Right back at ya!

Even as a Christian, I was surprised at the blurring of the distinction between Christianity and the American concepts of “Rights.”

I recall a Sunday School teacher talking of how the government was questioning one of his contributions to the church and whether it was a legitimate deduction. What I remember so vividly was his outrage followed by the statement, “This is a form of persecution on Christians.”

Excuse me?

Let me get this straight—something unheard of under both the Bible and U.S. Constitution, yet if you don’t get it, it is some sort of “persecution”? I am sure all those martyrs in Fox’s Book of Martyrs would go pale in the shock of how abusive this concept is—to NOT get a tax benefit for doing something you should do doing anyway. Shocked, I say!

A “Right” is a benefit conferred upon citizens by the will of the general populace, usually reduced to writing in the form of a Constitution. While “inalienable human rights” may be referred to, try convincing cancer you have a right to “life.” Or your boss on a sunny Friday afternoon that you have a right to the “pursuit of happiness.” Sure you have that “right.” You would also discover the “right” to find new employment!

What surprised me, and continues to surprise me is that Christians in America elevate their rights under the Constitution to at least the equivalent of the Bible, if not eclipse it. The First Amendment under the Bill of Rights is considered pragmatically more divine then the Song of Solomon.

How many times have we heard, “As a Christian I have the right to pray in school”? Or “…have the Ten Commandments in the Courthouse”? or “…practice my religion by doing _____”? Here’s a news flash—you obtain that “right” as a citizen of your country; not because you are a Christian.

In America, this confrontation over religious rights rests squarely on the first clause of the First Amendment:

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof;…

And the perpetual question we have wrestled is the meaning and limitation of what “establishment of religion” is or “prohibiting the free exercise thereof.”

Clearly, in reviewing our history, we HAVE limited the free exercise of religion. Ask the Mormons how polygamy is going. If I started a church in which one basic tenet is that we do not pay taxes in any way (property, state or income) I may have a large membership, but I would quickly find the government impinging our “free exercise thereof.”

Rather than focus on the legal machinations that have wended our way through this minefield, I would like to ask a more simple, basic question—with all the competing theistic beliefs, can we as humans manage a system by which we respect the other’s beliefs?

Let’s get two things out of the way. First, I understand that every person reading this blog entry has the correct theistic belief. I also understand that the simplest method would be to impose the correct theistic belief, which coincidently is yours. However, I hope you understand that many people with…slightly…to greater to even vast differences in belief also say theirs is the correct one.

If we say, “Use the correct belief” and then try and determine what “correct” means we are right back to where we started. Which is nowhere. We are all going to have to concede the fact that others believe differently than we do. Oh, sure they are wrong, but if we don’t respect their ability to be wrong, they will fail to respect ours.

Secondly, the reality is that not every situation will be to your liking. In fact, you are going to actually have to suck it up and realize that, on occasion, you will have to self-limit your own belief.

We often see the claim that atheism is a religion in the context that by not acknowledging any God, this results in the “establishment of religion.” A no-no. For example, if the courts determine that no prayer can be given before a football game at a public high school, a Christian may shout out that by NOT allowing a prayer, the courts have established the “religion” of atheism. (The poor agnostics never get a break in the “rights” department.)

Assuming that is true, we are left in a Catch-22. Allowing the prayer will impinge the non-theist’s “free exercise.” Prohibiting the prayer will impinge the Christian’s. Either one, somebody is not going to be happy.

If you are a parent, you learn that it is easier, sometimes, to follow Nancy Reagan’s advice and “Just Say ‘No.’” It is easier to draw a hard line in the sand and say NOBODY is getting ice cream, rather than hearing the bickering back and forth as to who was good enough, or who does not deserve the ice cream.

The courts have, in essence, flopped onto this policy. If the Christians get a prayer before the football game, then so do the Muslims. And the Jews. And the Branch Dividians. And the Moonies. And the Catholics. And the Baptists. And the Lutherans. We could never play football! While these groups may not be asking for the opportunity now, if they do, and we have allowed one…

It is easier to “Just Say ‘No.’” to all. However, I am talking about how WE need to get along, not what the Courts have done.

We could claim that the majority rules. That the minority must defer to the majority belief until it becomes the majority opinion. There are two significant problems with this.

First, it is not courteous to the minority position. Nor loving. If we start to lord it over the minority position, it is quite possible that someday our own position becomes the minority, and we would regret this policy. We learned in the schoolyard that just because you are the biggest and can beat the smaller, this only makes you a bully. Not better. I would hope we would want to be “better.” Not bullies.

Second, determining “majority” position becomes a difficulty. Is it the majority of people in the city? In the County? In the State? In the Country? In the World? And what do we do—keep taking surveys and votes to determine what religious belief happens to be the majority at that moment?

Even with “majority” difficulties arise. If we use the Abrahamic God, do we lump in all the Jews, Muslims and Christians, and claim that God as “Majority”? Or are those separate categories? Or do we use a method by which we label the categories in a way which best helps us? Like including the Jews (but not the Muslims) if we need their numbers to take us over the top.

And within each belief—what is the majority? For example, do we include the Catholics in our count of Christians? But a prayer to a saint! The Protestants may NOT want to include the Catholics. Unless they then lose their majority…

We all know what we would see. If convenient, certain theistic beliefs would be included in order to obtain a majority. If not, they would be excluded.

We non-theists are smart enough to play this card as well. See, the Muslims agree that the Jesus was not God. We could include them and the Jews and every other belief to “Oust” the Christians from their majority. Because a majority does NOT hold Jesus as God. Or we could join the Christians and Jews to “oust” Allah from being the majority.

Determining a majority would become a battle similar to what we have now. (And Perhaps the non-theists would be the constant swing vote! O.K. I can dream!)

Can we do better? Can we find a way by which we agree to self-limit our theistic belief, for the greater good of getting along? Oh, I still encourage all parties to go to the court system. (Have to pay the bills, ya know!) It is what is it there for. If you think that it is of vast import and having some person in a black dress tell you how to act with your neighbor—go for it!

I would prefer that we could rise above it as humans and not need the court to give respect to each other. Let me give an example.

Our American currency, from each coin to every bill in circulation contains the statement “In God We Trust.” I don’t trust in a God. There isn’t one. I am forced to use currency by virtue of living in America. Each day, I am passing around little statements that tell the world something I would prefer to not tell the world.

So what.

I mean REALLY—So What!

As actions speak louder than words, what I am actually saying is that I am relying on these little bits of green ink on paper to obtain those things that sustain me. In fact, the use of every single penny, every nickel is NOT saying “In God We Trust” but quite the opposite—“In Gold We Trust.”

By obtaining money, I am saying that I don’t expect God to provide for me—I expect this money to do so. By saving it, I am saying quite a bit about my anticipation for God to take care of me in the future—I think more of Alexander Hamilton doing so than God. By spending it, I am saying that God can’t get it for me—but Abraham Lincoln can!

Being a person that appreciates irony wherever I can find it—I truly enjoy it every time I see “In God We Trust” on money. Come on, Christians—do you see Jesus teaching how to pray:

“Our Father who art on the Ten Dollar Bill,
Unwrinkled be thy name,
Your picture come,
Your crisp smell done,
On earth because we ain’t in Heaven.

Buy us this day our daily bread.
Your portrait for debts
Both Public and Private.
Retain your present value compared to the Euro,
But deliver us from that blasted penny!”

Do you think God is excited about having his name on—of all things—money? I can see “In God We Trust” on Bibles. On Churches. Even on homes and plaques and pillows. But money?

O.K.—it is important to you for some inexplicable reason. As if that has some meaning. Can you take what you dish out? In England, Charles Darwin is on the 10-Pound note. Any Christian have a problem with that?

Christians: there is no prayer in school. Is it THAT important to have prayer? Yes, I know it impinges your free exercise of religion. (Sorta. You can pray to yourself, of course.) But in order to get along with your fellow humans—can you give it up? Could you have voluntarily given it up for the betterment of humans?

Non-theists: our money mentions the “G” word. Yes, I know that impinges on your theistic belief. (Sorta. You can write checks.) But in order to get along with your fellow humans—can you not care? Can you use it voluntarily for the betterment of humans?

Perhaps it is just me, but I am seeing a polarization of beliefs. We are DEMANDING that how we believe must be imposed on others. I want prayer--give me prayer! I don’t believe in god--remove it from my coins! If we can’t rise above this, we are but two short steps from the sectarian violence we see in the Middle East.

Can we be better? Rather than insist on our “rights” can we suspend that demand, and allow others to exercise theirs? It may be someday, we will realize that the group that can do that is the most Christ-like.

(Posted on ExChristians.net as well.)

Want Ads

In our discussions we occasionally hear the claim, “But you atheists are trying to convince others to become atheists just as much as Christians are trying to convince others to be Christians. You are an atheist missionary. Why are you complaining about our evangelistic efforts?”

Probably because if Christians would stop proselytizing, so would most atheists. Let’s look at this idea of “convincing others.”

First of all, I will make I perfectly clear—I am out to convince others to be atheists. What is so unusual about that? I am an atheist. I think atheism is correct. I want others to be correct. But it doesn’t unpack quite that simply.

I always found it funny when someone tells me, “You think you are right.” No surprise here, Sherlock! Obviously, I think I am right. If I thought I was wrong, I wouldn’t think it—I would change to thinking I am right. However, I am also bright enough to review my history and see that, at times, when I equally thought I was right, it turns out I was wrong. Therefore, while thinking I am right, I am open to the possibility of being wrong.

Further, if the other person wants to be wrong and disagree with me—what do I care? They are free, as a human, to choose to do so.

