In response to the events in north Africa and the Middle East, I recently wrote this:
"I would agree with the notion that we can't be sure what kind of government these unwashed masses would choose to put in place of the old regime, so caution is warranted. US interests may not be served by what's going on. But for people in our position, who value democracy, isn't this inherently good, even if the consequences may hurt us (the west) down the road?
Don't we, who love freedom, have a duty to support the ending of autocratic governments, regardless of cultural context? Isn't that thing, in and of itself, good? Shouldn't we be sympathetic to those who have been deprived for so long of what we have enjoyed for so long?"
When I wrote this, I really only half believed what I was suggesting. I presupposed that everyone in the conversation (myself included) considered democracy to be inherently good. With that assumption in mind, it naturally followed that democratic actions are inherently good. This was all for the sake of simplicity. However, is it safe to assume that democracy is inherently good?
On closer inspection, I would say "probably not". I speak for myself in this matter, but I don't believe that we value democracy because it is purely and absolutely good, in and of itself. It's a pragmatic thing. The government is best which governs best - that is, which rules efficiently and in the best interest of the general welfare. Democracy is certainly not "optimal". For whatever advantages are present, there are disadvantages and risks too. To quote Churchill (I think) democracy is generally the "least worst" option currently known to us. From a practical perspective, a benevolent dictatorship has it all over a democratic system - at least in the short term.
Proceeding from this different assumption about democracy, how can we judge these uprisings at this early stage? Iraq is an often cited example of failed nationbuilding, it's clear that the government there is really struggling. If someone were to argue that the people of Iraq would have been better off under Saddam Hussein, such an argument might have merit. Which is worse, the organized violence of a tyrant, or the disorganized violence of a failed state?
On the other hand, it doesn't seem right to judge the value of actions solely based on consequences, gathered years or even decades after the fact. The priorities of these people seem to be geared toward greater personal liberty, and they're using the best means available to them to acheive these goals. Isn't that all we can ask?
Worthy of consideration at any rate.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Friday, February 18, 2011
The Myth of Early Christian Restorationalism
When it comes to historical figures, my rule of thumb is "the more you know, the harder they are to love". Everything human, both individual and institution is flawed. It's attractive to believe that these flaws are limited to the superficial, but they're not. Rot at the core spreads outwards, and we're all a little rotten, inside and out. Knowledge casts a complexity on something, and makes it difficult to lump it into absolutes.
I know some folks who have had a certain fixation on early Christianity. When I say early Christianity, I mean like apostolic. Only the first 50 years or so. Their affection for early Christianity is matched by their distrust and contempt for later, more orthodox flavors of Christianity (and beyond). Until lately, I've been sympathetic to this viewpoint. For one, I too have deep contempt for the history of orthodox and catholic traditions in east and west. Christianity of the 4th and 5th centuries took a deep, penetrating dive into some Extreme Nastiness which I don't think it ever recovered from. I'm also sympathetic to those who desire a less rigid and organized form of faith that goes "back to basics" as it were.
Lately, however, I've identified the psychological pull that makes apostolic Christianity so appealing: we know next to nothing about it. The Christianity of Peter and Paul was still gestating, it wasn't even in it's infancy yet. It was a cult in the true sense of the word, it really had no orthodoxy. What a Christian community looked like from city to city was very different. The nature of Christ himself, his relationship with God, how to properly worship aformentioned God were all still very much undecided. If you had to classify it at all, it would be as a sect of Judaism (leaving out Paul's flock of course).
And that's my point. To a large degree, it's a blank slate on which the modern Christian is free to project his own judgements. It's the legend of Camelot, a kernel of historical truth with modern notions and sensibilities appended. What do we really know about Peter? He lived. He had a following. He wrote some letters. He was martyred. But was he a dick? Was he condescending to people who took his dictation? Did he flirt with girls in his congregation? Dunno. Dunno because he wasn't prominent enough among his contemporaries to have his foibles recorded for posterity.
On the other hand I know that Caesar was vain and sensitive about his baldness. I know that Marc Antony has a HUGE asshole who told lowbrow jokes, gambled millions of dollars in debt, and told his debtors to go screw themselves. I know that the emperor Tiberius kept a cadre of pre-pubescent boys (his "minnows") trained to follow him while he swam and nibble at his scrotum. And so, it's appropriate that we don't hold much reverence for Tiberius. But the reverence and special place that some hold for the early Christian movement, that has not been earned. It's only due to a lack of detail that we feel comfortable enshrining it. Perhaps if Peter and Paul were running the whole show, like Ambrose and Augustine were, history would shine a little light on their unapproachable holiness, and we'd be left with a more complex view of Christianity, that's doesn't file away so neatly and easily.
