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.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Friday, March 30, 2007
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…
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…
Friday, March 09, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
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.)
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.)
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
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.”
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.”
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Why I Left Church
A group of students requested people to write letters as to why they left the Church. Most times I discuss my leaving Christianity, and I have only briefly touched on not going to Church.
First of all, I would emphasize there is nothing that any Church, or the Church system as a whole did incorrectly. It is designed to minister and give guidance to those who believe as it does, OR to provide information to those who do not. I neither believe as the church, and I already have more information than they can provide.
It is like swimming in a pool of acid. There is nothing wrong with acid; it does what it is supposed to do. There is nothing wrong with swimming, either. Just because they both exist, and perform their function correctly does not mean they should mix.
I had good experiences with people in my churches, and some bad experiences. Similar to every other endeavor in which we have a large group of humans together, there are some people we like, and some we do not care for as much. Some friendships develop, and other relationships fall apart.
Perhaps some history as to the various churches I have attended to give the proper background.
I started to go to church when I was six weeks old at a country Baptist Church. (If you were from Michigan, I could regale you with the pedigree as to the sister church(es) and parent church, and when the church split from the organization and the entire history of how the church came into being. Because that is what we did as Baptists—split and kept track of who split from whom.)
My parents served in various functions including Deacon, Deaconess, Sunday School Teacher, Sunday School Superintendent, Janitor, Maintenance, Youth Leader, Missionary Committee, Building Committee, Finance Committee, Search Committee, Committee to create Committees and Awana Leader.
We truly defined the adage of “If the church doors were unlocked—we were there.”
Our weekly itinerary could easily be:
Sunday
9:30 a.m. – Be at church to prepare building (move tables, etc.) for Sunday School.
10:00 a.m. – Sunday School.
11:00 a.m. – Church
12:30 a.m. – Stay after to clean up (see “9:30 a.m.”) or if there was Communion, help mom by gathering and washing the little cups.
5:00 p.m. – Orchestra Practice
6:00 p.m. – Youth Group
7:00 p.m. – Church.
8:00 p.m. – Occasionally a youth party afterward.
Monday
6:30 p.m. – 8:30 p.m. Awana
Tuesday
6:00 p.m. - Dad went out visiting.
Wednesday
6:00 p.m. Prayer Meeting
7:00 p.m. Choir Practice
Thursday
7:00 p.m. Deacon/Deaconess Meeting or Committee Meeting
Friday & Saturday
Typically off, so if we had another youth get-together, it would be on these nights.
We did the Easter Morning Church Breakfast, Vacation Bible School, Summer Camp, the Thanksgiving Service, the Christmas Eve Service, and the New Years Eve service in which the Pastor tried to preach until the bell rang at midnight.
That was my church until I was 15 years old. It was the only life I knew. Yes, the sermons were typically boring. Sure, we occasionally had “youth revivals” in which we vowed to never listen to Rock-n-Roll or play cards or go see movies ever again. (Hey! It was a different time, O.K.?)
Growing up, our church bought property and materials, but the congregation volunteered time to provide the labor to build it. (And some particular Deacon/Deaconess’ volunteered their children as well!) It seemed as if every Saturday we would go “work on the church” by sawing, nailing, painting, carrying, sweeping, cleaning, raking, mowing, planting, re-planting and everything a 9-year old boy hates to do at his own house, let alone a church. (Although on the plus side, my friends were in the same boat as I, so if we quickly got our work done, and avoided an adult’s eye, we got to play together more than if the church was not being built. See? Good and bad to everything.)
To me, going to church was like going to school, or avoiding chores. It was what one did. I knew there were other kids who did not go to church (we saw them at V.B.S. once a year) and if anything, I felt sorry for them. Church was where your friends, your associates, your socialization happened. Parts were dull but parts were a blast.
We moved when I was 15. You know you are a BFIC (Big Family In Church) if they throw a potluck dinner as a “Farewell” for you. We received such a dinner.
Another church was recommended to us in the area in which we moved. We had our dinner on Sunday. Moved on Friday/Saturday. And we were in our new church on Sunday. Didn’t miss a week. That first Sunday, my parents struck up a conversation with the Pastor, and we were invited over for Lunch.
In no time at all, we had the same itinerary on a weekly basis. My Parents were Deacon, Deaconess, Sunday School Teacher, Sunday School Superintendent,…(you get the picture.)
I attended this church for 14 years. The first Sunday evening of that first week, I met the girl who would someday marry me in that Church.
My life continued as before. Friends, youth group, interesting trips, summer camp—what I presumed was typical for a church-going teenager/young adult.
If there was any first “hiccup” in my church attendance experience, it was in my first year of college. I attended a Baptist College. We were required to attend weekly services at any church in the area, and the Resident Advisors were obligated to do a “bed check” every Sunday to make sure people were at church. (The city of this college was very conservative, so there was nowhere else to be but church on a Sunday morning. If you weren’t in the dorm, you were either wandering the streets lonely or in a church.)
I was getting my first taste of freedom. No parents. No chores. A standard freshman-never-been-away-from-home kid. The last thing I was interested in was getting involved in a church. There was too much to do! Since I had to work to pay for college as it was, I quickly volunteered to cook Sunday breakfast/lunch.
I did so throughout my college years. Ahh, but they caught me another way. See, the college also had chapel 5 times a week. And as a college student, I was smart enough to figure out that WE were getting brighter, but the speakers seemed to stay as uninteresting. We stayed up late, debating philosophical points of C.S. Lewis or Francis Schaffer, and the next day would be smothered with a local pastor giving a sermon about how we ought to love our neighbor. (But not too much! We were frisky college students, remember!)
I would love to lie here, and say I started working lunches as well to get out of chapel, but unfortunately, the lunch crew started after chapel was finished. No luck there.
To confirm you attended chapel, a person “signed you in” at the door. My roommate and I (see how I just shared the blame? He He) paid off the person with food (college student equivalent of prison cigarettes) to sign us in. Eventually, as with all well-laid out plans we got caught. Well…actually we were caught for something else, and our signor-inner ratted us out, fearing impending doom.
Thus we were reduced to only being able to sneak out half of the time. As our college minds were expanding and bursting with new information, and exploration, and fascinating concepts, those weeks trapped in chapel taught me there were two speakers—those that could apprehend the audience’s attention and those that treated us as already captured. The latter were by far the more prevalent.
Due to my chapel (and other) escapades, the college did not give me the option to return. My second college only had chapel two times a week (and an easier system to crack) which was far more palatable.
I returned to my home church as a “young adult.” That is the in-between of “college age” (although it always included the college age) and “young marrieds.” If I was to pick out the years of church-going that I enjoyed the most, it would have to be this time.
We were too young to realize you can’t know everything, yet too old to accept on face value what others told us. We would debate and study and engage on subjects as stupid as angels on pins to as essentially pragmatic as how far can you go on a date.
The inevitable occurred. Where there were once two “young adults”--like a caterpillar, they morph into one couple in the “young marrieds.” I started teaching Sunday School and small groups. My wife joined the nursery committee.
If Disney transformed my life onto celluloid, it is at this point Elton John would break out with “Circle of Life.” We were becoming our parents.
Some friends switched to a more liberal style (although as conservative teaching) “Willow Creek” type church and invited us along. We went and never looked back. Loved the more openness, loved the people, loved the church. Again, we became small group leaders, and workers within the church.
Unfortunately, we moved, and distance became a problem. We visited a local church, enjoyed the style, the programs and the pastor. In what was to be the last real church I ever participated, I became…a Baptist again!
We taught Sunday School, helped out on the programs, and there was talk of my becoming a deacon. Did I hear Elton John again?
It was at this time that I began to interact with atheists, and my deconversion process took place. I resigned, without reason, my position as a Sunday School teacher. (Would YOU want your 4-5 year old being taught by an atheist in Church?) I feared what I said would be inappropriate or offensive within our Sunday School, so I kept my mouth shut.
