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Spring 1-1-2013

Atheists in America: Investigating Identity,

Meaning, and Movement
Jesse M. Smith
University of Colorado at Boulder, jesse.m.smith.soc@gmail.com

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 Atheists in America:

Investigating Identity, Meaning, and Movement

By

Jesse M. Smith

B.S., Utah Valley University, 2005

M.A., University of Colorado, 2009

A Doctoral Thesis Submitted to the University of Colorado at Boulder

in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements

for the Degree of

Doctor of Philosophy

College of Arts and Sciences

Department of Sociology

2013
 This dissertation entitled:
Atheists in America: Investigating Identity, Meaning, and Movement
written by Jesse Max Smith
has been approved for the Department of Sociology

_______________________________
Dr. Leslie Irvine (Chair)

_______________________________
Dr. Patricia Adler

________________ ___________
Dr. Lori Peek

_______________________________
Dr. Isaac Reed

_______________________________
Dr. Stewart Hoover

Date: April 5, 2013

The final copy of this dissertation has been examined by the signatories, and we
Find that both the content and the form meet acceptable presentation standards
Of scholarly work in the above mentioned discipline.
IRB protocol # ___0608.2_____

Smith, Jesse Max (Ph.D., Sociology, Department of Sociology)

Atheists in America: Investigating Identity, Meaning, and Movement

Dissertation directed by Associate Professor Leslie Irvine

Abstract

This study is a multi-year ethnographic investigation of self-identified atheists in America. The

formation of atheist identities, the management of the deviant status of atheism, the collective

identity and social movement aspects of atheist organizations, and the meaning of atheism both

socially and for its adherents are the substantive and empirical topics analyzed in the following

pages. Qualitative methods including in-depth interviews with forty-five self-identified atheists,

extensive participant-observation with atheist groups, and textual analysis of a variety of

document sources are the means by which this study was carried out. As qualitative research in

this area is still in its beginning stages, this study is meant to make both a methodological and

theoretical contribution to the study of contemporary American atheists.

Guided primarily by the framework of symbolic interactionism, and taking insights from

sociological social psychology and the literatures on identity, the self, deviance, social

movements, and the sociology of religion, I describe the key processes at play within the

construction of both personal and collective atheist identity. I argue that these identities are

accomplished in and through meaningful social interaction. I also analyze how atheists

individually and collectively manage the stigma of atheism, as well as illustrate the importance

of organizational dynamics for constructing, negotiating, and maintaining meaningful selves in

an increasingly complex and globalizing society.

iii
 Acknowledgements

There are several people, who without their help and guidance throughout, this research project

would not have been possible. First, I would like to thank my advisor, Leslie Irvine for her

excellent feedback on my writing, her ideas about what to do with my research interests, and

both her patience and willingness to answer my nearly endless questions about everything

academic throughout my graduate career. Second, I must give credit to Patrick O’Brien for

suggesting early on that I turn my interest in irreligion – and our many conversations about it –

into a sociological examination of atheists. Additionally, Patricia Adler’s feedback on my

research from start to completion was an invaluable asset. Likewise, the support and guidance of

doctoral committee members, Lori Peek, Stewart Hoover, and Isaac Reed contributed to the

successful completion of this work. And finally, I would like to thank my spouse, Katie Smith,

for her ongoing support of my academic pursuits, and for allowing me to spend more than

handful of years working toward my goal of a doctoral degree in sociology.

iv
 Table of Contents
Title page ......................................................................................................................................................
Signature page .............................................................................................................................................
Abstract ...................................................................................................................................................... iii
Acknowledgements .................................................................................................................................. iv
Chapter I: Introduction ..................................................................................................................... 1
Chapter II: Theory and Literature ................................................................................................ 13
Chapter III: Studying Atheists ......................................................................................................... 28

Chapter IV: Becoming an Atheist in America: Constructing Identity and Meaning

from the Rejection of Theism ................................................................................... 52

Chapter V: The Social Deviance of Atheism: Negotiating Cultural Membership with a

Stigmatized Identity..................................................................................................... 78

Chapter VI: Creating a Godless Community: The Collective Identity Work of

Contemporary Atheists ............................................................................................ 121

Chapter VII: The Social Meaning of Atheism ............................................................................... 158

Chapter VIII: Conclusion.................................................................................................................... 176

References ............................................................................................................................................... 201

Appendix A: Demographic Characteristics of Participants ............................................................... 214

Appendix B: Institutional Review Board Information and Study Approval Document ................ 215

v
 Chapter One: Introduction

This research project is the result of a multi-year ethnographic sociological study of American

atheists. Through an interpretive framework, and using interactionist and social psychological

insights, this study analyzes the social interactions, organizational dynamics, and subjective life

experiences and behaviors of atheists. The substantive sociological “domains” of this research

include identity, the self, social movements, social deviance, and the social and interactional

aspects of contemporary American atheism. Before moving to the theoretical and substantive

empirical chapters, I first outline below the research questions and goals of my study, discuss my

personal interest in it, and offer clarification regarding the context and parameters of my

research, including relevant definitions, and the use of terms.

Purpose and Goals of the Research

This study aims to show that the current qualitative understanding of atheists is only in its

beginning stages. I seek to outline a set of useful and relevant research questions, and tentative

answers, from which to build a more general sociological and interactionist theory of the

irreligious. Atheism itself is only one of several instantiations of the broader sociological concept

of “irreligion.” It is also arguably its most instructive, for reasons that will become clear. At the

most basic level, my goal is to heed the early, but largely unanswered call, by Colin Campbell

(1972), that sociologists take the idea of irreligion seriously. Like Campbell, I argue that

irreligion should be studied in its own right, and not merely as an “aberration” from the much

more thoroughly studied concept of religion. My study is an effort to help develop a literature

that will expand our qualitative understanding of those who reside within this category. The

inverse is also true: understanding irreligion can cause us to rethink and possibly add insights to

our sociological understanding of religion and belief.

1
 The increase in the public’s interest in, and conversation about, atheism, in the first

decade of the 21st century, and the growing awareness of atheism generally (see “atheism in the

media” below), are, in part, the result of broader public discourses and debates concerning

religion and irreligion, belief and unbelief, and the legitimacy and role of science and religion in

our understanding of ourselves in the modern world. These are old questions and debates, to be

sure, but they also have a new character and frequency. The rapidly changing and globalizing

world, the development of new technologies, and the evolving global-political landscape, has

renewed basic questions about who we are and what we should become. What may have been

considered “settled” questions by some, have once again become central questions in our public

discourse. The “old” philosophical and fundamental questions of the origins of the world, and of

ourselves, the nature of the cosmos and reality, the question of morality and moral authority, far

from being settled, have resurged at the individual, social, and political levels. The question

about the existence of the supernatural, and about the reality of a God or a supreme being,

continue to permeate the collective consciousness, and have become pubic questions with

political consequences.

This suggests that atheism is an important contemporary social issue to which the public

(regardless of which “side” they are on) expresses interest and concern. This reality itself

warrants more scholarship on atheists. But as Gervais, Shariff, and Norenzayan (2011:1203)

accurately observed in their study of atheists, “the boisterous debate [about atheism] in popular

cultural [has] overshadow[ed] the tremendous potential that the scientific study of atheism – and

reactions to atheism – may hold for scientific understanding of the diversity of prejudice and the

psychological, cultural, and evolutionary underpinnings of religion.” To their list I would add

sociological as well. This is indeed part of my motivation for the current study. The larger point

2
here is that we have much to gain from the social scientific study of atheists, because in addition

to learning about atheism itself, we stand to gain further insight into the nature of religion and

belief. As Bainbridge (2005:22) puts it, “By learning more about the lack of faith, we can

understand better the role of faith in modern society.” Since so much social science research

literature has hitherto dealt with the subject of religion, it seems especially the case now, in the

context of the growing non-religious community, for social scientists to cease ignoring the latter.

This is the basic justification for the current study. In combination with the other substantive

sociological themes of my research (identity, self, deviance, and social movement – discussed in

detail in chapter two), I will show that an examination of atheists is timely, relevant, and has

potential to increase our understanding of other generic and broader social issues.

Moreover, this study shows the contemporary relevance of ethnographic research on an

often ignored, dismissed, and sometimes marginalized, yet sociologically important and growing

segment of the American population. As there is not yet a well-developed literature dealing with

the inter-personal lives of American atheists, I work here toward an original foundation for an

understanding of both the individual and collective identity processes involved in the formation,

adoption, and management of an atheist identity. Additionally, and more broadly, I contribute to

a more complete conceptualization of the nature of identity formation generally, and aid the

understanding of the identity choices people make in the context of an increasingly complex

contemporary American religious (and non-religious) setting. I use the existing literature on

stigma and stigma management, in order to flesh out the details of how atheists negotiate cultural

membership in an American “theist” society. Moreover, I aim to develop an understanding of the

sociological processes of organized irreligion and non-belief by using ideas from social

movement theories and organizational behavior to examine the group dynamics of atheist

3
communities. Finally, the major objective of this study is to make a meaningful empirical and

theoretical contribution to the sociology of religion/irreligion literature, and impel greater

scholarly interest in the subject of irreligion, atheism, and other forms of non-belief, discourse,

and practice in the American context.

Personal Experience and Interest

The primary motivating factor underlying my research interest in atheism involves my own

religious upbringing and personal background. I was brought up in the Mormon Church and in a

decidedly Mormon community in Utah. My family was very committed to this faith, and this

reality was reflected in the direction my own life took into adulthood. For instance, at age 19 I

embarked on a two year mission for the church in Alaska, and shortly thereafter, married in a

Mormon temple. During this time I remained committed to the church and continued to be an

active participant in its many activities. Religion was central to my understanding of myself, and

it shaped not just my beliefs, but my general perspective on the world, my choices, and lifestyle.

Though I was unaware of it at the time, my own religious identity would become

important in determining the direction of my intellectual development and scholarly interests.

This aspect of my biography has shaped my academic interest in irreligion. Soon after meeting

what is one of the highest goals in the Mormon religion – participation and marriage in a sacred

temple ceremony – I began to experience serious doubts about the Mormon Church and the

beliefs I had taken for granted. But it was not until I left home for graduate school that I began to

engage these doubts thoroughly. I eventually came to reject Mormonism, and take up a more

critical view of religion, and beliefs involving the supernatural generally. Thus, my own identity

process (moving from a highly salient religious identity, to a non-religious identity) became the

basic source of my interest in this project. I provide further relevant specifics about my own

4
biography, and discuss in detail the methodological strengths and challenges regarding the

connection between my personal background, and my choice of topic, in chapter three.

History of Atheism, its Study, and a Word on Terminology

A detailed treatment of the history of atheism in Western thought is beyond the purview of this

study. However, here I briefly highlight a few of the most relevant aspects of the history of

atheism and its study, as it is related to the goals of this project, and in the specific context of its

American setting. That is, some awareness of the historical roots of atheism, its presence in

Western ancient history, and its ongoing modern expressions are important because they provide

context for the empirical chapters and ensuing discussions throughout this study.

Atheism has a very long history. One frequent contemporary mistake is to assume that it

was born exclusively of the enlightenment era. But as Thrower (2000), Smith (2000), and others

have demonstrated, atheism is nearly as old as Western thought itself. From the naturalistic

thought of the pre-Socratic Ionian philosophers to the writings of the contemporary “new

atheists,” atheism has in the past, and continues today, to characterize the thinking, dispositions,

and viewpoints of certain individuals, groups, and even societies.

Though many may initially think it a straightforward idea, with unambiguous meaning, if

pursued with some seriousness, one will quickly realize that one can easily become lost in

complicated and technical discursions about the exact origins and meaning of the term atheism.

As Bullivant remarks, most recently in The Oxford Handbook of Atheism, “The precise definition

of ‘atheism’ is both a vexed and a vexatious issue” (2012:1). This is the case also with regards to

how scholars should study the topic, as there is even today “no clear, academic consensus as to

how exactly the term should be used” (2012:1).

5
 From an etymological view, the word “atheism” as it reads literally, simply means “not-

theist.” It derives from the Greek a (meaning ‘not’ or ‘without’) and theos (meaning ‘God’).

Scholarly consensus states that the word appears in English for the first time in the mid-sixteenth

century (Bullivant 2012). There are other competing variants in different languages that have

more or less of a connection to this etymology. More contemporarily, a technical distinction

between negative and positive atheism has been offered. The first, connoting simply the absence

of belief in a God, while the later implies a positive belief that a God does not exist. In parallel,

this difference is also sometimes accounted for with the terms, implicit and explicit atheism. Or

even soft and hard atheism. Each of these sets of concepts basically conveys the same meaning

and distinction.

For the purpose of clarity, consistency, and a certain level of accuracy, I employ in this

study the more widely held position by most (but not all) scholars, that atheism refers to the

absence of belief in a God – that is, negative atheism. This definition is also most consistent with

the definitions and viewpoints offered by the majority of atheists themselves who participated in

this study. But this semantic distinction is not a trivial or arbitrary one. In chapter six I discuss

how differences regarding the meaning of atheism itself, comes to the fore, in, for instance, the

collective identity processes and organizational aspects of atheism. Further, I argue that with

reference to the specific sample of respondents from my fieldwork, atheism for many Americans

may also be viewed as the rejection of the affirmative claim that a God exists. As I will show,

this does not itself contradict the “absence of belief” position; it only adds the observation that a

significant number of American atheists have likely undergone, as did almost all of the

participants in this study, a more active process of rejecting theism. This was far more often the

case with respondents than the idea that atheists simply, and passively, always lacked belief in a

6
God. That most of the atheists I studied were affiliated with an atheist group, and that this fact is

connected to active versus passive atheism, is discussed further in chapter three.

Just how this rejection is articulated, can vary, and be considerably more complex. Part

of the ambiguity and confusion regarding the definition and meaning of atheism, stems from the

host of related terms, that in some sense qualify the nature or “degree” of the rejection of the idea

of God or the supernatural. Agnosticism, secularism, irreligion, naturalism, humanism,

rationalism, freethinking, ignosticism, (the view one must define specifically the meaning of

“God” before productive conversation about the idea can begin) non-theism, and other terms

each express some kind of rejection (explicit or implicit), or at minimum skepticism, regarding a

God, the supernatural, or its social/institutional legitimation (i.e. religion). But this is not the

same as suggesting these terms are merely synonymous. There are in fact, important semantic, as

well as practical differences between them. The point here is to acknowledge the network of

related terms that are sometimes interchanged or confused, and that the meanings of each are

important for this study, because they may or may not be consistent with or contradict the

meaning of atheism for its adherents. That is, depending on context and situation, the atheists in

this study sometimes employed or identified with some of these related terms. I want to clarify

here, before moving on, that I have chosen to write about “atheists” specifically, and that

although sometimes these other terms are invoked by me and by atheists themselves, all of the

respondents in this study did, first and foremost, self-identify as an atheist. My research is not

meant to be a codification or explanation of the different categories of non-believers or non-

religious people who use any, or some combination, of the above terminology. This study, as its

title implies, is about self-labeled atheists, and their atheism.

7
Contemporary Atheism: Numbers, Media, and Context

The 2009 American Religious Identification Survey reports that about 15% of the American

population claims no religion, a significant increase over the last two decades. The same study

puts the percentage of atheists at about 1.6%, while the World Values Survey (2011) estimates

that 4.1% of Americans are atheists. Still other recent polls, for instance, the British Broadcasting

Company’s (2004) Secular Nations Survey, reports much higher numbers of non-theists in

America, closer to 10% . It is reasonable to assume that the actual number likely falls somewhere

in the middle of these extremes. If we were to take a somewhat cautious 2.85% figure (splitting

the difference between the two lower-end estimates), or about 9 million people, this would still

represent significant growth in the number of those willing to report their atheism, considering

only a few decades ago the number of self-identified atheists was in the low hundreds-of-

thousands nation-wide. But the discrepancy in the estimates reflects deeper difficulties in tallying

the number of actual atheists. As I alluded above, this is in part due to the fact that the technical

meaning of atheism, the absence of belief in a God,1 is compatible with other identities

(freethinker, agnostic, naturalist, non-theist, etc.), that do not necessarily carry with them the

same negative connotation, or as one participant put it, “The baggage of atheism.” It is also very

difficult to assess whether growth in the number of atheists reflects more willingness on the part

of the already unbelieving public to use the label than in recent decades, or reflects actual growth

in the numbers of those who do not believe in God. Even with these complications, it is

reasonable to suggest that some portion of the 15% of the people who identify as nonreligious in

America, who do not hold theistic beliefs (technical atheists), simply do not use that identity-

1
See the Oxford Handbook of Atheism for a discussion of the usefulness of this versus other

definitions of atheism with regards to conducting social scientific research.

8
label in describing themselves. There could quiet easily therefore, be more atheists than surveys

report, an observation that is connected to the atheist collective identity dynamics discussed

below.

My scholarly interest in this project was in part motivated by the “revival” of interest in

atheism in both the American public and academe. The so-called “New Atheist Movement,”

beginning in roughly 2004 with the publication of The End of Faith, the first of a host of best-

selling books on atheism by authors such as Sam Harris, Richard Dawkins, Christopher Hitches,

and Daniel Dennett, brought the relatively and collectively “denied” concept of atheism to the

fore of popular culture. A new circumstance was created in which contemporary atheist authors

were able to sell books in record numbers and spark renewed debate on the part of nonbelievers

and believers alike. Nearly a dozen anti-atheist volumes were written in direct response to the

success of the new atheist literature (the most popular being Alister McGrath’s The Dawkins

Delusion, a play on Richard Dawkin’s bestselling The God Delusion). Moreover, the prominence

of this new dialogue appears connected to the “coming out” of many formerly closeted atheists

and the growth of a more conspicuous (or at least vocal) atheist community ensued. The

conditions and context of the first decade of the 21st century seemed to prepare the way for a new

atheist voice in America.

What were these conditions? What was it about the timing, historical context, and

cultural disposition that allowed for such a highly stigmatized social status to gain greater public

visibility, and apparently greater credibility? How was it that a significant interest in atheism was

able to come about in one of the most religious nations in the world, where according to some

estimates, as much as 92% of the population claims belief in either a God or some kind of

supreme being (Chaves, 2002)? The answers to each of these questions are layered and complex.

9
Satisfactory answers to them are not feasible in the space I have here. However, empirical and

theoretical clues are offered throughout this study, and taken together, they implicate several key

themes. First, the resurgence of, and collective experience with, the religious and political

fundamentalisms of the 1990s and early 2000s has had a major impact. Most obviously, the

terrorist attacks on September 11th, 2001 no doubt helped inspire the conversation, and impel the

proliferation of writings that would later be described by some as the “new atheist canon.” A

starker collective awareness of the reality and consequences of terrorism within American

borders precipitated a kind of reevaluation of the implications of religious doctrines and their

interpretation. This, combined with the growing influence of religion, especially of the

evangelical right, (see Smith 2003) in the political sphere, helped set the conditions for more

motivated questioning, and sharper criticism of the role of religion in both private and public life.

As will be shown from the responses of the participants in this study, uncertainty and

anxiety about contemporary political concerns, as well as renewed debate about science and its

role in public life help set the stage for a more assertive secularist community in the United

States. Contextual and historical elements fueled by media attention, such as new legal debates

and legislative actions concerning abortion, increased public skepticism about global warming,

and changing attitudes about the teaching of evolution in schools have all helped animate the

public atheist conversation, and impelled the growth (or awakening) of the atheist community.

The frustration atheists and secularists experience concerning deflating public comments from

those in high political position have galvanized members of atheist organizations toward a more

assertive political posture (President George H.W. Bush’s alleged comments about atheists not

being citizens or patriots, being one of the older, but more memorable examples).

10
 Each of these contingencies have provided contexts that have prompted some of the

public to come to claim atheism, induced people who were already closeted atheists to come out,

and finally, helped stir the development of a more vocal and visible atheist community.

Research Questions

Given the qualitative and inductive nature of my research, I did not begin this study with a list of

specific research questions or hypotheses that I wanted to find definitive answers to. Indeed,

many participant-observation and interview-based studies unfold in such a way that the

important questions begin to be formulated only after a significant amount of time is spent in the

field and a good portion of the data has already been collected. I was involved in the research

setting for five years, and collected a significant amount of data from which my research

questions emerged. These questions include the following: First, what is the meaning and

function of an atheist identity? How is it constructed and maintained? What are the social and

interaction processes that produce both individual and collective atheist identities? How, given

its deviant social status, is an atheist identity negotiated in social interaction in the American

context? What is the relationship of atheism specifically to the rest of American culture

generally? What is the role of group dynamics and organizational behavior in shaping atheist

identities and moral selves, and what is the relationship between organized atheism and

collective atheist activities within the broader American religious, political, and institutional

context?

***

The next chapter discusses the theoretical framework and the literature from which my

research draws from and contributes to. I make connections between these to help show their

relevance for understanding the empirical topic of atheists and atheism in the contemporary

11
social world. Chapter three explains the research setting, fieldwork, and methods I employ in

this study. As is important to ethnographic studies, in addition to previewing the specific data

collection and analytical techniques used, I discuss my role as researcher and participant-member

observer of the atheist community. The chapter explains how I negotiated my role(s) such that I

was able to conduct effective research using interviews, observation, textual analysis, and other

methods. I also discuss the methodological challenges that arise from conducting research of this

nature, as well as the ethical concerns that emerged.

Chapter four, the first empirical chapter, addresses the personal identity construction of

those who come to claim atheism. The personal and social meaning(s) that are a constitutive

aspect of the interactional process through which respondents navigate their identities with

themselves and others are explored, and a general identity development model of becoming an

atheist is presented. Chapter five examines how people, once having publicly claimed their

atheism, go about negotiating their deviant identities across social situations. I discuss here the

specific strategies atheists use to manage the stigma of their atheism in different social contexts,

and outline the situationally-based means of this negotiation. Having discussed in the first two

chapters the personal identity and developmental/social environmental aspects of participants’

atheism, I then outline, in chapter six, the organizational dynamics of atheist organizations, and

the collective identity work atheists engage in the process of constructing and participating in a

growing atheist community. Finally, before drawing general conclusions from my research in

chapter eight, I explore in chapter seven, the social meaning(s) of atheism – both to the

population who subscribe to it, and to the general public. Further, I examine the relevance of all

this with respect to the contemporary United States religious/irreligious landscape.

***

12
 Chapter Two: Theory and Literature

The theoretical framing of this dissertation involves the conceptual inter-linking of particular

sociological perspectives, substantive theories, empirical understandings, and specific literatures.

All of these are undergirded by certain, usually tacit, epistemological and theoretical

assumptions. My study of atheists is not the appropriate platform for technical discursions on the

ontological or epistemological justification for social science research. However, it is important

to briefly outline the basic theoretical framework and perspective that guides this study and that

explains its basic theoretical relevance and interpretive and empirical justification.

The Chicago School’s variety of Symbolic Interactionism, with its focus on meaning,

subjectivity, action, and the everyday symbolic structures that guide these, is the basic

perspective employed in these pages. With the exception of Stryker’s (1968) notion of the

hierarchy of identities that comprise the self (which is connected to the Iowa School’s more

structural version of Symbolic Interaction, and its epistemology of generalizability), it is

Blumer’s (1969) basic codification of the social psychological insights of Mead (1967) that

guide this study. This distinction is relevant because of its implications for methodology. The

choice of participant observation, in-depth interviews, and textual analysis is really a choice

about underlying epistemology. That is, my focus here is not on quantifying social processes and

rendering them suitable for claims about the generalizability of my research. Rather, it is on

understanding the subjective experiences of those I study through an investigation of the

microinteractions and social psychological processes involved in the construction and

maintenance of meaning, identity, and social boundaries at both the individual and group levels

of analysis.

13
 With this perspective as the generic launching pad for analysis, several substantive

sociological theories help flesh out the explanatory details that are situated within it. These

theories are closely connected to the relevant literatures outlined below, so I will here only

identify them, and sketch out the most salient points to be made regarding them. My study being

primarily about identity, utilizes a portion of the very large and broad identity theory literature.

Specifically, I draw on the research and insights culled from the more narrowly drawn

parameters of the sociological social psychology identity theory literature (as opposed to the

extensive psychological social psychology identity theory literature). Taking the strengths of the

theories of the meaning-making processes of identity construction and maintenance, and the

explanation of individual and social action through the lens of identity (both personal and

collective) and interaction, are the theoretical elements most usefully applied to my analysis of

atheists. Further, insights from theories of deviance help frame my discussion (especially in

chapter five) because they help account for how atheists negotiate the social meanings they

encounter – and help create – in their social environments as they go about asserting and

defending their views while voluntarily holding to a largely stigmatized and deviant social

status/identity. The theories of deviance, especially those that make use of narrative and accounts

(Scott and Lyman 1968), and the organizational dimensions of deviance (Best and Luckenbill

1980), are particularly relevant for analyzing how atheists are able to maintain a meaningful

moral sense of self in a society that may not accept them as cultural members and full citizens

(Edgell, Gerteis and Hartmann 2006).

There is, as of this writing, not yet a substantial theoretical sociological literature that

addresses atheism specifically; however, this fact seems to be changing, and rather quickly.

There had previously been some attempt to initiate a distinct sociology of irreligion (see

14
Campbell, 1972). But since then, and to the present, irreligion and atheism have generally been

subsumed within the sub-discipline of the sociology of religion. As a result, most major studies

of atheists have been published in either generalist, or sociology of religion journals. Some

scholars have made more recent collaborative efforts at establishing a social science of

nonreligion/irreligion apart from the usual sociology of religion literature and outlets. The

creation of the Nonreligion and Secularity Research Network in 2009 is the most prominent

example.

However, there is not yet a set of distinct, and conventional or established theories from

which to draw from in examining irreligion, in the same way that there is in the sociology of

religion. This necessitates that in addition to gleaning insights from the recent series of studies on

different varieties of irreligion over the last decade, this study draws from the well of knowledge

accumulated from the much more expansive literature in the sociology of religion. This is

especially the case with the literature on religious identity, conversion, deconversion, worldview,

and group processes. Striking the appropriate balance between using this available literature, and

the incipient scholarship on irreligion is important, because, as I argue, although by-and-large

theoretically useful, treating the varieties of irreligion with the same theoretical assumptions and

frameworks employed in the sociological study of religion, is not without its potential problems.

Acknowledging this and encouraging a critical stance on the part of the reader is important. I

address this issue further in the conclusion.

The renewed scholarly interest in atheism, and the increase in the number of studies

dedicated to it, itself suggests the justification for this project: a long ignored topic is finally

being given more serious sociological treatment. This fact, combined with the equally steady

growing number of people in the United States who are explicitly turning away from religion

15
(Hout and Fischer 2002), and claiming atheism or some other irreligious identity, provides the

basic merit and justification for this research. Though still a small minority, the fact that the

fastest growing group from 1990 to 2009 was the “no religion” category (Pew 2009), and that

self-identified atheists in this country have increased in numbers by four-fold in the same period,

and have become increasingly outspoken and organized, is a sociological process that merits

investigation. This study is my contribution toward a better understanding of atheists and of

these broader social processes. In part then, I am attempting to heed the call made by Campbell,

forty years ago, to work toward a sociology of irreligion, so that we might acquire a better

scholarly understanding of this important concept, as it will expand knowledge not just of the

irreligious, but also, potentially, of the religious.

I now turn to a discussion of the specific literatures that help frame my analysis of

atheists. Here, I simply introduce and outline the most relevant bodies of research. More detailed

discussions of these literatures occur in each of the empirical chapters as I incorporate them into

my analysis. This study engages five main bodies of research within the sociological literature:

self/identity, religion/irreligion, deconversion, deviance, and social movements. These literatures

situate and inform my analysis of atheists throughout. The descriptions and arguments I make,

and theoretical framework within which I present them, constitute the basis for understanding

both the content and relevance of my study. The overall theoretical and empirical contribution of

my research cross-cuts these substantive areas.

First, there is a series of recent studies related to atheism that stand outside the above

substantive literatures, but that have been critical to my own analysis. These descriptive, and for

the most part, quantitative studies focus on various empirical dimensions of atheism and

secularism, and I refer to them throughout. Beginning in about 2005, these largely survey-based

16
studies have pursued describing the socio-demographic correlates of atheism (Baker and Smith

2009; Cragun 2012; Pasquale 2012); the social and moral boundaries between atheists and theists

(Edgell et al. 2006); the personal identity development of atheists (Hunsberger and Altemeyer

2006); how atheists negotiate their identities in specific contexts (Fitzgerald 2003); how atheist

scientists relate to religious family members and communities (Ecklund 2010); and how atheists

negotiate relationships with religious family members (Ecklund and Schultz 2011). Likewise, the

survey and interview-based studies of the nonreligious by Zuckerman (2007; 2008; 2009), as

well as his edited volumes on atheism and secularity (see Zukerman 2010), which bring together

a range of relevant and related theoretical and empirical discussions, provide additional framing

for my analysis. These works vary in topic, and range from epistemological discussions of the

meaning of atheism (Eller 2010), to examining the relationship between sexuality and the secular

(Linneman and Clendenen 2010), and to understanding atheism in the context of raising children

(Manning 2010). Moreover, central to my discussion are the organizational strategies that

atheists employ as a socio-political group in the context of American culture. There has been

only one study, by Cimino and Smith (2007), that explores this issue directly, and I incorporate

their analysis throughout several chapters.

Although these studies are growing in number, there continue to be few ethnographic or

interpretive accounts that seek to explore and describe the subjective and lived-experience of

American atheists themselves, using the framework of sociological social psychology. I attempt

to fill this lacuna, and contribute to these studies and the literatures outlined below in order to

better understand atheists, and glean broader sociological insights from an analysis of them.

17
Self and Identity

The concepts of self and identity have not just been important to social psychology, they are the

central organizing concepts within the discipline itself (for reviews see: Stryker 2000; Fitzgerald

2003; Ebaugh 1988). In Mead’s (1967) formulation, the self is both subject and object, and it

develops from the process of social experience. This is the basic and operating assumption from

which the analysis below draws. More concretely, Blumer’s (1969) thesis that people act toward

objects based on the meaning those objects have for them (a process for which Mead’s definition

of self is indispensible) drives the conceptual development and analysis of the empirical

investigations in the chapters that follow. I frame and contextualize the construction and

maintenance of an atheist identity, the current social and political status of atheism in American

life, its social organization, and its social meaning within this interactionist perspective.

I take identity to be a dynamic, multifaceted concept with several meanings as uses.

Thus, this study incorporates the work of various scholars of identity. For instance, Sheldon

Stryker, a key identity theorist, discusses the hierarchy of multiple and shifting identities that

comprise the self and influence behavior. Stryker’s identity salience theory (1968) is relevant

because it will help to explain why and how an atheist identity becomes important, and in what

situations it is likely to be invoked (or not). Additionally, Stryker and Burke’s (2000) integrated

conception of identity views identity as constructed, maintained, and related both to structural

processes as well as internal cognitive processes. That is, identity is understood best when both

the internal cognitive schemes (which include processes of self-verification, internalized role

expectations, self-meanings) and the external social structures requisite for its construction are

considered and integrated (Stryker and Burke 2000). This in effect helps to bridge the

18
structure/agency problem, as well as explain the linkages and reciprocal relationship between

identity and behavior.

In addition to the general concept of identity, there are various subtypes, or kinds of

identity. For instance, in chapter six, I investigate collective identity and its connection with other

social processes. Various definitions of collective identity have been proffered over the years

(see Melluci 1989; Snow 2001; Taylor and Whittier 1992). It is a concept that has been useful in

cohering disparate theoretical frameworks such as structuralist accounts of social action and

rational choice theories of group participation (Friedman and McAdam 1992). It is of strong

import in the constructivist paradigm (Melluci 1995), and as mentioned, the usefulness of

collective identity as a conceptual tool in the analysis of social movements has become well

established.

Beyond this, the concept of collective identity has come to be studied in its own right,

and has become an important part of the analytical repertoire for understanding social meaning

and action more broadly. As scholars have generally shifted focus from the structural and

material dimensions of social action and movements toward more thorough treatment of the

issues surrounding identity (see Friedman and McAdam 1992; Pelak 2002), our understanding of

the micro, social psychological and interpretive processes underlying social action has deepened.

There seems to be agreement that the concept has become essential for understanding

these processes, and, at base, there is consensus that collective identity refers to “the shared

definition of a group that derives from members’ common interests, experience, and solidarity”

(Taylor and Whittier 1992:105), as well as “a shared and interactive sense of “we-ness” and

“collective agency” (Snow 2001:1). Even more simply, collective identity is “a public

pronouncement of status” (Friedman and McAdam 1992), a way of indicating to self and others

19
some meaningful identity. It is important not to infer from the notion of collective identity an

overly abstracted sense of transcendent identity or meaning that resides outside of individuals or

that exists only during moments of collective action. As Polletta and Jasper (2001:285) offer in

their definition, “collective identity [is] an individual’s cognitive, moral, and emotional

connection with a broader community, category, practice, or institution”. Collective identity is

thus a concept with empirical grounding.

Further, collective identity and its empirical and observable processes are at the analytical

center of an important aspect of this study: the notion of an “atheist community” or “atheist

culture.” I bring this concept to bear in order to understand contemporary atheist activism and

identity politics. The literature on collective identity over the last several decades has

increasingly highlighted its socially constructed nature. Taking from this my analytical point of

departure, I employ the constructionist approach in analyzing the collective identity work of

atheists. In this view, collective identity is not something a priori to collective action. Nor is it

something that by itself explains collective action. Rather, collective identity is constructed in

and through the ongoing dynamics of social action as it is played out, in real time, in the social

arena. As Snow (2001:4) notes, “collective identity is a process, rather than a property of social

actors.” It highlights the importance of meaning, consciousness, and the subjective, in the

discussion of what propels collective action, and how it operates in the course of every day social

life.

Closely connected to collective identity conceptually, and empirically connected by way

of formation and process, is the notion of identity work. In a now classic statement by Snow and

Anderson (1987), based on their research on the homeless, identity work is a generic process that

refers to “the range of activities individuals engage in to create, present, and sustain personal

20
identities that are congruent with and supportive of the self concept” (1987:1348). Although their

focus was on personal identity, I add to this literature by discussing how identity work is also at

play with collective identity.

The scholarship on social boundaries (see Lamont and Molnar 2002) also informs my

analysis. Symbolic, moral, political, and social boundary creation and maintenance, what might

be termed boundary work, corresponds closely with the identity and group processes discussed

throughout this study. For instance, there is a very close conceptual and empirical connection

between symbolic boundaries and the construction of collective identity discussed in chapter six.

Taking insights from these concepts, combined with the broader conceptual framework of the

socially constructed nature of collective identity and social action is the basis of my discussion.

Religious Identity and Deconversion

The sociological literature on religion and religious identity is extensive. At face-value one might

ask why a study of atheists would need to draw from research on religion and the religious.

However, it will become clear how certain parts of this literature, namely the work on religious

identity, is relevant to atheism, and provides an analytical starting point for an examination of

atheist identity formation, or atheist “conversions.” For instance, the simple fact that a majority

of the participants in this study came from religious backgrounds (and many of them formerly

held religious identities), means that consideration of the implications of this, for their later

coming to atheism, is necessary.

My use of the sociology of religion scholarship, then, will be narrowed to the relevant

research questions and goals of my study of atheists. I incorporate generally, several of the

classical pieces within the sociological literature on religion, to help frame a discussion of

religion, and how it is connected to the meaning of nonreligion and atheism. As such, the work

21
of Berger (1969), and Bellah (1967), in particular are relevant to my analysis. My primary focus

however, is on the processes of self and identity, narrative, belief, group, organizational, and

institutional dynamics and solidarities, secular forces, and their interconnections with religion.

Toward this end, I include the work of such authors as Wuthnow (2011), Roof (1999), Bruce

(2011), and Lofland and Stark (1965). Of course, many of these authors are drawing upon the

intellectual heritage of the founders of the modern discipline of sociology: Durkheim, Weber,

and Marx (all of whom were keenly interested in religion).

Much of the research on religion examines the religious identities and the processes

involved as people come to both adopt and maintain them (see Peek, 2005 for a brief overview).

Situating my analysis within the broader work on religious identity facilitates my work on atheist

identity, as a sizable portion of this literature deals with people not only forming and maintaining

religious identities, but leaving, rejecting, or otherwise disassociating from religious identities

and affiliations. Thus, as part of the sociological literature on religion and identity, the

deconversion models that have been proffered to illustrate the identity processes undergone by

those who leave behind former religious identities are crucial to my analysis of atheists. This

generic process is variably called deconversion, role exiting, apostasy, disengagement, or

disaffiliation (Ebaugh 1988; Bromley 1988). Ebaugh (1988) for instance, examined Catholic

nuns who left their convents. Bromley (1988) studied those who have “apostatized” from various

Protestant sects, and Brinkerhoff and Mackie (1993) investigate apostates from a religious-

careers analytical approach. Models such as these are of particular interest to my project, as

many of the atheists I have studied at one time claimed a religious identity.

22
Deviance

The sociological literature on deviance is at the center of my analysis of atheists. I show how

atheism in the context of American culture is a non-normative or deviant status position.

Atheism is a cognitive and ideological form of deviance (Fitzgerald 2003) and involves

adherence to a worldview and cosmogony that, in the context of the “theist-centric” inclination

of American culture, is non-normative and stands outside mainstream cultural expectations. One

consequence of the deviant status of atheism in America is the stigma that it engenders. Thus,

Goffman’s (1963) basic insights concerning the nature of social stigma provides an important

framework my discussion of atheists.

The specific ways in which atheists manage the stigma of their atheism, that is, the

stigma management strategies they employ, are essential to understanding the individual and

collective motivations, as well as the social and organizational behaviors of atheists. There is a

significant literature that deals with stigma management. Specifically, I incorporate several

studies that are especially useful for understanding American atheists.