I have traveled to my current office for almost seven (7) years. I think I know the fastest route to there from my home. If someone asked for the quickest route, I would attempt to convince him or her of my route. ‘Cause I think its right. Now, they may argue with me. They may disagree with me. Fine by me. If they don’t want to take my route—take another! Plenty of roads for everybody.

And, there is a slim possibility they may just find a quicker route. Since it is only to my benefit to discover such a thing, I would be very tempted to listen to them…

What is so terrible, so shocking, to declare that we are trying to convince others of something we believe? We do it all the time. We think that hot woman at the bar would have a much better life if she dated us. We saddle up, put on our game face, and use every word in our repertoire to convince her how “wrong” she is to think otherwise.

We try to convince our kids that they will be so much happier if they ate broccoli. We try to convince our spouses that we need some particular item found in a catalog. (And often attempt to convince our spouse they don’t need some silly item found in a dumb catalog.)

We even attempt to convince complete strangers without saying a word! Ever have a driver zip past a long line of cars waiting for construction, only to attempt to merge at the last minute? He (or she) is attempting to “convince” drivers to let him (or her) in by “nudging” the corner of the front of his car in-between bumpers. And some cars “convince” him (or her) that they are asking for an accident by firmly planting their bumper about 3 millimeters from the car in front of them.

Persuasive speech in real-time action!

All day, every day, we are in a constant state of attempting to convince someone, somewhere that what we think is correct. Why, then, would anyone be reduced to a state of abject shock to discover that (gasp!) Christians are attempting to convince others to be Christians and atheists are attempting to convince others to be atheists?

The difference may be a matter of scale, but that, too, should not make our heads pop or eyes bulge with surprise. (Too many kids’ cartoons, I fear.)

Due to the wonderful variety of humanity, an issue that is compelling to some, and causes them to be anxious to persuade others, may be a matter of complete indifference to others. If you happen to flip off some comment about the poor system of justice that America provides, I am likely to roll up sleeves and proceed forward with numerous bullet points, arguments and twelve Russian experts, all to convince you of how wrong you are.

But mention the sad state of Lifeguard training, and I may paste that polite look of “I’m listening” on, while my mind is racing with far more weighty matters like, “Do I need to organize my sock drawer by color or by size?” Frankly, I could care less about Lifeguards, and you will get no opinion from me one way or another.

Likewise, I am sure there are some theists that their particular beliefs are of such import, that to challenge them, or to question their “rightness” opens us up to a long dissertation as to how wrong we are. Some theists are out looking for such discussions.

And, certainly there are atheists who are equally vehement.

However, it is nowhere near my highest priority. If I had a “highest priority” of what I desire to convince others, it would be to start implementing that “love” thing. To start caring other humans. Yes, it would be grand if we gave of our riches and helped those less fortunate, but there is so much more we can do besides.

How about common courtesy? “Please,” “Thank you” and “You’re welcome” have gone by the wayside. To hear those words (outside parents teaching small children who promptly remove that part of their brain upon becoming teenagers) is becoming a rarity.

Holding the door for people. Being patient in line. Hanging up the cell phone once in while. Allowing that driver in.

Part of the reason that I do appear adamant in this debate is that I see such discourtesy among the participants. People who dig in and refuse to even be polite to other person. How many times have you seen someone say in a blog discussion, “Oh I am sorry. I misunderstood you. My fault”?

OR do we see, “YOU did not describe YOUR position ADEQUATELY. YOU need to learn how to WRITE!”

My second priority is just to get theists (and non-theists) to recognize that the other side is NOT a complete idiot, and they actual have some valid points. Sure, they may not be convincing to you, but the other person is convinced by them. Give them the benefit of the doubt.

I have priorities about explaining the law is not completely stupid. Priorities about helping others when they need a hug. Getting a hug when I need one. Priorities about being the best parent, best child, best brother/sister/relative. A huge priority about being a good friend.

There are so many things I want to convince you that I am right. I can understand for a Christian who believes in eternal torment how convincing me to be a Christian would be a priority to them. The opposite is not for me. Please don’t presume that YOUR priority is mine.

I have a friend who is very interested (read “completely obsessed”) with farm tractors. No kidding. (Do you think I could make that up?) We all know to avoid that topic like avoiding a root canal. In fact, going to the dentist for a voluntary root canal would be preferable to getting into a conversation with him about this topic. He can tell you the history of John Deere from the very first tractor to today’s newest model. Every engine type, every body model, every thing you never wanted to know about tractors.

And if you dare ask which is the better tractor, be prepared for a long speech as to the comparisons of various models, years and what-not. Not to mention about 50 places to obtain each distinct tractor.

I once made the mistake of telling him I simply didn’t care about tractors. His face froze with terror. I think if I had stood on his coffee table, unzipped my fly and proceeded to pee on his brand-new sofa--he couldn’t have been more shocked.

He presumes that since he loves tractors—so too must the rest of the world. To not is…well…unthinkable.

Christians—just because I say I want others to be convinced of the viability of atheism please do not presume that means I have the same depth of commitment to that endeavor as you do to yours.

In fact that reminds me of another priority—that others will realize we all don’t have the same priorities. Can we respect the other person’s difference?

Yep. I want you to be an atheist. I also believe you should have at least 16 songs from ABBA on your iPod. So what do I know? *shrug*

Judge Not; Lest Ye be Judged

In my, what seems to be perpetual, wandering, I came across a parable of what a theist felt judgment day would look like. How God would dispense justice. Let’s look at that for a moment.

We have a complete absence (as I previously discussed) when trying to determine what God’s Justice looks like. It is a void. A blank. And, since we all feel like there is this thing—this concept of “Justice”--we fill in the void as best we can. With our own personal sense of Justice. What is right and what is wrong.

Imagine being at Judgment day. God busily doing what God needs to be doing. You are observing. Then God turns to you and says:

“Hey, I’m going to go grab a bite to eat. Can you fill in for an hour or so? It’s easy. We have your hell on this end, heaven on the other and whole world of possibilities between. I don’t have a certain set of rules I follow rigidly. Kinda gut thing, if you know what I mean.

“Sit right here. This is my computer, it gives you complete access to the person, including their true thoughts and motives (don’t listen to what they say, ‘kay?) and if you get into real trouble, Gabriel will come get me. Never fear, use the sense of justice I gave you and it will be fine. Back in an hour…

Case One. The first person you get is a murderer. (Thanks a LOT, God!) This man is a white supremacist that helped a group of his club lynch a black man. You see on the computer he really didn’t want to, and was caught up in the peer pressure of the group. He felt guilty and in fact God’s computer says that it was this guilt that cut 10 years off his life from worrying. But still and all, he is a racist murderer…you dispense justice.

Case Two. Another murderer. (Did God do this on purpose?) This is a woman that was high on crack, and desperate for a fix, held up a convenience store. She stole a grand total of $46. God’s computer informs you that she didn’t know what she was doing. Her brain did not even record her pulling the trigger. But still and all, she voluntarily began to take drugs, and she did kill someone…you dispense justice.

Case Three. Another murderer. Sorta. (This cannot be a coincidence. That tricky God!) Bit of a twist on this one. This is a woman who hated her neighbor. With good reason as near as you (and God’s computer) can tell. The neighbor was one of those miserable people that the whole world hated. Yelled at the neighborhood kids kicking a ball in his yard. Never joined the neighborhood picnic. Picked up each leaf that blew in from her yard with a grimace and condemning glance.

One day, she noticed that he had crumpled over in his lawn chair while monitoring the neighborhood. For a passing moment she thought of calling “911” but the stronger, second thought was, “if he WAS to die, all the better. Maybe a better neighbor could move in.” He did die. She never had a moment of remorse. God’s computer says that if she had called “911,” they would have saved him and he would have lived another 10 years. This one is tricky, but…you dispense justice.

And over the course of that hour, as you make your ruling, a pattern would develop. What we would see is that you provide justice based upon your own experience. Perhaps, if you were a minority, you would be less compassionate on the first person. If you had been addicted to drugs, you may be more understanding on the second. If you had a particularly rotten neighbor, you would be more forgiving of the third.

Or not, depending on who you are. See—our sense of justice has a great deal to do with the era in which we lived, our surroundings, and our upbringing.

If God (the lazy bugger) kept having different people filling in for Him, we would see different justice dispensed. In our current century, we would consider a slave trader a most reprehensible creature. Yet a person from 400, 500 years ago may not even bring it into consideration, other than it was the person’s occupation.

Depending on the person; when and where they came from, some would be harsh on prostitution, others would shrug. Some would be aghast at polygamy, others wouldn’t notice. Smoking pot? One person would dispense justice, another would ignore it entirely.

Remember that TV Commercial where the Native American sees the garbage dump, and a tear rolls down his face? Imagine, with our consumerism and “throw it away” mentality, what his hour would be like. The hour before, the fellow that tossed Fast Food wrappers out the window would be overlooked. That Native American would be tossing him in hell for a very, very long time.

All of which is a long and round-a-bout way of saying that our intuitive sense of justice varies dramatically from person to person, from time to time and from place to place. It is derived from our different experience.

If this is how we derive our justice, would a God do the same? If God’s sense of justice was established prior to creation—what experience did God draw upon to determine what was right and wrong? The only thing that existed would be God. He couldn’t interact with anybody but…God. He couldn’t punish anyone but…God. He couldn’t reward anyone but…God. He couldn’t even conceptualize of a person not doing what God says—no one ever had before. There was no one to do so.