Whereas before, I would ask questions, and be engaging, and bring out verses, and challenge the poor Sunday School teacher to the point of tearing out their hair, at least I kept the class interesting! Worse, I had near perfect attendance. Now, out of fear that I could no longer stop, and it seemed such a façade to debate how to resolve Paul with Jesus, I dared not open my mouth.
People notice that sort of thing. Rumor has it (as churches are great at “rumor has it”) the teacher thought I was mad at him. We switched classes.
The new class was fascinating.
Teacher: AIDS was sent by God as a punishment against homosexuals.
Me: WH—WH--WHAT??!
Wife: SHHHH.
Me: [whispering] But, but, but, can’t I—
Wife: NO!
Me: [whispering] But what he said—
Wife: NO!
Teacher: And the Holocaust was a punishment to the Jews for killing Jesus.
Me: [whispering] Oh, but I HAVE—
Wife: NO!
Me: [whispering] But that—
Wife: NO!
Me, quietly banging my head on the chair in front of me until I reach blissful unconsciousness.
There was talk that this fellow was hoping to get the Pastor’s job when he left. We switched churches to the last church I attended. Another Willow Creek Style.
This was a large church, with numerous services (4) and I could easily get lost in the crowd, and never cause a fuss. If only that was my style…
Week after week they asked the crowd to join a small group. (If you know Willow Creek, small groups are HUGE.) “We have a small group for everybody--even you! Just fill out the card and we will get you set up.”
All right. Let’s test that theory, shall we? I sent in a card that said something like this:
“I am an atheist. I attend this church, as my wife and children attend, and I have attended church all my life. I would like to take part as much as I can. I have deconverted from Christianity, and am very-well studied. I have no interest in becoming a Christian again. I understand why I would not make a good Sunday School teacher, but is there somewhere I could plug in?”
I would have paid real money to see the look on the face of the people who that card was passed to! About two weeks later I get a phone call:
Jim (not his real name): Hi, I am Jim. A small group leader.
Me: Hello.
Jim: It says here you are…a…
Me: Atheist
Jim: Yeah. Right. And you want to attend church?
(I could see that fact was a little hard for Jim to wrap his hands around.)
Me: Yep.
Jim: Well…see…I lead a small group for “seekers.” I don’t suppose…you don’t seem…I mean…are you still seeking?
Me: No, Jim, I am not. I am willing to listen to new information, of course, and I promise to keep quiet, but I am looking for a place to join.
Jim (curiosity getting the best of him): Do you mind my asking the biggest reason you are an…atheist?
Me: Not at all. There are a number of reasons that cumulate into why I am. There is not one big reason.
Jim: But if you had to pick one, what would it be?
Me: That the Bible is clearly a completely human work, and there is nothing supernatural about it.
(With a Christian, that is always the easiest place to start.)
Jim (getting his dander up): It is not as if the Bible floated down from heaven on strings of gold!
Me: Well, you have to admit, that would be a pretty good sign of supernatural intervention, wouldn’t it?
Jim (nervously chuckling): Yeah, I guess it would at that. Any way, we have a class for people that are looking to become Christians. We even have a Jew! (said proudly) But we are not…really…we…uh…I don’t think this is right for you.
Me: Oh.
Jim: We are currently reading Ravi Zacharias—have you ever heard of him?
Me (internally sighing): Yes. He recommended all atheists, including myself, commit suicide.
Jim: OH! Oh! We don’t want you to do THAT. Listen, there is a fellow that used to be an atheist, too. Maybe you should contact him.
I met with the “atheist” (actually a theist who was formerly not a Christian, but as close as they could come to finding a real atheist). He said he looked forward to our next meeting. Apparently that will be in the next decade, ‘cause I haven’t heard from him since. I tried “skeptic’s night.” I started an e-mail correspondence with the Pastor. Who informed me he was better served talking to people who “really” needed his guidance.
Eventually I was informed that there really was NOT a place there for me. I was offered to sit in the service and keep my mouth shut.
And I even did THAT. Until one Sunday…
If you know anything about Willow Creek churches, they like to have skits. Plays that have to do with the sermon. Imagine a dining room table. Enter a woman stage left. It is physically impossible for you to imagine TOO much over-acting in what followed:
Woman: A Spoon!................A Fork!...............A Knife!
To get the mental image, the Woman would grab the utensil in question, literally thrust it into the sky, clutch her chest with her other hand, and gaze up at that spoon with such rapt admiration you would have thought it was Jesus himself coming down from the sky. She held this statuesque pose for a long enough time we could have drawn a picture of her standing there, breathlessly waiting what was about to be said. “A Spoon!”
Then, she grabbed the next hapless implement from the table, dropped to her knees and cradled it like a baby. Holding this position for about as much time as it takes to balance a checkbook, she finally graced us with the prose we so desperately ached to hear. “A Fork!” Finally, having exhausted her prowess as an actress, she snatches the last item, holds it in her other hand, repeating the same thrusting/clutching movement, but only to the other side. By now, much of the audience realizes they have time to go get a cup of coffee before the next words will be uttered, and we painfully listen to silence before…“A knife!”
Woman (again): A Spoon!................A Fork!...............A Knife! (with the same repeated motions)………..isthereroomformeatyourtable?
The last part was said so quick, we assumed someone had whispered in her ear that at this rate, we would still be sitting there waiting for this skit to end.
Apparently not. Apparently this was how they intended it to be. Enter a man stage right.
Man: A Spoon!................A Fork!...............A Knife! ………..isthereroomformeatyourtable?
Same crazy gestures. Then, in staccato bursts, they machine-gunned words back and forth:
Man: I am a slave
Woman: I am a boss
Man: I am homeless
Woman: I am rich
Man: I am poor
Woman: Is there room for me at your table?
Man: I am Black
Woman: I am a Jew
Man: I am White
Woman: I am Young
Man: I am Old
Man: Is there room for me at your table?
As they speak they are alternating grabbing their chest and flinging their arms as if they are in the throes of some deep anguish. As if this was the most important speech ever given.
I am beat red. I am holding my sides, sealing my face, thinking of anything but how horrendous this thing was. My eyes are squirting tears, as I am squirming in my seat, trying not to burst out in gales of laughter. And then they hit me:
Woman: A Spoon!................A Fork!...............A Knife! ………..isthereroomformeatyourtable?
Right back to the same over-acting! I am in uncontrollable giggles, and am starting receive shocked/disgusted looks, as if I was laughing at a funeral. Oh, come ON! Yes, they were serious, but this was terrible!
After 10 long minutes in which I pulled every muscle in my chest and sides in attempting to keep my composure, it was finally over.
Then the pastor started to preach. His sermon was on how we should be more hospitable. O.K., innocuous enough. But he went on to tell the story of how some Pastor made it a point to invite parolees, fresh from prison, into his house, knowing that Jesus would protect him and his family.
That was it. The combination of this ludicrous, childish, horrible play, followed with the blind belief in a person that, even if he lived, has been dead for almost 2000 years and isn’t protecting anybody, was too much.
All week long (at that time) I was involved in debating how we know whether Jesus lived, what we know about other historians, the development of the word “Nazarene,” the use of the gospel writers of midrash to create tales of Jesus, and interesting, deep, fun study. To be reduced to “Don’t worry, Jesus will protect you” at Church—my poor mind couldn’t do it.
It was like studying Calculus all week, and then every Sunday having to sit through, “2 plus 2 is four. 4 plus 4 is eight. 8 plus 8 is sixteen. 16 and 16 are thirty-two. 2 plus 2 is four. 4 plus 4 is eight…”
Simply put, church is not designed for me. A very good friend told me that Sunday services “cater to the lowest common emotional denominator” and I found that to be true. Since it was the only thing left I could do in a church…I left.
