Sacred Claims, Secular Consequences
Part I: My Deeply Held Belief That Your Deeply Held Beliefs Need Adult Supervision
Welcome to part one of three in my new series about antitheism. That's not not quite the same thing as atheism.
An atheist says, “I do not believe God exists.”
An antitheist says, “Whether God exists or not, perhaps we should stop allowing people who claim to represent Him to operate schools, hospitals, political organizations, real-estate empires, conversion programs, and tax-exempt psychological pressure cookers with less oversight than a neighborhood taco truck.”
I accept that I must share society with theists. Christians may believe Jesus rose from the dead. Muslims may believe Muhammad received God’s final revelation. Jews may believe in a divine covenant between them and the Creator of the Universe. Other religions may offer reincarnation, karma, ancestral spirits, celestial bureaucracies, sacred garments, dietary restrictions, or highly specific instructions about hats.
Fine.
Believe whatever you like.
But tolerance cannot mean that believers receive unlimited freedom to impose their convictions while nonbelievers are assigned the civic duty of smiling politely through the consequences.
If I must tolerate your religious needs and assertions, you must tolerate mine. And my first deeply held conviction is that children are people, not religious property.
Parents may introduce children to their traditions. They may take them to church, synagogue, mosque, temple, shrine, revival tent, or whichever building contains the approved route to eternity. They may teach them prayers, stories, rituals, and values.
But invitation must not become captivity.
A child educated entirely inside one religious ecosystem may never encounter an adult who can say:
“No, illness is not caused by sin.”
“No, your body is not shameful.”
“No, evolution is not a conspiracy.”
“No, questioning authority does not condemn you to eternal torture.”
And perhaps most importantly:
“No, the person hurting you does not possess divine authority.”
This is why secular, compulsory education matters. Children deserve qualified instruction in science, history, civics, literature, the arts, sexuality, consent, and bodily autonomy—even when accurate information irritates their parents’ theology.
Evolution is not a lifestyle preference. Sexuality education is not an invitation to debauchery. A parent may teach abstinence, but the school must still explain what sex is. A family may prefer the story involving a rib and a remarkably persuasive serpent , but the biology teacher must still explain natural selection.
Religious freedom should protect a parent’s right to believe. It should not establish a child’s right to remain uninformed.
We also need a more honest vocabulary for religious coercion.
When a spouse says, “If you leave me, your family will abandon you, your friends will reject you, you will lose your community, and you will be tortured forever,” we recognize abuse.
Place the same threat behind a pulpit, add organ music, and suddenly everyone becomes deeply concerned about theological nuance.
Organized shunning, forced isolation, humiliation, threats of eternal punishment, and the deliberate terrorizing of children do not become harmless because they are described as doctrine. Psychological injury does not become imaginary when God is listed as a coauthor.
Children should also be protected from religiously motivated medical neglect, forced marriage, abusive disciplinary practices, and institutions that conceal predators to protect their reputations.
A child’s safety outranks a sacrament.
A clerical collar is not diplomatic immunity.
A confessional booth is not an embassy.
And “God told me to keep this secret” should carry approximately the same legal weight as “my horoscope advised me not to cooperate with investigators.”
Religious communities should face the same mandatory reporting requirements, background checks, inspections, safeguarding rules, and criminal penalties as every other institution entrusted with children.
The phrase “We handled it internally” should set off every alarm available to a functioning civilization. Historically, internal handling has often meant silencing victims, intimidating families, transferring offenders, requiring forgiveness, and allowing the accused to discover fresh pastoral opportunities several counties away.
That is not justice.
It is franchising.
My antitheism does not require banning religion or confiscating rosaries. It requires recognizing that parental authority has limits and that children possess rights independent of their parents’ theology.
You may teach your children what you believe.
You may not deny them the knowledge required to eventually disagree with you.
You may introduce them to religion.
You may not imprison them inside it.
Your faith may be deeply held.
So is my conviction that children deserve access to reality.