If I ask, “is it O.K. to hit someone?” your mind starts to crunch and analyze. What are the facts surrounding this hitting? How hard? What is the relation of the people involved? What led to this hitting and what was the reaction. And, as our brains are processing, we are comparing to past experiences and knowledge in our life.

God wouldn’t have that luxury. Nothing to draw from to answer the simple question “is it O.K. to hit someone?” ‘Course we could say that he looks into the future as to what could happen, but by virtue of that, God’s reflection on what happens in the future becomes an event in the past. God sees the future, but thinking on that is based on something that happened in the past—God’s seeing the future. (Bakes one’s noodle a bit, eh?)

But God would have to create that future (at least the possibility) first. That, too, is in the past. How can God create something that he has no knowledge of, in order to review it, and after that reflection, create justice, to learn how to implement it on the future event? Good luck with THAT one!

I often read what theists propose God will do at justice-time. Many, horrified (rightly in my opinion) at the concept of eternal torture, do not hold to an everlasting Lake of Fire. Yet in this discussion, what I see is a description of what God’s justice looks like, premised with the two-word qualification, “I think…”

How persuasive is it? This “I think…”? Sure, we “think” that human sacrifice is a reprehensible concept. Our “intuitive” justice would say that this is a problem. Yet, if within that hour on the Judgment Seat, an Aztec sat in that throne, they would not consider human sacrifice anything more reprehensible than a necessary event, like clothing or eating. Over the extensive course of history, that “I think…” would be extremely different between different cultures and different times.

This is one of many areas that I see humans making god in their own image. They determine what they think justice should look like and voila—so does their god. They cannot image a god dispensing justice in a manner they would not and voila—neither does their god.

Seriously, we could not have a clue. We can’t verify what God’s justice is, AND we cannot share with God the basis of our own. Thus it is useless to imagine any such justice is similar to ours. We have experience. God wouldn’t.

When I see a theist indicate what God’s justice will look like; two thoughts come to mind. First, dependant on the type of justice is often a reflection of who that person is. I see some gleefully proclaiming an everlasting torture chamber and wonder if, in life, they equally feel a sense of revenge in punishment. Not retribution, not rehabilitation. Revenge.

Secondly, I wonder if the theist realizes that their imposition of their own sense of justice on god is another nail in god’s coffin. If God is a human construct, it follows that God’s justice would be a human construct as well. If humans cannot agree as what is “just” it equally follows that the god(s) they create cannot agree either.

It’s nice to have an idea of some sort of “ultimate” justice with rewards and punishments for rights and wrongs. But what are the chances, in reflection of history, that God’s sense of justice happens to correlate with our very small vision of our time? Our place? Our culture?

Can't Relate

As humans, we can only relate to what we have experienced. It is possible that, due to some similarity, I can partially relate to an experience. Other things I couldn’t come close. For example, having been in pain, and having been a parent, I can partially relate to the experience of labor.

But upon talking to my wife (and other mothers) I come to realize that my concept of pain is miniscule as to what the pain of labor is, and my feeling of fatherhood is not at all similar to the maternal instincts and rush of hormones/adrenalines that accompany motherhood. I can talk with mothers, I can attempt to correlate with my own experiences, but in the end I recognize that having a baby is something I can only truly relate to about 2% of the their experience.

I have never been to war. I cannot even begin to fathom the idea of living in rough conditions, fear of one’s own life in an almost constant basis, while attempting to kill other soldiers from another country bent on killing you. In digging through the past experiences of my life, there is simply nothing that comes even remotely close to that reality. I can read their stories. I can watch films. I can talk to soldiers. While I may gain some head knowledge to what they have or are going through, I cannot relate to their experience in any way.

Even so, when humans meet, we attempt to relate to each other. Find common ground. All of us have been at the proverbial party, in which we reach a point of initiating a conversation with someone we have never met. We nervously start a list of twenty questions, until we strike on a similarity:

“What do you do for a living?”
“Married?”
“Kids?”
“Watch the game last night?”

“You did! Oh, man, wasn’t it great when they got that break away, with only 1.5 seconds on the clock and…”

We have found our relation—the affinity by which we can both relate.

In fact, our brain words so hard to make sense of the world about us, we will find relationship even when there isn’t one. If I say, “That tasted purple” we know that “purple” is not a flavor—it is a color. Yet our brains will translate that, in order to understand it, to the flavor most associated with purple. We will relate that statement to tasting like grape. While most of us have never tasted crap, by the same token we understand the phrase, “That tastes like crap.” We can conceptualize that whatever that taste may be--it isn’t good.

The problem with a God, is that our mind is left constantly attempting to find some relational base by which to understand the concept, and never able to reach it. It is as if our mind is running at full tilt, but never can quite make that connection.

What does it mean to always exist? How does one create laughter? Does God ever need a hug?

We can strive and compare and give analogies, but in the end our mind is unable to grasp. Unable to relate. Might as well be a soldier asking a college boy to truly understand what it means to go to war.

Recently (due to other discussions elsewhere) I was thinking about an afterlife. One common disgruntlement with naturalism is that there is no afterlife. Somehow this is automatically equated with hopelessness while living. (Talk about not being able to relate!) As humans—can we truly relate to this concept? Or is it outside our grasp?

First of all, let’s take the Judgment idea. You know—where God lines up the human race, sitting on a throne, and each person takes their turn to appear before him. In some manner they are weighed and either found wanting or deemed worthy. Of what depends on the particular theist’s vision of judgment.

Some theists inform me the Scales of God’s Justice are weighted on belief. It is not what you do, nor how lived, but what you believed. Believe the correct item, the scales tip in your favor. Do not, you are condemned.

I have no way to relating to that. To me, as a human, I would take opportunity, and knowledge, and understanding and information, all into account. And other theists inform me that God does as well. I still can’t relate. What of a person that strived to believe the right thing all their life, but was denied due to their location? Or their community? What of a Mesoamerican that strived to know of Jesus, but couldn’t until the Europeans brought news of such an individual one and a half millennium later?

I can’t relate to a pass/fail based upon possibilities. In fact, it is often at this point that theists shrug and say it is up to God as to how much a person is held accountable for their belief. So a God I cannot understand is dispensing justice in a manner I cannot envision, and I am supposed to understand this?

Other theists tell me the Judgment will be on what I do. Fine—by whose standard? Imagine the ridiculous nature of attempting to determine God’s laws. We have no way to confirm them, no way to deny them, and no way to look up what we should do at a particular moment. The Christian idea of Jesus’ appearance doing away with portions of Mosaic Law, specifically the food limitation has always been amusing to me. The claim is that, at one moment (whenever that is) the food laws are in effect, the next they are not.

A Jew, in the First Century, is eating a ham sandwich. Between bites, he stopped sinning!

Does God approve of slavery? Polygamy? Masturbation? Violent Video Games? 12-year-olds in PG-13 movies?

Sure, it is possible God is no list of Do’s and Don’ts. Perhaps there is a sliding scale that for one person smoking pot is a sin, yet for another it is not. How, exactly, does this help us relate to a Godly Justice System?

Now I am told that I will be judged on what I do, but no one can determine what one needs to do, in order to be judged!

Is there universalism? No Judgment at all? While this may seem pleasing at first, it does cause one to wonder why, then, God is playing hide-and-seek now. If we all get in anyway (or all get torched anyway—works both ways, you know!) why the charade of three-card Monte as to which one has the correct God? Out with it, man, let us see the God we should have and be done with it!

Secondly, a heaven. Not sure how that one works either. It is supposed to be a happy place. But if there is a hell—how can I truly be happy? Due to the variety of humanity, regardless of the process of judgment, there is bound to be someone I personally know in Hell. Someone I would prefer not. That does not sit easy on me now. I can’t relate to it sitting easy on me in heaven.

Perhaps I will be so thrilled to get in, I won’t care about the poor sods that didn’t. Again, though, that is not who I am, so I can’t conceptualize it now. I did not know a single person effected by Hurricane Katrina. Just don’t know anyone in that part of the country. Yet my heart went out to them in their situation and I gave as best I could to correct the situation.

If I (and billions of other people) do that for complete strangers now—do we all lose that in heaven? In order to get in, we are commonly informed that we must be selfless to the poor, the needy and the hungry. Apparently once in, though, we can become selfish whores! “Too bad for those other blokes; pass the champagne and caviar—we’re in, we’re in, we’re in.”

As humans we bore. Over the course of billions of years, trillions of years, will God have to keep coming up with new ways to entertain us? At what point does God get tired of providing new creations for whiney teenagers? Or does he wipe our minds every morning, so each day is a new mystery to be discovered.

The reality is that I cannot relate to the concept of endless time stretching before me. Sure, it would be fun for the first 100 years or so. But how much of time can one take?

Thirdly, what of a hell?

Any Baptist worth his or her salt has had the image of hell tossed their way enough that some of it sticks. We get the concept of pain, fire, loneliness, torture. Again, though—for all time? Human bodies accommodate pain. (Imagine the pain threshold one could develop!) Even if the new bodies were designed to not be damaged by the implements of hell, only the experience of pain, within a short period of time, our brains would go mad.

Have you ever pounded your hand with a hammer? What do you do? You start shaking your hand in the air. Do you know why you do that? Your brain, as wonderful as it is, can only process so much. By shaking your hand, you are sending an overload of signals through the nerves to your brain. You are drowning out the pain in your thumb by sending so much information down a narrow highway that the pain can only take up so much of your brain’s time.

From what we know now, Hell would be such an overload for our brains, they would shut down. Of course, God could step up the program, and keep our brains from overloading, or wipe our memories like those in heaven. But now we have created a creature that, to what we can relate, is a sadistic monster. This goes way beyond punishment.