Bemiller’s (2005) examination of male cheerleaders shows how those who violate

expectations of gender roles are able to draw upon other gendered cultural norms in order to

resist stigma. The men she studied negotiated their status by appealing to other masculine

characteristics of male cheerleading, such as strength, agility, and the objectification of the

female cheerleaders with whom they worked. Similarly, I show how the appeals atheists make to

science, objectivity, and narratives of reason and intellect help them justify and reshape the

meaning of their lack of belief in God with non-atheist others. Blinde and Taube’s (1992) study

of homophobia, and the stigma women in male-dominated sports face, demonstrates how

passivity and acceptance of broader cultural norms is itself a way of coping with stigma. This is

23
not unlike how the “silent atheists” (see chapter five) I studied, tacitly accepted the negative

image of atheists, and so passively chose to hide their deviant status, rather than actively resist it.

Underlying the stigma associated with atheism in the United States, is the conventional

idea that belief in God is connected with morality, or even necessary, for moral behavior. The

corresponding idea, of course, is that atheists are less likely to be moral, or cannot be moral at all

given their rejection of the idea of a God. Many of the interactions atheists have with each other,

and with non-atheist others, revolves around this basic issue of morality. Thus, Katz’s (1975)

classic discussion of moral identity and its connection to “imputations of deviance” by others,

facilitates my discussion of the ways in which the respondents in this study constructed their

atheist identity along with, or even in terms of, creating and maintaining a positive moral identity

and moral sense of self.

Negotiating a deviant status, and/or managing a stigmatized identity, takes place not just

at the individual level, but at the collective and organizational level. I discuss in chapter six how

atheists resist stigma, as well as how they actively work to destigmatize atheism in the context of

an organizational framework. The social dynamics of stigma management take on a different

character when it is unfolding at the collective, rather than individual level. Martin’s (2000)

discussion of the organizational strategies different groups of overweight people employ, as they

negotiate their deviant status, informs the organizational strategies I found atheist groups to be

engaging.

Related, the literature on narratives, accounts, and other forms of “talk” helps to frame

my analysis of the deviance and socially stigmatized status of atheism. Each of these is part and

parcel of the ways in which those with deviant statuses negotiate membership within social

groups and the wider culture. Thus, in addition to Goffman’s (1963) general work in this area,

24
the more focused analyses of Scott and Lyman’s (1968) work on account-giving, Gubrium and

Holstein’s (1998) discussion of narrative and discourse, and Somers’s (1994) and Wuthnow’s

(2011) arguments regarding the types and relevance of talk, are incorporated into my discussion

of atheists. I draw from this literature for insights into the negotiation and maintenance of atheist

identities. For instance, because atheism is a cognitive form of deviance, or as Goffman would

say, discreditable, the question of what a person “does” with their identification with atheism

once they have voluntarily and/or publicly adopted that label, is answered in part by the

discussions offered in this literature.

Social Movements

Finally, some aspects of the social movement literature guide my work on formal atheist

organizations at both the local and national levels. This literature often incorporates cross-

disciplinary scholarship on collective and organizational behavior. I am primarily interested in

the collective actions involved in the creation and maintenance of an American atheist

community. Though my interest in not in attempting to validate or even argue whether the so-

called “new atheist movement” fits within the framework of a “legitimate” new social

movement, certain dimensions of the social movement literature productively informs this study.

This, in part, is simply due to the fact that much of the studies on collective identity itself, have

until relatively recently, been lodged within the broader social movement literature.

At one point, the discussion of social movements was largely framed within a structural

and macro-level perspective of group behavior and interaction within the broader society.

Resource mobilization theory (McCarthy and Zald 1977), for instance, examined the ways that

social groups with varied structural locations were differentially able to bring material and

symbolic resources to bear in order to mobilize around a particular cause or idea. The role of

25
authority, the state, and the media were taken as important indicators of the relative success of

various kinds of social movement activity. Region, class, race, gender, and other structural

variables no doubt play a critical role the organizational activities and relative effectiveness of

different social movements. While I acknowledge the usefulness and validity of this perspective,

my analysis of atheists is largely framed within a more micro and interactionist approach to

understanding social movement dynamics. For instance, I focus on the collective socio-political

grievances that groups of atheist actors share and construct in the context of inter-organizational

activities. The creation of a shared meaning and value system within the context of atheist group

activities, and how atheists organizationally negotiate the meaning of their identities, and

construct strategic ways of interacting with the non-atheist public in order to meet collectively

defined goals, is the subject to which my analysis is narrowed.

As I demonstrate, the goal-oriented actions of contemporary atheists involve an

engagement with minority discourse and identity politics. Thus, I also incorporate the part of the

social movement literature that highlights the social psychological, interactionist, collective

identity, and narrative/discourse, and organizational dynamics of social groups and movements.

For instance, the theoretical work of Polletta and Jasper (2001) on the centrality of the concept of

collective identity for understanding the social, political, and cultural grievances of groups, is at

the center of my discussion of atheist groups. Likewise, similar studies that give primacy to the

connections between collective identity and social action are incorporated into my analysis. The

work of Snow et al. (1986), and Taylor and Whittier (1992) facilitate an understanding of how an

increasing number of atheists have mobilized through social and political activism and discourse

in the public sphere, in both the digital and physical worlds. This literature also helps describe

26
the processes of how this movement has impelled a segment of the American population to

“come out” and more actively participate in an atheist community.

27
 Chapter Three: Studying Atheists, Research Setting and Methods

The idea for this study began in the winter of 2008 when Patrick, a fellow graduate student and

friend of mine, suggested I study atheists. I had originally planned on researching a local

religious student group that conveniently had an on-campus presence at the University where I

was attending graduate school. However, my initial attempts to gain entrée with the group

proved unsuccessful. I was denied access to student members by the leadership. The reason I was

blocked from working with members of the group is closely connected with how I became

involved in studying atheists and plays an important role in the story of my research generally.

I was at one time an active member of the religious group I had attempted to study. I

grew up Mormon in Utah. This is often considered the “homeland” of the Mormon Church. I had

served a mission for the Church in Alaska for two years and was married in a Mormon temple.

The Church was a major part of my life during this time, and I never imagined I would leave it.

But I began to have serious reservations about Mormonism, in particular, and religion, in

general, after marrying in the Mormon temple and beginning my college education. By the time I

moved from Utah, and enrolled in graduate school, I had stopped attending Church, and became

completely religiously inactive. It was only about a week after I connected with the Mormon

campus group leadership that they called and informed me they would not grant me access to the

group for research purposes. The Church keeps meticulous records of its membership, and the

level of involvement of its members, so I surmised that after discovering I had disaffiliated, they

were disinclined to grant me access to study them.

It was not long after this that I learned Patrick had also rejected Catholicism after having

spent his childhood and adolescence being very involved with the Church. We began having

frequent conversations about our experiences leaving religion and rejecting the basic religious

28
ideas we had taken for granted in our youth. It was during one of these conversations that Patrick

suggested to me that the question of religious disaffiliation and irreligion could be a fascinating

topic for research. Having hit an impasse with my earlier idea of studying college Mormons, the

timing was right, and the idea immediately resonated with me. I decided at that moment to

conduct my dissertation research on atheists.

Having experienced my own religious “apostasy,” and abandonment of a theological

worldview, I knew that I had the requisite interest, motivation, and knowledge to pursue serious

research in this area. I would be able to use my own experience to help frame the research

questions I would ask, and I could draw from that same experience as I engaged the research

setting and those I would be studying. My biographical connection to my research topic would

put me in a position to interact effectively, and “knowingly,” with my subjects (Adler and Adler

1985). I was excited of the prospect of applying my developing sociological skills to an area of

inquiry for which I was personally motivated and academically intrigued.

Research Approach

Although my personal connection to my research topic was an asset, I also understood

that I would need to remain cognizant, throughout my study, of the problems that can attend

investigative field research. I did not want to unduly impose my own identity trajectory onto my

subjects, or interpret the phenomenological aspects of the setting, only through the lens of my

own experience. Thus, rather than prefiguring my own assumptions into my project, I sought

from the beginning, to have an open mind regarding that basic ethnographic question: what is

going on here? (Glaser and Strauss 1967).

After an initial search of the literature, I was interested to find that there had been very

little empirical work on atheists. The few sociological studies of atheism that were available,

29
typically involved its socio-demographic correlates, or dealt with other slightly indirect questions

about atheist ideology or state-sponsored atheism. Some survey studies explored the attitudes of

the public toward atheists, but I found only a two studies (see Altemeyer and Hunsberger 2006;

Fitzgerald 2003) that addressed the views, experiences, and subjectivities of atheists themselves,

through interpretive methods. Although the literature I would have to draw from seemed meager,

the paucity suggested that I might contribute in such a basic way to the understanding of atheists

and the sociological concerns they instantiate.

Because of this situation, I was impelled to ask basic questions about American

atheists. I was interested in how and why people come to claim atheism as an identity. What

motivates this? What issues concern atheists and what are their values? Do atheists organize? If

so, what are they doing, and how are they doing it? Given these questions, and my developing

research interests, I knew that qualitative methods best suited my project. I wanted to learn about

atheists, and develop my analysis of them, through the lens of their own experience. Thus, an

ethnographic and interpretive framework was the most appropriate research approach.

Gaining Entrée

I decided the best way to find self-identified atheists was to see if they gathered in any local

places. After a brief internet search, I discovered several well-established local atheist

organizations in Colorado’s Denver/Boulder area. In fact, I quickly realized I was living in an

ideal setting for the study of the atheists. A list of seven distinct, connected, and active groups

came up in my search. I contacted several of the groups by emailing the listed contacts available

on their websites, and I was able to set up several meetings within a week’s time.

Fortunately, I did not encounter any significant resistance or obstacles in gaining close

30
access to atheist groups and their members. Stan, of the Rocky Mountain West Atheists,2 did

inquire as to whether I was a Christian trying to infiltrate an atheist group in order to expose their

“evil doings.” The last part of his question was meant as a friendly joke, but I surmised he was

sincere about whether or not I was “one of them.” This was the only instance in which any of the

atheist group members offered resistance of any kind to my entry into the setting. From the

beginning, as I met group members in person, and began interacting with them, I got the sense

they recognized that I was not an “outsider” or someone that was interested in undermining them

in any way. I felt comfortable and welcomed into the group. Each of the groups met at least once

a month in a public, rented space, such as a local library. Often, participants were members of

multiple groups, and many of the groups regularly met together and collaborated. This afforded

me opportunity to consistently interact with participants.

Given my initial successful entrée, the goals of my research, and the nature of the setting,

I determined it best to disclose my personal background (including my own identification as a

non-believer), and research interests, to members at the outset. Fortuitous timing allowed me to

do this with several groups at once, as they were gathered for an informal social event at a local

park in the summer of 2008. After a friendly conversation with one of the group organizers, I

was invited to start recruiting members for interviews immediately. About a dozen people gave

me their contact information and said they were willing to be interviewed. I was fortunate in that

I did not have to spend a great deal of time developing trust or negotiating access to the groups

through a “gatekeeper.” The members accepted me immediately, and even seemed enthusiastic

about the prospect of being interviewed by a researcher, seeing this as an opportunity to be better

understood by the public.

2
I identify each atheist group with a pseudonym

31
 The ease with which I entered the setting is connected with the observations of scholars

of ethnographic methods. Denzin and Lincoln (2005), for instance, note that when there is

consistency between the values and perspectives of the researcher and his/her subjects, that

access to those subjects, and the efficacy of the interpretive methods used to study them, will be

strengthened. As I became oriented with the setting and began developing relationships with my

subjects, I began to feel that I was trusted and seen as an equal. Members of the Rocky Mountain

West Atheists did not hesitate when I offered to pay member dues (to help pay for activities,

rented space, and a monthly newsletter), and become an official member of the group. I did not

become a dues-paying-member of all the groups I had contact with, as my personal funds were

limited, but I felt equally welcome as a participant and member each group.

My Role as Researcher

Qualitative scholars have long observed that it is the researcher him/herself who is the primary

research instrument (Adler and Adler 1987). Thus, a discussion of my role as researcher and

member of the setting in which I conducted my work, and the implications of this relationship

for the project itself, is necessary. Because I disclosed from the beginning, to group members,

my intent to study atheists as a researcher at the local university, participants could have initially

viewed me as an outsider looking in. However, given my almost immediate rapport with

respondents, and the fact that I was able to concurrently disclose my personal background,

providing details about my own identification as a “non-believer,” I was accepted and welcomed

as an insider. This gained me immediate access to group members and allowed me to quickly

develop relationships of trust.

Thus, I came to occupy an ethnographically useful position with relation to those I

studied. Given the balance between my explicit role as researcher and as a group member, I

32
adopted the distinct research role Adler and Adler (1987) refer to as an overt, participant-

observer with “peripheral membership” (Adler and Adler 1987:36). That is, my role was best

described as a peripheral member-researcher, because I was able to get close enough with those I

studied so that I could gain the in-depth information and rich data I sought, without being fully

entrenched, as many of those I studied were, for instance, in an “atheist activist” role (e.g. group

priorities such as advocating for the separation of church and state, influencing the public’s

perceptions of atheists, organizing protests etc.). I had inside knowledge of the workings of the

atheist groups and the research setting in general, but I always maintained an overt role, as

someone studying atheists from an academic viewpoint. Without having struck the appropriate

balance, I may have been at risk of losing the necessary level of objectivity required for

conducting scholarly research. Indeed, at various points during the research, I had to pause,

“stand back” to some degree, remind myself of my role as researcher and sociologist, and

observe what was happening in the setting without undermining or losing sight of my research

objectives.

One of the more salient concerns I had as I began the research was that participants

would feel the relationship was not equal. That is, I was learning and receiving information and

meaningful (and sometimes personal) data from our relationship, but what, in return, would they

be getting from their relationship with me? I was therefore surprised when time and again after

interviews, or group meetings, respondents commented on how they got “to vent” their feelings

and frustrations and share their thoughts with me. Many commented how our interviews and

interactions were refreshing because it gave them opportunity to challenge and articulate

themselves regarding their viewpoints and beliefs. A few respondents even mentioned that our

interviews “felt like therapy.” Some also expressed how they benefited from hearing my

33
thoughts, during interviews and group meetings, as a researcher and academic. Thus, our

relationships were by-and-large reciprocal, and no one expressed disappointment or frustration

with the research or felt shortchanged. This situation lent itself to positive relationships that were

conducive to the data-gathering process.

Sampling

The circumstances in which I applied my sampling strategies were somewhat unique. I had

anticipated needing to take longer developing trust and building relationships with group

members. However, as I alluded above, I was able to establish rapport very quickly, and as a

result, I began recruiting respondents almost immediately. Many of the groups kept record of

who attended meetings and socials, and I was able to take advantage of this. Beth, a woman in

forties, and an organizer of one of the groups, offered to simply ask that members indicate if they

wanted to have an interview with me while they were signing in on the roll. This was very

effective and my contacts grew quickly. I had the unusual experience of getting close to

members before spending significant time getting to know them. Thus, many of the relationships

I built began with an in-depth interview, rather than being the culmination of a previously built

relationship.

Beyond recruiting members opportunistically (Lofland, Snow, Anderson, and Lofland

2006), and directly from my interactions within the setting, I also recruited respondents in a

snowball sampling fashion (Maxwell 2005), as group members referred me to other self-

indentified atheists. My sample was also purposeful and theoretical (Glaser and Strauss 1967),

because, in addition to recruiting “typical” atheists (rank-and-file members), I also sought out

specific individuals of interest, including presidents and organizers of groups, and other

prominent atheist leaders and activists in the community. I wanted to include people with

34
different roles and levels of involvement within the groups in case there were any relevant

differences between group members. For instance, I wondered whether those with more of an

activist penchant might have something meaningfully different vis-à-vis their identities, than

those who were more passive.

My interview sample consisted of 22 men and 23 women. Most respondents were white

(n=42), highly educated (forty-one of the participants had an undergraduate degree, and eleven

of those also had advanced degrees) and of middle-class background. This sample is fairly

consistent not just with the demographics of the region in which I collected data (a relatively

affluent and highly educated area), but also with what we know about the demographic

characteristics of the unaffiliated in the United States generally (Baker and Smith 2009; Cragun,

Hammer and Smith 2012).

Given the interpretive nature of my work, I anticipated discovering new and interesting

themes throughout the research process. Thus, I continued to conduct in-depth interviews (forty-

five in total) until the data indicated I had reached theoretical saturation (Glaser and Strauss

1967). That is, I was no longer encountering significant novel themes, ideas, or social processes

(that I had not become at least familiar with already) within the research parameters I had

outlined in the context of my research goals. I also continued to be involved in the research

setting well after I completed interviews. For instance, I continued to follow up and interact with

participants I had developed relationships with, and I continued to attend many different

atheist/secular meetings, conferences, conventions, volunteer activities and other events right up

until the research was complete. I also, as described in the ethnographic methods section below,

continued to accumulate a significant amount of data suitable for textual analysis by staying

active on email lists, blog sites, message boards, and other atheist/secular website and discussion

35
forums. All of these activities facilitated my becoming increasingly sensitized (Glaser and Straus

1967) to the nuances and complex social dynamics of the world of contemporary atheism in the

United States.

The regional setting for the fieldwork portion of this research consisted of three states:

Colorado, Texas, and Utah. I visited local atheist organizations in each of these states. I was able

to observe and participate in formal and informal groups that are located in both liberal and

conservative social environments. I participated in one of the largest international atheist

conventions held in Houston, which brought together members (both high profile and rank-and-

file) of atheist groups across the nation and the globe. This personal experience through over

five years of fieldwork, combined with a growing knowledge of the social dynamics of the

atheist community through an investigation of its manifestation in the digital and online world

provides an important part of the context for this research. Because of its regional setting, and as

exploratory research, I cannot, of course, consider the conclusions drawn from this study to be

precisely representative or generalizable to every single atheist group, local community, or every

individual atheist living in this country. However, given the data collected, the national

representation of atheists in parts of the research setting, and the analysis of the documentation

that extends well beyond the regional setting in which my fieldwork took place, I argue that the

forthcoming analysis is at minimum strongly suggestive of the broader processes involved when

engaging in sociological discussion of contemporary American atheists and their community at

large.

36
Collecting and Analyzing Data

I employ in this study a combination of long established and recognized qualitative and

ethnographic methods including participant observation, in-depth and informal interviews, and

the accumulation of various kinds of documentation for interpretive and textual analysis. My

research unfolded over the course of about five years, beginning in 2008, and ending in 2013.

Investigative fieldwork was the basis of my research, and over the years I interacted with eight

different atheist organizations. The longevity of my research meant that I was able to participate

in dozens of atheist functions and other events including small local group meetings, larger

conferences and workshops, volunteer work activities, sites of atheist activism, formal debates,

informal socials, and national and international conventions. It was only in the context of having

engaged with respondents over this significant period of time that I was afforded a thorough and

nuanced understanding of the research setting. The strength of investigative fieldwork is

premised on the reality that the researcher can develop meaningful relationships with his/her

subjects, and provide a rich empirical setting from which to learn a great deal about them.

Interviews. Interviews are a powerful ethnographic tool for understanding the lives of

other human beings. This is the case because interviews allow researchers to learn and

comprehend the world from the perspective of their subjects, from their point of view (Kvale

1996). It is because interviews have this basic quality, and because of the nature of my research

setting, that I chose them as my primary source of data collection. Interviews were open ended

and conversational, allowing participants to speak freely about the issues important to them.

Before conducting each interview, I first introduced my research to the participant,

informed them of my general objectives, and allowed them opportunity to ask any questions and

to address any concerns they may have had. Each of the forty-five semi-structured interviews I

37
conducted included formal written consent on the part of respondents. I digitally recorded each

interview (also with written permission). I took notes during and after each interview, when

appropriate, and as time afforded. Interviews lasted one-half to two hours. Every interview was

transcribed in full. The question and response format took a life-course trajectory approach, and

focused on the personal biographies, relationships, social interactions, and life transitions that are

related and important for understanding the social worlds of contemporary American atheists.

I also conducted dozens of informal “on-the-fly” interviews with subjects at various

atheist events, such as debates and socials, as they took place. Due to the nature of the setting of

such events, these more informal interviews lasted from five to twenty-five minutes, and field

notes were the primary means of documenting the interactions and conversations. I always

disclosed my role as a researcher to everyone I interviewed, and left them with contact

information so they could follow up with me later if they chose. Additionally, I provided them

with information that directed them to atheist research centers3 I am affiliated with so they could

find out more information about my research and, should they choose, take a variety of social

surveys about atheism.

I was careful to only interview people who voluntarily self-identified as an atheist, and

who disclosed this information to me explicitly. This is relevant because, as I discussed in the

introduction, there are many related, overlapping, and sometimes confused terms associated with

atheism. It was important to remain strict about this in order to clarify the conceptual boundaries

of my study at large and ensure that I was only making empirical and theoretical claims about

3
I am a research affiliate and research associate (respectively) at two research centers that focus

on the non-religious: The Non-religious Research Network (www.nsrn.org) and The Center for

Atheist Research (www.atheistresearch.org).

38
atheists based on the evidence and representations of those who participated in my study. I began

with a set of open and general questions organized by the substantive topics that I was interested

in (see appendix B). However, as my research progressed, I had to refine, modify, or eliminate

some questions, as well as add useful questions/topics that either arose from previous interviews

with participants, or that occurred to me sometime during the process. Keeping a flexible

interview guide is imperative for interpretive studies, as the research process itself is likely to

yield new questions and undergo changes throughout (Lofland et al. 2006). I therefore attempted

to not to constrain respondents too much with my questions or “lead” them down predetermined

paths. Rather, I allowed my subjects to speak to what was important and meaningful to them, all

the while still making sure to generally follow the lines of inquiry within the parameters that

addressed my research questions and goals.

I appreciate and understand, as Kvale (1996) and others have argued, that interviews

themselves are an active, situational, and constructive process. That is, respondents should not be

viewed as simply possessing information in their heads, from which it becomes the investigator’s

task to simply “tap into” and retrieve that information. Rather, the narratives that respondents

employ during interviews are constructed in part, not just from the subjective recalling and

connecting of previous biographical events in their lives, but also from the interactive process

vis-à-vis the researcher during the interview itself. Interviews are interactive and always

ultimately “open” conversations between two people. The interviewer is wise not to consider

what comes out of the interview as pure objective and accurate information about the participant

and his or her perceptions, beliefs, attitudes, and viewpoint. However, the epistemological status

of the data that develops from an interview need not overly worry the researcher, for interpretive

research is concerned primarily with meaning and experience. The “stories” told by participants

39
are not arbitrary accounts; they are meaningful narratives constructed around personal meaning

and social experience. My job as an investigator is to the best of my ability, understand this

meaning and experience, and render it sociologically relevant.

Participant observation. Participant observation was another basic source of data that I

gathered throughout my entire research project. This tool for data collection is closely

intertwined with my earlier discussion about my role as both researcher and member, and how I

negotiated these roles, in the context of the research setting. Over the course of about four years,

I actively participated in a wide range of activities in the field. Monthly group meetings,

conferences, conventions, debates, sites of atheist activism, and a variety of other informal social

functions such as picnics, solstice parties, house parties, and “godless drinking,” socials, are all

examples of the empirical setting I studied.

My level of involvement, and whether I simply observed what was going on around me,

or actively participated, depended on the nature of the activity. For instance, I attended several

public and high-profile debates. There was little opportunity during the debates themselves to

engage participants and converse with them. However, these more passive audience-based

activities were still quite useful for me as a researcher. After a debate, titled, “Does God Exist,”

between atheist Christopher Hitchens and Christian Dinesh D’Souza at the local university, for

instance, I lingered and took notes of the conversations I was overhearing. Many people, as they

left the building, were enthusiastically engaging in debates of their own. I recognized several

atheist group members and talked with them about the event. It was also interesting to observe,

that I could identify rather quickly, which “side” of the debate audience members came down on

as they walked to their cars discussing the arguments presented that evening.

Other activities all but required I actively participate. For example, at socials or meetings

40
held at local bars or restaurants, participants in attendance would ask patrons whether they were

there for “the atheist thing.” Several times I had to identify myself, and affirm that I was there for

that for that reason. This was proved a good opening for me to introduce myself to people I had

not yet met, and strike up conversations with atheists, or even hold, what turned out to be, off the

cuff interviews with participants.

These events, and the litany of other activities I was involved in over the course of my

research, amounted to hundreds of hours of participant observation in the field. As much as the

formal interviews I conducted, this was a crucial source of data throughout the project, as it

enabled me to experience the social worlds of atheists first hand, as they occurred in situ, in daily

life. I learned the inner workings of atheist organizations, and came to a better understanding of

the personal identities of individual atheists, as well as the group and inter-group social dynamics

of the contemporary atheist community. My participation and peripheral membership in several

of these groups afforded me the opportunity to observe the interactions of people over time, and

learn, in-depth, the communicative and interactional processes that took place in the research

setting.

I also took specific kinds of field notes (see section below) of my observations when in

the field so that the data I collected could most effectively be rendered to the type of inductive

and interpretive analysis I would be carrying out later on. These notes and the information they

contained ended up being of critical importance when I turned later to the more explicitly

analytical portion of my study. Given the nature of the setting however, I was not always able to

constantly take notes as I was interacting with participants in the field. Some of what I wrote had

to be carried out later when time permitted, but I made it a priority to take notes as soon as

possible while the observations and conversations were still fresh in my mind. Importantly, my

41
written observations provided me with a chronological log of what was happening in the setting

which, in addition to interviews, provided me with the basic empirical material from which to

develop my arguments and analysis. As my goal was to engage in as much thick description

(Geertz 1973) as possible, my participation in, and observations of, the interactions and

conversations in the field were a key aspect of this.

My extensive participant observation, over nearly a five-year period, and which covered a

wide array of social and political activities, provided the context for my experience studying

atheists. By attempting to understand their experience, in their own terms, and by learning their

stories in their own words, I was able to acquire a developed and nuanced sense of the way in

which many American atheists view and experience the world.

Analytical Techniques

As with much qualitative research, I took an inductive approach in analyzing the data throughout

this study. I developed the concepts and arguments below out of the empirical data collected

throughout the research process. However, rather than narrowing in only on the data that

supported what was becoming salient in the analysis, I was careful to also to scrutinize any

countervailing evidence or other kinds of information that did not seem to “fit” properly within

the analysis offered. As alluded earlier, it took the view from the outset that it was important not

desist from actively gathering data while concurrently engaging in basic analysis until I

encountered theoretical saturation (Glaser and Strauss 1967). Likewise, I continued to carefully

consider, organize, and conceptualize the data until I reached an empirically descriptive and

theoretically useful and informed endpoint; one that would hopefully make a useful contribution

to the sociological literature.

42
 For each empirical chapter, I kept detailed empirical, methodological, and analytical field

notes throughout the research process. After transcribing all formal interviews, I used a

combination of line-by-line and focused coding to begin the analysis (Lofland et al. 2006). I

identified patterns in both the interview and field note data, and made and elaborated on relevant

conceptual connections. For instance, I noticed immediately that respondents were interested in

discussing how they came to “realize” they were atheists, sharing with me (often unsolicited), the

first time they used the word “atheist” to describe themselves to a family member, or stranger.

Sensing this was connected to another emerging pattern I had identified: a narrative of

independent-mindedness, I situated both of these within the broader concept I called, coming out

atheist. Further, I identified dominant themes, and named and organized them, in order to render

them useful for further analysis before writing up the results. For example, I observed that, quite

often, whether in interviews, informal conversation, or just overhearing discussions at meetings

or socials, participants seemed to relish criticizing religion and dismissing theistic beliefs. This

theme was so prevalent, that I identified it very early on as being central to atheist identity

formation. I later organized an entire chapter (chapter four) around this theme.

My primary goal, in employing the specific data collection techniques I chose, was to

render meaningful kinds of qualitative data for interpretive analysis. At times I felt I was flooded

with information and relevant data, and it would have been easy to become overwhelmed with it,

and not know where to begin or how to proceed. But systematically parsing, rendering and

organizing the wealth of data I collected, continuously, and throughout the research process,

allowed me ultimately to develop interesting, empirically rich, and theoretically informed

analyses. This was critical to learning about, and understanding, the subjective and lived-

43
experience of atheists from their own perspective. Moreover, this process was central to

developing broader sociological themes beyond the empirical case-example of atheists.

Field notes and coding. In addition to the primary methods of recorded interviews and

participant observation, I kept detailed field notes from my interactions with participants for the

length of research project. As Lofland et al. (2006) discuss, there are three essential types of field

notes an interpretive researcher should take in any empirical setting. I was deliberate about

keeping notes of each kind throughout the research process. They are: (1) empirical notes, which

described what was actually happening in the setting observationally – for example, during

meetings, socials, and before and after interviews, (2) methodological notes, for the purpose of

aiding my own understanding of the developing relationship between myself as researcher and

my respondents, and how best to adapt and refine my methods as I encountered changes in the

research setting, and finally, (3) analytical notes which facilitated the development of theoretical

ideas, topics, and themes as I continued to conceptualize (and occasionally re-conceptualize) the

empirical data collected throughout the research process.

After each interview was transcribed (twenty-three of which I transcribed myself; the

others were transcribed by either a professionally employed transcriber, or a paid research

assistant), and after having sifted through the field note material, all of this data was coded with

an eye to developing interesting and theoretically informed themes and patterns that were

consistent with my research objectives (Charmaz 2001). As I began the coding process, I started

with the specific technique of line-by-line coding (Emerson, 2001), where every single line of

textual data is read, and is marked with more generic words, concepts, or other types of codes

that render the primary data more analytically meaningful. Though rather tedious and slow,

doing this initially allowed me to become more familiar with, and sensitized to, all of the “raw”

44
data.

For example, I noticed early on that words “religion,” and “God,” were almost ubiquitous

throughout interview data, various sources of textual documentation, and even my field notes. I

underscored and clustered these words across each source of data, coding them by color, and

taking note of the surrounding phrases and the more generic contexts in which these terms were

embedded. I could see, especially in the transcribed interview data that participants often

employed these terms when discussing their childhoods and religious upbringing. Likewise, the

terms frequently appeared when respondents had been asked about their own views and beliefs

as adults. From coding and organizing these small pieces of data, emerged a more general theme:

that in the context of sharing their beliefs and views as individuals, respondents most often talked

about the views and beliefs they reject. Finding this quite interesting, I pursued to develop this

empirical fact into a useful analytical concept, eventually arriving at the theoretical claim that

organized atheism in America is rooted in rejection-based type of identity formation.

As I continued the coding process, and the data became more familiar and repetitive, I

became more sensitized to it generally, and was able to better grasp nuances that may have

eluded me at first. This in turn cultivated my ability to anticipate emerging themes. Out of this

conversancy, I was eventually able to shift from line-by-line coding, to a more focused coding

approach (Emerson 2001). This allowed me to more efficiently and fruitfully organize chunks

(rather than single lines) of data by meaningful patterns and thematic elements from which I was

able to categorize data and render it useful for further and more sophisticated analysis.

Not every code or every line of thought that occurred to me through this process ended up

being worth pursuing. Some ideas I had initially presumed important, had to be discarded, while

other thoughts I had nearly decided to pass over, became more important. For instance, I had

45
thought that participants who were raised with religion would be more likely to speak critically

of their upbringings or of the choices their parents made for them regarding religion. The first

few interviews seemed to confirm this, and I had considered pursing the idea by making specific

comparisons, between those raised with religion, and those raised without it. However, after I

completed initial coding of all interviews, and found that my assumption was not bearing out

very well. Although there were some respondents, raised with religion, that were vehemently

critical of how/why they were raised with religion, more than half spoke rather indifferently

about their religious upbringing. A few even spoke fondly or nostalgically of their past religious

participation. Thus, after coding the data for my initial analysis, I concluded that I needed to drop

that line of thought, because it was one for which I simply did not have evidence.

Discourse/textual analysis. Finally, a substantial part of the data for my study came from

other document sources. From 2008 on, after connecting with several atheist groups, joining

email lists, visiting dozens of atheist websites, subscribing to popular atheist/secular magazines,

and engaging with various social media, I collected a large body of relevant textual data. This

includes 1000+ email, blog, and message board communications between atheists from six

different atheist organizations. I also followed atheist news from various online and print

newspapers and magazines. All of this documentation was printed, reviewed, and coded for

analysis. Using the methods of textual and thematic analysis (Maxwell 2005) I constructed my

argument after carefully sifting through all the textual data and comparing it with the interview

and participant observation data I had obtained in the field.

Though I had the goal of searching for consistency, and for patterns across each

substantive source of data (interviews, field notes, online documentation etc.), I also found that I

learned different kinds of things from the different sources of data. For instance, though most of

46
the major themes emerging tended to hold across each source of data, there were differences in

tone and discourse. Much of atheists’ correspondence online, whether over email, blogs, or

message boards, tended to have a more aggressive rhetorical quality to it, than other sources of

data. What accounted for these differences had to do with the medium of communication. That

is, it seemed that when respondents were in the relatively comfortable online virtual space, and

when they were communicating in the company of only other atheists, the conversations were

“ratcheted” up several notches. Having different sources of data added nuance and interesting

layers to the analysis process.

Supplementary sources. The above documentation collected for textual analysis are

examples of other relevant sources of information designed to supplement and enhance the

primary interview and observational sources of data. Thus, newspaper columns, secularist

magazines, atheist websites, blogs, and e-mail communications all provided me with a more

detailed and enhanced framework for understanding the issues and nuances of the everyday lives

of the atheists. The combination of these various media sources had the effect of outlining a wide

range of the social, political, moral and philosophical issues important to atheists. These sources

contained specific atheist arguments, outlined the substantive debates (e.g. creationism vs.

evolution), expressed secularist and atheist worldviews, and offered personal stories about

atheists themselves. To gain access to these sources of data, I subscribed to several important

local and national secularist media, (e.g. Richard Dawkins Foundation, American Atheists,

Center for Inquiry), I followed various atheist blogs (e.g. “the friendly atheist” blog), and I

registered and regularly received email communications and updates on a wide variety of atheist

events, news, and other relevant communications throughout the research.

47
Methodological Challenges and Ethical Issues

Though I was able to enter the research setting (and into the specific atheist organizations) with

relative ease, there were nevertheless some challenges I faced as my research unfolded. These

challenges are connected to important ethical considerations that I had to face as I both interacted

with participants as a peripheral member, and studied them as a social science researcher.

Given my discussion in the introduction about the process that led me to engage this

research, it was important for me to employ conscious effort in order to avoid unnecessary

personal bias in my research. That is, in interacting with participants and thinking about the data

I collected and observations I made, I had to continually “take stock” of my own assumptions,

preferences, views etc. when analyzing the data, making sure that I was free of obvious or

interfering bias. For instance, recognizing that participants themselves may have desired to cast

themselves in the best possible light (especially regarding their efforts to destigmatize atheism;

discussed in chapter five), I had to make sure, as one who sympathized with their perspective,

that I did not do the same. There was one memorable case where I did not want to convey a

certain aspect of many participants’ attitudes regarding believers. Without asking explicitly in

the beginning of the interviews, I noticed that participants would make comments that clearly

conveyed they thought theists were less intelligent than themselves. At first, I was inclined to

pass over this information, but it emerged frequently enough that I eventually added the question,

“do you think atheists are more intelligent that theists” to my interview schedule. I was surprised

to see the frankness with which a majority of participants responded in the affirmative. Rather

than conceal what could easily be interpreted as arrogance, I felt compelled as a researcher, to

incorporate this information into my emerging analysis, and convey it to the reader.

There are also practical methodological concerns. Although, as I explained earlier, given

48
the generally open and proactive mindset regarding participants’ unbelief (they were generally

not very worried about having their identities as atheists disclosed by me, as most were already

“out”) I nevertheless had to take steps to continue to protect the identities of those I researched.

This meant respecting their right to privacy, and not revealing to others any sensitive information

that could damage their relationships with important others (for instance, with family members

who did not know of their atheism) or harm reputations in any way. And though my research was

officially characterized by the IRB as being “low risk,” some participants did express concern

over whether their participation in the research might inadvertently reveal their atheism to

particular people they did not want it revealed to (co-workers, bosses, certain family members

etc.). I had to be sensitive to, and to be able to anticipate, potential risk to my participants

throughout the research. In an effort to accomplish this, I strictly upheld the ethical guidelines

and research expectations outlined by the Institutional Review Board of the University of

Colorado throughout the duration of the research project.

I made every effort to optimize the relevance, accuracy, and scholarly contribution of my

research. Several specific techniques are recognized in qualitative research as being best able to

produce this end. First, as Altheide and Johnson (1994) suggest, I strove for validity by thinking

and acting reflexively with relationship to both my interactions with respondents and throughout

the analytical process. Part of this effort entailed my being aware of cases, situations, or

examples that contradicted or appeared incompatible with the general direction that the analysis

was taking. For example, in developing the identity process model of becoming an atheist, I was

careful to ask whether any of the respondents’ experiences seemed not to “fit” within the model I

was developing. Rather than ignoring any contradictory data, I made sure to spend time

discussing any issues before drawing conclusions or making specific claims.

49
 As Emerson (2001), Denzin and Lincoln (2005), and others discuss, in conducting

qualitative research it becomes imperative to access and employ other sources of data regarding

the research setting and actors as a way of both cross-checking the validity of the data and

finding other potential avenues of research interest. In other words, it was important that I not

base all of my analysis and conclusions about atheist identity, its construction, the social status of

atheism, its social organization, etc. on one relatively small sample of a much larger community.

Constantly taking account of other sources of data (for example, the supplementary data sources

outlined above, the textual documentation, and incorporating other research findings) and

looking for discrepant information, cases, and examples was an important part of the process

before making empirical and theoretical claims, or making claims about the generalizability of

this study.

