88. sicknesse

Ten minutes to go until the commencement of NaNoWriMo 2011! (That’s National Novel Writing Month, for the uninitiated.)

This is insane. I just finished editing my first collection of short fiction, and LITERALLY sent it off to a literary competition tonight at 9:45 PM this evening, and in less than ten minutes now I will be jumping into a race against myself to complete a 50,000 word novel in 30 days or less.

After a couple days of ruminating, I’ve decided to adapt a short story that I’ve been picking away at for over two years called “Relics,” a candid nod to Neil Gaiman and his incredible novel “American Gods,” set in a world where the religions of the ancient world are alive and well in the modern world, and where society and civilization have been shaped by belief in these ancient gods.

In this story, the gods return to (of all places) New York City to see what has become of the world they left behind over a thousand years ago, and what became of humanity’s belief in them. There’s a bunch of other stuff that happens too.

I already have the opening sketched out a little bit, but in the interests of staying on track I won’t be posting my usual writing here, but rather posting excerpts from the novel as they strike me as interesting and relevant. The novel is about the nature of belief, self-discovery and essentially growing up out of superstitious belief in gods and the supernatural.

So I’ve got my rum and Coke all poured, Björk all cued up, my Google document open and ready to go, and my Sour Patch Kids at my writing desk at the ready.

Here we go, kids! See you in 30 days!

87. cellophane

I don’t have a whole lot of time to write today, so I’m just going to set the timer for 5:00 and see what happens.

The past two weeks have been consumed with writing/editing, with the goal of completing a short fiction collection I’m planning to submit to a literary competition, the deadline being November 1. I’ve got two stories left to finish and polish but the rest are in good shape. But that’s why this blog has been rather quiet as of late.

Do you ever have moments when you realize all of a sudden that you’ve turned into the crazy Meryl Streep character from Woody Allen’s Manhattan? That’s what happened to me yesterday.

While going through Facebook updates, I came across one from my friend Jenny, who had liked a post from Seth basically saying that he was having my best friend Emily, her husband and their 3-year-old son Liam over for dinner. Naturally I flipped out, as all mentions of Seth generally cause me to do, turning me from a relatively sane, rational individual into a raving lunatic. Like Meryl Streep. I angry-texted her to the effect of, “I know where you are and who you’re with.”

For Emily to fraternize with Seth, even over an informal get-to-know-you dinner, is interpreted by my crazy brain as her siding with the man who shattered my heart, a cruel invalidation of the pain I’ve experienced over the last year and a half, and ultimately a betrayal, unintended as it was. It’s bad enough that she’s still a Christian now that I’m an atheist, and that she and her husband are going to be involved with SafeHouse, which means that Seth will be their pastor and they’ll see him regularly, so there will be this walled off portion that we can’t share and can’t talk about. Now she’s having dinner with him—and I know how charismatic and charming he can be.

It comes down to my emotionally paralyzing terror of abandonment, and what with losing my faith and subsequently my community and my family for the most part, there’s just a lot of loss to deal with all at once—and I’m largely dealing with it on my own, since there’s no one really there to lean on when I lose it. Emily’s been the one constant in all of this. I already feel replaceable and forgettable enough—that people will eventually figure out that I’m not that interesting and move on.

And I have a hard enough time believing that anyone could ever stay with me as a partner. Seth’s rejection of me in February, coupled with the long string of failures and rejections in my past, as well as my failures in the romance department, all add up to this devastating conclusion that I will always be alone and no one will love me.

It’s like my birthday became this dividing line in the sand, with me on one side and Seth on the other; and along with Seth is God, my whole past life, and anyone who is friends with him, which leaves me increasingly alone over here. My inner narrator knows damn well that the line is completely self-imposed and that I’m the only one walling everything off, but the hurt and pain drown out all reason and rationale.

Fuck. There’s a lot to process right now, and I’m way over 5:00.

Hope I haven’t taken up too much of your time.

86. smoke

Note: This was written after a rough day and I didn’t feel like doing any carefully articulated writing. Please consider that when reading. Thanks.

One day when we came back from work, we saw three gallows rearing up in the assembly place, three black crows. Roll call. SS all round us, machine guns trained: the traditional ceremony. Three victims in chains—and one of them, the little servant, the sad-eyed angel.

The SS seemed more preoccupied, more disturbed than usual. To hang a young boy in front of thousands of spectators was no light matter. The head of the camp read the verdict. All eyes were on the child. He was lividly pale, almost calm, biting his lip. The gallows threw its shadow over him.

“Where is God? Where is He” someone behind me asked.

At a sign from the head of the camp, the three chairs tipped over.

The march past began. The two adults were no longer alive. Their tongues hung swollen, blue-tinged. But the third rope was still moving; being so light, the child was still alive . . .

Behind me, I heard the same man asking:

“Where is God now?”

And I heard a voice within me answer him:

“Where is He? Here He is—He is hanging here on this gallows . . .”

– Elie Wiesel, NIGHT.

This was the beginning of the end of my faith and belief in God.

The past couple of days I have had a number of conversations with theists of various persuasions and backgrounds. There is no conversation in particular that stands out— rather, it’s the whole thing. People who hold to belief in a benevolent and loving Creator God—who insist at the end of the day that God is good. All the time (as the song goes).

I used to say that. The thing is, I don’t even know if I believed it then. Did I believe it before I saw planes turned into bombs laced with human beings? Before I saw people jumping out of the Twin Towers rather than slowly burn to death in flames? Before we all saw pictures of the Rwandan genocides? Of the Darfur? Of the charred corpses of school children chained to metal posts and set ablaze?