I know some folks who have had a certain fixation on early Christianity. When I say early Christianity, I mean like apostolic. Only the first 50 years or so. Their affection for early Christianity is matched by their distrust and contempt for later, more orthodox flavors of Christianity (and beyond). Until lately, I've been sympathetic to this viewpoint. For one, I too have deep contempt for the history of orthodox and catholic traditions in east and west. Christianity of the 4th and 5th centuries took a deep, penetrating dive into some Extreme Nastiness which I don't think it ever recovered from. I'm also sympathetic to those who desire a less rigid and organized form of faith that goes "back to basics" as it were.
Lately, however, I've identified the psychological pull that makes apostolic Christianity so appealing: we know next to nothing about it. The Christianity of Peter and Paul was still gestating, it wasn't even in it's infancy yet. It was a cult in the true sense of the word, it really had no orthodoxy. What a Christian community looked like from city to city was very different. The nature of Christ himself, his relationship with God, how to properly worship aformentioned God were all still very much undecided. If you had to classify it at all, it would be as a sect of Judaism (leaving out Paul's flock of course).
And that's my point. To a large degree, it's a blank slate on which the modern Christian is free to project his own judgements. It's the legend of Camelot, a kernel of historical truth with modern notions and sensibilities appended. What do we really know about Peter? He lived. He had a following. He wrote some letters. He was martyred. But was he a dick? Was he condescending to people who took his dictation? Did he flirt with girls in his congregation? Dunno. Dunno because he wasn't prominent enough among his contemporaries to have his foibles recorded for posterity.
On the other hand I know that Caesar was vain and sensitive about his baldness. I know that Marc Antony has a HUGE asshole who told lowbrow jokes, gambled millions of dollars in debt, and told his debtors to go screw themselves. I know that the emperor Tiberius kept a cadre of pre-pubescent boys (his "minnows") trained to follow him while he swam and nibble at his scrotum. And so, it's appropriate that we don't hold much reverence for Tiberius. But the reverence and special place that some hold for the early Christian movement, that has not been earned. It's only due to a lack of detail that we feel comfortable enshrining it. Perhaps if Peter and Paul were running the whole show, like Ambrose and Augustine were, history would shine a little light on their unapproachable holiness, and we'd be left with a more complex view of Christianity, that's doesn't file away so neatly and easily.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Saturday, February 12, 2011
On Prayer
To continue the dominant theme of the last few weeks - as well as my enjoyable role as devil's advocate - I'd like to write about prayer.
What I don't want to write about is the traditional atheist line about prayer being pointless or stupid. That's very played out, and not convincing to anyone but other atheists. Besides, it's so boring. No, sir. I'm going to argue that prayer is - in theory and in practice - immoral. Immoral for anyone who takes the concept of God seriously (as I do).
When I say God, I'm really referring to the modern version of the God of Abraham. A transcendent God. A God of infinite wisdom, power, and goodness. Not a flawed superhuman like Zeus. It's important to make that distinction, because really, what's the harm in petitioning a god like Zeus? Something like Zeus isn't worthy of worship, he's just the supernatural equivalent of a neighborhood bully. Stronger than the other kids, but not the equal of an adult. But Jehovah, on the other hand. There's a deity worth worshipping. He's not just stronger than the others, he is strength incarnate. Ditto for wisdom and benevolence.
Take a moment to try to imagine such a God. Maybe you're picturing the old man with the long beard. Probably not. Maybe you're picturing Christ. Maybe you're picturing a kind of fog that covers the whole universe. I tend to picture a single point of light in the center of the universe, which everything is bound to.
Whatever you happen to be picturing, it's an insult to the true nature of God. God is obviously not insulted, He is incapable of being harmed by you, or your thoughts. But you have disgraced yourself by thinking for even a moment that you can hold any piece of His Grace in your crude grey matter. Whatever you imagined, it was a product of you're own, limited self. God is limitless, and the attempt was a failure at a fundamental level.
That is the kind of shame you should be feeling when you try to imagine God. Now think of how much greater that shame should be when you try to petition God.
When a person says:
"I know you have the power to do whatever is best, which you exercise...
And I know your divine plan is one of infinite grace...
And I know that you only want what is best for us...
And I know that I am incapable of understanding the entirety of you and your will...
And I know that do not perfectly understand how you manifest the will on this Earth, etc, etc....
