Then as teenagers it is common for us to go through a rebellious phase – not necessarily acting outside of any established moral or ethical framework, but daring to venture out on our own, to establish our identities as individuals, and to explore for ourselves what constitutes “truth”. Sometimes we act like raving lunatics just to be contrary.

Then we enter adulthood, and invariably become more “grounded”, learning to temper our youthful passions, to focus that energy towards more “practical” pursuits.  We learn balance, objectivity, humility.  We are able – in most cases – to reconcile our personal views with the fact that others have different views.

We grow up.

It occurred to me recently that there may be a parallel between this maturation from childhood to adulthood, and people’s progression through different phases of belief and disbelief.  Of course not everyone has the journey through belief and/or disbelief, just as we don’t all mature at the same pace or experience the same things at any given point in our lives.  So the parallel I am drawing is meant to be generic and abstract, rather than a precise comparison.

For those of us who grow up in religious households, we are taught our parents’ beliefs, go to their church, temple, or mosque if they have one, and are saddled with our parents morals, ethics, and any baggage that might come with it.  We take what we are given at face value, accept it as truth, due to the trust we place in those that have proven themselves by caring for us.  But unlike our natural inevitable journey into adolescence, many people never push beyond the beliefs instilled in them during childhood, they do not dare to venture out on their own, to establish their own personal religious identity.

More often than not, those who do not “progress” beyond this stage are the fundamentalists of any given theology, the hardliners, the literalists.  These are people who retain their childhood stories but never learned to look at it with grown-up eyes, to appreciate things like subtlety, nuance, multiple interpretations – like only appreciating poetry where it rhymes, rather than being able to read between the lines.

For those that do move to the next phase, however,  some rebel violently against their former beliefs and institutions – or at least the most vile version or perception of those institutions.  Perhaps they rebel due to a falling out with a parent or preacher or other authority figure.  Perhaps because of some major discrepancy between what we’ve been told to think and what we’ve reasoned for ourselves or even directly experienced.  This discrepancy usually has some noteworthy psychological impact, forcing a person not just to let go of their beliefs, but to run away from them screaming and yelling.

These are people like the militant atheists and agnostics – those for whom it is not enough to simply disbelieve, but who feel compelled to attack those who do believe. Not all atheists fit this description as I’ll explain in the third phase below. Far from simply establishing themselves as individuals “free” of religion, they feel some pressing need to return to their old beliefs and institutions with venom and fire, to criticize and belittle them.  In this way they are just as tethered to those old institutions as they always were, their identities as atheists dependent upon there being a religion against which to rebel.

Just as angry teenagers do not listen to their parents’ reasoning, their attempts to defend their choices, militant atheists do not listen to the more rational believers, the liberal theologians.  They are too busy screaming and yelling.  They need to cast religion and religious people as villains against whom they must stand in opposition.  The ironic thing is that they become the very thing that they are trying to rebel against, like the worst nightmare of any rebellious teenager – to become just like their parents.

The new atheists, who attack a repugnant version of religion, use it to condemn all religion. They use it to deny the reality and importance of the religious impulse. They are curiously unable to comprehend those who found through their religious convictions the strength to stand up against injustice…The new atheists, like all fundamentalists, flee from complexity. They can cope with religion in its most primitive and abusive form. They are helpless when confronted by a faith that challenges their caricatures.

America’s New Fundamentalists pp. 33-34

My experience with this involved some evangelicals and their implication that my mother, for her experimenting with Buddhism and other religions, would be condemned to Hell.  Another example can be seen in the movie The God Who Wasn’t There, which presented itself as a critique of religion and the Jesus myth, but by the end revealed itself to be one man’s personal vendetta against his religious upbringing and parochial school.  Much like a teenager finally getting to tell her parents all the things they did wrong in raising her.

Finally, though, the incendiary passions of militant atheism, like adolescence, are tempered through a sort of rational – rather than physical – maturity.  We learn to read religion like poetry – to understand subtlety, nuance, interpretation.  We learn that no one interpretation is necessarily right or wrong, but that they simply are.  This is not to say that we become believers again, but we no longer categorically deny the possibility – or legitimacy – of believing again.  And should we choose not to believe, we are able to make peace with religion, to reconcile our disbelief with others’ belief, to accept that disbelief is merely another interpretation of our experience.

