Falling Down/Starting Over

I lost my job last week.  It was unexpected, but there were two weeks between when I knew it was likely to happen, and when it finally happened.  During those 2 weeks, I barely slept, barely ate, and lost 14 pounds.  Terror is my new least favorite emotion.

It’s amazing where the mind goes when things are falling apart.  As I laid in bed, wishing I could sleep but knowing I couldn’t, something interesting happened: I prayed.

In my younger years, when something outside my control was weighing me down, I would pray for help.  It was all I could do.  This felt much the same way.  I may not have believed anyone was listening, but I NEEDED someone to be listening, and it felt good to ask.

When I was going through pre-marriage counseling, Mark McLeod, who officiated our wedding, helped me get over one of my worst childhood memories by painting a mental picture.  He asked me to close my eyes and imagine the situation as it happened when I was 12.  He then asked me to imagine Jesus lifting a curtain and shining a giant light into the room, taking it all out of the darkness.  This imagine helped me take the sting and misery out of the situation, and move on from it.

In these last few weeks, I’ve tried to imagine my life as a trail in the woods, with the hand of God pushing back branches so I could see the light at the end.  This image brought me peace.

I don’t know what this all means.  I don’t have the energy to re-assess my stance on God and faith right now.  But I think it’s important to acknowledge that when the shit really hit the fan, I turned to the comfort I used to know, and it made a difference.

In the short term, we’re moving back to Portland.  We’re down a car, and soon to be without health insurance.  Once in Portland, Sarah, Taylor and the baby we’re expecting in January should be able to get on the Oregon Health Plan.  Sarah has a good job, but she’s self-employed, so there aren’t any benefits.  I’m not sure what I’m going to do.  I’ve interviewed with another company in the same industry, but I’ve never really had a dream job that I wanted to chase, so I’m hoping to find inspiration.  Somehow this experience has greatly strengthened my marriage.  We’ve talked about the idea of me staying at home with the baby and taking Taylor to and from kindergarten, which starts in 2 weeks.  Part of me likes the idea, part of me is afraid I’ll hate it, and feel like a failure all the time.  I never expected to have to make these decisions.

Why I Am Not an Agnostic

Why I Am Not an Agnostic

Since I started using the term atheist for myself, there have been a few incorrect responses that have come back to me (and to be honest, most people aren't brave enough to discuss the issue with me, so kudos to those that are!).  Here are a few of them:

"Atheism is the same as religion, it's just faith that there is no God instead of faith that there is."
"Atheists are all so pissed off all the time"
"You're not really an atheist  - I think you're an agnostic"

The last one has been said to me twice, despite my repeatedly assurance that I'm pretty sure I know what I am more than someone else does.  In any event, the first and third statements both relate to definitions, and the misunderstandings people have about them.  (I'm saving #2 for another time)

To start with, let's define agnosticism.  Agnosticism is the philosophical position that the question of the existence of God(s) cannot be known.  This is NOT the same thing as saying "I don't know," or "I doubt it but I can't say for sure," or " I'm on the fence."  To be a true agnostic requires a whole lot more philosophical insight than most people have, and those that have it tend to not be agnostics.  Why?  My theory is that it's silly to give up on a question just because the answer hasn't been found yet, and philosophers aren't quitters.  How many philosophical or scientific answers have been found long after religion and society decided to attribute the answer to the supernatural?  It wasn't too long ago that famine was considered God's punishment, but then science came along and not only gave an explanation for it, but in a lot of cases, taught us how to solve it entirely.

So why quit on the existence of God?  If you've got a reason, I'd like to hear it.

An atheist, on the other hand, is not someone who "believes" there is no God.  An atheist simply lacks the beliefs in any gods.  There are prominent atheists, Penn Gillette being one, who will proudly state that they DO believe there is no God, but even he makes the distinction between actual atheism, and something that goes further than atheism.  But if the word atheist is being used, it should not be assumed that the people has made a faith statement that is equally unprovable as saying God exists.  I view it like this:

Belief in God | Lack of Belief in God | Belief in no God

The first is theism (or deism if you prefer your faith a little bit less attached), the second is atheism, the third is something else that probably has a name, but I don't know what it is.  For me, the visual is even simpler:

Belief in God   |          

I'm to the right of the line.  Nothing more, nothing less.  I don't believe there is NOT a God because I can't prove that point any more than I can prove that there is.  Being to the right of the line also does not necessarily make me anti-God or anti-Christian (I should point out that with one exception, most of you are just as atheistic as I am.  You just happen to believe in one more god than I do).  The search for meaning and value in life leads a lot of people to faith, but that doesn't mean that everyone who chooses not to take that step thinks faith is stupid and meaningless.

Quite the contrary.  As I hope I've made clear on this blog in the past, I think religion has tremendous meaning, and is undeniably understandable.  Truth value aside, faith provides answers to the most important questions, and to hold onto those answers, even in the absence of valid reasons to do so (or proof if you like that word better - there's not much difference in my opinion), makes a lot of sense.  Why would someone WANT to live their life in uncertainty?  I sure don't.  But I've discovered that faith is not something a person can choose to have, and it's usually not something a person can choose to let go of.  It's there or it isn't, and while knowledge and personal relationships influence a person's faith status a great deal, in the end I think it's largely outside a person's control.

In closing, if there's one thing I'd love to see in the theism vs. atheism discussion, it's the correct use of words, in their correct context.  If someone says they're agnostic (and this is a broad generalization), they're probably not educated enough in philosophy to know what they're saying, and are more than likely an atheist who doesn't have the courage to admit they're not a believer.  I'd go so far as to say that by definition, an agnostic IS an atheist.  After all, if you don't think the question has an answer, you're certainly not a believer, which by default makes you an atheist.

So let's say what me we mean and mean what we say.  If you're an atheist, don't be afraid to say so.  As I've learned, there are a whole lot of religious people that will still want to be friends with you, can have faith conversations with you without taking your atheism personally, and will support your journey even if your conclusion isn't the same as theirs.  And if you're a believer, find out what your atheist friend means when they say they're an atheist.  It probably isn't as mean and nasty as you imagine.

Friends in Lonely Places

I’m coming to realize that one of the most untrue things I was taught as a child is that people are fundamentally bad.