Further, within our human minds, we equate punishment to fit the crime. Here, we are uncertain of the crime, let alone a punishment of such monumental proportions. As much as we can each comprehend punishment and justice, if I told you I tortured my two-year old child because they wet the bed—can you relate? You understand punishment. You understand an imposition of justice. You understand wetting the bed. Yet even putting all those concepts together, your human mind says, “What a minute. Something is not right here.”

Even theists inform me that my puny mind cannot process the ideas of God, and his Justice, and an afterlife. O.K. If I cannot relate, then why should I bother? Haven’t they just undercut their arguments on the existence of such things?

How am I to spend my life worrying about things that I have no basis, no way for my mind to fit into a slot and say, “I may not fully understand it, but at least I have a slight grasp”?

I am planning a trip this summer. I have no control over whether it will rain, whether it will be sunny or hot or cold. It is useless energy to worry about such things. Whatever will be; will be. I feel much the same way about any afterlife. I seriously doubt any exists—but if it does there is nothing I have by which I can understand what it would be like.

And I find that makes my life here on earth very hopeful indeed. Rather than worrying about getting it right, or avoiding getting it wrong, or what it will be like, or what I need to avoid, all on things that are completely unknown I can focus on tomorrow. Here. On earth. And what better things I can do for others, and what good things I will happily receive.

If you think atheists are hopeless, I can vehemently assure you this is ONE atheist that is very hopeful indeed. Right now: for a bit of sun on a particular week in August, if you want to know the truth.

I Lost a Blog Friend this week

Luckily not the blogger themselves. Just the blog. I do not have to provide a link to it; it is already in my blog roll under “Zoe.” (I use my blog roll for sites I find interesting. So I name them as I see fit. I am trying to do better at naming them the blog name, but I’m not perfect.)

When I first met Zoe, I was a fresh deconvert, literally wet behind the ears. She was far ahead of me in the process. So I read her story. She started at a different point than I did, went about it a different way, and ended at a different point than I.

Sounds like we should relate quite a bit. Not! Yet through it, I have always felt that she did a better job of describing the humanity of it. To give an inadequate comparison, it was like I was describing a paint-by-numbers by explaining how “2” really meant “Azure Blue” and who drew outside the lines, whereas she described the reality of discovering it was a picture of a garden.

She often summed up in a few words what it seems to take paragraphs for me to say.

And so her blog will be missed. I was not alone in enjoying what she wrote, and was often surprised at the various people that commented on entries that she posted.

The world of blogsphere is truly “publish or perish.” If we don’t regularly post soon the blog fades into oblivion. Only to be seen by some person who happens to click on “Next Blog” and then quickly dismissed when the last entry is more than six months old. “A Complicated Salvation” deserves more than that—because it was a full, rich story.

I am glad for Zoe, and hope she picks up the torch elsewhere.

Zoe’s blog provided a wonderful insight. Its passing should get more from me than just a comment.

Can’t Lose (or “Can’t Win – Part Two”)

In reviewing my last entry, I am left with the impression that it was a bit melancholy. To balance that a bit, I thought I should write a post-deconversion entry.

All of us, at a summertime party, have played volleyball with “that guy.” The one that shows up with the shirt “Winning isn’t everything—it’s the ONLY thing.” The one that brought his own volleyball. In its own bag.

That guy fully intends the guests to play as if the World Cup, the Superbowl and the World Series are on the line.

“Double hit!”
“Well, gee. We’re playing backyard volleyball, don’t ya think—“
“Look! The game has rules. We have to abide by the rules, or it isn’t a game anymore, is it? Our point!”

“That Ball was IN!”
“Uh, it hit outside our string—“
“But the string is crooked! We need a tape measure! I can show that your side is smaller than our side! And why can’t you have proper lines like a regular volleyball court?”
“Because normally we have a patio set—
“Let’s Play!”

The phrase “There is truth in every jest”? With him it is only about 1% jest. Every “funny” (in the loosest term) comment is made with a stinging bite:

“My grandmother can hit harder than that!”
”You call that a ‘spike’? Might as well hand them the ball!”
“I hope you serve hot dogs better’n you serve a volleyball!”

Worse, that guy is invariably pretty good. He played in college or the city league; most likely his team will win—thanks to his brilliant moves. We know the afternoon will be spent with his regaling us play-by-play with his dazzling performance, and repeated articulation as to our pitiful efforts.

If you dislike playing with that guy as much as I do, then you would like playing volleyball at our parties. We use two shoes for a back/side line. Long ago, among my friends, we agreed that bickering over whether a ball is “in” or “out” is destructive to our friendship. So we play by the rule, “if it is close, it is in.” The instant a person starts to debate about whether it was in or out; that means by virtue of the argument itself, it will be considered in.

We don’t care about double hits. If two people dive for the ball on the same team (since that cracks us up) we always let four hits go. If you flub a serve, you get a do-over. If your eight-year old wants to play, they are welcomed in. (That guy would tell his child, “Let the adults play. You go play with the other kids.”)

Most likely the eight-year-old will be up on someone’s shoulders so when someone conveniently tosses him the ball he can make a fabulous spike which will be fantastically missed by the opposing team.

Oh, we still have rules. Once the ball hits the ground; that is a point (otherwise we might never rotate.) And if it goes in my wife’s tomato garden; that is most definitely out! It would still resemble a volleyball game, of sorts.

2 minutes after finishing the game, we could tell you the score. 10 minutes later, the best we could do is say which team won. An hour later, all we would remember is that we played. (And who made dives, ‘cause that always cracks us up.)

I have played volleyball with that guy. I have been in situations where I was that guy. I have played volleyball casually. I will take casually every time. To me, deconversion is playing life like a casual, backyard volleyball game.

As a Christian, I wanted to get it “right.” One of the terrible dimensions of having a God who sees the past, present, future, as well as your thoughts, motives and possibilities, is that I was in constant danger of not getting it “right.”

Part of that was “morally” right, but we had the Bible to guide us, so most questions could be resolved by its review. No, by “right” I mean what do I do on a Saturday morning? My church was having a clean-up day, my (unsaved) neighbor was roofing his garage, my daughter has a soccer game, and I wanted to read a book.

Growing up in a Baptist church we were taught at the young age; “If you want to have joy, you must put Jesus first, then Others, then You. J-O-Y. Jesus, Others, You.” I crossed off my reading a book—I got it that this would not be right.

But in putting Jesus first, did he want me at the church, or helping my (unsaved) neighbor? And others? Is that my neighbor or my daughter? Do I put more money in the missionary fund, the building fund, my children’s college fund, or my retirement fund? Do pray that a person gets well, that their sickness causes someone else to be saved, to be released from their pain?

While I thought practically I had Christianity well in hand (I knew the rules); pragmatically I was not so sure—how well was I at following the rules? I got the distinct impression, as I made my choices, that sometimes God was cheering my picking the best route, other times he was shrugging because I had done O.K., just not the best, and still other times he was clucking his tongue, correcting a situation where I had chosen the worst possibility imaginable.

In talking over with my friends, I found that we ALL were walking our way through Christianity as best we could. We all were making choices that we were a bit uncertain as to whether God was smacking himself on the forehead, saying “He did WHAT?” or God was smiling with approval.

Of course, my deconversion brought me to sharply focus whether I even had Christianity or theism practically correct.

I could no longer find grounding for where the line was, let alone if I was hitting the ball in or out, or even if there was a ball involved!

Afterwards, in reflection, I found great peace.

What is the score?

At the end of every game there is a score. A win or a loss or a tie. For the first time in my life, I could play volleyball just to play volleyball. I could study theism just for the pure unadulterated love of the study. I didn’t have to worry about whether this person’s theism was correct, or that person’s was incorrect. I could study it for what it was—not where it fit in some paradigm of correctness.

In the same way I can enjoy life. The here and now. One thing that Christians who believe in an afterlife will never be able to fathom (I’m sorry, they just can’t.) is how much we enjoy the few years on earth with nothing but nothingness after death. Because this is no longer a game where the score is not everything—it is the only thing. Where I have to fight for every point, and argue for every bad call, or I have to push myself to the limits just to get that ball across one more time, in the hopes of the final call the referee points to me and says, “You win!”

I can actually take a break, go get a drink, sit in the shade, and not worry about a few points this way or that. In the end the referee will not say a thing. I can play, enjoy the game, and not worry about the score.

This is no tournament. This is a summer afternoon which to enjoy the sun.

You can be on my team

Now, when you miss a point, or make a bad serve, I can laugh with you. You are human. I expect you to make a mistake or two. That is what makes the game interesting. If we all played volleyball perfectly, nothing wonderful would ever happen. Think about it.

It is our human frailties and mess ups that allow us to love, and communicate and enjoy each other and the human experience to the fullest.

When you screw up, or offend me, or call me names—it is not an “affront to the almighty God.” It is your humanity. It is who you are. I may not appreciate it. I may ask you to stop. But I am not assuming some mantle of a higher authority and indignantly proclaiming you are a sinner.

I enjoy people so much more. I enjoy interacting with them so much more. I want to play volleyball with all of ‘em.

I can play my game

I can finally allow my mind to think. I do not have to twist and mold some thought to make it go away. I can dwell on it, and contemplate it, regardless of where it leads. If I have doubts—that is a signal that perhaps something is incorrect. If I have questions—I can ask them. If I want to read another person’s point of view—I am allowed.

If something makes more sense to me, I do not have a creed or a doctrine that demands I suppress it. I can fully imbibe.