To clarify, I do not mean to imply any qualitative difference between people at the different stages of belief or disbelief.  I do not think that people at any given stage are better than any other, no more than adults are better people than teenagers, or teenagers better people than young children.  They all simply have different ways of viewing and interpreting the world and their experiences within it.  I do contend, however, that just as adults tend to be better educated, better adjusted, and to possess greater wisdom for their length of experience, those who have progressed to the “third phase” are also wiser and better adjusted.  They are more capable of higher order thinking, more rational, more objective, and more established and comfortable within their identities.

They are independent enough to think for themselves, to make their own choices, and wise enough to look deeper into things rather than taking them at face value.  They are secure enough that they no longer need to prove themselves against the standards or norms of another.  They are grounded enough to no longer need to fly to the attack on others’ beliefs, or the defense of their own.

In short, they have grown up.

Through the five senses, Copernicus derived that the universe spun around the earth, others thought the earth was flat, and Newton though the atom was indivisible. In every era it is not until further advancements that we discover the limitations of our senses, and by extension our technology. And most of the greatest discoveries and innovations have not come through empiricism but by intuition and philosophical inquiry. People get crazy ideas out of nowhere, or by simply being immersed within the marvels of nature – like the story, myth or not, of Newton being hit on the head with an apple. People then use empiricism to test their intuition, but even then can’t say anything is true with any certainty. A leap of faith is still required.

If we were to silence religion, to stifle humanity’s natural inquisitiveness into and awe over the mysteries of the universe, choosing instead to believe and examine only those things that can be validated by our meager five senses, we in effect cut off so many possibilities for discovery. Pythagoras – father of Trigonometry – was a total mystic, and leader of a gnostic cult. Today we would not likely find him at the head of a college classroom or advising a team of senior researchers, due to the cynicism with which western science approaches all other epistemologies. Yet, were it not for Pythagoras’s wild musings about the nature of reality, some of the cornerstones of western science itself may not have ever existed. So while empiricism is useful – indeed practical – it flounders until someone makes a dramatic leap – often with no scientific basis at all.

Question: How can one have a true reflection of reality?

The answer is that no one can, if ‘true’ also infers objective. Phenomena are not merely observed subjectively but do not exist at all except for where they are perceived by or otherwise interacted with by others. In other words, the only way we know something exists at all is its relationship to something else. Therefore empiricism is only valid to human observers. There are bits from the hard sciences that support this – such as the Heisenberg uncertainty principle and the theories of relativity.

The observer of any phenomena automatically has an effect on the thing being observed and therefore any objective truth about that thing has been altered. This all means that there will never be a science that can explain every phenomena in the universe in a way that is true for everyone and in every situation, i.e. universally and objectively true.

Empiricism works in the practical sense, as far as how we function in the world on a day to day basis, and improving our lives through advances in medicine, technology, and the like. It is said that science purports to explain all the ‘hows’ of the universe. To what degree it succeeds in that endeavor is up for debate in every circumstance. Meanwhile, religion attempts to explain the ‘whys’ – something that science will never be able to determine. Science will never be able to determine the origin of life or the origin of the universe beyond theory. In fact, it determines hardly anything beyond theory. But just like science doesn’t answer the hows with complete certainty, religion doesn’t answer the whys with any certainty – and perhaps not at all. What religion does – what philosophy does as well – is use the human capacity for imagination to extend one’s frame of reference beyond the five senses, to bring forth the ideas that the scientists then study empirically.

Human intelligence and human artifice are merely extensions of their phenotype. They have no intrinsically superior qualities to them. Intelligence allows human beings to function in a world that human intelligence itself has created. For all our intelligence we have more conflicts and division amongst our species than any other in the animal kingdom – contrivances such as race and nationality intended only to make qualitative distinctions between a self and an other. For all of our artifice – our great marvels of technology – the planet is the sickest its ever been, more people are suffering, there are more diseases than ever before, higher murder rates, more rape, genocide, and countless other examples of how far humanity has fallen.