One question regarding the claims of my research involves the context of the setting and

the sample of atheists I studied. I mentioned in the introduction that many of the attributes of

those in my sample were consistent with the survey studies (see Baker and Smith 2009; Cragun

et al. 2012) to date on the socio-demographic characteristics (e.g. educational level) of those

most likely to self-identify as an atheist. However, as many of the participants I directly

interacted with were from a generally liberal and highly-educated University town, it bears

mentioning there could be differences between some of my participants, and self-identified

atheists from more conservative or less-educated settings that my study does not capture. For

instance, it could be that atheists from the latter might have more serious concerns about

disclosing their atheism out of greater fear stigma. Through my experience in the field in more

conservative communities, especially Salt Lake City, I was able to get a sense of whether these

differences might exist. Counter-intuitively, though I expected atheists from this religiously

50
conservative city to be more subdued about their atheism than others, this was not my

experience. It seemed that members of one group I encountered, the “Atheists of Utah,” were as

vocal and active as others in groups I studied in liberal communities. This is likely due, in part,

to the fact that most of my respondents and contacts were connected to a group in some way. It

might be that atheists who live in more religiously conservative communities, and who are not

connected with a group, do in fact have greater concerns about disclosure. Though my research

is suggestive of the broader national community of atheists, ultimately, further comparative and

survey-based research, combined with interviews, is needed to make definitive claims regarding

such questions.

51
 Chapter Four: Becoming an Atheist in America:

Constructing Meaning and Identity from the Rejection of Theism

Sociologists of religion have increasingly taken interest in the topic of irreligion, and several

scholars have turned their attention to examining those who claim no religion and/or lack theistic

beliefs (Hout and Fischer 2002, Sherkat 2008). There is now greater recognition of both the

theoretical and sociological importance of inquires into different varieties of non-religion and

irreligion. Through several studies of atheists, agnostics4, and religious “nones” for instance, we

now know more about the demographic characteristics of those Americans who are unaffiliated

with – or hostile to – traditional religion and theism (Bainbridge 2005, Baker and Smith 2009,

Zuckerman 2009).

These studies show, for instance, that white, young adult males, with high levels of

education, who live in more urban areas, are more likely to be religiously unaffiliated (Baker and

Smith 2009) and/or claim atheism (Zuckerman 2009). Hout and Fischer (2002) help explain the

recent increase in the numbers of Americans claiming no religion. For example, they argue that

the political differences between the religious right and religious liberals have impelled some of

the latter to disaffiliate themselves from traditional religion. In particular, the heightened rhetoric

and visibility of evangelical Christians during the Bush Administration have caused some of the

more moderate Christians in this country to dissociate themselves from what is perceived, with

the help of the media, as the new religious norms in American culture.

4
It is important to avoid confusing atheists and agnostics. The atheists in this study conceived of

their atheism as the rejection of the claim there is a God (rather than making the claim there is no

God). Agnostics in contrast, claim only that it is not possible to know whether God exists.

52
 In this study I examine one group that is a conceptual subset of the irreligious, self-

identified atheists.5 I use a qualitative and interpretive approach to examine the social

psychological and interactional process by which some Americans come to reject God and

religion. A better understanding of this process will be useful to sociologists of religion

interested not just in irreligion generally, but also in the social dynamics of belief and disbelief,

and the processes of conversion/deconversion. Understanding these issues seems particularly

relevant as the latest surveys show that the number of self-identified atheists in America is on the

rise (Pew 2007; Sherkat 2008). Of course, even if their numbers continue to increase in the years

to come, those who express an atheist viewpoint in American society remain a small segment of

the population, and the United States continues to be a heavily “theistic” society. This reality

becomes particularly salient when the United States is compared to other advanced industrial

nations (Zuckerman 2008). One need only briefly examine the data regarding religion and belief

in America to understand the influence and power that theism has in this country. For example,

the latest surveys report that nearly 85 percent of Americans claim some religious identity (Pew

2009). Even more significantly, the most recent Pew report (2009) estimates that 82% of

Americans believe in a “personal God or higher power,” while other estimates put the number of

those who believe in the existence of a “supernatural” or “supreme being” at nearly 92% (Chaves

2002). As this study will show, this point is more than mere observation. The formidable

5
As the studies mentioned above make clear, those who claim no religion in surveys are by no

means a homogenous group. There is significant difference between an avowed atheist and

someone who is merely unaffiliated with a religious group. Most notably, the latter may continue

to be a theist despite lack of religious practice. This study focuses on atheists only, so here, I will

forgo a discussion of the different categories of the non-religious.

53
influence of theism in America is closely connected to the identities of those who reject it.

Two recent studies take a more in-depth approach to understanding atheists. Altemeyer

and Hunsberger (2006:42) use demographic and interview data to investigate why some people

become atheists. They suggest that despite the normative status of belief in God, atheists are

simply those who “could not make themselves believe.” Another study by Fitzgerald (2003) uses

in-depth interviews to examine the different “identity career paths” and life trajectories of

atheists based on an analysis of their backgrounds, social characteristics, and political

orientations. My analysis contributes to these studies by highlighting the active interactional

processes and narrative accounts of participants to further develop our understanding of how

Americans come to atheism.

But how does one come to claim atheism in a culture where it is so clearly stigmatized6

and deviant in status? What are the social and subjective implications concerning those who

claim an atheist identity? Is this identity simply the absence of a religious identity, or is

something more going on? If so, what is the nature of this kind of identity? These are some of the

questions guiding this research.

In analyzing the social process that people undergo as they come to adopt the label

“atheist,” a clear understanding of the meaning of identity itself is needed. The concept of

identity has long been of central importance to social psychology. Researchers have defined and

used this concept in various ways. In this study, I take identity to have several meanings and

uses. Fundamentally, identity is that which we use to locate and understand ourselves in social

6
I address the social stigma and deviant status of atheism specifically (as well as how an atheist

identity is negotiated in interaction) in chapter five. Here I am more concerned with “becoming”

and claiming the identity, rather than “managing” or maintaining it.

54
life (Hewitt 2000). Further, as Stryker (1968) argues, we possess a hierarchy of identities that

coordinate and comprise the self, shape understanding, and influence behavior. Identity is also

that which individuals use to describe and define their membership in groups, their relative

positions in social life, and the various ascribed and achieved statuses they hold. The various

identities that people possess are also related to their self-concepts, and indeed, are part of the

creation and maintenance of the self generally (the “self” referring to the broader collection of

social identities and their interrelationships; whereas the “self-concept” implies greater

specificity about one’s attitude toward oneself). Like most scholars today, I take identity to be

fluid and shifting, rather than fixed and permanent. This is consistent with how most of the

participants in this study moved from religious identities to atheist identities because of dynamic

and changing social situations, contexts, and meanings.

Most discussions of identity focus on the roles and role-expectations attached to the

particular identity. An atheist identity however, is best understood not as one that is the product

of “filling” particular socially defined and culturally accepted roles, but as one rooted in personal

meaning, history, and biography. Biographical or personal identities (Hewitt 2000) make their

most obvious appearance when people construct narratives about their lives and tell their own

particular life stories (both to themselves and others; see Irvine 1999). As I will show, much of

the work of constructing an atheist identity involves just this.

Finally, my analysis is informed by the “deconversion” or “disaffiliation” literature.

Ebaugh (1988) for instance, examined the identity processes of Catholic nuns who left their

convents, and other studies have investigated the identities of those who have left various

mainstream religious organizations (Brinkerhoff and Mackie 1993). My investigation bears some

similarity to such studies because most of the atheists I interviewed abandoned formerly held

55
religious identities. Although these deconversion studies facilitate our understanding of the

process individuals undergo as they disengage their religion (often to identify with another

religion), they do not tell us much about those who divest themselves of a religious identity

altogether, nor do they inform us of the active process of developing a non-religious identity.

This study seeks to fill this gap by examining the process by which people construct an

atheist identity in a theist society. I consider the social psychological aspects of rejecting the

culturally dominant and normative belief in God. I begin with a discussion of the methods I used

to study atheists. I then present a four part model that discusses and illustrates the process of how

these participants came to reject theism and adopt the label “atheist.” I conclude by connecting

my analysis of atheists with other counter-hegemonic, or rejection based identities.

CONSTRUCTING AN ATHEIST IDENTITY

My research revealed four major elements in the construction of an atheist identity in America:

(1) the starting point: the ubiquity of theism, (2) questioning theism, (3) rejecting theism, and (4)

“coming out” atheist. For simplicity, these may be seen as the “stages” involved in the

progression toward atheism, but only in a general sense. The construction of an atheist identity is

a fluid and dynamic process rather than one that follows any simple pattern or trajectory.

The Starting Point: The Ubiquity of Theism

There are differences in the regional and socio-economic/demographic correlates of belief in

God (Schieman 2010). However, taken as a whole, roughly 92 percent of Americans express

belief in God, and about 60 percent claim to be certain that God exists (Chaves 2002). This

leaves little doubt that 21st century America is a decidedly theist society. And although stating

this seems obvious, my research with atheists suggests that the salience of American religiosity

56
and belief plays a fundamental role in the construction of an atheist identity.

Cultural context and religious involvement. For most participants, belief in God7 and

religious practice had characterized their lives at some point. Thirty-five participants described

their upbringing as being between somewhat religious, and extremely religious. They each

expressed having held at least some belief in God; they each identified with a particular religion

or spiritual philosophy, and they each participated in some kind of religious activity. This is

consistent with the general composition and state of the American religious landscape. As Roof

(1999:179) remarks in his study of the “spiritual and religious marketplace” of American society,

“Religion [and I would add belief in God] is so deeply ingrained culturally and so broadly based

within the population” that any investigation of the American scene that fails to recognize this,

will ultimately fall short. And as Hout and Fischer (2002) argue, even of those who specifically

claim “no religion” in America, many continue to hold rather conventional religious beliefs. This

apparent inconsistency further underscores how deeply entrenched theism is in our culture.

The significance of the American religious setting became even more pronounced as I

discovered that even the atheists I studied who were raised in “secular” households underwent a

similar process in rejecting theism and religion. This is suggestive of the importance of

considering the cultural context and the highly religious nature of American society when

investigating how and why some individuals come to adopt this minority viewpoint. This is not

to say unequivocally that all those I interviewed were religious or ardent believers at some point

7
The use of this term throughout will refer technically to anything supernatural. It is important to

note however, there was particular emphasis by participants on the traditional Judeo-Christian

concept of God.

57
in their lives. Rather, it became clear that theism and religion, in a generic sense8, played a basic

role in their becoming atheists, and that for most, belief in God and involvement with religion

precipitated and impelled their atheism later on.

Much like Peek’s (2005) study of the identity processes of Muslims, most atheists viewed

their early religious identities as ascribed statuses. Participants used statements such as, “I had no

choice about church as a kid. You know, kids just do what their parents tell them to do.”

“Religion was imposed on me when I was young…you just don’t have a choice when you’re a

child.” Many participants made similar surface interpretations of their early experiences with

religion. But when asked to elaborate, more thoughtful reflections were offered. For instance,

Chris9, an ex-Army paratrooper and recent father – who at one time even aspired to be a priest –

expressed how deeply he felt about his faith growing up:

I was raised Roman Catholic. I was very strongly religious as a kid. Did everything, the plays,

did catechism…I’d sit there [in church] and – wow! – actually as a child I was pretty emotional

about it. You know, I’d think about Jesus on the cross and I’d cry, and things like that.

Similarly, Kelly, a 36 year old Ph.D. student and teacher commented: “I was very

religious, and church was a very big part of my life. I went every Sunday, Sunday school and all.

I liked church, I liked the ritual…and I enjoyed going.” Clearly, despite their own

acknowledgement of their lack of choice in the matter, for both Chris and Kelly, religion was of

8
The normative status of theism in America can be weak or strong depending on context. For

instance, theism may be strong in the context of the family, but simultaneously weaker in the

public sphere, and its influence on the individual will vary accordingly. The idea here is not to

gloss over the extant plurality of views concerning theism, but to underscore America’s

unusually high prevalence of belief in God, and the role this plays in creating atheists.
9
Pseudonyms are used throughout the dissertation to ensure the anonymity of participants.
58
central importance to them growing up.

Of course, participants’ level of belief and religiosity varied by degree, and for most,

their involvement was more tempered than this. Still, all but a few discussed some level of

religiosity before becoming atheists. This is evinced by the fact that participants began sharing

their stories by first naming and identifying with the particular religious organization or belief

system with which they grew up. And even when there was low religious participation, the

normative belief in God was still present. Jenny, for example, was a young and bright graduate

student at the local university. Her comments are indicative of the ubiquity of belief (especially

in childhood), and were typical of most, “I grew up religious, I was Lutheran; but we didn’t go to

church all that much. By late high school, I don’t think I was really going anymore at all…but it

wasn’t that – I mean, I still believed in God.”

For Jenny, and others, belief in God seemed almost a “default” position. And as has been

observed, (Zuckerman 2003, 2011) many people – especially in their formative years – simply

accept the normative theistic viewpoint with which they are accustomed; sometimes passively

internalizing belief in God based on their experience within their social environment, where

belief is not just accepted, but often expected. Indeed, because belief is so salient, most people

born and raised in the United States experience socialization toward theism, and the atheists I

studied were no exceptions to this socialization process.

As social psychologists have argued, the transmission of cultural values and beliefs

through primary socialization within the family context greatly influences the values and beliefs

that children will adopt and carry with them into adulthood. However, I found that even those

few who were raised in families without much religion, (or no religion at all) nevertheless

encountered, and were influenced by, the high levels of religiosity and belief found in the general

59
milieu of American culture. Even the least religious were not invulnerable to the influences of

their communities, their neighbors and their peers, their schooling, and other aspects of

socialization when it came to belief in God and religious practice.

This certainly was Helen’s experience. Helen was in her early thirties and had recently

moved to start a new job. She discussed how her immediate family was entirely non-religious,

yet she ended up participating in religion anyway by attending Christian church services with her

friends or other neighborhood children. She puts it this way:

I was definitely raised in a secular household…but I’d still go to church with some of my cousins

and stuff; all the rest of the people I knew were religious, so I had exposure to it. Plus one of my

best friends for a long time was Mormon. So I went with her to the Mormon Church several

times.

Frank’s experience was not unlike Helen’s. Frank was a friendly and eccentric man. A

retired physicist, he spent much of his time in his home-lab conducting experiments. He was

raised by a non-religious family, and yet he remarked:

I had my first real association with religion at age seven. It was the Catholic Church across the

street…all the neighbor kids went there, especially in the summer – to the Catholic Church

because that’s what you did; they had things for kids to do. So I started attending church because

I was friends with the other kids.

Thus, even a secular household10 does not mean that people grow up without the

influence of religion. Participants were surrounded by theist friends, neighbors, and others who

influenced

10
Though five participants came from “secular” families, only two could accurately be described

as “second-generation atheists” (that is, their parents were explicitly atheists).

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them significantly.

Questioning Theism

If most participants were raised with religion, and had once believed in God, what caused them

to reject this, and claim an atheist identity? The ways participants began to understand God and

religion as they carefully contemplated their beliefs and interacted with others became a

determining factor. As Blumer (1969) observed, people act toward objects (whether physical or

abstract) based on the meanings these objects have for them. Further, these meanings are not

fixed or inherent, but change or take on new meanings through interactions with others.

Respondents, over time, and in new social contexts, began questioning what they had learned

growing up, which included the religious meanings they had often taken for granted. They

developed new outlooks and commitments as their interactions took on new meanings.

Most started experiencing significant doubts about the existence of God when they left

their homes for the first time to begin college. This was a critical time in life, as they encountered

other points of view, met people from other backgrounds, and started new relationships. Jason, a

61 year old former Catholic, who had worked various “odd jobs” throughout his life before

recently retiring, described it this way:

I didn’t really question it at all until I got to college and started studying. I remember reading a

book by Bertrand Russell, “Why I’m Not a Christian” and that just opened my eyes. It’s like,

wow… So that was one of the things that set me on to questioning it. And when I got to college I

met other people…like my first exposure to people outside my social milieu? So, you know, they

[fellow students] didn’t go to church on Sunday. And nothing bad was happening to them

(laughs) and God wasn’t striking them down for not going to church…I mean I wasn’t an atheist

at this point, I still thought you know, maybe there is a God out there.

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 New relationships with friends, professors, or others prompted and drove this

questioning. Some developed friendships with others who were themselves questioning God, or

were critical of religion. One respondent remarked how a new friend she considered “very

smart,” and who made a considerable impression on her, would send her secularist podcasts that

critically engaged religion and debated the “God question.” Another felt “inspired” by a brilliant

professor who “seemed to be an atheist.” Further, several encountered the recent popular

writings of Richard Dawkins, Sam Harris, or Christopher Hitchens. This piqued interest in other

media critical of religion and belief (e.g. documentary films, podcasts, blogs etc.)

Ironically however, for many participants, their interactions with “believers” compelled

them to such questioning. For instance, thirty-four year old Amber related how one of her good

friends – a strong Catholic – “basically believed I was going to hell for questioning whether there

is a God…[yet] she was still willing to hang out with me.” Although Amber thought this aspect

of the relationship was strange, it led her to be even more critical of the “illogical” aspects of

religious belief and drove her to question more.

Of course, research has found that going off to college tends to be an important stage in

peoples’ lives generally in terms of experimenting with, and developing new identities and

establishing a more autonomous sense of self. This process can also sometimes happen relatively

abruptly. But for these participants, the process of questioning their beliefs and the existence of

God tended to take time, because as Zuckerman (2011) observed, the effects of early

socialization – and especially religious instruction – can be quite strong. That is, once the “seeds

of belief” are planted during childhood, “undoing” this process can take a great deal of time.

Religion and belief are socially learned, therefore there must take place an unlearning process for

those who eventually come to reject it. Thirty-year-old Joel grew up in the Episcopalian church.

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He related his experience with this relatively slow “undoing:”

In college I still believed in God, but I no longer had a desire to go to church or anything. And

then I guess it was just a slow progression, as every year went by my belief was just getting less

and less, and as I started getting into astronomy and just reading stuff and studying evolution…it

[God and religion] just started sounding more and more implausible.

Thirty-four year old Jed, who had been a fervent Christian for years, shared a similar

experience, “I went to college – and I started studying and asking questions, it was kind of a slow

progression over time. I kept thinking to myself ‘this stuff just doesn’t really make sense to me

anymore.’” This “slow progression,” which was described by many participants, is consistent

with Ebaugh’s (1988:41) description of the “doubting stage” in her study of the process of role-

exit: “The doubting process is usually gradual in that the individual first experiences overall

dissatisfaction in a generalized way and only eventually is able to specify and articulate what he

or she finds lacking in the situation.” Indeed, these participants experienced a generalized and

non-descript discontent with their religious beliefs. But through ongoing and particular

interactions they began to specify and articulate their doubts in ways that opened a space for an

atheist viewpoint.

As participants sought more education, they became increasingly skeptical of the

religious teachings they grew up with. Once they viewed their religious beliefs as being

challenged by scientific and secular explanations of the world, the religious ideas and objects

(e.g. the afterlife, the bible) began to take on different meanings. As Ebaugh (1988:41) argued:

“The doubting stage is essentially one of reinterpreting and redefining a situation that was

previously taken for granted. Events and expectations that had been defined as acceptable begin

to take on new meanings. [These] doubts involve a reinterpretation of reality, a realization that

things are not what they had seemed.” However, as significant as this was, doubts alone were not

63
sufficient for participants to adopt an atheist identity. More active engagement with substantive

moral issues and interactions with others were necessary.

The centrality of morality. I quickly discovered that the topic of morality was of central

importance to these atheists, and specific moral questions often drove their questioning of God

and religion more intensely. First, as these doubts began to take root, participants became

progressively more critical. This questioning included criticisms of specific religious doctrines.

Forty-nine year old Matt, a former Lutheran, described his developing problems with moral

issues found in the bible:

So I was reading the Old Testament, and what really got me started on a different path was that

God was telling Joshua to go in and destroy the city, destroy every man, woman and child, every

goat, every chicken, I mean leave nothing! And I remember thinking “what’s going on here; why

does God want to kill cows?” And as I continued reading and finding more troubling things I just

started questioning more and more. And then it dawned on me that the God I was worshipping

and reading about all this time was really just a sinner himself. Here he is being jealous and

vengeful and human.

Matt had read the bible before, and had even read it in its entirety as a young adult. But it

wasn’t until he had left the country to serve in the Air Force, and later attended college, where he

made new friends and experienced other views, that he underwent this “re-reading” of the bible

and engaged his beliefs in a critical way. Many participants raised similar issues addressing

scriptural teachings themselves. This is consistent with Hunsberger and Altemeyer’s (2006)

study that reported that serious doubts about religion were often caused by reading the bible

itself.

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 Additionally, some pointed out what they saw as the contradictions of religious doctrines

or the hypocrisy of religious people they knew. Kelly, for instance, reflected that, “In college, I

started to think about some issues from when I was growing up, that people [church members]

were not nice. They preached about it [the bible and morality], but then they were not good to

each other. That frustrated me…you cannot look at the bible and be an intelligent person and not

see the contradictions, the problems with it.” As participants confronted these issues, they

increasingly desired to distance themselves from religion, and to extricate morality from its

traditional association with religion. What emerged for them was a new outlook on morality: its

origins, meaning, and implications for behavior.

An important outcome of this is that a tension arose in which participants saw themselves

as good and moral people, but who also were beginning to doubt that their “goodness” and

morality came from observing religious practices or adhering to religious “truths.” They began to

construct a cognitive and symbolic boundary between morality and religion, and asserted

themselves as moral individuals against what they increasingly viewed as a false connection

between being religious and being moral. They each in some way observed – and criticized the

idea – that people need religion to be moral and good. As one participant remarked, “I don’t

think having morals has anything to do with religion. I know right from wrong. I think it benefits

me in the long-term to do good things and be a good person; you know, not to lie, cheat, steal or

kill; and it just makes my life a lot easier. It frustrates me that people think that one has to do

with the other.”

When I probed further about what morality meant to participants, they offered patterned

responses. To summarize, in terms of content, these atheists’ views did not differ much at all

from the commonly held and culturally dominant views of the meaning of morality (i.e., those

65
held by theists). That is, they all considered actions such as lying, cheating, stealing, murder, and

basically anything else that harms other human beings to be immoral. Consistent with what

Hunsberger and Altemeyer found, in addressing why atheists doubt God, their skepticism

seemed primarily “cerebral” in nature (2006:39). For instance, they did not deny God because it

would give them license to be immoral; or as the authors put it, allow them to “wallow in

wantonness.” Rather, atheists tended to doubt because they found no evidence of God’s

existence, or they could not square religious doctrines with empirical facts, or simply, because

the notion of God was inconsistent with their intellectual sensibilities and developing view of the

world. To this I would add, the “cerebral” skepticism of atheists itself is in part a product of the

changing meanings and viewpoints associated with the social interactions experienced by

participants.

What did differ significantly were participants’ views of where morality comes from,

how it is maintained, and why it is important. As Edgell et al. (2006) observed, the majority in

the United States view atheists as having rejected the very moral foundation of American

society. As a corollary, there exists a symbolic moral and cultural boundary between believers

and non-believers. Aware of – and in response to – this reality, the atheists I interviewed

continually returned to the topic of morality, drawing their own boundaries vis-à-vis theists, and

asserting themselves as both atheists and moral persons. Chris, for instance, made the following

illustrative remarks:

Morality comes from society. It’s societal norms. It’s what you need to do, and what’s good. It

boggles my mind to make the assertion that morals come from religion. It’s like, really – so

killing would be OK unless God said no? And it seems like many things [in the bible] are totally

arbitrary. And then the things that don’t seem arbitrary are—are everywhere. No killing. No

stealing. You know, those are all just good ideas…But it’s like, you don’t want to help me? You

66
 don’t want to be nice? You’re just doing it because you’re afraid…God’s gonna throw you in a

lake of fire if you don’t?

Chris’s comments represent how many of the participants came not only to reject the idea

that God and religion are necessary for moral behavior, but also implicitly suggest that a non-

religious morality might even be thought of as superlative. For them, morality means behaving in

ways that are beneficial for society and productive in and of themselves; that they are based on

“real” integrity and autonomy, rather than punishment and reward. In this way, participants were

able to respond to, and challenge the commonly held belief in this country that atheists lack

morals. They resisted this view, thereby salvaging a moral identity. As Brittany, an articulate

thirty-four year old researcher for a large company remarked:

So if you’re not religious, then where does your moral and ethical compass come from? This is

the question asked by many religious people because they don’t realize that you can simply

consciously choose to act moral, and define an ethical framework on a rational basis. They think

it has to be something that God told you to do, and that you’ll be punished for not doing it. You

know, a very simple reward/response kind of scenario…if you’re doing something because of

fear of being punished, that completely removes what I consider a moral dimension.

Similarly, thirty-five year old Lisa, who was raised in a fundamentalist Christian family

stated: “The morality issue, many people think that if you don’t believe in God you are amoral. If

that’s the case, why don’t we see atheists in the streets burning down buildings and churches and

doing all sorts of immoral things? Prisons aren’t full of atheists…and you just don’t hear about

atheists behaving that way.” And another participant simply remarked, “I’m moral and I don’t

believe in God.” Thus these atheists create identity by drawing symbolic – and ultimately social

– boundaries (Lamont and Molnar 2002) between them and theist “others” as they justify and

actively construct and defend an atheist viewpoint; a viewpoint which typically involves

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elaborating a pragmatic and “rational” view of morality.11

Of course, the talk that these atheists engaged in is more than objective descriptions of

experiences. In sharing their thoughts, views, and personal biographies, participants were

providing “accounts.” According to Scott and Lyman (1968), accounts are the generally socially

accepted statements that people offer to explain or justify particular behaviors (or views). In this

case, the accounts employed by participants justified their non-normative views and beliefs (or

rather, unbelief). Therefore, they asserted and justified their atheism by arguing for its positive,

social and moral basis. Their accounts are in one sense attempts to neutralize the negative

connotations of the atheist label and replace it with morally and socially positive implications.

This is particularly important for atheists’ self-concepts. As Mead (1967) argued, how a person

thinks others think of him or her is fundamental to the social self. Participants were highly

cognizant of the general public’s views toward atheists. This helps to explain the symbolic

boundary-making and resistance work apparent in their accounts.

Participants’ narratives imbued their experience with meaning and provided coherent

frameworks for understanding both themselves and their social worlds. This is the case because

the stories we construct are not simply representations of experience through words; rather,

experience itself is reflexively given “content” through the act of constructing narrative. Further,

through their accounts, they created, justified, and “owned” their own morality by separating it

from the culturally dominant theist view of moral behavior. In one sense, they created an

11
Clearly, much of participants’ responses refer to a particular – and perhaps simplistic – version

of Christian religion. Many in fact acknowledged this during the interviews. Nevertheless, this

was how they continued to characterize religion generally throughout our discussions; in part

because this is the religion most were familiar with, and had a background in.

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“oppositional culture” (Anderson 1999) as they were cognizant of the cultural contempt for

atheists, allowing them to create a moral identity out of opposition to conventional theist

ideology. As Katz (1975) suggests, personal identity is often contingent upon the assumption of a

moral identity. That is, the “task of establishing a positive personal identity” (Irvine, Kahl, and

Smith 2012) is predicated on an implicit (or sometimes explicit) moral understanding of oneself.

Rejecting Theism: “Not Theist, or Atheism as a Rejection Identity”

As suggested above, participants began to doubt the religious teachings and theist viewpoints of

their early lives. They replaced meanings associated with religion and God with new meanings

and definitions. Sometimes intimate relationships with other non-believers facilitated this

process. For instance, thirty-year-old John commented, “I was on the fence, borderline, you

know, for a long time, like an agnostic type thing until I met Angie (now his spouse) and she

brought me ‘over’…and I said, okay, I don’t think I believe anymore.” But for participants, it

was not simply a matter of reaching a place where they happened not to “believe anymore.”

Rather, a veritable atheist identity was only possible in the context of having explicitly rejected

religion and the notion of God itself, and then elaborating in this space that which they saw as

the more “appropriate” or accurate way to view and interpret the world: through the lens of

science and secular thinking. Respondents experienced an increasing commitment to science,

which is apparent in their accounts of their developing world-views.12 Brittany put it this way:

If people could become more educated and more capable of making reasonable, peaceful

12
This commitment is evinced by the academic and scientific pursuits of many of the participants

in this study. And although elaborating here would take us too far afield from the focus of this

study, the “religion and science” literature (e.g. Evans and Evans 2008) could help explain some

of the content, and types of narratives being offered here.

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 decisions that would support the smooth functioning of a society without anybody over them

holding a whip…that would be better… That’s how it is with religion. As we acquire the

education and the sophistication to begin to choose an ethical system for [its] advantages, in a

rational, social context, we can move away from the crutch of a carrot-and-stick approach, which

is what I consider most religions [as] basically being.

The generalization that religion is an uncritical and unsophisticated attempt at

interpreting the world, that a “rational” scientific approach is more accurate and desirable was

one echoed by many participants. Helen, for instance, elaborates this at greater length:

My interest is in the natural world…it’s a scientific worldview. And it’s not that you have to be a

practicing scientist or anything. But it’s about if you experience the world and think about the

world in a scientific method kind of way, I think it becomes increasingly difficult to reconcile that

with any kind of supernatural belief. A scientific worldview is the idea that you approach the

world and ideas in your life in a way that mirrors the scientific method. You go out and you

gather data and see whether that refutes your ideas and your hypothesis or whether it supports it.

And that might sound kind of funny for everyday life, but it’s not. The idea that a supernatural

God created the Earth either happened or it didn’t. It’s real or it’s not real…I mean, there are

good theories and bad ones, and they [religion and science] are not equally valid.

This commitment to scientific and secular thinking was accompanied by a rejection of

anything supernatural. Although most made a point to observe that they cannot prove God does

not exist, and that they cannot be absolutely certain there is no God, when probed further, most

comments were of this variety: “I find no compelling reason to believe in a God,” “There is

nothing magical or supernatural about the universe or anything in it.” Some remarks were even a

bit sarcastic: “No spooks here.” Or, “I just don’t believe in the ‘great sky fairy.’” This language

is telling because it indicates a strong rejection and distancing from what participants view as the

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ideas of theists.

McCall (2003) discusses the importance of how people define themselves, not just in

terms of who they are, but of who they are not. Much of an atheist identity is constructed in just

these terms – of what it is not. This is implicit throughout participants’ accounts. Here, what

Colomy (2007) labels the “not-self,” is instructive. The not-self “refers to meaningful gestures

(vocal and otherwise) whereby ego…designates certain thoughts, feelings, acts, relationships,

roles and/or other social objects as fundamentally inconsistent with ego’s real self” (2007:2). An

essential part of the self-definition process includes defining those things that we are not. An

atheist identity may be thought of as having a foundation in the process of the “not-self” or “not-

me.” It is a salient example of the possibility of constructing an identity out of the rejection or

negation of something, in this case theism. That is, to a significant degree, it is an identity that

provides meaning for the self – and indeed is constituted – by making statements of (and in many

cases resolutely declaring) what is “not-me.” Indeed, a good portion of these atheists’ accounts

involved discussing the assumptions, views, and beliefs they do not possess; that they are not

theists. In this way, these atheists are similar to the vegans, nondrinkers, virgins, and others

Mullaney (2005) studied, whose personal identities are built around behaviors they do not

engage in, or beliefs they do not posses.

This process of dissociating from theism and drawing symbolic boundaries is not just an

abstract or intellectual affair. Developing a self that includes not being a theist had real

consequences for participants’ social relationships. For instance, though they generally viewed

themselves as highly tolerant of others, many discussed how they could not date or have a

serious relationship with a strong believer. For example, James, a college student in his late

twenties, said “I couldn’t date a true believer; somebody that was just like ‘this is how it is,”

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because I couldn’t respect how they approached the universe…I mean, I respect them as people,

but that line of thinking is not something that I would want in my intimate life. Someone who

makes religious claims like that. Anybody who, for instance, can buy the bible as truth, I’m

going to have a problem with that, and it’s just not going to work out.”

As is the case with other kinds of identities then, (e.g., racial, political, or religious

identities) there exists some level of in-group/out-group thinking for some atheists. Thus,

although research has shown that in American culture, the public views atheists as “other,” in

constructing their own self-concepts, atheists drew their own social boundaries, on some level

conceiving of theists as “other.” Creating this sense of difference also involves the cognitive

process of classification that Zerubavel (1996) outlines in his discussion of boundaries.

Importantly, this mental and social boundary making, or “splitting” becomes habitual, and

shapes future thinking and interaction.

Coming Out Atheist

The significance and influence that any particular identity has for one’s self-concept cannot be

fully articulated until that identity has been both explicitly claimed and validated in meaningful

social interaction. That is, although an individual may think of him or herself as an atheist,

acknowledging the consistency of his or her views with that label, it is only when this label is

voluntarily applied in concrete social interaction that it takes on its full social significance.

Because of the stigmatized and deviant status of atheism, it can initially be difficult to claim the

atheist identity in a social setting. This difficulty results in part from the tension experienced

from their knowledge of having rejected the normative views of the larger society. Feeling

“disconnected” from the rest of American culture is a distinct possibility at this point. These

cognitive tensions are related to Lofland and Stark’s (1965) study of the process of those who

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convert to a deviant perspective. Like converts to a deviant cult, the felt tensions, and awareness

of the deviant status of their ideas, might actually serve to encourage or promote the commitment

to “seeking” and adopting an atheist identity.

Claiming the identity vocally and using the label “atheist” had important implications for

respondents. Different factors impelled participants to “come out of the closet.” Having “known”

and thought of themselves as atheists for a period of time, the desire to claim the identity grew

stronger as they interacted with theists and sought to dissociate themselves from religion. This is

in line with Hout and Fischer’s (2002) findings, in that claiming “atheism” can be a symbolic

statement against traditional religion (and its often politically conservative ideas). Finally,

despite any initial reticence, as interviewees began to claim atheism overtly in social interactions,

a concomitant sense of empowerment, confidence, and new sense of self emerged.

Applying the label. These atheists thought of themselves as such before they applied the

label in the presence of others. Unlike some stigmatized and marginalized identities, atheism is

not something that is readily apparent to others, or that has physical or even social indicators. For

Goffman then, atheism would be a discreditable identity that must be explicitly claimed for it to

become “spoiled” (1963:4). Further, in some ways, declaring an atheist identity is similar to the

“coming out” process that gays experience. That is, though difficult in the beginning, for some,

publicly adopting the label and “coming out” as an atheist was an important step toward a new

self-concept and a feeling of independence and empowerment. And like the social stigma faced

by those who adopt a marginalized sexual identity (Weinberg et al. 1995) for these people,

claiming their atheism not only influenced their self-concepts, but shaped their future

interactions.

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 The setting in which participants “came out” – that is, first applied the label “atheist” to

themselves in the presence of others, ranged from the virtual and abstract (e.g. MySpace,

Facebook, e-mail) to the concrete and personal (e.g. face-to-face interactions with family

members). James for instance, said, “It was on MySpace. You know, under the ‘religion’ thing, I

put ‘atheist.’ It just made it very public. It’s kind of cool too, because I actually started to realize

that some of my friends were atheists too, and I didn’t even know it.” For James, declaring the

identity online led to important validation from friends. He went on to talk about how some of

his friends too, ended up posting “atheist” on their MySpace accounts after they saw his. Further,

he discussed how he and one of his religious friends got into a “huge debate” after he made his

atheism public, which changed the dynamic of their friendship. When asked why he decided to

“come out” on his account, James replied that he had been thinking about it for some time, and

that he eventually just worked up the “nerve” to do it. Clearly, he had an internal conversation

with himself, knowing that this label was appropriate for his identity; he was preoccupied with

these thoughts until he was able to “put it out there” online. Several others shared experiences

with claiming their atheism on their profiles of similar social networking websites.

For most however, their “coming out” occurred during face-to-face interactions with

family and/or friends. Moreover, like James, many had experienced a period of time where the

“internal pressure” built up to the point where they felt a strong desire to adopt the label publicly,

and reveal their “true” selves, even if in an environment that may disapprove. Samantha, a thirty-

year-old entrepreneur from the South, discovered that this can be an uncomfortable or even

painful experience:

I first told my parents…and that was certainly a negative experience. I told my mom about 5

years ago and I told my dad as well. I think they both were doing the whole cognitive dissonance

thing because they just couldn’t accept it…I don’t even know if they really believe that I’m an

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 atheist. I think they were in some pretty serious denial about it…and there have been some rough

periods, my dad has been pretty cruel and has sent us some pretty cruel e-mails about how bad

liberals and atheists are…

Nevertheless, despite the pain it sometimes caused, being open about her atheism and

discussing it with believers and non-believers alike, ultimately led Samantha to become more

convinced that her position was correct. That is, much like the gay Christians that O’Brien

(2004) studied, the challenges that arose from claiming the identity gave further “substance” and

meaning to the identity. And although the social setting varied, the application of the label

shaped, and in some cases, fundamentally changed the nature of their relationships with

important others. This in turn, shaped their future interactions, and in most cases reinforced their

identities as atheists, helping them to make sense of their non-belief in a society where belief is a

cultural expectation. Again, as O’Brien argued, the pain and social discomfort that arises from

problematic identities, is itself an important source of meaning and self-understanding.

Liberation. Despite any distress, these atheists described their “coming out” as an overall

positive experience. For example, Jason remarked, “It felt good you know? Like this is what I

really think…It was liberating; liberation from the whole religion thing.” With even greater

enthusiasm, Matt put it this way, “I’d reached this breakthrough, it’s like I’d broken the chains,

and I felt free! It was such a relief; it’s a huge weight off your shoulders.” And Dennis, a college

student majoring in philosophy said, “it was very empowering, because – I mean – when you

lose the idea of God, it could be like you’re lost, like there’s no higher purpose…but for me it

was the idea of setting your own purpose, that it’s just you, [that] it comes from within; that’s

pretty exciting!” Further, this initial excitement tended to produce greater confidence in claiming

the identity in the future, and with an expanding group of people.

