Mirror, Mirror on the Wall, Who's the Most Rational of Us All?

I began having serious doubts about my Christian faith eight years ago, and eventually came to renounce it shortly thereafter. A brief period followed during which I called myself an agnostic in the colloquial sense, feeling more like a fish that had just found its way out into the bigger sea than like someone who was prepared to reject theism altogether. All I knew was that I could no longer believe as I once believed, and I had to head out into the deeper waters to see what else might be waiting.

I've always felt like it took me a very short time to become an atheist. It wasn't overnight, it wasn't part of any emotional tragedy, nor was it the result of reading any particular 'god-hating' unbeliever. It did come on the heels of a lot of inner reflection, however. The doubts that crept in were not about how god had failed me, but were rather focused on failures in my own thinking, reasoning, and process of belief-formation. Looking back now, it's not so surprising that things happened this way, considering the increasing interest I had in skepticism of the paranormal at the time.

Nonetheless, to this day there remains a part of me that sees that agnostic period of my life as almost embarrassingly cursory. Sure, I spent time reading on other religions, talking to people with different views, and I still interacted with my Christian friends and family on a regular basis, but there was no 'spiritual journey' to get in touch with the divine, no visitations to various places of meditation and worship, nor did I even crack open another religious text to pour over its teachings. It was a quite limited standpoint from which I became an atheist.

Of course, there are plenty of people who are born into their religion having never had the chance to consult alternatives prior to their decision (if it's appropriate to call it that). There are also plenty of people who change their beliefs without embarking on some grand path to enlightenment. I've always had a tendency towards the epic and the elaborate in some sense, admittedly, but reminding myself of these things usually doesn't put my mind at ease in the way I'd like. After all, a fool in good company is still a fool, isn't he? Even so, we seem to possess some recognition that one doesn't need to explore every avenue available, or even jump through a majority of the hoops, to be reasonable in settling upon a certain belief.

Instead of chasing this thread and trying to learn more about what reasonable belief means, when I became an atheist I took the tactic that a number of young atheists have taken: I insisted that we have all the evidence on our side, so not being on our side is just being irrational. Unfortunately, this position is strongly alluring in a way similar to when certain Christians cling to the badge of faith as if it's a get-out-of-jail-free card. If you don't have faith, the world is cold, lonely, and unpredictable; if you don't have evidence, you run the risk of believing lies and hurting others by endorsing lies. For some such atheists, the immediacy of their experience digging into the problems behind creationism, biblical inerrancy, and religious moral authority just appears to make their conclusion inevitable, like some such Christians may find their own conclusion inevitable based on the immediacy of the joy and personal fulfillment they experience from their faith.

Despite the conviction I voiced as a young atheist about the irrationality of all religious belief, I was still very aware of how I used to see things when I was a Christian, particularly when my conversations with theists touched on common themes. I noticed how often arguments came down to questions of how to interpret evidence rather than questions of what to admit as evidence. I saw just how much our interpretations vary depending on our worldview. On rare occasions, I might even realize that there seemed to currently be no advantage held by either side. Yet still I contended that the preponderance of evidence pointed only to atheism being the rational conclusion, while my theistic opponents persisted in contending that only theism was the rational conclusion.

As I started learning more about rationality, it started to dawn on me that things were not as simple as I had assumed they were. Declaring something rational is not to say it's true, nor is it simply to say that the preponderance of evidence is in support of it. Rationality has as much to do with beliefs as it has to do with arguments and evidence. For Bob to be rationally justified in believing that Ed caught a 200 lb marlin is just to say that Bob has reason to believe that it's true Ed caught a 200 lb marlin, whether or not Ed actually did haul in such an impressive catch. What makes it a reasonable belief for Bob may be that he knows Ed is a skilled fisherman, he knows that Ed owns some quality fishing equipment, and he knows that Ed likes to go fishing where there is a large population of marlin. However, Joe could reasonably believe that Ed did not catch a 200 lb marlin if he knows that Ed's boat has a broken motor, yet if Bob is unaware of this fact, Bob would also continue to be reasonable in believing in Ed's catch.

The example of Bob, Ed, and Joe is a simple one, but it illustrates the point that rationality can be a sticky subject because it involves considerations about what a person knows, what they believe, and what evidence is accessible to them, among other things. Naturally, the answers will vary in many situations, and so when asking if something is rational, it may be useful to ask rational for whom? This seems to be a major oversight in many arguments had over what the rational choice is from certain political, social, religious, or historical standpoints. Even when the implication is that some decision is the rational choice for all persons, there is a hefty burden of proof to be met to show that this is the case, especially if said decision is taken to be the only rational choice.

Graham Oppy reminds us that not only is there a large and growing body of psychological research showing that none of us are perfectly rational agents, but "even if we were perfectly rational, and had accessed the same full body of evidence, it might still be possible for us to disagree provided that we accessed the evidence in differing orders (and provided that our finite capacities ensured that we could not 'store' - or access - the full body of evidence all at once)." [1] There is no reason to think that such disagreements must necessarily imply irrationality on one side or the other. Neither does it seem objectionable to suggest that two of us viewing the same piece of evidence could come to opposite conclusions and nevertheless both be rational in our beliefs.

Sadly, many voices continue making blanket generalizations about the rationality and irrationality of theism, atheism, of all theists, and all atheists. Biologist Jerry Coyne has declared "theism is irrational because it isn't true," [2] whereas Dinesh D'Souza, Ken Ham, and many other Christian apologists have made similar charges against atheism. Of course, Coyne's comment would commit him to the difficult claim that it was unreasonable for the ancients to believe in geocentrism before the Copernican revolution, but all such accusations of irrationality seem hasty for the reasons already mentioned above.

I have always had my reservations about discerning what another person ought to know, what they ought to conclude based on what they believe, and what evidence should be accessible to them. Frankly, we do so poor a job of this with ourselves sometimes that it can appear pretty arrogant to tell someone else what they're doing wrong. When someone voluntarily engages with us, making arguments and proposals, though, that is a different story. When someone tells me what they believe and why, I respond in really the only way that I can: I tell them what I believe and why, and I may do it by showing them where I disagree with their thoughts on the matter. It may be that they have drawn some irrational conclusions, but finding this in one theist, or in a thousand, is no grounds for hastily declaring all theists to be irrational.

Obviously, this need not mean we adopt a relativistic approach to the issue of god's existence. Keith Parsons writes,

It seems quite possible for an atheist to regard theism as entirely unfounded (i.e. groundless), yet to concede freely that theism is a rational belief for many people. In other words, atheists can admit without hesitation that religious experience is coherent, persistent, and, for many, compelling. Persons who believe in God on the basis of such experiences can therefore be regarded by atheists as perfectly rational. (Of course, the atheist would deny that the occurrence of such experiences shows theism to be true.) [3]

Is there not a sense of freedom in this? I spent years of my Christian life feeling shackled by doctrines like hell, original sin, and 'born again' theology. Try as one might to escape it, there is a very potent division of the world into believers and unbelievers, saved and unsaved, in Christianity. It affects the way you see the people around you (not always in a bad way, to be fair), and perpetuates an 'us and them' mentality. Likewise, atheists who divide the world into rational and irrational beliefs and associate them very broadly with those of religious and non-religious persuasions also color the people around them and perpetuate the 'us and them' way of thinking. There are the redeemed and the damned, the delusional and the sane.

It may be common to hear atheists and theists alike say they don't think holding a particular view makes anyone smarter, but this is cold comfort. The problem with throwing around labels like 'rational' and 'irrational' isn't just one of negative connotations regarding intelligence. As Parsons also observes, the charge of irrationality is a charge of moral failure as well: "It is a way of saying that someone has formed a belief irresponsibly or dishonestly - through self-deception, say, or perhaps by ignoring easily available contrary evidence. To call someone irrational is to say that he has settled for a belief that he knows, deep down inside, not to be the most reasonable one." [4]

This is quite the bold claim to make of someone else, especially someone you may not know personally. However, with all that we've seen on how rationality takes into account one's own beliefs, their access to evidence, and so forth, it does seem that to charge someone of being irrational is to charge them of violating their own beliefs, disregarding evidence they know to exist, and being generally disingenuous in their own personal collection of data and process of belief-formation. Unless one accepts libertarian free will, there seems to be a further question of to what extent a person even could 'gerrymander' their own beliefs in this fashion.

