A recent episode of the Point of Inquiry podcast mentioned a book that instantly colored me intrigued. The title, 50 Great Myths of Popular Psychology: Shattering Widespread Misconceptions About Human Behavior, practically begged my inner-skeptic to read it. All the delicious psych topics are here—memory, recall, perception, intelligence, dreams, behavior, the subconscious, human development, even ESP. But one curious theme unintentionally keeps emerging: the unreliability of memory and personal experience.

Consider: Anyone old enough to have seen Dazed and Confused in the theater has had a wild experience, even sans LSD, we deem too trippy to be coincidence. We can’t explain it, we can’t tell you the meaning, but whoa, man, it was just unreal. Then out comes the supernatural explanations. But the bummer is we almost always underestimate the chances of strange coincidences happening. I still can’t work out in my mathphobic brain how if I’m in a room with twenty-two random people, the odds that two of us share the exact same birthday is…50%. But it’s true. (If you feel up to it, check out the Birthday Problem.)

Yep, the book is full of fun little facts. But it’s also chock full of disturbing information. A woman testified that her father had brutally murdered her best friend some twenty years prior. The guilty verdict was read, the gavel was banged, and right on cue the community was outraged. Fast-forward six years and this poor soul is shuffling out of prison after an exoneration courtesy of DNA testing. How on earth did his daughter come to believe twenty years later he was guilty? Under hypnosis, a therapist helped her “recover” the memory. It was mighty kind of the therapist to do that for a hefty fee and all, the only hiccup was the memory wasn’t real.

If that were the only story. You don’t need hypnosis for someone to be certain that a person is guilty of a crime they didn’t commit. There are countless stories of eyewitnesses swearing up and down and back up again that they saw that shady-looking defendant commit the crime. Some are later released thanks to the tireless efforts of the Innocence Project—an organization well worth your support. But I shudder to think how many terrified people keep on sharing a cell with the truly guilty; violent, disturbed inmates who need and deserve to be locked up. I’m long since past the naïve thinking of my youth that the innocent have nothing to fear. The innocent have much to fear, including the flawed human mind of otherwise well-meaning witnesses and victims. What’s more, many of these eyewitnesses refuse to say they made a mistake even with the light of DNA shining in their face. Unruffle the paper, dive into that story on the just-released accused, and you’re bound to see that inevitable declaration: “I don’t care what they say, I know what I saw!”

People know what we saw; we trust our eyes and our brains. And why on earth wouldn’t we? It’s quite literally our only means of experiencing the world. But few of us really think about the process of seeing something—light enters our eye, travels to our brain, and an image is formed. And then, within a millisecond, that image is a memory. Most images come and go without much thought. But some we remember. Some we know we’ll never forget. But we don’t really remember them. We re-remember them. Our brain recreates the memory and it’s highly influenced by our current worldview and life experiences. It’s telling that most scientists who study eyesight don’t call it eyesight; they call it “visual perception.”

All of which finally brings me around to my point: Given the limitations and what we know about the mind, how are we to navigate the very thorny world of spiritual experiences, visions, impressions, and insights? If we can’t rely on the human mind to not convict an innocent man, what business do we have trusting it on these other, even slippier points?

“Ahh…” we’re told, “That’s just the beauty of spiritual experiences. They transcend the mind and the five traditional senses.” Let’s politely pretend like this isn’t extremely convenient and assume it’s true. Instantly after the experience—the vision, the impression, the “other”—don’t we then rely on our mind to remember it, interpret it, understand it, or otherwise catalogue it away for us? Doesn’t this experience, if real, instantly fall victim to all the baggage cramping our brain?

And all that assumes that a spiritual experience was real—that something outside of us did happen. That’s one big, fat, giant assumption given what we know about the mind’s ability to create false images or memories, to create illusory correlations (find patterns that aren’t really patterns), justify our choices (cognitive dissonance), and to otherwise help confirm what we already believe, whether true or not. (I don’t care what the DNA says, I know what I saw!)

I do believe in knowable reality; I preach it on a near-daily basis in the face of increasing truthiness and incuriosity from my fellow citizens, many of whom are too busy admiring the emperor’s new clothes to be bothered with facts. And I maintain that it’s quite possible that at least some of these professed spiritual experiences are real and external. But I also maintain that they hold no recognizable value beyond “there might be something else out there.” Even that requires a leap of faith that it wasn’t all “in our head.” After that, it’s less faith than guesswork and wishful thinking. Given this reality, skepticism seems to me the most reasonable, rational perspective.

For those of us affected at a distance, it’s a sobering reminder of how fragile this life is, and how quickly it can change.