My work sometimes takes me away for weeks at a time, and during those times, I have a lot of choices.  Choices about what I eat, what I do with my evenings, etc..  For each of the last 2 summers I’ve been sent to one of the plains states to handle hail claims for 21 days in a row, usually about 12 hours per day.  At night, if I choose to let it be, life can be awfully lonely.  Last year I spent the evenings of my first week in Rapid City by myself in the hotel, mindlessly watching crap on cable and trying to cling to my normal life via Facebook.  In the second week, I happened to meet a roofer who was in town chasing storms.  We got along pretty well, and started to hang out in the evenings, mostly on the weekends.  We talked about UFC, our families, sports, politics, a little of everything.  He called me Obama’s boy, and I accused him of exploiting cheap Mexican labor.  It was fun.  But above all, it was a connection - another person to share that brief section of life with, and keep life from being lonely.  Through not much effort, I had made a friend, and we keep in touch still today.

This year was no different.  Right off the bat here in Colorado, I met a roofer who lives in town with his wife and 3 kids, one of whom is adopted from China.  As 2 of my siblings are also adopted, we had something in common right away.  Glen has a PhD in audiology, and after selling his private practice, decided to become a roofer.  It got him outside, he got to meet lots of people, and he didn’t have to hassle with health insurance cuts and Medicare issues.  Over the course of the 3 weeks I’ve been here, I’ve probably had dinner with Glen and his family 5 times, and got together on jobs many more.  I introduced his teenagers to the UFC, and told him about my wife, who studied audiology in college.  I’m sincerely sad to be leaving him tomorrow.  Were we living in the same town, I’m sure our families would be great friends.

These experiences have made me view life a little bit differently.  It seems that no matter where I am, I can always find someone to share the human experience with, and it makes my life better.  People are the same in so, so many ways, and if we’re willing, they can enrich our days simply be being there to share the time, and the occasional beer.

I’m not very good at self-awareness, but I’m learning that as much as I’ve always believed myself to be an introvert, I’m really not.  I’ve gotten good at making friends, and I’m proud of myself for it.  This past year I’ve made at least a half-dozen solid friendships through OneGeorgeFox, a few more through work, not to mention my annual catastrophe companions.

Over the last few weeks, it’s become clear that in a few years, my best friend since I was in diapers is going to move away.  I’m not very happy about it.  I can’t blame him - after all, I moved away in 2006, not necessarily intending to move back.  But it still sucks.  He’s always been there, and you can‘t replace 30 years of history.  My hope is that my new awareness for great people lurking around most corners will help fill that void, and that transition won’t be as awful as it sounds.  But it certainly makes me appreciate people - not on an individual level, but as a collective.  People, on the whole, are amazing.  And given a little bit of effort, and a little bit of patience, we can all find a few people to make this life better, simply by showing up and letting them be a part of our experience.

When I talk to Taylor on the phone, she tells me that I’m the best daddy in the world, and she “misses my lips.”  I miss hers too, and hopefully after I get home tomorrow, I’ll get to see most of yours as well.

Cassie from Columbine

I spent  part of today at the Columbine memorial in Littleton, Colorado.  Littleton is great little town with above average incomes, beautiful parks, and roads with shoulders big enough to park 2 cars wide.  You’d never expect something so tragic to come have from here.

The school itself seemed harmless enough.  Giant parking lots all around it, a massive park next to it, where today a national softball tournament was being held.  The screams of teenage girls and metal bats were a strange contrast to the memorial.  But it’s good to know that life goes on for almost everyone.

The memorial has plaques with quotes from parents, students, and a president, most of which just make you think to yourself, “Dammit.  Just.. Dammit.”  There aren’t words for these kinds of events.  There’s no good place to aim our blame.  Certainly no parent could have performed so poorly as to prompt this behavior.  Music, movies, bullying..plenty of people are involved in all these things, and almost none of them turn violent.  Perhaps that’s why sitting there at that memorial hurts so much.  There’s nothing I can DO to change anything.

My daughter Taylor is in love with a band called Flyleaf.  One of their songs is called “Cassie,” which is about one of two students who was killed at Columbine after being asked if they believe in God.  Those 2 plaques especially made me hurt.  I don’t know quite why.  I thought about what it means to be a martyr, in a sense.  Would those girls have been spared if they had lied?  Is the world a better place because their amazing stories are around to tell?  Nobody really knows.  I kind of doubt anyone has changed their religion because of what they did.  But somehow it feels like it matters - the act of dying after professing faith in God.  Their parents probably don’t feel that way, but if given the chance, I doubt they would have answered any differently.

I don’t have any good conclusions about life or faith.  I just felt a lot of things today, and I’m glad I felt them.  I find that most of life is spent with a non-descript feeling, partly sorrow, partly doubt, sometimes a little bit of hope.  Faith might be in there somewhere.  It’s hard to tell.  But for today, I’m pondering those students, that teacher, those killers, and the words my daughter loves so much:

All heads are bowed in silence
To remember her last sentence
She answered him knowing what would happen
Her last words still hanging in the air
In the air

Do you believe in God
Written on the bullet
Say yes to pull the trigger
Do you believe in God
Written on the bullet
And Cassie/Rachel pulled the trigger

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F-EBHBZJAmw&feature=related
Or, if you prefer your sorrow a little bit louder:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xwJIW-6bTt0&feature=related

An Honorable Death

When I’m bored, I watch documentaries.  I’ve watched documentaries I shouldn’t admit to watching (doc about the world air guitar championships, anyone?).  Last week I watched a doc in which a filmmaker set up a camera pointing at the pedestrian walkway on the golden state bridge (It‘s called The Bridge, and it‘s streaming on Netflix if you want to watch it).  He had it set up for 2 years for the purpose of filming, and then investigating suicide jumpers.  All in all, I believe he captured 8 people jumping from the bridge, 7 of which died.  He was too far away to be able to stop them, but once they jumped, he’d find out who they were, then interview their families, trying to dissect suicide to see what we can learn about it.  Suicide is a fascinating issue.  I deal with it at work on occasion, and have experienced it within my family.

Tonight I had dinner in Boulder with my Uncle Kirk, who is awesome.  He has a PhD in geology, and his house powers itself.  Cool, right?  At dinner, were got to talking about death, geriatrics, health care, that kind of thing, and it brought up something I think is worth discussing.  To put it bluntly, the question goes something like this:

Wouldn’t it be preferable for the very elderly or the very sick to give the people in their lives a break, and take their own life?  Or conversely, is all the money and effort we put into extending the human life really worth it?