God is not good.

God is far from good.

God is, at best, a swaggering, apathetic deity who shows up when it’s convenient, or (like a politician kissing babies or volunteering at the soup kitchen when the cameras are on) when it will make Him look good.

The rest of the time He can’t be bothered with the human race He allegedly created and then loosed on this earth—unless, of course, those human beings are picking up straw on the Sabbath, or using His name as a swear word, or loving (in every sense of the word “love”) someone of the same sex.

The best thing to do as concerns God is to stay as far away from Him as possible, and try and not get caught up in the destructive path of that divine tornado. The evidence is overwhelmingly clear that God doesn’t care about you or anyone other than Himself. Why should He be bothered if you are six months unemployed and running out of money, or your mother or grandmother has cancer, or you’re struggling to believe that He even exist— as long as His great Name is spread throughout the world?

God is a God who lets a child grow up in a home dominated by Christian fundamentalist colonialism, to be twisted by obnoxious doctrines such as that God loves sinners but hates sin, and is willing to throw you into an eternity in Hell if you don’t pray a magic prayer to Jesus (who He trussed up and killed as a figurative burnt offering to Himself).

Amongst other things, I learned that God can only accept you if you’re a heterosexual just like everyone else, and that homosexuals are sinners and therefore going to Hell unless they turn around, stop being gay, marry some women and start popping out Christian babies to twist and pervert.

So why am I so angry at Christians who continue to believe in God, or go to Church even though they don’t believe those things? Because they believe in a God who gave me the parents that I had; who doesn’t seem to give a fuck about the Creation; and who remains silent when someone psychologically beaten and bloody begs for just a sign He’s there. And all of the apologies from compassionate progressive Christians who insist that not all Christians believe or behave in the way that I and many other experienced Christianity growing up won’t make up for twenty-eight years of mental abuse I lived through.

Does this make me a “wounded apostate”? Perhaps. I prefer to think of it as having my eyes opened. At a certain age most of us drop our beliefs in Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy and other imaginary friends once we no longer need them and once our child brain is capable of evaluating evidence. Because I take His silence as a clear indicator of his non-existence.

So go ahead. Tell me I should believe in God. Tell me how much He loves me. Tell me that He’s good. All the time.

Not far from us, flames were leaping up from a ditch, gigantic flames. They were burning something. A lorry drew up at the pit and delivered its load—little children. Babies! Yes, I saw it—saw it with my own eyes . . . those children in the flames.

Never shall I forget that night, the first night in camp, which has turned my life into one long night, seven times cursed and seven times sealed. Never shall I forget that smoke. Never shall I forget the little faces of the children, whose bodies I saw turned into wreaths of smoke beneath a silent blue sky.

Never shall I forget those flames which consumed my faith forever.

– Elie Wiesel, NIGHT.

85. dreaming

This’ll probably be a shorter post than what normally goes up here.

I was doing some thinking the other night while commenting on a blog post about a pastor being fired from his church for posting (yes, just posting) an article about the Don’t Ask Don’t Tell repeal. Naturally I jump on this topic as yet another proof of how Christianity’s a sham and a fraud. There was a mix of opinions and perspectives, but one woman, “DR,” stood out. She posted this reply to one of my comments:

I can’t imagine a reasonable person who cares about good things, possesses a sound mind and character and who’s gay would ever choose “Jesus” as a result of what the church offered you (nothing but abuse). I’m a Christian – that you rejected what we offered to you was probably the healthiest decision you could have ever made for yourself spiritually and emotionally (maybe even physically).

I’m sorry. An apology or a thousand apologies will never be enough to repair the damage we’ve done. And it’s our fault we allowed this to continue, even those of us who didn’t ever buy into that nonsense taught. We weren’t loud enough, we weren’t strident enough. We weren’t brave enough to stand up for you. I am now but it’s too little too late for so many of you who experienced such rejection and devastation as a result of what Christians did. But it’s our responsibility now to clean up this mess that we’ve caused, to try to repair the damage these beliefs have done to our country – and hopefully, just leave you alone in peace.

I nearly cried reading and re-reading that—but, of course, I’m a man so I stoically held them back. (Kidding! I don’t have a soul, that’s why I don’t cry!)

It made me stop and think why I’m so angry at the Church, and at God. I have to wonder just how much of my anger is really still at Seth. After all, his final rebuffing of me, on my birthday no less, was the final straw in my haystack of doubt that led me to walk away from Christianity. And I want to be totally honest in my reasons for being a non-theist and do it because it’s what I really believe.

I’ve written about this before, but part of my reason for sticking with Christianity for as long as I did was because of Seth. He was a Christian and future pastor, and frankly I’d never met a guy like him before who seemed to think the way that I did about faith and what the church should be. He was radical and passionate, and loved people, and I loved all of that about him. And I wanted to be a Christian because it meant being part of him and what he was doing. So when he rejected me and my feelings for him that night on my birthday, that whole identity was shattered. It was already falling to pieces by the time I met Seth, but that second rejection was the coup de grâce. If there was to be no Seth in my world, then there would be no more God in my world; and if no God, no religion.

However, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that there hadn’t been God in my world… for some time. He’d gradually slipped away piece by piece over the years as I’d studied the bible in an attempt to (ironically) better understand my faith, and to reconcile faith and homosexuality. And God was a part of the past that I was holding on to, like a security blanket.