For me, this news comes at a time when I have been deliberately separating myself from many of the activities and communities that have made demands on my time for well over a decade. It mostly revolves around Mormonism, whether it be the demands of various callings or the time spent writing for various blogs of the Bloggernacle, or even the time and energy spent working to help sustain various independent communities. I’ve given them up. I have neither the passion nor the energy to engage them any longer.

It almost sounds defeatist, but I am significantly happier now than I have been in a long, long time. Ideas, conversations, the wrestling with theology and religion – at one time these things animated my life. But my interest has completely dissipated. In their place I have found joy and happiness in just experiencing life with those I love. Even my time spent with the Monsters has changed – I tend to withdraw and listen when our discussions center around our religion and faith, while I find the time we spend just enjoying each others company – laughing, bantering, sharing – to be the moments I most cherish.

And my family. I’ve always spent a great deal of time with them, doing what I can to relate and to provide. But things have shifted recently – I am doing better at reflecting on and appreciating each moment. This past weekend, while Sunstone was in full swing, I disengaged from the community even more – turning off my phone, my email, my tethers, and escaping for a weekend focusing on my marriage and children. It was wonderful! From quiet moments with my wife over dinner to time playing with my children, it was a splendid weekend recalibrating and connecting.

There isn’t a clear point for this post. It’s simply reflective.

So tonight, as I explain to my son what happened to his friend, I’ll be thinking about the meaningful relationships in my life. I’ll be looking for ways to build even more memories and moments with my children. I’ll be appreciating the small things in life.

My heart is breaking for this family; even as my heart is filled with gratitude for the time I have to continue to make memories, enjoy experiences, and share this life with those I love.

Rees, like those who have come before, prefers to ignore the criticisms being made and instead focuses on the rudeness of the one making it. As Rees points out, even non-believers have adopted this attitude. I find this problematic not only for its intellectual shallowness, but also because it seems so self-serving. There is less concern about whether or not someone like Maher is actually right as there is about him ruining the party. Progressive critics of anti-theists often treat the Mahers of the world as if they are grumpy spoilsports.

The attitude is somewhat understandable. Scholars—including non-believers—have spent entire lifetimes and careers studying, writing, and talking about religion, and then Maher has the nerve to come along and tell them it’s all nonsense. I’m reminded of the famous Saturday Night Live sketch when William Shatner appears at a Star Trek convention and berates the fans. “I’d just like to say…get a life will you people? I mean, for crying out loud, it’s just a TV show! … You’ve turned an enjoyable little job that I did as a lark for a few years into a colossal waste of time!” It’s as if progressive critics of anti-theists hear Maher telling them, “You’re wasting your time—get a life!” This approach either hurts them or frustrates them, so rather than respond to Maher’s points, they simply say, “Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain.”

Personally, I prefer the bluntness of Maher, Dawkins, et al, even with their flaws (and there are flaws) over the political correctness of others. In reality, their bluntness comes no where close to matching the bluntness of religion, but we’re so accustomed to religion critiquing everything but itself, we barely take notice. While Maher does say that religious belief is foolish, he only claims his mind and his opinion as an authority. Mormonism, on the other hand, has claimed God himself as an authority against believers of other faiths and non-believers. And God goes well beyond mocking or calling people fools; if the Bible is to be believed, He summarily executes entire populations who dare oppose his people.

Yes, I’m well aware that Mormonism and other exclusive faiths have tried a kinder approach in the past few decades. However, the canonized disapproval of any belief that is not theirs remains firmly intact: “I was answered that I must join none of them, for they were all wrong; and the Personage who addressed me said that all their creeds were an abomination in his sight; that those professors were all corrupt; that: ‘they draw near to me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me, they teach for doctrines the commandments of men, having a form of godliness, but they deny the power thereof.’” (The Pearl of Great Price, Joseph Smith History 1:19) Is this sacred scripture really any different than the derision provided by Bill Maher?

And what of the claim that Maher is somehow just responding to the worst of religion, conveniently ignoring all the good? This reminds me of the frantic efforts following 9/11 to portray Islam as a religion of peace. Certainly there are millions of peaceful, non-violent Muslims. But the effort to portray extremists as if they were merely a few dozen people living in caves was absurd. And so it is here.

It’s difficult to quantify, but opinion polls can give us a reasonable gauge. Fifty percent or better of Americans routinely align themselves with fundamentalist beliefs. These are not merely a handful of irritating loud-mouths. They number well into the tens-of-millions (if not the hundreds-of-millions) and they wield disturbing power and influence. We learned that Karl Rove, as Bush’s right-hand man, held a weekly conference call in the White House with religious groups that argued for the invasion of Iran as a way to hasten the Second Coming. We saw religious leaders interfere in the Terri Schiavo debacle. American religious fundamentalists influence our world on a macro- and micro-scale.