First of all, I would emphasize there is nothing that any Church, or the Church system as a whole did incorrectly. It is designed to minister and give guidance to those who believe as it does, OR to provide information to those who do not. I neither believe as the church, and I already have more information than they can provide.
It is like swimming in a pool of acid. There is nothing wrong with acid; it does what it is supposed to do. There is nothing wrong with swimming, either. Just because they both exist, and perform their function correctly does not mean they should mix.
I had good experiences with people in my churches, and some bad experiences. Similar to every other endeavor in which we have a large group of humans together, there are some people we like, and some we do not care for as much. Some friendships develop, and other relationships fall apart.
Perhaps some history as to the various churches I have attended to give the proper background.
I started to go to church when I was six weeks old at a country Baptist Church. (If you were from Michigan, I could regale you with the pedigree as to the sister church(es) and parent church, and when the church split from the organization and the entire history of how the church came into being. Because that is what we did as Baptists—split and kept track of who split from whom.)
My parents served in various functions including Deacon, Deaconess, Sunday School Teacher, Sunday School Superintendent, Janitor, Maintenance, Youth Leader, Missionary Committee, Building Committee, Finance Committee, Search Committee, Committee to create Committees and Awana Leader.
We truly defined the adage of “If the church doors were unlocked—we were there.”
Our weekly itinerary could easily be:
Sunday
9:30 a.m. – Be at church to prepare building (move tables, etc.) for Sunday School.
10:00 a.m. – Sunday School.
11:00 a.m. – Church
12:30 a.m. – Stay after to clean up (see “9:30 a.m.”) or if there was Communion, help mom by gathering and washing the little cups.
5:00 p.m. – Orchestra Practice
6:00 p.m. – Youth Group
7:00 p.m. – Church.
8:00 p.m. – Occasionally a youth party afterward.
Monday
6:30 p.m. – 8:30 p.m. Awana
Tuesday
6:00 p.m. - Dad went out visiting.
Wednesday
6:00 p.m. Prayer Meeting
7:00 p.m. Choir Practice
Thursday
7:00 p.m. Deacon/Deaconess Meeting or Committee Meeting
Friday & Saturday
Typically off, so if we had another youth get-together, it would be on these nights.
We did the Easter Morning Church Breakfast, Vacation Bible School, Summer Camp, the Thanksgiving Service, the Christmas Eve Service, and the New Years Eve service in which the Pastor tried to preach until the bell rang at midnight.
That was my church until I was 15 years old. It was the only life I knew. Yes, the sermons were typically boring. Sure, we occasionally had “youth revivals” in which we vowed to never listen to Rock-n-Roll or play cards or go see movies ever again. (Hey! It was a different time, O.K.?)
Growing up, our church bought property and materials, but the congregation volunteered time to provide the labor to build it. (And some particular Deacon/Deaconess’ volunteered their children as well!) It seemed as if every Saturday we would go “work on the church” by sawing, nailing, painting, carrying, sweeping, cleaning, raking, mowing, planting, re-planting and everything a 9-year old boy hates to do at his own house, let alone a church. (Although on the plus side, my friends were in the same boat as I, so if we quickly got our work done, and avoided an adult’s eye, we got to play together more than if the church was not being built. See? Good and bad to everything.)
To me, going to church was like going to school, or avoiding chores. It was what one did. I knew there were other kids who did not go to church (we saw them at V.B.S. once a year) and if anything, I felt sorry for them. Church was where your friends, your associates, your socialization happened. Parts were dull but parts were a blast.
We moved when I was 15. You know you are a BFIC (Big Family In Church) if they throw a potluck dinner as a “Farewell” for you. We received such a dinner.
Another church was recommended to us in the area in which we moved. We had our dinner on Sunday. Moved on Friday/Saturday. And we were in our new church on Sunday. Didn’t miss a week. That first Sunday, my parents struck up a conversation with the Pastor, and we were invited over for Lunch.
In no time at all, we had the same itinerary on a weekly basis. My Parents were Deacon, Deaconess, Sunday School Teacher, Sunday School Superintendent,…(you get the picture.)
I attended this church for 14 years. The first Sunday evening of that first week, I met the girl who would someday marry me in that Church.
My life continued as before. Friends, youth group, interesting trips, summer camp—what I presumed was typical for a church-going teenager/young adult.
If there was any first “hiccup” in my church attendance experience, it was in my first year of college. I attended a Baptist College. We were required to attend weekly services at any church in the area, and the Resident Advisors were obligated to do a “bed check” every Sunday to make sure people were at church. (The city of this college was very conservative, so there was nowhere else to be but church on a Sunday morning. If you weren’t in the dorm, you were either wandering the streets lonely or in a church.)
I was getting my first taste of freedom. No parents. No chores. A standard freshman-never-been-away-from-home kid. The last thing I was interested in was getting involved in a church. There was too much to do! Since I had to work to pay for college as it was, I quickly volunteered to cook Sunday breakfast/lunch.
I did so throughout my college years. Ahh, but they caught me another way. See, the college also had chapel 5 times a week. And as a college student, I was smart enough to figure out that WE were getting brighter, but the speakers seemed to stay as uninteresting. We stayed up late, debating philosophical points of C.S. Lewis or Francis Schaffer, and the next day would be smothered with a local pastor giving a sermon about how we ought to love our neighbor. (But not too much! We were frisky college students, remember!)
I would love to lie here, and say I started working lunches as well to get out of chapel, but unfortunately, the lunch crew started after chapel was finished. No luck there.
To confirm you attended chapel, a person “signed you in” at the door. My roommate and I (see how I just shared the blame? He He) paid off the person with food (college student equivalent of prison cigarettes) to sign us in. Eventually, as with all well-laid out plans we got caught. Well…actually we were caught for something else, and our signor-inner ratted us out, fearing impending doom.
Thus we were reduced to only being able to sneak out half of the time. As our college minds were expanding and bursting with new information, and exploration, and fascinating concepts, those weeks trapped in chapel taught me there were two speakers—those that could apprehend the audience’s attention and those that treated us as already captured. The latter were by far the more prevalent.
Due to my chapel (and other) escapades, the college did not give me the option to return. My second college only had chapel two times a week (and an easier system to crack) which was far more palatable.
I returned to my home church as a “young adult.” That is the in-between of “college age” (although it always included the college age) and “young marrieds.” If I was to pick out the years of church-going that I enjoyed the most, it would have to be this time.
We were too young to realize you can’t know everything, yet too old to accept on face value what others told us. We would debate and study and engage on subjects as stupid as angels on pins to as essentially pragmatic as how far can you go on a date.
The inevitable occurred. Where there were once two “young adults”--like a caterpillar, they morph into one couple in the “young marrieds.” I started teaching Sunday School and small groups. My wife joined the nursery committee.
If Disney transformed my life onto celluloid, it is at this point Elton John would break out with “Circle of Life.” We were becoming our parents.
Some friends switched to a more liberal style (although as conservative teaching) “Willow Creek” type church and invited us along. We went and never looked back. Loved the more openness, loved the people, loved the church. Again, we became small group leaders, and workers within the church.
Unfortunately, we moved, and distance became a problem. We visited a local church, enjoyed the style, the programs and the pastor. In what was to be the last real church I ever participated, I became…a Baptist again!
We taught Sunday School, helped out on the programs, and there was talk of my becoming a deacon. Did I hear Elton John again?
It was at this time that I began to interact with atheists, and my deconversion process took place. I resigned, without reason, my position as a Sunday School teacher. (Would YOU want your 4-5 year old being taught by an atheist in Church?) I feared what I said would be inappropriate or offensive within our Sunday School, so I kept my mouth shut.
