Lisa Hickey was asked by a Good Men Project contributor how she reconciles all of the religious ceremonies of the day with the fact that she is atheist. Here is her answer.
Today, on The Good Men Project, we have an amazing series stories on 9/11. I wasn’t going to write, because I thought so many other people did it better – Lyle, the photojournalist who took the photo that landed on the cover of Time Magazine; Jackie, who lost a firefighter friend; Lili, who opened her apartment to the rescuers who were digging out ground zero while searching for survivors – and the dozen others who all had a story that touched me, that changed me, that helped me see the extraordinary complexity around what happened that day. Surely whatever I had to say couldn’t compete with those stories.
But then, long time Good Men Project contributor/evangelist Roger Durham, asked me for help.
Knowing that I am an atheist, he emailed me this note:
I have something I need you to help me with. If you have been watching the memorials of 9/11 today, help me to understand how an atheist views these overtly religious observances? Do they have meaning for you? Do they bore you? Do they frustrate you? And how does an atheist mark moments of grief and memory? How does an atheist honor the dead? I am seriously curious about that, Lisa. – Sincerely, Roger
And I realized this is the story I had to tell.
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Like most people, in the days following September 11, 2001, I struggled to make sense of it. The night it happened, I watched the videos of the planes flying into the towers over and over and over again. I couldn’t get enough of it. It was as if, for the first 20, 40, 50 times, my eyes still couldn’t comprehend what they were seeing. I needed to watch it enough times to get over the shock, to make it real.
Afterwards, I read. I was inextricably drawn to every written word I could find on the subject. I was especially drawn to the stories that showed maps of the buildings. Who survived and who didn’t. How they got out, helped others, died trying. And all the stories of the “jumpers” – the more than two hundred people who consciously chose the moment at which they would die.
The most haunting story – the one that stuck with me – was from a journalist who described a few people who had taken tablecloths and tried to use them as parachutes. This journalist described seeing a man who jumped, caught the wind just right, and remained aloft for about two seconds, “before the force generated by his fall ripped the drapes, the tablecloths, the desperately gathered fabric, from his hands.”
And it was the moment that I read that sentence that I stopped believing in God.
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I was raised a Catholic. Baptism, communion, confirmation, church every Sunday. I stopped going to church when I left home for college. I became a non-practicing Catholic, then a self-proclaimed “sort of a Christian.” And later, Agnostic fit me well – I simply didn’t know. Never did I feel a happiness over having a religion, nor a void at not having a religion to call my own. It wasn’t something I particularly cared about one way or another.
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But on Sept. 11, 2001, I cared. That moment I read that sentence I made a conscious choice, driven by the image of the man trying to parachute with a tablecloth. Surely those people had prayed to a God – any God — in their final moments. And for the guy that had floated far above Manhattan with a tablecloth in his hands – for two full seconds he thought his prayer had been answered.
Not only could I not reconcile any sort of God with one who could allow that to happen, what changed my mind was this: I no longer wanted to.
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God aside, there are things about organized religion that I think are valuable. A moral upbringing is important. A group of people you can discuss ethics with. Rituals around birth and marriage and death. A sense of community.
And – my favorite church ritual of all times – the moment I would look forward to in great anticipation whenever I went to church – the moment when the priest said “May we offer each other a sign of peace.”
That was something I could believe in.
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When I was in recovery, I was told to “believe in a higher power.” At that time, my belief in a God was nil. At one point, I was in a meeting, semi-circle of filled folding chairs, barely listening to others, because I’m puzzling over whether there is any power greater than myself I could possibly believe in. It is my turn to speak. I tell the story of how in college, when I was drinking all the time, I used to walk around campus holding my coat closed. This was in upstate NY, where the winters were fierce and the blizzards were frequent. And yet, I simply wouldn’t button my coat, despite the fact that people would see me and yell out to me, “Lisa, button your coat!” And so, I told the group, the only insight I could offer them was this. Not only did I not believe in a higher power of the traditional sort; but, for most of my life, I didn’t even believe in the higher power of buttons.
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I would never, ever, think to judge someone else’s religious beliefs. I would no more judge someone for their religion than I would judge them for enjoying bowling as a sport. That’s exactly the way I feel when someone asks me to partake in their religious ceremonies – as if they had asked me to go bowling. The truth is – I would do either one of those things – with joy, with zeal even — if I loved the person or people I was with. I would embrace the ceremony, sing the hymn, jump up and down at the last minute strike as the bowling ball hits the tenpins. And yes, if I was not in either of those places voluntarily, if I was not with a person or a community I loved, I would be bored. And you can tell me, well then, “God is Love” but I won’t believe you. Love is Love. The difference is, love is of the moment, it is an experience in the present time, it is an action taken where you get outside yourself to do something for someone else. And that “feeling” that you get when you step outside yourself to do something that truly connects you to someone else – yeah, that sure feels spiritual. I get that. But that is not the same as believing in God.
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When I die, I already have it in my mind that I am going to have someone publish a blog post, after my death, titled “I’m dead and it’s OK.” Not that I want to die – wow, no, never. Or at least not until I’m 120 years old, which I how long I tell my kids I’d like to live to be. But the fact is, I have very little control over when that moment of death will happen. And the only way that I can ensure my death will be “OK” is to ensure that my life is filled with as much meaning as possible. When your days are filled with only that sole purpose—when you love life in all it’s complexities, good and bad, all the people and connections that go with it—that is peace. That is joy. And that is happiness. And life itself is your religion.
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The week after I told my button story, I went back to that same recovery group. I still didn’t have a higher power. I was quiet. I let others talk. At the end of the meeting, one girl walked over to me and handed me a button.
Here’s the thing. At that point in my life, getting sober was a matter of life or death for me. A complete stranger understood that. And so, she gave me something which symbolically said “I care whether you live or die.”
That is what I had always hoped a God would do – care whether I lived or died.
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When the guy with the tablecloth in his hands was aloft for two seconds, thinking to himself, “maybe, just maybe this will work” — there’s no God that I know of who cared whether he lived or died. But someone on the ground most certainly did. And the fact that someone cared is what gave his life meaning.
For the 2,919 people who died on September 11, 2001, their life had meaning. The religious ceremonies are but one expression of that, and so, for that reason – even as an atheist – those ceremonies bring me great joy.
And it’s why the stories we tell are so important. So that the meaning that is shared by the people that we love will continue to live on forever. And that’s all the spirituality I can wish for.
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photo: steakpinball on Flckr
About Lisa Hickey
Vocalyze
Lisa, that is a far more eloquent and powerful answer than I was looking forward to receiving. You never cease to amaze me. Though you don’t believe in God, you are as spiritual as any person I know. And I am grateful for your friendship.
Let me ask you some other questions, though. What if the guy with the table cloth didn’t believe in God either? What if he was counting on his own strength and the strength of that cloth? If so, then it was not God who let him down. Or, let’s say he did believe in God, what kind of God would it have been who would have answered his prayer, but not the prayers of the other 200 hundred who did not survive the jump?
