the id, the ego, & the single misfiring brain cell

I have just been accused of taking religious arguments public in order to get a following of people who believe just like I do, so I can further convince myself of my rightness and shut out all competing viewpoints. I have been accused of needing to "hide behind the masses." The implication is that I find a personal, limited (i.e., private) discussion too threatening.

As usual, I was not asked if these are the reasons I make religious discussions public. I was told.

It's maddening to be assigned motives, isn't it? I mean, how do you respond to that?

By assigning motives in return! (Erm...that's meant as a joke, which like any successful joke, has some basis in reality. I shall try to avoid this pitfall, though.)

I discussed this with Mich, who is much better at just walking away from similar accusations in the interest of mental health and the much deeper acceptance that some people simply cannot be communicated with. But while I've come to accept that I simply cannot communicate with many theists, I cling to the notion that I'll somehow find a way to communicate with my own father, even though years of experience proves me unequivocally wrong.

From time to time, I come face to face (and toe to toe, and a string of other cliches) with my own tenatiously-held weird faiths, and this is one of those times. This post, then, is about my acknowledgement of my own faith, and I use the word in its biblical sense here: belief because I want to believe; belief that is its own "evidence"; it exists through encouragement alone and lacks any independent proof.

That's right: I've just realized that I have the biblical type of faith in my ability to have any meaningful communication with my father regarding religious matters. My faith defies reason, yet...there it is.

And all this time I thought Irony was my friend.

***

I first acknowledged that I simply do not believe (and thus accepted the "atheist" label) when I was living in Georgia, which would have been about 12 years ago. Until then, I knew only that I couldn't manage to believe what I'd been taught (and what everyone around me apparently believes), but the feeling was mostly unexamined, so I simply called myself "agnostic." In the weeks leading up to my realization that my philosophical position may accurately be labeled "atheist," I'd dived back into researching my questions about Christianity, which quickly gave way to my deeper questions about the existence of gods, period. (If you don't believe in gods, it's silly to question why you can't accept the finer points of any given religion.)

About 10 years prior to that, I'd ceased to try to pretend to my parents that I even went to church. Yeah...I tried for a while. I wanted to avoid conflict and the inevitable concern and worry. I also didn't want to talk about it. I wasn't ready to talk about it. I knew what I'd been taught, but I also knew that trying to believe it made me feel guilty and inadequate, because I was unable to convince myself that it was true. Like I've said, the feeling was nebulous for many years; all I knew for sure was that I needed time to let my childhood indoctrination* abate.

* It's an incidiary word, yes, but an honest one. "Train a child in the way he should go; and when he is old, he will not depart from it" (Prov 22.6) actually suggests starting early, before children develop critical thinking skills. Any person raised in the Christian faith who has tried to reason with someone raised in the Muslim faith (or, say, someone raised Catholic who has tried to reason with a Baptist, etc) fully understands the depth of indoctrination he's dealing with; what's odd is that he fails to make the connection that the same thing was done to him.

So anyway...my parents came to visit me in Colorado and asked when church was the next morning. I bit that bullet and said, "I have no idea." After the discussion that ensued, Daddy put an end to the proceedings by asking me to study to make sure of what I believed. I promised him I would.

At some point, I went back to school. I learned a lot of history and about how history is determined. It isn't a hard and fast science, by any means, but there are fairly reliable indicators of what is reasonable to accept as fact and what is not. I also learned about the discomfort of scholarship, that the honest scholar will have to be willing to accept that something he previously took as fact...is not. He must be willing to change his mind should available evidence and the facts warrant it. (This doesn't mean that scholars do this; all are plagued by being human, after all. But ego is a known problem and changing conclusions is a necessity if knowledge is to be furthered.)

I also studied basic logic and argument in my undergrad program. This was eye-opening, to say the least. It turns out that there is a right and a wrong way to reason. Who knew?