But you see, my mother is very ill. Could you please alter your arrangements to make my life temporarily more comfortable, convenient and proper, in my own flawed perception, even though I don't even deserve this audience in the first place because of my overwhelming sin.."
Shouldn't they feel shame? At least a little? And doesn't that shame indicate something about the rightness or wrongness about their thoughts and actions?
Would it not be better for a person of faith to simply say "I do not understand this world, but I trust in your will and I will endure what I must"?
At some time in my life, I put this question forward to a believer. The person responded by saying that the prayer itself was of little consequence to God, but it was a demonstration of the person's willingness to ask God for help. A kind of theatrical exercise, that puts a man's modesty and lack of pride on display. I accepted this at face value. But not long after, I found this explanation inadequate. You exercise modesty by pretending to exert some kind of control or manipulation over the divine, by whining and flattering the divine with excessive praise? So in other words, you display one quality, while in actuality displaying it's opposite.
Here is my proposal. The theory of God has outgrown the practice of prayer. Prayer was something which made perfect sense when a "god" was just some local asshole who could destroy your crops if you didn't burn the incense properly. Now our concept of God is different, but we continue the old practice because it makes us feel good. But this is a false joy. It does not match well with the required humility of Christianity. It contradicts and diminishes the concept of God in that faith. It confuses the weak minded. It should be dropped.
What I don't want to write about is the traditional atheist line about prayer being pointless or stupid. That's very played out, and not convincing to anyone but other atheists. Besides, it's so boring. No, sir. I'm going to argue that prayer is - in theory and in practice - immoral. Immoral for anyone who takes the concept of God seriously (as I do).
When I say God, I'm really referring to the modern version of the God of Abraham. A transcendent God. A God of infinite wisdom, power, and goodness. Not a flawed superhuman like Zeus. It's important to make that distinction, because really, what's the harm in petitioning a god like Zeus? Something like Zeus isn't worthy of worship, he's just the supernatural equivalent of a neighborhood bully. Stronger than the other kids, but not the equal of an adult. But Jehovah, on the other hand. There's a deity worth worshipping. He's not just stronger than the others, he is strength incarnate. Ditto for wisdom and benevolence.
Take a moment to try to imagine such a God. Maybe you're picturing the old man with the long beard. Probably not. Maybe you're picturing Christ. Maybe you're picturing a kind of fog that covers the whole universe. I tend to picture a single point of light in the center of the universe, which everything is bound to.
Whatever you happen to be picturing, it's an insult to the true nature of God. God is obviously not insulted, He is incapable of being harmed by you, or your thoughts. But you have disgraced yourself by thinking for even a moment that you can hold any piece of His Grace in your crude grey matter. Whatever you imagined, it was a product of you're own, limited self. God is limitless, and the attempt was a failure at a fundamental level.
That is the kind of shame you should be feeling when you try to imagine God. Now think of how much greater that shame should be when you try to petition God.
When a person says:
"I know you have the power to do whatever is best, which you exercise...
And I know your divine plan is one of infinite grace...
And I know that you only want what is best for us...
And I know that I am incapable of understanding the entirety of you and your will...
And I know that do not perfectly understand how you manifest the will on this Earth, etc, etc....
But you see, my mother is very ill. Could you please alter your arrangements to make my life temporarily more comfortable, convenient and proper, in my own flawed perception, even though I don't even deserve this audience in the first place because of my overwhelming sin.."
Shouldn't they feel shame? At least a little? And doesn't that shame indicate something about the rightness or wrongness about their thoughts and actions?
Would it not be better for a person of faith to simply say "I do not understand this world, but I trust in your will and I will endure what I must"?
At some time in my life, I put this question forward to a believer. The person responded by saying that the prayer itself was of little consequence to God, but it was a demonstration of the person's willingness to ask God for help. A kind of theatrical exercise, that puts a man's modesty and lack of pride on display. I accepted this at face value. But not long after, I found this explanation inadequate. You exercise modesty by pretending to exert some kind of control or manipulation over the divine, by whining and flattering the divine with excessive praise? So in other words, you display one quality, while in actuality displaying it's opposite.
Here is my proposal. The theory of God has outgrown the practice of prayer. Prayer was something which made perfect sense when a "god" was just some local asshole who could destroy your crops if you didn't burn the incense properly. Now our concept of God is different, but we continue the old practice because it makes us feel good. But this is a false joy. It does not match well with the required humility of Christianity. It contradicts and diminishes the concept of God in that faith. It confuses the weak minded. It should be dropped.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Excellent Read
Here's a chronicle/criticism of late 90's nu-metal that most of us would appreciate.
