The Wonderland of Atheists

What do we mean when we speak of God? I mean, when we use the word, what are we referencing? When the atheist says that he doesn’t believe, in what does he not believe?

I tried to pin a friend down on this point once. It has been, so far, the last time we ever sat together. It was a very strange conversation; it remains a strange sort of memory. I went to his birthday party, but was the only one there, there before even he showed up, and we were the only ones there. The only gift he would ask for was money, which I always hate to give as a present. Too impersonal, giving money at Christmas or on a birthday never quite feels like giving a gift. But a gift is as much for the receiver as the giver, and I do try very hard to listen to what people say and what they try to communicate, even if I don’t comprehend.

He had renounced his faith, and we had been, I thought pleasantly, arguing it out. However, it seemed we kept talking past each other, and so, I thought, or hoped, that if we could pin down what we were talking about, God, we might get somewhere beyond mere disagreement.

He didn’t have a definition, but he wouldn’t accept mine either. I thought, and still think, it a very odd thing to demand all bear witness to your disbelief when you cannot say what you disbelieve in.

Let me put it this way. If I say, “That pillar is plumb,” and a friend says it isn’t, we might grab a laser, a bubble level, or a string and a weight, and see. We can do this if we agree on what plumb means, that is, in line with gravity. Our argument, if we do argue, can only make sense if we know what we are talking about.

Most arguments between theists and atheists don’t make sense because neither side has a good idea of what they are attacking or defending. “Aquinas’s five proofs are debunked easily,” says the atheist, who then goes on to suggest a cupcake or a stone could be the ultimate uncaused cause. Hearing such a retort, the theist fears he’s fallen into a wonderland where words are not put together in any meaningful way.

If you disbelieve in Christianity, alright, I can argue for Christianity. We both know what that is. We have creeds, institutions, scriptures, and history to be picked through and arguments to last a lifetime. Yet, if you disbelieve in God, how can it be proved one way or another until we know what we mean? If I say that that beam right there is plumb and you say, “No it isn’t because today is a Monday,” I may try to fit you for a straightjacket. Before I institutionalize you, however, I might ask what you think ‘plumb’ means.

As I said before, my friend who was raised Christian but had renounced his faith had no definition for what he ardently doubted. I forget what were the exact phrases I proffered as a definition. I’m fairly sure I said something along the lines that God was ultimate being because I remember us going on a long time about what being or exitance was. My point was that if things existed, that quality was something.

We never moved on from there. Neither accepting nor rejecting my attempts at definition, nor showing any interest in what he meant by the word “God,” my friend seemed adamant that he would continue to disbelieve in “God” whatever “God” was.

There was another odd thing about that day: Neither of us could remember the first cause of our coming to that particular pizza parlor. I said that, in our youth, he had held a birthday party here long ago, and he said, on the contrary, that I had. Neither of us could remember who had invited the other here to begin the custom. It was, to me, a haunting realization that neither of us could remember why we had come to this place in particular since neither of us liked the pizza very much. Such was our last meeting there, and it has been our last meeting ever since; it saddens me to say.