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 Terms such as “liberation” and “freedom” were used repeatedly, and it was clear from

their accounts that although they acknowledged their views were non-normative, and that

atheists are a heavily stigmatized group in America, each described a sense of satisfaction and

confidence with having labeled themselves “atheists.” That is, they “felt good” about labeling

themselves with a term that best represented not only their point of view, but their “true” or

“real” selves. Framing the experience of “coming out” as an atheist as a necessary and positive

milestone in their biographies contributed greatly to their self-conceptions. Through the

development of this personal identity, they carved out their own sense of self and suffused it with

meaning based on constructing “a sense of difference and separateness” in society. But this also

provided a “sense of location and meaning within society” based on the perception that it was

their individual autonomy and personal biographical experience that got them there (Hewitt

2000:98).

Just as with the constructing of symbolic boundaries (i.e. moral, intellectual, and

ideological), the narrative of “liberation” used by these atheists distinguishes them from non-

atheist others, which both implicitly and explicitly asserts that rejecting religion and the notion of

God is both purposeful and constructive. Thus, this contributed to the development of a

meaningful self, one that makes sense and “fits” within the larger cultural narrative framework.

Clearly, language and narrative are important aspects of forming an atheist identity, for

participants went beyond merely dismissing God and religion. If they had stopped there, they

would simply be people who happened not to believe, and there would be no reason to claim an

atheist identity. But rather than simple “non-belief,” participants constructed coherent identities

with their own meanings and boundaries, which challenged and resisted the “hegemonic theism”

of American culture. This speaks to the power of religiously based identity in America from

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which, participants could not simply stand apart. Rather, they had to specify and articulate just

what their “departure” from this dominant way of thinking means.

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 Chapter Five: The Social Deviance of Atheism:

Negotiating Cultural Membership with a Stigmatized Identity

Already implicit from the preceding chapter is the notion that atheism in the United States carries

with it certain negative connotations. The very nature of the identity development process of

atheists is intimately connected to the deviant social status of atheism. Without exception, all of

the recent research on atheism in America highlights this fact. As recent social scientific interest

in irreligion generally, and atheism specifically, has increased, accumulating evidence suggests

that atheism is in fact one of the most stigmatized identity choices or statuses in American

culture (see Cragun et al. 2012 for an overview).

Atheism and Social Stigma

Although the term “stigma” has come into popular use, and most people have a general sense of

what it refers to, a more technical definition of the idea is suited, before applying it to the case of

atheism: Stigma refers to “a characteristic that pollutes, discounts, or tarnishes one’s image, or as

an identity which is devalued in a particular social setting” (Goffman 1963:4). There are also

different kinds of stigma, which will be discussed below, but they all center on this basic idea.

Subsequent variations and elaborations have been offered, but Goffman’s definition of social

stigma continues to be both relevant and comprehensive, and is the basic conceptualization that I

employ here.

The point earlier about atheism being one of the most stigmatized identities in American

culture will become clear, but it is also worth pausing on here. Before describing how atheists go

about managing and negotiating such a stigmatized identity, I will first review the key findings

of several of the most recent studies regarding atheists, stigma, and discrimination, and discuss

their implications regarding the other substantive themes of this dissertation. I will then discuss

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atheists’ response to the social deviance of their atheism. This will include discussion of the

specific strategies of stigma management atheists employ, based on the different social and

situational contexts they encounter, and on the ways they negotiate their atheism with the non-

atheist public. Included in this will be a brief and preliminary offering of a simple three-part

typology of atheists based on the nature of these negotiations.

In their widely cited study titled “Atheists as Other,” Edgell et al. (2006) highlight

nationally representative survey data to examine various aspects of the public’s perceptions of,

and attitudes toward, atheists. Their study represents the first contemporary attempt to assess the

details of the social and symbolic boundaries that divide atheists and theists in the United States.

The authors show that even though overall tolerance for diverse religious groups and other

stigmatized statuses (for instance, minority racial groups, and homosexuals) continues to

increase, this tolerance has not been extended to nonreligious groups. In fact, it seems to have

made the “us and them” boundaries between these two basic categories even more salient. The

responses to the specific survey questions addressed in this data are telling.

For instance, a 1999 Gallup poll asked, If your party nominated a generally well-

qualified person for president who happened to be _________________, would you vote for that

person? Choices for the blank space included Catholics, Jews, African Americans, homosexuals,

and atheists. Out of each of these minority/marginal groups, atheists scored lowest, with only

49% of the public expressing willingness to vote for an atheist (close to 60% would vote for a

homosexual, and over 90% would vote for a female, Jewish, or black candidate). Although the

49% figure represents an increase in the number of those willing to vote for an atheist president

compared to past Gallup polls, it is noteworthy that atheists consistently come in last. With the

recent increase in the numbers of non-religious and unaffiliated (Hout and Fischer 2002), and the

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development of a more clearly established atheist community (discussed further in chapter six),

one might suspect the public’s attitude to shift in the same way it has concerning other minority

groups. But this does not appear to be the case.

For example, in the context of the 2012 presidential campaign, the Gallup (2012) poll

was taken again, adding several other categories to the question (groups included Blacks,

Women, Catholics, Hispanics, Jews, Mormons, Gays/Lesbians, Muslims, and Atheists). The poll

asked: Between now and the 2012 political conventions, there will be discussion of the

qualifications of presidential candidates. If your party nominated a generally well-qualified

person for president who happened to be ________________, would you vote for that person?

Once again, atheists came in very last with 43% of respondents stating they would not vote for

an atheist (compared to – at the lowest percentage end – 4% stating they would not vote for a

black person; and – at the highest percentage end (excluding atheists) – 40% stating they would

not vote for a Muslim). From this and other surveys, it is clear that even up to the present

moment, atheists continue to be the most distrusted group in American society.

But perhaps asking the public about their voting inclinations (especially at the high

symbolic level of President of the United States) seems a bit too obvious or stark a question to

measure the actual “everyday” attitudes the public harbors toward atheists. The study by Edgell

and colleagues accounts for this and adds further substance to the argument about the heavy

stigma leveled at atheists. It does so by addressing not just questions about the public/political

roles of atheists, but also questions that assess the private acceptance of atheism. For example,

using the American Mosaic Project Survey, which offers a list of ethnic and religious groups to

choose from (Muslims, African Americans, Hispanics, Jews, Conservative Christians, Whites),

they pose the statement, “I would disapprove if my child wanted to marry a member of this

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group.” The responses indicate that Americans would regret not just atheists holding high public

office, but also atheists being connected in any meaningful way to the “private matters” of

family, as atheists again made the bottom of the list in terms of the publics’ approval.

A more recent nationally representative survey corroborates the intense social stigma of

atheism. Gervais et al. (2011), measure the relative “trustworthiness” of atheists, gay men, Jews,

Muslims, feminists, and other people in general. Participants completed “distrust” and “disgust

thermometers” to measure prejudicial attitudes towards atheists. They found that atheists are a

more distrusted group than any of the other above mentioned minority groups. Incredibly,

according to this study, the only comparable group of people, in terms of being roughly equally

suspected of bad behavior, was rapists (Wade 2012).

But the intensely negative connotations of atheism do not end here. Other research shows

that when people are asked to supply adjectives they associate with atheism they offer words

such as “elitist, pitiful, aggressive, judgmental, rebellious, joyless, ignorant, unstable, hedonistic,

and immoral” (Cragun, Hammer and Smith 2012; see also Edgell et al. 2006; Harper 2007; Hout

and Fischer 2002; Jenks 1986). Likewise, a nationally representative study by Swan and

Heesacker (2011), asked participants to rate a fellow participant “Jordan” along multiple

dimensions, for example: foolish---wise, cold---warm, immoral---moral. Respondents rated

Jordan an average of a 20% lower score when he was identified as an atheist rather than a theist.

The prejudice seems clear. These, and other surveys show that atheists are simply perceived to

be less trustworthy, less moral, less friendly, and less worthy of respect by the general American

public.

In gathering information about atheists or the non-religious, most national surveys have

assessed the attitudes, views, and perceptions of only the non-atheist public, or have framed

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questions in such a way that they assume religious affiliation or religiosity of some kind or

degree. In doing this, they ignore specific questions that would address the perceptions, views,

and attitudes of atheists and the nonreligious themselves. However, there have been some recent

efforts to correct for this problem. For example, in addition to posing the usual questions about

religious identification and belief in God, the 2009 American Religious Identification Survey

included several questions for Americans who indicated, “no religion.” This was a first for

national surveys of this kind. The survey inquired as to whether individuals’ lack of religious

identification led them to feel stigmatized or discriminated against. Specifically, one question

read, “In the past 5 years, have you personally experienced discrimination because of your lack

of religious identification or affiliation.” Responses indicated that some non-religious people do

feel stigmatized. In terms of nationally representative quantitative data however, specific

conclusions about atheists cannot yet be drawn, because there has simply not been sufficient

research to fully address the issue.

Fortunately, the findings of several qualitative studies of American atheists do give some

indication of “the atheist experience,” and are broadly consistent with what the national surveys

seem to suggest about the actual lives of atheists’ vis-à-vis their experience of social stigma. In

Fitzgerald’s (2003) account, atheists take different identity career paths, in part, based on the

nature of how they manage their deviant status and negotiate their social environments. The

thirty-six atheists she interviewed each expressed that they felt stigmatized to varying degrees,

and that they faced negative personal and social consequences as a result of their atheism.

Hunsberger and Altemeyer (2006) too, from their interviews, found that atheists sometimes feel

socially isolated from their communities and from the broader “theist” culture. In the last chapter

I mentioned how some atheists even face complete rejection from their families and other

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intimates because of their non-normative views.

Survey data can be very useful in making general statements about the prejudice that

exists against atheists. However, equally important, is what these qualitative studies underscore:

that listening to atheists themselves, and in their own words, is critical to understanding more

completely the social stigma of atheism. Whether or not atheists give “objective” accounts of

actual stigmatization, allowing them to express the experiential aspects of their atheism lends

evidence regarding their perceptions of stigma. This can offer clues about the nature of the self-

concepts and self-understandings of atheists. This in turn has important implications regarding

the behaviors of atheists at both the individual and collective level (the subject of chapter six).

Therefore, consider the following excerpts from both my interviews with atheists, and from other

document sources (emails, blogs, websites etc.). For instance, thirty-eight-year-old Linda offered

thoughts about how she thinks her parents must view her:

I think that my parents feel like their biggest regret is that I am an atheist. They feel like they’ve

done something wrong. They seem to feel sorry for me. I think that my mom still doesn’t believe

me. I am afraid to tell people...My family is constantly trying to get me to go to church with them,

especially during the holidays. They feel offended that I won’t go with them.

Similarly, Nick, a man in his late twenties, after having several discussions about religion

and belief with a friend suggested that, “She [the friend] looks down on me. She thinks that

atheists have no reason to live because what’s the point of living if you don’t believe in anything.

Why even bother to live if there is no God or afterlife? Many participants echoed the idea that

they either knew from specific encounters, or assumed by inference, that their religious family

members and friends looked down on them, or felt somehow disappointed in them for their

unbelief. Even when there may have been no direct evidence to suggest that family and friends

would react negatively upon learning of their atheism, many respondents expected that they

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would. For instance, Jason, a recent father in his mid-thirties, who had disclosed his atheism only

to his spouse, remarked:

In most cases it’s just not been worth bothering with [telling people he is an atheist]...so I haven’t

had too many problems. But I think that perhaps when we have kids it will come up more you

know? You hear stories of kids being picked on and harassed in school [because their parents are

atheists] and things like that, so it will probably be more of an issue then, and we’ll have to deal

with it then.

The idea that even though a person may not have yet experienced stigma in any overt

way, but that that person may carry an expectation he/she will experience it in the future, is what

my colleagues and I refer to as anticipatory stress (see Cragun et al. 2012). That is, experiencing

anxiety about the possibility of stigma in the future is itself a source of stress. Like Jason, with

his assumption that having children will raise the issue of his atheism (for instance, family

questioning him about how he will raise his children), many participants stated that they

expected to experience “problems from their atheism” from family, friends, and social situations

in which the issue might arise. Funerals, weddings, baptisms, and other commonly religiously

infused transitional events were marked as contexts which might compel participants to either

disclose their atheism, or have it highlighted in situations, that would make them uncomfortable.

Craig, a man in his fifties, who once worked for the defense industry, experienced anticipatory

stress regarding his job:

In my job I have security clearance, and every five years I go through an update. But these

investigators come and they interview people that know me from my past, a lot of my colleagues

and my manager – who is religious. So I’m afraid that if she actually knew that I was an atheist,

she might say things in the interview that might lead the investigators to question my morality.

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 The expectation of stigma is not arbitrary or unfounded, and not all experiences of

stressors regarding atheism, are merely anticipatory. There are many instances where atheists’

anxiety about future stigma is grounded in past experiences of having faced actual stigma. For

example, David, a forty-seven year old single man remarked, “I had a friend that I told I was an

atheist, and she said to me, “Well why don’t you just tell people you’re a Satanist?!’” And she

really believes that; that an atheist is a Satanist. Not very informed (laughs).” The above

instances represent the experience of generalized stigma. That is, Americans who come to

voluntarily adopt the identity-label “atheist” know full well the connotations,

misunderstandings, and negative attitudes that the public harbors regarding the idea of atheism.

Whether participants directly experience actual instances that verify the reality of the

stigma they face, most carried with them, the sense that their views are considered deviant by

most. This is because concrete interactions, where people encounter “real” stigma is not itself

required in order for people to absorb the message of the broader culture’s view of atheists.

One participant’s comments demonstrate this particularly well: “In this country...I feel it [the

stigma of atheism]. Online in blogs, videos, images, networks, and [people’s] general

comments. I see the hatred and misunderstanding all around. I hate the idea that atheists are

considered immoral because we don’t do things out of fear.”

This general knowledge of the deviant status of atheism has an important and direct

influence on the self-concepts of atheists. It might be considered the “background” stigma that

atheists are at least partially aware of at all times as they go about their daily activities in their

social environments. However, as recent research shows, there is also accumulating evidence

that the generic deviance of atheism can also sometimes “translate” into very real and concrete

experiences with actual discrimination (Cragun et al. 2011; Hammer et al. 2012).

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Anti-Atheist Discrimination

Atheists have not traditionally or popularly been considered by the public (or even some

scholars) to be a marginalized group (Hammer et al. 2012). This is likely, and perhaps ironically,

due in part itself to the prejudicial views held against atheists (that they are elitists, for example).

Indeed, as is discussed further in the next chapter, many of the known socio-demographic

characteristics of self-identified atheists (that they are predominantly white, male, highly

educated, etc) render this assumption not entirely unfounded. Most sociological analyses of

marginalized groups in society have been based on issues of race, class, gender, sexual

orientation, and other primary sociological variables. The research that does examine

marginalization based on ideologies or belief systems has tended to focus on deviant religious

(e.g. cults) or political groups. But as recent research suggests, the historical lack of

conceptualization of atheists as a marginal group (especially by sociologists of religion),

probably has more to do with their simply having been ignored more broadly in the research

literature. It is also likely connected with their having been dismissed as irrelevant, or as not

having a significant enough presence in American culture to warrant scholarly attention, rather

than having any theoretical basis or empirical justification.

Only within the last few years has serious attention been paid to the experiences of

atheists in terms of any actual discrimination they might face. Even though they have generally

been ignored by social scientists, and the status and popular conception of “marginalized group”

has been denied them, this is still somewhat surprising given their heightened deviant position in

American society. That is, it is surprising when considered against the context of the ways in

which the public perceives atheists. As Cragun, Hammer, and Smith (2012:7) write, “A brief

review of the literature on people’s perceptions of atheists would lead one to believe atheists are

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a pestilential group that requires suppression.” When atheists have been the subject of research,

they have tended to be characterized by scholars as not being conspicuous, well-organized, or

powerful13 (Edgell et al. 2006). This assumption has contributed to the lack of sociological

understanding of atheists. Fortunately, as a corollary of the recent spike in scholarly interest in

atheists, a couple of studies have made more deliberate attempts at better and more accurately

understanding first, whether atheists in fact do face discrimination, and second, what the nature

and consequences of this discrimination is like.

A study by Cragun, Kosmin, Keysar, and Hammer (2011) explored these questions by

assessing the findings of nationally representative data that examined the perceptions of religious

“nones,” agnostics, and atheists. They found that self-identified atheists are not only aware of,

and feel the stigma of their atheism, but that they also report that they either experience, or

expect to experience, some kind of discrimination as a direct result of their atheism. If the

comment about the public harboring an attitude that atheists are a “pestilence that requires

suppression” carries any weight, then it does not seem inconsistent that atheists might experience

some form of actual discrimination. The American Religious Identification Survey (2009)

question (part of the data examined in the Cragun et al. 2011 study), indicates that 41% of self-

identified atheists reported experiencing actual discrimination in at least one context (Cragun,

Kosmin, Keysar, Hammer, and Nielson 2012). The definition of discrimination for the study

reflects the same basic definition used in social research that examines a whole range of other

13
I argue in the next chapter that this idea needs re-evaluation in light of the changes of the last

decade. There is, in fact, persuasive evidence that atheists are becoming much more conspicuous,

well-organized, and to a lesser extent, able to exert influence in ways they have not previously

been able.

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minority or stigmatized groups (i.e. differential and negative treatment based on a particular

category, attribute, status, or characteristic that a person occupies or holds, rather than individual

merit or ability).

Taking this basic result from the ARIS study, combined with the findings of the extant

interview-based research as an empirical starting point, my colleagues and I (see Hammer et al.

2012), in a survey of 796 self-identified atheists living in states across the country, made efforts

to expound on not just whether atheists perceive or experience discrimination, but also the

nature, content, and frequency of this discrimination. Employing different conceptual types of

discrimination taken from previous research on minority groups (e.g. slander, denial of

opportunity etc.), we applied these to the case of atheists. We then documented the frequency

with which atheists encountered these different kinds of discrimination, and assessed some of the

consequences of this discrimination. Combining our survey data with an analysis of participants’

written responses to a qualitative open-ended question provides useful insights into atheists’ own

perceptions of the stigma and discrimination they experience. The question asked participants:

“Please describe, in your own words, any stressors and/or hassles that you feel are, or have been,

directly related to your atheism.” Several clear patterns emerged from the analysis, and we

summarized the findings of our study this way: “Participants reported experiencing different

types of discrimination to varying degrees, including slander, coercion, social ostracism, denial

of opportunities, goods, and services, and even hate crimes” (2012:1).

The free-responses, where participants had opportunity to recount in some detail their

experiences, were indicative of the perception of both pervasive stigma and even overt

discrimination. As one respondent from our study remarked:

When I’m open about my atheism, even if others brought up the topic of discussion, it makes

religious people uncomfortable. As a person who likes people, I don’t enjoy their discomfort, but

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 don’t see a way to alleviate it without engaging in intellectual dishonesty. A particularly painful

example is when someone close to me passes away. The bereaved will often say things like

“he/she’s in a better place.” To my atheist ears, this is horsehockey, so I stay silent, or change the

subject. My unwillingness to utter agreement with that statement is noticed, and there are people,

among them family, who will no longer speak to me because I could not enable their delusions in

their time of grief. (2012:1)

Most discussions of discrimination center on people experiencing it in the workforce or

in some other more “generalized” social arena that involves non-intimate others. However,

surprisingly, many atheists spoke of feeling discriminated against by people close to them,

including parents, siblings, children, and even spouses. The stressors and other problems

associated with atheists and their relationships with family frequented responses. Such was the

case with Dan, who lamented that:

I am divorced and my ex-wife and children live in the state of Alabama. I am an atheist and this

upsets my ex. She believes I will try to “indoctrinate” the children into atheism. As a result, she

makes it very difficult for me to bring the children to my home in Los Angeles for any length of

time...which is hard.

Difficulties also extended beyond participants themselves, sometimes to other family

members. For instance, some respondents who were parents discussed how they felt distressed

that their own atheism sometimes presented problems for their children. As one parent remarked,

“My children have an extremely difficult time at school because they come from an atheist

family. They are frequently mocked and belittled and this, which quite naturally causes them

(and me) a lot of distress.”

Perhaps less surprising were the stories of discrimination experienced in the workplace.

In one of the more extreme examples, Susan, a middle-age reporter, explained that she was fired

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from a job because of her non-belief:

For six months in 2005 I was the atheist contributor to the “In Theory” column on the Faith page

of the Glendale News-Press, our local paper. A new editor decided that it was not appropriate to

have an atheist so I was let go – even though it was a volunteer, unpaid position I felt bad to be

fired.

And Jason, a freelance writer shared a similar experience:

I used to do freelance work for a small company that was taken over by fundamentalist

Christians. When they discovered I was not one of them, they stared taking a long time to write

my paychecks (sometimes a month after the project was completed), would only book me for

Christian projects with overt Christian messages, and would give me Christian books, and try and

discuss religion and “salvation” with me. I no longer work there.

Many other respondents reported what they considered direct acts of discrimination in the

workplace because of their atheism. Though far less frequent than participants general concerns

or fears about co-workers or bosses finding out about their atheism, there were several instances

of people losing their jobs. As distressing as losing a job over one’s lack of belief can be, a few

reported even more severe instances of discrimination. For instance, one retired man discussed

the threats of violence he received:

I have received many death threats over the years. I was forced to give up a professorship of 20

years when I joined Madalyn O’Hair in a lawsuit to remove religious slogans from currency. My

home has been vandalized on several occasions. I often receive hostile e-mails telling me to leave

the country. Politicians repeatedly opine that there is no place in American for atheists. Atheists

are the last minority in American against whom one may discriminate not only with impunity but

actually receive praise. This is extremely stressful.

Another participant provided an interesting account of his experience by covering, at

some length, different instances of perceived discrimination at various stages during his life. His

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narrative speaks to the notion that many open atheists not only recognize the stigma associated

with their views, but also consider it burdensome to be an atheist in a country that is not

accepting of this position:

As a child, I objected to school-sponsored prayer in public schools in a suburb of Memphis,

Tennessee...This led to some harassment by my classmates. As an adolescent, I was flummoxed

to learn that some of my classmates were praying for me weekly at a church youth group. As a

college student, I was offended when I discovered that a coworker and his wife had invited me to

diner as a pretext so that they might proselytize me. In later years, I had run-ins with my

daughter’s teachers in a public school in Virginia. For example, one of them excluded my

daughter from a music class that was learning Christmas carols because I had earlier objected to

the children being catechized via a song that enumerated the qualities of the teacher’s God. In the

course of excluding her, the teacher questioned my daughter about my beliefs in front of her

classmates. In Virginia, I finally ‘came out’ as an atheist at an engagement party I was attending

when a woman who was a fundamentalist Christian expressed bewilderment at the fact that a

Muslim could be a member of Congress. She said, “Don’t’ you have to be a citizen to be a

member of Congress?” Her assumption that one had to be a Christian to be a citizen was too

offensive for me to keep silent. I said that there was no reason that a Muslim couldn’t’ be a

citizen, that there was no religious test for citizenship. I then pointed out that I was a citizen and I

had no religion at all, that I was an atheist. She got up and left the room, and I am told that she

rushed into another room in great excitement in order to tell her son (the groom!) that there was

(gasp!) an atheist in the next room.

These accounts demonstrate the significance of ideological and cognitive forms of

deviance vis-à-vis discriminatory and prejudicial behavior (Fitzgerald 2003). That is, it is

important to note, as Edgell et al. (2006) does, that the negative attitudes and discriminatory

actions towards atheists appear not to be based on peoples’ interactions or experiences with

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actual atheists whom they know. Rather, claiming atheism carries with it a powerful symbolic

weight, one “loaded” with other social and moral meanings. It is largely the social context that

determines the potency of the symbolic meanings attributed to atheism. Even though there is a

general stigma toward atheists, some social settings are more likely than others to result in

animosity and actual anti-atheist discrimination. A 2008 high profile media story demonstrates

this. As CNN reported, Army Specialist Jeremy Hall, who served two tours of duty in Iraq, and

who had “a near perfect record” during his service (Kaye 2008), came out as an atheist during

this time. Hall claimed that this cost him not only his military career, but that his life was

actually threatened by other troops because of his atheism. The threat was serious enough that

the military assigned him a full-time body guard. When interviewed, Hall said there is

discrimination against atheists and non-Christians generally in the United States military. He

claimed that he was ostracized by fellow soldiers after refusing to pray, and that, “after nearly

being killed in an attack on his Humvee, another soldier asked him, ‘Do you believe in Jesus

now?’” (Kaye 2008:1). The United States military and other organizational contexts in which

religion and theistic belief tend to be highly valued and underscored, and which facilitate

solidarity within the in-group, set the conditions for, and are more likely to elicit, anti-atheist

discrimination.14

There is also the other side of this extreme, where certain social contexts can mean an

atheist is very unlikely to experience stress or discrimination. Academic, scientific, or other

secular institutional settings, where there might be greater acceptance of atheism (or where it

might even be an implicit norm), are examples. It is possible that both context-bound and broad-

14
Similar examples of discrimination against atheists have recently been unveiled in the Boy

Scouts of America (see Zorn 2013)

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based prejudice against atheists can exist without it always or consistently translating into actual

discriminatory behavior. Nevertheless, recall that in pluralist America, the overall tolerance for

the multiplicity and diversity of disparate religious views has continued to increase in recent

decades (Eck 2001; Prothero 2006), while at the same time, this tolerance has not been equally

extended to the non-religious (Edgell 2006). Yet, this by itself need not suggest that atheists

experience discrimination in the same sense or to the same degree as other minority groups. This

will depend not only on the social context in which atheists find themselves, but also on the ways

in which atheists themselves, assert their identities. Both the professor and soldier quoted above

made conscious and very deliberate decisions to be vocal about their atheism. The professor who

lost his career was in a minority among other atheists. Joining up with prominent (or infamous)

atheist Madelyn Murray O’Hair, who was once described as the most hated women in America,

no doubt initiated the discrimination he experienced.

Thus, as Hammer et al. 2012 observe, whether a person experiences discrimination will

depend largely on how “out” and vocal that person is with their atheism. Indeed, in our study of

anti-atheist discrimination, we hypothesized that “those participants who more strongly

identified with their atheism would report experiencing more discrimination” (Hammer et al.

2012:12). The results of our study showed a significant positive correlation between level of

“outness” and experience of discrimination. Similarly, Fitzgerald (2003) identified “four levels

of openness” (1= mostly secret; only a few people knew 2= somewhat open; told some, but not

others 3= mostly open; most everyone knew and 4= completely open; everyone knew) with

regards to the atheists she studied. Though all of her subjects felt there was stigma attached to

their atheism, the degree to which they reported negative consequences from their atheist

identification fluctuated along with their level of openness.

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 These results are not surprising. In fact, this should be the expectation, given the nature of

the deviance of atheism in the United States. As noted, atheism is a cognitive and ideological

form of deviance (Fitzgerald 2003). There are no obvious external indicators or other social

characteristics that would “expose” a person’s atheism, so that person largely has a choice

concerning who knows about their deviant views. For Goffman, (1963) then, atheism would

constitute a concealable identity; the stigma of which has different implications from other

identities that carry with them clear signifiers of deviance (e.g. physical characteristics). This

leads us next to a discussion of the ways in which atheists negotiate this type of deviant status

and the specific strategies and techniques they employ by way of this negotiation.

Goffman’s (1963) classic study, Stigma: Notes on the Management of a Spoiled Identity

lays the empirical and theoretical foundation for understanding the socially constituted and

interactive processes of both the nature of social stigma, and the means by which it is managed.

It is clear from the accounts of atheists, from survey responses, and from the general discussion

above that atheists feel stigmatized. That is, consistent with Fitzgerald’s (2003:101) observation,

I found that atheists, “in one way or another, feel either personally stigmatized by their

worldview, and/or believe that the society in general is intolerant toward atheists as a group.”

The experience of stigma can range from the very personal, to the highly abstract. Indeed,

atheists’ general knowledge of the broader culture’s rather hostile view of them – that they are

immoral, unsociable, more prone to crime, and not full members of the society (Edgell 2006) –

shapes how they experience their social environments, and how they interact with others in the

community.

It is because atheism is a cognitive/ideological form of deviance, that it is discreditable

(Goffman 1963). An important aspect of Goffman’s conceptualization of stigma is that it

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“...refers[s] to an attribute that is [potentially] deeply discrediting...” (1963:3). Thus, although

atheists are always cognitively aware of the stigma of their atheism, this remains only the

possibility of stigmatization by others, because they ultimately choose whether or not, and to

whom, they disclose their deviant status. Goffman (1963) wrote that the distinction between the

discredited and the discreditable is important because it determines in what sense an individual

experiences and copes with stigma. A discredited identity, such as “abominations of the body”

(Goffman 1963:23) which are manifest, visible, and nearly impossible to conceal, frames a one’s

ability (or inability) to manage the stigma, and will constrain the types of stigma strategies one

might effectively employ. On the other hand, atheism, because it is concealable and ideological

rather than physical and/or visible, constitutes a combination of two different types of stigma

which Goffman referred to as, “blemishes of individual character” and, “tribal” stigmas.

The non-normativity of atheism means that it may be viewed by the dominant culture as a

“character flaw” inherited from the acceptance of a deviant worldview. The association of

atheism with other negative adjectives by the broader culture makes sense in the light of the fact

that, “We tend to impute a wide range of imperfections on the basis of the original one”

(Goffman 1963:5). That is, the “deficiency” of atheism comes to imply a deficiency in morality,

trustworthiness, and the like.

Thus, although atheists have not traditionally been viewed by either the general public,

or scholars, as a marginalized group that faces “real” discrimination, the evidence from studies

over the last five years, at minimum, suggests this assumption needs rethinking. Indeed,

prominent atheist activist Margaret Downey, and the success of her organization the Anti-

Discrimination Support Network (ADSN), provides evidence of anti-atheist discrimination not

just at the individual level, but at the collective level as well. Her efforts show that individual

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atheists, and atheist groups, perceive discrimination, and that actual patterned and societal-wide

discrimination does in fact take place. According the website, “ADSN receives, evaluates, and

responds to reports of negative stereotyping of the Atheist/Humanist community” (Anti-

Discrimination Support Network 2012). The organization’s consultative status with the United

Nations Freedom of Religion and Belief Committee, and the fact that they have since 1995,

“collected discrimination narratives from the Atheist/Humanist community and has provided

counseling, legal referrals, support, and advice to those in need” lends further credibility to the

idea that scholars (and the general public) should reassess whether atheists should be included

among other minority groups that face discrimination.

MANAGING THE STIGMA OF ATHEISM: STRATEGIES OF NEGOTIATION AND

ATHEIST TYPES

How then, do atheists actually cognitively and behaviorally cope with such heavy, socially-

embedded stigma, and with the perceived or real discrimination they face? Many of Goffman’s

(1963) original insights continue to hold significant value in the analysis of deviant groups and

identities. Goffman identified several generic stigma management techniques that are applicable

to a whole range of contemporary deviant statuses. Passing, concealment, covering, selective

disclosure, and other strategies are the primary means by which persons with spoiled identities

go about negotiating social interactions and preserving self-conceptions. When a spoiled identity

is not readily discernible, the bulk of stigma management (including the above techniques), is

really about the control of information about the person. Because atheism can remain entirely

hidden, and “undetected” by others, it is up to the “carriers” of the status to disclose this

information. This fact has important implications for the identities of such individuals.

Perhaps there is no better illustration of this than in Dennett and LaScola’s (2010) small

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but fascinating interview study regarding active “Preachers who are not Believers.” They

recruited and interviewed five Protestant preachers (the reasons for the very small sample size

should be clear) who were each actively engaged in their parishes and meeting all of their

responsibilities as pastors. All the while they were concealing from their congregations and

others that they did not in fact, either believe in God, or in any of the traditional religious claims

with which they were instructing their followers. Given the salient religious context, and the

positions/roles they occupied as clergy, their motivations for concealment of their atheism are

clear. Their private atheism was at extreme odds with the other roles and identities that had come

to be central aspects of their self-concepts. This study starkly highlights the situational and

contextual importance of information control vis-à-vis the stigma of atheism.

When Goffman wrote about stigma in the 1960s, he did not discuss atheism in particular,

but the basic patterns of interactional negotiation and stigma management he identified in other

deviant groups apply to the case of atheists and their organizations. Moreover, these patterns can

help illuminate the nature of the social deviance of atheism generally. Because of the relative

dearth of sociological research on atheists historically, there have not been many applications of

stigma management to strategies to atheists, and there is not yet a developed literature on the

subject from which to draw.

However, there has been at least one foray into this question that explores directly, the

issue of atheists and stigma management. Based on an analysis of 36 interviews with atheists,

Fitzgerald (2003) was the first to empirically attempt a codification of the specific strategies

atheists use to negotiate their deviant status. Though she did find considerable overlap with some

of the “traditional” techniques of management discussed in the broader literature (for some of the

most recent examples see Bemiller 2005; Roschelle and Kauffman 2004) the atheists in her study

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employed a variety of stigma management techniques, two of which she labels as, assumptive

passing, and contradictory activity participation. These techniques are patterned by both the

characteristics of the individual, and the social context in which they are elicited; that is, they are

employed in conjunction with the particular “demands” of the social situation. Assumptive

passing, for example, Fitzgerald explains, involves passing (avoiding a negative label by

attempting to “pass” as having a normal identity – a “theist” identity in this context) “in which

the atheist consciously allows others to believe their assumptions that one has a belief in God”

(p. 128). Whereas the more proactive and engaged strategy of contradictory activity

participation takes place when atheists involve themselves in some social activity that is in basic

discord with their identity (such as attending church services or praying with family members),

yet they voluntarily engage in such activities “as a way of masking their true beliefs and thus

avoiding discord” (p. 128).

These and the other strategies Fitzgerald identifies are all different forms or subtypes of

Goffman’s original notion of concealment. That is, as a concealable, (or discreditable) cognitive

(or ideological) identity, the most logical, and useable strategy available to atheists when the

situation calls for it simply involves the concealment of that aspect of their identities. Thus, not

surprisingly, like Fitzgerald, I found atheists primarily engage in some kind of concealment with

others to whom they did not wish their atheism disclosed. And, overall, I found Fitzgerald’s

typology to be a more-or-less accurate conceptual representation of the everyday techniques the

atheists I studied frequently engaged. Consider, for instance, the response below from one of my

respondents that aligns well with the assumptive passing strategy Fitzgerald identified. Kelly, a

somewhat reserved teacher in her late thirties, in discussing how she responds when the subject

of religion or God comes up at work, remarks:

They [colleagues and friends] sometimes try to get me involved [with Catholic-related social

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 activities]. The Lutheran thing [the church she was raised with] is kind of a nice crutch. I could

say that “well I’m Lutheran” and they’d be like “OK” and that would get them of my back. So, I

used that as a cop out a lot.

Kelly’s very deliberate, and somewhat duplicitous (she had rejected Lutheranism and all

organized religion years before) response to her colleagues demonstrates the passing strategy in

its extreme form. In an effort to get out of having to participate in Catholic-sponsored activities,

she thought (correctly) that labeling herself Lutheran would give her an acceptable pretext

because this would excuse her from participation while at the same time preserving her

colleagues’ assumptions about her religiousness and belief in God. In other words, fearing that

others would reject her or think less of her if they knew she was an atheist, she was able to pass

with a normal identity by simply lying. As she spoke, it was apparent she was not exactly proud

of this behavior, but clearly she thought the risk involved if she were to out herself in this

particular setting was too much, and she would rather simply pretend she was religious.

While discussing the discomfort she often experienced in the work setting as a result of

her atheism and the religiousness of her co-workers, Kelly repeatedly made comments along the

lines of, “I tend to be non-confrontational...you know, I don’t want to change their mind, I don’t

want to get into an argument...I’m not active and open really [about her atheism]...I don’t like to

rock the boat; I would just as soon avoid it.” Kelly, like the other participants I studied, seemed

to have a consistent and patterned way of negotiating her identity as an atheist. It is because of

the differential and relatively stable kinds of dispositions subjects had, as well as the methods

they employed, that I came to identify distinct types of atheists.

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Three Atheist Types

Out of my data, emerged three different and generic types of atheists, which I have identified as

the silent atheist, the temperate atheist, and the outspoken atheist. The central conceptual

organization of these types is based on, and along, a spectrum or level of openness or “outness”

(Hammer et al. 2012), about one’s atheism. This is a useful way of typologizing atheists in

America because the openness continuum prefigures not just the way in which atheists manage

the stigma of their atheism, but also the nature of the social interactions they will have with

others, and, consequently, the nature of their own self-concepts. For instance, the closer to the

proactive and open side of the continuum an atheist is (the more outspoken she is), the more

discrimination she is likely to experience and report (Hammer et al. 2012).

The Silent Atheist. The silent atheist most often engages in passive strategies of

concealment, such as passing and avoidance. He or she is primarily concerned with keeping his

or her atheist viewpoint private and hidden from others. They tend to be the most sensitive to the

deviant status of their atheism and are more concerned with, and affected by, others learning of

their non-belief. Moreover, the silent atheist type conceptually overlaps with the notion of

primary deviance (Lemert 1967) in the sociological literature on deviant behavior (see Kelly and

Clarke 2003). Primary deviance refers to that which takes place prior to any deviant labeling by

others. The secretive nature of the silent atheist’s cognitive deviance, discussed below, provides

a kind of protective barrier that can prevent stigmatization and/or labeling from others.

Kelly, the somewhat shy teacher discussed above, is the paragon example of the silent

atheist. The smallest subgroup of my participants, the silent atheist, represents roughly six of the

forty-five respondents I interviewed (though there were additional examples of this in the other

online and document sources of data).