Money quote:
"For the next several years, a new wave of bands systematically wiped away the gains alternative rock had made in the early ’90s. Grunge was consumed by a new beast, and vomited back up with the most rank, least edible chunks of metal and hip-hop. Whether it was called nü-metal or rap-rock (or far worse epithets by those that couldn’t fathom the ugly blitzkrieg of belching fury suddenly coming at them from the fleet of bright yellow muscle cars rapidly taking over Main Street in every American town), this was music that took the sludge and the self-pity of early-’90s rock and turned it into something leaner, meaner, and nefariously empowering. "
Money quote:
"For the next several years, a new wave of bands systematically wiped away the gains alternative rock had made in the early ’90s. Grunge was consumed by a new beast, and vomited back up with the most rank, least edible chunks of metal and hip-hop. Whether it was called nü-metal or rap-rock (or far worse epithets by those that couldn’t fathom the ugly blitzkrieg of belching fury suddenly coming at them from the fleet of bright yellow muscle cars rapidly taking over Main Street in every American town), this was music that took the sludge and the self-pity of early-’90s rock and turned it into something leaner, meaner, and nefariously empowering. "
Saturday, February 5, 2011
On Doubt
I really regret that the word "agnostic" has come to mean "lukewarm atheism" in the modern parlance. Actually, "lukewarm atheist" is a tad on the side of generous. In most cases it's more like "I don't really care either way, and I don't want to spend more than 30 seconds talking about it, so please leave me alone". It's a shame because agnostic is such a beautiful word, with a rich tradition. From the Greek "a gnosis" or "without knowledge". Specifically, without spiritual knowledge or mystical enlightenment.
When I was a teenager I went through a kind of existential crisis. I was pretty much in a state of despair from age 13 through 15 because no one could give me an adequate explanation for why I was here, and what was the point of getting out of bed in the morning. To be fair, it was probably 50% hormones. Anyway, some very friendly Christian friends and family members showed me the meaning that I desperately needed. I was really in love with gnosis, because Truth (note the capitalization) became my life over the next several years.
As time went on I tried a lot of different spiritual notions and identities. One summer day, in between academic years of college (I remember it vividly) I was mowing my parents lawn. I realized something that stopped me dead in my tracks. What started me on this path was not the a sense of Truth, but instead my own psychological need for something. I couldn't cope with something, and I compensated by trying something new. While that certainly didn't invalidate the beliefs that followed, it did invalidate my approach. If my goal was faith, I was going about it all wrong. If my goal was just plain-Jane knowledge, I was also going about it wrong. A turning point had been reached. I had made no firm commitment to any rigid faith, I was just nibbling the corners off of different faiths without putting myself in that vulnerable place that is so crucial.
I would have to ignore my past, pick a faith and stick it out. Or bite the proverbial hand that fed me and brought me out of despair, by giving up my spiritual inclinations.
Obviously I chose the latter, and I made a firm commitment to it. I gave up spiritual enlightenment in exchange for only material knowledge. The thing about material knowledge is, it's a real bitch. I'm strong enough not to lapse into despair again (hormones have lessened some since junior high), but sometimes I get a very strong hankering for some good ole fashioned false hope (being on dialysis was one such instance). But this pursuit of truth (note the lack of capitalization) makes no promises and breaks none. It's also an ethos that my conscience can let me serve absolutely balls out without conflict.
The reason for this blog is in response to the age old charge that material knowledge without it's spiritual equivalent is fatally flawed in that it cannot "understand the divine". That wasn't pointed at anyone, since I'm almost certain I've said that myself - and meant it - several different times in my life.
While it's certainly true that science, reason and material knowledge offer nothing regarding the divine, the infinite or the intangible, there's is a flip side that those with faith do not understand. That is how right, how correct and just and nourishing it feels to simply say "I don't know". To say "It's so intriguing and wonderful a question, but I cannot offer an answer in good conscience, since I honestly don't know". I still hope very much that there is a god, or at least some supreme, creative force that understands and cares about what goes on with us all. A seed within me still believes it. But what I want, and what I need doesn't make it so. To say "it would be wrong to project my wants and needs out onto reality, when I should be doing the reverse" is a supremely good thing. I would call it sacred, actually. The lack of gnosis, the rejection of it in favor of a truth, which is not always comforting, and is indeed sometimes horrible and terrifying (I want to throw in the Lovecraft phrase "terrifying vistas", because I love it), but we pursue it anyway simply because it is true. That is the meaning which I wish I could apply to the word "Agnostic"...