After I graduated I went back to studying the claims of Christianity (beginning from the viewpoint of the Church of Christ, of course), and as noted, my study progressed into how we can know gods exist at all. I began, at this point, to have discussions online.

Most of my first discussions were nasty and brutal. What you read on this blog is--trust me--child's play compared to my viciousness then. Over time, I realized I was only venting my bile; I wasn't communicating anything but my anger (I'm at the point now where I can sometimes communicate more regarding religion, but I don't pretend to be completely recovered). At this point, I began to take conversations private.

I thought that private conversations would reduce the defenseness of both parties and thus enhance communication. At the time, I also routinely had open discussions on both theist and nontheist discussion boards, so the cheering section was just as likely to be for me as against me, so in my mind, encouragement from the peanut gallery was irrelevant. After several such discussions, I learned that even when I dropped all defenses, asked questions, explained my position, and addressed common misconceptions politely, the conversations were invariably less fruitful in private than they were in public.

What happened? A couple of things. First, all the same things that happened in public still happened in private, but with less accountability. From an atheist point of view, these things would be:

(1) the tendency to load up one or two posts/emails with accusations and misconceptions, any one of which requires several pages (or even books) of discussion to resolve, then be smug when the atheist doesn't address them all (what I call The Blizzard Attack);

(2) ignoring what the atheist has to say about his own beliefs in lieu of what the theist thinks the atheist believes and why, which results in not only talking past one another, but in insulting the atheist and making the theist look, well, stupid;

(3) preaching, preaching, preaching;

(4) ignoring questions and corrections to misconceptions, sometimes in the direct response to the post where those corrections had been made;

(5) attacking the person and loading the post with smug condescension: "I'm so sorry you've had such awful experiences with Christians, which is why you're atheist," and such;

(6) simply dropping the conversation entirely as soon as it becomes involved or, possibly, uncomfortable;

(7) restarting the conversation later and repeating all the original misconceptions/nonsense as though the corrections had never been made;

(8) assuming the atheist's willingness to discuss the matter in private and be gracious about it means she (in my case) really does believe and wants to come back to God (I'm not assigning a motive here; the man actually told me this);

and the list goes on.

From a theist point of view, the problems probably include the atheist's "refusal" to believe, the atheist's anger (which is for some reason assumed to be because he's losing the fight and his ego is in trouble--not because the theist won't simply address the issue--or because he "hates God," or other such rubbish), and so forth.

The second problem of private religious discussions is this: the points we were unable to explain on our own simply remained unexplained. In public, both parties have the input of those who are following the conversation. I'm not referring to the attaboys; I'm referring to people who have seen you struggle to explain something and, being on the sidelines, sometimes have a better grasp of where the miscommunication has occurred and are therefore better able to resolve it.

Yes, discussions in public have their own pitfalls, but for all those problems, they provide a public record of what has been said and how it has been said. They provide accountability for both parties. When the theist ignores the questions outside of his comfort zone, Those Who Lurk notice (and usually comment). When the atheist (me, in this case) is a vicious bitch, the record is there for all to see. The entire conversation is in evidence, so it's not only difficult but unwise to try to pretend you didn't say something or pretend someone did not catch you in a contradiction.

A third reason I prefer public religious discussions is because I believe philosophical thought is worthwhile. Obviously, I believe I'm right (duh). I think the world would be a much better place were faith supplanted by reason and a prevailing concern for humanity (as opposed to "things above" or "life everlasting"). If my thoughts or arguments make people rethink their positions, I have accomplished far more than simply exposing my own ideas to rational inquiry; I have exposed someone else's ideas, as well.

Theists also believe they are right. So, here's a question: Assuming theists wish to bring others to their way of thinking, assuming they don't care what "the world" has to say about them,* and assuming they are engaging in honest debate (that is, willing to consider the points made against their beliefs and at least trying to avoid the usual theist pitfalls I listed above, why would they want to have such discussions in private?