Have you ever heard the idea of ‘descent into matter’? If not, it is the religious/philosophical idea that our physical bodies are an illusion that corresponds to the lowest level of understanding. Science is materialistic, obsessed with the physical world as if that is all there is. Or that “all there is” can be explained through a physicalist interpretation. At the same time, there is an increasing movement in culture towards materialism and superficiality – again an obsession with the surface of things, rather than what may be their true nature. There appears to be a parallel between man’s ‘descent into matter’ and the whole of the human world becoming more and more materialistic – here meaning an overall focus on matter, which includes cultural materialism.

If we rely exclusively upon science (empiricism) for our answers, and in the process reject all other epistemologies, then there is a chance that we are evading truth. For that reason I refuse to herald empiricism over rationalism or any other epistemology. And so, I think that a syncretic examination of the universe will provide the best answers.

These people are to the Atheists “irrational”, because their beliefs have no rational, i.e. scientific “proof” to support them. Atheists would criticize faith as being belief without proof, but what they are unable to grasp is that the kind of proof derived from the Western scientific method is not the only kind of proof there is in the world. I may or may not come back to that point, but for now I’ll let it simmer. What is more important is that Atheists, for all of their soapboxing, are just as faithful and “religious” as the people they criticize.

Dawkins, for example, has applied the idea of natural selection to purport that the entire universe in all of its seeming complexity could have come about by way of miniscule changes to existent phenomena over billions of years. These changes are so trivial as to not require any intelligence, but over the course of a long period of time, the accumulation of these changes can give the impression of infinite complexity which on its own suggests an intelligent designer. There are two words that must be recognized – “could” and “have”. For all of Dawkins’ brilliance in devising an alternative to the intelligent design argument, he did not at all disprove the existence of that designer. It is exactly the same on the other side. Citing natural selection and evolution as theory does not in any way discount their possible roles in creation, nor that Dawkins may be right in that they are the only explanation.

Both Dawkins and the ID advocates are guilty of the same type of dogmatic practice. They argue their theories as far as human knowledge and reason will take them – and when those reach their limits they traverse the remaining gap between known and unknown by means of a leap of faith. That’s right. FAITH. Every single Atheist is a person of faith, because they believe in something one hundred percent without one hundred percent certainty. And since there is, and probably never will be, any such thing as 100% certainty – every single person, whether an atheist or a Christian or an Australian Aborigine – in some way relies upon faith. The moment you fail to acknowledge this is the moment that you become dogmatic.

If you’re reading this and you even know who Richard Dawkins is, then perhaps you’ve seen a video or at least some footage where he embarasses a young woman who dares to question him. As he goes on his usual lengthy diatribe about how religion is inherently flawed, how there is no god, how all belief in such is based on a delusion, etc. etc. – she asks him a very simple question.

“What if you’re wrong?”

Dawkins does not answer this question, but instead falls back on the same rhetoric that has made him famous as “Darwin’s bulldog”. Instead of answering the question he attacks the validity of the question itself. The girl’s question probably did come from some place of belief, or perhaps a simple hope that Dawkins is wrong about the universe. Even if she was the most dogmatic, devout, and radical Christian conservative, it would not change the validity of the question. You cannot answer the question of “What if you’re wrong?” with “Well, what if you’re wrong, too?”, and this is basically the neener-neener rubber-and-glue argument that Dawkins makes to a storm of applause, leaving the girl’s question unanswered, and most likely humiliating the girl herself.

This is one of the products of the Atheists’ dogma. In my view, Atheists are people who are completely dissatisfied with the world – at least in terms of coming to any real physical or metaphysical conclusion about all of the hows and whys of its existence. They are people for whom religion has failed – and for all sorts of reasons – but for whom science does not offer a completely satisfying alternative. Yet at the other end of the perceived ideological spectrum are who they deem the “religious” folk, many of whom do not appear to have the great dissatisfaction or existential angst that consumes the atheists. Since the atheists are unable to attain this satisfaction – delusional or misguided as it may or may not be – they seek instead to destroy the satisfaction of others.

Damned if those “religious folk” are going to be happy and satisfied with what is clearly a delusion, clearly the product of underdeveloped and uninquisitive minds, clearly WRONG! How dare they be happy in their ignorance while we suffer in all of our infinite wisdom and rationality! We won’t stand for it!

