Christians as Atheists?

On the Heart of Christianity

Failure to understand the tension between life-giving and malignant religion (and choose between them) has not only done damage to millions of people and to the earth, but it has also caused millions more to abandon religion altogether. If God is identified with the dominant religion of the status quo, it may appear to those who see the faith-buttressed powers oppressing, exploiting, and excluding others that we have only two options: continue to hold on to this version of God, hoping that a little reform might bring things back into alignment — or sever their allegiance to God altogether.

Sometimes the second option is projected onto those who seek to follow an undomesticated Jesus. A recent response to the Moral Mondays movement serves as one example of the current clash between conservative and progressive versions of Christian faith. Many appreciate Rev. William Barber's efforts to reclaim Christian values in a world that shows little concern for the least of these, yet Barber has been charged with atheism by some, including the Reverend Franklin Graham. This sort of accusation against progressive Christianity from conservative religious camps is not uncommon. But is Graham right? Is this a fair assessment of Barber's faith? He is right that Barber rejects the god of dominant Christianity's status quo, but Graham's charge of atheism fails to understand that some forms of atheism do not result in the rejection of God altogether. In fact, some kinds of atheism turn out to be necessary components in the search for the true God, at the heart of Christianity.

While atheism can mean the rejection of any god, the term is better understood as the rejection of particular theisms, that is, particular understandings of God. Rejecting the theism of the status quo, for instance, can mean rejecting images of a god who supports the wealthy and condemns the poor; who sanctions whatever power rules supreme at the moment in politics, economics, and religion; and who shows little concern or compassion for the least of these. Rejecting such images of God means to take a stand against certain forms of theism, but it need not mean rejecting God altogether. This nuanced understanding of atheism reflects the fundamental struggle at the heart of Christianity between false gods and the true God.

Surprisingly, the charge of atheism places contemporary Christians in the esteemed company of early Christians in the Roman Empire, who were charged in similar fashion. Like the Reverend Graham accused the Reverend Barber, Roman philosophers accused Christians of atheism. They, too, had a point, as these Christians did in fact reject images of God modeled after the image of Caesar and the ruling elites. Because they rejected images of God that were considered traditional and conservative (in the sense that they conserved the definitions, practices, and power relationships of the status quo), early Christians were declared atheists. Since these Christians knew what they were doing, they probably took the charge of atheism as a compliment (a false god is no god at all).

Interesting in both cases is not merely what divine images are rejected but what fresh images of God are emerging. Might there be parallels between images of God in early Christianity and in forms of Christianity today that refuse to align with the status quo, and what might those look like? How did Jesus influence the way Christians envision God (then and now), and how is this different from the religion of Caesar, whose traditionalism conserves and maintains a social and political state of affairs?

How we see God active in the world matters. Much is at stake in how we answer these questions, because our images of God affect a range of things, from the survival of whom Jesus calls "the least of these" to the flourishing of the planet and the future of Christianity. How we see God working in the world matters. And seeking answers is not merely the task of a few theologians or Christians who want to know more about their faith. More and more North Americans, especially young adults, are worried about the increasingly hostile and destructive nature of a Christianity that simply goes with the dominant culture's flow, oblivious and even callous in the face of others' suffering. Many are equally worried about a church that has lost the nerve to stand up to what they consider blatant abuses of the name of God by a religion that espouses racism, sexism, homophobia, and that seems indifferent or unconcerned about ever-growing inequality. Do we have to envision God in terms of the rules of dominant theism, as an elitist dictator, a heavenly bully, or a supernatural control freak?

People who want to take their faith seriously face a conundrum: Do they follow self-proclaimed conservatives (like Franklin Graham and others) who set themselves up as the keepers of Christian tradition even when they appear to be following Caesar rather than Jesus? Must they align themselves with some prominent atheists like Christopher Hitchens or Richard Dawkins who point out the fundamental inconsistencies of this faith and its destructive nature, abandoning their faith and church itself as beyond rescue?

Or could they reclaim a faith that is energized by drawing on how Jesus actually embodies images of God that contrast with those of the empires of their times, even if it means being charged with atheism, treason, or worse?

The Conflict of Atheism: Not What We Thought

Roman philosophers considered Christians to be atheists, not because they didn't believe in God, but because their God did not fit the dominant definitions of divinity backed by time-honored traditions. For the Romans, the attributes of a god had to match imperial attributes, as did the deities that were assembled in their pantheon. Extended to the doctrines that are shared by most adherents of classical philosophical theism, God had to be omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent, immutable, and impassible.

The claim of being all-powerful illustrates what is at stake: declaring that all power is in the hands of God in terms of omnipotence also means declaring that God is not subject to any other power. As a result, many traditional theists would also have to believe that such a God must be impassible — unmoved by the world's pain — because God would cease to be all-powerful if anything could touch God, affect God, or make God suffer. Theology and the politics of empire are in alignment here: God's power is seen through the lens of empire, a structure considered strongest when ruled by one person at the top who controls everything and in whom all power is concentrated.

It is not hard to see that a God who is understood in light of the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ contradicts most of these attributes. This was not lost on the...