There are so many haunting questions about that day. There was so much unspeakable horror. I am convinced that Evil bared its fangs that day. But I am also convinced that Love prevailed, and always does, ultimately. And that’s why I continue to believe in God, even if I have only a vague idea of what that means.
Thank you for sharing so much of yourself with every piece that you write. With this latest offering, I understand more fully, both your passion for story, and your zeal for integrity in life.
Roger asked: “Let me ask you some other questions, though. What if the guy with the table cloth didn’t believe in God either? What if he was counting on his own strength and the strength of that cloth? If so, then it was not God who let him down. Or, let’s say he did believe in God, what kind of God would it have been who would have answered his prayer, but not the prayers of the other 200 hundred who did not survive the jump?”
I don’t know what Lisa’s answers would be (great post, Lisa), but as another atheist, my response to all those questions is, “So what?” The first question implies it could be table cloth guy’s lack of faith that prevented a miracle, but surely it wasn’t just 200 atheists who jumped or said the wrong prayer. Making him a non-believer wouldn’t make God any more merciful toward the rest who all experienced the same tragic result of being forced to fall, including the many who were undoubtedly praying that God wouldn’t let them down. Nor would it let an all-loving God off the hook if all the faithful jumpers had been miraculously spared, and only the non-believers perished, because that would be pretty selective loving. As for the question about what kind of God would spare him but not the other 200, it makes no sense that an all-loving, all-powerful God would need to be so stingy with his miracles. Why not spare all of them? Why not prevent the need to spare them by preventing the hijackings in the first place? If sparing one out of 200 would pose some troubling inconsistency about God’s love, how troubled are believers by the fact that there were thousands more who survived the attacks (evacuated the buildings in time, barely escaped, etc.) than were killed?
All that is why I think those are “so what?” questions. What significance or insight did you thing they might lead to? What happened to those jumpers and everyone else who perished on 9/11 is consistent with my belief that there is no omnimax god working miracles in times of need, so I don’t see any answers to your questions that would change that.
Please don’t mistake any of this as “angry at God”, because while 9/11 makes me plenty angry, I can’t be blame something I don’t believe exists. I’m blame God for it as much as you blame Zeus, so if those hypothetical questions seem profound with respect to God, try answering yourself in terms of Zeus and see if they’re still as meaningful. Just in case…I also want to explicitly say I’m not the least bit angry at you for asking, Roger. I appreciate you inviting the essay from Lisa and seeking to better understand her and others with similar (non)beliefs.
Thanks TFM — I wouldn’t have phrased the answer as “so what”, but your answer helped me articulate what I wasn’t able to put into words before — that there is NO answer to those types of questions that would make even the *idea* of a God make sense.
And that’s why I am so at peace with myself as an atheist. I know that atheists sometimes feel like they are somehow ostracized, but that doesn’t bother me at all. It is my belief. I don’t mind that there is no “proof” of God — simply that there is no *idea* of a God that makes sense to me. It’s really that simple. And it doesn’t make my life any less rich — quite the contrary — by being solely responsible for the own meaning of my life, it actually makes it fuller.
But very nice to be having this conversation and seeing a variety and a depth of points of view.
TFM – you say: ”All that is why I think those are “so what?” questions. What significance or insight did you thing they might lead to? What happened to those jumpers and everyone else who perished on 9/11 is consistent with my belief that there is no omnimax god working miracles in times of need, so I don’t see any answers to your questions that would change that.”
First, I wasn’t trying to add insight, I was following Lisa’s line of thought. If that one jumper was the thing that made Lisa stop believing in God, then those questions matter. Second, I believe in God, but not in an “omnimax god working miracles in times of need”. I don’t think God is like a credit card we can use to get us what we want. I think God has gotten a bad name because of all the religion that has been wrapped around him/her.
I like that insight, Roger, that “God has gotten a bad name because of all the religion that has been wrapped around him/her.”
I guess my point with both the tablecloth story and this post in general is this: that for me, personally, a “God” serves no purpose. I had always thought that is was some entity that cared if I lived or died, but I just don’t see that anymore. I don’t need a God to be present around rituals, especially around death — I’d rather the ritual be around the person’s life and not about their death. And finally — perhaps most importantly — I don’t want ANY outside being or deity to be responsible for giving my life meaning. I want it to be me that creates the meaning, in the manner in which I chose. And that’s why I believe what I believe.
Lisa, you and I may agree on a lot more than either of us realize. I see God as the organizing principle behind Love, not some amorphous entity. God, in my view, holds the container for Love, expressed most completely, so far, through human beings. When we get it right, God smiles. When we get it wrong, God weeps. I don’t think God cares whether you and I live or die, ultimately, because that is a distinction of human creation. But I also think that God, as that organizing principle, understands death in a very different way than you and I understand it. And as that organizing principle, God doesn’t create meaning for you and me, God has provided the canvass, or the stage, on which we create, live and enjoy our own meaning.
I certainly don’t mean to question your beliefs. You are fast becoming one of my spiritual heroes! Thanks for taking the time to wrestle through these questions with me. You are very gracious with your responses.
Thanks for your replies, Roger & Lisa.
Respectfully, Roger, I don’t see how those questions would matter even if that one jumper was the breaking point for Lisa’s faith. If the guy was a non-believer, that wouldn’t make it easier to continue to believe in an all-loving God for letting him perish. If he was a believer, but too arrogant to pray because he trusted his own strength instead of God’s, his demise would not be more consistent with an all-loving God. If God let him die because it would have been somehow capricious or unjust to save him and not the other 200 jumpers, it still doesn’t explain the apparent love gap, since it would be trivially easy for omnimax God (the usual God as believed by Catholics and other Christians) to save all of them or prevent their tortuous deaths altogether. (In case I’m assuming too much familiarity with some of this jargon, I’m using the common shorthand of “omnimax” to mean all-loving, all-knowing, and all-powerful.)
You could ask, “What if he had rigged a successful parachute and somehow survived?” and if that had happened, I’d consider it an amazing feat of human ingenuity and luck to have the materials and favorable winds to make it work, but it still wouldn’t have been a miracle of Biblical proportions, the kind where God doesn’t play by the rules of physics. A bona fide miracle would be something like people about to be consumed by flames teleporting to safety; or better yet, the planes passing through the towers unharmed like you see ghosts do in movies; or still better, turning all the hijackers into pillars of salt as soon as their hijacking got underway. I don’t expect God to perform such magic tricks because I don’t believe he (or any other supernatural being) exists, but if the Bible is to be believed, it seems like a cop-out to say he shouldn’t be expected to ever work that way in modern times. He was a physics-defying miracle machine in the Bible, witnessed directly by humans just like us. It would make some sense – but only slightly more – to explain it if God wasn’t all-loving, or all-powerful, because a capricious god could be expected to pick an choose when to swoop in and save the day, but that ominmax guy…he wasn’t there on 9/11.