This is the mantra of the Atheists. This is their driving force. Once they have reached the limit to what modern science can explain, and once they’ve exhausted all of their ideas for how the universe may or may not function, they completely stop contributing to the greater ideosphere of humanity. Unable to contribute or create once they’ve reached the self-constructed walls of Western rationality, they can only destroy. Where else do we witness this kind of radical and destructive ideology? Amongst the “religious fanatics” that atheists use as the primary subjects of their ire. How ironic it is that the two form a counter-extremist dichotomy, two corresponding points on opposite sides of the ideological spectrum. As they launch their assaults against one another, most of their dogmatic banter flies over the heads of the majority of people, who are a mix of the scientific and religious, and who are humble enough to at least consider other points of view.

So what if you’re wrong, Dawkins? Atheists? The answer is just as simple as the question. If they’re wrong, they’re wrong. And the world goes on. If that turns out to be the case, then all that means is that it becomes time to re-evaluate the universe and to come up with new ideas. This ability to accept falsifiability, to acknowledge that one’s ideas – no matter how much “evidence” appears to support them – is vital to humanity’s continued social, cultural, and intellectual development, and in the pursuit of that ever-evasive ideal called “truth”.

In their dogmatic ideological stances, Dawkins and the atheists actually betray the tradition on which they so depend. Just like all other religious people, they question and examine the universe only as far as they care to – or are able to – and the rest is conjecture. They gather as much “evidence” as they need to support within their own minds a preconceived thesis – that there is no god – just as Christians or Muslims stake their opposing thesis on the “evidence” they gather from scripture or mystical experience. The two share a near identical epistemology.

So until the atheists open their minds to the possibility of their own error, it is as pointless to discuss religion with them as it is to discuss it with the fanatical Bible-thumping Christian. Observe them as they fail to contribute anything new to the age-old discussion – never acting, only reacting – as they point the finger at everyone else. They cannot field any questions because they do not have any answers, other than to say that no one else has the answers either.

The difference is…that the rest of us (i.e. the non-fanatics) are okay with that, whether we attribute it to the mystery of God or our own inadequacy as mere human beings. But the more forward-thinking amongst us continue to try and work towards those answers using whatever methods are at our disposal – be it “religion” or “science” or any combination of the two.

And the journey – the inquiry, the pondering, the meditation, the study – is the real fun of it all.

It begins with a story from my childhood. I wasn’t raised under the umbrella of any particular faith, which left me open to discover religion on my own. I found Christianity by way of an Evangelist youth group; a friend of mine from school invited me to attend a recreational event, and I was having such a good time playing basketball and hanging out with other kids that it wasn’t too much of a leap for me to listen to what they had to say about God. For awhile I was really into it; there was something satisfying about placing your hopes into a higher presence. I used to even go up to the altar during prayer sessions.

One day that all changed.

It only took one incident. I was talking to one of the group leaders, and he “informed” me that people who don’t accept Christ as their personal savior go to Hell. I asked him “What about the people in third world countries who never hear about Christ?”. He said that that’s what missionaries are for. As for the people those missionaries didn’t reach – well, it was unfortunate, but they too would be going to hell. I’m sure the progressive Christians out there reading this are shaking their heads. I know now that this view misrepresents the religion, but as a pre-adolescent, none of that mattered. You see, back then my mother was exploring other religions, and was practicing Buddhism.

I asked the group leader if my mother was going to hell since she was a Buddhist, and he said yes, and that I should work to “bring her back”. Can you imagine what went through my head? My mother at that time was the single most important person in my life. One negative word about her usually made me ready to fight someone. As I thought about what this guy was suggesting, I weighed the influence of God vs. the influence of my mother in my life. My mother was a reliable constant – a tangible being who had been there for me since the very beginning. There was never a time that I felt I couldn’t depend on her. God, on the other hand, while “he” represented an ideal that I had been willing to subscribe to, did not have that kind of real presence.

So let me get this straight, I thought. Because my mother doesn’t follow your (the Christian) belief system, she’s going to be condemned to an eternity in hell, despite being a kind, compassionate, and selfless person? My hackles were up. I almost hit the guy. Any god who would do such a thing would be a monster, and surely not worthy of my devotion. Fuck your god – that’s how I felt in that instant. That was the impetus for my challenge of Christian doctrine, and from there my skepticism only increased, reinforced again and again by my own personal research. I don’t remember at which point my skepticism turned to cynicism, and my distaste turned to something very close to hatred, but that’s where I am right now. You never tell a boy that his mother’s going to hell. That one guy, in all of his idiocy, planted the seed for a new antichrist.