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 It is Kelly’s use of passing and concealing techniques that primarily signal her disposition

as a silent atheist. Like Kelly, silent atheists simply do not want their atheism to become “an

issue” with others. The range of people with whom they are silent about their atheism can be

quite broad. Although Kelly’s motives for concealing her atheism from her co-workers might be

clear (she thought she might be ostracized at work or even lose her job), the silent atheist has a

tendency to conceal or avoid disclosing her atheism even to close friends, partners, or even

spouses.

For instance, Amy, a single, fifty-one-year-old counselor who became an atheist as an

adolescent, discussed the peculiar nature of her close relationships when it came to her atheism.

She recalled when she was a teenager, hanging out with her friends that, “Oh God, I would never

use that term [atheism] around them. Even then I knew that you didn’t say that word out loud. I

just knew not to say it.”Amy discussed at length what she believed was the heavy stigma against

atheists, and her interactions with close friends appeared to justify her perceptions. Consider her

comments about her disclosure to a close friend while as an older adult:

She’s southern Baptist, lives in North Carolina, and she said to me “you’re the only atheist person

I’ve ever met” and I said “why don’t you know more atheists” and she said “well, you know, they

hate Christians.” I said “are you kidding me?” And she said, “no isn’t that the modus operandi of

atheists, to hate Christians and to extinguish us?” And I couldn’t believe it. Where did she hear

this? So that was interesting to me, someone intelligent could believe that, and she thought that

about me, that I had some secret little war going on with the Christians, it was weird.

This interaction no doubt reinforced Amy’s idea that people would consider her deviant if

they knew about her atheism. Even her best friend (to whom she waited a long time to disclose

her atheism) thought, after learning Amy was an atheist, that atheists were basically bad,

aggressive people who wanted to rid the world of religion. After this, Amy stated that, in an

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effort not to strain their relationship, she and her friend would not discuss the “atheist thing”

again, “She and I agreed a long time ago, it’s not on the table for discussion...It was just an

unspoken rule that we didn’t discuss it again.” Amy went on to express relief, and that she was

fine with this arrangement, preferring to avoid potential confrontation and stress with her friend.

Her wish to remain silent about her atheism extended to non-intimate others as well. For

example, Amy discussed how after she met a prominent atheist activist in her community by

chance, she expressed feeling ambivalence, but mostly fear, about telling him she was an atheist.

The tension and frustration about identifying as an atheist, but not being able to share this more

openly was apparent in Amy’s comments, “I was really afraid that if I disclosed to him that was

an atheist, that he would “out” me. And I can’t believe I’m 51 years old and I’m still afraid that

someone’s going to out me for Christ’s sake!”

Heather, a divorced accountant shared a similar experience. She was nearly seventy years

old at the time of our interview, and still her interactions continued to involve concealing and

tightly controlling who knows about her atheism through the strategy of selective disclosure

(Goffman 1963):

I’m just not very public about it...like most people, I have a fairly good sense of self-

preservation and it is not safe in many parts of our society to say that you are an atheist. And so

I don’t, a few friends, and this is only very recent, like in the last year, or year and a half. There

are a few friends that I will discuss it with, but [most] friends...I know I can absolutely not discuss

it with. Umm, if I want to keep them as a friend, definitely I understand the stigma, but [I’m] also

safe in another way now, I’m economically and professionally secure, and though I don’t have to

please anybody or conform to the norm, so I couldn’t have done it 30 years ago, when I need[ed]

to keep my job.

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 Not until she was an elderly women was Heather finally able to tell any of her close

friends. And even then, she still perceived the need to conceal her atheism from most people,

including the majority of those close to her. Like other silent atheists, Amy’s and Heather’s

feelings and perceptions about how other people might view them if they knew they were

atheists, very often framed their future interactions with both intimates and non-intimates alike.

Thus, silent atheists are those who most often use certain language and vocabulary as they

attempt to pass or avoid situations in which the subject of their atheism might arise. For instance,

a frequent strategy Amy would use when people would ask her about her beliefs, or when they

proffered the question “what is your religion?” was to say, “Oh, I was raised Catholic,” or, “I’m

just not very religious.” The use of this “disidentifying” language (Blinde and Taub 1992),

and/or the employing of “softer” labels such as freethinking or agnostic, are ways in which silent

atheists neutralize (Sykes and Matza 1957) the situation and any potential stigma that might arise

from it. It affords atheists the option of offering a more palatable response to non-atheist others,

rather than simply saying, “I’m an atheist.” Moreover, these responses represent a kind of

identity substitution (Park 2002) in that the individual can effectively trade a stigmatized identity

for a less, or non-stigmatized identity. Younger participants of this type, who grew up with the

Internet and popular social media (e.g. facebook, myspace, meetup), would remark how they

would just leave the “religion” category blank, rather than honestly disclose their atheism in such

a public manner. As one respondent stated, “It’s one of those things where...for instance if you

went to one of my meetups online you could see other groups [atheist and secular groups] that I

was a part of. So I Xed that out so people couldn’t see that.”

Silent atheists are more likely to experience anticipatory stress more frequently, and

across a greater range of social situations. Because of a general preoccupation with the deviant

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status of his or her atheism, the silent atheist relies almost exclusively on concealment

techniques. An important implication of this is that atheists who adopt this method of preventive

stigma management basically accept the “pro-theist” normative structure of American culture.

This closely parallels Park’s (2002) study of the stigma management strategies of the voluntarily

childless. She found that some women who were voluntarily childless nevertheless accepted the

“pronatalist ideology” of the broader culture. Park, citing De Sandre (1978:145), observes that

pronatalism:

…implies encouragement of all births as conducive to individual, family and social well-being.

Pronatalism can then be seen operating on several levels: culturally, when childbearing and

motherhood are perceived as “natural” and central to a woman’s identity; ideologically, when the

motherhood mandate becomes a patriotic, ethnic, or eugenic obligation; psychologically, when

childbearing is identified with the micro level of personal aspirations, emotions and rational (or

irrational) decision-making...

The voluntarily childless people who accept the normative pronatalist way of thinking

end up adopting different stigma management strategies than those voluntarily childless

individuals who reject it. The somewhat counterintuitive idea that a person deviating from a

norm might still see his or her deviance through the normative or conventional lens has been

documented through other examples of deviant behavior. For instance, Adler and Adler (2008),

in their study of self-injury as a form of loner deviance, found that self-injurers tended to accept

their own behavior as deviant and view it through the conventional lens because of their

socialization into the normative structure.

In much the same way, if we were to accept the notion of American society as favoring

theism, a “pro-theist” society, then silent atheists are those who appear also to absorb the

conventional, normative, (theist-centered) meanings and negative connotations associated with

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atheism. Because silent atheists fear the stigma of their deviant status most, it makes sense that

they are more likely than other types of atheists to prefer concealment strategies. The comments

of several participants clearly demonstrate this. In my conversation with Matt, the forty-nine year

old who worked for the defense industry, it became clear that he frequently experienced

reluctance to disclose his atheism even when he had the idea that some of his fellow colleagues

might be open or even okay with it:

Q: Sounds like you’re really concerned about your co-workers learning of your

atheism.

A: Yes, I take it very seriously. I have to be very careful about what I say. Some of

the people that I hang out with are a little bit more open, and I can tell that they

aren’t that religious, but I don’t know if they have some spiritual beliefs or

whatever. So I hold back with them too. And I’m extremely careful

with my manager. She is a really conservative Christian. She holds prayers

when we have our work thanksgiving potluck.

Q: Do you pray with them?

A: No, I don’t pray. I just look around. But I don’t leave the room, or make a protest

either. I just stand there respectfully and look around. But I like to look

and see who’s got their head bowed and who doesn’t (laughs). About three

quarters of them do. But I notice a few others kind of looking around, and I can

tell that they are uncomfortable with either religion, or public displays of religion.

But I haven’t ever talked to any of them about it.

When I followed up by asking whether he remained silent as a result of some past

negative experience he had had with disclosing his atheism Matt remarked, “No...I haven’t really

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had any negative experiences because I keep it under wraps. I’m not like one of these people that

will put bumper stickers on their car because I’m afraid some Christian will come by and trash

my car you know?

But respondents’ concealment strategies were not always only just about the fear of

stigmatization (although this was indeed the primary reason). Lisa, a thirty-five-year-old

divorcee who had recently gone back to school, gave another reason that compounded the

pressure she felt to keep quiet about her atheism: “I’m very bad at debating so I’m not that

proactive...so I just shut up because I don’t know what to say to people. I mean I know it all in

my mind, but getting it out to people that are confronting me is a whole other issue.”

The silent atheist type can be placed on the reactive-proactive continuum which Siegel,

Lune, and Meyer (2003), adapted from Charles Tilly’s research on social movements (1978), to

study the stigma management strategies of gay and bisexual men living with HIV/AIDS. In

explaining the reactive side of the continuum, Siegel et al. (2003) state that:

Reactive strategies to cope with stigma involve defensive attempts to avoid or mitigate the

impact of stigma, but imply acceptance of the underlying social norms and values that

construct the stigma. In reactively coping with stigma, individuals attempt to avoid its impact

but, but they do not challenge it. (2003:268-269)

This coincides with the earlier discussion of Park’s (2002) study of the voluntarily

childless where some of her participants accepted pronatalist norms. Siegel et al. (2003), add a

third technique that fits on the reactive side of the continuum: personal attributional style. This

refers to when the stigmatized attempt to render their stigma (having been disclosed, usually by

accident or involuntarily) into something more socially acceptable. Thus, just as the HIV

infected gay men they studied would sometimes distance themselves from the notion that they

became infected through sexual contact (by claiming for instance, that they contracted the virus

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through a blood transfusion), so too would silent atheists distance themselves from stereotypes or

generalizations about atheists by stating that they were not hard-core, or “angry atheists,” who

were hostile to religion or theism.

The Temperate Atheist. There are other ways atheists go about negotiating their identities

that do not involve concealment of their atheism. Indeed, often this negotiation will involve

purposively disclosing, or even aggressively asserting, one’s atheism. Thus, silent atheists such

as Kelly, only represent one kind of stigma management, and one “type” of atheist.

The majority of participants in this study, approximately thirty of the forty-five

interviewees, fall under the second major type of atheist, the temperate atheist. Although

temperate atheists do occasionally use concealment strategies, they employ them in far fewer

social situations than silent atheists. Some commented, for example, that the only instances they

would not feel okay discussing their atheism more openly would be in situations such as funerals

and weddings, when officiators were invoking God and religious ideas. Unlike the frequent fear

of stigmatization silent atheists experienced, temperate atheists felt more comfortable about their

lack of belief and others knowing about it. They were not aggressive with their views, and

usually would not be the ones to initiate a conversation about their atheism, but at the same time,

they would be willing, when confronted or when the opportunity arose, to question, challenge, or

try to discredit the religious beliefs of others. Jed, the computer programmer, in discussing how

and when he chooses to disclose his atheism, underscores this balance:

I think it just really depends on the audience. I think a lot of times, I’ll just like...I’ll just throw

out doubts about things [when someone has brought up religion or belief], and say that I’m

not so sure about [that]. But I don’t really go out just saying that I’m an atheist. Even when I do

say it, I say something more like, “Well, I’m not sure if I believe in God.” It’s like I tell people

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 almost without even using the atheist word, I just describe it so that the person hearing would say,

“Oh, you’re an atheist,” but without actually saying the “A-word” (laughs).

Brittany echoed the importance of considering one’s audience, the reactions they might

have, and the language with which one should disclose one’s atheism when she stated:

If it’s people I expect to need to get along with for long periods of time, I sort of break it to them

gently. By starting with something like, ‘I’m not religious,’ which for some reason is much

more palatable to people than ‘I’m an atheist.’ Um, but like where I work now for

instance [with researchers in a University setting] nobody’s ever given me any trouble about

it...And grownups in a science field are pretty well guaranteed to be more forgiving than if I

were trying to get away with this in Utah or somewhere.

Chelsea, a retired small business owner, commented that she often uses the same kind of

equivocating response when asked about things related to God or religion: “Well, I’ll say to

people, you know, like if somebody’s sick, and they ask me to pray, I’ll say ‘Well I can’t pray

for you, but I’ll think some good thoughts, if I prayed for you lightning would strike!’” Her

playful response communicates that she does not believe in the power of prayer, while at the

same time disarming the other person so she might save face and not offend that person.

Implicit in all three of these respondents’ approach to disclosing their atheism is the idea

that they feel it important that others know their position, and that it is okay with them if others

learn of their atheism, but that they neither want to “force” the issue or seem as though they are

over-asserting their non-belief or causing offence. On the reactive-proactive continuum, these

efforts typify the middle part – the intermediate position. That is, when a participant, rather than

concealing his atheism prefers the “soft” or “gradual disclosure” (Siegel et al. 2003:269) of his

deviant status, he has taken up an intermediate strategy to managing social stigma. The

comments of twenty-five-year-old Josh, a recently married computer technician, summarize this

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intermediate stance and the temperate atheist type quite clearly:

I don’t have any qualms about talking about it [his atheism]. The only situations where it would

be harmful for me to bring it up and therefore I would want to avoid bringing it up, are

situations like if my boss were to ask me and then not like the answer. But then at the same time I

feel like if I’m going to work somewhere where the boss is going to ask that question and not like

the answer and let that affect me professionally then that’s not where I want to be anyway. I tend

in general on that issue [his non-religious views] to stick to my guns. So I feel like if somebody

were to ask me, whether or not I’m concerned about their reaction...I’m perfectly fine stating it

confidently and defending myself...

Josh’s remark about not wanting to be somewhere where someone would not “like the

answer” of his atheism demonstrates an additional aspect of intermediate strategies along the

reactive-proactive spectrum. When respondents chose to be around people that shared their

views, they had engaged in selective affiliation (Fitzgerald 2003). In the Seigel et al. (2003)

study, many of the gay men living with HIV/AIDS, “described a preference for largely

restricting their social contacts...to other infected people or those who held favorable

attitudes...[and among] those whom they felt accepted and supported” (2003:274). Though this is

not always possible for atheists (or those in the Seigel et al. study for that matter), and the

comparison has clear limitations (atheists voluntarily choose their label), many of those in the

current study did express a preference to associate with other atheists as a means of obviating

potential stigma. Although most could not exactly control who their co-worker were, many did

state that in their social lives, they sought out other atheists. One respondent, when asked about

any stigma she faced, illustrated this succinctly by simply stating, “No, I’ve not really

experienced much stigma, because the people I hang out with are all atheists too.”

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 But when temperate atheists were negotiating their identities with non-atheist others, they

used one specific intermediate technique more than any other, and that was to challenge the

negative moral attributions that are often directed at atheists. They usually did this only when

confronted with these negative attributions in some overt way. That is, they did not go looking to

challenge others; they were simply prepared to challenge others if needed. Recall the list of

labels found in the research that the general public associates with atheists: elitist, pitiful,

aggressive, judgmental, rebellious, joyless, ignorant, unstable, hedonistic, and immoral. Again,

the “centrality of morality” comes to the fore. Each of my respondents was keenly aware of the

public’s perception that atheists, lacking belief in God, must also lack the basic moral fortitude

that believers enjoy. Indeed, this is a major source of the stigma against atheists in the first place.

Consider, then, some of the comments of atheists that challenge this assumption and

belief. Brittany recalled a time she was having a conversation with several people in which it

became clear to her that they were equating religiosity with morality. She challenged them,

asserting that “[the non-religious] can choose to act in ethical ways, regardless of any

consequences that may or may not manifest after you die.” She went further, and suggested to

her interlocutors that what is immoral is the notion that people would act in moral ways only

because of the threat of some supernatural consequence. Brittany was not an atheist activist, but

she thought that communicating with others that you do not need religion or God to be moral

was extremely important. “You know, if I consider there to be something important to do as an

atheist for people is to say, ‘Hey, morality and ethics are not monopolized by religion!’ You

know? That’s not the only way in which morality and ethics are manifest.’”

Similarly, thirty-four-year-old Chris, after discussing at length how he had to challenge

his religious family members on the connection between God and morality, explained that he

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engages these arguments, not because he wants confrontation with others or to cause tension, but

because he feels compelled to take a stand on what he described as a fundamental problem with

the way atheists are viewed. He went on to explain:

I’m not a confrontational atheist. But I’ve gotten to the point where I’m not gonna give any

ground. You know, I won’t attack you and say “Hey, you gotta be this way,” or, “This is wrong,”

or whatever. But you know I’m not going to nod my head, or walk away, or hold silent [when

someone claims atheists are immoral] either. So, I mean that’s what I’ve decided or defined

myself as. I want to make sure people don’t think this...[because] there’s nothing wrong with

being an atheist. There’s nothing bad about being an atheist. So, I shouldn’t act that way [not

challenging people when they make this claim].

In other words, the assumption or assertion that atheists are not moral is perceived as an

attack on the very self-identities of participants. This encouraged temperate atheists to not tacitly

pass as believers, or conceal their identities as atheists like the silent atheists, but to challenge

others about morality, maintain confidence in their themselves as atheists in a broader range of

social situations, and, “stand their ground” to use Chris’s words.

One practical social consequence of this is that temperate atheists tend to have more

negative interactions with others than silent atheists because they maintain a level of openness

that silent atheists do not. More people are aware of the atheism of the former, so this sets the

conditions for more conflict with family, friends, and others. Thus, unlike the primary deviance

that silent atheists experience, temperate atheists more closely fall under the category of

secondary deviance, where others become aware of an individual’s deviant status, and therefore

the possibility of the deviant labeling process looms.

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 The Outspoken Atheist. Finally, the third atheist type is the outspoken atheist. These

atheists were not only willing to engage and challenge non-atheist others, they aggressively

sought out these interactions and confrontations. These participants were neither interested in

concealing their atheism, or merely expressing willingness to defend their views when

confronted. Outspoken atheists were the most open and aggressive, and they adopted this

disposition, over the widest range of social situations, and with social others. Whereas temperate

atheists would gradually and more “softly” disclose and discuss their position with friends,

family, and even strangers when confronted, outspoken atheists did all of this much more

precipitously, and they tended to be the ones doing the confronting.

Outspoken atheists are illustrative of the third and final type of deviance, tertiary

deviance. They do not disavow their atheism, or merely defend it when the right circumstances

arise. Rather, they are openly defiant with non-atheist others, and they fully avow and embrace

(Martin 2000) their identities as atheists. Outspoken atheists went on the offensive. They

confronted, debated, educated, and otherwise advocated their atheism. They rejected the “shame”

of their deviant status, and embraced their atheist identities as socially positive, beneficial,

worthwhile, and morally correct.

Outspoken atheists actively sought to persuade others, including family, friends, and co-

workers, not simply that it was okay to be an atheist, but that atheism was a superlative, more

desirable position. They averred that atheism was more reasonable, intellectually honest, and

defensible than theism. At the interpersonal level, they sought change in how they were

perceived by family, friends, and co-workers. At a much broader and more idealistic level, they

sought cultural and societal change in the public’s attitude toward, and treatment of, atheists. In a

word, these respondents were atheist activists. Nearly a third (fourteen of forty-five) of the

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interviewees were outspoken atheists, and much of the online atheist discourse was also

characteristic of this type15 Here we find a much more aggressive disposition on the part of these

atheists. Consider, for instance, the words of Angela, a single, forty-eight-year-old outreach

program coordinator:

I never even pretend to be a theist, even when I’ve gone to people’s churches. I don’t participate

in prayers, and a lot of times I don’t even bow my dead, to show how irritated I am that people

are putting pressure on me to conform. I have not hidden my intellect, and that has caused

issues...my personality doesn’t lend to being toned down...I’m not trying to be arrogant, it’s just

that I really have a strong sense of self in what I believe and how I feel, and I’m not easily

swayed just because it might make you comfortable.

Angela went on to discuss some of the many situations she has been in where she had

made her views very clear and resisted assumptions about believing in God. Angela’s frustration

about feeling “pressure to conform” to a theist-centered view, and her determination to express

her own position is characteristic of outspoken atheists.

To capture the tone and quality of this atheist type, consider an excerpt from my

interview with Jake, a twenty-two-year-old student at a local college. He had recently started an

atheist group at the college, and he was describing some of the recent experiences he had had as

a result of his outspoken atheism. When I spoke with him he had recently gotten an explicitly

anti-religious tattoo in a very visible spot on his arm:

15
Part of this is due to selection issues because of my choice of methods and data collection. My

initial recruitment of atheists from atheist organizations, and the fact that many of those

participating in online discussions tend to have more activist agendas, is likely the source of the

relatively high number of outspoken atheists.

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 Q: Tell me about your tattoo. How do people react to that?

A: I really have to try and control myself because I can be explosive. If I’m

confronted, I get confrontational; I have to calm down. I have to realize that most

people aren’t going to be like me. Most [people] that ask me about my tattoos are

religious anyway. If I show an atheist they are like, “Oh, that’s awesome.” People

ask me about it for a reason. Atheists get it, but religious people ask me what it

means, and I’m like, “What do you think it means?” It’s a way for me to show

that I’m not afraid of religious people’s sky fairy. I’ll piss people off, I don’t care.

When our club [atheist club] presents stuff, people get scared...people wig out

when we are running our atheist booth, one woman actually ran off...one guy told

us we were evil, and we had to call the police. The police took him away and it

was okay...[but] some people get pissed off.

Q: You video tape this?

A: Yeah, I do if for safety reasons, and to see when we are overstepping our bounds

or are making mistakes in our debates. It’s not an ego thing, we don’t always need

to be right or win the debates, and it’s just for practice and to learn.

Clearly, being vocal about his atheism with the general public is a priority for Jake. As he

spoke, it was apparent that he relished these kinds of interactions/confrontations with others.

Interactions like this are more likely given the context of setting up an “atheist booth” in public.

But Jake had an interest in being vocal in many places, including the classroom. He recounted an

experience he had getting in trouble with an instructor because of some comments he made:

...the assignment was that we were to pick a person to write about, and I picked George Carlin.

But one of the guys in the class was a minister, and he wrote this poem about a religious person.

The teacher thought I wasn’t paying attention because I was working on my laptop. She asked

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 me what I thought of the poem, and I said, “It sounded like a guy talking to an invisible friend”

(laughs)...So anyway she complained about this in the report...and I had to go to anger

management over this.

The posture towards others that Jake embodies reflects a disposition and technique

Roschelle and Kaufman (2004) discovered in their study of the stigma management strategies of

homeless children and adolescence. They found that when the less aggressive technique used by

the homeless of concealing the stigma of their homelessness failed (when others learned of their

homelessness anyway), they then took up a more assertive stance, “muster[ing] a bravado

designed to achieve a tough and intimidating persona” (Adler and Adler 2009: 345). That is,

some homeless people would become confrontational, engage in verbal or even physical fights,

and generally act aggressively toward those they thought might look down on them because of

their homelessness. I could not with certainty gather from our interview whether Jake ever went

through a period of trying to conceal his atheism before adopting his more aggressive approach

(my sense was that he did not). Irrespective, his general disposition toward non-atheist others

clearly exemplifies the outspoken atheist. Not all of the outspoken atheists I studied were

interested, like Jake, in provoking others or causing confrontations. Some went about vocalizing

their atheism in more politically correct ways. But they were all proactively engaged in asserting

their atheism.

Thus, outspoken atheists occupy the proactive side of the reactive-proactive continuum,

opposite silent atheists. Their primary method of managing the stigma of their atheism, in

contrast to silent atheists’ concealment techniques, and temperate atheists’ gradual disclosure, is

preemptive disclosure. That is, outspoken atheists attempt to “take charge of the timing and

manner of their disclosure” (Siegel et al. 2003). This means they hold a fundamentally different

perspective about their atheism than those who choose to conceal their status. Therefore, like

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Siegel et al.’s gay men, these outspoken atheists, “by choosing to [preemptively] volunteer this

information [their atheist views] they hope to create the impression that it [is] not shameful and

[does] not need to be concealed” (2003:276). This strategy of “getting there first” facilitates

conceptualizing an atheist identity in more positive and enthusiastic terms. Unlike atheists who

conceal their stigmatized position, atheists who were proactive about their views and identities

did not face the same fear of stigmatization. Rather, they “nip the stigma in the bud” by

preemptively disclosing their stigmatized status. Choosing to disclose their atheism in this way

does not mean that outspoken atheists do not experience stigma like silent and temperate atheists.

Rather, they simply take a different approach in negotiating this status.

As other research on stigma management has found, one effective way of promoting a

positive self-concept/image in the face of social stigma is to redefine the negative status and the

associated negative connotations of the status as good, worthy, beneficial, or pro-social. In our

study of homeless people who have pets, Irvine et al. (2012) found that, in the face of the

public’s general disapproval of homeless people caring for animals (e.g. the homeless should not

have pets if they cannot takes care of themselves), some homeless people responded by

redefining pet ownership. They did this by challenging the view that pets need physical homes to

be properly cared for. Some went further, and asserted that the situation of their companion

animals is actually superior to that of pets who have homes (for instance, homeless people’s pets

get to “roam” more freely, always have their human companion with them, are not trapped in

house all day etc.). The effect of this redefinition is that the subjects in this study were able to

promote a positive sense of self in spite of the public’s attitude toward them. Similarly, Park

discovered that the voluntarily childless often redefined their childlessness, against the views of

most, “as a socially valuable lifestyle [choice]” (2003:1).

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 In much the same way, the proactive atheists in this study dismissed the negative

meanings and connotations of atheism held by the general public, and redefined atheism in

socially positive terms; sometimes suggesting, or asserting outright, the superior socially-

beneficial nature of atheism. We saw some of this already in chapter four, in the moral narratives

of participants as they elaborated on moral questions and offered their thoughts on why and how

they are moral people despite, or because of their evolution toward atheism. Not surprisingly

then, participants returned to the subject of morality when they were involved in redefining

atheism with relation to the management of the stigma they faced. The remarks of Janice, a fifty-

two-year-old nurse summarizes the thoughts of many of the more proactive atheists:

I think that morality is much more the result [rather than being a product of religion] of people

[having to] get along in the world and evolving to get along in the world. So I think there is a lot

more of the practical aspect to it. But also think that the intrinsic notion of morality is much more

consistent with being an atheist. Since there is no opportunity to do it differently in another life,

this is the only one there is; an if somebody is genuinely doing something for the right reasons,

they are doing it not because they are going to be rewarded or punished; my mother used to say

that “you’ll get your reward in heaven”... But doing right innately, if you’re really doing it

because it’s right, then you’re not expecting a reward...Once this women said [to me] ‘how can

you have any joy if you know that it’s all going to end?’ and I said ‘the joy is now, the joy is in

the experience we are having right now.’

Turning the notion of atheism-equals-lacking-morality on its head, and redefining

atheism as not only being possible, but “being much more consistent with” being moral, is a

basic means by which many outspoken atheists managed the stigma of their atheism (silent and

temperate atheists may have held this view as well, but they did not express it with others in the

same way outspoken atheist did). Further, because they were engaged in tertiary deviance,

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outspoken atheists were more likely to be activists. That is, given the connection between atheist

type, and ones placement on the reactive-proactive continuum, those on the proactive side were

by definition exponents of atheism, they were involved in atheist activism. The outspoken

atheists in this study, more than the other two types, engaged in on-line atheist discourse, had

greater involvement in atheist organizations and activities, and were more likely to invoke and

claim membership in the so-called “new atheist movement.”

This typology conveys the disparate ways in which atheists negotiate their identities.

Moreover, it can aid in the study of atheists in the future because it helps outline and predict the

actions of atheists. For instance, it might help us better understand who becomes members of

atheist organizations (and why), and who is more likely to participate in the growing atheist

community. Additionally, it can facilitate a more nuanced understanding of the differences and

variations involved in the subjective experience of American atheists. Despite the clear social

patterns and sample characteristics of atheists revealed in recent surveys, atheists are not a

homogenous group, either in their social/political attitudes (see Hayes 1995), personal

dispositions, beliefs, behaviors, social characteristics, or even worldviews. Discussing the

different ways in which they manage the stigma of their atheism is one small way of capturing

some of this heterogeneity.

The relationship between individuals and these conceptual types is not static, but fluid.

Although there were some participants that could reasonably be said to “be” silent atheists,

where they never exhibited attributes of an outspoken atheist, for most, the picture was more

complicated. In some cases, a respondent’s narrative showed evidence of more than one type.

Usually this had to do with the respondent’s behaviors in different social situations. Those with

careers in science, for instance, tended to feel comfortable discussing their non-belief and

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criticizing religion or religious ideas among their colleagues, while in other situations they would

remain virtually silent regarding their atheism.

To some degree these types correspond to the notion of the identity hierarchies which

comprise the self (Stryker 1968). Peek’s (2005) identity model of second-generation Muslim

Americans is instructive. Her subjects went through three identity stages as they negotiated their

minority religious status: ascribed, achieved, and declared identity. They moved from taking

their Muslim identities for granted as children (ascribed), to claiming them more independently

as adults (achieved), to fully integrating them as a central component of who they understood

themselves to be (declared). Their identities as Muslims ascended a hierarchy, relative to their

other social and personal identities, eventually coming to occupy the top. A similar identity

process may take place with atheists. For instance, it is possible for a once silent or closeted

atheist to become an outspoken and proactive atheist. There can be movement between these

types. As people move to the right on the reactive-intermediate-proactive continuum, their atheist

identities become increasingly central to their self-concepts and occupy higher positions within

their identity hierarchies.

The above accounts generally corroborate Fitzgerald’s (2003) description of the stigma

management strategies of American atheists. Indeed, there are many examples from my own data

that align quite well with her analysis. However, there is an important implication of atheists’ use

of these strategies that Fitzgerald either does not make explicit, or ignores. That is, the

interpersonal conflict, the behavioral contradictions (such as the contradictory activity

participation Fitzgerald identifies) the narrative of struggle, and the sometimes having to conceal

an important identity, can themselves be ingredients for meaningful self-conceptualization and

activity. As Simonson (2011:1) found, atheists made meaning of their stigma and problematic

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interactions “by using cognitive and behavioral mechanisms that allowed them to manage, learn,

cope, and thrive when faced with being stereotyped and discriminated [against]”. Thus, out of

the tension and problems associated with managing a deviant identity itself can emerge a sense

of accomplishment, experience, and positive self-image.

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 Chapter Six: Creating a Godless Community:

The Collective Identity Work of Contemporary Atheists

There have been atheists in this country since its inception, although an expressed atheist

viewpoint and presence in American society has never been anything other than a very small

minority. And despite the pervasiveness of theism, and the historical importance of religion in

America, there have for some time existed collectivities and organizations that proffer a secular

and/or Godless worldview. For instance, established secular/humanist groups such as the

American Humanist Association have been around since the early 1940’s. But with the exception

of the American Atheists, founded by Madalyn Murray O’Hair in 1963, it has only been from the

turn of this century that explicitly atheist groups at the local level have proliferated and become

visible. In this short period many dozens of atheist groups from communities all across America

have sprouted.

These organizations have become increasingly interconnected, and an expanding network

– an American atheist community – now has a more recognizable place in American culture. A

good portion of this expansion has only been possible through the Internet and new social media.

But the new atheist community is not merely an online or virtual one, although much of the

atheist conversation does occur there (see Cimino and Smith 2012). Like other social groups and

movements, the Internet and social media have also been utilized as powerful tools for

mobilizing individuals and creating “concrete” communities. Indeed, the 2012 “Woodstock for

Atheists,” where tens of thousands of atheists (the largest gathering in U.S. history) descended

on the National Mall, underscores this reality. There is evidence of grassroots atheist

mobilization; of increasing numbers of people joining atheist groups and engaging in atheist

activism.

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 In the introduction I discussed some of the problems involved in trying to identify the

number of self-identified atheists in the United States. It is difficult for survey studies to capture

how many “real” atheists there are because of ambiguities regarding different identity-labels (e.g.

atheist vs. agnostic vs. freethinker), and because of the numerous motivations an non-believer

might have to resist using the label “atheist.” Irrespective of the “true” current number of atheists

however, it is clear that they have experienced increasing visibility in the media, and influence in

the public and political sphere. Though still a marginalized and dismissed group in many ways,

the atheist community seems to be enjoying an emerging sense of broader legitimacy and

collective solidarity that did not, in years past, exist. The term, “New atheist movement” has

been in use since at least 2006, when Wired Magazine ran an article using the phrase (see Wolf

2006). Although part of the analysis below is framed within the social movement literature,

whether or not the growing atheist community constitutes a veritable social movement as

traditionally conceptualized in this literature is not the central concern of this work. Rather, this

study is primarily concerned with the construction of collective identity and meaning, and the

relationship of these with collective action. However, there is little reason to doubt that organized

atheism in the United States today has more saliently defined social and symbolic boundaries and

social/political goals. Further, there is strong evidence that atheists have developed a more

distinct and politicized group identity, both of which are elements of the concept of social

movements: “[Our] vision is to transform society into one that understands and respects atheism;

that supports and respects a worldview based on the values of reason, empiricism and naturalism;

and that respects and protects the separation of religion and government and the constitutional

and human rights of atheists as members of society in free, democratic and open nations”

(Atheist Alliance America 2011). This mission statement from the Atheist Alliance America is

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characteristic of many atheist organizations, and almost without exception, organized atheism in

America today is oriented toward the socio-political ends of gaining social acceptance and

promoting secular values.

Several orienting questions guide this chapter: What have been the social processes of the

development of the American atheist community? How have members of this community

collectively constructed a more public atheist consciousness – a collective atheist identity? How

and why have people become a part of this community, what kinds of activities are they engaged

in, and how do they see themselves as a group? Have atheists developed a collective sense of

agency such that it has transformed itself into a public social and political activist agenda? How

have they attempted to gain more acceptance, and have they seen any success in removing the

social stigma from atheism?

Here I explore the sociological and social psychological processes of collective identity

construction and the ways in which contemporary American atheists are building an active

community. I illustrate the relationship between personal and collective identity, and seeks to

understand how these conceptual types of identity work in tandem in mobilizing groups,

impelling social and political action, and providing meaning for social actors.

THE COLLECTIVE IDENTITY WORK OF ATHEISTS

Although there are millions of Americans who do not believe in the existence of a God, this non-

belief itself does not imply a need to explicitly join a community of non-believers, or even to

identify with one of the many terms associated with non-belief. Nevertheless, there is evidence

that the atheist community is becoming more member-based. Despite repeated sentiments (often

by atheists themselves) along the lines of “organizing atheists is like herding cats,” there is

accumulating evidence that atheists can, and are, organizing themselves, and doing so with some

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measure of success. The diffusion and disorganization that has characterized non-belief in

America before the turn of the 21st century appears increasingly to be something of the past.

This means the theoretical import of collective identity work and group processes are, as of this

writing, more significant and meaningful in terms of the need for better conceptualization and

broader understanding of the construction and maintenance of atheist identities and collectivities

in contemporary American society. I organize and analyze the collective identity work of atheists

by way of two generic conceptual categories, “seeking community” and “seeking change.”

Seeking Community: Identity and Group Consciousness

The Internet and various social media have played an important role in the growth and

development of the atheist community since about 2005. Local secular and atheist groups have

been able to connect with each other and work more effectively toward growing their

membership. Much of the effort in creating a more vibrant atheist community, both online and

off, has revolved around appealing to the perceived scores of atheists already present in society,

but who are not yet “out,” or who have been uninterested or unwilling to become active

participants in the community. The phrase “seeking community” is particularly apt in the case of

atheists, because atheist activists have been focused, not initially on applying “conversion”

strategies directed at theists, but on drawing out and mobilizing nonbelievers already present in

society. Atheists, sometimes lamenting the organizational strengths of their religious

counterparts, invest work in building an active community by rallying and organizing an already

extant constituency by encouraging closeted atheists to open the door, and announce themselves

publicly.

There are many reasons for nonbelievers to avoid referring to themselves as atheists, let

alone to join official atheist groups. Although ideological and semantic variations regarding

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nonbelief (thinking of themselves as “freethinkers” instead of atheists, even though the

freethinkers, may not, in fact, believe in a God) have some effect, avoiding identification with

atheism primarily has more to do with its deviant and stigmatized status in American culture.

Edgell et al. (2006) and others working in this area all discuss the social stigma attached to non-

belief generally, and atheism in particular. Referencing recent ARIS data, Edgell et al. (2006)

write about how atheists in the United States are viewed as an essential other, an undesirable or

even evil threat to the basic moral order. It is not surprising then, as Cragun and colleagues

(2012) observed, that this attitude sometimes results in discrimination against atheists. Given that

the public’s distrust of atheists is even more salient than their distrust of almost any other

minority group, it is not surprising that non-believers would resist the label “atheist.” But these

are the people who the organizing atheist community is making a concerted effort to bring into

their ranks. Most commonly, this involves atheist organizers stating openly that there is indeed a

community of atheists out there, and that they are poised to offer a supportive social structure to

those who desire it.

Atheist awareness and identity support. The American chapter of the “Out Campaign”16

sponsored by the Richard Dawkins Foundation (2011) is a notable example of these kinds of

efforts. An appeal to atheists as outlined on the Foundations website reads: “Come Out: Atheists

are far more numerous than most people realize. COME OUT of the closet! You’ll feel liberated,

and your example will encourage others to COME OUT too…Reach Out:…let others know they

16
This is one example of several recent campaigns at the local and national level. Others include

the “We are Atheism” campaign, the “Good Without God” campaign, and “National Secular

Service Day”

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are not alone…(2011). The website lists the testimonials of many of the “success stories” of

those who were persuaded to disclose their atheism publicly. Statements such as these are not put

forward only by high profile public atheists. One local organizer of a very small Colorado group

remarked plainly, “For people who are closeted nonbelievers, we just want them to know there

are other people out there who think the same way they do.” Comments from ordinary atheists

often reflect the implication made by the Out Campaign that there are many more atheists out

there than is realized – they just need to become more aware of each other. As one blogger

remarked, “There are more of us out there than there are of many other minority groups that get

specific recognition, yet people often seem to think we are practically nonexistent.”

Around 2008, the so-called atheist billboard and bus campaigns began. These public

campaigns, organized primarily at the local level by numerous atheist groups, and eventually

spreading to at least a dozen states all over the country, made similar appeals to closeted atheists.

