My Conversation with God (Part 3)

So there I am, toweling off after a nice, relaxing shower, when out of no where it happens again.

"Nigel?"

What it is with this guy? Not only does he always want to talk to me at the most inopportune times, but he also seems to have some strange fascination with talking to me while I'm in the jakes. I thought I'd try ignoring him.

"You can't ignore me, Nigel."

"Sure I can. I don't believe in you. To my way of thinking, that takes ignoring to an entirely new level."

"Nigel, I want to talk to you."

"Fine," I said with a long sigh. "What do you want?"

"First get dressed. I don't want to have to look at your doodle while I'm talking to you."

This seemed to beg the question of why he was looking at my doodle in the first place, but let that go. When I was dressed, I reluctantly returned to the conversation.

"There. I'm dressed. Better?" I asked.

"Much. Thank you."

"No problem. What can I do for you?"

"I have something I'd like for you to discuss on this blog-thing you've been contributing to."

"To which I've been contributing."

"Beg pardon?"

"You ended a sentence with a preposition. It should have been 'this blog-thing to which you've been contributing.'"

"Damn. Never could get that one right. When I was creating the Universe, why did I have to make grammar rules so bloody arbitrary?"

"I would argue that you didn't actually make anything."

"Which is actually what I want you to write about. I'd like you to tackle the issue of the general idiocy of religion in general. I see this as a multi-part series. Cover everything from the ridiculous to the sublime. Really dig into it."

Well, there it is. Having been handed the task by none other than Alan himself, please join me in what is sure to be an entertaining journey.

One of the things that I have always found most irksome when it comes to religion is the degree to which it is laden with internal contradictions to the point that even as a loose school of philosophy, it is useless. Consider God's supposed omniscience/omnipotence.

All of the three major religions (Judaism, Christianity, and Islam) come to us supposedly handed down to an unlettered, rustic bumpkin, either directly from the mouth of God, or through an intermediary, such as the angel Gabriel. This, of course, first rasises the question of why God would choose to send this message to a single person and task them with disseminating the information. Looking at it from the practical perspective, it would have been much more thorough and effective to either a.) send out a broadcast message to all of the denizens of planet Earch; or b.) build in the knowledge of these celestial edicts from the very beginning. Or one could even argue for a third option, c.) make no options or modes of behavior available other than those prescribed by the celestial edicts, thus obviating the need for the edicts in the first place. It would seem that the Deity either intentially built a flaw into the system (thereby propitiating a yet greater deity?), or simply overlooked it. In either case, this seems to call into question the issue of omnisience and omnipotence. One is reminded of the oft quoted bit from Epicurus, "Is God willing to prevent evil, but not able? Then he is not omnipotent. Is he able, but not willing? Then he is malevolent. Is he both able and willing? Then whence cometh evil? Is he neither able nor willing? Then why call him God?"

Consider also the violent reaction one frequently illicits with even the most vague questioning of God's omnisience/omnipotence, to say nothing of questioning his existence entirely. Over the years, both here in the U.S. and when I'm visiting friends and family in the UK, I have, at first hand, seen or been the subject of verbally violent (fortunately not physically violent...not yet, anyway) response, even when they are the ones having initiated the conversation. Once, some years ago, I was sitting in a local pub. I liked this particular pub because it was close to my flat and because it was never overcrowded. I was sitting at the bar, enjoying a pint of a non-descript lager, when the man on the stool to my left struck up a conversation with me. We chatted off and on about the weather, the economy, and the like, when he asked me "So what church do you go to?"

My heart sank.

"I don't attend a church," I said, suddenly wishing I was somewhere else. I'd seen this sort of thing enough times to know where it was going. Not being a fan of unnecessary confrontation, I opted to tread lightly.

He took on a mildly confused expression.

"You mean you don't go regularly? I'm not sure I...."

"I mean I don't go to church. Haven't since I was a young child. Don't really have much use for it."

His eyes widened.

"You mean you're..." He leaned toward me and whispered. "...an athiest?"

He said this with the same hushed emphasis that one would expect if he had said "You mean you're a cannibal?"

"I don't really like that term," I said. "But yes, I am."

The change was instant and dramatic. He straightened his back and turned back to the bar.

"I don't know where you people get off," he said. "You people make me sick."

He then finished the last swallow of his beer, slammed the pint glass down on the bar, and stood up. He turned to face me and for a moment reared back with his hand. He was either preparing to slap me or attempting to hail a cab. Given the fact we were inside, I have to assume it was the former. Then, with an actual harumph, he stomped out.

One would think that if the Deity were in fact both omnicient and omnipotent, that he wouldn't require such angry, hostile defense. Logic would dictate that an omnicient and omnipotent deity would be sufficiently capable to handle the whole issue of defense on his own quite admirably.

This sort of reaction seems to say so much more than these people think. There must be some underlying germ of skepticism, otherwise there would be no need to be so aggressive in their response. If you were chatting with someone who told you "I don't believe the sky is blue," your response would likely be something like "Ummmm....have you looked at the sky recently?" And if they still insisted that they didn't believe the sky was blue, you'd shrug your shoulders, think that the person is clearly a screwball, and go on about your business. You wouldn't get angry, make as though to strike the person, and then stomp off in a huff. So is God omnicient/omnipotent? If he was, he wouldn't need that sort of response. Did he, in his omnicience/omnipotence, choose to make me so that I am constitutionally incapable of belief in him? If so, to question my unbelief is to question his divine decision. Or is it possible that, in the quiet hours of the early morning, these people question their own belief? They lack the courage of their convictions. Had they truly possessed the courge of their convictions, secure in their own belief, they simply wouldn't care what I believe. Nor should they.