I no longer find it intellectually or morally responsible to hold the view that theism or all theists are irrational, and, as I said, I feel this is a freeing recognition. It does not mean that I will not try to persuade others to my views, nor does it mean that I think all theists are rational in what they believe. Rather, I see it as undoing the vestiges of prejudice lingering in an unhelpful and unreasonable brand of rhetoric. I don't need to worry that the world is going to hell anymore, either literally or figuratively, and I no longer need to reach for the favored psychological "explanations" for why intelligent people persist in religious belief.

Now, when someone asks me why I'm not a Christian, I will simply say I've found reason to doubt that it's true. But it doesn't mean you're irrational for believing it, or that I'm rational for disbelieving, or that we can't have an engaging conversation about our separate views.


-----------
Sources:
1. Graham Oppy, Arguing About Gods (2006), p. 7.
2. Jerry Coyne, Remarkably stupid remarks by sophisticated theologian. (2011) Retrieved Aug. 24, 2014.
3. Keith Parsons, God and the Burden of Proof (1989), p. 36.
4. Ibid, p. 32.

It Takes More Faith to Be an Atheist Than to Believe in God?

Unless you've been hiding under a rock somewhere, you've probably heard someone, somewhere, say at some point: "I think it takes more faith to be an atheist than to believe in god." Maybe you've even said it yourself. I've seen this amusing little remark bandied about in too many contexts to recount here, but most recently it's been said to me on my last YouTube video, and said in person by my girlfriend's sister. What does it mean?

There's an image that's drifted around the internet for quite some time now that seems to sum up exactly what people intend when they say that it takes more faith to disbelieve than it does to believe. It describes atheism as, "The belief that there was nothing and nothing happened to nothing and then nothing magically exploded for no reason, creating everything and then a bunch of everything magically rearranged itself for no reason what so ever into self-replicating bits which then turned into dinosaurs." This is not just a gross over-simplification of the views of many atheists, it's also riddled with strawman fallacies and confuses abiogenesis with atheism. One can easily, without inconsistency, reject the idea of a god and yet assent to the fact that we don't know how everything came into being. Sometimes having no explanation is indeed better than clinging to a wrong one.

The general point behind the 'more-faith-to-be-an-atheist' remark is that atheists believe more fantastical things on less evidence than theists do; we make more and bigger assumptions. Is this true, though? To really address the issue, one would have to unpack the particular assumptions each believer thinks atheists rely upon, but we've already seen some indication that not all of these assumptions are fairly derived from the atheist position. Atheists of the ancient world knew nothing of the Big Bang or evolution by natural selection, yet still counted themselves non-believers for other reasons like suffering, divine hiddenness, and the various objections to the so-called arguments for god. By itself, atheism says nothing about the origin of the universe, the nature of morality, and so forth. To be an atheist is simply to not believe in gods.

Now, you might ask, 'If you don't know how the universe began, why are you an atheist instead of an agnostic?' It seems to me that there is a long-running misunderstanding about these two terms. A theist is one who believes god exists. An agnostic is one who doesn't know if god exists. An atheist is one who does not believe god exists. Here the agnostic might seem like a middle ground, but it becomes clear that this is not the case when we recognize the difference between belief and knowledge. For centuries, philosophers have understood knowledge as justified true belief, which would make knowledge a very special kind of belief. Although there are some problems with the justified true belief definition, they do not impact this distinction between knowledge and belief. You can believe something and not be justified in believing it, and you can also believe something which is not actually true. Thus, agnostic is more like a subset of theism and atheism, where an agnostic theist is someone who doesn't know if god exists, but believes anyway, and an agnostic atheist is someone who doesn't know if god exists, and so does not believe. Hence, I'd technically call myself an agnostic atheist.

'But,' you say, 'god explains how the universe began. It takes less faith to believe that then it does to believe we came from nothing without a god.' Recall what has just been said about belief and knowledge, though. I don't know how the universe came about, but I do believe the god explanation is not a good explanation, largely because the concept of god has its own share of philosophical challenges and problems. This is no more an inconsistency than it is to believe in god even when you don't know for sure if he exists. This is where the 'more-faith-to-be-an-atheist' charge is really stretched thin to the point of breaking, too.

Theists may see god, the Big Bang, moral values, and similar things as inextricably bound together, but these are assumptions which the atheist has no reason to grant. History has seen plenty of gods that are not creators or moral law-givers, so why assume that things like origins and moral values are even in the same ball park with theism and atheism? I make no assumptions about how the universe began, or about the nature of morality, nor do I need to in order to consistently be an atheist. My atheism is not directed at some abstract cause of the cosmos, or some vague ground of moral value; it's directed at the concept of god, which is so much more, and has been understood as much more by many theists throughout the centuries. Who has faith in just a cause of the cosmos, or just the ground of morality?

The charge that atheism takes more faith than theism rests on a fallacy of equivocation. The faith that the Christian has in his god - faith that impels him to repent, to forgive, to love, to praise, to worship - is by no means the same as the faith that atheists are accused of having with respect to a creatorless origin, eternal matter, life from non-life, or moral value. If faith is belief based on evidence, then saying the atheist has more of it should mean the atheist has more evidence! If faith is belief in spite of evidence, is that really all that Christians mean when they say their faith gives them strength - believing in spite of the evidence gives you strength? If faith by itself is a virtue, then those who decry atheism for requiring too much faith are quite confused. If faith is only virtuous insofar as it is focused in the right direction (and god presumably lies at the end of that direction), then the equivocation is made readily apparent.

Individual atheists may have faith in many things. A scientist may take it on faith that our universe is just one among many. A philosopher may take it on faith that Leibniz's theory of the monads accurately describes the fundamental constitution of the universe. But in what sense are these uses of "faith" at all like the theistic use of faith? I would say there is very little, if any, commonality. Multiverses and monads (according to some conceptions) would not be a new kind of thing to our experience in the way that god is a new kind of thing, existing eternally and outside of our space-time universe. If all our beliefs rest on faith, if everything is faith, as Greg Boyd suggested in a recent episode of the Unbelievable podcast, we reduce the religious concept of faith to a mere act of inference, and we muddle the concept of inference with a term that defies clarity and fecundity. This I take to be a lose-lose scenario.

On the one hand it's tempting to respond to the more-faith-to-be-an-atheist remark with a 'who cares'. Atheism is a claim about belief in god(s), not the beginning of the cosmos, the source of moral value, or anything else, and so the accusation of faith playing a part in other areas seems inconsequential and hardly relevant. Just because the theist endows his god with responsibility for such things does not mean they are de facto the domain of deity. On the other hand, it's not difficult to tell that there are often ulterior motives behind the remark. It is sometimes said with a smug and mocking tone, suggesting hypocrisy and short-sightedness on the side of the non-theist. Any concession to faith, even noting the equivocation, sounds like an admission of guilt to many who simply want to pigeon-hole others and confirm their own biases.

It takes no faith to doubt the invisible, to question the intangible, to challenge the ineffable. I'm not even sure how one could begin to make sense of an argument aiming to show something so backwards. As I see it, these debates over who is burdened with the most faith in their worldview are as fruitless and conceited as debates over who is the more rational human being. If we can manage to get past such petty and unhelpful gesturing, we will find it easier to understand one another, to consider evidence and arguments in a less partial manner, and to learn a greater appreciation for our world as the complex, nuanced, and multi-layered world that it is. And this is the real sin of the more-faith-to-be-an-atheist remark: it masks its lack of substance by perpetuating the age-old us vs. them mindset. As beckoning as that may seem to our reptile brains, isn't it about time we start to recognize that it's only us?