* Some, I've found, revel in being ripped apart in public. Their response is not so much "I'm being persecuted!" as it is a smug comment about how Jesus/Paul said the world would turn on them if they stood up for The Truth (TM).

I've been called out a couple of times (maybe more?) by theists for taking "private" religious discussions public, or bringing claims made privately into the light, and frankly, I don't get it. I thought theists were supposed to be the righteous ones, honest, living their lives like an open book because God is keeping score, etc. Why, then, are they the ones who get upset when their private claims/remarks about religion/beliefs and religious debate are made public?

I've been through private conversations/debates/discussions with theists I've never met, and some I know well. I went through this with my grandmother--privately--who committed almost all of the listed pitfalls above, and did them over and over again, no less.

Despite this, I have given my father the benefit of the doubt regarding private discussion for years. I've tried to have religious discussions with him for years, anyway. Most of the time, no matter how carefully polite and (yes) respectful I was, I got dead air from his end. I opened the discussion when I was still in California, so that must have been 10 years ago now. I politely pointed out why a book he'd recommended many years ago was a poor choice for conversion; I used a specific example. He responded by saying he was thinking about it and acknowledging that yes, I do my homework (I think that was his word choice, come to think of it). I was happy to finally be having this discussion with him, so I dropped it.

Months passed and...nothing. Well over a year later--and I'll omit the story in which this happened, but suffice it to say that I was very angry at the time--I asked him why he'd never responded to my open invitation to start the discussion. He said it was because he didn't know where or how to start. I said no problem; I can start it. He said ok. I said, "Why do you believe in God?"

Since then, he said once or twice that he was thinking about it, so I knew he hadn't forgotten. You might say my faith was getting the boost it needed.

The subject of religion comes up from time to time, of course (usually from me, I think), and when it does, he wants to talk about what the bible says. This is natural; it's his comfort zone. But when you're talking with a person who does not believe in the god you think wrote your manual, there is no point in discussing what it does and doesn't say. None.

Now, I stand accused of declaring certain subjects off-limits. I do not recall declaring anything off-limits and he has provided no details. I can only guess that he interprets my requirement (that the conversation begin with the premise upon which we disagree) as my refusal to discuss certain topics. I cannot be sure.

I don't know if he's ever studied logic; I think he probably hasn't. This leaves me in the awkward position of explaining something I take to be common sense--that in order for us to have a discussion, we must begin with a common ground; these aren't my rules; they are how argument is done, and indeed the only way persuasion is possible--or not explaining it. If I do explain it (as I just did), I come across as superior and condescending. If I do not explain it and he honestly thinks I'm just avoiding the bible because it's outside of my comfort zone (again, this is a guess; I don't know what he thinks), then no communication is or ever will be possible.

So I've asked the root question: Why do you believe in God? This translates, of course, to Why should I believe in God? Only after this question is addressed to the point that I--the person he is trying to persuade--am compelled to accept the premise that a god exists, does it even make sense to discuss which god or gods and how we know.

There's also the question of assigned readings. He's asked me to read a couple of things over the years, but not much. He asked that I read Is It God's Word? by A. O. Somebody, an apologetic work written for believers. It turned out to be a poorly-researched book, at best (and pious fraud, at worst). However, I read it, did my research, and addressed my problems with him (well, I addressed one as as an example of why the book was, frankly, laughable). He knows not only that I have read the book but that I thought about its contents.

There have been other books he has recommended, although not to me, that I've at least read some of. The next book he asked that I read was Lee Stroebel's The Case for Christ. This was about 18 months ago, maybe two years (?). I read it, and I responded--carefully and thoughtfully--to almost every chapter. I pointedly did not google atheist responses to this book at any point; I prefer to do my own thinking, so I read it and responded, if not with scholarly remove, at least with scholarly attention. The only indication I've seen that he even saw the fruits of what was several hours' worth of reading, careful thought, and composition was yesterday's accusation that I "viciously attacked the author he wanted to discuss."