And, truth be told, there is also a bit of a mean-spirited, bitter component to my ire towards religion—a part of me that doesn’t want anyone else to find happiness and contentment in the church. “They are all deluding themselves! There is no God. It’s a façade, a fiction!” And I am angry that I can’t be part of Seth’s church, as I’d hoped to. And not just his either—my friends Adam, Jenny and Joe are all in it too. My roommates Mark and Emily are probably going to join too, and I can’t join them, so yet again I’m the perennial outsider, and the only role I know to play is the Satan character. (I’m usually cast as the villain in a show, partly because I’m good at it.)

Part of me wants to still believe in God—the part that longs for transcendence, that hopes against all hopes that this world isn’t all there is and that there is a larger purpose and design for it; that no matter how dark it gets, or how lonely I am (which is too often these days) that there is someone compassionately listening, understanding, comforting.

And then I see those words and realize how I’m falling for the emotional bullshit all over again. I’ve never had a direct experience with God. I had religious experiences as a teen and young adult, but never ones that couldn’t be explained rationally afterward. I’ve never been healed, or known anyone who has been healed. I’ve never heard a voice, or had a vision, or whatever else counts as a “religious experience.”

To the best of my knowledge, that is all we have of God—a sense that He exists, that we are not alone, that He’s hearing our prayers. But wanting something to be true doesn’t make it true.

Seth was only that catalyst that tipped me over the edge, in a direction I was headed when I met him. Between how my parents raised me and the lack of answers from the Christian community, it’s surprising I didn’t become an atheist sooner. Doesn’t mean the old familiar ache doesn’t spring up from time to time, and make me miss Seth, or God, or the church, or the community and fellowship that I once enjoyed.

Still doesn’t necessarily make any of it true.

84. genuflect

“God is love. I mean, can’t it be that simple for me? You hear it all the time, “God is love.” God is love. God is… a force of love. God is a force of love… in the universe!”
– Julia Sweeney, Letting Go of God

Last night I was chatting on the Facebook with a friend of mine who is a pastor. Now I’m trying to be cognizant of being the “belligerent atheist” and not attack my friends who have religious belief. That is not a good way to hold onto friends, or make friends; and it’s not how I want people to see me either. Plus, I’m all for people questioning my beliefs and picking them apart. One of the tenets I try to live my life by is holding no belief so sacred that I wouldn’t throw it out immediately if it were contradicted by facts or evidence.

And I’d hope it would be one of my friends proving me wrong. And I’d love them for it.

At one point my pastor friend and I were discussing how there are agnostics and even atheists at his church, and how during prayers these people substitute “Love” for “God,” which smacks of disingenuousness to me. It’s utterly perplexing how an atheist could attend church at all. I can understand valuing the community aspect. That is something that is sorely lacking in my own life, and I could almost entertain the idea of attending a church were it not for the religious aspect of it.

I could never pray to “Love.” Even the idea of it makes me uneasy because I’d know what we really meant was “God,” and I don’t really believe in any “higher power” or “supreme being.” He asked if I believe in “Love” and I said that no, I don’t, not in that way. I believe in a wholly natural universe, and that love is a chemical state within the brain, but that this doesn’t diminish its importance by being animal. Love is a many-splendored thing, but not worthy of divine enthroning in our hearts (though Love and the Divine are equally capable of horrors as they are of wonders). You could really substitute anything for “God” in that case, so I’m flummoxed why we’d bother praying to “Love” at all and instead focus on being loving.

What sprang to mind immediately when I heard this was the above-quoted excerpt from Julia Sweeney’s story, Letting Go of God, in which she talks about being raised Catholic as a teenager during the Vatican II changes:

In my senior year of high school they had us go on a special retreat, called a “Search.” And they took us off to a retreat house and they put these big blankets over the windows so you didn’t know what time it was and they didn’t let you sleep for two days and of course everyone kept breaking down, crying, and saying, “God is love. God is love.” Only we were actually saying, “Fred is love. Fred is love.” Because they asked us to call God “Fred” instead of God, because the name God was too off-putting for a lot of people and Fred felt… friendlier!

In my last entry I started to ponder what might be wrong with recognizing Christianity (especially liberal “progressive” Christianity) as essentially sexed-up humanism.

Liberal Christianity is admirable in many ways. It tries to be a haven for those who have been abused by traditional, conservative and/or fundamentalist Christianity, taking the positive aspects of the faith and institution and rejecting the rigidity and dogmatism of its older sibling. Some movements such as the Emergent Church advocate a return to the original tenets and principles of the early church: living a communal lifestyle, focusing on “being” rather than “doing,” and de-emphasizing traditional evangelism and systematic theology. Some believe in learning from the faiths (“narratives”) of others, and stress authenticity and conversation. They also believe strongly in morality and social justice.

It is essentially Christianity viewed through a post-modernist lens of deconstructionism and any other academic or philosophical idée du jour. It’s a theological smörgåsbord: Take what works, ignore the rest, or explain away what you don’t like. On the surface it seems a huge improvement over the dogmatism of fundamentalism. One of the things that ultimately turned me off to fundamentalist Christianity was how much mental gymnastics had to be done in order to make it work—God’s love vs. God’s wrath; human free will vs. divine omniscience; divine revelation vs. human understanding. We wrestle with questions like, “Why can God be jealous, but people can’t be jealous?” Oh, because God is God, and God is the only perfect being in existence. (If you’d like a real mind-bender, read Jonathan Edwards’ 1749 dissertation, Concerning The End For Which God Created the World, a vigorous critique of the purpose for the entire universe using Enlightenment reasoning.)