Whereas before, I would ask questions, and be engaging, and bring out verses, and challenge the poor Sunday School teacher to the point of tearing out their hair, at least I kept the class interesting! Worse, I had near perfect attendance. Now, out of fear that I could no longer stop, and it seemed such a façade to debate how to resolve Paul with Jesus, I dared not open my mouth.
People notice that sort of thing. Rumor has it (as churches are great at “rumor has it”) the teacher thought I was mad at him. We switched classes.
The new class was fascinating.
Teacher: AIDS was sent by God as a punishment against homosexuals.
Me: WH—WH--WHAT??!
Wife: SHHHH.
Me: [whispering] But, but, but, can’t I—
Wife: NO!
Me: [whispering] But what he said—
Wife: NO!
Teacher: And the Holocaust was a punishment to the Jews for killing Jesus.
Me: [whispering] Oh, but I HAVE—
Wife: NO!
Me: [whispering] But that—
Wife: NO!
Me, quietly banging my head on the chair in front of me until I reach blissful unconsciousness.
There was talk that this fellow was hoping to get the Pastor’s job when he left. We switched churches to the last church I attended. Another Willow Creek Style.
This was a large church, with numerous services (4) and I could easily get lost in the crowd, and never cause a fuss. If only that was my style…
Week after week they asked the crowd to join a small group. (If you know Willow Creek, small groups are HUGE.) “We have a small group for everybody--even you! Just fill out the card and we will get you set up.”
All right. Let’s test that theory, shall we? I sent in a card that said something like this:
“I am an atheist. I attend this church, as my wife and children attend, and I have attended church all my life. I would like to take part as much as I can. I have deconverted from Christianity, and am very-well studied. I have no interest in becoming a Christian again. I understand why I would not make a good Sunday School teacher, but is there somewhere I could plug in?”
I would have paid real money to see the look on the face of the people who that card was passed to! About two weeks later I get a phone call:
Jim (not his real name): Hi, I am Jim. A small group leader.
Me: Hello.
Jim: It says here you are…a…
Me: Atheist
Jim: Yeah. Right. And you want to attend church?
(I could see that fact was a little hard for Jim to wrap his hands around.)
Me: Yep.
Jim: Well…see…I lead a small group for “seekers.” I don’t suppose…you don’t seem…I mean…are you still seeking?
Me: No, Jim, I am not. I am willing to listen to new information, of course, and I promise to keep quiet, but I am looking for a place to join.
Jim (curiosity getting the best of him): Do you mind my asking the biggest reason you are an…atheist?
Me: Not at all. There are a number of reasons that cumulate into why I am. There is not one big reason.
Jim: But if you had to pick one, what would it be?
Me: That the Bible is clearly a completely human work, and there is nothing supernatural about it.
(With a Christian, that is always the easiest place to start.)
Jim (getting his dander up): It is not as if the Bible floated down from heaven on strings of gold!
Me: Well, you have to admit, that would be a pretty good sign of supernatural intervention, wouldn’t it?
Jim (nervously chuckling): Yeah, I guess it would at that. Any way, we have a class for people that are looking to become Christians. We even have a Jew! (said proudly) But we are not…really…we…uh…I don’t think this is right for you.
Me: Oh.
Jim: We are currently reading Ravi Zacharias—have you ever heard of him?
Me (internally sighing): Yes. He recommended all atheists, including myself, commit suicide.
Jim: OH! Oh! We don’t want you to do THAT. Listen, there is a fellow that used to be an atheist, too. Maybe you should contact him.
I met with the “atheist” (actually a theist who was formerly not a Christian, but as close as they could come to finding a real atheist). He said he looked forward to our next meeting. Apparently that will be in the next decade, ‘cause I haven’t heard from him since. I tried “skeptic’s night.” I started an e-mail correspondence with the Pastor. Who informed me he was better served talking to people who “really” needed his guidance.
Eventually I was informed that there really was NOT a place there for me. I was offered to sit in the service and keep my mouth shut.
And I even did THAT. Until one Sunday…
If you know anything about Willow Creek churches, they like to have skits. Plays that have to do with the sermon. Imagine a dining room table. Enter a woman stage left. It is physically impossible for you to imagine TOO much over-acting in what followed:
Woman: A Spoon!................A Fork!...............A Knife!
To get the mental image, the Woman would grab the utensil in question, literally thrust it into the sky, clutch her chest with her other hand, and gaze up at that spoon with such rapt admiration you would have thought it was Jesus himself coming down from the sky. She held this statuesque pose for a long enough time we could have drawn a picture of her standing there, breathlessly waiting what was about to be said. “A Spoon!”
Then, she grabbed the next hapless implement from the table, dropped to her knees and cradled it like a baby. Holding this position for about as much time as it takes to balance a checkbook, she finally graced us with the prose we so desperately ached to hear. “A Fork!” Finally, having exhausted her prowess as an actress, she snatches the last item, holds it in her other hand, repeating the same thrusting/clutching movement, but only to the other side. By now, much of the audience realizes they have time to go get a cup of coffee before the next words will be uttered, and we painfully listen to silence before…“A knife!”
Woman (again): A Spoon!................A Fork!...............A Knife! (with the same repeated motions)………..isthereroomformeatyourtable?
The last part was said so quick, we assumed someone had whispered in her ear that at this rate, we would still be sitting there waiting for this skit to end.
Apparently not. Apparently this was how they intended it to be. Enter a man stage right.
Man: A Spoon!................A Fork!...............A Knife! ………..isthereroomformeatyourtable?
Same crazy gestures. Then, in staccato bursts, they machine-gunned words back and forth:
Man: I am a slave
Woman: I am a boss
Man: I am homeless
Woman: I am rich
Man: I am poor
Woman: Is there room for me at your table?
Man: I am Black
Woman: I am a Jew
Man: I am White
Woman: I am Young
Man: I am Old
Man: Is there room for me at your table?
As they speak they are alternating grabbing their chest and flinging their arms as if they are in the throes of some deep anguish. As if this was the most important speech ever given.
I am beat red. I am holding my sides, sealing my face, thinking of anything but how horrendous this thing was. My eyes are squirting tears, as I am squirming in my seat, trying not to burst out in gales of laughter. And then they hit me:
Woman: A Spoon!................A Fork!...............A Knife! ………..isthereroomformeatyourtable?
Right back to the same over-acting! I am in uncontrollable giggles, and am starting receive shocked/disgusted looks, as if I was laughing at a funeral. Oh, come ON! Yes, they were serious, but this was terrible!
After 10 long minutes in which I pulled every muscle in my chest and sides in attempting to keep my composure, it was finally over.
Then the pastor started to preach. His sermon was on how we should be more hospitable. O.K., innocuous enough. But he went on to tell the story of how some Pastor made it a point to invite parolees, fresh from prison, into his house, knowing that Jesus would protect him and his family.
That was it. The combination of this ludicrous, childish, horrible play, followed with the blind belief in a person that, even if he lived, has been dead for almost 2000 years and isn’t protecting anybody, was too much.
All week long (at that time) I was involved in debating how we know whether Jesus lived, what we know about other historians, the development of the word “Nazarene,” the use of the gospel writers of midrash to create tales of Jesus, and interesting, deep, fun study. To be reduced to “Don’t worry, Jesus will protect you” at Church—my poor mind couldn’t do it.
It was like studying Calculus all week, and then every Sunday having to sit through, “2 plus 2 is four. 4 plus 4 is eight. 8 plus 8 is sixteen. 16 and 16 are thirty-two. 2 plus 2 is four. 4 plus 4 is eight…”
Simply put, church is not designed for me. A very good friend told me that Sunday services “cater to the lowest common emotional denominator” and I found that to be true. Since it was the only thing left I could do in a church…I left.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
“It’s Headquarters, Sir.”