I still play volleyball. I still play with most of the same rules, even. My morals haven’t changed a bit. But now I play with freedom and abandonment that makes the game enjoyable.

Do not get the impression that I felt inhibited or repressed by Christianity. Not at all. I enjoyed that game, too. I just had no idea that someone would introduce a new set of rules and I would enjoy this side as much.

I was a happy Christian. I was a miserable deconverter. I am a happy deconvert.

Can't Win

I enjoy the scholarly discussion of theism. Particularly Christianity. It perks my interest to dive into an intriguing question of whether the Gospel of Luke knew Tacitus or vice versa. Minute, probably irrelevant points, that very few even have the remotest curiosity about.

That fascination developed during my deconversion. And it has been the primary focus of my discussion with other theists, both in real life and on the internet. I tend to refrain from discussing how devastated I was toward the end of my deconversion. There are two reasons for that.

First, because in this debate we tend to worship intellectualism and dogmatism. Oh, we can protest that axiom all we want—but read the blogs. Read the posts. Read the comments. What I so often see is that a person who claims they believe in God because of an uncomplicated faith is blasted by non-believers.

“But where is your proof?”
”Would you believe in anything anyone says?”
”Do you believe in the Tooth Fairy?”
“Are you simple-minded?”

No, what we expect, nay, demand is proof. And argument. And citations. And bibliographies. A person with such a simple belief, and no Ph.D-written articles to back up their assertions is dismissed as not worthy of being part of the discussion.

Conversely, a naturalist that dares say there is no god, but asserts they do not know how the universe began, or how life came from non-life is equally blasted by believers.

“Don’t you find that incredible?”
“Isn’t the idea of god so much more believable?”
“How can you claim there is no god, when you don’t even know how the universe started?”

No, what we expect, nay, demand is some article that lays out the chemical process of natural abiogenesis, and the physicist that carefully explains how the universe came into being.

Worse, dogmatism is seen as a quality of character. If a person dares say, “You know what? You are right, and I was wrong” it is feared that credibility will be forever lost. “Doubt” is a four-letter word. I have seen people blindly adhere to some proposition when it has been completely shredded to the most ridiculous of premises, and we all know why. Because to say, “Hey, I was incorrect” is viewed as a character defect, and it is better to be thought stupid than wrong.

To be honest, at times I fall into the intellectualism/dogmatism trap, and therefore avoid talking about any emotional feelings involved in deconversion. It doesn’t sound very intellectual. It sounds full of doubt.

Secondly, I do not talk much about it because I fear the focus will shift to my deconverting because of some emotional response—not for the intellectual reasons. I fear the following conversation:

Me: I studied the following areas:

1) Inerrancy of the Bible
2) Archeology and History
3) Writers of the Bible
4) Textual criticism
5) Reliance of one book upon the other
6) Canon of the Bible
7) Other early Christian writings
8) Possible solutions to Christian problems
9) Euthyphro Dilemma, and the Epicurean Question.
10) Problem of Evil, both logical and evidential
11) Problem of Suffering
12) Problem of coherence
13) Problems with Jesus’ nature, resurrection, trinity, election, Heaven, and hell.
14) Atheistic arguments against god.
15) Problem of unanswered prayer, when I asked god to do something to show he exists.

Theist: A-HA! The reason you deconverted is that God didn’t do what you asked him to do!

I feel like pounding my head on a wall. The other 14 reasons I listed immediately fade into the background and disappear. The only focus for the rest of the conversation is now on my dictating to God. Easier to not list reason number 15, than have it crush the remaining statements into oblivion.

There are two reasons I do occasionally let slip that deconverting was emotionally traumatic.

First, because it is the truth. I live by the maxim that there exists such a thing as “ring of truth.” That some stories are believable, because of the honesty involved. Elvis is really dead because no one would fake their death by having themselves found dead on a toilet. That creates a “ring of truth.” (pun not necessarily intended.)

If I pretended to have had a purely intellectual transition from Christianity to atheist, in that one day I said, “O.K. I am convinced. I am no longer a Christian. What’s for supper?” eventually I would be found out. It isn’t true. It isn’t me. It isn’t what happened.

Mark Twain said it best: “Always speak the truth. That way you don’t have to remember anything.”

Secondly, I talk about it because I am aware of others that are deconverting. If they are anything like me, or anything like the 100’s of deconversion stories I have read—they, too are finding it an unsettling prospect. They too are discovering it is not the same as switching from briefs to boxers. A great deal more uncomfortable.

And, sometimes as humans, it is a modicum of comfort to know that some other human has experienced the same, and what one is feeling is not out-of-the-norm or unusual or completely wacko. We all struggled. Welcome to the party.

But for a moment, I DO want to focus on that emotional time—both to give some insight and to raise some questions. A very brief background to bring us up to speed may be necessary.

I first encountered non-believers discussing Christian concepts out of curiosity. Like seeing animals in a zoo. I had never actually talked to an atheist that was fully aware of all the arguments for Christianity and still was not persuaded. In my naïve mind, there were atheists that did not know the arguments (yet) or atheists that knew them but willfully rejected God so as to live sinful lives. I figured the latter were racked with guilt.

But these seemed both happy AND aware. My curiosity grew to a level of study. I wanted to know more about how atheists thought, and how they knew so much about the Bible. My study grew to a search. I needed to know as much about the Bible as they did. My search grew to a quest. I needed to know more about the Bible than they did.

To fully understand, at this point I was in no fear, no danger of losing my Christianity. I held truth. Sure, they knew more than I, but that was a matter of time and reading. Eventually, either God would direct me, or I would discover the error. The place where they turned, or their bias came into play and we would part ways.

Then I started reviewing the arguments. Even did a little arguing myself. And I realized the arguments for Christianity rang hollow. The arguments against were more believable. (I have discussed my methodology before, and will not waste time reiterating it here.) That, too, was O.K., because God wanted us to have faith. It wasn’t supposed to ALL be easy—we were supposed to have a few doubts. Otherwise we wouldn’t have free will to wend our way through the difficulties.

But more and more arguments I found myself finding the non-Christian position more persuasive. I was nodding my head to the non-Christian position, and shaking my head at the Christian claim. I realized I was in trouble.

I talked to someone, explaining that I was struggling. (A side note. The vast predominance of people reading this blog only know me post-Christianity. As a Christian, it was extremely unheard of, unique even, for me to admit to any struggles. I was raised that one did not talk about struggles, unless there was death involved. The fact that I made this call only demonstrates to me how much trouble I thought I was in.)

That person told me two things: 1) That they always found me intelligent and had faith I would find the right path, and 2) at times we solely have faith in God, and rely upon not knowing everything.

Well…I sure didn’t feel very intelligent. I felt as dumb as a rock. And I wanted to have faith; I really did. I only wanted faith in the right thing, is all. Look, if the Bible is not inerrant, then I shouldn’t be spinning my wheels, busily “having faith” in inerrancy. I could easily have faith in an errant Bible, yet maintain Christianity.

I wanted Christianity. I wanted faith in Christianity. No one wants a false faith. No one wants to get to heaven and find they spent their whole life believing and defending and writing on the concept of “election” only to discover they got it all completely wrong. It wasn’t a question of whether to have faith—that question was settled. It was a question of what to have faith in.

But one can only concede the arguments in favor of Christianity being false and continue to be a Christian so long. Something has to give.

For a period of time, I entered a familiar cycle. During the day I would read arguments for/against Christianity. In the evening I would read books either for/against Christianity. But in the dark of the middle of the night, the demons would come.

I would wake up at 2 a.m. and the wheels would start spinning. I’d creep out of bed, go into the living room and pray. I wasn’t interested in reading, or writing or even thinking. All I wanted to do was pray. And I only prayed for one thing—that God would show me he existed. I didn’t care which God, I didn’t care whether he did it in the form of a vision, or a miracle, or the right book, or a phrase or a person or a quote—or whatever.

When I prayed, I pointed out (realizing that a God would already know it) that my mind seemed to work in a certain way. Why and how--I did not know, but apparently it yearned for information in a distinct pattern. Whatever that pattern was, whatever my particular brain seemed to require, but was not getting, all I asked is that God would provide it.

I prayed that God would show me, and if it was enough for me—even if I could never prove it to anyone else, or use it as a “club” to beat those atheists—that was just fine with me. All I needed was to know he existed. I didn’t ask for a particular God, or for proof on a particular point. I figured knowing there was a God would be enough. I could enjoy the rest of my life working out the rest of the details—but know there is a God.

I prayed standing up, I prayed kneeling, I prayed pacing, I prayed doing sit-ups. I prayed every way I knew, with every word I knew. I prayed for words to explain what I was praying for. Eventually I would sleep for a few hours. The next day I would capture a few moments of reading at work, read at night, lie down exhausted, and at 2 a.m. my eyes would open. For a few nights, I tossed and turned to go back to sleep, but soon gave that up. Once 2 a.m. rolled around, I might as well get up.

I literally reached a point where I said I did not know what else to say. I just sat there. Not thinking. Not forming prayers. Wondering what was to become of me. God had his timing. God knew what I needed. I did not want to rush him.

I thought of quitting the research entirely. I would assume the claim of being a “theist” and dare not think any further. I would be afraid to move forward. Afraid to move back. Live in a perpetual half-belief of “God” and nothing more. But that gave legitimacy to the questions. That would mean I was afraid of looking for what was true. Even if no one else knew, I would know—by being afraid to ask myself the question, I was conceding I was terrified of the answer.