In case you’re curious, 9/11 didn’t turn me into a non-believer. I was already an ex-Catholic when it happened, so there was no faith left to shake by then. In my case, it wasn’t any sort of tragedy at all that caused me to doubt. I’m aware of and understand a lot more reasons for non-belief than I used to, including the problem of evil that 9/11 is a prime example of, but the thing that got me rolling was realizing that deep down, I was utterly incapable of believing that anyone, at any time, could literally come back from the dead. Even Jesus. Once I disbelieved the Resurrection, the rest fell away pretty quickly, faith-wise. There’s no faith left for stuff like 9/11 to challenge, but if it turns out I’m wrong, then whatever supernatural entity is in charge isn’t worthy of my worship.
I know in the written word this is probably coming of confrontational, but I bet we’d get along fine in person. I think there’s common ground between us like you found with Lisa, about your thoughts on love, treating people with kindness, appreciating beauty and wonder in the world… all that stuff. As Lisa responded to dan mcm, we non-believers aren’t missing out. We just don’t feel the need, or see any compelling evidence, to believe there’s some “amorphous entity” behind it all, whatever name you want to give it.
TFM, thanks so much for taking the time to articulate your thoughts. I understand your questions. I understand your doubts. I’m not a believer in miracles, as many faith traditions have historically presented them. I don’t believe that the Bible is unquestionable and “true” in the sense of being historically or scientifically defensible.
But I do believe that evolution is inadequate when it comes to explaining the capacity of human being to Love, that there is something beyond human understanding that has created the capacity for Love, and that creation has reached that capacity in the form of human beings. I also acknowledge that is a very human-centric way to view the world, and that there could just as easily be more profound expressions of Love in other corners of the universe, or that we have only begun to realize that capacity.
Much of the bad stuff that happens in the world looks capricious and cruel, and would insist that there can’t be some “omnimax guy” (who says God is a guy, by the way, if, in the end there is such a thing/person/entity?) pulling the strings. I have no metaphor for God that is truly satisfactory, but the closest I can come is from my experience as a parent, and a son. Here’s a story from my life that helped me to “understand” the possibility of God, more anything I learned in seminary.
My older brother is manic-depressive. He has manages his illness fine, when he stays on his medication. But, like so many with mental illness, he goes through cycles where he decides he has been cured, and he doesn’t need the meds anymore.
During one of those cycles, probably twenty five years ago, my brother was living with my parents. He had stopped taking his meds. And he was drinking. And he was becoming verbally abusive to my mom. He would go out drinking at night, and was making life miserable for my parents.
They were trying in every way they could to help him. But nothing was working. So, they finally had to draw a line. They told my brother that he needed to admit himself into the hospital and get some help. He refused. And he continued his abusive behavior. My mom, to this day, still gets tears in her eyes as she tells of calling the police and asking them to come and help her get her son to the hospital. She will never forget the look on my brother’s face as the police car pulled out of the driveway. He looked at his mom, my mom, with a look of utter betrayal. How could she, who was supposed to love him, stand there and do nothing.
She cried for weeks. She knew that she would never open her home to him again. She knew that the only way he was going to make his way in the world was if he learned to live on his own. It would mean staying in the hospital long enough to get the hallucinations under control. It would mean going to a group home next, and then finding an apartment for him that would accept Section 8 housing. It would mean entrusting him to the “safety net” that exists in our community.
She knew that he could end up on the streets – homeless. Then she would have another set of wrenching decisions to make. Fortunately, that never happened. And my brother is doing pretty well in his apartment, following a routine that makes life manageable, and staying on his meds.
The point to this long-winded story is that, from my brother’s perspective, my mother betrayed him. I don’t know that he has ever forgiven her. And I don’t know that he has ever recovered a belief in her love for him. What I see, is an incredibly loving mother who lays awake at night wondering if her son is ok, who gets worried when she hasn’t heard from him in a day or two, and how has established a trust that will ensure that he is cared for in her absence.
There are a lot of ways that analogy breaks down when you try to apply it to God, but what it helps me to understand is that we have only one part of the story, right now. We stand in my brother’s shoes, and cannot know the heart and mind of “the god” (if she/he exists). But that is not reason enough for me to refuse to believe in that existence. There is too much evidence, in my view, that a force for Good and Love is at work in our world. And human ingenuity, or natural selection, do not explain it adequately.
Thanks again, both TFM and Roger, for your thoughtful additions to the discussion. Roger, the story you tell about your brother is amazing, and because it is so concrete it is easy to grasp.
And it also helps me understand this — discussions like this are not designed to *change* anyone’s viewpoint, that certainly isn’t the intention for me. But what they do is help us all *understand* the others view, for that is the root of all empathy. And empathy is a form of love.
Couldn’t agree more, Lisa. When our intent is to *change” someone’s viewpoint, we don’t tend to listen very well. And when we don’t listen, we often miss the opportunity to learn and to understand and to empathize. Thanks for getting that.
I’ve enjoyed our dialogue, too, Roger. Sorry if my comments have become walls of text, but with fast typing and small composition boxes, length gets away from me sometimes. Besides, I’m naturally long-winded when I write. Hopefully it’s not so bad here since the conversation isn’t flying by with dozens of commenters and hundreds of comments.
The story of your brother and mother is heartbreaking and heartwarming at the same time, and the core theme that love is complicated resonates with me. (I also have some personal experience with mental illness, so that resonates, too.) There’s nothing about it that I find hard to believe, including the way the same action can look loving from one perspective and unloving from another. There are a few points in your interpretation, however, where I go in a different direct from you:
You wrote: “But I do believe that evolution is inadequate when it comes to explaining the capacity of human being to Love…”
We could quibble about what counts as “adequate” I’m sure, but evolution isn’t completely useless when it comes to understanding love or any other human emotion. Evolution doesn’t offer a designer, but natural selection accounts for some characteristics – emotions, for example – giving a survival advantage to some species, while the absence of those characteristics could be selected against. I find it highly plausible, for example, that the human capacity for love is integral to our success as a species, as is the capacity to see patterns and causality in the world, even though those same capacities sometimes lead us into error. That kind of language doesn’t sound warm and fuzzy, so I get how it feels inadequate when applied to what we actually experience as “love”, but I don’t really see a contradiction.
Atheists don’t miss out on love just because they don’t believe God or some other supernatural force is the source of it. In the course of composing this reply, which started in the morning and took until evening to finish (can you tell I wrote out of order?), I had to stop writing several times to tend to my twin toddlers, and like most parents, I would willingly die to save them. (I don’t mean to say they were in mortal peril several times today, just…well, you get it.) You and I can probably agree that I’m feeling and expressing paternal love, but I don’t think that experience is diminished by understanding it in evolutionary terms. Evolution doesn’t really care about trying to be poetic or capturing the full richness of being human, but it does predict that compared to human individuals who maybe don’t get emotionally attached to their offspring, the genetic tendency toward love has a better chance at surviving. Taking a less human-centric view of it, we’re not the only species to show signs of attachment or atlruism, so humans are neither unique in their capacity for some of these things we call “love”, nor are we the only examples of how it’s been naturally selected for. Note, however, that species that produce hundreds of offspring at a time haven’t evolved to *also* exhibit strong attachment to their offspring, so love isn’t inherently necessary for a species to survive. We humans need it, at least in our environment so far, but the Beatles weren’t right that it’s all we need. (It would be more accurate if the lyric went, “All you need is love, if your environmental pressures select for it” but that wouldn’t have been nearly as catchy.)