If you spend much time reading history books, or watching nature shows, you’ll notice a pattern.  The tribe does not allow an individual to allow the group to perish.  If wolves are chasing a herd of buffalo, and they don’t catch one quickly, one of the strong buffalo will gore the weakest one right in the ass, causing it to fall on its face, and allowing the wolves to kill it while the herd escapes.  In nomadic tribes, the elderly knew when they were doing more harm than good, and would wander off into the woods to die so that the tribe could keep moving.

In today’s society, we’re obviously not nomads, and technology has come a long way.  But are we so different?  Sure, when grandpa breaks his hip, it doesn’t mean it’s time to get him a blanket until he dies like it used to.  But have we gone too far?  Have we become a culture that worships human life, even if that life drags down the lives of everyone else?

My uncle told me that almost every friend he has is either dealing with the recent death of a parent, or is suffering because of the extension of a parents’ life.  Whether it be the parent has dementia, and requires costly hospitalization, or the parent has alzheimers and the child selflessly offered to let the parent live with the child - in either case, the child’s quality of life is being dramatically lessened, and for what gain?  Is this what we want for our children?  Do I want Taylor to spend her retirement money paying for someone to change my bed pan, or to pay for a half dozen rounds of chemo so she can watch me be in pain for a few extra months?  Do I want her to live the rest of her own life remembering how terrible the end of my life was?  I’d like to think I’d put her interests ahead of mine, but I don’t know what that means.

I’m not sure if I think the sick and elderly should commit suicide to ease the pain of their families, but I don’t think it’s all that crazy an idea.  Historically, people knew when it was their time, and took it upon themselves to do the right thing.  But with modern technology, combined with the ridiculous cost of health care, at what point is suicide the morally right thing to do, if only to stop dragging down the rest of one’s family?

Refuge

Tonight I attended the evening service at Metropolitan Community Church of Portland in support of my new friend AJ Mendoza.  AJ is entering his senior year at George Fox, and is the president of a student group on campus called Common Ground.  Common Ground is an LGBTQ and straight ally club, formed to support LGBTQ students on campus, and raise of the awareness of LGBTQ issues.  He gave his testimony about realizing he was gay as a teen, and how he dealt with those feelings as a member of a Pentecostal church.  After coming out in high school, he went back into the closet when he started at George Fox, and found the closet much smaller and more painful the second time around.  When OneGeorgeFox started to form, AJ developed Common Ground parallel to, but separate from, 1GFU, and come out of the closet once again, this time in a much more condemning environment.  You can check out Common Ground here: http://www.facebook.com/commongroundgeorgefox

But AJ’s testimony wasn’t what had me getting emotional.  MCC is what most people would call a “gay church.”  The large majority of its members are gay and lesbian people, most of whom appeared to be attending with their partners.  I know a few of them, but most of them were strangers.  Unlike bigger churches where it’s easy to blend in and hide, when you show up by yourself to a gay church, people notice.  And people hug.  A lot.  It was awesome.

When they took communion towards the end of the service,  the couple in front of  me spent most of it in each other’s arms, faces buried in shoulders.  It wasn’t hard to see what church meant to them.  I tried to put myself in their shoes - a Christian, inter-racial gay couple.  Separately, each of those identifiers mean something different.  The identifiers of being Christian and gay usually mean the two are not the same person.  I thought of how in everyday life, a Christian person may have a hard time gaining acceptance from gay culture.  And a gay person will likely have a hard time finding acceptance among Christians.  How hard it must be then, for someone who is both.  Not being fully accepted by the gay culture because they cling to the faith that has caused so much damage to the gay community.  And not being accepted by the Christian community because they were born a certain way.

But here they were, in a place where all of the things that make them different are accepted and embraced.  It was as if when they’re at church, they don’t have to look over their shoulder to see who might be judging.  When they’re at church, they can enjoy songs and sermons about the God they love, and they can do it next to the same-sex person they love, and nobody thinks it’s strange.  Church seemed to be their refuge, and I found that powerful.

It’s moment like these that fuel my fire to figure this faith thing out.  I might not be able to enter into faith intellectually, and if we got deep into theology, I’d probably disagree with them on most everything, but the fact that there ARE gay Christians inspires me.  Who else has a better reason to reject the Christian faith than gay American Christians?  Who has been treated worse?  But they’re around, and they’ve found a way to hold onto their faith despite the beating they’ve taken from their spiritual brethren.  More than any theology, to me, that speaks to the power of their faith, and the impact it can have on someone.  And isn’t that what we want?  Not to arrive at a perfectly logical set of faith statements, but to find the place where we can finally let go.  Let go of our fear of dying, our anger towards those who have wronged us, our desire to be fully known and fully loved.  Isn’t that really the point?  Those amazing people have found their place, and they give me reason to think someday I might too.

http://www.onegeorgefox.org/
http://www.mccportland.com/

Beer Church

Tonight I attended the greatest church on Earth:  Beer Church

Legend has it that beer church started 5 years ago when a guy named Wally invited some friends to the Horse Brass Pub to talk about stuff.  The next week they went again, and each invited friends, and so on and so forth.  For the last five years, a mixture of people have shown up to the Horse Brass each Wednesday night at 8 to talk about religion.  There’s no creed, no denomination requirement, no judgment, and except for my diet coke chaser, no non-alcoholic beverages.

As is my way, I was the first to arrive.  I found Wally, introduced myself, and for about 20 minutes, I had him all to myself.  Not knowing anything about each other, he asked me what my current status is.  Now, when most people ask this question, they’re asking if you’re single or not.  Wally wanted to know my religious status.  Fair enough.  I explained that currently, I’m a discontent atheist.  I went through my story of working backwards from fervent Christianity, ditching hell, then finding no need for a savior if there’s nothing to be saved from, then no good reason to continue believing in God at all, to accepting the term atheist.

After my testimony, I asked Wally what his situation is.  He’s a “recovering fundamentalist.”  He is still very much Christian, and claims to hold a “conservative” interpretation of the Bible.  He talked about his wife of 30 years, and how he misses her right now because she’s on a 5000 mile bike trip, riding 100 miles per day.  We talked for awhile about hell, and his view of it.  Wally believes in hell, but not necessarily in the way most people do.  Wally said there’s no scripture that says the decision to accept Christ or not has to come during this life, so it’s entirely possible that people can make that decision after we’re dead and in the presence of God.  Even then, he says, people will reject God, and will have chosen hell, which is nothing more than separation from God.  He believes those souls will be annihilated, and he thinks he can back it up with scripture.   Interesting!