Atheists in Colorado, Utah, Texas, Iowa, and California, to name a few, organized campaigns

that proudly averred an atheist message in a variety of public spaces. One Colorado organizer

remarked on the purpose of a project he was involved in: “The single major goal of this billboard

project is to reach out to the 450,000 citizens of Colorado (ten percent of 4.5 million total

population) who don’t believe in God and are feeling isolated and marginalized…”

The implication that atheism is often accompanied by isolation and social marginalization

is apparent not just in the public advertising by atheist leaders, but in the comments of

“everyday” atheists. As Amy17 remarks in an online posting, “Many atheists are alone, like

flying a glider solo. We take responsibility for our actions and stand on our own two feet…we do

17
Quotes from interviews are noted, otherwise they reflect the online communications discussed

in the methods.

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not have the support of religion [or] the promise of life after death.” The suggestion that atheists,

lacking the social benefits, inclusion, and the ready-made answers to existential questions that

religion provides, and who are thus compelled to “make it on their own,” signifies the sentiments

of many of the atheists I encountered. The rhetoric of isolation and the feelings of “flying solo”

are important not just for drawing atheists into groups and incentivizing the building of an atheist

community, but also for sharing a distinct sense of collective experience and will.

In cities across the country, many ads on billboards, busses, and buildings, made

statements such as “Don’t Believe in God: You are Not Alone” and “No God, No Problem: Be

Good for Goodness Sake.” These very visible public space messages, in addition to attracting

media attention and rousing controversy, did in fact appear to have some intended effect.

Cynthia’s comments to a local organizer reflect the sentiments of those reached by the campaign,

“I saw your billboard just down the street from where I currently live. It really encouraged me, I

have been alone for so long surrounded by my Christian family.”

In response to the campaigning, James, who recently completed military service,

remarked, “I started looking for a group when I moved out here. I finished with the military, and

I started looking at [atheist] websites a lot and reading secular magazines…And then I thought

that it would be cool to talk with some like-minded people. I work around people who are

military, so it’s very conservative [people] that I work with. I only knew one other person who

was an atheist.

How many Americans responded to the recent awareness campaign by joining groups

and becoming involved in the community is difficult to assess. One California group reported

that their billboard effort gained them sixty-plus new members (in a group that previously had

128 members) in just a matter of one month. But regardless of actual member-growth, it is clear

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that the efforts across the country had the effect of raising awareness and heightening the

collective consciousness of the atheist community.

Although some were not actually aware of the presence of organized atheism and simply

joined after learning about the existence of a local group, most were drawn in not merely by dint

of learning there were “like-minded” people getting together in their communities, but after

being persuaded by the recruitment strategies of organizers. These strategies, some of which are

characteristic of social movements, facilitate the development of collective identity. But as

Friedman and McAdam (1992) note, collective identities and movements are not created from

scratch or because isolated individuals simply choose to identify with or join them. Rather, they

typically come embedded in existing social arrangements that incorporate other valued identities

and orientations. This means atheist groups have had to employ a variety of identity incentives in

order to grow and become successful. I found organizers almost never incentivized participation

in the community by appealing to the shared attribute of absence of belief in God alone. Instead,

the positive social values of freethinking, scientific progress, social justice and equality, charity,

and issues of citizenship are all tied together in the rhetoric of recruiters. Atheist groups’

websites typically make statements similar to these excerpts from two Colorado groups: “We

value and promote science, reason, and critical thinking…” and “We hold that beliefs must be

formed on the basis of science and logic instead of emotion, authority, tradition or dogma.”

Naturalistic and scientific worldviews and humanistic values are either made explicit, or strongly

implied in much atheist discourse. This is apparent not just in the official statements of groups

and their organizers, but in the everyday conversations atheists have with one another. In some

cases, atheism is even viewed as incidental to, although most compatible with, science and

humanist values. As Steve, a 27-year-old I met and interviewed at a local group social event,

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tellingly remarked when asked about his views on religion: “I really consider myself more pro-

science than I do anti-religious. It’s only when religion tries to influence or block scientific

progress that I become angry about it.” From our conversation it became clear that the atheist

group was, for Steve, primarily a venue for advocating science and reason, and only partly about

joining others in their non-belief.

Thus, organized atheism is not merely the coalescence of individuals around a single

issue: their lack of belief in a God. Rather, it tends to involve and imply a host of other social and

political issues, and other goal/value-oriented activities. These social goods, and the individual

benefits offered by atheist groups, are readily apparent in the language used in their efforts to

raise awareness of their presence and grow their numbers.

Though there is not exactly any clear institutional structure or set of “preexisting

solidarities” (Polleta and Jasper 2001) which atheist activists can employ to motivate

participation,18 it is clear that a focus on science, education, rationality, evidence-based thinking

and other basic Enlightenment values is part of the rhetorical repertoire through which atheist

activists make their appeals – appeals that are an important part of the identity framing strategies

discussed by collective identity and movement scholars (Polleta and Jasper 2001). These values

are often distilled by referring to individuals of historical/cultural import who are thought to best

embody or represent them. For instance, of the dozens of atheist functions I have attended, many

of them included presentations and discussions that highlight and list prominent scientists,

authors, philanthropists, and other cultural elites who were either confirmed atheists, or at least

thought to be atheists based on some evidence. The list always includes figures, either of the

18
For instance, in the same way that civil rights activists were able to draw upon preexisting

church networks and specific Christian theologies.

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past, or present, who are generally venerated by the American public at large, and seen as

positively contributing to society in some way (for example, Stephen Hawking, Isaac Asimov,

Bill Gates).

The broader point here is that when an individual joins an atheist group, he or she is often

affirming other pro-social, normative and socially desirable identities and values that are not

inconsistent with those of broader cultural values. This is one way in which the collective efforts

of atheists are organized around influencing the public’s view of them. The affirmation of pro-

social and generally accepted values are examples of the identity “framing” processes (Johnston

and Noakes 2005) atheists employ for the development of an organized community built around

a collective identity. Indeed, the notion of “frame alignment” (Snow, Rochford, Worden and

Benford 1986) – that successful organizations must be “subjectively meaningful,” personally

valued, and help frame the individual’s interpretations within the context of organizational

definitions and meanings (Martin 2000) – facilitates understanding of the processes that give rise

to collective identity itself. That is, as atheists coordinate and collectivize, the values, motives,

and goals they share come to reflexively “act back” on the growing collectivity, eventually

providing an organizational and interpretive framework which helps to set the parameters for

potential future participants in the community.

The traditional structural and network explanations of why people join particular groups

or movements ultimately locate the causes as being outside the individual (Friedman and

McAdam 1992). Regional, structural and status positions have been observed as important

influences in the identity groups with which people come to affiliate. These explanations are

relevant to atheists given the obvious fact that where one lives, what social positions one comes

to occupy (e.g. vocational and educational statuses), and what a person’s social background was

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like generally, will play a significant role in one’s group affiliations. These factors, along with

the social and demographic correlates of atheism are discussed at length elsewhere (see Baker

and Smith 2009; Cragun et al. 2012). However, the micro and personal meaning structures as

well as the desire of people to carve out meaningful self-concepts from the expanding alternative

identity options available to them are at least equally important for explaining movement

participation and group belonging as are the macro and structural factors. As I argued earlier, the

question of why people would reject the normative value structure that often accompanies

theistic belief, and dissociate from the religious group affiliations that offer “longstanding

confirmation of who and what one is,” can only be answered with reference to the everyday

interactional, contextual, and meaning dynamics that guide people in their choices of identity

groups as they construct meaningful selves.

Although the appeals to the unbelieving segment of the public and the specific strategies

of recruitment used to bring in new members are clearly relevant, these do not by themselves

explain the basic social psychological processes or reasons for the emergence of – and individual

participation in – an atheist community. Development of this community has less to do with

people being convinced by organizers that they should join “the fight for reason” than with the

processes involved in individuals’ value-orientations, self-concepts, motivations, and need for

group solidarity and meaning.

Here, the spoiled identity thesis (Kaplan and Liu 2000), and the identity verification

argument provide useful insights. Although, as Snow and McAdam note (2000), these are not the

only explanations for group participation, these lines of reasoning are particularly relevant given

the current social status of atheists in America. The spoiled identity thesis holds that personal

identities which correspond to stigmatized categories encourage people to seek out and

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participate in social groups that will challenge the mainstream’s negative view of the group. An

integral part of this process is what the verification thesis underscores: that these social groups in

turn become an important source of identity validation. They become a supportive structure and

identity resource from which individuals can rework their stigmatized personal identities (or

potentially stigmatized for those who are not “out”) into something that becomes more stable,

concrete, and improves the self-concept through the legitimizing forces of participation in a

group that verifies and honors an important aspect of the self.

Sean, a gregarious man in his early sixties and nearing retirement, discussed the negative

views people have toward unbelievers. He talked enthusiastically about why he decided to join a

group several years ago. His comments illustrate the importance of belonging: “[I needed] a

group that supported rational thought. It’s a social outlet, a church for people who don’t go to

church [laughs]. I wanted to be with those who think the way I do. It’s more comfortable…it’s

kind of like a support group.” Similarly, Tim, a man in his early twenties, had recently moved to

a very conservative town in Colorado to take a job in computer technology. He was starting his

new “civilian job and life,” as he put it, after having served in the military for several years. He

remarked, “Before the group, I was pretty lonely out here. I needed a freethinking community…I

moved here and realized that I needed some support and some new friends. I was feeling

uncomfortable in this very theist community…” Many echoed the idea that they received

encouragement, and felt more comfortable, and less stigmatized with their atheism, after joining

a group.

Both Sean and Tim felt the need to join their fellow atheists in large part for the identity

validation they received. For them, this process was a basically smooth transition. Sometimes

however, the reasons for joining a group involved a more dramatic, even revelatory experience.

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Darren, a man in his fifties, and a former Catholic who had experienced abuse by his religious

leaders, shared his experience joining his first atheist group: “…one day, I came across a copy of

Freethought Today. It had an article about “Black Collar Crime” and it talked about the abuse of

children in the Catholic Church. And it was the first time – this was in the early eighties – that

I’d ever heard honest discussion about the problem of this church which I used to be a part of.”

John had commented that he was unaware of any freethinking society or any organized

secular presence until he came across the magazine. After this experience, he immediately

sought out a group. As of 2011, he belongs to multiple atheist and secular organizations, even

taking up leadership roles in some of them. Several others also discussed how they sought out

these groups, in part, as a means of escaping formerly held religious identities and affiliations. In

this light, the notion of an atheist group as a “support group” for “ex-believers” or as a place

where, as one atheist remarked, one could “recover from religion” seems to carry some weight.

Indeed, many atheist functions involve people sharing their personal biographies of how they

came to identify as an atheist and became involved in the community. Group members drew

intellectual and emotional support from one another, validated each other’s non-belief, and

encouraged one another to be more assertive about their views.

Defining “We” and shared expressive atheism. Much like the self-described pagans

Snook (2008) studied in her examination of the identity work and community dynamics of neo-

paganism, atheists put significant work into discussing, defining, and negotiating just what it

means to be an atheist. In fact, a substantial amount of time is consumed both in online

conversations, and group gatherings, by a (sometimes contentious) back-and-forth on the

meaning of atheism itself. Consider the following excerpts from online exchanges between

members of several different atheist groups in Colorado: “I think most people think atheism is

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the belief that there is no God. That is incorrect. Atheism is simply the lack of belief in God(s).

Atheism is not a belief. Atheism is not a religion or a philosophy. It’s just the absence of a belief

in theism…” Contrast this with, “People think that atheism is a lack of belief. They are wrong.

Atheism is a belief. It is belief in philosophy and science as opposed to religion, ghosts, and

goblins. It is the love of life rather than a loathing of death. It seeks to define right from wrong

through philosophy (ethics) rather than vague notions and unfounded rules. It seeks goodness,

not from above, but from within.” These comments represent an important identity-conversation

that is taking place in the atheist community.

The meaning of atheism is not uniformly agreed upon even among atheists themselves.

Defining just what atheism is, frequented conversations at group meetings and online. This

collective work defining atheism is an important part of the active and ongoing negotiation of not

just the meaning of the word, but the meaning of what and who atheists are as a collectivity. But

how is collective identity – that shared sense of “we-ness” – possible without consensus even on

the meaning of atheism itself? Ironically, it is partly the underscoring of difference itself that

result in this sense of “we.” That is, as Hunsberger and Altemeyer (2006) found in their survey

study, atheists tend to place high value on autonomous critical thought. But this is not just an

abstract value or nominal conviction for many atheists; it is a concrete product of biography,

narrative, and interaction. As I discussed earlier, atheists tend to perceive their atheism as the

result of critical assessment and independent-mindedness. This is especially the case for atheists

who have undergone a deconversion process and who had to struggle with their own religions of

origin and former faiths. Indeed, as the Pew Forum’s recent “U.S. Religious Knowledge Survey”

(2010) observes, atheists ranked highest in terms of general knowledge of religion, suggesting

that those who come to identify as atheists have spent more time than others in learning about

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religion and analyzing its claims. This individual penchant for the narrative of critical free-

thought becomes a valued collective end. This is evidenced from part of a long correspondence

between atheists posting in an online forum:

I’m a member of many atheist organizations. It has been increasingly obvious that atheists are not

of like-minds. Sure they may feel that they want to be around people who don’t have a belief in a

God, but that is such a small part of what makes a relationship…Atheists come from all walks of

life.

Or, as another participant much more vehemently remarked:

Conservative, liberal, broomstick-up-the-ass moralist, libertine, starry-eyed vegan, ravening

carnivore…, scientist…, gay, straight; we are legion. The only symbol I can think of that unites

us all is the international negation symbol of the red circle and diagonal line superimposed over

the word ‘God.’”

Though most did not speak so aggressively or passionately on the subject, it did become

clear that many atheists viewed themselves as being freethinking and independent-minded. But

we know from recent research that atheists in the U.S. do share many socio-demographic and

ideological characteristics (see Pasquale 2012 for an informative account of the socio-

demographic similarities, as well as the diversity found within secular and atheist groups). For

instance, Cragun (2011), Baker and Smith (2009), and others show through nationally

representative survey data that atheists are more likely to be young, educated, single, and

politically liberal. Other variables such as whether people live in a city or a rural area can also be

important predictors. So what is the origin of this discrepancy? Why do some atheists tend to

overlook these social patterns and instead focus on their differences? It is in part this shared and

frequent highlighting of, and commitment to, difference and diversity that – perhaps counter-

intuitively – itself acts as a means of uniting and organizing atheists. This happens by way of

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constructing and imparting a coherent narrative concerning the valuing of desirable individual

attributes (critical thinking, independent-mindedness etc.) which in turn lends itself to a shared

sense of experience and collectivity.

It is not only the perception of uniqueness and individual difference, consistent with what

social psychologists refer to as personal identity, that atheists have in common. This emphasis on

difference does not undermine collective identity or make community impossible. For in addition

to the collective narrative of difference, there is broad consensus among atheists regarding their

overall naturalistic position and stance regarding the existential dimensions of life (and death).

When asked by a national secular group what “fundamentals” atheists share, one atheist

responded, “I’d definitely say that the phrase ‘Love of Life’ is a standard thing among atheists,

which is ironically contrary to what many believers think about us. Also, [we have] ‘knowledge,’

‘understanding,’ and a strong sense of innate ethics.” Though other answers to this question were

more or less elaborate, they each tended to coalesce around this basic idea: that atheists are life-

affirming, informed citizens, with a strong sense of morality. But if this quotation seems more

sentiment than statement of verified fact (as we can no more say with certainty that these

qualities are “a standard thing” among theists), this is not coincidental. The necessity of a shared

positive affect for the collective identity construction of any social group has been observed. As

Polleta (2001) argues, collective identity is not only an individual’s cognitive connection and

shared sense of identity with a group or community, it involves both moral and emotional

connections as well. In fact, as Snow (2001) states, it is only when a social group is activated or

“infused” with a shared sense of affectivity and morality that it can properly be termed a

collective identity.

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 The daily interactions, social activities, and communications of atheists with one other

reveal their development of affective bonds. Facilitated especially by social networking and

social media websites such as Meetup, Facebook, Reddit, and others, there have been increasing

numbers of atheists getting together at both the local and national level. Just under two decades

ago, a handful of local atheist groups across the country met with each other once a month in a

public library or other rented space. By 2013, the atheist community landscape of activity

includes both formal and informal weekly socials, atheist camping excursions, “Godless

drinking” at local bars, science museum field trips, atheist parenting workshops, debates, winter

solstice parties, kids’ “skeptic retreats,” atheist concert events, atheist blood drives, book clubs,

science education events, flying spaghetti monster socials, and even “atheist skydiving.” A

resident of almost every state in the nation can now participate in these kinds of activities. Such

activities go well beyond the “topic” of atheism. These gatherings are about creating community

and enjoying solidarity through proactive communicative and social activity. Atheists are

increasingly constructing the affective bonds so central to collective identities. They are forming

the “emotional communities” (Hetherington 1998) that foster solidarity and facilitate collective

action. This is revealed in the somewhat jocund practice of sharing pithy quotes online with one

another that poke fun at religion or in some way imply the virtues of atheism, such as, “Give a

man a fish, and you’ll feed him for a day; give him a religion, and he’ll starve to death while

praying for a fish!” Or, “Good luck and God Less!” This relatively low cost form of emotive

expression has the immediate “microvalidation” effect of tightening the social and affective

bonds between atheists and encouraging further on and off-line interaction, as well as facilitating

atheist solidarity at the community and organizational level over time.

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 Affective bonds are only partly forged through the exchange of quips. That is, in order

for affective bonds to be effective at producing collective identity, a broader meaningful social

context, and an “atheist experience” from which to draw, is necessary. As Melucci (1995) has

stressed, affective ties and collective emotive forces are only possible in the context of a broader

interpretive field of social meaning, and the symbolic, cultural/material resources that are forged

out of interaction itself. These resources reflexively become available to participants as they

continue to collectively construct and negotiate an atheist community. The “content” of an

atheist collective identity is thus revealed by the employment of these resources. Polletta and

Jasper (2001:285) puts it plainly: “collective identities are expressed in cultural [and symbolic]

materials – names, narratives, symbols, verbal styles, rituals, clothing and so on.”

Collective atheist identity is expressed through a variety of these cultural/symbolic

materials. Atheist writings, symbols, clothing, and other materials have grown in number and

popularity commensurate with the growing active community itself, especially over the last six

years. On Richard Dawkin’s website alone, people can purchase almost any of the items

typically offered to consumers by organizations and their “brands,” from atheist t-shirts, to

jewelry, to coffee mugs and key chains. These materials are more than just “things” purchased

for personal enjoyment; they become important identity markers, or “badges” that announce a

personally valued attribute, and make sometimes bold statements to others about who people are

(Gardner 1995:3). The popular “scarlet letter ‘A’” for instance, printed on all kinds of products,

is one of the more recognizable atheist symbols (a result of atheists across the nation submitting

ideas for an international atheist symbol). Although consistent with the concerns of

individualism discussed earlier, these atheist cultural/symbolic materials are not only expressions

of personal identities, or idiosyncratic penchants. They are of collective concern and express

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collective identity, because in addition to showing solidarity as a member of a broader atheist

community (or seeking controversy with those outside it), they can be used to accomplish

strategic collective goals. John, a local organizer who was producing his own atheist

merchandise remarked:

The goal with my shirt and [atheist] design were not to scream atheism or bash religion, but

instead to serve as a curious stimulus that could help start a simple dialogue with someone open

to it. The shirts could also help increase outreach to other closet atheists who don’t know about

our group.

And member Stephanie agrees that these symbolic identity-markers can be useful tools

for the atheist community in obtaining specified objectives:

We have to be conspicuous in public in a non-confrontational way. This means to roam around in

public acting like everyone else, but wearing something that identifies you as an atheist. The

problem is that most believers don’t know any atheists in public so they don’t have any way of

realizing that we aren’t any different from them.

Not every atheist would agree to “roam around” donning overt “atheist signifiers” or

even agree in principle to the idea of distinguishing themselves in any way with atheist symbols.

However, as members want to see atheism become more socially accepted, and because they

wish to demonstrate to the public the existence of an atheist community, this is viewed as an

achievement worth collectively pursuing by a variety of means.

Other examples of important atheist materials and resources include pamphlets and other

materials written (electronic and otherwise) by local groups and coalitions that express and

advocate an atheist perspective. In addition to local efforts across the country working at

constructing a more cohesive sense of collective identity, unity, and organizational legitimacy,

there have been recent forays into formal transnational declarations meant to represent entire

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non-believing segments of democratic nations. For example, there was the 2010 World Atheist

Conference in Copenhagen sponsored by the Atheist Alliance International. That same year they

merged with American Atheists in order to, “strengthen both the U.S. and international atheist

community” (Atheist Alliance International 2012). They produced the “Copenhagen Declaration

on Religion in Public Life,” which outlined about a dozen socio-political propositions that reveal

an underlying concern with what it means to be a non-believer and part of the atheist community.

In addition to affirming statements about democracy and equality, the document is

explicitly inclusive of non-believers in all areas “of public life and their right to equality of

treatment” in it. Specific criticisms of religion in the public sphere are offered: “We reject any

special consideration for religion in politics and public life, and oppose charitable, tax-free status

and state grants for the promotion of any religion as inimical to the interests of non-believers and

those of other faiths.” And once again, the commitment to independent and critical thought is

apparent in several of the statements: “We reject all blasphemy laws and restrictions on the right

to criticize religion or nonreligious life stances.” As well as: “We support the right to secular

education, and assert the need for education in critical thinking and the distinction between faith

and reason as a guide to knowledge.”

The local groups I followed found the international document satisfactory and

representative of their views. But official declarations do not simply reflect the views of an

already collectively defined will. Rather, it is constitutive of group consciousness itself. As

Taylor and Whittier (1992:114) discuss in their analysis of lesbian feminist mobilization, group

consciousness is a key ingredient to the relationship between collective identity and collective

action. This is because consciousness of membership in a collectivity imparts a larger social

significance to that collectivity, and one way in which consciousness is constructed and

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imparted, is through the development of “a formal body of writings, speeches, and documents.”

One should expect that as atheists continue to come out, organize, and engage in collective

identity making and collective action, that the formal body of writings, speeches, and documents

will likewise grow.

Seeking Change: Atheist Activism and Identity Politics

Establishing the basic elements of community by the processes discussed thus far, is critical, but

also only a formative phase in the development of a shared sense of meaning and identity. The

symbolic boundaries that give rise to a distinct sense of collective identity crystallize more

completely with purposeful socio-political activities designed to promote some collective end.

That is, group support and internal validation for an individual’s identity is by itself, not

sufficient for many atheists. Seeking to change the social meaning and status of atheism, and

advocating specific socio-political ideas become shared goals, and it is these goals that orient and

shape the collective and organizational actions of atheists.

How does the collective identity of atheists “translate” into collective agency and/or

action (and vice versa)? The symbolic resources and social meaning(s) atheists share facilitate a

process whereby many atheists feel impelled to organize. In turn, the identity validation and

support that is experienced through this organization supplies the impetus toward pursuing goals.

The substantive work of meeting these goals comes through a collective engagement with an

identity politics that expresses identity, resists marginalization, and promotes the social and

political activism that reflexively reinforces the identities, choices, and views of those engaged in

it.

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 Challenging theism and competing with religion. Identity politics requires some type of

perceived oppressive structure which becomes the object of resistance and the target against for

which change is sought. For many social groups engaged in identity politics and activism, their

collective actions are squared against concrete administrative, bureaucratic, economic, or other

social structural forces that apply inequitable treatment across social groups. This marginalizes

some groups and provides them cause for grievance. Organized atheism resists not only a

longstanding and highly valued human institution, organized religion, but moves beyond this by

challenging the culturally entrenched belief in a supernatural entity that is the primary underlying

and legitimizing force of this institution. Challenging or rejecting this presents real problems for

atheists, explaining in part, the sometimes extreme distrust and prejudice leveled at them (see

Zuckerman 2011 for a detailed analysis of the forms and processes of rejecting religion and

theistic belief). Constructing boundaries with relation to religion and theism are a central aspect

of the collective identity work of atheists.

Boundaries of each kind, at the social, moral, and symbolic levels, are replete, and clearly

apparent in the communications and activities of atheists. The boundary markers of each of these

types are central to forming and maintaining collective identity, because as Taylor and Whittier

(1992:110) found in their study of organized lesbian feminists, they promote a heightened

awareness of a group’s commonalities and frame interaction between members of the in-group

and out-group.” The major substantive source of the boundary work for atheists is aimed at

religion and theism. Often, this means atheists talking to each other about their differences with

theists, and posing questions about these differences. The comments of Brad, a man in his mid-

thirties, a group organizer and an ambitious atheist advocate, are exemplary:

How are our lives different from that of believers? Are atheists happier than believers? More

content? It stands to reason that atheists, who believe we have but a single life to live would have

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 strong ideas on how to live that life. This touches on those fundamental questions that most

atheists are asked by believers regarding morality, ethics, treatment of others, happiness etc. I

believe this sort of exercise [addressing these questions with other atheists] is one of many

necessary components of building a solid secular community (something religions have

consistently beaten us at…and with).

Engaging in these “exercises” has the effect of clarifying boundaries and strengthening

collective identity. Not all discussions were quite so abstract or neutral-sounding. Some made

more combative and impassioned declarations. For example, Jason engaged in a long

correspondence online with fellow atheists regarding controversial public comments made by a

local and prominent evangelical Christian. This person had publicly claimed that the Christian

religion was crucial to American moral life, and that it needed to play a leadership role in

contemporary global society. Jason had this to say:

We need to get our noses out of that vial book (the bible) and put them instead into a scientific

journal…We need to spend less time praying and more time putting our hands to work. Seventy-

five percent of Americans believe that prayer works – even with no evidence. One-hundred

percent of Americans can prove, with trivial effort that actual WORK actually works. Put your

hands together for freedom by doing some work to earn it. This is battle. It is serious. The very

foundations of our nation are at stake. Our very freedom is at stake. We are now on the slippery

slope BACK to horribly and violent oppression. God is the only one who can put us there. Reason

is the only one who can keep us out!

Added fuel for statements like these sometimes come from “the opposition” itself. As one

Colorado pastor, sending a mass email to an atheist group list averred, “I am a saved, bible

believing, Christian pastor of Bible Believers Baptist Church. I would like to challenge any

atheist to an open debate ‘The Bible VS. Atheism.’”

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 But again, atheists sometimes have strong differences of opinion on how best to react to

theist challenges from without. Arguments concerning different lawsuits that had been advanced

by a prominent atheist demonstrate this. Many atheists were on board, happy to sign petitions

concerning a variety of legal and political issues such as prayer in schools, “God” on our

currency, the religious references made by U.S. presidents, and a host of other issues. Atheist

respondent Devon, who commented on a message-board, and who favored atheists as a group

litigating, expressed the views of some:

The propaganda put forth by the religious right and their political and social maneuvers is geared

to isolate reality from their flock so that they can get enough Supreme Court Justices on the bench

to abolish any Amendment that protects nonreligious people. In this vein, we do need to litigate

because much of the public doesn’t understand the reality of history. Many are convinced that “In

God We Trust” has always been on our currency…We are being attacked. We have no choice but

to fight back to keep our constitution intact.

Whereas Gina, a respondent who other atheists on the message-board sided with,

expressed essentially the opposite view:

This is ridiculous; when will atheists realize that the way to convert people is not through nit-

picky behavior or sophomoric lawsuits? What we don’t need is people fighting “under God” in

the pledge, or “in God we trust” on money, or “so help me God” in the inauguration. We also

don’t need militancy – isn’t this the mode we are fighting? We will never win by sinking to their

level.

Although this kind of back-and-forth might seem as though it would undermine unity and

a shared sense of identity and purpose, ultimately, it does not. The reason for this is twofold.

First, the narrative of independent-mindedness that is so valued among atheists finds expression

in exchanges of this kind. Second, and more important in this case, is the shared sense of a

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common threat. The idea that atheists are fighting against ignorance, unreason, and the

pernicious elements of religion, and that these elements are sheltered by the American political

scene, provides more than enough collective purpose to override disagreement about what

specific strategies are most effective for accomplishing this. Thus, the notion that atheists need to

resist, or even “fight back” against religion and its alliance with politics, is legitimated from their

perspective. Organized atheists appear united on the key principles of the separation of church

and state, a secular value system, the promotion of science and reason, and the resistance of the

perceived hegemony of religion and theism. This is consistent with Snow’s (2001:4) observation

that, “The shared perceptions and feelings of a common cause, threat, or fate that constitute the

shared “sense of we” motivate people to act together in the name of, or for the sake of, the

interest of the collectivity” (Pp. 4).

Whether they are produced through the more neutral question-answer dialectic about

belief/non-belief or the more acrimonious discursions against religion and theism, the social and

moral boundaries constructed between atheists and non-atheists become important for the

consciousness of the in-group and the shared sentiments between them. As Taylor and Whittier

(1992:118) observe, it is usually dominant groups (in this case the “theist majority”) that erect

the most salient boundaries between itself and the subordinate minority group to which it refers.

However, “paradoxically, for [minority] groups organizing to pursue collective ends, the process

of asserting “who we are” often involves a kind of reverse affirmation of the characteristics

attributed to it by the larger society.” Thus, at the symbolic level, many interactions between

dominant and oppositional groups end up reinforcing existing assumptions and stereotypes. This

is certainly the case with atheists in the U.S. As recent surveys on the subject show, (Gervais et

al. 2011) atheistic views expressed by individuals or groups are often seen as aggressive, angry,

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or otherwise indicative of the “type” of people atheists are according to the view of the general

public.

There is another dimension of boundary-making at play with atheist groups. Groups

offer a “social outlet” and means for identity support. This, combined with the host of activities

organized atheists are involved in, implies that the group may be viewed on some level as an

alternative for the most central social dimensions/benefits that organized religion typically offers.

It is problematic to suggest that organized atheism is the “functional equivalent” of organized

religion for several reasons that cannot be addressed here. However, it seems clear that at the

level of group validation, and the fulfillment of particular social “needs,” the atheist group

facilitates the meeting of these for those who organize.

Some of the most clear alternative or competing aspects of the atheist community have

become more conspicuous since the mid-2000s. For instance, instead of bible camp or other

religiously themed summer retreats for children, kids can attend “SkeptiCamp” and parents can

participate in Parenting Beyond Belief workshops where they can learn, according to one

spokesperson, about, “raising ethical caring kids without religion,” as well as, “handling family

pressure to participate in religious activities, easing fears about death without an afterlife, and

[teaching] children about religion without indoctrinating them.” Recognizing and celebrating

national secular holidays, for instance, House Bill 81 which sought to establish February 12 as

Darwin Day, was promoted by atheist groups in 2011. Celebrating winter solstice instead of the

religiously-themed celebrations during the holiday season has become more of a focus. One

group in Colorado even published and disseminated an “atheist holiday calendar” which features

relevant secular events and commemorates significant atheists in history.

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 Carving out an atheist alternative to religious activities does not end with the veneration

of atheist figures or the celebration of particular holidays. There are also efforts to develop

specifically nonreligious practices around basic life transitions (that are usually suffused with

and dominated by religious practice) such as birth, marriage, and funerals that are explicitly

atheist and that highlight a non-religious character. For example, one group organized a meeting

to discuss death and funerals for atheists. The bulletin read:

It seems that when someone dies, everyone who gathers at a memorial service either recites

prayers, plays religious music, invokes God, and the like. I want to have a discussion about how

to create a non-religious death service, and what kind of things should go into a will or other legal

document to carry out the wishes of the person who doesn’t want others’ religious beliefs

introduced into a funeral.

These discussions demonstrate the importance of atheists’ boundary work. The perceived

ubiquity of religious assumptions and practices vis-à-vis life’s basic transitions gives motivation

for continued symbolic boundary making. This is related to my argument about the “not-self.”

Our identities are as much about who we are not, as they are about who we are. There is an

inextricable link between our personal and social identities: that which makes us unique and that

which gives us a sense of sameness. Given this, the personal views and attitudes we have about

ourselves, and the self-confirmation we experience from groups, the “not-self” is also a

formative process of collective identity. That is, the atheists also engage in “not-us” activities, or

instances of the “not-self” at the collective level.

Key issues for activists. In addition to being constructed through discourse and in the

rhetoric atheists employ, boundary making is part and parcel of the actual social and political

actions of atheists, and the collective behaviors of their organizations. The actual political

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outcome of the collective actions of atheists is not the primary concern here. Rather, the issue is

how these actions help construct and maintain a collective identity and what role atheist activism

plays in this.

As Hetherington (1998) observes, today the identity politics at play within many social

groups are as often about the politics of difference and the expanding alternative identity choices

available to people, than they are about experiencing more obvious oppression due to marginal

statuses. In other words, the conditions of the contemporary social landscape are such that groups

might engage in identity politics as a way of “choosing to be marginal.” (Pp. 27). But why would

people choose a stigmatized social status? Because choosing a marginalized identity, which often

brings with it opposition and subsequent opportunity for resistance, can itself be an important

source of meaningful activity. Although atheists many not have a choice in their lack of belief,

voluntarily adopting the label “atheist” and affiliating with an atheist organization is an

important identity choice.

As the literatures on protest and social movements show (see Polletta and Jasper 2001 for

an overview), the sources of activism are complex and varied. My focus here is narrowed to

some specific connections between activism and collective identity. Atheist activism is a means

of constructing both personal and shared meaning. As Polletta and Jasper (2001:290) state,

“Activism for many people is a way to construct a desirable self.” It involves work toward some

goal. The work put forth in accomplishing the goal is not merely what must be endured in order

to achieve it. Rather, the work itself becomes the source of meaning and identity. When people

collectively pursue desired goals (and selves) the process becomes more dynamic. The

significance of activism and working toward shared goals is readily apparent, as respondents

self-consciously made their desires for activism and change explicit.

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 Organized activism develops from a shared sense of grievance with some aspect of the

broader society. There exists a felt need to respond to, and sometimes protest against, what is

seen as unjust or untrue. To properly speak of “atheist activism” then, one must identify the set

of grievances most common to groups of atheist actors. These grievances can be distilled into

two basic categories: (1) those that deal with the issue of separation of church and state and the

perceived ubiquity and encroachment of religion/theism, and (2) those that deal with the

marginal status of atheism itself.

The perceived hegemony of religion and theism, and the general concern with the

separation of church and state, are clear in the discourse and activities of atheists. There are

many historical instances of conflict regarding church and state, some of which involve not just

the non-religious, but the religious arguing passionately for stronger separation. One particularly

memorable example involved the coordinated effort of several groups to protest the presence of a

full nativity scene displayed by a local sheriff on public property in front of several county

buildings in a Colorado city in 2008. Lighting the scene was to be accompanied by a public

prayer meeting, and the sheriff was selling sweatshirts that read, “Have a politically incorrect

holiday, just say Merry Christmas!” After discussions, protests, and several phone and face-to-

face interviews with the sheriff, the groups were ultimately unsuccessful at getting the display

removed. The sheriff reportedly remarked that he would display the religious scene every year as

long as he was sheriff, and that, “If people don’t like it, they should get over it.”

However, the groups persisted, bringing in an attorney, and reaching out to other atheist

groups and even several national secular organizations such as the Freedom from Religion

Foundation. After continued negotiations, and somewhat to their surprise, they were allowed to

create and place their own “atheist plaque” along with the rest of the Christmas display that read:

During this Winter Solstice season

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 Illuminate your mind with reason

Let friends and family warm your heart

And celebrate that we all take part

The atheists who attended the lighting of the display wore nametags that named the group

they were representing, followed by a single line that stated “Promoting the Separation of

Church and State.” Steve, a man in his sixties, and one of the leaders who coordinated this event

described its outcome this way, “…this project was a 3 point field goal success, but not a 6 point

touchdown success. A touchdown success would have been removal of the manger scene. [But]

our field goal atheist display is a success that says we nonbelievers will not accept violations of

church and state lying down.”

This “field goal success” seemed to provide some impetus for further activism on the part

of these groups. A dozen other socio-political and/or legal battles, mostly in connection with

church/state separation issues, ensued over the next few years following 2008. In addition to the

atheist billboard campaigns, these included protesting the Westboro Baptist Church’s anti-

homosexual picketing in Colorado, signing local petitions for filing lawsuits challenging “the

intrusion of monotheism into the inauguration of U.S. Presidents,” petitioning a school district’s

adoption of an official document titled “Forty Developmental Assents” that includes the need for

“a religious community for all children,” challenging Hobby Lobby’s “Christian Nation”

advertisements, and protesting faith-based initiatives and the tax-exempt status of churches.

Increasing numbers of atheists became involved in these activities, persuaded in part, by

the impassioned appeals made from local atheist organizers. As one announced in a mass email,

“[We are] members of a disenfranchised minority…we need each and every one of you right

now!” The implication that these local efforts are ultimately about achieving national

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significance and cultural change was always present. At a large state convention in Colorado in

the late 2000s, for instance, local atheists were protesting a faith-based initiative embraced by the

local government. Many expressed their feelings about their activism along these lines:

This protest is to note the nearly 15% of Americans who claim no religion…this [state political

convention] is a chance to speak to the [national] issue of separation of church and state in front

of the whole country.

Further, there is some evidence that the increasing local efforts across the country have

helped set the conditions for activities of broader national significance. For instance, in 2010

local groups celebrated the Secular Coalition of America’s official policy briefing with a

presidential administration at the White House. This was the first time in history a specifically

non-theist organization had met with officials to focus on issues important to secularists and

atheists. A representative of the SCA commented on a message-board:

The Secular Coalition of America is poised to make history with an official meeting with White

House officials. The SCA is encouraging non-theists to take a poll indicating what issues are of

greatest importance to you. The SCA exists to ensure that [atheists and secularists] have a voice

in Washington; to oppose injustices resulting from theocratic encroachments on government; to

win Americas respect and recognition befitting our community; and to promote policy that is

based on facts and reason.