That was only the beginning. As I grew older, I became an increasingly rational, logical, and analytical person. The beliefs, practices, and rituals of Christianity, as well as other organized religions no longer had a place in my mind. They became ridiculous. Who was it that ascribed divine status upon Jesus, declaring him the “Son of God”; if he said it himself, are we to take it literally or figuratively? It has been convenient throughout history for religious adherents to exalt their figureheads to divinity as a means of justifying power. Another example would be the Egyptian pharoahs, who were obeyed as rulers, and worshipped as gods. Jesus’s divinity was a decision – made by whom I couldn’t tell you – but most likely made for the purpose of either establishing or sustaining a power structure.

Susan Blackmore, in her book “The Meme Machine“, mentions something called the “altruism trick” for spreading memes. If I make it a habit to do nice things for you, to be kind to you at all times, and to go out of my way to help you, won’t you be more inclined to listen to what I have to say? Will it not be easier for me to convince you of something which may at first even be counter-intuitive? In a sense, you will feel as though you owe it to me to give my argument the benefit of the doubt. So consider missionaries, who travel to places only grazed by the technological boon, and therefore are not privy to the wellspring of information available to the people of the industrialized world. If the people in a given region are suffering from disease or famine, and these “messengers of God” come bearing gifts of food and medicine, then surely the least the people can do is listen to the ideas that allegedly inspired this good will, right?

What if you lived in a culture that subscribed to a religion involving ritual sacrifice, and as part of the commoner class you were subject to being “offered to the gods”? Along comes a group of strangers, and they tell you that your sadistic gods are false – that there is in fact only one god. Furthermore, not only would he never sacrifice you, he sent his own son to be sacrificed in order to absolve your sins. Changing your beliefs in this case result in immediate benefits, as you no longer accept “divine justification” of ritual sacrifice. When presented with this new information, you suddenly seem to have options that maybe you never considered before. And this guy, Jesus? He died for YOU. There can be no greater form of altruism. There is the trick at work once again. Of course none of this invalidates the genuine acts of good will that religious proselytizers perform in the name of their faith, but intricately nested within all of this is a mechanism for spreading that doctrine. You can even see how this mechanism was at work in that youth group I mentioned earlier. They shared with me their facilities, their resources, and showed me a good time, which made me open to listening to what they had to say.

How about desperation? Imagine being in a situation that seems hopeless, from which there seems to be no escape – such as slavery. You’ve seen many people attempt many different solutions – running away, hiding, or fighting back – only to incur even greater penalties. The government has laws that forbid these conditions but these laws only apply to human beings, and you have been relegated to the status of only a little better than an animal, and disposable property. No help to be found there. If no worldly solution presents itself, it follows in short order that a person would turn to forces greater than themselves, greater than those that enslave them. Pray to god, and perhaps he will come to your aid. If not, then at the very least you can take solace in the idea that when this earthly suffering has ended, your devotion will guarantee you a place in a world of beauty and light. All you have to do is acknowledge god’s son and his sacrifice for your sins! Nevermind that these ideas were passed on to you by the very people who enslave you, and who by this same idea can find a place right alongside you in that wonderful place, despite the fact that they subjugated you mercilessly. Apparently this “god” has no sense of justice, or a cruel sense of irony.

Considering these things, and the inherent contradictions and hypocrisies in every organized religion, it is easy to see how someone would question them. Afterall, if you’re not a skeptic, then you’re a sheep. If this wasn’t enough, I would later learn more about the history of organized religion, namely their origins in the Indo-European invasions of 6000 years ago, and how they propagated behind the power of conquest. If presented with the choice of remaining loyal to your own gods and being murdered, or converting to the religion of your invaders and surviving, which would you pick? If by some measure of idealism you’re thinking you’d stay true to your faith, consider that that may be because people today are more resourceful, more educated, and recognize The Individualy options available to them. Also, people today are not often faced with such a ridiculously black and white situation.

