“And then my heart was filled with gratitude, with thankfulness, and went out in love to all the heroes, the thinkers who gave their lives for the liberty of hand and brain —
For the freedom of labor and thought —
To those who fell on the fierce fields of war —
To those who died in dungeons bound in chains —
To those who proudly mounted scaffold’s stairs —
To those whose bones were crushed, whose flesh was scarred and torn —
To those by fire consumed —
To all the wise, the good, the brave of every land, whose thoughts and deeds have given freedom to the sons of men.
And then I vowed to grasp the torch that they had held, and hold it high, that light might conquer darkness still.”
Jessica Ahlquist has always been a sensitive person. She cried in class when learning about slavery in the antebellum South. She cried in class when she learned about how the Third Reich massacred Jews. One might think that with what she’s experienced in the past two years, a river of tears would now stretch from Cranston to Providence. But that’s not the case; she says she feels more confident than ever.
An atheist since age 10, she is currently a student at the public secondary school Cranston High School West in Cranston, Rhode Island. She came across a prayer banner in the auditorium of her school her freshman year. She learned that the prayer, addressed to a God in heaven, was already an issue: the ACLU had been contacted by a parent within the school system, and a subcommittee had been formed to decide what to do about it. At its final meeting, the subcommittee, which included the school’s superintendent, voted 4-3 to keep the prayer.
Despite threats and harassment, Jessica partnered with the ACLU and filed a lawsuit against the school. She found support online during her activism. According to her, her involvement in the secular movement showed that “there are so many people who care — and that’s the best part of all of it.”
I’m the oldest of four children. I have a sister and two younger brothers. My father has been an atheist since he was a teenager. He didn’t raise my family and me that way, though. I was always allowed to do my own thing and believe what I wanted to believe. My family identified as Catholics, but I don’t think we were traditional. I would go to mass for members of my family that had passed away, but that’s about it. My mom has taken part in a religious group called Science Of Mind; they believe that they can control or manipulate the universe through their own minds and that the act of thinking positively will automatically have a positive impact on things that happen in life.
When I was young, I believed in God, mostly because I believed everything that I was taught. I thought that there was a God up in the sky looking at all of us, taking care of us, and watching over us. As I got older, I started to question things. I was becoming more interested in big questions, becoming less of a kid. My dad’s brothers are atheists, and a lot of my dad’s side of the family is secular, so I heard them talking about religious issues. It sparked a curiosity that caused a chain reaction. I started doing more research and asking my dad questions. Eventually I just decided I didn’t believe any of it.
A turn of events in my life challenged my distancing from faith. When I was 10, my family moved out to a rural section of Rhode Island, and we lived there for only a year. While we were there, my mom became mentally ill and very depressed. She developed symptoms of psychosis. She stopped eating altogether, lost a lot of weight, and was very unhealthy. It was scary; I was worried about her and my whole family. I remember feeling hopeless. With nowhere else to turn, I decided to pray. When nothing happened for an entire year, I felt lied to, betrayed. I realized, finally, that God isn’t helping us because God doesn’t exist.
I have always gotten very upset by things that I see as unfair, and because of that, I’ve always been very sensitive. In fifth grade, for example, my class and I were learning about the history of slavery in America. I was in the back of the room crying. Other kids in my class were teasing me about it because they thought I was kind of silly for crying, but I couldn’t help being emotional about it. Then again in eighth grade, I learned about the Holocaust, and I had the same reaction. At one point, during my own independent research, I learned about Hitler being a Catholic and wanting to become a priest. I wasn’t taught that in school. In my youth I had always been taught to view religious people as the good charity-doers. I hadn’t been exposed to a darker side of it. The Holocaust involved religion. I think that made me start to realize that being religious doesn’t necessarily lead to virtuous behavior.
I grew up in a very religious, Catholic area, and I was aware that if I “came out” as an atheist I would probably be ostracized by a lot of my peers. For a long time, I really didn’t tell anyone. I lied to people, and I told them that I was Christian. I was kind of a dork, and I didn’t want to lose the few friends that I did have.
In my middle school years, I met my friend Taylor. When I first met her, she was very religious, very Catholic. Once, I was at her house, and we were having a sleepover. I was a full-blown atheist at that point, but I hadn’t told her that. Instead of painting nails or doing makeup, I grabbed her computer and went online. I brought up this website GodIsImaginary.com. I started to show it to her. When we were looking at it together, she was very curious, and I was glad to see that she was. A month after that, she declared herself an atheist. My other friend, Alex, who I met between seventh and eighth grade, was, at first, kind of religious. We started talking more about religion, and over time, she also realized that she was an atheist. That was pretty awesome for me. It made me feel a little bit safer. Those are my two best friends, and I’ve been very lucky to have them.