I’m an Atheist, and My Wife Is Christian

When I first declared myself an atheist, I was only in first grade (if you’re curious as to why it happened at such an early age, the full story is on my podcast). Obviously, I wasn’t thinking about dating, marriage or becoming a parent.

As I became an adult, I noticed that most of the women in my dating pool didn’t identify as atheists. The vast majority were either religious or secular, but not atheist.

I wasn’t looking for a partner based on religious identity or lack thereof. Content of character and chemistry were all that mattered to me. Because the U.S. was more than 70% Christian during my single years, I accepted — with a neutral attitude — the high probability that my someday wife would be Protestant or Catholic. What I didn’t think about was how differences in spirituality would affect the actual relationship.

My wife and I started dating in 2015. We both had lists of what we wanted in our ideal partner. She checked all of my boxes. I checked all of hers…except for one: belief in God. In the beginning, I worried she would consider leaving me over this disappointment.

Before actually being in an atheist-religious relationship myself, my only reference for this type of pair was the parents from “Equus.” The play-turned-movie is about a young man named Alan who develops a pathological, dogmatic, destructive and sexual obsession with horses. I watched the movie during my psych major.

Alan’s mother is a devout Christian, while his father is an atheist. The narrative implies that the mixed messages and conflicts between the parents contributed to Alan’s eventual psychotic break. His parents’ marriage felt loveless and abusive. The film implies that his atheist father, Frank, frequents porn theaters. This plot detail may come from the common assumption that atheists are, at least on average, less moral than religious folk.

In response to this type of media depiction, as well as rare instances of concern trolling from well-meaning acquaintances, I feel compelled to emphasize that my atheism hasn’t been a sore point in my relationship. My wife’s family, who is Protestant, doesn’t care about me being an atheist. No one has tried to convert me or argue with me, and I don’t think they will.

Day to day, my wife and I don’t talk much about my atheism or her religion. We’re not avoiding these topics. It’s only that there are other subjects that tend to arise far more often.

There have, however, been occasional intense discussions about the afterlife, prayer and childrearing. For a few years before my wife and I started dating, I had been working on my first novel, “Teach Me How To Die.” It tells the story of a depressed widower who passes on and travels through an atheist’s imagining of the afterlife. While writing the first draft, I had yet to fall in love. A nightmare, from my own depression, had inspired the plot.

Despite my novel, I doubt there is an afterlife. Simultaneously, I acknowledge that I can’t disprove the existence of the afterlife or God.

My wife, who believes in the Protestant idea of the afterlife, worries she won’t see me there. If I believed that converting to Protestantism would guarantee me a spot with her in the afterlife, I’d head down to a church the moment I finish typing this draft. But, no, I doubt it’s that easy. If God is as smart as the religious people in my life say he is, I think he’d be able to sort the true believers from the +1s piggybacking on their spouses. If I die and see him — meaning I’d be wrong — I’d apologize, beg for forgiveness and ask him to let me and my wife be together.

As for prayer, I don’t mind praying with my wife and her family. To show respect, I close my eyes, lower my head and clasp my hands. For me, it’s meditation.

My wife has prayed for me a few times. Usually it’s when I’m enduring a particularly difficult period with my chronic illnesses or career, which has been horribly unstable during this time of mass layoffs and inflation.

Our engagement period was the only time in our relationship when religious issues arose routinely. My wife asked me to take a pre-marriage class with her through her church. We were also in the middle of wedding planning, including the decision to have a religious officiant at the ceremony. Ultimately we went with a pastor she had grown up with, and both our families were comfortable with this choice.

Before beginning the pre-marriage class, we agreed to not mention my atheism during the group meetings. I wasn’t worried about anything awful happening. I only thought atheism would be a distraction.

Nearly all of the course focused on general marriage issues, nothing religious. Most of the religious commentary was from classmates, not instructors. One student said using individual bank accounts in a marriage — as opposed to only a joint account — was “a window for Satan to get in.” This assertion made me glad I hadn’t mentioned my atheism. If individual bank accounts were open windows for Satan, he’d surely feel like my atheism would tear the roof off the metaphorical house. Granted, he was eccentric and overzealous, not representative of the average student.

Outside the pre-marriage class, I’ve been to church with my wife several times, and I’ve always felt comfortable. Her former small group leaders know I’m an atheist, and they’ve been comfortable with me babysitting their children.

When my wife and I have children, we’ve agreed they shouldn’t face any pressure to choose a spiritual or secular identity. She is going to take them to church so they can be exposed to it, question it and make up their own minds. I’ll go with them as much as I can. If our kids have questions about atheism, they can ask me.

I don’t care about what our kids end up choosing or whether they make a choice. If one or both of them happen to become atheists, I don’t know if I’d be happier than if they embraced religion (as long as it’s not in an extreme way). All I want is for them to be good people and functioning adults.

I think our atheist-Protestant relationship will continue to be harmonious. During rare moments of superstition, however, I consider dissuading our kids from taking up equestrianism. Hopefully some day “Equus” will get out of my head.

I am the author of “The Last of the Mentally Ill” and the founder of The Rauch Review, a brand publication and literary journal that offers a unique perspective on literature. We have reviewed novels such as “The Memory Police” and “Never Let Me Go,” as well as nonfiction titles, including “Braiding Sweetgrass” and “Dear Senthuran.”