At the same time, by the way, I had asked him to read one book: Why I Believed: Reflections of a Former Missionary (online it its entirety here, if you're curious).

I've suggested a couple of readings to him in the past. First, early on, I sarcastically recommended he read Joseph Wheless' Is It God's Word? (available here), but I don't count that as an honest invitation to discourse and I'm quite sure he'd agree with me. Later, I asked that he read "A Salvation Story," which is the (difficult, painful) deconversion story written by a friend of mine; He read enough of it to comment only that "she was confused about what the bible said."

Until a couple of years ago, I'd never found a book that explained my position, that I could sincerely get behind (in most if not all of its arguments), and which seemed accessible to an entrenched theist. I was impressed with the reasoning and more, the presentation of the material in Reflections of a Former Missionary, so I went out on a limb and recommended it. My father told me shortly thereafter that he'd ordered it, along with Robert Price's published responses to The Case for Christ. Having read some Price, I recommended against Price's rebuttal; Price probably makes good points in them, but I'm quite sure he made them with a liberal helping of sarcasm. Daddy said he would order it anyway; he could handle it.

By the way...more irony, huh? I'm recommending he not read an author whose conclusions I probably agree with (I don't know; I've still not read Price's response nor do I care to) because the writer is known for his sarcasm. I admittedly waver between gentleness and carefully-worded, polite requests to at least consider unwelcome ideas, and--well--responses seething with anger, disgust, and bitterness. It's possible I just need better medication control, but I wish to suggest that there is far, far more to it. I'm tired of being the one putting forth all the effort here--and I genuinely believe that is what my "conversation" about religion with my father boils down to--then being lambasted for my efforts.

As you might guess, my father has said nothing about the book I asked him to read. He has not made a remark about a single point the writer makes. I suspect he's read little or none of it.

Yes, I'm often angry and bitter. Consider, though, that I've earned the right to be.

***

I mentioned my faith earlier. Despite all this, I keep behaving as though--no, believing somehow, despite the building evidence to the contrary--that he will at some point actually address my questions and listen to my position, then incorporate it into his next response. For example, how many times have I explained that I cannot choose to believe there's a god then POOF believe, any more than I can choose to believe gravity is reversed and, as a result, float up into the ether? Yet each time the subject comes up, he asserts that I "choose" to not believe in gods, etc.*

* For those who are interested in why we cannot choose beliefs, this is one of the best-written yet accessible pieces I've yet found on it.

Why does he continue to assert this, even though I've made it clear that it's inaccurate and insulting?Maybe he just isn't listening, which means listening isn't important to him.

No. There's a better explanation: Listening is probably important to him, but protecting his belief system from doubt is more important. That is, he doesn't listen to this point (and many others) because my position is fundamentally opposed to his belief system. His reasoning, like that of many Christians, begins and ends with the "truths" in the bible, and one of those "truths" is that those who do not believe will go to hell, which must mean that belief is chosen. My reality--that I cannot choose to believe something--contradicts What He Believes and thus must be furiously ignored.

So here I am, still wanting to believe that I can somehow communicate with him. I do this against the ever-increasing tide of evidence that there is not now nor has there ever been an honest conversation regarding religious beliefs between us.

I do, however, acknowledge that my belief despite the evidence does not make what I wish to believe so.

And now that I've rooted it out, I can proceed to accept the fact that my belief was there because I wanted to believe, but there is really no reason to continue with this blind faith. The desire to believe is reason to doubt.

***

Isn't this then just a massive contradiction? I have the very type of faith I insist I can't have, after all.

Well, kinda. I was prone to believe things I was taught as a child before I was capable of examining those claims with a healthy degree of skepticism, and in my view, the adult belief in gods is just an extension of that childish, uninformed, and uncritical belief.

I reexamined and discarded my belief in the hereafter long ago, once I saw the glaring lack of support for it. I'm just a little late realizing that this belief falls into the same category, is all.

d