However, hasn’t progressive Christianity gone the opposite direction from fundamentalism, so open to internal criticism to the point that one might wonder why they even call themselves Christian. You don’t believe in the virgin birth? The miracles of Christ weren’t literal? The bible isn’t literal? What… do you believe in then? That God is a force of… love in the universe?

Recently I moved into a friend’s house and immediately set about ordering my bedroom. As far as layout and design principles go, I generally prefer to go with feng shui, or at least what makes its way onto the Internet. I placed my bed so that it wouldn’t be parallel with the door; used earth tones in decorating; don’t have a television in there (although with my bedroom there isn’t room!); have an air purifier to circulate air and keep it fresh; have several levels of lighting, including candles; and have images up on the walls of things I want to see happen in my life. Do I do this because I believe in an energy that flows through all things (an élan vital, if you will), or that arbitrary direction should determine which way a room faces? Hardly. I favor feng shui because I recognize the psychological power that aesthetics has on people. A cluttered space is going to make me feel less relaxed and settled. Having fresh air in the room promotes respiratory health. Earth tones are visually soothing. And so on.

Likewise, I haven’t entirely thrown out the Christian principles I was raised with as a child. Things like “Do unto others” and “Don’t worry about things you can’t change” are good principles to live by. What I’ve done away with is, like feng shui energies, the metaphysical and tried to take away what good can be gleaned from the practice. If it works in principle, why reinvent the wheel? But I don’t have to believe that it’s “true” to use it.

In substituting “Love” for “God,” I hear the same intellectual dishonesty displayed in the Intellectual Design movement, which takes out “God” and replaces it with an unknown force that is behind the structuring and creation of the universe – and all life, simple, complex; animal, human. But instead of delving into exploration behind the mysteries of the universe, as science is supposed to do, it elevates mystery and discourages true and vigorous inquiry. Dawkins in Chapter 4 of The God Delusion:

Here is the message that an imaginary ‘intelligent design theorist’ might broadcast to scientists: ‘If you don’t understand how something works, never mind: just give up and say God did it. You don’t know how the nerve impulse works? Good! You don’t understand how memories are laid down in the brain? Excellent! Is photosynthesis a bafflingly complex process? Wonderful! Please don’t go to work on the problem, just give up, and appeal to God. Dear scientist, don’t work on your mysteries. Bring us your mysteries, for we can use them. Don’t squander precious ignorance by researching it away. We need those glorious gaps as a last refuge for God.’ St Augustine said it quite openly: ‘There is another form of temptation, even more fraught with danger. This is the disease of curiosity. It is this which drives us to try and discover the secrets of nature, those secrets which are beyond our understanding, which can avail us nothing and which man should not wish to learn’ (quoted in Freeman 2002).

This is a rather simplistic reduction of ID by Dawkins (and rather condescending, in my opinion), but this is the same intellectual pitfall that progressive Christianity falls into. No matter how much questioning Christians do of their faith, how affirming they are of human diversity and towards the GLBT community, or how passionate they are about social justice, there will always come a point where the Christian mind “gives up” and accepts the ineffableness of divine mystery. God is always right; Man is always subject.

More later. I’m all thought-out.

83. love

“Catholics believe in forgiveness. Jews believe in Guilt.
– Tony Kushner, Angels in America

One of the things I find most offensive about Christianity is the doctrine of Original Sin. In case you’re fortunate enough not to be familiar, this is the doctrine first developed by 2nd-century Bishop of Lyon Irenaeus, and then more fully by Augustine of Hippo in the 5th century, describing the tendency for all human beings to sin as passed down to us like the clap from good ol’ Daddy Adam and Mama Eve, eons ago In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida (baby).

As the story goes, God finishes with creation and plops Adam (the first man) on the earth, then creates Eve (the first woman) for him since apparently God forgot that he’d given Adam a crazy sex drive that needed… umm, tending to. And (for some reason known only to God) there were also these two trees in the Garden – the Tree of Life and the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil – that they were not to eat from. So one day Eve is walking through the garden when this talking snake pulls her aside (yes, a talking snake) and makes the casual suggestion that perhaps God is holding out on her with this Tree of Knowledge thing, so she eats the fruit, then gives some to Adam; then they realize they’re naked and put some clothes on. Then, short of jumping out from behind the tree and yelling, “Gotcha!”, God throws a temper tantrum and takes everyone to task (including the talking snake) like an entitled teenager in a scene that might be straight out of the O.C.

The LORD God said to the serpent, “Because you have done this, cursed are you above all livestock and above all beasts of the field; on your belly you shall go, and dust you shall eat all the days of your life. I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and her offspring; he shall bruise your head, and you shall bruise his heel.”

To the woman he said, “I will surely multiply your pain in childbearing; in pain you shall bring forth children. Your desire shall be for your husband, and he shall rule over you.”