Finally, since this is becoming long-winded, there is the issue of mythology vs. history. Every religion began as a collection of stories passed on by oral tradition and often co-evolving as they were shared amongst increasingly larger groups of people. Out of the thousands of religions that once existed, only a few still remain, and even fewer have a reach much greater than their land of origin. Those “obsolete” religions have been relegated to the status of “myth” or “legend”, because that was the decision of the dominant, who insisted that only their own religion was the “truth”. Most of these old stories that have made up religions are recognized as untrue or highly improbable, and yet some – like those of the “Big Three” (Christianity, Judaism, and Islam) are regarded by many as historical accounts. The more progressive followers of these religions, being more rational, have adapted their interpretation of the old texts so that they are merely symbolic. That’s pretty convenient. How many times will adherents have to “change their interpretations” of their religions so that they remain relevant?

This brings me back to the question of “What am I?”. A few terms come close to explaining it, but don’t quite hit the mark. Atheists believe that there is no God. Some of the best cases for atheism I’ve found come from those scientists and philosophers who subscribe to the idea of an evolutionary algorithm, that is, who believe that Darwin’s idea of natural selection can be used to explain the “mindless” development of our universe. They argue for the “accumulation of design” as opposed to the religious view of “argument by design”. The actions of various mindless “replicators” (e.g. DNA) copying themselves – that being their only “impulse” – and with random copying errors, can explain all the complexity in our universe.

It is a fascinating theory, and I’d recommend that people read more about it on their own. Richard Dawkins’ “The Selfish Gene“, “The Extended Phenotype“, and “The Blind Watchmaker“, as well as Daniel Dennett’s “Darwin’s Dangerous Idea” are good references. As provocative as these ideas are, there is something rooted deeply within me – perhaps even some remnant of my religious past – that will not allow me to accept it. Perhaps it is a lingering sense of romanticism which cannot be reconciled with this extremely grim possibility. My personal stance on natural selection, unlike the “Dawkinsians”, is that while it can account for much of the world’s evolutionary processes, there must be some other mechanisms at work. I cannot offer any scientifically valid alternative, but my intuition cries out in opposition. Also, even if the so-called evolutionary algorithm is responsible for creation, that doesn’t disprove the existence of higher entities. While its simplicity suggests that it does not require intelligence, would not such an amazing system be a real credit to divine architects?

My problem with atheism is that it too is composed of “beliefs”. They believe in the nonexistence of God. Their often self-righteous and bullheaded approach to convincing others of this “truth” does not differ much from the aggravating proselytization of Christian evangelists. While I am always willing to engage in conversation with people, and share my personal thoughts on these transcendental issues, I would never declare my ideas as “truth”, and nor would I attempt to “convert” someone to my way of thinking. The only thing I ever try to push on anyone is open-mindedness, and I often insist that people just take the time to examine their beliefs.

Meanwhile, there are the agnostics, who don’t claim to know whether or not God exists, and don’t think that it can be proven one way or the other. This doesn’t quite fit me, because I encourage all efforts to explain the workings of our universe or to uncover the truth about higher presences, even though I am not too confident that these efforts will ever be successful. So, I guess the difference between agnostics and myself is that I am not as apathetic. It is actually quite important to me that there be something out there greater than myself – and all of humanity for that matter. I have to believe that. Another group with which I identify with is the deists, who like I do reject the idea of faith, and think that the existence of God can only be discovered through scientific rationalization. The difference here is that deism, like the other majority creeds, seems to imply the existence of a singular all-powerful god.

This is not an idea that I subscribe to absolutely, but nor do I reject it. I simply don’t know, and so I don’t claim otherwise. Also, the idea of multiple “gods” suits me better for some reason. I put “god” into quotes there because I don’t place much stock into the word itself. I like to entertain the idea of many “higher beings” operating on some level above human perception. If “god” status means that a being is omniscient or omnipotent, then that’s the part I’m less inclined to accept. A popular question asked by people who are skeptical (like myself) is “If God is benevolent, why does “he” allow bad things to happen?”. An easy answer would be that god (or the gods) are not all-powerful, and are not infallible. Where else in the universe do we witness perfection? Nowhere. So is it in anyway realistic to hold “god” to such a standard? I suppose then, that these higher beings – if they exist – cannot be called gods at all.

