Perfection Perplexion

What is the Christian God? Not who, but what. You've all been told the same basic details: God is omni-this and omni-that... They also say he is perfect. What does that mean?

For one thing, he's said to be able to create perfect things. They say the world was perfect when he created it. The sad thing is, it isn't perfect now. Supposedly, the world was perfect but then it stopped being perfect. That doesn't make sense to me, because I have very high expectations of perfection.

I expect a perfect entity to have no past or present flaws; nothing's gone wrong with it yet. Christians tend to agree with me on that part, but I think their idea of "perfection" is inferior. Where we disagree is: I expect a perfect entity to have no future flaws; it ought to be flawless and stay flawless.

But the world didn't stay flawless, did it? By the Christian definition of "perfect" the world was created perfect, but by mine it wasn't. (If a perfect entity is a perfect entity wherever it is, it should be a perfect entity whenever it is. Why should space and time be so different.)

So I'm wrong? Well, consider that if it is possible for perfection to be lost, then it may be possible for God to stop being perfect. It may have happened already and Christians would be none-the-wiser. You could ask some Christians if their God is perfect, but they're imperfect so they might give the wrong answer. You could ask God if he's perfect, but he might be imperfect and give the wrong answer. They might say the right answer but you might misunderstand. (You're not perfect, are you?)

But Christians are sure their God is perfect so, it would seem, it must be impossible for perfection to be lost. But then the world could not have been created perfect. Having dropped that conclusion on you, I'd like to elaborate on my idea of perfection.

I believe that perfection, being the ultimate good quality, must be infectious. A perfect can-opener, for instance, would be able to open any can with ease and never wear out. Not only that but it would prevent you from cutting yourself on the sharp edges, it would recycle the can for you, and do so without expending any resources. Eventually, I conclude that it would prevent the depletion of the world's resources, bring peace, and prevent the heat death of the Universe. It would be one helluva can-opener.

That is what I mean by perfection being infectious: its effects must spread. But it hasn't spread, else it would have conquered, nay prevented, all of the world's flaws. Therefore there is no perfection. Perplexing isn't it?

Shameless plug for my blog

I've done a post on my views on the whole "are standards falling?" debate, which, of course, has come out for its annual airing. Go have a look!

The Philosophy Of Squish

When squish, one may suspect that in fact squash. This discrepancy, or, more accurately, squitch, is the source of much fascination amongst squishologists and squashosophers alike.

In 1462, Yohalog Squesh first suggested the idea of smush. His ideas, though not as internally consistent as the squinge of today, kick-started a flurry of thinking about squudges and squapplers. Once squonge had become relatively well-known, it branched into two distinct formal disciplines known as squagg and snordge.

Squaggology involves an eclectic mix of sproop and quagmiric nonispites. In contrast, snordgeology causes much confusion about its spelling and also how best to catch ducks using nothing more conspicuous than a can of indigo paint and a rocking-horse.

After several decades of fruitless research, the solution to the Sgaricgaric Formulon was discovered and this led to the induction of a gorse bush into the Grand Theory Of Boopibubzo. Nonetheless, some of the less fustopilious mumpophrosers vehemently denied that anything vegetable should be squoitch.

Causality almost ground to a screeching halt and encountered unfortunate updrafts in its attempts to escape from the whoosh-riddled land of New Zealand. Things could have ended there, were it not for Yarvesti Municipone. In the end, thanks to her help, phragglominician sparamonoid glarterfetchian cucumbers won and the latter of the two disciplines became philosophy as we know it today.

So now you know.

Fungussy Philosophy

I'd better get started on this personal philosophy thingy! I'll start off by boring you all stiff about the Fungus Simulator. It's a computer program I've been working on, on-and-off, for... A few years actually. Blimey.

It's based on a well-known idea, which involves a grid of virtual "cells" that can be either "alive" or "dead". The cells live or die depending on a very simple set of known rules. Thus, they produce mesmerising patterns of complex-looking activity, which some say resembles life itself. I initially thought it resembled fungus, hence my program's ridiculous name.