And to Adam he said, “Because you have listened to the voice of your wife and have eaten of the tree of which I commanded you, ‘You shall not eat of it,’ cursed is the ground because of you; in pain you shall eat of it all the days of your life; thorns and thistles it shall bring forth for you; and you shall eat the plants of the field. By the sweat of your face you shall eat bread, till you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; for you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”
– Genesis 3:14-19

This is the basis for the whole doctrine of original sin, and the biblical writers worked under the assumption that it was a historical fact. For those with the stomach for it, there’s also a compendium of scriptural references that support the doctrine on the website of John Piper’s church. And here are a few choice gems:

  • Psalm 14:2-3 – “The Lord has looked down from heaven upon the sons of men, to see if there are any who understand, who seek after God. They have all turned aside; together they have become corrupt; there is no one who does good, not even one.”
  • Psalm 51:1 – “Behold, I was brought forth in iniquity, and in sin did my mother conceive me.”
  • Ephesians 2:1-3 – “And you were dead in the trespasses and sins in which you once walked, following the course of this world, following the prince of the power of the air [oooh, Satan!!], the spirit that is now at work in the sons of disobedience [yup, that’s you and me, scum that we are]— among whom we all once lived in the passions of our flesh, carrying out the desires of the body and the mind, and were by nature children of wrath, like the rest of mankind.”

My favorite bullet point is where the author of that page argues that since infants die, they are not innocent and therefore born into sin and are sinners. And going to hell.

Yup. Babies are going to hell.

So, original sin. On the surface you might say that I just don’t like it. And I don’t. Yes, I am gay, and the bible has been used to teach that homosexuality is a sin, and that gays are sinful perverts living a “chosen” and perverted lifestyle. However, I know for a fact that I was born this way and therefore it makes no logical sense why I could be abomination. Now, I would be remiss in leaving out that there are Christians who do not believe this—my friends at SafeHouse Church, for example. However, I also don’t think that swearing is a sin. Or drinking. Or having sex. Or… well, take your pick (see below).

The fact is that the more I looked at “sin,” the more I recognized the problem as being not with people but with religion itself.

Case in point, several months ago my family and I were having lunch and my one-year-old nephew was dropping things off his tray, as young children often do. My younger sister (his mother) rolled her eyes and commented on how this was his “sin nature showing up already!” I quickly commented that this is perfectly normal behavior from a one-year-old. They’re experimenting with their surroundings, like mini-sociologists running behavioral experiments on the adults around them. But my sister and her husband (with the full support of my parents – his grandparents) saw his act as deliberately malicious behavior, and jumped to label the child “evil,” in effect saddling him with a mountain of future guilt and emotional terror at living amongst the ranks of the damned unless he prays a magical prayer to Jesus to save him from his supposed sins.

I say supposed because it’s only according to the bible that “sin” exists at all—and there are over six hundred of them listed, ranging from being angry with your brother (Matthew 5:22), not working (2 Thessalonians 3:10), stealing (Exodus 20:15; Mark 7:22), not praying in Jesus’ name (John 14:13), tattooing (Leviticus 19:28; Deuteronomy 14:1), having mischief in your heart (Psalm 28:3), kicking a man in the balls (Deuteronomy 25:11-12), gossiping (John 6:43), to murder (Exodus 20:13; Matthew 19:18) to even pitying a murderer (Deuteronomy 19:13). And the mother of them all, homosexuality (Leviticus 18:22; Romans 1:24-28; 1 Corinthians 6:9). Add to this list dancing, drinking, gambling, playing instruments in church, and enjoying sex. Or having fun that isn’t directly related to Jesus. Or thinking about sinners burning in hell for eternity.

I’m going to backtrack again and say that not all denominations or Christians adhere to this list, or even believe in original sin. Or sin at all. It isn’t fair to lump all Christians in with the fundamentalists, who the above list largely references. There are some liberal and even mainstream denominations that take a much broader and generous view of sin and human nature, urging non-judgmentalism amongst their congregations. And this is precisely the sort of mature thinking that ought to be congratulated and encouraged.

I’ve written previously about the existence of a historical Adam & Eve and the inherent problem with the doctrine of original sin to their being mythical rather than literal. Essentially, without this first sin having taken place and God foisting responsibility off on the creatures he endowed with free will and therefore the potential to make their own (and, presumably, the “wrong”) choices, “sin” is a moot point and Jesus dying on the cross for those sins is utterly pointless. If what we call “sin” is really just human nature (i.e., how God “made” us), what was he sacrificing himself for? The general imperfection of humanity?

Julia Sweeney puts it this way in Letting Go of God: “I thought, ‘Why would a God create people so imperfect, then blame them for their own imperfections, then send his son to be tortured and executed by those imperfect people to make up for how imperfect people were and how imperfect they inevitably were going to be?’ What a crazy idea!”

In the Old Testament (the first thirty-nine books of the bible, not counting the apocrypha) we have two examples which supposedly “pre-figure” this supposed atoning sacrifice by God of Jesus. The first is found in the well-known story of Abraham and Isaac, wherein God tells Abraham to take Isaac out and sacrifice him as a burnt offering to God. Abraham does this, and just at the last minute God seemingly changes his mind and sends an angel to stop Abraham and bring him a ram to kill instead. This is generally interpreted as a test of loyalty on the part of God, who was apparently satisfied enough that Abraham was going to kill Isaac and let him off the hook.

Second is the lesser-known story of Jephthah found in the book of Judges. In this story, Jephthah is a military leader who promises to sacrifice to God the first person who comes out to meet him as a burnt offering if God helps him win this battle with the Ammonites. He wins, goes home, and (you guessed it) the first person to meet him is his daughter. Rather than bargain with God or try to get out of his vow, Jephthah allows his daughter to go up into the hills for two months to “mourn her virginity,” after which she returns and he carries out his idiotic promise. (Incidentally, Jephthah is later mentioned in the New Testament book of Hebrews as a “man of faith” (Hebrews 11:32).)