As a Christian, Romans 1:18-21 always bothered me. I understood the premise that people inherently knew there was a God. By virtue of the existence of the world about us, if nothing else. As Paul is developing his theology in this culminating work, he goes on to state, “if you confess with your mouth the Lord Jesus and believe in your heart that God has raised Him from the dead, you will be saved.” (Rom 10:9)
That seemed, at least to me, to be patently unfair. Nature was enough to condemn a human, but not enough to save them. Oh, I was aware of the exegesis of Romans 2, and the idea of the law of God imprinted on human hearts, and God being aware of the depth of knowledge of individuals—but in the end it all sounded like excuses to me.
A straightforward reading would seem to me to damn a Mesoamerican in 40 C.E. to hell. They knew there was a God, but had no way to know Jesus was raised from the dead. It was one of those items that gnawed at me, but I figured God knew what He was doing, and perhaps some day, in heaven, He could explain, or I would understand.
Of course, on this side, my perspective has changed. A bit. By far and away, this is the primary passage thrown at an atheist, followed with “you really know there is a God. You are just suppressing the truth.”
And, to a large extent, I cannot blame the Christian for saying this. They are firmly convinced this came from God. Who am I, a mere human, to say otherwise?
Imagine within a battle, a Colonel orders the troops to take Hill 445. But a moment later a lowly Private comes up, handing him a piece of paper, and the Colonel immediately retracts his previous order. They are to no longer take Hill 445.
Does the Private outrank the Colonel? Obviously not. But if the Private was carrying a message from a General, the message itself, because of the person behind it, is enough to force the Colonel to change his orders.
It is the same situation here. I can write, and draw and proclaim as long and as loud as I want that I cannot find a belief of God anywhere within my mind. I can point to others that have talked with me, and are equally confirmed that no such belief exists.
It doesn’t matter. The Christian believes they hold a message from God—a personage that outranks me. And because God says otherwise, I must be wrong.
It doesn’t matter that Paul was poisoning the well. That he was setting up a non-believer in a certain stance by which they were doomed to fail. Like saying, “Any person that disagrees with me does not understand the situation.” Pity the poor sap that dares to then disagree with me. I have already declared them ignorant.
It doesn’t matter that Paul was preaching to the choir. He was writing to Christians. People that, by being Christians, already believed in God. No one was going to argue with Paul, “Gee, I’m not so sure I believe in God, can you explain further?” Rather, they would nod their heads in agreement, “Yep. Yep. They sure know there is a God.”
It doesn’t matter that Paul did not mention a miracle of Jesus. Curious, considering he was writing to Jews (who would either be familiar with the happenings in Palestine, or be in communication with those who were) and Christians (who already believed in Jesus.) If you could travel in a time machine, back to mid-First Century Palestine, wouldn’t you be looking for those who had actually seen the miracles performed by Jesus?
Would you care about nature, or rather what people had encountered Jesus? The souvenir to come back with is, “I talked to so-and-so who was FED by Jesus at the feeding of the 5000.” Or “Saw Lazarus.” Or “Was blind, but was healed.” Why would Paul, of ALL things to convince Jewish Christians that everybody knew there was a God, use nature and not Jesus?
It doesn’t matter that Paul was using a God-of-the-Gaps argument, due to lack of knowledge as to how the world came into being. Nor does it matter that the argument is non-sensical. (“His invisible qualities are clearly seen”? I thought the definition of invisible…was…oh, never mind.)
It doesn’t matter that Paul lumps all the bad things as examples of what these rejecters of the knowledge of God do, whereas we see no difference in committing these acts between believers and non-believers.
All that matters is that, to a Christian, Romans 1:20 says I secretly know there is a God. And that message is from God. For me, less than a Private, to declare “There is no God” means I have attempted to usurp a higher-ranking officer. Either I am a liar, or I have self-deluded myself.
I am never quite sure how to respond to Romans 1:20. Having been there myself, I understand that the person is completely convinced as to the truthfulness of the statement. My saying, “It is not true” is like shooting a pebble at a mountain. It won’t move. I can point out all the questions as to Paul’s writing it, but they are still convinced it came from a God. It is inspired. I won’t budge them a millimeter in this regard.
I can point out that the list of sins is not me, and they will find some other sin, or claim I am secretly concealing a sin.
I guess all I can say is that I cannot find this God. If I am self-deluded or lying to myself, fine. Help me out. Saying, “You really believe in a God” clearly is not convincing me. If the person chooses to toss out Romans 1:20 and walk away, feeling they have accomplished something—so be it. But if they want to be persuasive and compelling, they are going to have to show me (and millions like me) this God in such a way that it breaks through the self-delusion or lying.
And, on a personal note, the reason this verse is not potent, is that I started off believing a God. One that created a universe. One who’s “invisible attributes are clearly seen.” I did not deconvert to engage in the variety of sins listed in Romans 1. In fact, I engaged in a vehement pursuit of God. If that pursuit caused my thoughts to be futile, my heart to be darkened, and myself to become a fool—is the person suggesting I should not have pursued God?
That seemed, at least to me, to be patently unfair. Nature was enough to condemn a human, but not enough to save them. Oh, I was aware of the exegesis of Romans 2, and the idea of the law of God imprinted on human hearts, and God being aware of the depth of knowledge of individuals—but in the end it all sounded like excuses to me.
A straightforward reading would seem to me to damn a Mesoamerican in 40 C.E. to hell. They knew there was a God, but had no way to know Jesus was raised from the dead. It was one of those items that gnawed at me, but I figured God knew what He was doing, and perhaps some day, in heaven, He could explain, or I would understand.
Of course, on this side, my perspective has changed. A bit. By far and away, this is the primary passage thrown at an atheist, followed with “you really know there is a God. You are just suppressing the truth.”
And, to a large extent, I cannot blame the Christian for saying this. They are firmly convinced this came from God. Who am I, a mere human, to say otherwise?
Imagine within a battle, a Colonel orders the troops to take Hill 445. But a moment later a lowly Private comes up, handing him a piece of paper, and the Colonel immediately retracts his previous order. They are to no longer take Hill 445.
Does the Private outrank the Colonel? Obviously not. But if the Private was carrying a message from a General, the message itself, because of the person behind it, is enough to force the Colonel to change his orders.
It is the same situation here. I can write, and draw and proclaim as long and as loud as I want that I cannot find a belief of God anywhere within my mind. I can point to others that have talked with me, and are equally confirmed that no such belief exists.
It doesn’t matter. The Christian believes they hold a message from God—a personage that outranks me. And because God says otherwise, I must be wrong.
It doesn’t matter that Paul was poisoning the well. That he was setting up a non-believer in a certain stance by which they were doomed to fail. Like saying, “Any person that disagrees with me does not understand the situation.” Pity the poor sap that dares to then disagree with me. I have already declared them ignorant.
It doesn’t matter that Paul was preaching to the choir. He was writing to Christians. People that, by being Christians, already believed in God. No one was going to argue with Paul, “Gee, I’m not so sure I believe in God, can you explain further?” Rather, they would nod their heads in agreement, “Yep. Yep. They sure know there is a God.”
It doesn’t matter that Paul did not mention a miracle of Jesus. Curious, considering he was writing to Jews (who would either be familiar with the happenings in Palestine, or be in communication with those who were) and Christians (who already believed in Jesus.) If you could travel in a time machine, back to mid-First Century Palestine, wouldn’t you be looking for those who had actually seen the miracles performed by Jesus?
Would you care about nature, or rather what people had encountered Jesus? The souvenir to come back with is, “I talked to so-and-so who was FED by Jesus at the feeding of the 5000.” Or “Saw Lazarus.” Or “Was blind, but was healed.” Why would Paul, of ALL things to convince Jewish Christians that everybody knew there was a God, use nature and not Jesus?