Stop Pretending Your Standard is God's Standard

It always amuses me when Christians try to defend their beliefs by essentially belittling their own powers of reason and observation. 'I don't know if I trust myself enough to think I can figure it all out on my own.' 'I think it takes tremendous faith to believe you know better than god.' While statements like these largely straw-man the atheist position, they also reveal one major assumption behind most forms of theism that actually played a pretty big role in my own loss of faith. 

Most recently, I heard David Robertson give voice to this assumption in his second debate with Matt Dillahunty on the UK Christian radio show Unbelievable. David said he doesn't judge Jesus by his standards, he judges Jesus by Jesus' standards. When Matt rightly called this out as circular, noting that even Satan would look right by Satan's own standards, David disagreed and denied that he's in a position to judge, being that he can't trust himself absolutely. Fortunately, he has god's standard to rely on instead - or so David thinks.

The problem is that such a position is entirely untenable. Whatever one believes about divine revelation, it cannot be the case that revelation is ever given in a completely uninterpreted, unfiltered, and direct way. The process of revelation, whether denoting anything true or not, always involves a sender and receiver; divine beings (god, angels, etc.) send revelations, which we human beings receive. To suppose otherwise is not just to move beyond revelation, but to suppose that there is no real distinction between humans and the divine, that we are synonymous with god in some sense. Perhaps, like Bishop George Berkeley thought, we are only ideas in the mind of god. Of course, such a radical view has plenty of its own problems, not least of which would be asking which divine mind we do inhabit.

If revelation has to be transmitted to us, by its nature, then what guarantee is there that it's transmitted accurately? More to the point, even if it is transmitted accurately, what guarantee is there that we've received it accurately? We know of many cases of transmitted information getting 'lost in translation' - radio signals, written texts, cultural norms, computer codes, even genetic material. Where there are senders and receivers, there are often errors occurring at several points along the way. Mr. Robertson likely finds it plausible that believers in other faiths might have malfunctioning receptors, could have been sent a corrupted message, or perhaps received their beliefs from a dubious source. What makes him think, against these alternatives, that he has truly received god's standard through divine revelation?

As I'd bet, there are only two responses someone like David would give. His revelation is trustworthy because god has protected its transmission, or his revelation is trustworthy because it has the sort of evidence and reasons it would need to be trustworthy. If the latter is the case, David must either admit there is, in fact, some personal standard he's using to make judgments about revelation, or he must continue to deny this and, in effect, retreat to the former response. However, the former response is nothing but an assumption - an article of faith - until support is given for it. When that support is provided, it will either be based on god, as ascertained by revelation, or it will have to be based on something independent of god. So round and round it will go till Robertson arbitrarily decides to stop questioning and rely on faith, or till he decides to join the rest of us who recognize the inescapable nature of perception, and finally starts talking standards of belief in a manner we can actually understand and assess.

I want to be clear, though, that I am not insinuating that we should fully trust our own senses to guide us to the truth. The problems I've noted as arising from methods of transmission arise in more areas than just religious revelation. There are many conceivable situations where it's not a good idea to depend on our intuitions and common sense, and psychology tells us there is much about the way our minds work that can cast doubt on the accuracy of such easy means of decision-making. Yet if we take these situations to indicate a general unreliability about ourselves, the conclusion that necessarily follows is not Christian theism, but solipsism. If we can't trust ourselves to reason about matters involving god, we certainly can't trust ourselves to reason about divine revelation. Nonetheless, a great many theists do, including David Robertson. The irony is that even his statement about not being in a position to judge Jesus by his own standard is itself a judgment call, as it is to judge that the sentence 'Jesus is good' comes from a divine source.

What I find particularly appalling about all of this is not the flawed reasoning, or even the hypocrisy behind it, but the way Christians like David use it as a platform on which to exalt themselves in false humility. The obvious implication is that someone who follows the perfect standard of an all-knowing, all-good god is in a better epistemic position than someone who doesn't. Though I can't deny this in principle, I can deny the naive substitution of one's own standard with 'god's standard', as Robertson attempts to get away with. If one wants to claim that the rule they live by is divine, let them state their case and support it with reason and evidence. If one wants to make the less fantastical claim that they try to make their own standard comport with a divine rule of law, this, too, at least is fertile ground for discussion.

But, please, stop pretending that your standard is god's standard rather than your own.

Why an Atheist Forgives

I have personally met some pretty despicable people in my life. I have been threatened too many times to count, I've been assaulted, viciously demeaned, and plenty worse. But there's a world of difference between that and having to see loved ones or close friends go through such mistreatment. There's a universe of difference between that and knowing that those you love have endured deeply personal pain you will never experience. I have friends who have been discriminated against in absolutely deplorable ways, friends and family members who have been mercilessly harassed, friends and family members who have been violently assaulted and sexually assaulted - some as adults and some as children - and friends who have been raped. I know I am not alone in the company I keep. It's a depressing fact that we all likely know people close to us who have been physically and/or mentally abused by others.

When I was a Christian, forgiveness came easy. If I were wronged in any way, I would forgive the person who wronged me. Why? Because god forgave me, because Jesus taught the virtue of forgiveness, and therefore it was what a true follower of Christ should do. Forgiveness came easy because it became a duty, an obligation, and a routine practice for me, just like prayer. To not forgive was to spurn god's forgiveness of my own detestable sins, and to disobey Christ's commands (Mark 11:25, Matthew 6:14-15). Forgiveness also became an opportunity to show what a faithful believer I was, and to spread the gospel every good Christian holds dear. If I really was forgiven, I would forgive others.

To make a long story short, I became an atheist in 2007 after struggling for quite some time with the reliability of the Bible, the problem of evil, the way in which other religions used similar arguments for their own teachings, and the big question of why faith should be esteemed at all. A year later I started my website, Godless Haven, and began writing my thoughts on religion, atheism, morality, and other related subjects. When I tackled the problem of evil, I tackled it logically, and when I discussed meaning and value from an atheist's eyes, I did it matter-of-factly. Yes, sometimes life sucks, I seemed to say, but we should remind ourselves that it's most important to embrace reality as it is, and to find hope in the little things.

I remember thinking at the time that some of my remarks on suffering felt a bit feigned, being that I had next to no experience with what many would call "real life hardships". Over the past year or two, this has stuck out in my mind as I've had a number of those hardships, one after the other, seemingly unrelenting at times. Though I still find there is plenty to be glad about in my life, I've come to realize that I feel the pain of others much more deeply than I might have expected some while ago. Of course, I grew up hearing so many stories of how often we are not ready when major life suffering hits us, so perhaps I should've known better.

There have been times I've wanted to break everything around me, to set fire to anything in sight, and then collapse to my knees in tears. There have been times where all I can do is clench my fists and try to let out shallow, heavy sighs that sting with every breath. There have even been times where I've felt I could beat and strangle the life out of someone who's hurt those I love. I've sometimes questioned why it matters to forgive monsters, why think revenge would be unsatisfying. Just because it's good to forgive in a certain situation, or even in most situations, that doesn't mean it's always good to forgive, does it?

It's no big secret that atheists are maligned in the Bible, and by many people still today, as being angry, callous, unforgiving, and unloving. If you don't believe in a god that forgives us and keeps us accountable, then why care about forgiving those who have seriously wronged you?

Some time ago, I made the mistake of reading something unbelievably hateful that was said to one of my loved ones. It filled me with emotions I thankfully don't often feel so intensely. It was one of those things that can't be unlearned, no matter how much you might wish it could be. Since that time, it pops into my mind in different contexts, turning my mood upside down, usually with little warning. I've repeatedly asked myself why I couldn't have just refused to read what I read; perhaps I would have been better off not knowing so much. What good could have possibly come from reading it?

The other night I realized that as painful as it was for me to see the hateful message, I only know a fraction of the story. The person I love has had to deal with that and much more, undoubtedly much worse. By being more aware of their situation, I will hopefully be able to be more helpful to them. Watching my own behavior, doing my best to be a source of comfort when I can, and learning to stand up and speak out when I come across other similar situations, will all make for a better direction for me and my loved ones than if I were to persist in anger and retaliate. There is nothing worthwhile to be gained, and so much to be lost, from allowing rage or depression to consume you.