You continued: “[...]that there is something beyond human understanding that has created the capacity for Love, and that creation has reached that capacity in the form of human beings”
If evolution is an inadequate explanation for Love, it sounds logically impossible that “something beyond human understanding” could be more adequate. Something that’s beyond human understanding hasn’t explained anything. It’s a fancier way of saying “I don’t know”, which is something I’m fine with us humans saying about all sorts of things. Maybe some things are truly beyond our understanding, but I can’t double down on that mystery with an incomprehensible being and declare all the unknown stuff “explained”. Furthermore, if supernatural explanations are allowed, there are far more to choose from than the fairly non-objectionable love creator that you describe as God. (I don’t presume to understand your faith based on a the few paragraphs you’ve shared, but so far it sounds closer to deism than the Catholic or Christian faith that Lisa described losing on 9/11.) If supernatural explanations are more adequate, why not go with astrology? Or Hinduism? Or if I’m inclined to take stories literally, why not The Force from Star Wars? All would qualify as supernatural “explanations” that reality can be bent to fit by creative humans, but none have superior explanatory or predictive power compared to an unadorned “I don’t know”.
You wrote: “There are a lot of ways that analogy breaks down when you try to apply it to God, but what it helps me to understand is that we have only one part of the story, right now.”
The story of your brother to us “standing in your brothers shoes” relative to God was touching, and well written. Not that you were trying to bring me around (nor I, you), but where the analogy fails for me is that to make some of God’s actions and inactions loving, we would have to surrender any normal notion of what the word means. Your brother may not see it, but it’s not hard for most people to see how a parent cutting the strings of dependence and trying to stop enabling bad behavior could be an act of love. It fits with normal everyday concepts of what love is. Letting innocent people suffer and die horrible deaths despite having the power to spare them – there’s no way to spin that as love unless you say, “God did it, therefore it’s love.” If everything God does or allows is “love” then there’s nothing left over to be evil – he did or allowed everything, right? If that’s the case, we’re not so much standing in a place where we can’t see the love, as we are wearing love-colored glasses that makes everything qualify, even the most horrible atrocities we can imagine. That kind of love I can do without.
Sorry for being long (again) and slow to reply. Toddlers make it hard to sit down and write for a stretch. I appreciate the sincere and respectful tone of the conversation and hope you feel the same way. I don’t expect to change your mind, but hopefully I’ve made it a little easier to understand that we atheists (or at least this one) didn’t give up love when we stopped believing in whatever god we used to believe in. (Some lived that way their whole lives, but that’s not my story to tell.) On my side, I feel like I understand you a little better than I did after one reply, and despite disagreeing on matters of faith, you strike me as someone I’d have no problem getting along with in “real” life.
Lisa, even though you and I didn’t really have a direct dialogue, I appreciate you kicking this off with your original post and setting such a positive and gracious example in the tone of your replies throughout the comments.
Hi TFM (Roger),
I had meant all my replies on this thread to be both to you and Roger. Did not mean to exclude you! But your posts could be a blog post in themselves, as could Roger’s story about his brother.
One thing I am curious about — “Letting innocent people suffer and die horrible deaths despite having the power to spare them.” — is that what people who believe in God believe? (That’s how I was brought up). Or is there a different story, one that says God does NOT have the power to spare people? I’m really not sure what the current line of thinking is– I’d be curious to know.
Also — my original point, which got last in all the discussion — even with Tom below, who said “Truly horrible things happen in this world. People get shot, end up in jail, death camps of various varieties persist. I don’t blame God, I blame us.”
My point wasn’t that the guy with the tablecloth suffered a horrible death — that much is a given. It was the thought that — on the absolute worst day of his life, when he was in the tower, and sure he was going to die, and he jumped out with the tablecloth– and for a few seconds he thought it had worked. That he must have thought he had been given a reprise. The difference between death and terror. And yes, I certainly wasn’t “blaming” God, I was just ceasing to believe. It’s why I asked about whether God has power to control things or not — if there is no power, then I simply don’t see the point. Maybe religious people believe the power is only for the good? I simply don’t know.
Sometime afterwards, somebody told me about a test on the internet that would tell you “What religion would you be if you didn’t know which religion you thought you were?” And it asked, I think, 100 questions — it was quite in depth — to get at the system of beliefs you hold and how that compares to all of the religious beliefs out there.
And the test told me that I would be a “Secular humanist” — which it described as “the combined force of all that that is human and all that is good that moves the world forward”. And my thought upon hearing that was “YES”. That is *exactly* what I wanted to believe I believed.
And so — how ironic is it that 10 years later I’m heading up The Good Men Project?
Lisa
First off, I’m embarrassed that I butchered the first sentence in my 9/13 11:20p comment where I was attempting to compliment Roger’s writing. Hopefully my point wasn’t butchered beyond comprehension, but in a post that took all day to write, I got sloppy with my editing when I just wanted to get it submitted before bed. I’m pretty tolerant of other people’s typos and goofs in discussions like this, but kick myself over my own.
Lisa wrote: “Or is there a different story, one that says God does NOT have the power to spare people?”
Like you, I was raised Catholic, so that included believing God was all-everything: powerful, loving, and knowing. Although there’s usually someone ready to dissent if you ask enough people, I consider that belief a standard article of faith in all the Christian denominations, not just Catholicism. Although it wasn’t this particular issue that tipped me toward atheism, I have since realized the logical contradiction in those things, given the available evidence of how God acts if you assume he (or she or it) exists. Though I wouldn’t believe in any supernatural God at this point, it would at least be logically plausible to posit a God that isn’t completely powerful, or loving, or knowing, because that would make it possible to cherry-pick the evidence and shrug off the inconvenient examples as “rare exceptions”.
Back to your point about that moment of false hope the tablecloth jumper had…I share your perspective so much that I find it hard to understand how anyone could witness such events and *not* feel compelled to alter belief in an omnimax God. To me, it seems like either the belief in God or the belief in what his nature is would have to change, and for some people it does. However, many believers throw up a curtain of mystery for God to hide behind until the contradictions fade enough to go back to pointing out examples that confirm their expectations.
It’s a very important point you make – and one I’ve seen believers consistently misunderstand about atheists – that you weren’t angry at God. You can’t be angry at something you don’t believe in. Unless you’re still a believer, it’s only an intellectual exercise to debate whether whether horrific events are consistent with a loving God. If a Christian and I were to discuss whether 9/11 undermines faith in Venus, the goddess of love, that would be a different conversation for the Christian, but practically the same thing for me. Both God and Venus are supernatural beings I don’t believe in, but to the extent they’re both known for their respective divine attirbutes, it’s possible to discuss whether reality is consistent or inconsistent with them actually existing.