Very recently, I found that the original idea is called "Conway's Game of Life"—not to be confused with the board game—and realised that, in my ignorance, I have made my Fungus Simulator notably different from Conway's game.

My simulator applies one set of rules that determines whether a cell lives, but Conway's game uses two; one for whether a cell comes alive and another for whether a cell dies. This crucial distinction means that my program is currently unable to emulate Conway's, although I think I could build "Conway completeness" into a future version.

This is not to say that my simulator is entirely inferior to Conway's game. On the contrary, my simulator allows the user to customise the rules, whereas Conway's rules (expressed in my own words) are fixed as follows:

• Any dead cell that has exactly three living neighbours comes to life.
• Any living cell that does not have exactly two or three living neighbours dies.
• All other cells remain unchanged. (I consider this rule to be implied, therefore I don't call it "Rule Three".)

The reason why I am writing about programming here is because, through my own personal experience, I have seen how a few simple rules can result in amazing and complex structures. No doubt some of you have spotted that Conway's Game of Life is a metaphor for the theory of Evolution, which is a big issue in debates about theological Creation.

Breaking Thoughtful Silence

Hello again fellow readers, writers and thinkers! I'd better post something so that you don't call our blog dead. I don't think it's quite fair to call it dead because...

1. It's still online (despite having briefly been flagged as a spam blog!) and...
2. I've just posted on it!

So why is this blog nigh dead? And how did it get the way it is now?

Put simply, this blog was founded as a place to argue about religion during a time when I personally (at least) was feeling very argumentative. Since then, it appears that we've all calmed down a bit and become more tolerant of each other... Or perhaps just lazy.

The more I search the web for religious arguments, the more I find. It feels as if everything we could say on the subject of religion has already been said somewhere before, and thus we wonder why we should bother with this puny blog.

We just aren't discussing religion any more. In fact, this group has got out of touch.

Fortunately, I think I can see a solution. It relies on a small but crucial detail that I spotted recently: This blog is not called The Argue About Religion Blog, nor is it called The Theological Guillotine—or anything that specific. Instead, it has an equally strange (and terrible) name and description (courtesy of yours truly) which are much more general in their meaning...

One Agnostic, Two (Many) Christians: These Three Titular Types Try To Think Things Through Together...

It could, when you think about it, be the title of almost anything... As long as that thing involves some Christians and an agnostic who think! But so what? Well, it means that we don't have to argue about religion all the time!

We could philosophise about world events, other blogs and so on. We could comment on how our beliefs impact on our world and vice versa. In other words: We could do what people normally do with blogs... Except that this time the opinions are ours.

So let's get started, shall we?

Something to think about

"When it comes to faith, everybody has it. People often tell me they could never have faith, that it is just too hard. The idea that some people have faith and others don't is a popular one. But it is not a true one. What often happens is that people with specific beliefs about God end up backed up in a corner, defending their faith against the calm, cool rationality of others. As if they have faith and beliefs and others don't.

But that is not true. Let's take an example: Some people believe we were made by a creator who has plans and purposes for his creation, while others believe there is no greater meaning to life, no grand design, and we exist not because of some divine intention but because of random chance. This is not a discussion between people of faith and people who don't have faith. Both perspectives are faith perspectives, built on systems of belief. The person who says we are here by chance and there is no greater meaning has just as many beliefs as the person who says there's a creator. Maybe even more." --Rob Bell, Velvet Elvis

Discuss.

(Perhaps "not believing in God" would be better described as "believing in no God"?)

God-Tinted Glasses

In an RE lesson years ago, I was introduced to an interesting concept: That atheists, unable to see the god(s) they (supposedly) depend on, are like fish, unable to see the water they swim in. Since then, that idea has rattled around inside my head, but recently it bumped into a brain-cell and some thoughts occurred:

Firstly, although a living fish may be unable to see the water it is in, I have little doubt it is very able to detect said water using its other senses. Meanwhile, nobody has any senses for detecting deities -- or at least, none that work reliably or have been proven to exist. (That dastardly classic problem of being unable to trust ones senses is still around!) What I am saying is: Just like an embarrassed puffer fish, the simile deflates under scrutiny.