While the story of Jephthah is usually held up as a warning against making rash vows, the story of the binding of Isaac in Genesis is typically held up as an example for us to follow: for us to be as open-handed and willing to obey God as Abraham was to kill Isaac and Isaac was to obey his father and be murdered. And both are examples featuring fathers offering (or intending to offer) their children as sacrifices. What are we to make of that? Apart from these being grisly tests of loyalty set up by a bloodthirsty god, why wouldn’t Abraham or Jephthah offer to die instead? What loving parent wouldn’t do that to save their child?

Judaism is a religion that fetishizes sin and guilt to the point of sado-masochistic, neurotic obsession, and Christianity takes it a step further (via the aforementioned Augustine via Irenaeus via Paul) by shackling every man, woman and child ever born with the sins of their ancestors and then having Jesus incarnate as a human in order to be tortured and killed to pay for those sins—past, present and future, whether anyone wanted him to or not. This obsession with blood! Dawkins comments in The God Delusion:

Paul, as the Jewish scholar Geza Vermes makes clear, was steeped in the old Jewish theological principle that without blood there is no atonement.  Indeed, in his Epistle to the Hebrews (9:22) he said as much. Progressive ethicists today find it hard to defend any kind of retributive theory of punishment, let alone the scapegoat theory – executing an innocent to pay for the sins of the guilty. In any case (one can’t help wondering), who was God trying to impress? Presumably himself – judge and jury as well as execution victim. To cap it all, Adam, the supposed perpetrator of the original sin, never existed in the first place: an awkward fact – excusably unknown to Paul but presumably known to an omniscient God (and Jesus, if you believe he was God?) – which fundamentally undermines the premise of the whole tortuously nasty theory. Oh, but of course, the story of Adam and Eve was only ever symbolic, wasn’t it? Symbolic? So, in order to impress himself, Jesus had himself tortured and executed, in vicarious punishment for a symbolic sin committed by a non-existent individual? As I said, barking mad, as well as viciously unpleasant.

Even if Christianity provides a framework for so-called “moral” living, or at the very least a positive view of the world, how is this different from any other “positive” philosophy—say, Buddhism? What does it matter if it isn’t entirely true (or even straight-up mythical)? It matters because if there was no Adam to commit the “original sin,” then there is no “sin” to begin with and no reason for Christ to die to save us from that “sin.” The Eucharist is an act of awful systematic self-flagellation wherein Christians remind themselves how awful we are that Christ had to die to placate God – a God, by the way, who trussed Jesus up on the altar of his own failure as a Creator. And “Eat my body”? “Drink my blood”? Protestants may view this as symbolic, but it’s still deeply disturbing.

Believe what you like yourself. Believe, as in the Bertrand Russel analogy, that a teapot orbits the sun between Mars and Jupiter. But if you believe that the bible, God, Jesus and the crucifixion aren’t absolutely true, then it’s unconscionable to teach others to believe it and to base their lives around it as if it were true. It’s even more unconscionable – yes, even criminal – to teach young children such toxic nonsense before they are able to think and decide for themselves.

As I suggested previously, it’s not entirely bad to believe in God if it brings you comfort—say, if believing in God helps more than the psychiatrist. However, as Dawkins writes in the last chapter of The God Delusion, “Religion’s power to console doesn’t make it true.” Nor is it “true” because it works. If it brings meaning to people’s lives; if it makes them better, kinder and nobler; and if it gives them hope in dark times—that still doesn’t make it “true.”

Original sin is an evil, toxic and dehumanizing doctrine; but without it, what’s the point of Christianity? Christianity is the glorification of Christ for his coming to earth to die for our sins. At the core of some of Christ’s teachings are some progressive and humanist principles: Don’t just take revenge when you’re wronged. Treat people as you want to be treated. Everyone, regardless of class or social status, has inherent value.

More on that next time.

82. grace

What I’m suggesting is that Feng Shui and an awful lot of other things are precisely of that kind of problem. There are all sorts of things we know how to do, but don’t necessarily know what we do, we just do them. Go back to the issue of how you figure out how a room or a house should be designed and instead of going through all the business of trying to work out the angles and trying to digest which genuine architectural principles you may want to take out of what may be a passing architectural fad, just ask yourself, ‘how would a dragon live here?’ We are used to thinking in terms of organic creatures; an organic creature may consist of an enormous complexity of all sorts of different variables that are beyond our ability to resolve but we know how organic creatures live. We’ve never seen a dragon but we’ve all got an idea of what a dragon is like, so we can say, ‘Well if a dragon went through here, he’d get stuck just here and a little bit cross over there because he couldn’t see that and he’d wave his tail and knock that vase over’. You figure out how the dragon’s going to be happy here and lo and behold! you’ve suddenly got a place that makes sense for other organic creatures, such as ourselves, to live in.

So, my argument is that as we become more and more scientifically literate, it’s worth remembering that the fictions with which we previously populated our world may have some function that it’s worth trying to understand and preserve the essential components of, rather than throwing out the baby with the bath water; because even though we may not accept the reasons given for them being here in the first place, it may well be that there are good practical reasons for them, or something like them, to be there. I suspect that as we move further and further into the field of digital or artificial life we will find more and more unexpected properties begin to emerge out of what we see happening and that this is a precise parallel to the entities we create around ourselves to inform and shape our lives and enable us to work and live together. Therefore, I would argue that though there isn’t an actual god there is an artificial god and we should probably bear that in mind.
– Douglas Adams, speech, Cambridge U.K., September 1998


As a burgeoning agnostic atheist, I’ll be the first to admit that in my newly-found “belief” can be almost as dogmatic as the fundamentalist dogmatism that I supposedly rally against. Tonight – or this morning, which ever way you look at it –my best friend Emily challenged my quasi-extremist views on religion and faith, which made me think more carefully about what it is that I actually “believe.” Yes, atheism (even my agnostic atheist variety) is a religion in its own right; and she also pointed out that not all atheists are of the Dawkins variety. Atheism is merely the belief in the non-existence of God.