Lisa, you ask: “Letting innocent people suffer and die horrible deaths despite having the power to spare them.” — is that what people who believe in God believe?
There is not one current line of thinking on this. The question you are asking, though, is one that people have been trying to answer for, well, forever. Some answer it as atheists have, which is to say that God cannot exist where suffering exists. Some people of faith believe that God does have the power, but in offering free choice, has chosen not to intervene on behalf of people. That creates a whole different set of questions and the more you try to pin it down, the more forced the explanation becomes.
My question would be, if there is no god, and there is nothing beyond this life, then what difference does it make how someone lives or dies? It is my belief that God is that force at work in the world that pulls the thread of hope and goodness and love out of even the most horrific of circumstances. That leaves rooms for lots of questions. But I would prefer to live with those questions than to structure my beliefs in such a way that there is not room for some force, beyond human ingenuity and goodness, that is at work in the universe. I respect your choice to place your faith in human kindness and goodness. It’s just not a choice I am willing to make; or, better stated, I am not willing to limit my faith to that. No judgment intended.
Sharp thnkniig! Thanks for the answer.
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Thanks for sharing this story. I share your atheistic perspective and just wish that somehow today would be a reminder that extremists don’t represent their faiths, neither do violent acts symbolize what it means to be human! I love the line where you say that someone on the ground cared and that gives life meaning. Poignant and thought-provoking.
cheers.
Thanks Judah. That’s a brilliant line: “violent acts don’t symbolize what it means to be human.”
Thanks Roger. I’m glad you asked me the question you did, when you did. I appreciate your caring enough to want to know. I like the idea of having a “system of beliefs” and not a belief in any one thing (like a god). It allows for a spirituality which is as connected and intelligent and complex as life itself.
And please, keep asking questions!
Im a new yorker and was also raised roman catholic. I too become an athiest after the attacks of september 11. Watching over and over images of people taking a leap of faith to an ending demise and planes flying into buildings. I started to ask myself is god real? Why is this happening? I rejected the high power of god and instead believe in the natural order of the universe. I was saddened by timothy dolan of the arch diocese of ny who said there are no athiests in foxholes, there were no athiests 9 11. I decided to google athiest and 9 11 and I stumbled upon this blog and I’m happy to know others like me exist. As an athiest in the post 9 11 world I have become more tolerant and observant of other peoples creeds and customs, its a human thing to do. Its a moral natural right to love and respect one another because at the end of the day we are all human and we all meet the same fate. I will facebook you.
Thanks Benny,
I like that — how 9/11 might make people “more tolerant of other peoples creeds and customs”. I agree. And to make love a conscious choice. It’s important.
thanks for the connection.
I just left a long-winded comment…. sorry about that. I hope you realize before and after you read that I don’t disrespect your views, even if I don’t agree on everything. I agree — love must be a conscious choice, and treating people right regardless of where they are coming from is very important.
Take care….
Hey Lisa…. Great post. Thank you for being willing to share your heart with people that may or may not agree with you – not very many people are willing to do that.
I have a bit in common with you. I grew up Catholic, fell away in college and started hitting the bottle heavy. I did end up coming back to faith though, and quit drinking a few years after that (22 years last month.)
When I read your comment – ”it was the moment that I read that sentence that I stopped believing in God” – I was hit with a profound sadness. I hope you don’t take that in a judgmental way: it’s obvious that you are a great person… caring, loving and thoughtful, so I don’t want to impugn your character in away. But I was saddened because I think you’re missing out on some of the greatest joys in life. The image that comes to mind is like a kid that was lost as a baby and grows up in an orphanage, never knowing Mom and Dad, only to discover (or not) that the man and woman she kept bumping into were actually her parents, but she didn’t know it.
There is more to life than just this life here on Earth. I think a great many people, believers and nonbelievers alike, miss the point when they judge whether to believe in God based on circumstances in this life. If God is real (which I believe he is), then this life is only stage 1… it’s caterpillar time. The guy with the makeshift parachute? God loved him then and loves him now, as he does every other man, woman and child on the Earth. If this life is all there is, that man’s jump was a futile attempt to prolong something that was fleeting by. But, if God is real (as I believe He is), then the tablecloth guy is no longer in caterpillar stage, he’s moved on to butterfly. What kind of butterfly he is, I have no idea… that’s based on him and how he lived and responded to God’s call for him. (Before you assume what you think I mean by that, read the next paragraph.)
Did you know that there’s a passage in the book of Romans were Paul talks about nonbelievers who seem to do what is right? In “The Message” (a paraphrase translation), Romans 2:14-15 says:
When outsiders who have never heard of God’s law follow it more or less by instinct, they confirm its truth by their obedience. They show that God’s law is not something alien, imposed on us from without, but woven into the very fabric of our creation. There is something deep within them that echoes God’s yes and no, right and wrong.
What is that “law”? To love God, and love your neighbor as yourself.
You love those around you? Good… God likes it when you do that. You care for the sick and hurting? Good… God loves it when you do that. You look for beauty in the sunset, in the cool breeze in the evening, in a piece of art, in the smile of a child? Good… God loves it when you do that.
God ‘s “kingdom” is not about granting people’s wishes like a fairy godmother. God’s kingdom is present when people choose to love because it’s the right thing to do. If you are as loving and caring as Roger thinks you are (and based on your writing, I believe it), you’re probably a lot closer to God than you realize.
You say you stopped believing in God on 9/11 (or soon after). I’d suggest that you never really believed in God to begin with – or rather that you never really had a good picture of what God is like. His love is beyond comprehension, but it’s not a love that necessarily delivers us from the fire, he goes through the fire with us.
Thanks again for sharing your story….
It is possible that I never believed in God to begin with — but I completely disagree on the fact that “I’m missing out on some of the greatest joys in life.” I am just not experiencing YOUR joys. It would be the same as saying I’ll never ride a surfboard on a 100 foot wave in Hawaii and therefor miss out on a great joy. That is undoubtably true. But I don’t want that joy. I want the joy that is part of my here and now. I experience that all the time. I am not going to judge your joy, and I would hope you won’t judge mine. thank you for your long and thoughtful reply.
I think 9/11 did more to fracture faith than cement it. I was an atheist before 9/11 and remain so today. 9/11 was just another bit of confirmation of the believe, really. I disagree with Dan Mcm above who says that he feels sad that you won’t experience a great joy now that you don’t believe in god. I’d say the rewards for being humanistic and secular far outweigh the religious ones.
Regardless, this was a well written piece anyway. I agree with you on life/death: I’m not under the illusion that there’s another chance waiting for me, I have to use this one that I have now.
In my personal view, “the rewards for being humanistic and secular far outweigh the religious ones” as well. There are without a doubt those who get great personal joy from religion, and I am happy for their joy. The same way I am happy for my own. Thanks for stopping by.
Welcome to the dark side Lisa!
You may encounter push back from Deists on your rationale for disbelief, and the comeback is “unintelligent design”, really?
Please elaborate —
I don’t see anything “dark” about what I’m talking about at all. I see a belief system that brings me great joy and allows me to act with love as I live. I’m not trying to convince to believe what I believe in — simply holding the conversation.