Secondly, I wish to turn the concept on its head: What if atheists are right and this metaphorical god-water isn't really there at all? What if theists are, metaphorically, wearing God-Tinted Glasses?

There are many religions with many branches and they all contain logical flaws, (I intend to write more about these in future posts,) which, logically, prevent them from being completely, if at all, true. In addition to these flaws, different religions contradict each other by definition -- if they didn't, they'd be the same religion -- and this prevents there from ever being more than one "true religion." Knowing this, it is logical to conclude that most theists are, knowingly or otherwise, fooling themselves and each other into holding false beliefs.

But then which theists hold the true beliefs? Well, they all seem to be convinced that they personally do, despite a total lack of evidence and much careful reasoning to the contrary, so it's very likely they're all fooling themselves.

Some people try to get around the contradictions and other flaws. They claim that all religions are true by using wishy-washy ideas like, "We're all looking out different windows at the same light." Unfortunately, such statements totally fail to reconcile the myriad differences and merely sweep them under the metaphorical rug, where they will come out and cause trouble again later.

Yet more theists say things like, "Believe whatever is right for you," which is tantamount to admitting that the various religions offer little more than a selection of fantasies to choose amongst. Of course, it isn't quite that simple: The religion you claim to belong to can have a large effect on the sorts of places and people you end up going to and socialising with. What I fail to understand is why some theists think this is a good thing. Why should they let their religion dictate who they befriend, rather than simply sticking around with the people and places they normally get along with?

Regarding the aforementioned fantasies: I do not object to fantasies in general. I think it's fair to say that most people fantasise about things they like most of the time. I often think it's useful to have a dream I like, to aim for to give my life purpose.

Those who know me may be aware that I often cannot think of a way to get to where I want and have to ask for advice, but that is beside the point. The point here is that no dream can come true if it is self-contradictory, because it would then be both false and true, which makes no sense. To put it bluntly, regardless of how well motivated you are, you will never fulfil your dream or fantasy if you choose one that is self-contradictory. Thus, if your fantasy is religious, your efforts are futile and can only complicate things for everyone. I like simplicity; hence I am motivated to write this.

One of the things that rarely fails to surprise me is that my words appear to have no effect on religious people. I am mystified as to why they insist on clinging desperately to religious fantasies even after I've explained to them the conspicuously complete futility of their religious efforts. And if you think "clinging desperately" is too strong a phrase then bear in mind that most of the people I've argued with, especially those I meet online, have been unable to put up a coherent defence for their beliefs and have resorted instead to insulting or ignoring me personally.

There must be an infinite number of non-contradictory fantasies they could hold instead, but religious people are never really interested in what I say. It is as if they only pretend to listen, thinking in their closed minds, "The poor fool will be damned." Or they interrupt and exclaim that they must not listen because my words and intentions are evil. Or they listen patiently but quietly dismiss my every word as false -- and then they leave saying, "Thank you for questioning my beliefs; you have helped me to strengthen them," because they believe that anyone who disagrees with them is wrong by definition.

I get frustrated when people continue their misguided actions even after it has been explained to them that their efforts are actually observably detrimental to themselves and others. For instance, when two religious groups clash and both cling to their irrational beliefs with equal ferocity, the only possible eventual outcome is war. I suspect that theists hold onto their futile beliefs because they fear that the alternatives are equally pointless. Fortunately, at least one alternative is not: As a being with a mind, each of us is able to find a purpose in ourselves and in other things.

Good purposes for things tend to run along the lines of, "Food is for feeding hungry people." Meanwhile, a good purpose for people is to cause widespread knowledge and happiness. I attempt to do that by writing both philosophy and humour, which I put online. Those purposes do not require any gods, and yet I found them and try to work towards them.

If people got a better understanding of themselves and the world they would achieve better and wouldn't try to force others to do unreasonable things. I try to help but some just fool themselves even more and everybody ends up doing something utterly stupid like going to war about whose religion is better. All the theists in the world are fooling themselves and each other -- they are wearing differently-coloured God-Tinted Glasses, which prevent them from seeing sense. If they took them off, life would be simpler and therefore nicer.