When I was a teenager I went through a kind of existential crisis. I was pretty much in a state of despair from age 13 through 15 because no one could give me an adequate explanation for why I was here, and what was the point of getting out of bed in the morning. To be fair, it was probably 50% hormones. Anyway, some very friendly Christian friends and family members showed me the meaning that I desperately needed. I was really in love with gnosis, because Truth (note the capitalization) became my life over the next several years.
As time went on I tried a lot of different spiritual notions and identities. One summer day, in between academic years of college (I remember it vividly) I was mowing my parents lawn. I realized something that stopped me dead in my tracks. What started me on this path was not the a sense of Truth, but instead my own psychological need for something. I couldn't cope with something, and I compensated by trying something new. While that certainly didn't invalidate the beliefs that followed, it did invalidate my approach. If my goal was faith, I was going about it all wrong. If my goal was just plain-Jane knowledge, I was also going about it wrong. A turning point had been reached. I had made no firm commitment to any rigid faith, I was just nibbling the corners off of different faiths without putting myself in that vulnerable place that is so crucial.
I would have to ignore my past, pick a faith and stick it out. Or bite the proverbial hand that fed me and brought me out of despair, by giving up my spiritual inclinations.
Obviously I chose the latter, and I made a firm commitment to it. I gave up spiritual enlightenment in exchange for only material knowledge. The thing about material knowledge is, it's a real bitch. I'm strong enough not to lapse into despair again (hormones have lessened some since junior high), but sometimes I get a very strong hankering for some good ole fashioned false hope (being on dialysis was one such instance). But this pursuit of truth (note the lack of capitalization) makes no promises and breaks none. It's also an ethos that my conscience can let me serve absolutely balls out without conflict.
The reason for this blog is in response to the age old charge that material knowledge without it's spiritual equivalent is fatally flawed in that it cannot "understand the divine". That wasn't pointed at anyone, since I'm almost certain I've said that myself - and meant it - several different times in my life.
While it's certainly true that science, reason and material knowledge offer nothing regarding the divine, the infinite or the intangible, there's is a flip side that those with faith do not understand. That is how right, how correct and just and nourishing it feels to simply say "I don't know". To say "It's so intriguing and wonderful a question, but I cannot offer an answer in good conscience, since I honestly don't know". I still hope very much that there is a god, or at least some supreme, creative force that understands and cares about what goes on with us all. A seed within me still believes it. But what I want, and what I need doesn't make it so. To say "it would be wrong to project my wants and needs out onto reality, when I should be doing the reverse" is a supremely good thing. I would call it sacred, actually. The lack of gnosis, the rejection of it in favor of a truth, which is not always comforting, and is indeed sometimes horrible and terrifying (I want to throw in the Lovecraft phrase "terrifying vistas", because I love it), but we pursue it anyway simply because it is true. That is the meaning which I wish I could apply to the word "Agnostic"...
Thursday, February 3, 2011
J'accuse!
I accuse my friend, John Stegeman of hypocrisy, heinous duplicity and deliberate deception. I condemn him to living death, and eternal hunger for living blood.
To make a long background story short, John learned something about himself. He learned that his faith in God is paramount, it stands alone. No matter what raw experience life can or will throw his way, or the logical implications of those experiences, John will view them as tests of faith only. Faith is his one essential thing, the rock of his life, around which all other experience revolves, and against which all is to be judged.
That seems reckless and disturbing to me, but that's really beside the point. This isn't about me. The point is that reason is not an equal to faith. It's worth is not absolute, it's a transitory thing. While useful in everyday situations that don't conflict with faith, it is just gravy. If it jives with faith, then goodie goodie. If in conflict, then it is a thing to be endured, not considered.
However, I submit these statements where John seems to augment faith or faith-based positions with reason:
"To be able to hold fast and strong to beliefs can be admirable, but to cling to a belief you desperately want to be true is weak."
"The issue with your argument is that you are making yourself the judge of whether a life is acceptable or worthy. " [on abortion, about which the Catholic Church has a pretty strong opinion]
"I also oppose contraceptives and am against premarital sex but I don't impose that on anyone as engaging in those things are only sinful (again from my beliefs) to the individuals whereas abortion is killing an innocent person"
And the most damning...
"Faith and reason aren't opposing things. They are intertwined. God's word and world are revealed better to us with reason."