It doesn’t matter that Paul was using a God-of-the-Gaps argument, due to lack of knowledge as to how the world came into being. Nor does it matter that the argument is non-sensical. (“His invisible qualities are clearly seen”? I thought the definition of invisible…was…oh, never mind.)
It doesn’t matter that Paul lumps all the bad things as examples of what these rejecters of the knowledge of God do, whereas we see no difference in committing these acts between believers and non-believers.
All that matters is that, to a Christian, Romans 1:20 says I secretly know there is a God. And that message is from God. For me, less than a Private, to declare “There is no God” means I have attempted to usurp a higher-ranking officer. Either I am a liar, or I have self-deluded myself.
I am never quite sure how to respond to Romans 1:20. Having been there myself, I understand that the person is completely convinced as to the truthfulness of the statement. My saying, “It is not true” is like shooting a pebble at a mountain. It won’t move. I can point out all the questions as to Paul’s writing it, but they are still convinced it came from a God. It is inspired. I won’t budge them a millimeter in this regard.
I can point out that the list of sins is not me, and they will find some other sin, or claim I am secretly concealing a sin.
I guess all I can say is that I cannot find this God. If I am self-deluded or lying to myself, fine. Help me out. Saying, “You really believe in a God” clearly is not convincing me. If the person chooses to toss out Romans 1:20 and walk away, feeling they have accomplished something—so be it. But if they want to be persuasive and compelling, they are going to have to show me (and millions like me) this God in such a way that it breaks through the self-delusion or lying.
And, on a personal note, the reason this verse is not potent, is that I started off believing a God. One that created a universe. One who’s “invisible attributes are clearly seen.” I did not deconvert to engage in the variety of sins listed in Romans 1. In fact, I engaged in a vehement pursuit of God. If that pursuit caused my thoughts to be futile, my heart to be darkened, and myself to become a fool—is the person suggesting I should not have pursued God?
Monday, February 12, 2007
Baked Noodles
Oracle: I'd ask you to sit down, but, you're not going to anyway. And don't worry about the vase.
Neo: What vase?
[Neo turns to look for a vase, and as he does, he knocks over a vase of flowers, which shatters on the floor]
Oracle: That vase.
Neo: I'm sorry...
Oracle: I said don't worry about it. I'll get one of my kids to fix it.
Neo: How did you know?
Oracle: Ohh, what's really going to bake your noodle later on is: Wwould you still have broken it if I hadn't said anything?
At times the Euthyphro Dilemma surfaces in our discussions. Is it Moral because God has decided it is Moral (thus making morality arbitrary on the whim of God) or must God do it because it is Moral (meaning God is bound by some standard)?
One of the common Christian responses is that God is bound by his internal Character of Morality. That within God is this “thing” we call “Character” and the rest of God must follow that Character.
Essentially this reduces to the simple premise that God can only do Moral acts. No matter what God wants, no matter what God tries, no matter how God acts in a situation, the result is that the only thing God can do must be moral.
Imagine if God grabbed a machine gun and randomly shot into a crowd. The only people he hit were the ones that it was moral for God to shoot. If it was not moral, then God couldn’t shoot them, regardless of desire or ability.
If God can only perform Moral acts, how did the creation of a creature (the human) come about? A creature that can commit an immoral act?
So God is busy creating. He has made the seas, the sun, the moon, the stars, fish, birds and mammals. He comes to the creature “human.” God is bound to only do moral acts. No wonder he has proclaimed everything “good”—Everything God ever has done or ever will do is good!
And in the creation of humans, God makes them with an ability—an ability to perform an immoral act. Something that even God cannot do. Whatever Gen. 1:27 may mean by God creating humans in his own image, part of that image CANNOT be the obligation to only perform moral acts.
In that state, prior to The Fall, were humans Moral, non-Moral or Immoral?
With a God that can only perform a moral act we can safely eliminate Moral and Immoral. First, humans could not be Immoral, because God would then have created immorality. Something that by defining God as performing only moral acts—God could not do.
God could not create an immoral creature.
Secondly, humans could not be Moral. See, humans have the ability, capacity and complete freewill to perform an immoral act. If “Morality” includes such an ability, then God could have it too, and still be Moral.
BUT, by limiting God with this alternative, we have defined something as “Moral” that does not have this ability. Whatever a human could be—it could not be the same “moral” as God.
Therefore, it would seem by limiting God to doing solely “Moral” acts, the process of creating a human that has the ability and freewill to perform both Moral and Immoral acts means that humans must be something other than Moral (‘cause they are not like God) or Immoral (‘cause God would have performed an immoral act.) Some in-between of non-moral.
Now comes the tricky part. Clearly humans could go immoral—God set a standard his Character defined, “Don’t eat of the tree” and by virtue of eating of the tree, humans violated God’s Character. Humans did something God could not.
But could humans ever become moral? What possible action could they do: Not eat of the tree? They were doing that already.
By providing this alternative to Euthyphro, we have God creating humans that could only exist in two states—non-moral or immoral. They was no opportunity, no tree by which they could ever improve. The situation only had one direction to go. Bad.
Of course we all know what happens—the inevitable. Adam & Eve eat. Go from non-moral to immoral; forever dooming humankind.
God then makes the curious notation: “Man has become like one of Us; to know Good an Evil.” Gen. 3:22. It would seem that when God said humans were made in the image of God, that obviously did not mean an exact replica. One of the things the humans did not have was the ability to know the difference between Good and Evil.
Curious. We have a God that knows what Morality and Immorality are, but can only commit a Moral act. Who creates a human that does not know what Morality and Immorality are, but can only commit an Immoral act!
While this alternative may resolve Euthyphro (my jury is still out on that), even if it did, it makes for a strange Christian God.
And we are still left with what God meant by humans becoming like Gods in that they know what Morality and Immorality are.
Does it mean “knowing” as in experiencing? The problem for the Christian in this, is this would mean to truly “know” evil is to experience the opportunity to decide and decide to act against God’s Character! If humans now knew evil by choosing to violate God’s character, and God says humans know evil like God knows evil…it would follow that God had chosen to violate his own Character.
Which, of course, blows this alternative to bits.
Does it mean “knowing” as acquired facts? That the humans have gained the definition of Morality and Immorality, by new information? There are three problems with this!
First, can Adam & Eve be held responsible for committing an act they did not know was wrong? Without this information, they would not have understood what the meaning of the word “Don’t” is. Does it mean for a limited time? Do? Only when ripe?
What if I told you, “See that fruit on that tree? Whatever you do, griznist that fruit!” Don’t you need the definition of “griznist” to know that to do with it? Eat it? Not eat it? Peel it? Toss it to make fire? Who knows?
Without the requisite knowledge, God may as well be speaking a completely foreign language to Adam & Eve. They could not possibly have known any different.
Second, if this was merely information, what prevented God from providing it prior to giving the instructions? What is it about God’s Character that he did not want Adam & Eve to know?
Thirdly, how did they obtain this information? It was not exactly written on the fruit. We understand a person investigating a situation, or reading a book, and learning raw knowledge. Here, all they would have learned was a new taste, at best. Somehow, the information would have to be “downloaded” into their brain.
Presumably either by God, or within God’s control. Was there something in God’s Character that mandated God had to give the knowledge of immorality after humans committed an immoral act? And was there something in God’s Character that prevented him from doing it before?
Bottom line, what I see is a philosophical, highly technical reliance upon a splitting-hair definition of “God’s Character” to avoid Euthyphro. While it may manage to barely squeeze through, in light of applying it to the analogy of Genesis, we end up with a bizarre puzzle that the pieces cannot fit.
Bakes my noodle, it does!
Neo: What vase?
[Neo turns to look for a vase, and as he does, he knocks over a vase of flowers, which shatters on the floor]
Oracle: That vase.
Neo: I'm sorry...
Oracle: I said don't worry about it. I'll get one of my kids to fix it.