And not all atheists care about religion, or wish to see an end put to it. Richard Dawkins is essentially a secular humanist of the rationalist school of thought; but his view and that of Christopher Hitchens, Michael Shermer, P.Z. Myers and the like is hardly typical of all atheists. Some are more extremist in their views, while others are more laissez-faire.

Personally, having come out of fundamentalism, I will (again) be the first to admit that I emerged deeply wounded by the teachings of the Church and some of the people within the Church who, even if they were well-intended, still contributed to the wounding. So it stands to reason that my anger towards Christianity is partially fueled by that.

On the other hand, I also have a unique perspective on the inner workings of the church and its teachings that some atheists who have not “passed through the experience of Christianity” can’t appreciate. They may understand the problems with the teachings of Christianity, but just as a prisoner of war understands the experience of having been in a concentration camp and having seen the brutality of humanity firsthand, I understand Christianity for having been raised in it and still living with the ghosts of its abuses.

“Is there an artificial god?” was the title of Douglas Adams’ speech that he gave at the Digital Biota 2 conference in September of 1998. (I’ve quoted from it here before.) In it, he basically ponders what harm believing in God can really do. If you believe that an all-powerful deity created the universe and everything in it, what’s the harm? If you’re not hurting other people, what does it matter? He compares it to fung shui, in that it’s an architectural system that uses a metaphysical narrative to achieve more simply what a PhD in engineering does with all of its theories and architectural principles. Instead of painstakingly working out the psychological impact that putting a chair here or a window there has on people… well, here’s Adams again:

Apparently, we need to think about the building being inhabited by dragons and look at it in terms of how a dragon would move around it. So, if a dragon wouldn’t be happy in the house, you have to put a red fish bowl here or a window there. This sounds like complete and utter nonsense, because anything involving dragons must be nonsense – there aren’t any dragons, so any theory based on how dragons behave is nonsense. What are these silly people doing, imagining that dragons can tell you how to build your house?

I’m going to take just a moment to argue for religion. Fundamentally, if believing that God created the universe and cares about you in particular, and it’s a “gorgeous myth” (as a friend of mine recently called it) that you can build your life around in the same way that we order our houses by how a dragon would be happy in it, and it brings you some degree of happiness, peace and contentment, then good for you. Go on believing that if it literally helps you sleep at night. And I mean it. There are some people who have had such horrific or painful experiences in their lives that, well, maybe believing in God is going to do more for them than slugging it out in years of psychoanalysis.

Some things science has no answers for, like why children are recruited as child soldiers, forced to commit atrocities and become victimizers themselves; why priests are allowed to go from parish to parish, abusing children seemingly without impunity and leaving them emotional wrecks; or why earthquakes level entire cities, killing millions in the blink of an eye, as though they were flies or ants. We can explain it sociologically, psychologically, geologically. But maybe believing that there is a God who hears your prayers and sympathizes with your pain is simpler for getting through the day.

I’ll leave it there because there’s a lot more I could say about the subject, and I’m making a concerted effort to be nice.

81. mandy

… or why I, as a gay American man, do not support same-sex marriage. Call it whatever else you want, but marriage it is not. And, personally, I want nothing to do with it.

What’s that? “Blasphemy!” someone is shouting? “Call the gay thought police?”

Hear me out.

Yesterday, an Op-Ed piece ran in the New York Times about Judge James Ware’s decision to release the California Proposition 8 trial tapes. As we all know, Prop 8 supporters are attempting to block the release, while (not surprisingly) equality proponents are eager for the public to see what actually went on during the trial. As Chad Griffin, board president of the American Foundation for Equal Rights, was quoted as saying (also in the New York Times), Americans would be able “to see the case they put on and the case we put on, and they can decide whether the case was properly decided.”

Which is a clever way of asking, “What have you got to hide?”

Personally, I’m opposed to calling same-sex marriage “marriage” at all, for several reasons. For one, I actually agree with conservatives (and my parents) that marriage refers to a specific relationship that is somewhat exclusive to heterosexuals — and that this isn’t necessarily something for them to brag about. I’ve written about this before, but it’s not bad to have another go at explaining myself.

My own position begins and ends with the history of marriage and sexual politics, basically since the beginning of civilization. What it comes down to is that marriage is essentially a legal contract, not a basic human right, and we must keep that in mind. Without getting too deep into it, we can largely thank the Victorian era and the Cult of Domesticity for changing and romanticizing our ideas about marriage.

Historically speaking, marriage has always been a contract, and a deeply anti-feminist one at that. The most beautiful and moving aspect of a wedding (namely, a father walking his beloved daughter down the aisle) is a reflection of its original intent: that a woman was viewed as property, without rights of her own, and therefore a transferable commodity. A woman wore a ring as a mark of belonging to her husband’s household. Even the practice of a woman adopting her husband’s surname is an ancient holdover, one that couples do every day without question.