I began to read other deconverts and their stories. They, too, talked of the struggle to give up faith. They talked of the fear of doubts. Of the countless hours of praying. If God didn’t answer them, and they certainly seemed genuine enough, why would he answer me? But I suppressed that idea as quickly as it rose up. To dare think that God would not answer was inconceivable. He loved me. He wanted me to find him. He wanted to answer my prayers.

Although deconverts talked about being at peace, I couldn’t help wondering if it was just preaching to the choir. Rallying the troops. How could they be at peace, without hope of an afterlife? (Remember, I am still a Christian at this point.) I recalled Christian converts talking about being rich, partying girl-magnets, but not really happy until they were saved. Apparently these deconverts were poor, non-partying losers until they could fulfill their sinful desires by abandoning Christianity.

But the thing that really scared me was the numerous tales of divorce. How the Christian spouses either also came out as atheists (never going to happen in my situation) or else divorce occurred. How friends disappeared.

I felt trapped. I couldn’t get off the train without admitting concession to the defeat. I couldn’t abide where the train was heading. And all I could do is pray.

Eventually I tapped out. I remember telling God it was too much to keep doing this. If he wanted me to find him, he knew where I was. But after speaking to an empty sky for so long, and trying so hard to do it right, I had given all I could. I knew I was loosing my grip on my belief in God. I had not lost it yet, but I saw it would take a Miracle (and I still believed in Miracles!) to keep it from falling away.

I became patently aware of two things—I was becoming agnostic (but atheistic to the Christian God) and there was no afterlife. As I pried the elements of Hell out as contradictory and incomprehensible, the elements of Heaven left with equal speed on each wrench.

I was about to become the terrible monster—a man without God. The concept of a creature that my entire youth, and much of my adult years had pounded and nailed and riveted as being hopeless, moralless, and miserable. I recognized that I had too much knowledge to hold onto God, and that I was going to become wretched.

It comes as no surprise; this threw me into despair. No one could look forward to this existence of dredging through a reality I hated. It was receiving a terrible disease, for which there is no cure, yet I would have to live out my life in pain.

One morning, I looked in the mirror and said, “O.K., I cannot live like this. I am going to say it. ‘I do not believe there is a God.’” (Yes, I half-expected a lightening bolt to come right out of the electrical socket and in a moment appear before a very Angry God.) And then I got ready and went to work.

I wish I could say that immediately I felt a flood of peace, and all of my cares and troubles flew away. Life is rarely in that fashion. Change is slow and in a progress, not a jump.

What I found is that I worked that day, and it was just like every other day. I went home and spent time with my family like every other night. I wasn’t getting depressed. Instead, I was feeling more at peace—relieved. I started to sleep better and better at night. Instead of wrestling with questions, I could address them. “If there is no God, then this is just some human’s attempt or picture of God, and is no better or more true than anyone else’s.” Amazing how many questions that clears up!

I started to actually enjoy my studies. No longer was I bound by a certain dogma that required a God at the end of it. I could be free to study and come to the conclusion of This God, That God, We Don’t Know God, or no God at all. I could use my “head thinking” as much as I wanted, rather than stifle it with “heart thinking” and then try and figure out what the heck “heart thinking” was.

I started to enjoy my life about me.

With all that being said, it raises some thoughts I have about that part of the deconversion process.

We can’t win.

If I said that I practiced Christianity, but upon reading a book by Price, or Dawkins, and immediately I intellectually deconverted to Christianity—I would be assured I was never a Christian in the first place. It didn’t stick. I was only head-believing, not heart-believing. Oh, admit it—you are out there! That is exactly what you would think.

But if I say it was gut-wrenching to lose 37 years of belief in one direction, and turn to a completely different direction, then I am assured that the reason for my deconversion was emotional—that I was “disappointed” in God, or depressed or some other silly nonsense.

If it was intellectual, I wasn’t a Christian in the first place. If it was emotional, it was for all the wrong reasons. If it was a combination, I wasn’t a Christian AND I did it for the wrong reasons.

I prayed that God would show me he existed. I had faith that he would. People inform me that I was “dictating to God.” Wait a minute. If I prayed that God would heal Aunt Betsy, and had faith he would, I would be considered a “Person of strong faith.” Pray that God would show me he existed? An arrogant heathen!

Curious, that.

I prayed, expecting God would show me. I am told that we should not expect things from God. Are you saying that when Christians pray for something they don’t expect it to happen? And that is how faith works? Ask God, but figure it won’t happen? How does that play out?

I’m told that now if I prayed for God to show me he exists, it wouldn’t work because I don’t believe God exists. That’s a bit of a bugger, isn’t it? I have to believe God exists before I can ask him to show me he exists, but if I already believe he exists than I wouldn’t have to…oh, never mind.

When I believed in God, it was wrong for me to expect him to show me he existed, when I no longer did, it would be ineffectual. Are we to never question God as to his existence?

Human: Dear Jesus, can you heal mommy—
God: Check.
Human: and help daddy get a job—
God: One’s on the way.

Human: And help the missionaries—
God: In progress
Human: I love you.
God: How nice!

Human: Oh, and what would I look for, to see if you existed?
God: WHAT? You are questioning my existence? How dare you! No Answered Prayer for you!

Is that how God works? Just like our family reunions where certain conversations are “off-limits”? We can talk to God about anything, ask for anything, do anything, but the one thing we mustn’t do is dare inform him we are having trouble believing in him!

Attitudes like that fully explain why I didn’t share my doubt with others. I wonder how many other people are sitting in pews, day after day, going to Bible Studies week after week, and late at night, when the demons come, are on their knees begging God to show them he is actually there? Yet within the Christian community to vocalize such a doubt is considered heresy. Lack of faith. Something to be avoided at all costs.

If I say it was hard to lose a belief of 37 years, I am told that is because I truly still believe it in my heart. If I say it was hard to lose a belief of 37 days, I am told that is because I never believed it in the first place. No matter what we say as deconverts, it is always wrong.

We were either Christians too short a period, too long, too much head knowledge, not enough head knowledge, not enough faith, not long enough faith, not the right kind of faith, we wanted to sin, we wanted to be like God, we didn’t trust God…the list goes on and on.

Every year, for St. Patrick’s day we make a leprechaun trap—my seven-year-old and I. We bait it with those chocolate coins in gold foil. Figure that the combination of gold and chocolate would draw US, it certainly would work on a leprechaun.

It is carefully constructed of shoe-box, and paint (do I have to say what color?) and very St. Patrick-looking-items in order to entice the little fella. We have included a bed (to make it inviting) and a picture (to make it look homey) and about everything one could possible do in order to have our very own leprechaun.

Last year he left foot prints in and about the trap and was able to escape with one coin. But no luck in actually capturing him. This year we were much closer! He jumped out so fast; he left behind one of his small, black shoes! Already plans are in the making for next-years upgraded version.

Question: How do you open a leprechaun trap? Me—I would fling open the top and attempt to look surprised at the lack of success. But my daughter wouldn’t. She really believes. When she opens the trap, she carefully instructs me to be “at the ready” in case he jumps and we have to catch him quick. She keeps a sharp eye out for the cats, because THAT would be tragic.

And slowly she peels back a corner, peering in the darkness, looking for where he might be hiding. More slowly she lifts the lid (ignoring her father’s suggestion to “just shake the box!”) carefully examining where he might jump out. Finally, after the entire interior is revealed, and there is obviously no one inch person in green tights within, the inevitable sigh of disappointment.

“We came close, didn’t we Daddy? Look, he lost his shoe! Maybe next year we need something to bring the lid down faster so….” and the planning begins.

If I asked you, “Does she really believe in leprechauns?” you would be stunned at my question. “Look at how she acts. Look at how carefully she treats that trap, and opens it, fully expecting something inside. Look how she plans with those about her for the obvious fact that such a creature was within. Look at how genuine her disappointment upon failing.”

That, my dear friend, is why claims of “You weren’t a Christian in the first place” fall on my deaf ears. Why shouts of “You were dictating to God” or “You didn’t believe hard enough” or “You didn’t have enough faith” do not move me. Go ahead and proclaim that I became a heathen because I want to sin. That it was some emotional reaction to a disappointment in my life. I will inwardly grin. With all due respect—you haven’t a clue.

You might as well inform my daughter she really doesn’t believe in leprechauns. She and I would both laugh, and work on next year’s trap. It is sure to work this time…

The Obligatory Blog on the Jesus Tomb

I just wish there was this much intense study and outrage in the Christian community on how to better demonstrate love toward fellow human beings. On the lack of churches to be effective within their neighborhoods.

Rather than the outrage as to the silly claim that Jesus had a son—I would have preferred to see the outrage at the size of their own stock portfolios, when claiming to have “faith” that the Jesus who was NOT in that tomb would have the ability to sustain their needs.

Instead of the mockery of a person who had a commercial endeavor before being involved in this project, I would have liked to see they believed Jesus’ bones are impossible to locate by donations of “Titanic” proportions.

I’ll help ya out. The Jesus Tomb controversy only reinforces two (2) premises to me.

One-The flurry of knowledge provided by Christendom was convincing this was not the tomb of Jesus. (Not that many skeptics thought it was in the first place, mind you.)

Two- the whirlwind of the vast predominance of Christendom in order to make their life here as comfortable as possible, including social, educational, and political activity is equally convincing that Christians pragmatically think his bones are buried somewhere else.

Why I say there is no god

The concept of god is a solution to a then-current perceived problem that did not have an apparent resolution.

Let’s look at the course and development of the concept of god(s) from what we know as humanity travels through history.

Every day the sun would rise. It did not take a rocket scientist to figure out that the sun provided light to see by, warmth to live by and regularity by which to monitor time. Useful thing—the sun. But where did the sun come from? Why was it so regular? How is it that it provided light? It was that “why” question that started to trouble humans.