There are issues in Religulous worthy of criticism. But these have been overlooked by Rees, and indeed most critics of the film. That’s because critics want to appear thoughtful, reflective—“deep.” They want to mine below the surface and tell us what’s really there. But that’s tricky with Maher’s film because he lays it all bare. It is a superficial film, but only because Maher believes his subject is superficial. He truly believes there is no depth, no layers to peel away, no hidden beauty to religious belief.

Scholars need not agree with the anti-theists. But to continue to treat them as if they don’t have a place at the table is a mistake. They are a legitimate movement with legitimate points and legitimate responses to legitimate problems. In short, they are as valid an area of religious studies as any group, and shooing them away to the kiddie table like it’s Thanksgiving only makes scholars and believers alike seem insecure. Maher and his kind are growing in popularity, and the time when religions like Mormonism could demand recognition without scrutiny are over.

In a 136 page ruling, Judge Walker ruled that Proposition 8 is unconstitutional under both the Due Process and Equal Protection Clauses.

The Church issued its own response. Essentially:

California voters have twice been given the opportunity to vote on the definition of marriage in their state and both times have determined that marriage should be recognized as only between a man and a woman. We agree.

As one Facebook commenter opined:

So here’s the church’s take. No discussion of equal protection or due process rights; instead it’s all about prior votes at the ballot box. Apparently it takes about a century for the trouble with popular majorities to fade from institutional memory.

Indeed.

It boils down to this, from Judge Walker’s ruling:

That the majority of California voters supported Proposition 8 is irrelevant, as “fundamental rights may not be submitted to [a] vote; they depend on the outcome of no elections.”¹

Amen, and amen.

I rejoice with my brothers and sisters tonight. Those of all orientations.

1. Walker cites West Virginia State Board of Education v Barnette, 1943. The full paragraph is worth inclusion here: “The very purpose of a Bill of Rights was to withdraw certain subjects from the vicissitudes of political controversy, to place them beyond the reach of majorities and officials and to establish them as legal principles to be applied by the courts. One’s right to life, liberty, and property, to free speech, a free press, freedom of worship and assembly, and other fundamental rights may not be submitted to vote; they depend on the outcome of no elections.”

I recently became very frustrated in reading the back and forth between two friends in the Mormon History community. One is a believer; one isn’t. They were discussing a certain historical incident, the 1832 attack on Joseph Smith, the Mormon prophet, and Sidney Rigdon, his assistant, at the Johnson family farm near Kirtland, Ohio.

There is no reason to go into the specifics, but I noticed a certain dynamic at work and realized that it is a dynamic that is played out over and over again in the Mormon Studies arena.

Why is it so difficult for the historians, whether they are amateur or professional, to carry out a civil and respectful conversation and arrive together at a consensus or, at least, a near consensus?

Let me start by giving the answer, and then I’ll work my way through my reasoning.

The answer is: The stakes are too big.

Instead of approaching the subject dispassionately with a true interest in finding out what really happened, many in this community already have their final answers. They are looking to history to support their conclusions. They don’t want history to tell them a new story. They want history to tell them that they’re right.

They are trying to create history rather than allow history to lead them to the facts or an approximation of the facts.

The true-believing historian is out to support his belief that Mormonism is True (yes, the capital “T” is intentional). For this historian, who has made major life decisions based on this thesis and who perhaps belongs to a family that has been LDS for several generations, he’s looking for historical validation. He already knows the final answers: Joseph Smith was a Prophet, angels really did appear, the LDS Church is the only true and living church on the face of the earth, the Book of Mormon is a historical record, Thomas Monson is a Prophet, etc.

Any evidence, or even any theory that would appear to contradict this, is faulty or incomplete. Accepting the contradiction could throw his world view, his professional standing, his entire life into chaos and uncertainty.

The non-believing historian is out to support his position that Mormonism is not True. That it is not of divine origin. That Joseph Smith was not exactly what he said he was. Any theory that contradicts this position must be flawed. Because if it isn’t, then he’ll have to stop drinking coffee and start doing his home teaching.

In the spirit of full disclosure: I’m no longer a believer. In my mind, the long and great fight of Mormonism vs. Reality has come to a dramatic end. And Mormonism is lying face down on the mat. In my mind, angels didn’t appear, the Book of Mormon is of human origin, Thomas S. Monson is a nice man, but has no more privileged access to God than any of the rest of us.

I came to these personal conclusions through my own reasoning, study, and introspection.

After more than 180 years there really is no physical evidence that any of Joseph Smith’s many stories actually occurred. Nephites, Lamanites, angels, Zelph, etc. True, the absence of evidence is not the evidence of absence. But still…I mean, c’mon. Nothing?

There are, however, natural and common sense explanations for any of these things. And, in my mind, the natural and common sense explanations not only make a lot more sense, but they seem to come from the same universe that I inhabit on a daily basis.