Others arrived, and we talked about such broad topics as capitalism, utilitarianism, public schools, the role of faith in voting.  It was great.  I don’t have a lot of wisdom to impart on anyone following beer church, but I definitely that feel that this kind of gathering can do nothing but good for people.  To be able to put down our sensitivities, our need to be right, and just listen to other people, and accept them as human beings, no matter what their opinions - that is great.  I told a Christian that I’m an atheist while having no idea he was a Christian, and he didn’t argue with me at all.  We left as friends, and I’m certain I’ll be back again soon.  This was the perfect church for me.  A diverse group of people who aren’t interested in anything more than a good conversation, and some beer.  Amen!

In Defense of Moms

As with most holidays as specific as Mother’s Day, the interwebs are full of praises for moms - our own, other peoples’, surrogate moms, it’s a nice thing.  My mom doesn’t have Facebook, so I can say what I want.  What I want to say is - let’s stop making life more difficult for moms.  They don’t need anyone’s help wondering if they’re doing a good enough job.

Since I starting blogging, I’ve made it a point to read other peoples’ blogs (after all, it feels pretty shitty to pour your heart out and not have anybody read it).  What I’ve found is that a LOT of women are writing about motherhood.  And more than that, they seem to crave the support of other moms.  Maybe I’m not very observant, but there’s not a lot of ink on paper regarding fatherhood, or the need of dads to be supported by other dads.  One reason could be that men aren’t as inclined to express their emotions, but I don’t think that’s the reason.  I think it’s because for dads, the bar is set very, very low.  If we pay our kids any attention at all, we’re doing just fine.

A lot of this I blame on traditional religion.  Even the modern, liberal Christian still holds to the structure of the man as the spiritual leader, who is to “be Christ” to his wife.  I haven’t quite wrapped my head around that one.  In this relationship, the man is supposed to represent the savior of the entire universe, while the woman represents the person that needs to be saved.  How can a woman possibly be an equal in that situation?  Some might not see it this way.  They’ll say that yes, the Bible says the man is to lead his wife, but it’s not one-sided!  The man is supposed to cherish his wife!  Isn’t that great!  Doesn’t seem that great to me.  No re-arranging of the hierarchy makes them equals.

Fortunately, not at all women are willing to be reduced in this matter.  I’ve enjoyed reading what the women at http://deconstructingchristianimages.blogspot.com/  have to say.  These are Christian women fighting to maintain their equality in the face of traditions seeking to deny it to them.  I applaud their efforts, and hope they will inspire other women to take their power back.

This week we were confronted with Time magazine’s ridiculous cover regarding attachment parenting.  Even the local sports station was talking about.  We were essentially forced to take a stand on something that is absolutely none of anyone’s business.  Is parenting so easy that we’re allowed to hold up and knock down one parenting style over another?  Are parents so invested in their kids these days that most parents even have a considered parenting style?

My own mom was certainly not a feminist.  She, like many Christian moms, accepted her role as the spiritually subservient half.  It wasn’t until she finally divorced my dad that she seemed to take her power back.  It was a good change for her.  But it shouldn’t take divorce for a mom to find her power, take back her equality, and stand up for herself.  I’m optimistic that an evolving society will take down the obstacles to moms feeling good about themselves, and their success as parents.  There are certainly some great leaders out there.  Specifically, I’ve been made aware of the “mommy wars” by Beth at http://putdowntheurinalcake.com/ , and learned that I should probably be more angry than I am about these issues by Sophia at http://abortiongang.org/ .

Moms are under a lot of pressure.  Even without the religious or societal expectations put upon them, taking pride in their parenting is hard work.  I, for one, will be working on taking those pressures away.  The pressures that come through subtle comments that differentiate the roles of mom and dad, the jokes I tell, the way I raise my daughter.  It’s my hope that someday, if she becomes a mom, the efforts we make today will make her job easier.  I think the reason we’re so anxious to thank our moms on Mother’s Day is that deep down, we know exactly how hard we’ve made it to be a good mom, and take pride in the journey of motherhood.

Jealousy

These are the nights that faith would be nice.  The nights when something seems wrong, even if nothing is.  When reminders abound of friendships lost.  When the beautiful weather is drowned out by a screaming child or a barking dog.  I’m not prone to loneliness.  But tonight I am.

In writing these things about faith and religion, I’ve allowed myself to think and feel whatever seemed right.  On the thinking side, I’m not sure that I’ve gained any wisdom or appreciation for religion.  The process seems to be the same, no matter which one a person chooses.  There are uncomfortable questions, and there are answers to those questions.  People pick the one that suits them, and for the most part, they feel better.  The mind calms the emotions.  On the feeling side, I feel like I understand religion’s appeal, and have lost any idea that religion is irrational.  It most certainly is not.  Religion allows people to let go of the worse kinds of doubts.  Why am I here?  Where does my mind go when I die?  Am I relevant to a Creator?  For the person that feels the answers to those questions, faith is immeasurably valuable.

I can’t find them.  The answers.  The feelings.  I can’t trick myself into believing or feeling something that my mind doesn’t think is true.  I’ll probably write on this another time, but I’m starting to think that faith is outside a person’s control.  Think about it - what would have to happen for you to stop believing in God, or Jesus, or love, or whatever you hold hear?  And even if those things happened, do you think your faith would just disappear?  Or would you find a way to make sense of what happened within the context of your faith?  Disbelief is the same way.  I have no idea what it would take for me to believe in God.  Even greater, believing in a personal God.  And multitudes greater than that, believing in the Judaic vision of God (the Christian God, Jesus, Allah, etc..).  These are the religions of the world that claim there is one, personal God, and that God loves me more than I can imagine.  Wouldn’t that be amazing!

But that’s not what I feel, and it’s not what I know.  And I can’t decide if I should be jealous of the faithful, or suck it up and accept what I think is the truth.

It's great not to be alone: a guest post

I'm in a rut.  I'm running on fumes for blog ideas, and burned through most of the books I wanted to read.  I asked a few people for book suggestions.  One of the responses I received was so damn encouraging, I think it's worth its own post.  It comes from Stan, who was a friend of my brother growing up at Hinson Church in Portland, and somehow managed to know more about philosophy than I do (and that was my major!  Jerk!).    My response to this is a resounding "ditto"!