No! Absolutely not, and by your own admission! Reason does not have something to say about God's word. God's word has something to say about reason! As Alex said in a comment, if you serve God because it is logical, then logic is your God, and not the Lord. Not just that but if your faith is enhanced by logic, then it is not faith that you've gained but only logic.
What purpose is there for you to argue about matters like abortion where your faith has already decisively and irrevocably judged? When people debate in good faith, they are putting an ante on the table. That being the possibility that they could be swayed, given a persuasive enough argument. You are incapable of that kind of risk in matters relevant to faith. No argument could ever really sway you, not significantly. You risk nothing, other than your time. Isn't that deceptive?
If reason is something that can only add to faith, not subtract from it, then you are playing with a loaded deck. If you win, then hooray! Your reason was the most sound, collect your reward! If you lose, then the contest never really mattered because "It's my belief" and the rest of us must respect that. Stalemate.
Is it fair to sit in an unassailable eagle's nest of faith, while you look down and use logic to snipe at the arguments of others? Is it sportsmanlike? Does it require any virtue or character, like courage or determination? No. It's essentially hunting a caged animal. A tame killing where spectators can sit back and admire the style. A lot of sound and fury, it signifies nothing.
Intended or unintended, malice or no, the effect is the same. Bad Truthsmanship. I read it. I understood it. I condemn it.
Maybe you consider those quotes to be "water under the bridge" since, after all, you've learned something new about the nature of your faith. I can happily accept that. But be honest, and state matters of faith as just that. Just the simple fact. You were playing a double game. But I squeezed you, I hammered you until you chose your side. You have made your choices, sir! You make yourself comfortable with that...
To make a long background story short, John learned something about himself. He learned that his faith in God is paramount, it stands alone. No matter what raw experience life can or will throw his way, or the logical implications of those experiences, John will view them as tests of faith only. Faith is his one essential thing, the rock of his life, around which all other experience revolves, and against which all is to be judged.
That seems reckless and disturbing to me, but that's really beside the point. This isn't about me. The point is that reason is not an equal to faith. It's worth is not absolute, it's a transitory thing. While useful in everyday situations that don't conflict with faith, it is just gravy. If it jives with faith, then goodie goodie. If in conflict, then it is a thing to be endured, not considered.
However, I submit these statements where John seems to augment faith or faith-based positions with reason:
"To be able to hold fast and strong to beliefs can be admirable, but to cling to a belief you desperately want to be true is weak."
"The issue with your argument is that you are making yourself the judge of whether a life is acceptable or worthy. " [on abortion, about which the Catholic Church has a pretty strong opinion]
"I also oppose contraceptives and am against premarital sex but I don't impose that on anyone as engaging in those things are only sinful (again from my beliefs) to the individuals whereas abortion is killing an innocent person"
And the most damning...
"Faith and reason aren't opposing things. They are intertwined. God's word and world are revealed better to us with reason."
No! Absolutely not, and by your own admission! Reason does not have something to say about God's word. God's word has something to say about reason! As Alex said in a comment, if you serve God because it is logical, then logic is your God, and not the Lord. Not just that but if your faith is enhanced by logic, then it is not faith that you've gained but only logic.
What purpose is there for you to argue about matters like abortion where your faith has already decisively and irrevocably judged? When people debate in good faith, they are putting an ante on the table. That being the possibility that they could be swayed, given a persuasive enough argument. You are incapable of that kind of risk in matters relevant to faith. No argument could ever really sway you, not significantly. You risk nothing, other than your time. Isn't that deceptive?
If reason is something that can only add to faith, not subtract from it, then you are playing with a loaded deck. If you win, then hooray! Your reason was the most sound, collect your reward! If you lose, then the contest never really mattered because "It's my belief" and the rest of us must respect that. Stalemate.
Is it fair to sit in an unassailable eagle's nest of faith, while you look down and use logic to snipe at the arguments of others? Is it sportsmanlike? Does it require any virtue or character, like courage or determination? No. It's essentially hunting a caged animal. A tame killing where spectators can sit back and admire the style. A lot of sound and fury, it signifies nothing.
Intended or unintended, malice or no, the effect is the same. Bad Truthsmanship. I read it. I understood it. I condemn it.
Maybe you consider those quotes to be "water under the bridge" since, after all, you've learned something new about the nature of your faith. I can happily accept that. But be honest, and state matters of faith as just that. Just the simple fact. You were playing a double game. But I squeezed you, I hammered you until you chose your side. You have made your choices, sir! You make yourself comfortable with that...
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