An even more ancient leftover is the custom of having a best man, and this too is tied into its anti-feminist history. In olden times, a man would often simply abduct his bride, and (as you might expect) her father and other close male relations would take offense. Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, anyone? (Yes, I am a gay man.) So a groom would enlist a trusted friend to act as his second, as backup and as defense. After all, nothing says romance like raping your bride — and I’m using that term in both the sense of “an act of plunder, violent seizure or carrying off by force” as well as likely sexual. Most women probably dream of being swept off their feet, but I doubt it would be in the literal sense.

Aside from the misogynistic, chauvinistic roots of “traditional” marriage, there is also the inescapable connection of the institution to the Church — an institution that itself has not been the friendliest to anyone who was not capable of breeding more Christians to do the bidding of sky-father God to spread the mind virus of faith throughout the world. I can see the argument being made that this is where change needs to start, from within; but until the Pope Benedicts and the John Pipers of Christendom see differently, there will never be a true place at the table for gays, lesbians, or anyone under the “alternative” umbrella.

Don’t get me wrong. A marriage ceremony is an expression of love and commitment, and it’s easy to see how the GLBT community wants in on that. But at what cost? In seeking marriage equality, aren’t we selling out to the heterosexual majority in exchange for acceptance? Yes, extend the same legal rights and benefits to gay unions; but don’t merely swap out a bride for another groom on the wedding cake (or groom for bride).

The mere notion of “swapping out” a bride for a groom (and vice versa) is telling of how artificial “gay marriage” is, which is why I’m largely opposed to it and all for coming up with something new, a ceremony that reflects our unique relationships. The symbolic language of the traditional marriage ceremony is ultimately that of transaction, subjugation and bondage (not to mention fertility—you think flowers are there just for aesthetic appeal?). So why would we want to be a part of that?

What I think gays and lesbians are deeply wanting is the sense of collective celebration surrounding our unions. Weddings are massive events that bring together family and friends from all over. That’s really what’s going on — not a contract, not a legal binding. Attendants are no longer even considered witnesses in the sense that they once were. Actually, a fascinating piece of wedding arcana is that at one time the Church was so obsessed with a marriage being properly consummated that they required witnesses to attest that the deed was, in fact, done. (That’d certainly put a different twist on being the best man! The most we have to worry about now is not screwing up the speech.)

Lobbying for gay marriage provides an emotional locus, yes—far more effective and unifying than lobbying for, say, the legal rights and benefits of marriage. However, in the fight to achieve equal legal and societal standing, I think it’s important that we know what exactly it is that we’re fighting for. Most would probably say that I’m splitting hairs here, and that what really matters is gaining marriage equality; that we can talk definitions later.

But I think it’s precisely that lack of definition here that’s to blame for so much of the rancor surrounding this issue, and why it seems so costly to both sides.

Conservatives are fighting against the perceived threat of the “homosexual agenda,” which is code for “normalizing” and thereby recruiting (again, that’s code for “turning”) young people to the “gay lifestyle.” What we have here is a whole lot of inflammatory language and very little in the way of substance. It’s an effective use of apocalyptic imagery though. When in doubt, stress that our children are in danger!

So here is where the war needs to be waged, on the front of public education and clarifying definitions. And I suspect that there are many conservatives who, if you were to sit down with them in their living room and lay out what exactly we’re after (instead of on opposite sides of a picket line), they might say, “Oh, that’s what you wanted? Why didn’t you say so!” (When that day arrives, let’s resist the collective urge to be sarcastic. It’ll be a big step for conservatives to even admit that.)

This is another discussion entirely, but why that isn’t happening right now is that this is the last important social issue for religious conservatives and they want to keep it going as long as they can, or until they win. Once all unions, gay and straight, are recognized as being fundamentally equal, they will lose what little credibility and moral authority they have left. And they know it. Their entire argument that homosexuality is wrong (and therefore undeserving of legal or societal recognition) hinges on the validity and inerrancy of the Bible, and that God said that it’s wrong. That’s the sum and essence of it, right there. Take all that away and what’s left is a small, ugly voice whining, “You can’t be gay because I don’t like it and it makes me uncomfortable!”

Sorry, I meandered slightly.

As I said earlier, I think what we’re largely after in the fight for same-sex marriage is the deep sense of affirmation and celebration that surrounds the institution. It’s not about getting a piece of paper, or whatever else opponents may say, though an essential piece is certainly gaining the same rights, protections and privileges as heterosexual couples. But that doesn’t make same-sex marriage “marriage,” at least in the definitive sense, and I don’t think that’s a bad thing. Again, why would a gay couple want to participate in an institution that 1) has discriminated against them for centuries; and 2) is deeply chauvinist and misogynist?

Besides, the last thing I want anyone asking me is, “So who’s walking you/your partner down the aisle?” Because I can just see that conversation happening, and some bitch getting a martini to the face.

At the same time, I can see the point being made at how having “our own ceremony” still leaves us second-class citizens. In reply, I think the best solution of all is follow the lead of many European countries and totally separate Church and State. In places like the Netherlands, marriage is a contract, nothing more. You go and sign the license, which is the legally binding part; and then you have the church ceremony, which is about family, friends, etc. But the pastor or priest is not the officiant. The “By The Power Vested In Me” part is performed at City Hall (or wherever). The two are separate, but legally, as long as it’s between two consenting adults (which I think should be part of any definition), the two are indistinguishable. Granted, we’re talking about a radical cultural shift in thinking, and that’s never easy to bring about; but I don’t think it’s that outrageous.

And as I’ve said about religion, I think that definitions are important. And defining what exactly we want out of a “marriage” might take considerable wind out of religious and conservative arguments against it. At the very least, let’s know what we’re talking about before we go to war over it.

As they say, truth will out.