From Stan:

I'm reading "Bad Religion: How We Became a Nation of Heretics" right now, and it's pretty good. It talks about the last century of American Christianity and how far things have fallen.

I don't think I have any book recommendations for you based on where you're at.

For the record, I think it's perfectly valid to question the utilitarian merit of a principle. Basically, atheism is one of the many kinds of "skepticism to degree X in category Y." If likelihood multiplied by utility overcomes X, then subscription is justified. Otherwise, it's not.

Pascal's Wager tries to "cheat" by making utility "infinity," but we're probably agreed that the Wager blows.

In fact, nearly all so-called "God proofs" are terrible, and I'm of the opinion that Plantinga is a ninny. I also think, after 15 years taking this stuff relatively seriously, that I have pretty powerful Biblical reasons to say that homosexuality can be fine, evolution is perfectly cool, and God's not going to endlessly torture anyone. The conservative Christians on Reddit hate me.

And throughout that time, I've also been an off-and-on atheist. I've spent months on end being an atheist. My buddy calls me a "faitheist," because I'm functionally atheist in most ways, except that I find myself "backsliding" into belief and even conviction.

I said before that the "God proofs" are rolleyes. I believe that the only reasonable (in the Kantian sense; obsrevation + logical self-criticism) way by which a man can come to religious faith is by religious experience. And I don't mean euphoria; I mean setting expectations, implicit or explicit, and having things occur in your life that cannot have any reasonable explanation but God's intrusion.

I have gone through droughts. I've spent extended periods of time pretty convinced that God wasn't there. But he always seems to have a way of pulling me right back, if I take the liberty to speak of him as if I'm not delusional.

Even after I've nearly come in for a landing on permanent atheism. Even after due considerations made toward placebo, confirmation bias, Littlewood's Law, etc. A thing will happen (this one was last month) that will make me say, "Oh no way. I can't believe it. It's clearly happening again." And then I'll get punched several times in succession by amazing convergences of events exactly how I needed to experience them, I'll be blown away by the apparent teleology of it all and the pin-point accuracy of its supposed intent, and I'll be right back to where I started.

I'll never be full Christian. I'll always be a schizophrenic faitheist. If that sounds like a fun route for you, just be open to yourself with your own struggles and failings and heart-desires, and maybe you'll find yourself, despite due and prudent self-criticism, undergoing religious experience as well, and it will be either a rekindling of a relationship or a convincing delusion, for better or for worse.

Interview with 2 Buddhists

My friend Bret put me in touch with his classmate Yoriko, who is a practicing Nichiren Buddhist.  Last night I spent a few hours with Yoriko and her friend Shara, discussing their Buddhist faith.

The little that I know about Buddhism is from reading the book No Death, No Fear, by Thich Nhat Hanh.  My summary of that book experience is here:
http://faithlikeaman.blogspot.com/2012/04/buddhism-for-dummy.html

Yoriko grew up in Japan, where Buddhism is very common.  Shara grew up in a Baptist church in Yakima, and moved to the Portland area in her teens.  Both practice Nichren Buddhism at the Oregon Buddhist Center.  Nichiren Buddhism focus on the lotus sutra, and the chanting of Nam-myoho-renge-kyo.  The lotus sutra is the idea that all people have the ability to obtain Buddhahood.  This is the ultimate enlightenment.  They chant daily, for a period of 5-20 minutes.  They find that the verbal chant is more fulfilling than silent meditation, as the mind tends to wander.

While the Buddhism expressed by Thich Nhat Hanh focuses more on a pantheistic view of the world, these 2 women focus more on the re-birth of a person in another life.  They are still themselves, though they may not have memory of their prior life.  It is believed that people that are close are reincarnated together.  The belief in reincarnation stems from many stories, both current and ancient, of children claiming to recognize each other from a prior life, and are able to explain these past lives in great detail. One child remember her mother from a past life, except the child was the mother, and the mother the child. Additionally, there have been hypnotists who have extracted amazing stories from the hypnotized related to experiences in past lives, sometimes thousands of year ago.  They can’t articulate how a person could die, and yet be re-born in a different body, but they believe it to be the case.  Since Buddhism is a non-theistic religion, they are comfortable not having the answer to this issue.  Unlike western religions, it isn’t necessary to try to prove one’s faith.

Most of the issues that divide people in our culture are not relevant to the Buddhist.  The goal is to improve one’s OWN happiness, not to focus on a future life, or attempt to persuade others.  There is no carrot on a stick.  They practice to improve their quality of life, and that of their family.  They believe that the commitment to chanting brings a focus to their lives, and their life is better for it.  I was struck by how little they seemed to know of other religions, or even other sects of Buddhism.  It wasn’t an ignorance of the mind, it was that they simply had no need for anything else.  Their practice fulfills their needs, so comparisons aren’t necessary.

The idea of nirvana seemed to be of minor importance to these two.  While much of the reading I’ve done has placed lots of important on the shedding of desires so that nirvana can be reached, Yoriko said she thought nirvana was one of the minor sutras, and not terribly worthy of focus.  Shara said that desires give her a goal, and she wouldn’t want to “not want” anything.  To use her words “Just today I was at Costco drooling over their Tvs.  I like my toys.”

One thing I’d not heard before is the idea that the quality of one’s Buddhahood can be seen after someone dies.  Those who don’t practice, for example, tend to have very pale, anguished faces after death.  Practicing Buddhists on the other hand tend to be rosy-cheeked and serene, as if they could just sit up and get out of the coffin.  The human experience has that much greater an effect on the body that even in death, Buddhism is an improvement.

As to the primary questions that religions seem to be trying to answer, Nichiren Buddhism seems to answer the questions a little more clearly than other sects.  The afterlife question is answered via reincarnation (I am still me, even if I’m not in the same body).  Our lives are to be lived according to the wise teachings of the Buddha, though he is not a god, and not to be worshipped.  Following these teachings will lead to enlightenment, the greatest of which is Buddhahood.  Everyone is capable of achieving Buddhahood.  Issues of the Earth’s origin, why the world was created at all, more scientific or epistemological questions, don’t seem to come up at all.  I’m not sure if this is because there aren’t any good answers, or because with this practice, one doesn’t find themselves asking those kinds of questions.  One thing I can tell for sure is that the physical practice of Buddhism seems to be required for one to fully “get it.”  Both these women had conviction in their beliefs, but didn’t seem to care to convince anyone else to try it.  They’re too busy getting happier, day by day.