Oh, just a lighthearted quip Lisa. I’m in agreement with your stance, and also in appreciation of your attempt to tease out the more positive aspects of those very things you don’t personally believe in. Not many people do that sort of thing.
My wife dragged me into watching a good bit of the ground zero ceremony yesterday. I was not going to but was glad I did. We both found it odd that the President read from the Bible. Don’t get me wrong, I happened to like the passage but just thought it might offend non Christians.
Then we went to the little Episcopal church down the block (one kid went to Catholic mass with his mom). The readings happened to be about forgiveness. The idea that we find salvation in forgiving no matter what as Christ forgave us. Our rector is a bit of a nut, but I always enjoy his message despite my own cafeteria approach to organized religion. His message would pretty strong on the concept that all the talk of stiffening our resolve to go kill people isn’t the kind of thing that will solve much.
My son reported the same thing was discussed at his mass (which went into overtime since Father John, who I happen to also like very much, go a bit carried away).
I guess like with most things it really comes down to what’s in a name. I don’t know that I am with you about blaming God, or a lack thereof, for what happened to the guy with the tablecloth. Truly horrible things happen in this world. People get shot, end up in jail, death camps of various varieties persist. I don’t blame God, I blame us.
Said another way I guess I don’t believe in GOD, I believe in god. I believe that all religion is onto something. I feel moved when I go to church (they sang America the beautiful at the end on Sunday and like the sucker I am I started weeping) much like I am moved by the silence of yoga class or the beauty of a long walk in the woods.
Perhaps having a loose fitting faith is what allows me to see how little I can influence the world, and even my own life, but also how crucial it is to try. When it doesn’t work out the way I want or expect, I need to have someplace to go to soothe the pains and be reassured that everything is still as it was intended and that really my job is largely a matter of acceptance and gratitude, along with that will to fight for what I believe in no matter the outcome.
I watched enough of the film by the two french brothers that were at ground zero by accident, now updated 10 years later, last night to get to the point of the jumpers. Then I had to turn it off because it was too upsetting. Like, you the idea of people jumping out of a burning building is about as bad as it gets on this planet. I don’t have an answer for that. All I can do is know that it happened. Grieve for those involved just like I grieve for, as Steve Almond pointed out, the mother holding her starving child somewhere in Africa on 9/11 ten years ago and a different mother doing the same thing today.
So to me there is a difference between bowling and praying. There’s a kind of reflection that nourishes my soul and which I frankly crave. I don’t crave bowling. I love it because I can laugh with my kids and act like an idiot. But it doesn’t help me try to deal with the mother with the starving child nor the jumpers. For that I have to turn inwards to some reflective place. And it helps me to have a wacky rector talk to me about it and hear beautiful music in a sacred space.
But that’s just me.
Thanks Tom, for your thoughtful reply. Your words, like the words of others who replied above, help me frame a belief *system*, to get away from the idea of god as an “entity”, and make me realize, once again, the futility of debating actual words. As Roger said, above, we may actually agree on a lot more than it appears — his idea of “I see God as the organizing principle behind Love, not some amorphous entity” is similar in sentiment to your “Said another way I guess I don’t believe in GOD, I believe in god.” It is the “amorphous entity” I don’t believe in. And if I name that disbelief, society names me an atheist. And so part of the ongoing conversation we have here is how to come to terms with the way society structures, and names and stereotypes and believes that once you are seen as one thing, you are always seen as that thing. But it’s been a fascinating, ongoing conversation. I’m hoping Roger can help take the lead on more discussions around spirituality and what it means to men in this day and age.
And the sentence that you said in your reply — “Perhaps having a loose fitting faith is what allows me to see how little I can influence the world, and even my own life, but also how crucial it is to try.” — that would be a “wow”.
That will stay with me long after this particular conversation has ended.
I’m an Atheist and when I see all the religious crap, I go, “So, the shit that caused it only grew, eh?”
Religious ceremonies aren’t good, they’re bad. The group dynamic allows the concepts to easier infect and poison the minds of young children, and easily keeps adults poisoned.
This is a mixed bag; a lot of genuine surface feeling there, but only one person’s unexamined idiosyncratic perspective, sometimes confused in its rambling about buttons and “bowling for Jesus.” This sounds like it was written by a sincere “ex-Christian child,” who is still in the grip of religion’s thrall; perhaps even brain-washed, despite claiming she is an Atheist.
Everyone selects what they want to focus on—for us it is the people—for the author, it is apparently some inner need to be assured that someone “is looking out for her.”
We are not impressed by memorial services, but rather the people—the victims and the survivors and the things they experienced in this life-changing event. The services produce only scorn in me (Gil) especially the pious platitudes by politicians and preachers. Jeanne says that the authors unconcern about other people’s beliefs, religious or athletic, is a reflection of her lack of critical thinking—one of the most important aspects of a person’s psyche—and an Atheist’s stock-in-trade.
To say “I would never, ever, think to judge someone else’s religious beliefs,” is fatuous. We Atheists by definition are judging religion to be ridiculous all the time—there is no other way to express it. It is our sine qua non.
If the “moral upbringing (of religion) is important,” as the writer seems to think, we say she is not thinking all that deeply about morality.
One trivial comment: The author says, “The night it happened.” It happened early in the morning.
We give it a -2
GJG say: “We Atheists by definition are judging religion to be ridiculous all the time—there is no other way to express it. It is our sine qua non.”
That is as judgmental a statement as I have heard in a long time. Exchange the word “atheism” for “religion” and you could hear those word coming out of the mouth of a fundamentalist Christian.
Extremists, no matter from what end of what spectrum, do nothing to foster understanding, further dialogue, or engender respect. I have no tolerance for such extremism.
GJG’s comment is a mixed bag. It appears to be one person’s unexamined idiosyncratic summary of two persons’ idiosyncratic perspectives on the original article. They have scorn for politicians and preachers who try to score points off of 9/11 memorials, which is always a crowd pleaser (who says, “Yay, politicians!”?), along with some speculation that Lisa has been brain-washed because she’s not atheist enough.
There were some points about bowling and buttons that didn’t register with these readers, so Lisa must have been rambling. Then they mis-paraphrase some stuff she said and put quotes around it to make it look like something she wrote, and used that manufactured quote as grounds for asserting that she wasn’t thinking about morality deeply – in an article where morality was not a focal point. For a penultimate parting shot, they quote the first clause of a sentence and “correct” it since the attack occurred in the morning, but the sentence where the quote came from is obviously and unambiguously saying that on the night of the attacks, she watched replays over and over, not that the attacks occurred at night. C’mon, seriously? On one of those days where almost anyone can tell you where they were when it happened, you can read that sentence and think she was saying something about the timing of the attacks?
On a scale of −10 to −1, I give this comment a −8. On that same scale, I agree with my fellow critical thinkers here that the original article is about a −2.
We applaud “TFM” for his loyalty in defending his friend’s article. However, since he seems to misunderstand our criticism, here’s an explanation.