Neo: How did you know?
Oracle: Ohh, what's really going to bake your noodle later on is: Wwould you still have broken it if I hadn't said anything?
At times the Euthyphro Dilemma surfaces in our discussions. Is it Moral because God has decided it is Moral (thus making morality arbitrary on the whim of God) or must God do it because it is Moral (meaning God is bound by some standard)?
One of the common Christian responses is that God is bound by his internal Character of Morality. That within God is this “thing” we call “Character” and the rest of God must follow that Character.
Essentially this reduces to the simple premise that God can only do Moral acts. No matter what God wants, no matter what God tries, no matter how God acts in a situation, the result is that the only thing God can do must be moral.
Imagine if God grabbed a machine gun and randomly shot into a crowd. The only people he hit were the ones that it was moral for God to shoot. If it was not moral, then God couldn’t shoot them, regardless of desire or ability.
If God can only perform Moral acts, how did the creation of a creature (the human) come about? A creature that can commit an immoral act?
So God is busy creating. He has made the seas, the sun, the moon, the stars, fish, birds and mammals. He comes to the creature “human.” God is bound to only do moral acts. No wonder he has proclaimed everything “good”—Everything God ever has done or ever will do is good!
And in the creation of humans, God makes them with an ability—an ability to perform an immoral act. Something that even God cannot do. Whatever Gen. 1:27 may mean by God creating humans in his own image, part of that image CANNOT be the obligation to only perform moral acts.
In that state, prior to The Fall, were humans Moral, non-Moral or Immoral?
With a God that can only perform a moral act we can safely eliminate Moral and Immoral. First, humans could not be Immoral, because God would then have created immorality. Something that by defining God as performing only moral acts—God could not do.
God could not create an immoral creature.
Secondly, humans could not be Moral. See, humans have the ability, capacity and complete freewill to perform an immoral act. If “Morality” includes such an ability, then God could have it too, and still be Moral.
BUT, by limiting God with this alternative, we have defined something as “Moral” that does not have this ability. Whatever a human could be—it could not be the same “moral” as God.
Therefore, it would seem by limiting God to doing solely “Moral” acts, the process of creating a human that has the ability and freewill to perform both Moral and Immoral acts means that humans must be something other than Moral (‘cause they are not like God) or Immoral (‘cause God would have performed an immoral act.) Some in-between of non-moral.
Now comes the tricky part. Clearly humans could go immoral—God set a standard his Character defined, “Don’t eat of the tree” and by virtue of eating of the tree, humans violated God’s Character. Humans did something God could not.
But could humans ever become moral? What possible action could they do: Not eat of the tree? They were doing that already.
By providing this alternative to Euthyphro, we have God creating humans that could only exist in two states—non-moral or immoral. They was no opportunity, no tree by which they could ever improve. The situation only had one direction to go. Bad.
Of course we all know what happens—the inevitable. Adam & Eve eat. Go from non-moral to immoral; forever dooming humankind.
God then makes the curious notation: “Man has become like one of Us; to know Good an Evil.” Gen. 3:22. It would seem that when God said humans were made in the image of God, that obviously did not mean an exact replica. One of the things the humans did not have was the ability to know the difference between Good and Evil.
Curious. We have a God that knows what Morality and Immorality are, but can only commit a Moral act. Who creates a human that does not know what Morality and Immorality are, but can only commit an Immoral act!
While this alternative may resolve Euthyphro (my jury is still out on that), even if it did, it makes for a strange Christian God.
And we are still left with what God meant by humans becoming like Gods in that they know what Morality and Immorality are.
Does it mean “knowing” as in experiencing? The problem for the Christian in this, is this would mean to truly “know” evil is to experience the opportunity to decide and decide to act against God’s Character! If humans now knew evil by choosing to violate God’s character, and God says humans know evil like God knows evil…it would follow that God had chosen to violate his own Character.
Which, of course, blows this alternative to bits.
Does it mean “knowing” as acquired facts? That the humans have gained the definition of Morality and Immorality, by new information? There are three problems with this!
First, can Adam & Eve be held responsible for committing an act they did not know was wrong? Without this information, they would not have understood what the meaning of the word “Don’t” is. Does it mean for a limited time? Do? Only when ripe?
What if I told you, “See that fruit on that tree? Whatever you do, griznist that fruit!” Don’t you need the definition of “griznist” to know that to do with it? Eat it? Not eat it? Peel it? Toss it to make fire? Who knows?
Without the requisite knowledge, God may as well be speaking a completely foreign language to Adam & Eve. They could not possibly have known any different.
Second, if this was merely information, what prevented God from providing it prior to giving the instructions? What is it about God’s Character that he did not want Adam & Eve to know?
Thirdly, how did they obtain this information? It was not exactly written on the fruit. We understand a person investigating a situation, or reading a book, and learning raw knowledge. Here, all they would have learned was a new taste, at best. Somehow, the information would have to be “downloaded” into their brain.
Presumably either by God, or within God’s control. Was there something in God’s Character that mandated God had to give the knowledge of immorality after humans committed an immoral act? And was there something in God’s Character that prevented him from doing it before?
Bottom line, what I see is a philosophical, highly technical reliance upon a splitting-hair definition of “God’s Character” to avoid Euthyphro. While it may manage to barely squeeze through, in light of applying it to the analogy of Genesis, we end up with a bizarre puzzle that the pieces cannot fit.
Bakes my noodle, it does!
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Hated Statistics Class
In the evolution/creationism debate, we often see an argument in which the creationist puts together computations of various processes, and by multiplying out the probabilities of each of these events occurring, forms some long number, claiming that it is extremely unlikely this process could happen. Therefore, the claim is made, evolution is extremely improbable.
The premise being that there are two choices: Evolution or Creation, and if the creationist can make evolution less possible; by virtue of the only other choice, creation must be more plausible.
Now, I may not be well-versed in evolution, but I am well-versed in arguments. And this one smells rotten.
Statistical odds are derived by reviewing relevant data. We could sit by an intersection in the road. Over the course of time, by counting the number of cars that go through the intersection, and comparing how many went to the right, and how many went to the left, we can determine the “odds” of a car going to the right. We can count red cars, two-door cars, cars with broken windshields. We can use a whole variety of factors to make the odds of a red, two-door car with a broken windshield going to the right as compared to the left.
And we can look at other intersections. How are the odds affected if by going to the right, one heads to the country, and going to the left, one heads to a city? What if there is advertising to go one way or another? What if there is a signal?
And, after careful observation, and utilizing the information obtained, we can safely place our new McDonald’s on the intersection that is more likely to be traveled. (Thus affecting the odds for the next statistician that comes along.)
So the creationists look at the odds of how evolution could happen. Often what we see is some proposed process or time line, and the number of mutations or changes in generations that must happen, and the chance that these changes could both occur AND occur in the time allotted.
Eventually they pop out with some number that seems incredibly huge, saying the chance of this occurring is 1 in 10 to the 2000th, or a 10 with 2000 zeros behind it. A number so large, it takes two people to read it.
Now, I seriously question that it is a true dichotomy between evolution and creation. While admittedly I cannot see a third alternative, 200 years ago, people could not see evolution as an alternative, either. 100 years ago the theory of relativity or quantum mechanics would be laughed at as science fiction. For all I know, 200 years from now, a new theory will be proposed and demonstrated, and evolution with creationism become footnotes with geocentricism.
I further question the method of obtaining the statistics on evolution. One item that is often over-looked is that the processes are considered sequential (one after another) when they could be happening simultaneously. Like determining how long it takes to fill a stadium with 50,000 people one at a time, as compared to a stadium with 50 entrances able to take one at a time. Another item is that some processes may necessarily entail a change, so it is NOT another completely wide-open field. Like rolling a rock down a hill, if it goes to the right of a bump, the next foot of travel will necessarily be the right of that bump. It is not as if every instant, the rock could go right or left.