Is Atheism Worthless?

Modern philosophy taught us that there are ultimate truths, which are knowable, and can be used to understand the world, including religious and political ideas.  Post-modernism taught us that this is nonsense, that there are only ideas and words, which are separate and detached from the physical world, and can’t be used to make truth claims.

Religion tends to be more modern.  There is a lot of focus on what is “true,” and when the word true is used, it’s in a factual sense.  The creation of the Earth by God is true, the resurrection of Jesus is true, etc…  One can’t be faulted for being confused by truth claims in the context of a faith-based religion.  After all, if something can be known as true, of what use is faith?  But regardless, religions work very hard to show that their beliefs are true.

For now, I’m focused on pragmatics.  Hypothetically, let’s posit that the arguments for the existence of God are equally as good as the arguments against the existence of God.  Antony Flew and Alvin Plantinga argued with each other at great length over who has the burden of proof, the theist or the atheist.  I tend to side with Flew (the atheist, at the time), but nevertheless, let’s say the arguments are equally good, and so by default, a person refuses to take a step of faith because there isn’t sufficient reason to do so (this has been my position for many years now).

So, we’ve arrived at atheism.  Now what?  Intellectually, there is a certain satisfaction in clinging to the evidence, and refusing to go where it hasn’t led.  For a long time now, I’ve been proud of my lack of belief, largely because by insisting on knowing things instead of believing them, I don’t have to wade into the waters of division and condemnation that accompany so many faith systems.  It’s clear that most of the methods used to clobber people in today’s society stem from faith-based ideas.  Aside from the obvious issues of gay marriage, racial discrimination, and male superiority (2 of which are still commonly held beliefs among most Christian denominations), is there anything worse that can be said of a person than “you’re going to hell”?  Even when said from a perspective of concern or love (if that sentence can be said with love at all), how much arrogance it takes to say that you hold the truth of that issue!

I’ve assumed, incorrectly, that Christianity was fairly unanimous on these condemnations.  Since I started writing this blog, and being involved with some alumni from George Fox, I’ve learned a great deal about belief systems that do not contain most, or any, of these awful beliefs.  I’ve met people who have made the leap of faith, but haven’t tacked on silly ideas of gays being an abomination, or the man being the head of the household “because that’s how God designed it.”  There are biblical arguments that can be made for darn near anything, and these people have chosen the ones that don’t hurt people.  I’m not anywhere near the point where I think the Bible matters on issues of modern morality, but I’m happy that at least among these folks, where they can find a way to interpret the Bible in a way that doesn’t make God look like an asshole, they’re doing it.

So, I’ve ruled out atheism as the only place where angry condemnations can be avoided.  Besides the truth-value of atheism, which is debatable, is there any benefit to it?  Emotionally it certainly doesn’t bring any happiness, at least to me.  There are a lot of people whom I respect immensely (Richard Dawkins, the late Christopher Hitchens, Penn Jillette, etc.) who claim to be just fine with the idea that once they die, that’s it.  They’ll tell you it helps them to live each day with vigor, since time is limited.  But they’re not the only ones.  Religious people can live this way also, AND they don’t have to fear their last days.  So if the arguments are balanced, but one side can meet an emotional need, wouldn’t it be practical to go with theism?

I don’t know, but that’s where my mind is right now.  Atheism gives me finality.  But faith offers me answers, even if the answers aren’t very good.  Christianity, to pick one faith, answers:

Why am I here?
Where did I come from?
What happens when I die?
Whether the answers provided to these questions are good ones or not, I see a lot of value in having them answered.  I know I’m not alone.  After all, the bulk of humanity hasn’t chosen to be religious because they’re indifferent to life and death questions.

For now, I’m wrestling with the question of what good atheism  is doing me when there are people out there that aren’t doing anybody any harm while also having optimism about the continuity of their consciousness.  If only a person could trick themselves into believing something they don’t “know” to be true.

On the Death of a Child

I’ve been ambivalent about having kids since it became an option.  I value my alone time.  I’m not good with loud noises, and I’ve never had that innate yearning to be a parent that a lot of people feel.  I knew that I didn’t want more than 2, the replacement rate.  I would have been satisfied with one.  My wife and I agreed we’d start with one, and see what happened after that.  After buying a house and moving to Phoenix in the summer of 2006, 2 weeks later we discovered we were pregnant.  It was a terrible pregnancy.  Sarah couldn’t keep food or liquids down, and often times didn’t have any warning that the nausea was coming.  She couldn’t keep the nausea pills down (why do they prescribe a pill for nausea?), so she had to take Zofran, a dissolvable tablet made for chemo patients, with a price tag of $40 per pill.  We spent the night of September 11, 2006 in the ER of a nasty Phoenix hospital, waiting for an IV so Sarah could stay hydrated enough to keep the baby.  We finally got out of there at 4am, and for the rest of the pregnancy, it was a routine of working, sleeping and trying to keep fluids down for Sarah, and working, sleeping, and a half dozen bottles of carpet cleaner for me.

We moved back to Portland a month before Taylor was born.  To compensate for the misery of the pregnancy, the delivery was a fantastic event.  The doctor induced labor at 8am, and Sarah gave birth at 3:15pm.  No drugs, no spinal, not a peep.  Sarah had a 7 hour, silent, drugless delivery.  I have to admit I hadn’t given parenthood a whole lot of thought during the pregnancy.  Our days were consumed with fighting against vomiting and figuring out what to do with this house we just bought.  Parenthood hit me all at once when they cleaned Taylor up and Sarah got to hold her for the first time.  My flesh had become someone else’s flesh.  My identity on this planet had changed in a hurry.  There was now a human being whose literal life and death was half-contingent on me and my actions.