1.TFM says, “It appears to be one person’s unexamined idiosyncratic summary of two persons’ idiosyncratic perspectives on the original article.”
We are two people responding to one person’s unexamined idiosyncratic summary, so your parody seems to be confused.
2.TFM says,”They have scorn for politicians and preachers who try to score points off of 9/11 memorials.”
Yes we do. Our point is clear. What is your point?
3.TFM says we said, “. . .she’s not atheist enough.”
Actually we said she “claims to be an Atheist. We said nothing about being Atheist enough. The reason we said what we did about her shallow thinking, as when she says “I would never, ever, think to judge someone else’s religious beliefs . . .” is that this is what most of Atheism is about—the criticism and rejection of religious ideas, since it takes critical thinking to reject them. Her statement seems to us similar to fundamentalists’ claim that they “hate the sin, but love the sinner.”
4.TFM says “Then they mis-paraphrase some stuff she said and put quotes around it to make it look like something she wrote.”
Just where did we do this? If you read one of our emphasis quotes as being words she said, that was not intentional on our part, as you seem to imply, e.g., “ex-Christian child.” These were our words to describe how she sounds to us. There was no attempt to intentionally misquote her.
5.TFM says “ . . .an article where morality was not a focal point.”
Lisa said, “. . . there are things about organized religion that I think are valuable. A moral upbringing is important.”
We replied that she “is not thinking all that deeply about morality.” By this we meant that morality, religion and Atheism are, in combination, a highly complex issue.” She has treated it as a nice thing to do on Sunday morning. Atheists feel that we don’t need God to behave morally. It is our humanity that motivates us, not promised rewards or threatened punishments like Hell.
6.You use words and phrases like “manufactured,” “to make it look like,” and “mis-paraphrased” all of which attempt to portray us as dishonest. We are not. We have offered serious criticisms of some points in a published article with no ad hominem intentions.
7.We may have misunderstood the syntax of her sentence, “The night it happened, I watched the videos of the planes flying into the towers over and over and over again.” If so we certainly retract that criticism, but we did say that it was “trivial.” (Emphasis ours)
Since you refer to it as our “penultimate parting shot” we assume you do know that “penultimate” means the “next to last” one and are considering our numerical score as the ultimate parting shot. That numerical score was unintentionally included and had no significance for goodmenproject.com.
We suggest that you reread our criticism with less of a suspicion by you of malevolence on our part, and not be so anxious to hit the send button. We have thought and written a lot about issues like this one. We want to encourage Atheist thinking, and are happy to see it here on this site.
GJG,
I probably should have resisted the impulse to satirize your comment, but my intended message was not far off from your closing request. You ask for a more generous reading of your criticism, which is what I thought you should have done with the original article. I understood your criticism fine, but most of it was based on stuff she didn’t say and closed with a final swipe at an error (trivial or not) that was more a reading comprehension mistake than sloppy writing.
I want to encourage good atheist thinking and writing, too, so let’s agree on that and agree to disagree about whether this article qualified. I’ll try to be a more generous reader if you will. ::handshake::
That’s a good suggestion. Atheists need more opportunities to be heard, and your site affords this to them. We assume you are Tom Matlack, but could be wrong about that.
Ah. Sorry the pseudonym led to confusion but no, I’m just a reader who came across this article through a link in Google News. (I keep “atheism” as a watched topic.) I don’t know Lisa and this article is my first exposure to this site, but I’m impressed so far. Still haven’t had much time to check out other articles here between being busy composing replies and busy tending my toddlers. As for content dedicated to atheist topics, I read lots of it on other sites and blogs, so it’s familiar territory to me in that sense. It’s always nice to see those voices represented in more places, not just sites that are all atheism, all the time. Just in case there was any ambiguity about my own beliefs: if GMP ever hosts a bowling tournament that’s For Jesus vs. Against Jesus, you and you and I could be on the same team. Add Lisa and our foursome will be complete. I’ll still buy Roger a beer though because that’s the kind of sportsman I am. Hate the gutter balls, love the bowler. (Feeling a little punchy with my metaphors right now.)
Nice to meet you.
Hey, THAT’S a bowling party I could believe in!
If I knew you, I would take you up on the beer. And I think 4 against 1 would be fair! Kidding, of course.
I never said we’d be the only 5 people in the tournament, but even if we were, are you saying you’d be outmatched even with Jesus on your side? Sounds to me like we won already.
Hey – from what I hear, Jesus is a kick-ass bowler. I mean, anyone who can walk on water and calm storms can surely turn a gutter ball into a strike! When it comes to 4 against 1, plus Jesus on my side, well “Jesus is just alright with me, Jesus is just alright, oh yeah”.
Nice! I’m not sure applying that kind of miracle to bowling would be fair play, but if he resorts to that, I’ll counter with the claim that we won or at least tied anyway, because in one of the many co-existing realities out there, every ball we rolled was a strike.
Sounds like an episode of Twilight Zone that I remember. A guy dies, goes to what he thinks is heaven. Has everything he wants. Women. Food. Booze. And a pool table. Every time he takes a shot, he pockets all15 balls. Everything is perfect. Too perfect. Finally, the guy screams, “If this is Heaven, I would rather be in Hell.” To which, someone standing nearby says, “Where do you think you are, pal?”
I forgot to add: the Doobie Bros are just alright with me, too. I think we’ll get along fine.
TFM is not Tom Matlack, he is a first time visitor.
Since it is my piece that is being thought about critically, I will jump in here.
First of all, I never meant this to be a critical-thinking piece about atheism. I meant it to be an honest story about why I believe what I believe. After reading the comments, I’m not even sure I *want* to be an atheist by your definition. What I want to be — with absolute certainty — is a person who does not believe in a “God” as an entity that has some sort of power or control over us as humans; or that there is some sort of grand spiritual plan that we are unaware of, or that there is some “force” that is greater than the force of human love. That’s it. If that is not an atheist then I guess I am something else. But I do know I am not someone who believes in God as I understand him.
I particularly am against the idea of having to judge other people’s religions in order to “be” an atheist.
The reason for the parts about the bowling and the buttons was to illustrate different ways that my belief system works – not to in anyway try to prove God’s non-existence. Those stories were actually designed to illustrate my non-judgmentalism: 1) I don’t believe in bowling, but who am I to judge if other people do? 2) I now believe in buttons as a higher power but who are people to judge me? Of course, the buttons get back to the idea that the force of human love is the only “god” there is. The reason the button had any power over me was because a human gave it to me in an act of love.
Finally — of course I think that morality can be learned in other ways than through a religious upbringing. It’s just that religion does provide a framework that some people use to understand and discuss moral issues. Again, it is not up to me to judge other people’s view as to whether that is the “right” framework or not, and if that makes me a non-atheist so be it. But that’s part of the reason for this site’s existence – to understand, learn, think about, debate, issues related to men that often have some moral or ethical debate at their crux.
Well put, Lisa. You saved me the effort. I could not have said it as well as you: “that’s part of the reason for this site’s existence – to understand, learn, think about, debate, issues related to men that often have some moral or ethical debate at their crux.” Thanks for creating a venue such as this.