But even assuming we DO have only two choices. And assume that the statistical odds of evolution happening are 1 in 10 to the trillionth billionth power. A 1 with a trillion billion zeroes behind it. A number with so more zeros than a person could count in a life time.
Does this minuscule, teeny-tiny, vastly remote possibility make creationism more likely? Well, to know THAT, we have to know what the statistical odds are for creationism to do the same thing.
And that is where the problem rears its head. We have no way to obtain the statistical odds of what a God would or would not do. Statistics are derived from observation. We can’t observe God. Ergo—no statistics on God.
Look, what are the odds that God will have oatmeal for breakfast tomorrow. Come on. This is an easy one. No proteins, or processes or speculation as to the earth’s condition 450 Million years ago. Oatmeal. Breakfast. Oh, what’s that you say? God is on a supernatural plane, so we cannot see what He eats or when? Right—no way to determine whether it is a 1 in 10 or 1 in 10 the trillionth billionth power as to whether God eats oatmeal.
Or God sneezes. Or God speaks. Or God does anything, because we have no way to observe the raw data to come up with the statistic in the first place!
On the one hand we have evolution with a 1 in 10 to the trillionth billionth power chance. And on the other we have “No information available.” Simply put, because of the definition of God, we can’t use the same method we can with observable nature.
So what good is this argument? None, really. As we cannot make the comparison. Sure, we understand that if evolution has a 1 in 10 chance, and creationism has a 1 in 9 chance, using this argument creationism is more likely. Evident as pie. But instead we have evolution with a 1 in some astronomical number chance and creationism with no way to calculate its chance at all.
To use a euphemism, we are comparing apples to oranges.
But a creationist never goes there. A creationist never explains that the same method it is using on evolution can never be used on creation.
I suggest we put the shoe on the other foot.
“There is a 1 in 10 the trillionth trillionth billionth power that creationism could occur.”
“Where did you get that statistic?
“Good question. Where do you propose I look for statistics as to the probability of creationism?”
As a trial lawyer, one thing we learn is that people hold stronger to a conclusion they derive themselves. If I point out every step and every inference of every step, coming to a strong point, the jury will politely listen and retain the information. But if I lead them every step of the way, and leave the last point tantalizingly out there, they come to the same conclusion, but since they “figured it out,” it is a more firmly held belief. Because it is theirs, not something someone told them.
I get the same impression here. The creationist points out all the remote possibilities, piles them on, comes (eventually) to this grandiose number, compares it 747’s in junkyards, and then stops. The person is supposed to come to the conclusion that therefore, evolution is so remote, creationism must be more plausible.
No creationist ever provides the statistics to compare. Because, by the very definition of God being unknowable, no statistics are available.
If both possibilities cannot use the same method, it is useless to use it to determine what is “more probable.”
The premise being that there are two choices: Evolution or Creation, and if the creationist can make evolution less possible; by virtue of the only other choice, creation must be more plausible.
Now, I may not be well-versed in evolution, but I am well-versed in arguments. And this one smells rotten.
Statistical odds are derived by reviewing relevant data. We could sit by an intersection in the road. Over the course of time, by counting the number of cars that go through the intersection, and comparing how many went to the right, and how many went to the left, we can determine the “odds” of a car going to the right. We can count red cars, two-door cars, cars with broken windshields. We can use a whole variety of factors to make the odds of a red, two-door car with a broken windshield going to the right as compared to the left.
And we can look at other intersections. How are the odds affected if by going to the right, one heads to the country, and going to the left, one heads to a city? What if there is advertising to go one way or another? What if there is a signal?
And, after careful observation, and utilizing the information obtained, we can safely place our new McDonald’s on the intersection that is more likely to be traveled. (Thus affecting the odds for the next statistician that comes along.)
So the creationists look at the odds of how evolution could happen. Often what we see is some proposed process or time line, and the number of mutations or changes in generations that must happen, and the chance that these changes could both occur AND occur in the time allotted.
Eventually they pop out with some number that seems incredibly huge, saying the chance of this occurring is 1 in 10 to the 2000th, or a 10 with 2000 zeros behind it. A number so large, it takes two people to read it.
Now, I seriously question that it is a true dichotomy between evolution and creation. While admittedly I cannot see a third alternative, 200 years ago, people could not see evolution as an alternative, either. 100 years ago the theory of relativity or quantum mechanics would be laughed at as science fiction. For all I know, 200 years from now, a new theory will be proposed and demonstrated, and evolution with creationism become footnotes with geocentricism.
I further question the method of obtaining the statistics on evolution. One item that is often over-looked is that the processes are considered sequential (one after another) when they could be happening simultaneously. Like determining how long it takes to fill a stadium with 50,000 people one at a time, as compared to a stadium with 50 entrances able to take one at a time. Another item is that some processes may necessarily entail a change, so it is NOT another completely wide-open field. Like rolling a rock down a hill, if it goes to the right of a bump, the next foot of travel will necessarily be the right of that bump. It is not as if every instant, the rock could go right or left.
But even assuming we DO have only two choices. And assume that the statistical odds of evolution happening are 1 in 10 to the trillionth billionth power. A 1 with a trillion billion zeroes behind it. A number with so more zeros than a person could count in a life time.
Does this minuscule, teeny-tiny, vastly remote possibility make creationism more likely? Well, to know THAT, we have to know what the statistical odds are for creationism to do the same thing.
And that is where the problem rears its head. We have no way to obtain the statistical odds of what a God would or would not do. Statistics are derived from observation. We can’t observe God. Ergo—no statistics on God.
Look, what are the odds that God will have oatmeal for breakfast tomorrow. Come on. This is an easy one. No proteins, or processes or speculation as to the earth’s condition 450 Million years ago. Oatmeal. Breakfast. Oh, what’s that you say? God is on a supernatural plane, so we cannot see what He eats or when? Right—no way to determine whether it is a 1 in 10 or 1 in 10 the trillionth billionth power as to whether God eats oatmeal.
Or God sneezes. Or God speaks. Or God does anything, because we have no way to observe the raw data to come up with the statistic in the first place!
On the one hand we have evolution with a 1 in 10 to the trillionth billionth power chance. And on the other we have “No information available.” Simply put, because of the definition of God, we can’t use the same method we can with observable nature.
So what good is this argument? None, really. As we cannot make the comparison. Sure, we understand that if evolution has a 1 in 10 chance, and creationism has a 1 in 9 chance, using this argument creationism is more likely. Evident as pie. But instead we have evolution with a 1 in some astronomical number chance and creationism with no way to calculate its chance at all.
To use a euphemism, we are comparing apples to oranges.
But a creationist never goes there. A creationist never explains that the same method it is using on evolution can never be used on creation.
I suggest we put the shoe on the other foot.
“There is a 1 in 10 the trillionth trillionth billionth power that creationism could occur.”
“Where did you get that statistic?
“Good question. Where do you propose I look for statistics as to the probability of creationism?”
As a trial lawyer, one thing we learn is that people hold stronger to a conclusion they derive themselves. If I point out every step and every inference of every step, coming to a strong point, the jury will politely listen and retain the information. But if I lead them every step of the way, and leave the last point tantalizingly out there, they come to the same conclusion, but since they “figured it out,” it is a more firmly held belief. Because it is theirs, not something someone told them.
I get the same impression here. The creationist points out all the remote possibilities, piles them on, comes (eventually) to this grandiose number, compares it 747’s in junkyards, and then stops. The person is supposed to come to the conclusion that therefore, evolution is so remote, creationism must be more plausible.
No creationist ever provides the statistics to compare. Because, by the very definition of God being unknowable, no statistics are available.
If both possibilities cannot use the same method, it is useless to use it to determine what is “more probable.”
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