I also have this vague sense that “truth”, if such a thing exists objectively, is being subverted by humans’ insufficient powers of perception. Sometimes I think things like “If there is a god or gods, how must they feel having their identities, work, or very existence warped by human beings?” A sort of sadness comes over me when I think that these “gods”, through religious perversion, are being grievously misrepresented. As a hypothetical example of what I mean, let us suppose for a moment that Greek mythology is the actual truth, and that the prevalence of later religions – like Christianity – has distorted their roles in the universe, even so far as to invalidate them completely. That would be tragic, wouldn’t it? So, in a way, I feel that by remaining skeptical, by challenging everything, I am leaving an opening for the “gods” to communicate. Established religion, in purporting “truth”, cuts people off from this possibility.

My ideas about these “higher beings” are abstract – ephemeral even – changing constantly as I learn and experience new things. I hesitate to give them concrete form, and in fact cannot, because beyond some vague intuition, I cannot offer any solid evidence to myself or anyone else of their existence. The best I can offer are theories of metaphysical processes which may explain the nature of existence. I can only imagine where these higher beings fit into this scheme. If you’re interested, some of these theories are available here:

• The Existential Wave Theory
• The Universal Will Theory

What do I believe? The simple answer is nothing. Once a person “believes” something, then it is no longer subject to examination, and their mind is closed to truth. Belief is the root of the kind of dogmatic systems that I regularly condemn, and so I choose to only entertain various ideas, all of which are subject to falsification.

It seems that rationalists and empiricists only subscribe to their own epistemology, dismissing the other as having no credibility. For anyone to argue that collecting physical data is not a legitimate means of obtaining information is ridiculous. It is equally absurd to believe that without some innate comprehension that humans could even make sense of what they learn.

Almost two years ago, I began to postulate the existence of a “universal will”, a massive collective consciousness inhabiting and shared by all beings throughout the “universe”. This was before I had read anything of Plato. How can it be that my theory shares so much in common with Plato’s theory of forms, even before I had read or even heard anything about them? Where ideas coincide, they must in some way be derivative of a mutual source of information. Even if I were to say that my theories were drawn from some innate knowledge, I could not deny that the things I have learned and my experiences in life influenced them. The same was surely true of Plato and his ideas. How then, without being privy to Plato’s life experiences, could I come to some of the same conclusions? For that matter, how is it that Plato and many of history’s other great thinkers, were able to come to conclusions that even the staunchest empiricists cannot dispute? Why are ancient theories, written before high technology elaborated on the workings of the mind, still applicable in discussions of the human thought process? How do people across the world and throughout time, who have never met or compared notes, come up with the same or similar ideas if they are not derived from common data? A universal will would account for all of these things, and in fact can even explain how I am able to conceive of its existence.

Earlier I mentioned how differences in perception can account for discrepancies within any body of knowledge. According to my theory, no one life form has the mental capacity to harbor the universal will in its entirety. Therefore, it is feasible that this massive consciousness is divided amongst its countless possessors. By definition, perception is “recognition and interpretation of sensory stimuli based chiefly on memory”. It is also possible that perception is how any information acquired corresponds to related knowledge drawn from the subject’s stock of the universal will. This coincides with Plato’s theory of forms in that both refer to an absolute body of knowledge, all derivative information limited to the perception of the individual.

Most of my theories stem from the idea that all life, all existence for tat matter, is drawn from the same singular source. If this is true, then both rationalism and empiricism are equally valid, because information drawn from within and absorbed from the surrounding environment would all be derivative of that source. The very inclination to observe, to study, to gather information all begins with an idea, whether it is the person’s own, or one passed down from others. The idea may not even be concrete in terms of human reasoning, but rather an abstract desire, as is the case with infants. A person acts on that inclination, collecting data through their senses, correlating it with what they already know. Where there are gaps in the universal will, fostered by the existence of individuals, they are filled by interaction amongst those individuals, and between them and the environment. In essence, the acquisition of knowledge as a whole is the piecemeal reassembly of a fragmented state of existence.

People should be encouraged to engage in higher thought, to truly contemplate the workings of the world around them. They should then aspire, where possible, to affirm their ideas through the support of physical evidence. Rationalism and empiricism, working hand in hand, help us come closer to defining an “objective reality”.