One reason I will forgive is that I understand that the alternative is poison. We all suffer when we spend all our time reflecting on the tragedies in our lives - we slip into the darkest spells of sorrow that inevitably affect those around us. Many families have fallen further apart when revenge comes into the picture. The evidence for the effects of forgiveness and resentment is not all anecdotal, though. Psychological studies like Van Oyen et al. have shown a correlation with physical health. Not just for my own sake, but also for the sake of those I care about, I need to find ways to deal with pain and suffering that are healthy and helpful rather than corrosive. Forgiving the people who have wronged you still acknowledges that they have wronged you, but you make the conscious choice to let go of harmful attitudes and behavior.

Another reason I will forgive is because monsters are not born from a vacuum. It can be exceedingly hard to think of a hateful person as a person, but when their actions strongly show that they dehumanize others, it has to be recognized that they did not likely learn this all on their own. Monsters are nearly always created from other monsters, even if the other monsters are personality disorders instead of persons. Though none of that makes it right, I find it does make it somewhat easier to forgive the person who hurts others because hurt is all they've ever known. It's also worth remembering that we rarely get the full picture of what anyone's life is like.

Personally, I feel that these are both better reasons to forgive offenders than that the Bible tells us to forgive, that Jesus taught forgiveness, or that god forgave us. The forgiveness that I practice is not an obligation, not a duty, and most certainly not an opportunity to show what a good person I am, and I think that's precisely what makes it meaningful. Forgiveness that comes easy is cheap forgiveness. How can you truly forgive another person from the heart when the reason you're forgiving them is more like a court order from on high than any personal reason? Some might say that it's actually Christ in them that allows them to forgive others more freely, but this raises the question of what is being called forgiveness (perhaps theirs is a routine, almost carefree practice like mine was... and is that really forgiveness?), and there is just no data showing whether or not Christians really are more forgiving than non-Christians.

The fact is that we need each other, especially when turmoil hits. I've recently been reading a fascinating book, The Seven Sins of Memory: How the Mind Forgets and Remembers, wherein author Daniel Schacter describes the work of psychologists Daniel Wegner, Terrence Keane, Stevan Weine, and James Pennebaker, showing the importance of "confronting, disclosing, and integrating the experiences we would most like to forget" in safe environments with those we trust. In several studies, sharing with others has even helped to reduce flashbacks and intrusive memories that haunt sufferers of PTSD. One would not be grasping at straws to imagine how this kind of research can help us appreciate the need for forgiving ourselves, as well as forgiving those who have wronged us.

I feel that I am better able to confront and address problems of forgiveness now as an atheist. To me, there is no question of why god allowed x to happen, or what moral lesson he wants me to learn from x. There is no infinitely forgiving deity I can turn to when I screw up with others, or when I have difficulty letting go of things. If I have offended someone, I have to make it right with them. No one else is able to accept on their behalf, and no one else is able to apologize on my behalf. If I should forgive someone, I have to be the one to forgive them. No one else is able to forgive them for me, and no one else is able to experience the gift of my forgiveness for someone else. While this does indeed allow us the freedom to go on indefinitely being unforgiven, or unforgiving, it does not eliminate the psychological, social, and physical consequences.

Alexander Pope said, "To err is human; to forgive, divine." I think he was half-right. We human beings certainly do err, but it is that notable flaw about us that makes us what and who we are, and gives us reason to forgive. Whoever needed to be forgiven for something they've done right, and what sort of divinity would create and deal with creatures like ourselves, that could not itself be prone to error? No, I say, to err is human, and to forgive is all too human. I don't forgive because I am a non-believer, nor do I think believers forgive because they are believers. I think we forgive because we are human and because we stand in the best of all positions to recognize this, and the meaning of it, in others.

I forgive you because I need to, because my friends and family need me to, and because you - whether you acknowledge it or not - also need me to.



Sources:
Van Oyen, C. Witvilet, T.E. Ludwig and K. L. Vander Lann, "Granting Forgiveness or Harboring Grudges: Implications for Emotions, Physiology and Health," Psychological Science no. 12 (2001): 117-23.

The Atheist Prayer Experiment?

Back in 2010, Christian philosopher Tim Mawson published an interesting paper under the title, "Praying to stop being an atheist." From the abstract:

In this paper, I argue that atheists who think that the issue of God's existence or non-existence is an important one; assign a greater than negligible probability to God's existence; and are not in possession of a plausible argument for scepticism about the truth-directedness of uttering such prayers in their own cases, are under a prima facie obligation to pray to God that He stop them being atheists. [link]

Recently, Mawson was called upon by Justin Brierly, host of the Christian radio/podcast show Unbelievable, to help turn his challenge into an unofficial 'experiment.' During September and October 2012, each atheist who signed up was asked to pray sincerely to god for a few minutes a day for a full length of 40 days. In that time, several contributed their thoughts to the show's forum, to Brierly by email, and through their own individual blogs. Finally, the participants were then asked to report their belief (or lack of belief) at the end of the 40-day period. The results can be found on the show's website [link], and are discussed both in text and over the course of two episodes. Out of 71 participants, only 2 converted after praying.

I've been a regular listener to Unbelievable for several months now, but my reaction to the atheist prayer experiment has been mixed ever since it was announced. To their credit, Mawson and Brierly were immediately forth-coming on the unscientific nature of the project. They also acknowledged the concerns of many Christians who felt that the experiment was too open to interpretation, perhaps even in violation of the command to not put the lord to the test. So, long before things began, it was made abundantly clear that, whatever the results, no conclusion can be rationally drawn from the study about whether or not god exists. One might wonder then, as I have, what the point of the atheist prayer experiment actually was.

To hear Mawson and Brierly pontificate over the whole thing, you'll find out that the point was something as vague as appreciating the other side, opening up minds, etc. That's all well and good, but I can't shake the suspicion that there's more to it than that. How many times have you heard a Christian tell a non-believer that if they'd only humbly go before god and ask him to reveal himself, then he would? In the second episode of the show covering the experiment, Brierly reads a remark from someone who expresses much the same attitude: 'God will give an answer. It may take days, months, or even years, but he will answer.' In fact, Justin goes so far as to quote Matthew 7:7 in defending the experiment against accusation that it's testing god: "Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you."

When I was a believer, I shared this conviction that god would always answer the sincere seeker. To many people, prayer is not the Magic 8 Ball which some atheists characterize it as, but it's a direct, reliable, and consistent means of communicating with the wise and all-powerful creator of all things. It would be unthinkable that god should ignore or refuse any honest heart that wants to know him. If someone persists in disbelief, it must be that they were either insincere or god is just taking his time to reach out to them. You can find a diverse mish-mash of this on a thread about the experiment on the Orthodox Christianity forum [link]. To these believers, prayer - when it's done out of humility and sincerity - is absolutely 100% foolproof. Let me say that again. Absolutely 100% foolproof.

So when Mawson and Brierly comment on the value of the atheist prayer experiment, I can't help but think that they have cards they're not showing. No, the study was not intended to prove the existence of god, but more atheists using the foolproof prayer method means more souls stand the chance of being won for god. It also means more of an opportunity to talk to atheists about the 'proper' way to pray, how god responds to prayer, and so on. The atheist prayer experiment is just another evangelism tactic, under the clever guise of an impartial study. It's no secret that atheists are big on science, and what says science more than "experiment"? I have to wonder why they picked a name that sounds so scientific, instead of a more general one (which would be more accurate, as they admit), like the Atheist Prayer Challenge, Ask an Atheist to Pray, or Pray the A Away!

Mawson's paper isn't any better. He uses the analogy of being in a dark room where multiple people have told you they previously met someone (we'll call him Tom) and spoke to him, yet you have so far not met this person. Wouldn't it be prudent of you to call out for this Tom, rather than to assume he doesn't really exist? 