Worse, without the knowledge of the “why” we lose some sense of control. How do we know the sun will continue to rise day after day? Sure, we could put a blanket over us to avoid the light. Or go to shade to avoid the heat. But what accounted for it? Without that knowledge, we are powerless to either stop the sun if we desired, nor fix the sun if it was required. We were helpless.

And so, the concept of a god regarding the sun was born. For the Aztecs, it was a god that sacrificed himself, becoming the sun. In order to continue to cross the sky, however, the sun/god needed human sacrifice. For the Aztec belief in god, while the sun was necessary to survive, it was also a method of practicing belief through the observation of death. Unfortunately, this included human sacrifice.

For the Greeks, the sun was a chariot-drawn god, who oversaw all. It was a reminder that secrets may not stay hidden forever.

The concept of a god became a convenient tool. Humans watched the seasons turn from winter to spring to summer and back to winter. Why? A story of a god, mourning for a period of time is created. This provides a few benefits. First of all it answers that pesky question of “why”? Secondly it can return a measure of control back to the humans. If humans could be bribed by beads and food—why not a god? Allowing nature to run its course seems so…well…fatalistic.

By coming up with the concept of giving offerings to gods for a better harvest, a rainy spring, a warm summer, or a short winter, the human was able to re-gain authority over a situation they did not have before. If summer just happens—what could a human do about it? But if a god controlled summer, and could be persuaded by a human—bingo! Possibly the human could direct his or her destiny.

Unfortunately, this also gave rise to humans exerting control over other humans. We have always seen a variety of personalities in humans. Some are leaders; some follow. Some are bullies; some are encouragers. In every endeavor, from as minimal as a group choosing a restaurant, to as complicated as a government running a country, the various personalities come forth.

God-belief is no different. It does not take long for the leader personality to start informing others that they are not sacrificing correctly. Not that this is done out of meanness, or even necessarily a sense of domination. The leader could be quite a loving, kind person. They just want to make sure that others “get it right.” And, by virtue of their personality, they begin to lead others in “correct” god-belief.

Of course, there are also personalities that are selfish, or dominating. The selfish quickly realize that giving away such knowledge shouldn’t be free—giving it away is a full-time job! Is it not fair that they are provided for by a portion of the sacrifice? The dominating soon learn that humans are motivated by fear. By intoning that it is possible to sacrifice “incorrectly” and hinting they have the “correct” way of doing it, people became afraid of the wrong god-belief.

People started following different god-beliefs. And in competing groups.

And what is the surprise in that? We emulate our parents and our immediate society, in our mannerism, in our goals, in our actions, and equally we emulate them in our beliefs. If your parents were Native Americans, it is only natural that you, too, would believe in animal spirits. Encountering new people that believed differently than you would introduce new god-beliefs they received from their heritage. Those beliefs would compete.

We congregate with those that tend to believe the same as we do. When moving, a person looks for a new group with a similar religious belief. We look for those who hold to the god-belief most like our own.

Churches and formal religions are born.

A distinct advantage of a god, is that it is perpetually out of reach. Unobservable. Unverifiable. Undeterminable. This allows it to exist with qualities that do not make sense. How, exactly, does a supernatural being impact on a natural being? The “how” becomes unimportant, because it is covered by the broad concept of a god. Within the definition itself is the essential characteristic of the unknown. What was the chariot traveling on when crossing the sky? Only a god would know. How does a god impregnate a human? Only a god would know. Why is one sacrifice “better” than another? Only a god knows.

A solution to a problem shouldn’t provide more questions, while leaving the problem intact. That isn’t a solution at all! If you told me your car wouldn’t start, and I gave you the solution of “Gremlins invaded your engine” while technically qualifying as a “solution” (in the loosest terms) it doesn’t solve the problem. How are gremlins invading? What are the doing? How do we go about removing these terrible creatures?

Introducing a god as a solution to a problem, while initially may be satisfying, with a little unpacking, it becomes hopelessly tangled, and no real solution in sight.

Probably the most common solution for which god is utilized is creation. The “why” of the fact the universe exists. But simply saying “God made it” is one step on a long, long journey of troubling questions. What method did this god use? (i.e. out of nothing, theistic evolution, abiogenesis, etc.) Did god create evil? Is god bound by laws or logic or space or time within creation? How does supernatural cross over to natural? Do humans have souls?

And we hear a plethora of theists, each giving their own particular philosophical stance on the who, what, where, when and why of this god proposed to make creation. And what we see—what we KNOW—is that this god is completely unverifiable. Frankly, the theist hasn’t a clue as to what god is like.

Rather than discussing the vast, book-length treatise on the nature of god, I ask a simple question: “Can god lie?” By placing this god beyond our observation, or ability to verify, we are unable to answer even this most basic, three-word question: “Can god lie?” A theist can discuss with me the immutable moral character of a triune being for pages on length, yet I realize they do not even have the ability to know what boundaries the god is working within when it comes to imparting truth. That kinda makes their dissertation on some vast property of god not very persuasive.

I don’t mind: “I don’t know.” Use it myself. There are plenty of things I do not have the knowledge of, either due to my lack of study of what other humans know, or my human limitation of observation. I don’t know if there are other habitable planets in the entire universe. Neither does any other human, due to our current technological limitations.

And, I can appreciate that a theist may also say, “I don’t know” when it comes to a god. But upon inspection, they don’t really know anything about a god. What I can’t fathom is how some minute characteristic of god is described and explained, yet when I ask about something more troubling, “god is mysterious” comes out. Well, if god is so mysterious, how did the theist know about the previous minute characteristic of god? Apparently god is not entirely mysterious—there are some things that can be known.

I am uncertain what method a theist can use to claim what can be “known” about god and what cannot. (Oh, and if I am told that we “know” things about god because of what this god told me, I go back to my three word question: “Can god lie?”)

This propensity to make positive assertions, with no ability to verify the same reminds me of my father and watermelons. As a parent is inclined to do, my father played a trick on us when we were young in order to entertain our insatiable curiosities.

He informed us that the insides of a watermelon are actually green.

“But all the watermelons we have ever seen are red!”
“Ahh. That is because when oxygen hits the inside part, it turns it red.”

He now had three boys focusing their normal destructive tendencies on resolving how to see the inside of a watermelon without oxygen touching it. No matter how fast we cut it, air reached it first. Drilling, x-rays, flashlights—everything we dreamed up we were stymied by the fact that in order to observe it, air must strike it first.

I get the same feeling. God, like the “green” inside of a watermelon, is placed out of our ability to observe. Yet the theist, like my father, makes a positive assertion as to the property of this god—“it is green.” Everything I try comes up with a red watermelon, so I finally begin to question how it is that oxygen causes something I can’t observe to become something I can. At which point the theist says, “I don’t know. God is mysterious.” And I suspect that they don’t know what color the inside of their watermelon is, either.

[A troubling side note. Many proponents of god recognize this inability to observe and introduce a concept of “faith.” A notion that one must believe despite the capability to confirm. In and of itself, faith is not bothersome. But by presenting it, the idea of “lack of faith” is also born. The idea that if you dare question the god, or question the person presenting the god, or question the idea behind god, you have “lack of faith” and therefore are barred by god.

Because people fear “lack of faith” they avoid even treading on any questions at all about their god. As if somehow their god could be offended and take away any reward by a mere human pausing to reflect on the reality presented by another human. It is then claimed that looking for god without the proper motivation will result in failure. A built-in safety switch to explain why God cannot be found by a skeptic. Clever.]

We watch gods change as humans gain knowledge and technology. Native Americans often believed the Great Spirit only made land newly discovered in the recent past. There was no reason for the Great Spirit to make more land than that—who was there to discover it? Humans thought god were responsible for earthquakes. Until plate tectonics was discovered. Humans thought god(s) revolved around the earth in the form of planets/stars and sun. Until we learned that the earth was not the center of the universe.

The printing press provided the opportunity for the god of Protestantism to break fully free from the god of Catholicism. 200 years ago, the Christian God supported slavery. Now, that would be aghast. 3000 years ago the Jewish God support polygamy.

We have watched creationism change from young-earth to old-earth to “intelligent design.” Why? Did the god provide new information? Nope—humans discovered it. Over the grand course of history, we watch as gods rise and then fall, as humans learn and advance and discover.

Because a god is a solution to a perceived problem. If that problem, such as how seasons form, or how the sun travels across the sky, or how sicknesses occur, or diseases are cured, or places are discovered or study produces interesting results, if that problem is resolved through other means—god becomes no longer necessary. It is discarded, or withdraw from consideration.

Now up until this point, any theist in the world would be standing next to me and nodding their head. “Yep, you got it right. Yep, there are plenty of other god beliefs that history has proven wrong. Yep, those other humans sure got god wrong.” Any theist in the world would agree I would be quite properly correct to vociferously say, “There is no such god” when reviewing these various other historical beliefs. They say it themselves!

Every theist in the world would be telling me that simply because some human says they have it right when it comes to god, it does not mean they are correct. The theist would concur with me that most human claims about god do not have it correct.

But wait. It is a human telling me to not trust humans as to what they say about god. It is a human telling me that other humans will be wrong about god. What makes the human standing next to me immune from the same concerns it is claiming about others? What gives this particular human the “inside scoop” as it were, to god?

And even this human will inform me that much of their information they received about god came from another human. Oh, they may claim some internal revelation, but again, that is out of reach of observation. The fact of the matter is that they heard it from another human. Or read something written by another human. Which another human informed them was from god.