TFM, thank you for your extensive, and respectful and serious reply. I have spent the better part of the evening writing a reply back to you. I decided, though, not to post it all. This is a conversation better had face-to-face. When it comes right down to it, the choice for me is as simple as a choice about music. Some people like country music. Some people like rap. Some people like classical music. You can tell a lot about a person by the music they prefer. And the music we listen to has some part in shaping the way we interact with the world. I like a variety of music, but often, I gravitate to the tranquility of classical music. It soothes me. It comforts me. It quiets me. I view my choice to believe in God in much the same way. It soothes me. I comforts me. It quiets me. It orients my life toward hope and toward love and toward promise. I’m not saying that the only way to have those things in your life is to believe in God, but that’s my reality. In the end, it may be that simple.
The other thing I would say is that much of what I read in your response suggests an either/or way of thinking. I don’t know if that is you, or if that is characteristic of atheism, but I choose to look at the world as both/and, rather than either/or. In quantum physics, it is understood that multiple realities co-exist, and that we see what we choose to see. Light, can be measured as a series of particles, and as a wave function. It depends on what you are looking for. Use a particle deflector, and light looks like particles bouncing around. Use a wave screen, and that same light looks like a wave function. Could it be that God exists for me, because I am looking for God, and God does not exist for you, because you are looking for God not to exist?
I, too, have appreciated the tone and the tenacity of this cyber conversation. Thanks for taking the time to try to understand me. And thanks for helping me to better understand you.
Roger, that is one of the most beautiful and eloquent articulations of faith I have read. Thank you for that.
Roger, we could have different tastes in music, and even though some aspects of music could be compared and contrasted on objective qualities like tempo or what instruments are used, the final judgment of how pleasurable or inspiring our respective music choices are would be subjective. Aesthetic choices like that aren’t either/or, and so whatever “truth” is involved is largely up to the person making that choice. I agree with Lisa that you beautifully describe your faith and you do it in such aesthetic, abstract terms that there’s not much to disagree with. You sound kind and tolerant to me, so if that’s how you got there, cool. We march to different tempos and instruments, but where we differ on the source of “good” seems as much a matter of taste as anything.
I’ve gotten sort of a deist vibe from you, and like many atheists, deism doesn’t really violate my sense of rationality, because it doesn’t make any real-world claims about a deity interacting with the universe (specifically, our tiny place in it) after creating it. I don’t happen to believe in such a creator, but if a deity exists and is completely hands off, it’s a belief that makes an aesthetic difference, not a practical one.
Taste is debatable, whether in music or spirituality, so even though I naturally favor my own opinions, I recognize that such opinions aren’t either/or, right/wrong, white/black, etc. There’s lots of middle ground on abstract stuff where “truth” is relative to where you stand, what you look for, what your biases are, and so on.
Then there are other kinds of truth claims where it is logically impossible to say something can equal “A” and “Not A” at the same time. For example, “God is all-loving” says something pretty specific. It doesn’t say, “God is overwhelmingly, almost always loving,” or “God’s love is quantum, sometimes looking like love, and sometimes not.” It’s the kind of claim that only takes one counter-example to falsify. That one example wouldn’t falsify God – just an all-loving God. If definitions must be contorted to protect the claim, then the original claim loses all meaning. It’s like saying “A” can equal “Not A” if you just ignore the meaning of “not”, or hold up your thumb so you can’t see the “Not”, just two A’s and an equal sign. It’s an either/or case, unless you redefine all the terms into absurdity.
Going from abstract all-goodness to applied all-goodness, then assuming God exists (for the sake of examining the logic) either God has the power to do things like save a jumper from a tall building (with or without an improvised parachute), or he doesn’t. He can’t be both able and unable. It’s either/or. And so it goes with his other omni-characteristics and specific claims of faith that are more than just aesthetic abstractions.
I’ve enjoyed the back-and-forth posts, but would be glad to chat face-to-face if we ever get a chance. While we appear to disagree on the origins of good, we seem pretty much in agreement that there is such a thing and more of it is better than less. So overall…sounds good to me.
TFM – deist, theist, Buddhist, Christian, Jewish, atheist……those distinctions don’t really mean much to me. Ultimately, I think we are all searching for the same thing – a way to make sense of our existence. Let me try another analogy.
Each of us is free to choose the story that we want to define our lives. The story that we choose gives us a way to understand the world and to organize our relationship to it.
From what you have said, atheists choose a strictly rational story as their own. If it is not rational, it does not fit, and therefore cannot be true or trusted.
I, on the other hand, choose a story that allows for some mystery, allows for unanswered questions – allows for ambiguity. I don’t feel the burden to make sense of God that you seem to feel.
Have you read “Watership Down”? It is an allegory about the importance of story in shaping the identity of communities and the individuals within those communities. I think that the stories we choose to structure our lives around are critically important.
I am happy with the choice of story I have made. I presume you are happy with the choice you have made. And I believe that we will all end up in a very similar place. I choose to believe that place is heaven – where Love will rule the day – where the rational and the irrational will be one and the same – where differences will be meaningless – where unity will be unmistakable.
You’re so agreeable to disagree with, Roger, that I sometimes can’t tell which one I’m doing.
I believe in the importance of stories, too, but I suppose I draw sharper distinctions between literary or allegorical truths, and the kind of reality that science deals with. For example, I think there’s a real, valuable lesson to be learned from Green Eggs & Ham, but Sam-I-Am doesn’t have to really exist or talk like a strict rationalist to make the message true. In fact, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t exist, though if you want to get technical, I’m forced to admit that I can’t prove it. I get the feeling we’re not that different in our tastes for stories or the wisdom we’ve gleaned from them, but I give a less literal reading wherever supernatural stuff is involved. But hey, if I’m wrong, I won’t mind ending up in the kind of afterlife you describe.
Read “Watership Down”, oh Literal/Rational one. But don’t take it literally. Let it be metaphor. And check out my bowling response above.
I’ve seen the cover of “Watership Down” – does that count?
I’ve certainly heard of it, but never got around to reading it. I think when it was on an elective reading list back in junior high, I opted for “Lord of the Flies” because based on covers, I judged “Watership Down” to be about a bunny. I’ll put it on my list. While we’re sharing stories that influenced our thinking, I was especially fond of “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance”. It’s been a while since I read it, but if I remember right, your ideas on goodness remind me a lot of his (Pirsig’s) ideas on Quality.
Back atcha on the bowling.
I told you, “DON’T BE LITERAL”. Look past the bunnies! I’ve read “Zen and the Art of MM”. Don’t remember the character, or the point of the book, but I do know it influenced my thought. Maybe more than I realize.
I should have used a winky to be safe, but I was just poking a little fun at how my junior high self could literally judge a book by it’s cover. I’m a lot more sophistimacated now. Robert Pirsig is the author of ZAMM, but since it’s a first person philosophical memoir, I guess you could call him the main character, too. There are motorcycles in it, but that’s not what it’s really about.