Well, there are all kinds of problems with this analogy. I've known very few Christians who claim to have heard an audible voice. To make the analogy more fitting, then, say that these other people mention that Tom communicates via telepathy, and that's how they know he exists. However, simply meditating and trying to reach him telepathically won't work unless you approach him like a student approaches a teacher. If you're not to Tom's liking, he won't say hi, so be sure you're humble when you try to contact him... and cross your fingers too, just in case he doesn't see your humility the way you do. But don't expect an immediate response either, even if you are the pinnacle of humility. Tom's a very busy man and knows what's best for you - although you two have never officially met - so he will greet you all in good time. Suddenly it starts to become more prudent to question these Tom-ites than to try your own luck at telepathically reaching their strange and fictional sounding friend.

I would also disagree with Mawson's contention that atheists are "not in possession of a plausible argument for scepticism... about uttering such prayers in their own cases." The notion that we have to experience something ourselves in order to justifiably hold a contrary position is demonstrably false. Each year, the legal system rightly convicts countless criminals on the basis of DNA, phone records, video recordings, testimony, and other kinds of evidence, while the judge and jury have no personal experience of the crime at all. It seems to me that Mawson carelessly swipes away centuries-worth of arguments both for and against the existence of god, all so that he can prioritize one of the arguments for god that is extremely subjective. We can't look at the evidence neutrally - you have to come onto our turf and do it our way. 

Why stop at prayer, though? Why not just say that atheists are obligated to accept the holy spirit into their lives, since it's the only way to truly experience god, according to many Christians? It's doubtful as many atheists would have responded to that sort of challenge, and thus the evangelizing purpose would be lost. But prayer is 'harmless' and it doesn't require any commitment. As Mawson says several times, praying and not experiencing god can be used as evidence against god for atheists, so you've got nothing to lose! Rings a little familiar to Pascal's Wager, doesn't it? Of course, Mawson doesn't think getting no answer is actually an argument against his god, so it seems his aim is really about recruitment, not making any real significant point.

Finally, let's talk about the results. In the two episodes of Unbelievable that discuss the experiment, Kendra and Kelly - the converts - are contrasted with several atheists who have remained unbelievers, despite some of them having odd and interesting experiences. What you hear from each group says a lot. Kendra came to the conclusion that belief in god is more satisfying to her life than disbelief. It seems to have had little to do with prayer, which prompted some listeners to suggest that she be disqualified. Kelly, on the other hand, pregnant with her first child, prayed to god and one day witnessed a rainbow that she interpreted as a sign. She describes her former disbelief as stemming from the fact that she didn't feel she was being answered when she would pray before. The atheists who remain unconvinced offered possible alternative explanations to their experiences and reflected on their interactions with believers.

Yet another issue I have with this 'experiment' is that it misses the ultimate point atheists always try to drive home. It's not about atheism versus religion. It's not even about doubting god versus faith in god. For many atheists, their opinion on god and religion is the result of critical thinking and skepticism, which, judging from the interviews, it doesn't appear that Kendra or Kelly have much of, to be frank. I have never denied that some atheists do convert, and I don't think any atheist has denied that fact. But I am a skeptic first and an atheist second. My conclusion is not from a bad experience with Christians, or from feeling ignored when I would pray; it comes from years of study and thought, as sounds to be the case with many of those in the experiment whose views have not changed. Now, I don't deny that some intelligent atheists have become believers, but I think one has to already be in a fairly receptive and uncritical state of mind to convert after a mere 40 days (or less) of on-again-off-again prayer.

In sum, the atheist prayer experiment was a resounding success at being the only thing it was ever truly going to be: another slick marketing tool for the Christian faith.

My Thoughts on Dexter's Sixth Season

SPOILER ALERT: If you have not finished season six of Dexter, you may want to save this blog post until afterwards, because there could be some spoilers in it. That said, I proceed...

I've said many times that I have a fascination with religion, particularly because of the scholarship surrounding it, but also because of the variety of themes that religion encompasses, like philosophy, psychology, sociology, history, and so forth. However else you view it, religion is a human enterprise - it involves human interaction, not just with one another, but with a supposedly supernatural force too - and so I believe we can understand a lot about ourselves by what we understand of religion.

When it comes to entertainment, I do enjoy movies, music, and TV shows that have religious messages. Yet there are certainly things that I avoid like the plague too. I enjoy subtlety and creativity in entertainment, not stuff that hits you over the head with a symbolic cross, like Fireproof or Left Behind. As an example of the good kind, Breaking the Waves is a film with a very moving religious message, and it doesn't play out like a fairytale straight out of the Evangelical handbook. It depicts life as it is, with all of its complexities and struggles, and manages to find a glimpse of paradise amidst the darkness.

I have been a fan of the Dexter TV show since the first season, although there have certainly been ups and downs (who can dispute that season four was their best?). Once I saw that they were dealing with religious subject matter in this most recent season, I was very curious to see what position the show would take and how it might evolve over the course of each episode. It can be argued that there have always been religious undertones to the show too, such as the fact that Dexter imagines talking to his dead father, along with the whole notion of an eye-for-an-eye vigilante who carries out justice where the law is unable to reach.

While these undertones remained true to their name through much of the series, staying in the background and leaving the audience to speculate, this latest season brought them a lot more into the foreground. The apocalyptic theme was a nice touch in light of Harold Camping's predictions and the coming year of 2012. I loved the crime scene re-enactments of the Book of Revelation and the intense religious fervor they gave Travis and Gellar early on in the season. The contrast of Travis and Gellar with Brother Sam was also interesting and full of potential, and then there was the recurring question of what lessons Dexter should pass on to his son.

The later into this season I got, the more I started to feel let down. I had predicted that Gellar was an imaginary figure by about the second or third episode, after noticing that no one in the numerous crowded scenes ever looked at Gellar. This didn't bother me as much as how they used Gellar. The similarity between Travis' visions of his dead mentor and Dexter's visions of his dead father had tremendous opportunity in it. If they had simply had Travis be the devoted pawn of a religious lunatic who appears to him in visions, they could have given Dexter an incredible moral crisis. How do I know that I haven't been misled by Harry? This person truly believes he is enacting justice by killing others to end the world, but if he's wrong, am I possibly wrong too? This moral crisis could have led Dexter to re-evaluate his values in a Nietzschean sense, become his own person, and pass that on to his son. I would have really loved to see that.

But alas, Gellar wound up being nothing more than an unfortunate victim of Travis, and the visions had put words into the mouth of Gellar that Gellar never would have spoken while alive (Gellar says "I told you that you were delusional" when Travis mentions how he came to him talking about their responsibility as the two witnesses). Then they also revealed that Travis had stopped taking his medication. I honestly hated these two decisions to reduce Travis to a clinically insane religious fanatic. I would rather they have left him as a devout believer following the teachings of a wolf in sheep's clothing, because it would have produced a far more enthralling climax. Perhaps Dexter could have gone through his moral struggle to finally persuade Travis to the error of his ways. Yet the final tableau - a much more destructive lake of fire - would have already started to be underway, leading up to Travis sacrificing himself to "repent of his sins" by saving the city.

Instead, Travis becomes a bull-headed crazy person who is suddenly able to leave his vision of Gellar behind, deny his responsibility for Gellar's death, and continue on with a ridiculous amount of resolve. Everything started to seem pretty hard to swallow at about that point. It's as if the writers asked themselves, "Why would someone kill in the name of god?" Their answer: they have a psychosis that they're not being treated for. This is naively simplistic, though, especially for a show like Dexter. Think about the serial killers we've seen thus far in Dexter. Rudy, the Ice Truck Killer, wasn't a certifiable nutjob at all, he was the product of a disturbing past, like Dexter. The same is true of Trinity, who was even a father (albeit a bad one). Jordan Chase was a cunning and manipulative person who was an ego-maniac, but he wasn't explained away as a crackpot off his meds.

I can't help but think there was a strongly pro-religious bias in this season of Dexter, not just because of how Travis' behavior is explained, but because of other things I noticed too. Although Brother Sam is there to be the balance to the show's depiction of a religious believer like Travis, an atheist professor is introduced in one episode who is described by Dexter as "a self important asshole." I can't say for sure, but it does seem like the professor has a Richard Dawkins manner about him. Nonetheless, he is killed off in the same episode, and there is no balancing atheist character like the Christians get with Brother Sam. Maybe it's just me and I'm reading way too much into it, but it feels like excuses and defenses are made for religion, while atheism gets a one-sided depiction as supreme arrogance. The show also disappointingly summarized the second law of thermodynamics incorrectly, saying it's a predictor of disorder, the way it's often phrased by creationists.