Taking cues from the local campaigning of atheists, national secular organizations

increased their own activism, and in the process gained media attention nation-wide. As one

leader commented on in a mass-email:

Today, the American Humanist Association launches a national multimedia ad campaign – the

largest, most extensive ever by a Godless organization – and will include a spot on NBC

Dateline…as well as other television ads…and in major national and regional newspapers and

magazines demonstrating our values are consistent with mainstream America…

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 At the close of the first decade of 21st century, local groups in Colorado shared in the

excitement, became increasingly interconnected and coordinated, and even officially brought

nearly all secular-oriented and self-identified non-believing groups together under a single

umbrella organization, the Colorado Coalition of Reason (COCORE). Many groups in other

parts of the country have also joined together in a similar manner. This increased interconnection

and coordination among these groups at the local and national levels has afforded opportunity for

the atheist community to begin setting their own terms and to have greater influence on public

discourse. From a new social movements perspective, it is therefore not surprising that the atheist

community has developed a tone consistent with the language of civil rights, minority discourse,

and the identity politics of struggle and marginalization. Steve, the local leader of COCORE,

summed up the perspective of many activists:

Many of us think of secularism [and atheism] as being on the cusp of a wave to protect

separation of church and state…We think of ourselves as about the fourth or fifth wave of

civil rights movements, after people of color, women, the homosexual/transgendered

community and people with disabilities.

With many commenting about the “new atheist movement” and remarking how this

segment of society could even “become a political force…” it is clear that, whether these

statements are empirically accurate or not, the atheist community has gained a sense of unity that

perceives itself – within a contemporary socio-political context – as a coordinated collectivity

with clear values, goals, and a desire for greater sense of social and political legitimacy. As local

groups have aligned with other secular organizations that may not use the label “atheist,” by

casting a wider, more inclusive net, the groups have increased the “solidarity incentives”

(Friedman and McAdam 1992) that a collective identity can offer to a broader group of people.

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 Framing atheism as a civil rights issue is not accidental. If atheists as an organized

collectivity are to implement the cultural shifts they desire and persuade the public to be more

accepting of them, they must appeal to the culturally valued and embedded discourse of freedom

of expression and choice of lifestyle/worldview. The fact of pluralism and the value of religious

freedom in this country is something atheists appeal to when engaging the public. Combined

with the use of media and outreach, atheists on a basic level use the existing institutional means

of pursuing change: engaging in public discourse and identity politics. But an important aspect of

collective identity for atheists regards just this – the question of how to best pursue this

engagement. For instance, one organizer convened a meeting that centered on the question of

how atheists should go about interacting with the public. He remarked, “We need to build a real

community without being combative; we need to persuade [people] at an institutional level to

achieve a cultural shift.” At meetings members frequently discussed whether atheists are better

off aggressively pursuing this cultural shift, or whether they should take a much “softer” more

accommodating approach in accomplishing their goals.

Gatherings that center on the question of the role of the atheist community with the

general public had a way of energizing members and triggering what Snow and McAdam

(2000:49) refer to as identity amplification, or “the embellishment and strengthening of an

existing identity that is congruent with a movement’s collective identity.” Though this

amplification is not sufficient to guarantee activism on behalf of members of the group, it is

nevertheless an important component toward that end. Identity amplification is critical because

it goes right to the core of meaningful social action, which Snow and McAdam regard as “the

process through which personal and collective identities align…” (Pp. 49).

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 Good works without God. The second category of collective grievance involves the

marginal status of atheism. Implicit in atheists’ activism is the collective desire to destigmatize

atheism. This motivates collective work toward making atheism socially acceptable.

Demonstrating to others through collective actions that they are “good without God” is a central

concern of organized atheism. The prosocial behaviors in which organized atheists engage are

not unlike those of religious groups. They are interested in helping out in their communities,

developing and maintaining charities, and promoting a healthy, safe, and moral society. A sense

of group legitimacy would not be possible without the view that atheism can become an accepted

social position. Therefore, a great deal of atheist activism is actually about publicly

demonstrating the consistency of atheists’ morals and values with those of the mainstream.

There are many examples of this work toward destigmatization. One particularly

memorable one involves what members of Colorado groups call their “Ask an Atheist” series.

Atheists, one weekend afternoon each month, set up signs and booths in public parks to attract

attention and start conversations with passersby. The stated intention on the Meetup

announcement reads “to show believers that as people we have more in common than not, and to

show them we are, in fact, good people.” The series even moved to an unlikely venue, with “Ask

an Atheist at Church” where a group of atheists convened at a local Baptist Church (with

permission) to show believers that “they are good, normal people.”

A more organizationally ambitious project involved the development of an inter-group

collaborative charitable organization called “Atheists for Humanity” launched in Denver of

2011. The website’s homepage which states, “Doing good for goodness sake,” allows people to

donate to any of twenty-three well-known charities in the name of atheism. The effort to change

public opinion of atheists is made explicit by the organization: “Our goals are simple: raise

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money and awareness for worthy charities and actively work to de-stigmatize atheists and

atheism.” In rallying fellow atheists toward this end, the creator of the non-profit spoke

enthusiastically in an online announcement about the project:

Each time we send money, food, or clothing to a charity, we’ll include a letter stating the

donations came from Atheists for Humanity. Once we get a little momentum we’ll start sending

out Press Releases to local papers and magazines, as well as postings online. We can do good for

those in need while also polishing the perception of atheism and atheists. If you’re an atheist and

are tired of the negative stigma that comes with it, come over tomorrow night and help us do

something about it!”

Likewise, the growing number of volunteer activities in which atheist groups are

engaging, such as street clean-ups, food-drives, and benefit events, are instances not only of the

stated goal of effecting positive change in the broader community, but effecting change in the

way people view atheists and their organizations.

The goal of destigmatization is apparent in the social activism of atheists too. As David, a

local member remarked, in proposing to other atheists that they counter-protest the WBC’s anti-

gay demonstrations:

I would like to see a group stand up to these people – why not us? Even the religious tend to shy

away from this radical group. If atheists stand up, perhaps society will think twice about what

they believe we stand for.

This ulterior motive for coming out against the WBC shows just how important the

efforts to destigmatize the meaning of atheism are for contemporary atheists.

The “Good Without God” campaign and the “National Secular Service Day19” illustrate

at a broader level the current impulse of the secular/atheist nationwide community to first,

19
Organized by the humanist chaplaincy at Harvard
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acknowledge the continued stigma against atheists, and second, seek out ways of reducing it. The

advertising and inter-organizational cooperation of efforts like these furnish evidence that these

sentiments and collective desires are not just features of isolated or local groups, but of a much

wider community. As the National Secular Service Day’s (NSSD) mission, posted on a message-

board made clear:

Our mission [is to] unite secular groups across the country in the interest of public service, and to

demonstrate our commitment to leading full and ethical lives…to raise the visibility and sense of

unity among local groups in the community of reason, to create a national dialogue on the role of

nontheists in American Society.

Suggesting further that part of the collective drive of developing atheist organizations is

to compete with the role that religious organizations often play in the community, the creator of

NSSD, enthusiastically endorsed by local atheist groups, stated:

We want our nonreligious community to be able to offer the same fantastic service opportunities

that churches and religious groups are known for…we want to show the nation that we too are

committed to charitable and ethical lives with or without religion.

Participants were further encouraged to submit to the project organizers “specific

examples about your God-free involvement in service to country or community.” The moral

underpinnings in the comments members of local groups made suggest that imbuing atheism

with positive moral meanings and communicating this with fellow atheists is important not just

for the personal moral sense of self of individual atheists, but for the development of a collective

atheist identity as well. As Stephanie, another group member expressed:

What we need to do is work together, and show people that atheism doesn’t mean the death of

morality; it actually means a stronger morality where the only world is the one we live in…and

thus we need to fix the way we think about this place.”

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 This emphasis on “we together” challenging the prevailing ideas about the connection

between religion and morality, and as a group showing people that atheism is compatible with

the above qualities demonstrates collective stigma management). The organizational identities

that came to define atheist groups paralleled the activist organizational framework that Martin

(2000) wrote about in his analysis of differential organizational approaches to managing the

social stigma of obesity. Atheists collectively aim, through their developing organizational

frameworks, to educate the public about who they are through various forms of self-advocacy

and social/political activism in an attempt to acquire greater control over the social meaning of

atheism – thereby creating greater consistency between their identity and the public’s perception

of them. This process is not unique to atheists; it is found among many marginal social groups

struggling for identity and greater social legitimacy. It is another critical aspect of “doing”

identity and becomes important not only for constructing collective identity, but maintaining it

through organizational structures.

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 Chapter Seven: The Social Meaning of Atheism

Sociological investigations of religion and religious behavior ultimately connect in some way to

a discussion of the meaning systems of both individuals and social groups. For most Americans,

religion not only plays a prominent role in their viewpoints, moral outlooks, attitudinal

dispositions, and worldviews, but also serves as the central organizing and constitutional

principle of these. The absence or rejection of religion and theistic belief as an organizing

principle in the understanding of life, and of its most basic existential questions, raises the

question of what takes its place for modern atheists. Though much is taken for granted in

discussing the simple theism/atheism dichotomy in popular literature and culture, the question of

the meaning systems of atheists has largely gone unexamined in sociological literature.

ATHEIST WORLDVEIW AND AESTHETIC

To understand the experiences, values, viewpoints, beliefs, and attitudes of contemporary

American atheists more fully, one must explore the content of the social meaning of atheism.

That is, an understanding of the network of meaning systems that atheists construct, maintain,

and draw from is critical. Two sociological/anthropological concepts best encapsulate and

summarize the structure and content of meaning systems (which include each of above listed

elements), ethos and worldview. As Geertz (1973 [1958]:126-127) explained:

...the moral (and aesthetic) aspects of a given culture, the evaluative elements, have commonly

been summed up in the term “ethos” while the cognitive, existential aspects have been designated

by the term “world view.” A people’s ethos is the tone, character, and quality of their life, its

moral and aesthetic style and mood; it is the underlying attitude toward themselves and their

world that life reflects. Their world view is their picture of the way things in sheer actuality are,

their concept of nature, of self, of society. It contains their most comprehensive ideas of order.

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 My interactions with atheists revealed some aspects of the “tone, character, moral mood,

and picture of the way things are” for American atheists. Roberts and Yamane (2012) explain

that the perspectives, values, views, attitudes, and beliefs of people are not isolated or discrete

things, but are always interconnected (though perfect logical consistency between these is likely

never obtained). Thus, a person’s belief in human evolution will be connected to other beliefs

and assumptions about the natural and physical world; it will not “stand alone” disconnected

from a broader worldview. Specific beliefs about reality – about “the way things are” – have

implications for a host of other beliefs (or attitudes, viewpoints etc.) that connect in some way

within a broader network and system of meaning. Put differently, beliefs about reality comprise

an “intellectual framework within which on explains the meaning of life” (Roberts and Yamane

2012:84).

Whether atheism is a philosophical position, a perspective, a belief, or the simple absence

of belief,20 it is a meaningful concept to those who adopt its label; and it is not exempt from

being meaningfully connected with a host of other ideas, values, beliefs, and attitudes that

structure an individual’s worldview. The definitions of atheism offered by respondents

themselves in the previous chapter demonstrate this. The broader narrative, and the intellectual

frameworks of the atheists I studied reveal a mindset and intellectual positioning (or disposition)

distinct from theistic views/explanations of reality. The non-supernaturalist stance respondents

adopted was not only or simply about the rejection of the idea of a God. Rather, this basic

approach has important implications for the ways in which the world around them is interpreted.

The “atheist lens” of respondents prefigures and frames their worldviews and cosmogonies.

20
And we have seen throughout that there is variation in how atheists themselves understand and

define atheism.

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These atheists’ narratives revealed not just disbelief in a God, but broader viewpoints and

explanations of the origins, functioning, and meaning(s) of the cosmos, our planet, and ourselves.

The remarks of Annette, a married, forty-year-old local author, illustrate this interpretive

dimension of an atheist worldview. Annette had been involved for many years in, what she

referred to as a new age religious and spiritualist group, led by a self-proclaimed guru. She, at

some length, explained the cognitive transition she underwent as she started reading atheist

literature and became disillusioned with the group (which she described as a cult):

I was coming to recognize that I wouldn’t, or that there wasn’t a lot of support for a lot of the

things I believed. The key thing for me was – and I’ve had profound experiences of oneness and

transcendence and feeling connected to humanity and all that good yummy stuff, [laughs] and

you know when they tell you that you’re experiencing God, you know, but I just realized as I was

reading the God delusion and actually thinking about that...because for me he talks about the

argument from personal experience and that’s why a lot of people believe and I understand the

compelling nature of that argument, but I did come to realize that those experiences were what I

took away [from the teaching of the group leader]...it was the story that I placed on them, but

[really] they were fundamentally neutral. They were great [the religious stories], but I never saw

Jesus, there were no angels, you know. And that was sort of an interesting thing for me, because I

know a lot of people that believe in various kinds of spirits and entities, and I was like you know,

[I] believed in all that stuff for years yet I’ve never had any personal experience with any of that.

And when I really break it down, even the most spiritual experiences I had, they were just, they

were neutral, there was nothing...I don’t know how else to describe it.

Annette did not simply change her mind on one particular or isolated “issue.” Rather, her

rejection of the supernatural and the idea of God ushered in an entirely different way of

interpreting the physical and social worlds. Annette lost what she had called her previous

“magical thinking,” undergoing a personal “desacralizing” process wherein her entire worldview

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shifted. The change, then, in both the evaluative (ethos – a product of moods and motivations)

and the cognitive/existential (worldview) dimensions of how she experienced the world as an

atheist became clear. Though Annette was the only participant who escaped from what could

reasonably be described as an actual cult, her experience was strikingly similar to the other

participants who were from religious backgrounds (the majority). As Ebaugh (1988) observed in

her study of nuns who left the convent, although some change in how people think and interpret

the world is always present as they exit, switch or affiliate with different social roles, it seems it

is the extirpation of the more fundamental view of the existence of God that carries with it the

most significant change. It is an entire supplantation of worldview, which connects and

encompasses the personal, social, political, and physical worlds for the individual.

The possibility and degree of change in a person’s ethos and worldview correspond

closely with the level of change in that person’s religious/socio-political preferences and views.

For instance, Albrecht, Cornwall, and Cunningham (1988), in their discussion of “religious

leave-taking,” differentiate between religious disengagement and religious disaffiliation.

Disengagement is usually temporary, and the individual may retain important aspects of his or

her religious identity and belief system in spite of having disengaged from the usual aspects of

religious participation (church attendance, involvement with the community etc.). Disaffiliation,

however, involves permanently exiting a former religious role and rejecting the associated

beliefs/perspectives (though this can include religious switching). In each case, the ethos and

worldviews of those who disengage or disaffiliate can remain to some degree intact. Indeed,

switching from one Protestant Christian group to another may not disrupt an individual’s

worldview in any real sense. Although some of my respondents at some point underwent periods

of both disengagement and disaffiliation from their religious groups, they went much further,

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eventually coming to reject God, the supernatural, and all religious viewpoints. Thus, the

movement from theism to atheism involves a much greater shift in worldview than is typically

found in the religious “leave-taking” that Albrecht et al. describe.

Such a dramatic shift would seem to suggest turmoil and uncertainty for participants. As

we saw in chapter four, some did remark on painful situations that were created with their

friends, families, and others as they transitioned from theistic to atheistic perspectives and left

behind former identities. However, in sharing their perspectives and experiences, it became clear

that participants did not lose a sense of meaning or purpose along with their loss of theistic

belief. The basic experiential aspects of conscious life, the experience of beauty, love, and even

the transcendent (things usually attributed to the domain of religious/spiritual experience) often

remained. What changed was the interpretive framework for making sense of such experience.

As Jane, a thirty-one-year-old single parent who works at a local branch of the Humane Society

remarked:

I can recognize beauty in life and feel really moved by something, and you know, I can be out in

nature and feel like, ‘Wow, this is magnificent and beautiful, and I feel fuzzy right now’ and

some people call that spirituality, but to me it just feels like living and appreciating life.

When questioned by a theist friend at a local bar about how she could explain love and

beauty without belief in God, Helen, the women in her thirties who had recently moved to begin

a new job, responded this way:

[friend remarking...] ‘I just don’t understand this. If you don’t believe in God then what do you

think is love, because love is the most powerful thing.’ And our [Helen and another atheist friend]

answer to that was, it was funny we were both on the same page..., “Well, we believe it’s totally

biological. It’s a chemical thing. It’s something that probably happened for evolutionary reasons.

It means that people can connect and it creates a family…but that doesn’t make it, to us, any less

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 special or wonderful or profound. It just means that that’s the explanation for it, instead of some

God said “poof, you have love.” It doesn’t make it any less real or important. It doesn’t make it

any less meaningful. It just means the origin is different. That’s my feeling about ethics and

morality too.

Many participants shared similar thoughts about the ideas such as love, compassion, and

beauty. Importantly, and this is implicit in Helen’s thoroughly non-supernaturalist account to her

theist friend, is the notion that atheists acknowledge and share and assent to many of the same

basic experiential and existential aspects of life that theists do. The aesthetic and transcendent 21

in other words, appear part and parcel of human experience generally, and are not restricted to a

religious context.

This would seem an obvious and unnecessary point if not for the fact that much of the

public seems to assume that the atheism is “the belief in nothing” or that atheists must have no

purpose or reason for being, and consequently would not experience realities like the aesthetic.

Participants, being starkly aware of many of the assumptions of non-atheists, often in a

preemptive fashion, attempted to articulate to others that lacking belief in God does not

necessarily translate into lacking these experiential qualities of life. Indeed, respondents often

engaged and referred their interlocutors to the expansive humanist literature that outlines the

socially positive, edifying, and aesthetic qualities of life, sans the assumption of the supernatural

or theistic. Helen’s referencing of important books and authors that had influenced and informed

her own worldview were representative of many participants:

21
Transcendence is meant here in its more technical sense: “beyond normal or mundane

experience,” that is, something extraordinary. It does not in this usage refer, as is sometimes

(mistakenly) done, to the supernatural, or to a God.

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 ...People like Steven J. Gould, Carl Sagan, definitely Richard Dawkins, you know, Christopher

Hitchens…Especially people who are atheists and scientists and have written a lot about both

topics…but those three authors Gould, and Sagan and Dawkins have definitely influenced me.

Peter Singer the philosopher is someone that I quite like reading and I would consider that

humanist literature...

Like Helen, for many, the scientific/secular humanist literature helped organize and

orient the worldviews of participants. The act of attributing to atheism, the atheist literature, and

preeminent atheist figures, positive, prosocial, and humanistic qualities is a key example of the

meaning-making activities of atheists. It is another sense in which participants gave content to

their worldviews and their identities as atheists. One might suppose, given participants’ focus on

independent, critical thought, and diversity of opinion (discussed at length in chapter three) that

there would be considerable variation and diversity in their corresponding worldviews. In fact,

this was an assumption I had as I began the research. However, this appears to not necessarily be

the case. Having put specific questions to participants that would assess their worldviews,

Fitzgerald (2003:40) observed that, “One aspect is readily apparent when reading [through] the

interviews [of study participants]...these individuals describe a remarkably similar worldview”

(Pp. 40). She writes further that, “...they all posses a strong adherence to, and reliance on, reason,

logic, science, and empiricism.” Indeed, respondents’ remarks in my interviews seem to confirm

Fitzgerald’s conclusion. For instance, a consistent focus among respondents was their continual

referencing of science and the scientific perspective, as many of the above quotes demonstrate.

Even those who were quite insistent that their atheism was nothing more than the absence of

belief in a God tended to espouse naturalistic worldviews in almost exclusively scientific terms

(though atheism in this technical sense, as mere “absence of belief,” neither strictly implies or

entails a scientific outlook).

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 The interview excerpts from other studies of atheists seem to confirm this as well (see,

for instance, Hunsberger and Altemeyer 2006) but the accounts of participants in Fitzgerald’s

study in particular bear striking similarity to mine. Consider the rather lengthy response of Jacob,

an articulate young man, who was asked about his worldview by Fitzgerald (2003:41):

My overall worldview would probably be described as naturalism. Naturalism in philosophy is

the position that only this space, time, and universe is all there is. I would say that view includes

as a possibility that there are multi-verses rather than universe according to the many worlds

interpretation of quantum physics...I think I would also describe that as being a scientific picture

of reality, that the world is to be explained according to science and so when we ask about the

genesis of the universe, I’m looking at the evolution of the universe in terms of scientific

processes, which on earth would include Darwinian evolution. I take evolution to be a fact, and I

take Darwin’s theory of evolution to be an explanation of the fact that species evolve...That is my

scientific view of reality and I think we have to fit human values within such a picture. We have

to be realistic about who we are, were we came from, where we are going. I think the scientific

picture is a useful means of constraining human arrogance...I look for an explanation of value

within the world itself in relation to consciousness which I take to be natural phenomena, so value

does not come from any transcendent being and my worldview doesn’t include transcendent

beings.

Now compare this with Helen’s response from my interviews, part of which was quoted

earlier in chapter four:

My interest is in the natural world…it’s a scientific worldview. And it’s not that you have to be a

practicing scientist or anything. But it’s about if you experience the world and think about the

world in a scientific method kind of way, I think it becomes increasingly difficult to reconcile that

with any kind of supernatural belief. A scientific worldview is the idea that you approach the

world and ideas in your life in a way that mirrors the scientific method. You go out and you

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 gather data and see whether that refutes your ideas and your hypothesis or whether it supports it.

And that might sound kind of funny for everyday life, but it’s not. The idea that a supernatural

God created the Earth either happened or it didn’t. It’s real or it’s not real…I mean, there are

good theories and bad ones, and they [religion and science] are not equally valid...I think

philosophical ideas and ethical ideas can be good or bad. I do think that, I believe in things like

fundamental human rights. I don’t think it’s all subjective, and it’s all culturally relative. I think

certainly lots of things are culturally relative but there are some absolutes and I think fundamental

human right do exist. So in that sense, some things are right and some things are wrong...

Both Jacob and Helen, from two different studies, at near-opposite ends of the country,

articulate what most of the participants offered when asked the same question. Despite the fact

that atheism neither necessarily implies or entails a scientific perspective (something a few

respondents were careful to spell out), after elaborating the virtues of science and their scientific

perspective, both Jacob and Helen in the same breath, moved to a discussion of morality and

human values.

It is clear that, for participants, their atheism is not simply an isolated or

compartmentalized aspect of their selves. Rather, their atheism is intimately connected with the

way in which they look at the natural and social worlds around them. Naturalism, science,

rationality, personal dispositions – moods and motivations (in Geertz’s (1973) terms) and even

specific moral and ethical outlooks on human values and behavior are all bundled in these

atheists’ cognitive constellations that sociologists refer to as worldviews. In summation, the

evidence contained in the accounts of participants suggests not only that there indeed is some

kind of “content” to atheism for those who claim and vocalize it, but that there is additionally

some degree of consistency and uniformity regarding this content and the atheist viewpoint and

aesthetic more broadly.

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Atheist (Dis)contentment?

Recall the social and personal tensions, discussed earlier, that some participants experienced as a

result of their atheism. The intra-familial problems that arose for some as they came out to theist

and religious family members and the more abstracted sense of being stigmatized by the broader

community are obvious sources of conflict for some atheists. A few participants even spoke of a

sense of alienation of the self from the broader culture because of their non-belief. Paula, a

retired professor and lawyer, expressed it this way:

...Yeah, I do, I’ve always felt that [alienated because of her atheism]. Always, and not just the

religion thing…maybe, I don’t know which causes which, are you an atheist because you already

feel alienated, or are you alienated because your….you know [an atheist], I don’t know (laughs).

In the town I grew up in, at that time – I grew up in the 1940’s – I don’t think anyone would have

had the courage to stand up and say “I’m an atheist” I just don’t think they would have.

Even now, decades later, Paula said she continued to experience a generic sense of

alienation because of her lack of belief in God. This is the case even though she chose to live in

relatively liberal and progressive communities all her life. Although most respondents had

something to say of alienation, they tended to point out that the immediate surrounding socio-

political environment was crucial to whether or not they experienced it. As Helen put it plainly,

when I asked if she had ever felt alienated because of her atheism:

I don’t . . . not really, I mean, and I think this is maybe more a function of geography, that I’ve

lived in/on the west coast most of my life and in progressive places: Northern California, Portland

Oregon, and...those are very quite liberal progressive places...But perhaps if I lived in the south or

in the mid-west or wherever then I think maybe that [feeling alienated] would be more of the

case.

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 Like Helen, many participants who did not in any concrete sense presently feel alienated

from the broader culture, still assumed, and even expected that they would if they were a part of

a more religious or conservative part of the country (see Heiner 1992). Thus, atheists’ salient

awareness of their minority status and the presence of stigma against them is at least a pre-

disposing factor for the potential experience of alienation within groups or society.

There seems, however, to be a contradiction here. The narrative of intellectual freedom

and identity liberation that participant’s espoused, and that has been central to atheists’ identities,

stands in sharp relief against the concurrent narrative of stigma and the disconnection from the

broader moral and cultural community that some atheists experience. This “contradiction,”

though, is another source of meaning and identity for atheists. Atheism as a positive expression

of self can actually be strengthened by the individual and collective sense of being “outsiders,”

that is, part of a “struggling” and/or in some way disenfranchised minority. This basic idea is not

novel or peculiar to atheists. As Moore (1986) argued in his book about religious outsiders in the

American context, it is the narrative of marginality and even persecution (Moore discusses, for

example, the history of the Mormons) that itself lends and contributes to the identity solidarity

and group cohesiveness that is essential to the success and survival of minority religious groups.

Moore did not discuss atheists in his study, but clearly, in terms of atheist identity, group

dynamics, and boundary work, the idea holds.

This helps explain the upsurge in collective atheist activity in the late-2000s. The New

Atheist Movement, for instance, premised on an identity politics and response to religious

fundamentalism, has meant atheists’ highlighting the fact they are often dismissed, stigmatized,

marginalized, and/or mistreated by the non-atheist public. Cimino and Smith’s (2007)

observation that, organizationally, atheists have begun to adopt a reactivist position is useful in

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that it helps to explain the movement activities and organizational evolution of atheists. They

argue that atheists have, during the Bush Administration, developed the same fundamental

subcultural identity strategies that evangelicals use to defend, sustain, and promote themselves. I

explained in chapter six that I part from Cimino and Smith’s views in some ways. Namely, I

disagree that the basic strategies of contemporary organized atheists: creating a subcultural

niche, mimicking evangelicals, and making use of minority discourse (all activities I

acknowledge) have simply developed in “response to the failure of secularism.” Nevertheless,

their analysis helps uncover the nature of the social tensions currently being experienced within

and without the atheist community.

Yet this tension, and the general unrest of the atheist community, implicates the reality of

a shift in the cultural conditions that shape their experience. Not more than just a handful of

decades ago, there was nearly no visible atheist “community” to speak of. Consequently, there

was little tension or unrest among atheists. It was simply not a viable identity option. This is no

longer the case, as survey studies have shown (see Cragun et al. 2012 for an overview), and there

is now evidence to suggest that Americans are more freely claiming atheism and identifying with

its meaning and collective support structure. Two questions arise from this reality regarding

atheists at the individual and collective levels: are present-day atheists as happy and as contented

as their theist counterparts? Likewise, is there comity and a sense of collective well-being and

satisfaction within the atheist community? One might expect that, given the disproportionate

focus on atheists’ minority status, their marginalization, and the social stigma they face, atheists

would experience less contentment than non-atheists. Although, a great deal more research is

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needed before this question can be adequately addressed,22 initial findings from both survey and

interview-based research suggests that, “atheists are no less happy, satisfied with life,

emotionally stable, open, socially connected, intelligent, conscientious, or law-abiding than

demographically-matched theists” (Hammer et al. 2012; for more in-depth discussions see Beit-

Hallahmi 2010; Caldwell-Harris et al. 2010; Galen and Kloet 2011; Hunter 2010). The

stereotype of the isolated or “angry atheist” likely contributes to the view that atheists, lacking

the benefits of belief and religion, must be less happy and contented. Based on the available

research so far, this assumption appears misplaced.

Would atheists, being such a generally mistrusted and stigmatized group, experience

lower levels of contentment? What accounts for their comparable-to-theists well-being? An

element of subtext in the narratives of these atheists, the general perception of the eventual

acceptance of atheism on the part of America, faith in the constitutional grounding of the idea of

separation of church and state, and the expectation of increasing secularization in the United

States, gave participants a sense of hope and progress for atheists. This contrasts with Cimino

and Smith’s (2007) argument about the atheist response to the “failure of secularism in

America.” My respondents, despite whatever level of cynicism they might have been carrying

22
Much research has explored the relationship between religiosity and psychological well-being

(see Zuckerman 2009). Generally, findings suggest that the supportive structures of religious

groups can, in fact, facilitate both psychic well-being and overall contentment. Atheists, lacking

these structures in strictly the same sense, give some plausibility to the notion that they must

also, as a corollary, experience lesser psychic well-being and overall contentment. Most of this

research however, simply assumes, by implication, that the non-religious experience lower levels

of well-being; it does not directly assess this.

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(almost none of them believed that religion and theism would ever become extinct, or even

decrease significantly), genuinely thought that science, reason, and secularism would increase, if

not prevail, in the United States in some meaningful sense. For instance, some commented on the

probability of America becoming more like secular Western Europe. Consider Brittany’s

thoughts on this subject:

We’re not evolving out of religion physically. But I would like to think that we’re evolving out of

it socially. Sociologically. And it’s a very slow movement. There’s gonna be a lot of back-

sliding. I think the U.S. has actually taken a couple of steps backwards in the last

decade...[referring to the Bush Administration]. But the U.S. is a subset – you know – of all the

nations on the earth. Look at Europe. Look at Norway and Sweden. Look at some of the

northern European countries where atheism is the majority manifestation. And that is probably

because, you know, the education system is up to standard. And the health care system is up to

standards. So that everyone gets some reasonably decent tools to start their lives with, and, as a

result, religion becomes less necessary.

Brittany went on to suggest that if the United States could simply improve its educational

system under a new administration that, Americans too, would experience a decline in religiosity

and consequent increase of secularism, much like western European nations. Despite her

cautiousness and attempt at a realistic accounting of the current state of the United States with

regard to religion and secularism, undergirding her view is the idea that this country too, will

progressively become more secular. Many other participants, after expressing their concerns

about the religious and political climate in the United States, echoed similar sentiments about the

eventual triumph of secularism.

Related to this, other comments demonstrate that although participants do casually

remark on the impossibility of a self-described atheist obtaining high-office in America,

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conceding the significant challenges that lie ahead for atheists socio-politically, it is clear that

many participants nevertheless do see improvement and the possibility of making inroads in the

future. For instance, Helen, in discussing President Obama’s administration, and his historical

2008 Inaugural Speech in which he acknowledged nonbelievers, remarked:

I was really thrilled with that [Obama’s inclusive remarks], I really was. Because I’m not

expecting people, the whole country to become a completely atheist country or anything, but I

thought it was important because I think that I do believe that religion is maybe, the balance sheet

is more bad than good, and I think it’s done harm and has been an incredibly divisive tool in this

country, so I think that we need to really get away from that and the separation of church and

state is part of what makes this country work and so I think that it was really…it just made me

happy that, “Yes! We exist!” And I think there are more non-believers in this country than the

Census would lead us to believe.

The assent and enthusiasm expressed by participants over President Obama’s inclusion of

“nonbelievers” is an indication of their generalized, if sometimes subdued, hopefulness regarding

the eventual, more broad-based acceptance of atheists in the future. I outlined the basis of the

collective efforts currently afoot among a growing segment of the atheist community in chapter

six, but there is another interesting example of the socio-political expectations of contemporary

atheists. The National Atheist Party, a 527 political organization with the stated goal of

becoming a Federal Elections Committee designated political party, was founded in March 2011.

Its mission statement, “To politically represent U.S. atheists and all who are drawn to our

mandate, in a political process that has thus far marginalized and ignored one of the largest and

growing segments of the U.S. population” (2012), is followed by the following description and

explanation for the existence of the organization:

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 The National Atheist Party is a diverse, all inclusive, progressive, secular political movement and

a response to the lack of representation for all free thinking people who are legal, law abiding

citizens of the United States. We demand emancipation from the religious dogma that has

infiltrated our government and has unfairly influenced political decisions and policy making. We

are for the people, by the people, and therefore incorporate the right to use the

power of the people to restore equality to our Democracy using reasonable, rational and non-

violent means. The National Atheist Party is open to people of all races, sexes and sexual

orientations, and cultures. We are committed to a government free of superstition and bias and are

guided by principles of equal opportunity, recognition of merit, and economic responsibility. The

National Atheist Party does not seek to inhibit the religious practices or beliefs of any group, but

is committed to the idea that religious preference is a private matter and has no place in the

government or workplace. We support the separation of church and state, and seek to ensure its

strictest interpretation (National Atheist Party, 2012).

The creators of the organization expressed their initial intent to call the political party the

“secular” party, or more vaguely, the “freethinking” party. But after conversing with others and

deliberating on the subject (which included some fellow atheists encouraging them to use one of

these more neutral-sounding terms) they decided to stick with the “atheist party,” claiming that

these less castigated terms are not well understood by the public, and that they are “not an honest

representation” of the goals and political agenda of the group. Further, the creators and

organizers of the group stated that they wish to “reclaim the word ‘atheist’” and change its

negative connotations into positive ones “in much the same way that African-American activists”

reclaimed the word “negro” during the 1950s (NAP 2012).

In addition to being another salient example of the collective desire and work toward the

destigmatization of atheism, this explicitly political group, with an active socio-political agenda,

signifies a collective supposition and expectation among a growing number of American atheists.

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This supposition is that greater public acceptance of atheism is feasible, and that atheists, like

other marginal groups, require and deserve political representation. They believe they have both

the sufficient numbers and the collective willpower to undergird and make these possibilities

come to fruition in the future.

This “possible atheist future” is closely connected with the individual and collective

contentment of atheists. Again, careful examinations that attempt quantitative and qualitative

measurement of the contentment and well-being of actual atheists (especially in the United

States) are very rare, and the question will ultimately be for future research to answer. But a

2009 comparative study by Zuckerman that focused on the connection between atheism and

well-being (mostly at the societal level) in advanced democratic nations provides some evidence

that may have implications for atheists generally. Citing a variety of the most recent nationally

and cross-nationally representative surveys, including the United Nations World Development

Report and the Economist’s Quality of Life Index, Zuckerman argues that the traditional social

indicators of contentment and well-being: wealth, gender equality, educational level, infant

mortality, and health-care, are connected in a meaningful way to associated levels of religiosity

and secularity. Namely, the more secular states, regions, and countries tend to fare, on average,

better than more religious ones. Zuckerman (2009:960) is careful not to claim that

atheism/secularism is a cause of societal and individual well-being and contentment, but as he

concludes, in opposition to the general public’s sentiment on the question, “...we can be quite

sure that atheism and/or secularity certainly [my emphasis] do not hinder societal well-being...”

The implication of Zuckerman’s study is that many of the socio-demographic

characteristics, attitudes, value-systems, and social/political dispositions of atheists (especially

factors such as higher educational levels, lower levels of bias/prejudice towards minority groups,

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and greater emphasis on gender equality) are in line with the same factors that indicate higher

levels of well-being and contentment.

Given the nature and design of my study, I did not formally assess the well-being of my

interviewees using traditional indicators and measurements. Therefore, I cannot draw definitive

conclusions about it. However, at no time was I under the impression that participants

experienced lower levels of happiness, contentment, or well-being as a result of their atheism. If

it were shown that atheists in the United States, ceteris paribus and on average, were less happy

than theists, it would likely have something to do with their minority status and social position

within this country. That is (and here is a limitation of Zuckerman’s study), it might well be that

societies with the highest levels of secularism (for example, Scandinavia) are strongly correlated

with higher levels of well-being. But in highly religious countries such as the United States,

where atheists are a small and stigmatized minority, the conditions for atheists’ happiness and

well-being might be meaningfully different.

As Cragun et al. (2012:5) note:

“... [any] differences in happiness between the religious and nonreligious are typically only found

in countries where nonreligious individuals are minorities...Minorities are subject to heightened

levels of discrimination, which can reduce life satisfaction and health.”

As I suggested earlier, irrespective of the status of atheists in this country, and whether or

not this status leads them to greater or lesser contentment, the narrative of struggle in terms of

personal and collective identity is itself a source of meaning and socio-political purpose. To

whatever degree an identity politics in America plays a role in the creation and sustainment of

socially legitimate selves and group solidarity, atheists will likely find a commensurate degree of

contentment and well-being in the future.

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 Chapter Eight: Conclusion

This ethnographic investigation of atheists was born out of the intersection between my

personal interest in irreligion and my desire to explore a relatively unexamined area of social life

from the sociological perspective. The historical lack of sociological interest in atheism and other

forms of non-belief is surprising. Given the expansive and ever-growing sociological literature

on religion and its connection with myriad other social dimensions of central concern to

sociology (race, gender, class, sexuality, politics etc), coupled with the historical and continued

importance of religion in American public and private life, not giving treatment to the conceptual

counterpart of religion and belief (non-religion and unbelief) seems a significant oversight. But

this is changing. Starting from just before I began this research in 2007, scholarly interest in

atheists and other forms on non-religion/belief has increased steadily (see Zuckerman 2010 for

an overview).