To the theist—imagine standing on a stage. In your hands is a rope. Looking up, that rope is held by another person. The person who provided you your immediate information about god. On the rope is the word “legacy.” It is where you get your particular theistic belief from. And above that person is where s/he got their information from, with yet another rope. Looking back from person to person, you can trace the steps through various people, along pieces of rope, back to the very first recorded instance of your god.

If you are a Protestant that rope would travel through the likes of Martin Luther, Eusebius, Paul, Jesus, David, Moses—right back to the person who wrote Genesis. You have a long legacy leading directly from god to your belief.

But standing next to your right, on this stage, is a female with very, very similar beliefs about god such as yours. Perhaps the two of you only disagree about a minor point on predestination, or a small passage of scripture. And she is also holding a rope. Because the two of you have such similar beliefs, her rope would fairly quickly be joined by some person in your line and then travel together.

Standing next to her is another female with slightly different beliefs than hers, and a little greater difference than yours. She too, holds a rope. Hers, as well, goes to a person and so on, eventually merging with your line.

If you are within the Christian god worldview, as you look down the line, there are 15,000 people to your right. Look the other way, there are 15,000 more. All with lines. All looking at you and pointing straight up as to how their legacy also has a direct line to god. Sure, the farther away they are, the higher up until those lines converge.

It gets worse. The development of the god belief is not a straight line. As you look up, there are places people holding 100’s of ropes for where the beliefs differed off after them. Some are only holding one rope. Some people are taking 3 or 4 ropes from people above them, and holding 3 or 4 ropes for people below them. It is not 30,000 sets of straight ropes, but a tangled, interwoven weave of ropes criss-crossing as beliefs develop over time.

Further, it is not a clean, straight line. As you look now, you are in the middle of a crowd. There are people who believe slightly different on one point with you, but agree on everything else. Others that disagree on another point, but everything else is in agreement. All holding ropes. Some holding a number of ropes, having received the legacy from a variety of beliefs.

And that is just Christianity. Add Muslims, Mormons, Jews and we see more and more entangled ropes and beliefs.

As you look, you see where ropes end, as a belief ends. Or a large segment that trails off into nothingness over the course of history.

Add in the other 100,000 varieties of gods, and their various nuances, some “borrowing” from others. Even Judaism borrowed from Babylonian beliefs. Christianity borrowed from cynic philosophers.

As I step back, I see a huge clump of people and ropes, with long legacies, and intertwined connections, and see, frankly, a mess.

As history continues, you will pass your legacy on. So will others. The ropes will continue, some will end, and some will blossom into whole new sections. You, your ropes and your line are a miniscule portion of the entire picture.

And every theist on there is telling me two things:

1) They are right
2) The people not in their direct line of ropes are wrong.

It is a cacophony of voices clamoring, “I am right. They are wrong. I am right. They are wrong.”

And so I am left asking another simple question; “By what method do I determine which ropes among that mess have the divine thread of truth? How do I tell which ropes are human, and which are divine? What system do I develop by which I can say, ‘This rope is correct and that is not?’ Is there something more than cries of ‘Believe me. Believe me.’?”

I have yet to see such a consistent method. A method that is more than just a person pointing to their own rope and claiming it is correct. A method that makes a person’s legacy stand out on its own.

Why do I say there is no god? Standing next to me are numerous people. While they believe in a god, they point to your god and say, “That is not correct.” And, for 99% of the time, you stand next to me, and in agreement with all those others, you point to another person’s god and say “That is not correct.”

Think of all the people that say your god is not correct. No matter what you believe, over the course of the entire human history, your god-belief is in the vast, vast minority. If there have been only 100,000 god-beliefs, 99.999% of the beliefs have said your particular version was wrong.

It does not mean you are wrong, of course, but it does mean for your position to be persuasive as to its reality, you need to really, REALLY show some evidence. If we filled a college football stadium, you would be the sole person claiming the reality of your god, whereas the other 99,999 occupants would shout out a resounding, “NO!” Best have something outstandingly convincing!

After watching all the theists pointing their fingers at each other, proclaiming, “There is no god such as yours” I step out of the ring, see the tangled ropes and the pointing fingers and say, “There is no god.”

It makes sense.

(Posted simultaneously on Ex-Christian.net ‘cause I owed them a blog entry.)

Purpose

My purpose in life is not much different than that of a theist. I strive to have the best life I can within my ability. Is a Christian much different?

The question pops out in our discussions, “But how do you have any purpose in life?” as if upon becoming an atheist, I lost my drive, my goals, and my desires within the world. Nonsense.

Think about how we live. I cheer my son on in soccer, next to the Christian who is cheering on her son. We each take time out of our busy lives, allowing dishes to pile up at home, to allow our sons a moment of joy for the playing a sport. Is our purpose different?

My Christian friends and I discuss our investments, what vehicles to buy, who is sick and what remedy best works, where to travel, where to NOT travel, problems with relatives, problems with in-laws and promotions at work. We all face disease, discomfort, and death. We all have moments of pure bliss, of triumph, or failure. We all work hard, hoping to leave the world a little better place for our children and their children.

When I hear this plaintive cry, “But you don’t have any purpose” and view how we go about our lives from day-to-day, it clearly cannot be a difference in what we do. We both seem to be striving to make our lives and the lives of those about us as comfortable as possible here in this world.

In fact, if we picked a few people out of a crowd, it would be very difficult indeed to tell who has “ultimate purpose” or not, based upon what they were doing at that particular moment.

No, it has to be something more. Not merely how we spend our time on earth.

It appears what a Christian means by “ultimate purpose” is that God has to give them a blessed after-life because of something the Christian did here on earth. The Christian deserves it! The “purpose” which is being discussed is a reward for doing something right. What is so “ultimate” or “grand” or “purposeful” in that?

Now, that may seem harsh at first, but let’s inspect this a bit closer, shall we?

Envision, for a moment, there was no after-life. Still a God, still a moral base, still a life on earth. Everything in place, except after death, nothing but silence. Would a Christian still be talking about their unique “ultimate purpose”? If so—what could it possibly be? If one does not follow a God, they still live with as much fervor, reward and punishment as one who does. The only purpose a human would have would be to live out their life while on earth. (The same as most of us are doing, regardless.) Glorifying God or not would not change what happens after dying.

We see that followers of god(s) and people who don’t each receive benefits, detriments, and both can equally live to be 9 or 90. As Jesus phrased it, “the rain falls on the just and the unjust.” Matt. 5:45. This “ultimate purpose” would appear to encompass more than just how we act with the few years given us.

Simply living would not seem to be what we are discussing.

There appears in this claim of “purpose” to be some reason more—something greater than just living out a life in the natural world. Part and parcel of this “ultimate purpose” is an afterlife.

And not simply any afterlife, but a happy one at that. Imagine a step further. That there was only an afterlife of Hell. What if every man, woman and child was destined, regardless of what they did, to be barred from heaven. An afterlife of misery.

To a Christian, this is not out of the realm of possibility. I am often informed that it is not God sending people to hell, but rather we are all going there anyway. The very essence of being human includes a one-way trip to Hell after death.

Further, I am informed that Christ did not have to come and live and die. That God was well within his rights to doom us all to Hell. We deserve it. It is the default position. Apparently in God-world, our “ultimate purpose” would equally be fulfilled by an unpleasant after-life.

Yet this is not what is being discussed by Christians, either. Such an existence would not give them an “ultimate purpose.” They would not fill the churches with cries of “What a great life we have—first we die; then we fry! But at least we have purpose!” That is not purpose—that is doom.

We do not see any difference in the day-to-day motivations of our individual lives. That cannot be the “ultimate purpose.” Nor do we hear claims of “ultimate purpose” from those that hold to no after-life, or a terrible one.

Practically and pragmatically, it seems to me the difference, when it comes to “ultimate purpose” is that the Christian plans on a glorious paradise, based upon their actions within their lifetime. In its most basic form, the Christian finds “purpose” in being rewarded for doing something right. How is that dissimilar to any other entity that hopes for reward by performance? What makes such a purpose unique, or “ultimate”?

I anticipate protests that salvation and purpose do not come from human action, but from God granting grace. Come, come. We observe what you say and do. We were in the system. We know the songs, the stories, the doctrine, and the rote.

There is no claim that God picks by completely random lottery. In order to gain entrance into heaven, to obtain “ultimate purpose” the human must do something. It may be as simple as “accepting the gift” or acknowledging Jesus is Lord, or asking Jesus into your heart, but something must be done by the human. It is not solely God acting. There is some requirement, albeit perhaps extremely slight, but some action required on the part of the human in order to make this thing work. Without the human doing this act, however minor it is, God cannot allow them in heaven. The human has to do it, and do it right!

And, the fact that we debate and go back and forth demonstrates the reality of the belief that it includes some intellectual assent by the human.

If you do something correctly, you get heaven. That’s it. After all the rhetoric, and fancy doctrine is peeled away, and “ultimate purpose” is inspected for how the Christian realistically and completely treats it—it boils down to this: Do it right—you get a reward.

How does that make a Christian’s position any more plausible, or any better than any other position? We all (at least I see genuineness in humanity) try to do it right. We all hope that doing it correctly provides benefits.

Sure, the Christian can claim there is an after-life. ‘Course, being me, I can’t help but point out the complete lack of evidence of such a place. But striving to obtain some happy Great Beyond, by saying or doing or believing the “correct” things here on earth is no “grand pursuit.” It is pragmatism at its most basic.

It is expectation of a deserved reward. To paraphrase Smith-Barney, “We get to heaven the old-fashioned way. We earn it.”