On the other hand, I found it a bit surprising that Dexter seems to sink away from the religious lessons of Brother Sam in the last episode or two, taking up the label of "the Beast" and finally declaring that "god has nothing to do with this," as he kills Travis. Perhaps Dexter has found his own morality and recognizes that he alone is responsible for what he does. It could be that Dexter's journey through religion was only about seeing through the excuses of those who claim that killing in the name of god is justifiable. Still, I feel that the show missed some great opportunities and made some disappointing choices throughout this season, although the last minute of the finale was a breath of fresh air that I had expected to see in season five. I had moments during this season where I started to think that Dexter may be a lost cause, but it looks like the next season might be worth watching.

Everything is Evidence of God? Even Michael Bay?

Admittedly, there are many things a religious believer can say that will get on my nerves. Usually they involve close-minded bigotry and hatred of others, but not always. Pascal's Wager can be supremely annoying when it's phrased in an arrogant tone, like the proponent thinks it's the first time anyone has ever gotten you to consider that you might be wrong. Another one of these irritating statements I encounter from time to time has recently been put to me on YouTube.

Your very existence is proof of a Creator. Look everywhere. Matter is proof. Light is proof. Life is proof. In fact, even civilization is proof. With all of your intelligence and reasoning, how could you overlook such glaring evidence?

I'm never quite sure how to respond to such a remark, not because it stumps me, but because I would like to think that people are not so naive. I know that Christians believe god created everything, but an atheist obviously does not believe that. Even when I was a believer, I would not have made a pathetic argument as generic and useless as this one. There's nothing about existence, matter, light, life, or civilization that compels us to accept theism. In fact, the latter four are pretty well understood in terms of natural explanations. As for my existence, I take it as proof that an egg containing my genetic material was fertilized and carried to term, but beyond that, nothing more can be reasonably assumed.

For an analogy (and I do love using analogies so very much), this is kind of like a Mac user trying to explain the 'obvious' superiority of Macs to a PC user. The two have different perspectives, which means that it cannot be assumed that one will share the same approach to the issue as the other will. But it's even worse in what this Christian is saying, since he's making an argument based on things which have natural explanations. Supernatural stories are not necessary. It's like a Mac user telling a PC user that Macs are better because they have monitors, keyboards, processors, and hard drives. Both have them! More importantly, there is no logical progression one can follow to conclude that such an argument favors Macs, just as there is no logical progression to demonstrate that earth, wind, and fire (couldn't resist) favor the existence of a deity.

I can't really see why any intelligent person would find this to be persuasive. It seems that the believer's only source here can be the bible, and in that case, the argument is circular. The bible says god created everything, so we can look at everything as evidence that a creator god exists, just like the bible claims. But why the Christian god? The Qur'an claims Allah created everything. The Babylonian epic Enuma Elish claims that Marduk created the world out of Tiamat by dismembering her corpse. Existence, matter, light, life, and civilization no more prove that the creator is Yahweh than they prove that Allah or Marduk is responsible for creating it all. Then there are those things that believers never seem to bring up. Is matter evidence for god when it's assembled in the form of a hydrogen bomb that devastates an entire city? What about those corners of the world where light barely reaches - is god not present there? And Michael Bay? Surely, if anything, he's evidence of an incompetent creator!

A being that can be proven to exist by anything is worth nothing. It's funny, then, that the most common application of the god concept - and the reason for its very origin, I'd say - is to explain what is not understood. We use god to fill in the gaps and then we point to the gaps to find god. Unfortunately, even when something is well understood by science, some believers take their own ignorance as widespread truth and plug god into that gap. In cases like these, it is difficult to know what to say. How do you tell an uninformed person he's wrong when he will accept any trivial thing as confirmation of his faith? Perhaps it's not even worth bothering. As a dead Jewish carpenter is thought to have once said, "do not throw your pearls before swine."

You Don't Speak for Christianity, I Do!

What's more annoying than an atheist mistaking one brand of Christianity for the standard beliefs of the entire religion? A Christian that accuses you of said mistake while presuming his own beliefs to be the standard. This was the bizarre interaction I faced in a recent exchange with someone, and of all places to level these accusations against me, this person made them in comments on my deconversion series! As I explained, my story of leaving Christianity is, in part, a story of leaving one particular brand of Christianity. Thus, there are arguments against literalism and inerrancy, which are not doctrines held by all Christian denominations. But what's astounding to me is that I give no indication in the series of presuming that my Evangelical faith was/is the sum total of Christianity. In fact, I mention meeting other Christians who helped challenge some of my fundamentalist views, so I'm not sure where this individual acquired the idea that I was ignoring the other various branches of Christianity. A deconversion story is not intended to be a thorough refutation of a position, either, but simply a telling of the person's progress or journey towards a loss of faith.

However, instead of illustrating the differences between various denominations as a way of making his point, this Christian took a far less successful but much more ironic route. "[T]he problem with most atheists (especially deconverts)," he said, "is that they view/viewed the bible to be something supernatural. You have to understand that christianity does not deny that the bible was written by men of different times."

I have never assumed that Christianity rejects the human authorship of the bible, but many Christians believe those human authors wrote under divine inspiration. Evangelicals believe this, as do Baptists, Lutherans, Methodists, Seventh-Day Adventists, Presbyterians, and many Catholics. There are variations among these groups on how much of the bible is supernatural in origin, but for the most part, they believe it has been handed down to us relatively uncorrupted. It is also important to remember that there are always people who identify as a specific denomination, yet hold views contrary to the majority of the group. But to insinuate that Christians don't believe the bible is at least somewhat supernatural in nature is an assumption just as mistaken as insinuating that they all believe it to be supernatural. There are Christians like John Shelby Spong who reject pretty much every supernatural claim in Christianity, but this view is not the sum total of the Christian religion either. It's not even a majority view, as most denominations accept the resurrection of Christ as a real event.

Amusingly, this Christian then went into debating the inconsistencies in the gospels. If the bible is not at all supernatural, why jump to exonerate its errors? Discussing the different birth dates given for Jesus between Matthew and Luke, as well as the two deaths of Judas, he asserted that they are "exactly rational reasons of explanation." While it may be possible that there was a census taken by a Quirinius in the time of Herod the Great, what is unlikely is the notion that Matthew and Luke each relied on their readers having access to the other text and figuring out the truth by combining them together. This itself seems to require a supernatural basis of sorts. But never to be outdone by his own gross generalizations, the believer then told me that "all scholars believe Luke (who was also a historian/physician) used Matt and Mark as a source" and suggested that I would know these things if I'd really taken theology classes.

First of all, I never said I went to theology classes. I did study up on theology, but it was mostly on my own time, and the theology I learned in church and bible study courses was very basic. Secondly, it doesn't take years of theology classes to know that all scholars don't believe Luke used Matthew as a source. As a matter of fact, that view is a minority theory in biblical scholarship, known as the Farrer hypothesis. As Raymond Brown, Bart Ehrman, Daniel Wallace, and countless others have noted, the theory on gospel origins that is most widely accepted by scholars is the two-source hypothesis, which considers Matthew and Luke to be independent of each other, aside from their common use of Mark and Q. What this means is that Luke would not have presumed his readers to be familiar with Matthew. All this aside, if someone wants to debate these two hypotheses, I'm all ears, but let's refrain from making factually inaccurate statements about what the scholarly position is, especially when evidence means so much more than consensus.