I have attempted to survey and briefly incorporate throughout my analysis this recent and

cutting-edge research. I have argued that turning the sociological eye toward atheists can and

will help illuminate, expound upon, and aid our understanding of important fields of inquiry

within sociology. The self, deviant behavior, collective action, and the social processes involved

in the collective construction of meaning, and the negotiation of contemporary identities, are

some of the broader sociological issues I hope the empirical analysis outlined in the preceding

chapters has helped contribute. Thus, in the remaining pages, by way of strengthening and

justifying the above analysis, I recap and summarize, make additional theoretical and empirical

connections to broader sociological issues, add further comment to what my research on can

reveal, and offer some thoughts on the direction of future research on atheists.

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Atheism and Identity

This study has, in part, analyzed the processes of identity construction in opposition to dominant

ideologies. Much of the literature on identity emphasizes the influence of group membership.

Identity “denotes a situatedness of the person in terms of standing in the context of a particular

social relationship or group” (Gecas and Burke 1995:45). People can give certain identities more

or less salience, but they always make behavioral choices within the groups that verify the

meaning of those choices (Gecas 2000). In this framework, it is difficult to imagine how people

might depart from familiar groups that offer long-standing confirmation of who and what they

are. Within the literature on religious identity, Peek’s research on Muslims adds the insight of

how “religious identity emerge[s] and gain[s] salience,” but the Muslims she interviewed had

been born into Islam (2005: 221-226). She argues that “religious identities are ultimately

‘achieved identities,’” yet the analysis does not illuminate the processes through which people

adopt an identity that contradicts not only their ascribed identity but also the dominant cultural

ideology. This is what the study of atheist identity contributes to the discussion. It offers insight

into the construction of an achieved identity for which the culture at-large offers no validation.

Moreover, atheists do not step into a “ready-made” identity with a specific and definable

set of roles or behaviors attached to it. To contrast, a religious identity is usually comprised of

discernable social behaviors (e.g. worship, adherence to dietary codes, tithing, professing belief

in specific doctrines), which become the indicators, and to some extent, the content of the

identity. Such is generally absent among atheists. This is why the structure and content of an

atheist identity is best framed as biographical and rejection-based. It is a product of interaction,

and an achieved identity to be sure, but one constructed out of negation and rejection, rather than

filling culturally defined social roles. Important parts of this construction process include

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appealing to science, committing one’s self to a secular value-system, and articulating and

justifying a moral sense of self (Ecklund 2010). Each contributing to the increasing salience of

the atheist identity, as it moves up the identity hierarchy and finds placement among the myriad

other social and personal identities that comprise the self, ultimately becoming a central and

meaningful component of one’s self-understanding (Stryker 1968).

I have argued that becoming an atheist in America involves four basic elements: the

ubiquity of theism, questioning theism, rejecting theism, and coming out as atheist. Although the

first part differs from the others in that it is not an action taken by the individual, this difference

underscores my argument. In the United States, theism not only provides the starting point for

any religious identity, it also drives atheism. This model captures the process participants

underwent. It is worth asking whether all of those in this study conform to the model outlined.

For instance, would not those who came from secular families differ in some sense from those

from religious backgrounds? There are some differences. I found, for example, that the atheists

who came from particularly strong religious backgrounds tended to have greater feelings of

acrimony toward religion, and may have been more likely to be outspoken with their non-belief.

And there are variations in terms of specific life experiences and personal biographies. No one

became an atheist in exactly the same way. The point, however, is that in terms of identity

process, each person in this study, whether from a religious or nonreligious background, had to

engage with theism in a particular (and rather consistent) way in order for that person to

ultimately claim atheism. Variations in personal relationships, political views, skepticism,

intellectual inclinations, and social interactions applied varying pressures to become an atheist,

but the model captures the generic identity process each respondent underwent as these issues

brought them all to adopt the same identity label, atheist.

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Atheism as Not-Self

As a rejection identity, atheism is constructed through articulating what it is one does not

believe. That is, it is part of the “not-me” (McCall 2003), or more abstractly, the “not-self”

(Colomy 2007). This conceptualization may be extended to other identities that run against

societal norms and social convention. For instance, Mullaney (2005) discusses various types of

labels people use that are based on “not-doing.” She argues that such labels are increasingly

becoming more central to our personal identities and self-concepts in the context of an

increasingly complex modern world where identity options and alternative self-meanings are

always expanding. To her analysis, I add the element of departing from the culturally dominant

theist perspective. Vegans, nondrinkers, virgins, and self-identified asexuals are a few examples

of personal labels and acts of not-doing that help define and generate personal and social

meaning in contrast to predominant cultural messages. My research with atheists informs the

identity processes involved with regards to the use of these labels. It would be interesting to

investigate other viewpoints such as the non-violence movement to learn whether this

conceptualization of identity could facilitate our understanding of the identity processes and the

nature of the self-understandings of those who make such identity declarations.

Religion and belief in America receive their legitimacy through the traditional and social

institutions in which they are anchored. A theist/religious person in the United States has ready

access and recourse to legitimate institutions in which his or her religious identity can find

validation and social support. There is a discourse and set of public narratives (Somers 1994) of

belief in America, to which theists may appeal, find meaning, purpose, and social mooring for

their religious identities. Thus, an important implication that flows from this research regards the

question of what replaces the meaning structure that religion offers, or the purpose and guidance

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that one may receive from the notion of God, both of which find legitimacy in the institutional

structures of American culture, and which all of the participants I interviewed came to reject.23

As Roof (1999) notes, secularists (and atheists) have rejected both the social institutional and

religious/spiritual narratives that are so ingrained in American culture and that are foundational

to constructing an identity within it. I found that part of the answer to this question lies in

participants’ recourse to the discourse of science and reason. Science, like religion, enjoys an

institutional and respected status in American society. These atheists found an effective,

institutionally-grounded meaning structure which provided a framework for self-understanding;

a secular worldview within which they could situate themselves and find a sense of direction,

purpose, and legitimation of their viewpoint by appealing to science, reason, and a secular value

system (Ecklund 2010; Evans and Evans 2008).

Atheism as Process

I have highlighted the interactional and narrative process of becoming an atheist, rather than

simply describing the socio-demographic correlates of atheism. The process outlined is

important for considering the dynamics of identity construction more generally. Much of our

understanding of how people construct identities is premised on our assumptions about

socialization, and the cultural meaning and validation people receive as they inherit and manage

the normative cultural messages from which they construct those identities. Thus, investigating

the “contradiction” of those who reject the general socialization toward theism and the normative

23
Though legitimate, this question is oversimplified. It is important to note that participants

understood their divestiture of religion as a positive thing, an endpoint itself. Thus, they did not

necessarily feel as though they were “missing” anything by abandoning religion and belief.

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cultural expectation of belief in God is necessary for a more complete picture of the social

processes by which we construct our identities and create meaningful selves. In addition to

extending the inquiry into this process, future research should investigate the social causes of this

rejection, the means through which this stigmatized identity is negotiated and managed once it

has been claimed. Finally, as I have attempted in this study, and as Cimino and Smith (2007)

have taken steps toward, we should come to a more complete understanding of the organizational

dynamics and social movement aspects of the atheist community.

Implications of the Social Stigma of Atheism

If the literature on atheists has discovered anything for certain in the last decade, it is that atheists

are one of the most stigmatized groups in American society. I have outlined this literature in

order to give readers a sense of this reality. Situating the accounts and behaviors of the atheists in

this study within the broader literature on the sociology of deviance has helped illuminate the

ways atheists negotiate their identities and understand themselves. But why are atheists so

stigmatized, more so even than some of the most historically marginalized and stigmatized

groups in American society? Edgell et al.’s (2006) argument about atheists being an essential

“other” in American culture, that atheists are seen as having rejecting the very moral foundation

of the American cultural value-system, cuts right to the core of this question and offers what is

probably its most insightful answer. Additionally, Gervais et al. (2011) show that this othering

on the part of the American public is ultimately an issue of an underlying distrust of those who

would reject the idea of God. They go further to show that this distrust can set the conditions for

prejudice and even discrimination against atheists.

My own research offers confirming evidence of the arguments put forth by these studies.

Additionally, however, I suggest that scholars not take for granted what seem to be the most

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logical effects of the othering of atheists or of the prejudice they face. Though negative outcomes

certainly are possible for atheists because of the stigma they face, it is important not to ignore the

affirming, meaning-making, self and identity processes that emerge from the othering process

itself. That is, from symbolic and moral boundary construction, and from any other identity-

building “materials” or processes from which atheists can construct meaningful selves.

The question about whether the stigma and prejudice against atheists leads to

discrimination requires a caveat. That atheism occupies a deviant status in American culture is

quite clear. Although there is plenty of anecdotal evidence that atheists encounter forms of

discrimination in their social interactions, there has simply not yet been sufficient research to

make any confident assessment about whether the general atheist population, like other minority

groups, experience real, sustained, systematic and institutional discrimination for their lack of

belief in God. The reasons for this, discussed in chapter five, have mostly to do with the nature

of atheism as a cognitive, concealable, and discreditable form of deviance. This is one area of

inquiry where I would call upon scholars to devote more time and energy, as there are real social

and political consequences involved when any minority group experiences discrimination. This

is of particular interest if there is any substance at all to the claim put forth by one atheist

promoter, that atheists are “the last unprotected minority group in America.” Respondents in this

study liked to suggest there was evidence for this. For instance, they often cited the fact there is

only a single open atheist in the U.S. congress (Rep Pete Stark).

Another important part of this story involves what has been the central focus in this

study: the perceptions, experiences, interactions, and relationships of atheists themselves.

Without having adequate data on atheist discrimination, we can nevertheless see that perceptions

of stigma and discrimination help shape the identities of atheists. Future research needs to

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address more carefully just what role these perceptions play in the identity formation and

maintenance process. For instance, some of the narrative accounts of the participants in this

study seem to suggest that many atheists are frequently on the defensive with others regarding

their non-belief. Whether this disposition plays an important role in the other social, personal,

and political identities of atheists is a question for future research. This will likely take some

combination of both ethnographic and survey-based research on contemporary atheists.

Consequences of Atheist Types

Atheists take a variety of approaches to negotiating their stigmatized status. These approaches

closely follow the reactive-proactive continuum that has been useful in the examination of the

stigma management strategies of people with other kinds of deviant statuses. Out of this

continuum I proposed three types of atheists: the silent atheist, the temperate atheist, and the

outspoken atheist. Each type is based on the level of “outness” and on the specific ways in which

respondents negotiated their atheism with the non-atheist public. This is simply one useful way

to organize the response of some atheists to the stigma they face from the general public. The

constraints of my data and the nature of this study leave open the possibility of other “types” of

atheists than those

These conceptual types are entirely rooted in the socio-political context of the American

situation. They are not a priori categories that atheists inherently fall under in any objective

sense. Rather, it is the contextualized meaning of atheism, being the product of the interactions

between atheists and the public that set the conditions for these types. The active atheist

discourse apparent in various media, and the concrete social interactions of atheists and non-

atheists create a situation in which moral, political, attitudinal, and other social dimensions are

constructed in meaningful (even if often confused or misconstrued) ways for both atheists and

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non-atheists alike.

To what degree, and in what sense, atheism in the United States will continue to be

understood in negative, stigmatizing terms remains to be seen. Hopefully the preceding chapters

have sensitized the reader to the context in which this question might be answered. This question

has important connections to other contemporary social forces and patterns, such as religious

pluralism and (neo)secularization (see Bruce 2011; Chaves 1994; Smith 2003). My research

shows that the stigma of atheism plays a critical role in the personal and collective identities,

communities, and lives of American atheists. It therefore stands to reason that if atheism is to

sometime in the future become more broadly accepted by the American public, the nature of

atheist identities must in consequence also change in some way. This is the case because of the

socially interactive constitution of identity and self generally.

In addition to examining the personal identity construction of contemporary atheists in

the United States, I have sought to outline the social processes involved in their collective

identity work and identity negotiation. Very little sociological scholarship has devoted itself to

investigating the ways in which atheists collectively negotiate their identities in the context of

atheist organizations and with the non-atheist public. Thus, not a great deal is known about why

and how, given the deviant status of atheism, a growing segment of Americans are coming not

only to identify with atheism, but organize, coordinate, and engage the public in order to change

this status.

Organized Atheism, Community, and Movement

Organized atheism occupies an interesting space when viewed in the light of social movement

theory. As Polletta and Jasper (2001) discuss, mobilization on the part of the civil rights

movement was based on seeking full inclusion as equal citizens. This is in contrast to post-

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citizenship movements that are “peopled by those who already enjoy most or all of the normal

rights of citizens, including the ability to mobilize legally and to put pressure on political

decision makers” (Pp. 287). Given the socio-demographic and cultural/educational

characteristics of many U.S. (see Cragun et al. 2011; Pasquale 2012), atheists as a group fit into

this latter category. Yet, much about the collective identity of atheists is based on their

perception of the heavy stigma and social marginalization they face. These perceptions are not

unfounded, as recent research documents (Cragun et al. 2012). The American public, more than

any other marginal group, do not include atheists as full citizens because they are perceived to

have rejected the very moral foundations of American society (Edgell et al. 2006). This helps

explain the minority discourse, symbolic boundary construction, and the rhetoric of civil rights

that organizing atheists have increasingly come to adopt. Organized atheism, then, can be viewed

as an example of the not-self at the collective level. If this is correct, we should expect to see the

range of social activities that atheists engage, with regards to boundary work and the “not-us,”

continue to expand, beyond the examples discussed here (such as funerals), into other areas of

social import.

Consistent with Cimino and Smith’s (2007) observations about the minority discourse

and identity politics organized atheists have come to employ, I found that taking advantage of the

rhetoric of marginalization and articulating atheism as an issue of civil rights has become a basic

strategy of contemporary atheists for negotiating their identity with the public. The use of these

strategies is comparable to other historically marginal groups such as the gay community. The

general public’s increasing acceptance of homosexuality is likely connected with the successful

collective mobilization and identity politics of members of this community. To the extent that

atheists are able to effectively engage in the same kind of public awareness campaigns, changing

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the public’s perception through these identity strategies, we might expect similar public

acceptance of atheism. Observing the collective activities of atheists in the next decade, and

seeing their relative success or failure at accomplishing their socio-political goals will help shed

light on the effectiveness of their mobilization and identity politics. Scholars might then make

useful comparisons with past and future marginal groups with fundamentally different

cosmogonies (e.g. new religious movements) that might reveal processes not yet accounted for

or fully understood.

Another argument Cimino and Smith (2007) make is that 21st century atheists have

responded to the “failure of secularism” in the United States by adopting the strategies of

evangelicals. There is some evidence to support this. For instance, the rhetoric of the “dangers”

of theism, and activities such as “Ask an Atheist at Church” can reasonably be construed as

examples of the “defensive competition” and “mimicry” of evangelicalism that Cimino and

Smith (2007) suggest. However, in contrast to their argument, I find that, far from adopting an

enured posture regarding the supposed “failure” of secularism (or taking refuge in a subcultural

niche), many organized atheists are actually closer to seeing themselves as part of the “secular

vanguard.” Organized atheists perceive both the possibility, and necessity, of not just defending

their views, but growing, increasing their influence, and becoming an accepted part of the

mainstream. The comments of the President of American Atheists at the 2012 Reason Rally

make this clear, “America is not far behind [secularism in Western Europe]. I believe in two

decades we will be in a position where secularism is the norm” (National Public Radio 2012).

Irrespective of the historical/empirical accuracy of this claim, organized atheism continues to

perceive the progression of secularism in America.

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 The interplay between atheists seeking both a defined community and a meaningful

change in how the public views that community is at the core of the collective identity for

atheists. From seeking to bring others “out of the closet,” to employing the rhetoric of an identity

politics, to engaging in social/political activism, contemporary atheists are constructing a shared

sense of identity and community. Rather than internal differences undermining this collective

identity, atheists’ narrative of difference, combined with an acknowledgement of their shared

values, serves to strengthen group boundaries and self-understanding. The activities of atheists,

which involve renegotiating the meaning of atheism vis-à-vis the American public, is a key

organizing principle in constructing their collective identity.

Social networking and the new social media have been critical factors in the development

of the atheist community (Cimino and Smith 2012). As there is no centralized leadership in this

community, atheists have relied on lateral, cooperative, local activities. Participants may come

from a variety of backgrounds, and have differing views on specific issues, but cooperative local

and national action is possible to a significant degree because of the collective narratives atheists

employ online. As Wuthnow (2011) reiterates, “talk” is an essential element in both the

production and analysis of social life. Though his focus was on religious discourse, talk is no less

critical in irreligious discourse. Atheists construct collective identity, in part, by the talk they

engage in with one another and with the public. The narratives of difference and “we-ness” are

important instantiations of talk, and the symbolic/social boundaries so critical to forming

collective identity are in large part kinds of boundary-talk.

Goal-oriented social action requires the alignment of personal and collective identity.

From this view, when atheists engage in activism, it is because, as Snow (2001:4) made clear in

discussing the concept of collective identity, their shared sense of “we” has animated and

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mobilized them “cognitively, morally, and emotionally” for a common cause, and against a

common threat. The normative status of theism in United States and the public and sometimes

political nature of religious life provide opportunity and justification for atheists to erect

boundaries and organize themselves. Since some self-identified atheists come from formerly

religious backgrounds, the question about why people would dissociate from the religious groups

that so often offer meaning, identity, and that confirm and validate “who and what one is”

receives a partial answer: there are increasingly organizational opportunities for that same

confirmation, support, solidarity, and validation to be found in opposing groups.

The notion of collective identity acts as a conceptual bridge between individual

motivations/dispositions and collective action. As a critical kind of social identity that

individuals incorporate into their self-understanding, collective identity has the added benefit of

helping to explain not only the collective behaviors of atheists, but the actions of individuals as

well. As Friedman and McAdam (1992:162) write, “One of the most powerful motivators of

individual action is the desire to confirm, through [collective] behavior, a cherished identity.” As

part of the content of an individual atheist’s identity structure, collective atheist identity takes on

added explanatory power.

Despite the insistence of some respondents that atheism means nothing more than the

absence of belief in God, this research has argued that organized atheism in 21st century America

implies a set of other meanings, values, and identities that are shared, and that lend themselves to

fostering a shared sense of experience and identity. Drawing from the ideas of scientific

progress, the necessity of rationality, and other secular values, organized atheists collectively

negotiate what it means to be an atheist.

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Atheist Relationships and Social Obligations

In a 2005 study, Bainbridge argued that atheism in individuals results from weak social

obligations. The survey data he used support the notion, rooted in a religious market/economies

and rational choice perspective (see Finke and Stark 2005), that when individuals experience

health, financial security, general prosperity, and similar “rewards,” there is no need for the

“supernatural compensators” that act as substitutes when these rewards are not being realized.

“Secondary” compensators are substitutes for rewards that involve social obligations and

relationships. They support religion and faith because they sustain trust in the stability of

relationships and assume that rewards will come sometime in the future. Bainbridge argues that

atheists “lack intimate, personal obligations of the kind that might benefit from secondary

compensation” (Bainbridge 2005:5). Thus, fewer or weaker social obligations become a “source

of atheism.” He finds further evidence of this from a survey question that shows the “really

striking result” of atheists being more likely not to want to attend family reunions, suggesting

that atheists lack not only social obligations, but have less “sociability” than non-atheists.

My project reveals several problems with this reasoning. It takes the view of atheists as

isolated individuals, who, having certain “needs” being met, and lacking obligations with others,

are left “free to espouse atheism” (Bainbridge 2005:5). This argument does not account for the

litany of social activities in which atheists engage as groups and with the non-atheist public. The

range of social relationships and obligations they are voluntarily adopting and enthusiastically

engaging, seem to contradict the premise of the “lone atheist” with few social connections.

If we were to grant the argument that atheists have fewer social obligations, perhaps this

is because, aware of their deviant status, they are less likely to pursue relationships with those

who stigmatize them. This is particularly the case in the context of family relationships. As

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Fitzgerald (2003) shows, many atheists use avoidance techniques (especially with religious

family members) to reduce stress or conflict in relationships. In this case, lack of relationships or

obligations would not be the source of atheism; it would be its outcome. Although the current

study did not assess the sources of atheism, some research has addressed this. For instance,

Altemeyer and Husberger (2006) underscore the role of intellectual skepticism as a source of

atheism, and that many atheists simply “cannot make themselves believe” what to them seems

unbelievable, this, even though some of the atheists in their study indicated that they wished they

could believe. Future research should consider how the personal characteristics of atheists and

the collective dynamics of atheist communities operate within the social psychological contexts

of social life. It should also empirically examine the claim about organized atheism meeting

similar social “needs” that organized religion provides.

Related to this, Manning’s (2010) interest in atheism and the family led her to explore

several social science literatures. She found that scholars have studied the relationship between

religion and the family extensively (e.g. many studies suggest that the well-being outcomes of

children are associated with being raised with religion), but we know almost nothing about the

relationship between atheism and the family. There have been very few studies that attempt to

examine this issue directly. Manning (2010) argues that there has been a bias in the sociology of

religion toward over-emphasizing the positive and pro-social benefits of religion on the family

and on children. One consequence of this, she claims, is that there is a corresponding

assumption, in that same literature, that secular or atheist settings must have negative effects on

families and children. I did not examine the family lives of the atheists I studied, and cannot

makes specific claims about the relationship between atheism and the family. I would however

call on scholars to begin to investigate this relationship so that we might have a basis for

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understanding whether our underlying assumptions about the relationship between

religion/irreligion and the family are justified.

The Aesthetics of the Atheist Worldview

My research suggests (setting aside the technicalities, semantics, and philosophical discussions

one might have regarding the meaning of the idea of atheism) that atheists have a discernible and

distinct worldview. My respondents gave “content” to their atheism. This, despite the insistence

on the part of some, that atheism can be nothing more than the “absence of belief in a God”

(negative atheism). Indeed, even Sam Harris, a leading figure of the “New Atheist Movement”

has stated publicly and clearly that “atheism has no content” (HBO 2009). I argue (though I can

agree with this proposition in semantic terms), in pragmatic terms, and in the context of the

everyday lives of self-identified, open, active, American atheists, atheism means a great deal

more, and is connected in meaningful ways to other ideas, values and belief-patterns. This

content is both constitutive of contemporary atheist identities, and motivates intentions and

behaviors in collective atheist action, and in the everyday lives of atheists.

I discovered atheist identity markers, symbols, literatures, leaderships, online and on-the-

ground community discourses and relationships, and political activities that each simultaneously

contribute and coalesce into an expanding socio-political and socio-historical constellation that is

constitutive of a contemporary atheist community and aesthetic. These elements are important

identity-references, from which, atheists can draw and contribute as they negotiate their identities

in the American social context. They provide the social and political parameters that inform,

shape, and direct the meaning and implications of atheism for those who identify with it.

A shared ethos and collective set of values increasingly suffuse and provide solidarity for

the growing atheist community. The relationship between the beliefs, attitudes, values, and

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dispositions of the participants here appear to coincide well with what can be gleaned from the

broader discourse of atheists nation-wide. And although, as was discussed in the methods, I

cannot generalize to every atheist in the United States (in particular to those who do not self-

identify, or who remain closeted about their atheism), this research nevertheless offers important

insights into the nature of contemporary atheist identities, and is suggestive of the broader social

and social psychological processes, perhaps unique to the American context, that inform and

provide the context for American atheists.

I do not wish to suggest atheists make up a homogenous or monolithic socio-

cultural/political (or socio-demographic) subculture in the United States. Atheists certainly do

not share a single value or belief-system; nor do they all subscribe to an identical scientific or

naturalist world-view. Atheists can be Republicans, Democrats, or adherents of any other

political party or ideology. They may come from any racial or ethnic background, be of any

gender-identity or sexual orientation. It is worth recalling the passionate remarks made by one

atheist that were described earlier:

...conservative, liberal...moralist, libertine, starry-eyed vegan, ravening carnivore…,

scientist…, gay, straight; we are legion. The only symbol I can think of that unites us all is the

international negation symbol of the red circle and diagonal line superimposed over the word

‘God.’

Atheists can be a part of any social, cultural, or political position, status, identity, or

persuasion. However, this research has revealed important and consistent social patterns that

cannot be ignored. Part of this pattern (in addition, for instance, to the socio-demographic

characteristics and political orientations discussed earlier) involves the generally consistent and

discernible value-orientation, scientific outlook, and substantive worldview that connects,

permeates, and integrates contemporary American atheists. The about the contentment/well-

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being of atheists in a “theist society” is premised on this reality. The evidence I have furnished

suggests a broadly shared meaning-system (e.g. naturalism, scientific viewpoint) which atheists

help collectively construct, and to which they can individual appeal.

Atheism, Institution, and Culture

My analytical focus throughout this study has been at the micro and interactional level. However,

there are two inter-related macro-level questions that emerge from a discussion of contemporary

atheists. Primarily, these questions have to do with the dynamics of the relationship between

individuals and the changing nature of religion at the institutional level, and the relationship

between secularism/secularization and religion at the societal level in contemporary America.

First, my research seems to confirm the argument made by Hout and Fischer (2002) that

more Americans are turning away from religion because of the dynamics at play in the current

socio-political practices and discourse in this country. With the perceived increasing influence of

religious fundamentalism and the religious right in the political system, the polarization between

the dominant political parties, and the general heightened rhetoric of a variety of social and

political issues to which religious opinion is often suffused (e.g. abortion, and gay marriage),

many people are beginning to dissociate themselves from organized religion and become more

critical of the traditional and conservative values which it undergirds. Indeed, the vast majority –

forty out of forty-five – of those I interviewed came from some kind of religious background and

offered accounts that nearly without exception included stories of their dissociation from, and

rejection of, organized religion.

This is connected with Hout and Fischer’s (2002) argument about the general dissociation

of people from traditional religious institutions and forms of theistic belief because of the

political climate. Participants discussed many of the current socio-political issues/controversies

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as contributing to their leaving religion behind. Although the group of people Hout and Fischer

(2002) are referring are not necessarily rejecting theism or repudiating all religious practice, it

seems plausible that those who do end up rejecting these entirely, experience a similar process of

dissociation from religion. The difference is that they go a step beyond dissociation and reject

belief in God as well. Certainly, there is little doubt that at the turn of the 21st century, the

religious/irreligious climate has shifted in the United States. The historical centrality of

September 11th 2001, the rise of religious fundamentalism, the continued multicultural context

and increasingly pluralistic reality of America have shifted the meaning of religiosity and belief

itself. This has created a context in which an expanding set of religious and irreligious views and

claims become “plausible” identity options from which people are able to choose. Atheists, as

one example, have been increasingly able to emerge from their socio-political taciturnity and

assert themselves more vociferously and with increasing collective confidence. It seems that

things have changed for atheists; the climate and context for the success of their viewpoints and

identities has evolved and seems likely to continue to do so.. Thus, the claim made by Edgell et

al. (2006) that atheists are “not well organized” or collectively coordinating in meaningful ways

needs reevaluation. The evidence I have offered in this study (though consistent with the idea), is

only indirectly related to the argument Hout and Fischer (2002) put forth. Research that more

directly examines whether atheists are a part of the larger group of American adults who are

leaving religion is needed to support this.

Second, is the even broader and more theoretically oriented notion, of the historical

process of secularization. Underlying the assumptions of those I studied, latent in my research

with atheists, is the question of whether the growth of the atheist community in the United States

constitutes an instantiation of a broader process of increased secularization. The short answer is,

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depending on one’s definition of secularization, probably not. The classical theory of

secularization put forth by most sociologists, including social constructionists such as Berger)

before the last half of the twentieth century, understood as a broad, over-arching, probably

inevitable historical process whereby religion gradually dissolves, and eventually becomes

extinct, has for decades been dismissed as untrue (see Stark 1999) Likewise, more recent and

even current scholarly discussions and observations concerning religious revivalism and the

“post-secular” (for a concise summary and consolidation of the meaning(s) of the sometimes

confusing notion of the “post-secular” see Beckford, James 2012) suggest that any assumption of

moderate growth in the numbers of irreligious being an illustration of secularization in the

traditional sense, is unfounded.

But some elements from certain reformulations of secularization, or neosecularization

theory should not be so facilely dismissed. For instance, we know that organized religion, in

Chavez’s (1994) terms, has lost certain aspects of its authority in the contemporary world, even

over its adherents. Further, the multiplicity of viewpoints, values, beliefs, and the proliferation

and complexity of the different identity choices now available to people seem to substantiate, at

least in part, Berger’s (1967) classic discussion of plausibility structures, and the undermining

effect they can have on any one religion’s moral/truth claims. That atheists negotiate competing

authorial claims (especially between science and religion), and that this plays a basic role in their

identities does not seem ineffectual or out of proportion. I cannot make any claims about whether

the growing number of the unaffiliated, “unchurched,” or the irreligious broadly, is the result of

processes of some kind of secularization or expanding secularism in America. But scholars

should take these groups more seriously, and attempt to develop informed theory, and not

dismiss entirely, “older” ideas about the waxing and waning of religion in the face of the secular

195
without fully accounting for changes, and for what is empirically happening “on the ground”

regarding the irreligious. After all, it may eventually be, as Stark advocates (1999), that

sociologists of religion come to put the idea of secularization, the diminishing of religion and

concurrent rise of secularism, to rest. But this day should not come until a thorough investigation

of contemporary secularity, in all its forms, has been accomplished.

More concretely, the waxing and waning, the shifts and oscillations that occur regarding

the relationship between religion and irreligion, are explained in part by the observations made

by scholars (see especially Bellah et al. 1985) regarding the changing nature of the relationship

between individuals, groups, and societal institutions. The weakening in some cases of the bond

between people and the traditional institutions (religion being a crucial one) from which they

derive meaning and self-concept has played some role in the recent disaffiliation patterns and

probably in the rates of atheism in the population. The biographies of respondents in the present

study demonstrate the stringent valuing of individualism and the search for “truth” and meaning

outside of, and independent from, the historically, long-cherished institution of religion.

It is certainly not the case that people no longer care about the traditional institutions that

have persisted over time and that have long moored our individual and collective understanding

of ourselves. Much of what Americans find meaningful continues to be connected to the social

groups and institutions to which they belong. However, greater consideration of issues of social

conflict and power within social groups and institutions is what may provide greater analytical

purchase on the relationships of people to social structures. This is particularly the case with

religion and irreligion. As Smith (2003:vii) argues in his discussion of modern secularism and

its role in the institutions of American public life, secularism, and any secularization that has

occurred has been “the outcome of a struggle between contending groups with conflicting

196
interests seeking to control social knowledge and institutions” ( 2003:vii). Thus, the relationship

of Americans to the social institution of religion (among other institutions) has not changed

merely by dint of the abstract, inevitable, macro-historical processes of modernization, but by

real, concrete interactions and the working out of individual and collective interests through both

shared meaning and social conflict.

Moreover, a more complete and comprehensive understanding of atheists in America will

come from cross-cultural comparative social research. Investigating American atheists in their

own terms helps to illuminate the relevant identity and social processes that occur within

contextual and situational realities. But exploring these same processes in other cultural contexts

promises to highlight any important differences, and furnish deeper insights into the nature of

atheism and the lives of atheists. This can happen in much in the same way, and by parallel, that

examining atheism and the irreligious might reveal things we have missed or taken for granted

about belief and the religious.

Finally, given my primary concern in this study with meaning, interaction, and identity,

perhaps the most analytically fruitful and empirically promising theoretical orientation on

religion/irreligion is the institutional field perspective which is situated within a broader “cultural

sociology of religion” (Edgell 2012). In many regards this perspective synthesizes, corrects,

differentiates, and clarifies many of the above substantive, and sometimes discrepant, theoretical

points about the social nature of religion, belief, organization, and identity. This cultural

sociology of religion is concerned with, as has been the intellectual tradition of the sociology of

religion generally: the role of religion in the contemporary societies. Edgell (2012) traces the

roots of this perspective in the cultural analysis of religion and in both neo-Durkheimian and

Weberian thought. In part, this cultural sociology of religion has arisen from the “dissatisfaction

197
with [and dialectic between], market [rational choice], and secularization approaches to religion”

(Edgell 2012:248), that I discussed above.

The cultural analytical framework on religion operates primarily at a meso level of

analysis. That is, it is concerned theoretically with identity, choices, and meaning-making in the

context of proximate social groups and institutional fields. And yet, empirically, it copes with a

wide range of religious phenomena as it attempts to describe and synthesize virtually any kind of

“lived religion,” or “religious expression in the modern(izing) world” (Edgell 2012:249). The

cultural framework, rather than taking a definitive position, or making presuppositions regarding

the traditional questions that have been given primacy in the sociology of religion (such as the

direction (assent or decline) of religion in modernity), examines issues such as religious identity

and authority that accounts for the reality of “contestation and fluidity” (2012:251) in the

religious field. Thus, inter-religious and religious/secular conflict involving doctrines, claims-

making, symbolic and moral boundaries and resources, and identity and meaning-making at the

organizational and institutional levels, are the focus of the cultural framework.

How does this relate to atheists? What can a cultural sociology of religion offer,

analytically, to the study of atheism and other forms of irreligion? I have argued that atheism and

non-religion, especially in America, conceptually and empirically, are in dialectical relationship

with theism and religion. This is inevitable in some sense, as by definition, irreligion and explicit

atheism are only conceptually possible given the existence of religion and theism. More to the

point, however, I have demonstrated how the atheists in my study created, sustained, organized,

and enacted identities and meaning-making activities that are usefully analyzed as the kinds of

cultural, social, and group “expressions” of which Edgell (2012) refers in the approach of a

cultural sociology of religion. The group solidarities, shared value-systems, and collective socio-

198
political actions of atheists can be construed as the organized practices or expressions of modern

atheism.

Put differently, we might phrase the question: what is the institutional space, or “field of

activity,” in which contemporary American atheism is expressed? The symbolic boundary-

making, moral identities, intellectual dispositions, narratives, ethos, and worldviews of

contemporary atheists that have been the subject of this study, are enacted, instantiated,

expressed, ideologically justified and socially legitimated, in the context of the secular spaces of

science, education, law, politics and other institutionally grounded and embedded secular

institutions. It is not that there is an unambiguous institutional division between the secular and

sacred. Religious beliefs and expressions find themselves in secular settings, and secular ideas

and activities permeate religious settings. However, at the symbolic and moral levels, differences

in values, beliefs, and even worldviews are spotlighted across institutional and political spheres

when the sacred and the secular (see Norris and Inglehart 2004) “run up” against one another,

shaping the activities of both “sides.” Divisions and conflict between secular and religious

beliefs and values become clear. A court’s ruling that parents cannot withhold medical treatment

for their sick child because of their [the parents] religious beliefs is stark example of this. It is

often the contestation between the secular and sacred, between their respective beliefs and

values, which help motivate, animate, and organize contemporary atheists into socio-political

action, and into the practices and expressions of contemporary atheism.

The leaders and cultural elites that establish and guide the interpretive field (Bourdieu

1977), for the expression of conspicuous atheism, help constitute and shape the symbolic and

moral community of atheists. Thus, the frequent referencing and appeals to the arguments, status,

and authority of “new atheist” leaders (e.g. Dawkins, Dennett, Harris, and Hitchens) by members

199
of atheist groups, helps constitute the symbolic space in which contemporary atheists find

meaningful expression and legitimation.

Moreover, the practices and activities of my participants parallel the “lived religion” and

even “sacralization” that Edgell (2012) identifies as central concerns of a cultural framework. In

this view, it is not the specific reality-claims, doctrines, or cognitive dimensions of belief (or

unbelief) that are given primacy. Rather, it is the embodied practices, discourses, narratives, and

the activities of groups and individuals that are given analytical priority. I have enumerated and

illustrated examples of each of these kinds of “atheist practice.” Thus, the moral and intellectual

dimensions and imputations of atheism created and maintained by respondents align

conceptually with the notion of the sacralization that occurs from the enactment of social

practices that have the effect of “setting things apart.” Sacralization imparts an extra-meaningful

quality or character to an activity or symbolic representation at both the individual and collective

level. When atheists construct practices designed to negate or counter theist-centered practices

(e.g. atheist funerals, veneration of atheist figures etc.), they are engaging in the active

sacralization of those “ritual” practices. This is not the same as saying that atheists tacitly accept

the idea of the sacred itself, or that their practices in any way instantiate or express theistic

beliefs, beliefs in the supernatural, or anything else under the purview of religion or spirituality.

It is simply that conceptualizing irreligious activity in terms of this cultural framework, and/or

examining elements of an “implicit culture” of atheist practice, in meso-level institutional

spaces, can give analytical purchase to the study of contemporary American atheists.

200
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Appendix A: Demographic Characteristics of Interview Sample N=45

Age 18-20 3
21-30 10
31-40 12
41-50 7
51-60 4
60 and over 9
Sex Female 23
Male 22
Race White 42
Black 1
Hispanic 2
Education Less than High School 0
High School Graduate 1
Some College 7
Bachelor’s Degree 17
Master’s Degree 12
Enrolled in PhD program 4
PhD 4
Marital Status Married 12
Single 19
Divorced 12
Cohabitating 2
From religious background Catholic 16
Mainline Protestant 17
Fundamentalist Christianity 2
Jewish 1
Other (Non-denom., Eastern, Spiritualist 4
From non-religious background n=5
Age declared atheism 13-20 3
21-30 17
31-40 13
41-50 6
51-60 3
missing/unknown 3
Context of first “coming out.” To Family 15
To Friend 20
To Stranger 3
Virtual (online) 2
missing/unknown/could not recall 5
Sample Topical Interview Questions:
Were you raised in a religious or non-religious family growing up? Tell me about your experience.
Did you think of yourself as an atheist before you publically announced your atheism?
Have you ever experienced discrimination or negativity from others due to your atheism?
Tell me about what brought you to identify as an atheist. How has it affected your relationships?

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Appendix B: Institutional Review Board Study Approval

Approval for this project was obtained from the University of Colorado’s Institutional Review
Board, called the Human Research Committee (HRC). Protocol # 0608.2 “American Atheist
Identity and Stigma Management” received initial approval June 6, 2008, and thereafter received
yearly renewed approvals through March 19 2013. The signed certificate of approval can be
found at: HRC Approval Letter.pdf

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