As a kid I was heavily into “Greek mythology”; I was fascinated by the exploits of Zeus, Hera, Apollo, and the rest of the Olympian gods. Of course, I was never tempted actually to believe in them—and neither is anyone else, as far as I can tell. And yet, “Greek mythology” was, once upon a time, a living religion, complete with rituals, sacrifices, priests and priestesses, a holy book, and millions of real believers. Calling it mythology obscures this important fact; I prefer to call it “the religion of the ancient Greeks”.

I happen to have grown up in a highly religious area—Orange County, California—so I have quite a lot of specialized knowledge about the local religion, Christianity. I have a fairly deep understanding of Christianity’s claims, and why those claims are probably false (or at least unsubstantiated). But that knowledge is unnecessary; I am just as confident that Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism, and any of the many smaller religions are probably wrong—other than the tautology that living religions have adherents, I simply see no essential difference between living religions and dead ones. (I am much more sympathetic now than I was as a kid to why people believe—and, in particular, why they don’t stop believing—but that doesn’t change my underlying conviction that those beliefs are probably wrong.)

There are plenty of sophisticated arguments against religion in general, and the dominant religion in America in particular; some of them might well show up later in this blog. But—and I think I have some good company among the atheist/agnostic types out there—what it really boils down to is that it’s almost painfully obvious that all religions, though not provably false, are about as likely to be true as the religion of the ancient Greeks.

This realization about religion leads to some awkward situations. I know many intelligent, educated, thoughtful people who believe in a religion—not religion as community, or as metaphor, but as literal truth about our actual physical universe—which, as far as I’m concerned, might as well be actual gods living on Mount Olympus. Plenty of people have tried to convert me; I’m usually polite and even a bit coy. How do I tell them that they might as well ask me to worship Zeus or Apollo—that to me, believing in Christianity (or any other religion) is as absurd as believing in Greek mythology?

If any of those people are reading this: now you know.