My favorite part of the correspondence, though, was when I asked this person how he or she knows the bible to be divinely-inspired:

now you've just showed your misunderstanding by asking that. We know the bible is divinely inspired because of the subject. The existing God, to us christians. It was their beliefs in God that inspired them to write a book about the existing God. Therefore we christians classify it as divine inspired because we believe the inspiration is of the real divine deity.
My, if this isn't a horribly simplistic concept of divine inspiration. 'It's divinely-inspired because the authors believed in god.' This makes every religious text divinely-inspired, but more importantly, it doesn't draw any real difference between any piece of literature and the bible. As inclined as I am to agree that the bible is hardly different from The Iliad, I don't think most Christians understand divine inspiration in this way. If they did, then Christian apologetics wouldn't exist, since it is an attempt to defend faith in divine inspiration by providing evidence for the bible's claims - even the miraculous, supernatural ones. There's also the problem of how inadequate such a simple definition of divine inspiration is, since it eliminates the ability to differentiate between a claim of divine inspiration and the actuality or falsity of it.

To make one final note, I feel the need to point out that belonging to a group does not give one the automatic authority to speak for every other person in the group. I am an atheist, but I can't speak for all atheists. I'm white, but I can't speak for all white people. I have never felt that my time as a Christian gave me the freedom to speak for all Christians, yet apparently this believer thinks that he has that ability. Of course, he also presumes to speak for all biblical scholars, even though I'm willing to bet he holds no relevant academic credentials. I unfortunately see these types of 'criticisms' of atheist arguments all the time. Dawkins was accused of misunderstanding Christianity because he didn't address the beliefs of theologians like Aquinas and Meister Eckhart. As prominent as they may be in theological history, the views of such men are not universally accepted by all Christians.

For as much criticism as atheists receive over their 'mistaken' ideas about Christianity, believers themselves rarely seem to appreciate the diversity of their own religion. Those professing believers who disagree may be painted as not being 'real Christians,' as some Protestants are known to say of Catholics. But behind all of this is another problem. Who, or what, does speak for Christianity? As the world has changed, Christianity has changed with it in order to survive, and perhaps in another thousand years we won't even recognize the cult of the risen Jesus as Christian anymore.

Calling a Spade a Spade

I think there are times when berating someone can be a useful accompaniment to constructive criticism. Generally speaking, I try to make my response appropriate according to the tone of the original statement(s), but occasionally I run into something so ignorant that it deserves to be called out. Usually it's a suggestion that defies all critical thinking and ignores very basic natural explanations. So when a guy on my YouTube channel sent me a link to this video and asked if I had heard of the "jewels argument" for god's existence, I had to call a spade a spade.

The video investigates a small church in Puerto Rico, where the pastor and some of the parishioners claim to find oil seeping through the walls and out of the bible, as well as jewels and diamonds falling from heaven. I should note that I use the word 'investigate' very loosely here, because the one thing the video doesn't do is show any sense of objectivity or skepticism. It begins by stating that major media news outlets seem to be ignoring the "incredible events," while only Christian sources are covering it. I have a guess for why this might be.

No one but the pastor is interviewed for the video. At one point they claim that the diamonds were shown to a professional jeweler who told them the cut was more flawless and perfect than he had ever seen, and yet they neglect to find and interview this jeweler. But how would impressively cut stones make any kind of case for the involvement of the divine? Perhaps the diamonds were purchased and planted there by the pastor or by someone else. Perhaps their quality has been exaggerated by the pastor, since we don't have the actual testimony from his source to consider.

I pointed out to the YouTube Christian the fact that hearsay is all the video has to offer. Nothing has been caught on camera, no experts are consulted in person, and the most we get is a story after the events by people who have a clear bias. I even threw out the idea that if the diamonds had fallen from the sky, they might have leaked out of an open bag in a malfunctioning luggage compartment on a plane. Then my believing friend objected that this "phenomenon" is happening all over the world.

Of course he didn't provide me with other examples of where across the world this is happening, but even so, the real point is that with any number of natural explanations available, it is irresponsible to say that god raining down jewels from heaven and causing oil to leak from walls is the most plausible explanation. South America is well known for its affinity for fake miracles like bleeding statues and fraudulent practicioners like psychic healers. It is no stretch of the imagination to suppose that perhaps these churchgoers in Puerto Rico are either involved in a deceptive ploy for attention or witness to bizarre but entirely natural events.

What is a stretch is god's involvement. As I said to the Christian YouTuber, you don't just get to point to some anecdotal evidence in a completely non-objective and heavily biased Christian video and say, 'explain that if there's no god!' I don't have to account for your gullibility. When you've actually presented nothing of any substance, you are the one that has some work to do, not I. This miracle video is no different from a cryptozoologist who claims to have found bigfoot tracks or an alien abductee who claims to have an alien implant. We don't need to find the bigfoot shoes or run tests on the implant to suspect foul play, because extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence, and these have not met their burden of proof.

The thing about insulting and berating someone is that most people who are offended will spend some time mulling over the exchange in frustration. Many of the softer spoken critics might say that this accomplishes nothing, but I don't find this to be true. It wasn't the kind and calm words of a respectful dissenter that motivated me to rethink my beliefs. Sometimes it takes a firm tone to get people to really think. While, as I said before, I don't often adopt this in conversation, it does serve a purpose from time to time. And if the subject of mockery doesn't respond in a friendly manner or change his/her thinking at all, I don't feel that there's been any opportunity lost. I'd rather speak the truth and be thought a jerk than say what's comfortable and politically correct.

Humorously, the Christian responded to my berating by calling my message "hate mail" and trying to argue the implausibility of people dropping jewels from planes all over the world. In a moment of wonderful irony, he demonstrated the appropriateness of my insults by misunderstanding my alternative theory and taking it way too literally. I don't know what else you can call such blind faith and willful ignorance other than gullibility. And I'm not even sure that qualifies for an insult, and certainly not hate speech. We're all gullible in some ways. What's important is recognizing it and taking the steps to change. If you refuse to learn when the facts are slapping you right in the face, then me insinuating your ignorance is the least of your problems.

A Tyrant to Value Above All

"Christ is not valued at all unless he is valued above all." -Saint Augustine of Hippo

When it comes to the difference between moderate and fundamentalist Christians, I think this quote says it all. We often hear, even from some liberal believers, that putting Christ first in our lives is the most important decision we can make. The gist behind Rick Warren's bestseller, The Purpose Driven Life, is that the only way to lead a truly fulfilling life is by placing Jesus at the center of it. The same sentiments are echoed by Pat Robertson and others who have called America to 'get back to god,' as well as politicians who believe their god would never let global warming harm the earth and that our prosperity as a nation is divinely tied into our relationship with Israel. Then there are the believers who refuse medical treatment for their own children, leading to numerous deaths that could have easily been prevented if welfare had been put before faith.

Are these examples of an extremist interpretation? According to the gospels, Jesus himself even explained that unless one "comes to me and does not hate their father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters - yes, even their own life - such a person cannot be my disciple" (Luke 14:26). In other words, Christ has to come first, even above your own family. Does this mean denying medical treatment, ignoring the state of the environment, and all else? If you're putting Christ first, then you should have no worry, as he says in the bible, "I will do whatever you ask in my name" (John 14:13). Indeed, this is the thinking of many who prefer to rely on god instead of science. Somehow moderate believers will respond that Christ should be valued highly, but not above everything, and even many fundamentalists will not extend their 'Jesus or bust' philosophy to areas of health and safety.

But why not? The bible clearly supports Augustine's statement above, and even if you reject the infallibility of the bible, isn't faith something to be praised in all denominations of Christianity? I think you'd be hard-pressed to find a Christian who would not agree with the idea that the more one relies on god, the better their relationship with him will be. Any Christian who claims that one should not rely much on god is at odds with practically all of the bible and Christian theology. If Jesus and/or god don't merit this degree of faith to liberal Christians, then why even bother having faith at all? God could save you from your sin, but can't (or won't) help with some direction in your life?

