Goddammit. Time to write the goddamned God post.
Bad way to start? Too. . . insulting? Too glib-without-being-funny?
Look: Two lines in and already I’ve succumbed to the meta!
Okay. Let this post be born again. . . . All right, all right, I’ll stop.
Long discussion over at TNC’s joint on atheism and belief and who’s better and worse and why [not] believe, et cetera. As Emmylou sang, Yet another battle in the losing fight/Out along the great divide, tonight.
Ta-Nahisi Coates writes a great blog, and he attracts great commentators, but this thread follows the usual progression:
- God kills!
- No He doesn’t!
- Yes he does!
- Well, okay, maybe, but so does Hitler/Stalin/Mao
- It’s about ideology
- It’s about human nature
- It makes no sense to talk about atheists as a group
- Then why are there atheist groups?
- Those are activist groups. Atheism is simply a-theist, i.e., without god(s)
- To not believe requires faith
- ‘Lack of belief is not a belief. True. But belief in a lack is.’
- Religious people are mean
- Atheists are mean
- Mean people suck
- Flying Spaghetti Monster!
- You need to read more
- No, you need to read more
- You’re dumb
- If I’m dumb, you’re super-dumb [Oh, wait, that was a couplet from The Brady Bunch, Jan to Peter]
- Can’t we all just get along?
In other words, same as it ever was.
[Tho' as an aside, can I vent a wee? To state that 'is' and 'is-not' are, in fact, the same, is a kind of infuriatingly useless word game. If you don't believe in God, then you believe in a no-thing, which is itself belief, which means atheism is a form of religion. If all you're doing is engaging a Wittgensteinian wit---for which that actual Wittgenstein would probably eviscerate you---fine; but if you think you're making a serious point, you're not. These arguments are not simply about the formal structure of language, but the content contained, however unsteadily, within that language. And yes, at some point, I'll probably bore you with another post about why this distinction matters.]
So. I’m a-gnostic (lack knowledge), which may have a-theist (lack god) implications, but I’m not particularly dogmatic about it.
I doubt, and I’m fine with my doubt.
When I was a kid, I believed in God. I was an altar girl (the first, which somewhat discombobulated poor Father K., tho’ to his credit he brought me along) at the local Episcopal church, and, overall, I thought God was pretty cool.
Jesus was fine. I liked looking at the various crucifixes in the church, but, honestly, I thought more about God than Jesus. (I clearly lacked an understanding of the subtleties of the Trinity.)
I read a children’s bible. I wore a cross. I prayed. I mostly didn’t pay attention, but when I did, I thought it was all good.
Things changed, of course. Everyone has his or her own [de-]conversion story; mine has to the do with the rise of the Religious Right, and my disdain for any belief that could be connected in any way with the Moral Majority.
Have I ever mentioned that I started reading Ms. in the eighth grade?
Anyway, baby, bathwater: Out!
Things changed, again. I never really believed, again, but I did start to think about religion and belief, to learn more about its varieties—to pay attention.
Oh, so, so much more to this story, but let me, pace Lenin, telescope my history: I got to like hanging out in (empty) churches, a close friend and her husband became much more deeply involved in their faith (they don’t like the term ‘born again’), I read a grown-up bible, I had some good conversations with a local (NYC) Episcopal priest and. . .
. . . I still don’t believe.
Let me amend that: Some days I believe (in a non-specific way), some days I don’t, and some days the belief and unbelief is layered on top of one another.
Faith, however, I completely lack. That there may exist a God does not mean (S)He wants or has anything to do with us.
Faith seems to me far more dangerous than belief, tho’ I’m not sure why. Perhaps it seems more uncontrollable to me, or more personal, or that it is far more often deployed as a weapon than belief.
Okay, I know: stop making sense.
C. might argue that, insofar as I accept the information gleaned from scientific processes, I have faith—if only in the reliability and validity of those scientific processes. And Karl Popper (the great orthodox-science defender) admitted that one cannot use the logic of the sciences to defend the use of the logic of the sciences; at root, he noted, there is a leap.
A leap of faith? I dunno. Seems more like a jump-start to me: it’s up to the engine [science, reason] to actually move the vehicle along. If one’s methods don’t work—if they are neither verifiable nor reliable—then they are to be abandoned. Faith won’t see you through.
But religious faith, it seems to me, is itself the engine—the faith is itself the point. And while some might seek natural justifications for supernatural faith, such justifications are kind of beside the point. They might have a role, but, again, they won’t see you through.
A few weeks ago I blew out a bunch of words about Legos and coins—those of us who seek to put their lives in lock-step, and those of us who cobble bits together, precariously. As a coin-er, I’m not much troubled (there are exceptions) by gaps and inconsistencies, unknowns and uncertainties.
I can’t be, given how often my ground shifts.
Is it faith that keeps me going? Doubt? I don’t think it matters. I am no longer pained by the fact of my existence, by the justification of my self.
I just go.