I didn’t like the infant stage.  I’ll admit being terrified during those times when I had Taylor by myself at home.  Often times I simply didn’t have what she wanted, and no bottle, diaper or nap was going to change that.  It’s a feeling of helplessness that can’t be duplicated.  I don’t think the emotional connection really began until about age one when Taylor started walking.  She now had choices, and preferences, and to a limited extent, free will.  She was becoming her own, unique person.  My enjoyment of parenting has grown with her age.  In two days she turns five, and I never feel as happy as I do when I talk with her.  She tells me about her day at preschool, about which princesses are her favorite, and how much she loves the band Flyleaf (“daddy, play the one where Lacey screams I’m So Sick!  I love it when she screams so loud!).  She is a sensitive girl - scared of everything, but not too scared to talk about it.  She has learned how to put herself in other people’s shoes, something I’m still not very good at.

Towards the end of 2010, we decided to go off birth control.  In my mind, we’d give it a year, and it if happened, fine, if it didn’t happen, that’s fine too.  The age gap had started to widen, and I don’t like the idea of having kids that are spread out in age (I want them out of the house before I’m 50!  A man needs his freedom!).  In February 2011, Sarah’s hoarding of pregnancy tests finally bore fruit, and the stick had 2 lines on it.  So say Taylor was excited was an understatement.  For weeks, all she talked about was what she was going to do when the baby came.  She would play with her (she was convinced it would be a girl), comb her hair, show her all her dolls.  She told everyone she saw that mommy had a baby in her tummy, and she wanted to name the baby Lilly.  Or Lucy.  Or…

In late March of 2011, we lost our second child.  It happened in a grocery store restroom.  Sarah was alone.  I received the call around 11am, and like I am prone to do, I informed my boss, without emotion, that Sarah had a miscarriage, and I was going home for the day.  Sarah’s reaction was immediate - emotional, angry, frustrated, sad, everything.  I felt nothing.  This happens all the time, I told myself.  Women miscarry all the time, and usually they don’t even know they were pregnant.  It seems natural enough.  No need to get too worked up about it.

My emotional state changed after I brought Taylor home from daycare.  We all sat down on the couch to talk, something we never do.  She could sense something was wrong.  I summoned all the courage I could find, and told my daughter that something happened to the baby, and the baby died.  She wasn’t going to be a big sister, at least not right now.  That’s all I could spit out for awhile.  Unlike the kind of sad she gets when she skins her knee or has to go to bed, Taylor’s face got sort of pale, and she came to embody sorrow in a way I’ve never seen before.  She didn’t cry.  She just…felt.  She asked a few normal, soft questions, and Sarah answered  as best she could.  I just cried.  I couldn’t look at Taylor.  I grabbed a pillow and hid my face, and just cried. When I could speak again, I held her as close as I could and whispered in her ear that I’m so sorry, I know how much you wanted to be a big sister.  My sorrow, in that moment, was not for myself, not for my wife, and not for the child we had lost.  My sorrow was for my failure to deliver what my daughter wanted more than anything else.

We lost the baby over a year ago.  Most days, I still rationalize it with science, because the facts are true, even if I don’t like them.  Miscarriages really do happen all the time.  It’s not an affliction abnormal to people, and I don’t feel cursed or treated unfairly.  But I wonder.  I wonder what we would have named our child.  He or she would be almost 6 months old right now.  How would our lives be different?  We haven’t had the same luck with fertility since then.  Maybe we’ll luck out, maybe we won’t.

Most days, I don’t think about it.  But Sarah did something I’ve come to appreciate.  She made a memory box, with an infant outfit, a shoe, a baby book, pacifier, and a necklace.  She cut out some words, and framed it in.  When I need to, I spend a moment looking at that box.  It bring back those moments on the couch, when I felt more sorrow than I’ve felt before.  I can feel what I need to feel, and leave those feelings there, in that room, focused on those two terrible words, “miss you.”

I wrote some crappy poetry about this subject, if you're so inclined:
http://faithlikeaman.blogspot.com/2012/04/memorial.html
http://faithlikeaman.blogspot.com/2012/04/mc-b.html

Interview With a Quaker

I sat down with my friend Mr. Woolman last night to discuss his religious history, and his current religious worldview.  Unlike the first few interviews, Mr. Woolman didn’t stick with the faith of his youth, which made this a much more wide-ranging discussion.

Mr. Woolman grew up in Southern Oregon, raised by his grandparents.  One of his parents was loosely tied to the Mormon church, so while he never attended, he will be baptized once he’s dead.  Mom and dad weren’t fit to be parents, so grandma and grandpa become mom and dad, and he was raised in his grandmother’s fundamentalist church.  Grandpa was a nature lover, not really caring about dogma and doctrine, so he stayed home.  It was a point of contention between the two, but they managed to be married with different faiths.  Grandpa was a huge influence, up to and including his death.

Growing up in his fundamentalist church, which he describes as being run by a bunch of grey-hairs that taught that when communion was given, everyone was to go and sin no more.  Once he took communion, and subsequently sinned, he thought his salvation was lost.  This feeling of needing to be good enough continued for a long time, probably even currently.  He was heavily involved in the church youth group, church choir, summer camps, etc..  While he was attending, the church had a full-blown schism, as well as a pastor leaving due to abuse of a 13-year old.  During this time, he also attended Jewish synagogue on high holy day because his mother’s boyfriend was Jewish.  Mom was in the area, but not actively involved in raising him.  Dad wasn’t around at all.

Mr. Woolman did a fair amount of dabbling in the latter part of his youth.  He had brief involvements with Wicca and Laveysian Satanism (Satanism, despite its name, is not about the Christian idea of Satan.  Satanism is the embracing of carnal desires - a direct rejection of the Christian notions of refraining from lust, gluttony, etc..).  In college, he was involved with the George Fox chapel program, went to a Four Square church while trying to seal the deal with a lady, and after college briefly attended a Lutheran church.

Mr. Woolman finally settled on the Quaker church, and still identifies as a Quaker.  He was drawn to its focus on pacifism, the embrace of women as equals to men when it comes to leadership roles and everything else, and silent worship.  Quakers believe that silence it a great way to communicate with God.  Rather than being spoken to by a pastor, Quaker services tend to have a lot of silence, wherein God communicates to the believer personally.  Quakers reject symbolism - they generally do not worship with instruments, wear wedding rings, wear crosses, or any other symbols that they believe detract from the meaning of God’s message.  They do not take oaths - when on jury duty they will affirm the promise of the court, but they will not swear to it.  To them, a person’s words have enough meaning already, they need not “swear” something to make it more meaningful.  Quakers are most known for their pacifism - the rejection of violence as the answer to any problem.  They believe this message is biblical, as Jesus does not direct or condone any kind of violence, and in a few instances directs the opposite.