This leads me to the ultimate problem behind the 'Jesus first' mantra. If you can't trust your god in any area of your life, why should I trust him even in one area of mine? Of course, this is a rhetorical question, because I consider unwavering devotion to be a bad idea and an immoral teaching. One reason why the story of Abraham and Isaac is often criticized by non-Christians is because it emphasizes this 'god above all' mentality better than anything else. Believers are quick to note that Abraham doesn't actually sacrifice Isaac, but it doesn't matter, because the real horror is in the blind faith that would lead a person to even consider killing their child under the orders of a god. Abraham undoubtedly put god before his own family and was rewarded and praised for it even centuries later. Today parents who would do the same will be prosecuted, thrown into mental hospitals, and treated like unstable lunatics, rightly so.

Putting Christ first means putting a halt on progress. The period in history when most of the world valued Christ above all else has been appropriately named the Dark Ages now. Many asked in the name of Christ, yet the door was not opened to them. Many put Christ before all others, and yet 'blessings' only came in the form of plagues and wars. Part of what makes Ingmar Bergman's film, The Seventh Seal, such a masterpiece is its title. In the book of Revelation, the seventh seal is silence in heaven, and nothing more accurately describes the Dark Ages. The approach of Augustine, Rick Warren, Pat Robertson, and other believers has been tried before, and all it yielded was disaster. We have a name for someone who demands his subjects to put him above all else: a tyrant. The Christian god is a tyrant in every sense of the word - threatening dissenters with unimaginable torment, commanding tribute in the form of worship, and generally looking after his own interests. The day when tyrants are to be valued above all is a dark day indeed.

Lean on God and You'll Only Fall

During the course of my life there have been several moments of insight inadvertently revealed through unintentional words of wisdom. It has taught me to choose my words more carefully, because we never know how sometimes even our casual statements can affect the thinking of others. It's particularly interesting for me to reflect on statements I've heard from friends and family that have greatly impacted me, especially when they end up influencing me in a way that is contrary to their own intentions.

One such statement came from my evangelical Christian father, back when he was still preaching. 'Sometimes you just have to do things yourself,' he said. 'Some people spend a lot of time waiting on God, but life doesn't work that way.' I remember that this comment startled me at the time, because it was perhaps one of my first realizations of how life experience conflicts with the idea of an intervening god. I suspect my dad's point was that God doesn't accommodate slackers (though at least he pestered some of them, like Jonah, enough to show his intervening ways), but I took his remark a bit further.

God may not be in the business of giving handouts to the lazy, but what about the active and faithful? Why doesn't God roll out the red carpet for them? Even beyond matters of assistance, why does it seem like prayers so often fall on deaf ears? I'll admit, I had a pretty magical conception of God at the time. My god was one who worked miracles all the time, helping more than just those in need. My god was one who I could ask for anything with some real hope of getting it. I did not consider this naive or selfish, because scripture was on my side (Luke 11:9, John 14:13).

I never understood why life doesn't work that way if God exists. My Christian view of God was that he is reaching out to all of us in love, to save us and bring us into a relationship with him. This is not unusual among Christians, I've found. Yet if God is trying to get us on his team, why isn't he making more of an effort to impress? Is God not a theatrical deity anymore? Why are there less angel appearances these days? Can't God pop in occasionally to brutally murder a rapist right in the nick of time? Maybe shield poor regions from being hit by hurricanes? Hey, if he could stop the sun in the sky for an entire day (Joshua 10:13), none of this should be outside his toleration.

I used to pray a lot - almost every hour of the day. When my wishes would not be fulfilled, I'd typically chalk it up to selfishness or impurity on my part, or as part of God's 'mysterious plan' that's simply not for me to comprehend. This was all well and good until I started noticing that God's batting average was practically zero for thousands. Not only is that indistinguishable from random chance, but it doesn't seem like smart behavior for a deity that wants to bring everyone to faith in him. It seems like God couldn't give a damn whether or not people notice him... or, more likely to me, he doesn't exist in the first place.

Personally, I think this acceptance makes for a wonderful difference in how life is approached. I no longer believe God is protecting me wherever I go, so I mind my safety more these days. I no longer believe God is guiding me along in his calling for my life, so I take more initiative and work my hardest to get what I want out of life. I no longer believe God has some secret plan behind it all, so I do my best to learn what I can to make sense of things. Some will point out that a lot of Christians live this way too, and I don't doubt it. I might venture to say that the majority of Christians are atheist in practice, when it comes to relying on God in their lives. Life doesn't work that way.

The funny thing about all of this is that, in essence, worry is what I have without reliance on God. I used to think worry was the last thing I needed in my life, feeling comforted and grateful that I could surrender it to God, never able to go wrong with him in control. But worry is healthy. It keeps us from being self-destructive, keeps us from drifting off in thoughtless apathy, and keeps us generally grounded in reality. This also seems at odds with Christianity.

In Matthew 6:34, Jesus encourages his followers: "do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself." A few verses prior, Jesus imparts more of his curious wisdom: "Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?" (v.26) Don't worry is the message; God is in control. But the irony is that birds starve on a regular basis and many of the young die upon leaving or falling from the nest. Are we any different than they?

I think I would rather worry about tomorrow than wait on the graces of a god who seems largely ignorant and incompetent. Worrying and concerning ourselves with things has led to progress, while sitting back and relying on faith has not. No diligent believer was given the polio vaccine through prayer or revelation, and no one survived polio under the protection of God. It was our worry over the disease that drove us to investigate a cure. Life works when we take the reigns. It comes to a halt when we do, no matter how convinced we may be that invisible otherworldly hands have taken up the reigns for us.

The Necessity to Explain and Believe

One thing I had to come to grips with on my own journey to atheism was our apparent necessity as human beings to try and explain things we don't quite understand. It seems to be imprinted on our genetics. I've met many people who will explain away even the slightest things as the 'work of God' - things like getting a new job, a new date, debts paid off, etc. It willfully strips the individual of their own choices and freedom, giving an invisible deity all the credit. Likewise, some people will answer the big question of why we are here with something such as 'to praise God' or 'serve Jesus'. It often astounds me how people come to such rapid conclusions when:
1. The existence of that god must be proven first before we can say anything related to what he enjoys or requires from us.
2. A god of such omnipotence and omniscience (which goes for just about every religion; I mean, who wants to worship an impotent deity?) must be even more improbable than that which he is postulated to solve.

I was surprised yesterday to hear a Christian completely admit, without me even saying a word, that in a sense God must not exist. Why? When you consider God to be the creator of all things, the uncaused cause, then he has created everything, brought everything into existence, including existence itself. I never fully understood the question of "who created God" until I learned that. Did he bring himself into existence? No, he's always been? Already this god sounds more complex than the simple loving deity you hear about in church. How can we really expect to have his written word or hear from a being so unbelievably and confusingly unknown to us?

To me, using God as a cop-out for our own origins is not only avoiding the question, its complicating it. I don't pretend to understand all the specifics of how the Big Bang could've occurred and produced life in a godless universe, but adding an infinite being of God's sort to the equation only seems to raise more questions and make things a lot less simpler. Now, on the other hand, I don't feel like life has no meaning when you cease to believe in the supernatural, or that it adopts radical relativism. As an atheist, I get asked that question more than anything else: so if there's no God, why are we here? Why not just do anything you want? I still believe we have a moral responsibility and we have a purpose. The only difference is, that morality is defined by what benefits our race, not what benefits a god, and our purpose is one which we make ourselves. Even monkeys have a kind of ethical code in their social groups, and those who violate it are often punished by the rest of the group.

As for purpose, I think we all feel the need to love and be loved, regardless of what religion or beliefs we hold (or do not hold). I know that sounds pretty hippy-ish, but find me a person on this earth who doesn't want love and acceptance of some kind, whether from a deity or another person. I've often heard people say that life without God leaves a void in you that can't be filled with anything but faith, and I declare the opposite. You can't fill a loveless life with God. It's feigned love, an empty kind that is basically a form of schizophrenic love. That is why you see celibate priests doing all kinds of sexually immoral things. We are not made to force resistance of our natural instincts.

And so there I fall into the trap myself, of feeling the need to explain things to others. Is that such a bad thing though? I think not. You should invite discourse and be confident enough to share your beliefs. I hold that against no man or woman of faith, and indeed it commands some amount of respect for those who openly discuss things of such personal importance, knowing full well that it may be challenged.