Despite his identification as a Quaker, Mr. Woolman isn’t sure if he believes in the Christian God in any meaningful way.  He believes there is a spiritual element to the world, but the specific details are unknown.  He finds value in Buddhism and poetry, the latter of which he considers to be his religion above all.  Poetry is the expression of his soul, his way of making sense of the world.  He leans towards inclusivism - the idea that while there may very well be one “correct” answer to the question of the afterlife, it’s quite possible that those following different religious paths will be receive the same afterlife, because they are following what they believe to be the correct path, even if they call it something else.

Socially, Mr. Woolman and I have common ground.  Homosexuality is not a perversion, and homosexuals are not to be treated differently than anyone else.  I really enjoyed our discussion on the abortion issue.  Both of us reject the hard-line arguments of each side of the issue.  The pro-choice mantra of “my body, my choice” is an insult to the issue.  Certainly the ending of the human life continuum should be approached with sorrow and humility, even if it ultimately the best choice for some people.  We do not know when human life begins.  Science is not settled on the issue, and philosophy hasn’t provided a clear-cut answer about when a fetus takes on its own individual rights that must be weighed equally with the mother’s rights.  We also reject the pro-life notion that abortion is clearly murder, and women and doctors should be punished for being involved in it.  For us, if we are not willing to jail a woman for having an abortion, there is no sense in abortion being a crime.  Thus, we ultimately settle on the pro-choice side of the argument, but not with any sense of pride or certainty.  I propose that abortion is one issue where having a staunch position on either side probably means the issue isn’t being considered with enough empathy.

I have a lot in common with Mr. Woolman.  I have become comfortable with atheism on an intellectual level, while Mr. Woolman never let go of faith in something, though it isn’t defined.  But we both find value in the search for the truth, or if the truth can’t be known, we find value in the practical uses for faith and religion.  Mr. Woolman is happily married, has a great circle of friends, and has an outlet for his feelings and questions via poetry.  I don’t sense a dissatisfaction in his journey, though I think we’d both like a little more certainty from time to time.  We both agree that once a person lets go of fundamentalism, it is impossible to go back.  Coming to terms with faith at all is a lifelong challenge, so to be convinced that there is one literal, narrow, unchanging truth..I think the world we live in makes that difficult to take seriously.

2 plugs for materials related to this conversation:
Being at Home in the World, by Phil Smith and Mark McLeod-Harrison (a new Christian apologetic)
Lake of Fire, a film by Tony Kaye (the best analysis of the abortion issue I’ve ever heard or seen)

On Activism, Anger, Reverse Anger, the Blazers, and Slacktivism

With the advent of the internet, it became much easier to learn about most anything.  Initially we liked the internet because encyclopedic information could be found easily without having to buy a $1,000 Brittanica set.  We could also email our girlfriend instead of having to write by hand.  And certainly the invention of the chat box dramatically multiplied the number of people we could have conversations with at the same time.  Eventually, people weren’t just using it to talk to each other and learn things, but also to influence people.  Political causes had websites, charities sent marketing emails, and churches could remind their members of events via computer instead of by marquee.

Today, the internet is crammed with people trying to influence us.  If you go to the Facebook page of a political candidate, you’ll find a dozen ads on the side of the screen trying to influence you to believe a dozen other things, or contribute money towards a dozen other causes.  It doesn’t take effort to be involved.  A simple “like” or a quick PayPal donation, and you’ve become a part of a movement.  Is this a good thing?

Today, a friend made the following comment that bothered me, and I wasn’t sure why:
 “Everyday young portland girls are exploited and forced into the sex trade...and our youth are marching against Kony. Makes me sick. Wish we could spend more time and energy protecting our youths.”

If I try to boil down my friend’s comment into bullet points, I think what he was trying to communicate goes something like this:
* I am concerned about the underage sex trade in Portland
* The people marching against Kony are wasting their time - how is marching around going to capture a guy in Africa?
* The cause I am concerned about is more important than the cause they are concerned about.

My friend’s comment is very similar to something I do all the time that I know annoys a bunch of other people. For years, I have been a frequent participant in Blazers’ fan sites.  Whenever I’d spend time there, I’d become increasingly frustrated with the constant whining about head coach Nate McMillan.  Every time the team struggled, no matter whose fault it was, there was a consistent drone about how it was somehow Nate’s fault.  Nearly every comment one person would make would be followed by a different person making a smart-ass comment how it wouldn’t have happened if we had a better coach.  My response was also to complain, not about the coach, but about the complainers.  For some reason, I thought it was worth my time to complain about complaining.  When the complaining got to be so bad that I was negatively affecting my life by participating in these fan sites, I finally got the willpower to quit visiting them.  It was a good decision.

If I think of the motives behind someone that complains about a Kony march, or former head coach Nate McMillan, if I’m honest, they’re complaining because they care.  They care about the team, or a different cause.  They’re not mad for no reason.  But just like my response to the complaining was misdirected, so too are complaints about a Kony march.  People are marching against Kony because they care about the issue.  It doesn’t mean they don’t care about the teenage sex trade.  But who gets to decide which cause is the most urgent, or most worthy of our efforts?

The way I see it, the moral authority on activism goes to the people that get up and do something.  Facebook comments (and blog posts!) are easy.  Giving up your Saturday to walk around in the sun takes dedication.  Who am I to mock a person’s cause just because I think my cause is more important?  And who am I trying to convince if I complain on Facebook about somebody who can’t respond?  I think this question shows a fundamental weakness of the internet.  We’re not talking to people in a setting that allows for expanded thought.  We’re throwing bumper stickers at each other.  There’s no respect for the intelligence of others, no consideration of the pure motives of the people involved.  We’re like cats running after laser pointers, expecting that our comment on the matter somehow makes a different.

I propose that there is value in activism, provided it involves dialogue between people with equally good intentions.  I also propose there is not value in being the person that is mad at everything, all the time.  How many friends have you let go of because all they do is rant about political causes?  Wouldn’t it be different if they had discussed these things with you in person, rather than yelling at them via the internet?  I, for one, don’t have energy to be mad all the time.

I read a pretty decent article this week that related to the topic of effective activism.  It’s worth a read if you’d like:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/mark-osler/effective-activism-progressives_b_1428652.html

I’ve got 2 more religious interviews scheduled, and am looking for more.  Please let me know if you’re interested!