So, in my mind and in the minds of many historians and students of Mormonism, the big question has been answered. I also believe that anyone with a clear mind, and nothing big at stake, would look at all the information and evidence and would come to the same conclusion.

But in order to avoid coming face to face with that final answer, we choose to fight little battles in a war that is long since over.

The Little Battles

Back to my friends: the non-believer believes that it is most likely that the attack on Joseph Smith was the result of his having some sort of inappropriate sexual contact with one of the Johnson daughters. Why does he think this? Because certain documents and statements from the time indicate that the Johnson brothers were a part of the mob, that a doctor was brought into the mob for the purpose of castrating Smith, and because Joseph’s later and well-established actions strongly suggest that this was a man who, shall we say, “wooed” many women whose names were not Emma Smith (his wife).

Now this is a problem for our believing historians. How could a Prophet be inspired by God while simultaneously making the beast with two backs with a luscious young beauty behind Emma’s back?

Well, obviously, this is problematic. Very problematic. So this information or, at least, this interpretation of this information must be false. The believing “apologist” must explain this away.

So maybe he can find some evidence that castration was a general punishment that had nothing to do with the victim’s stepping outside the accepted boundaries of sexual behavior.

Maybe the mob was after Rigdon. Maybe Rigdon was the one dipping his pen in Farmer Johnson’s ink.

I’m going off on a tangent here, and I realize this. The point being: these historians are also going to go off on all sorts of tangents (probably finding some really great information along the way) until the whole subject is just such a tangle of confusion and such a source of conflict that they will each take the high ground and “agree to disagree.”

And these little battles are played out over and over and over again, seemingly infinitely. Sub-subjects within Mountain Meadows, the First Vision, Polygamy, etc., occupy all of our attention so that we won’t look up and acknowledge that the war is over. The little battles rage on with no end in sight.

We’re like those recluses who lived in the mountains of Tennessee up until the turn of the 20^th century who still didn’t know, or wouldn’t acknowledge, that the Civil War ended in 1864.

Before I wrap this up, let me be clear: I don’t think that a study of what happened on the Johnson Farm in 1832 is a waste of time. It isn’t. It’s a fascinating bit of history about an important religious figure whose life has impacted millions of people.

But I’m starting to think that Mormons and ex-Mormons are not well suited to the research and study of Mormon history. They have too much at stake.

Unfortunately, no one else is interested.

It would be healthy for us all to step back and look at the forest – at what it really is – instead of fighting our turf wars over each individual tree.

Note: I really should make another few passes at this before I post it, but I don’t have the time right now. Instead of an iron-clad, exhaustive treatment of a subject, I’ve just thrown out an idea. Maybe the rest of you can help me flesh it out.

Most of us like to believe that our opinions have been formed over time by careful, rational consideration of facts and ideas, and that the decisions based on those opinions, therefore, have the ring of soundness and intelligence. In reality, we often base our opinions on our beliefs, which can have an uneasy relationship with facts. And rather than facts driving beliefs, our beliefs can dictate the facts we chose to accept. They can cause us to twist facts so they fit better with our preconceived notions. Worst of all, they can lead us to uncritically accept bad information just because it reinforces our beliefs. This reinforcement makes us more confident we’re right, and even less likely to listen to any new information.

This may absolutely be a coincidence but I doubt it. Historically the church has used its news outlets as a way to have its views heard. Officially the church has been cautious in its comments but has always emphasized compassion and understanding for “millions of people.” I think it’s safe to assume they aren’t referring to pissed off tea partiers angry that their lettuce-picking job went to an illegal immigrant.

After seeing the church on the wrong side of the Prop 8 issue (yup, I’m still devastated and I don’t think I’ll ever get over it) it’s so heartening to see them take the compassionate track on an issue with some of the most vulnerable in our society demonized, even called “mules” by the governor of Arizona recently. That said, I’m still disappointed over the church’s obsessive paranoia on speaking out on any issue except gay marriage. I don’t understand how a church with the name Jesus Christ in its title doesn’t have an “official position” on war, torture, healthcare, the environment, the death penalty, and yes, illegal immigration. Moral issues go beyond right-wing boilerplate like gays and abortion, and the church’s silence on these issues is perplexing. Then again, perhaps I’m foolish for thinking I know how the church would come down on these topics that strike me as morally important.

Unfortunately for me, in Mormon culture there is no room for the possibility that one might leave the fold for intellectual reasons.  There is some talk about the devil employing the philosophies of men to blind the elect, but usually it is assumed that the drop-out has separated himself for one of two reasons: 1) anger; or, 2) guilt.  The first assumes the drop-out is an overly sensitive and unforgiving soul who has been offended by a local leader. The second usually assumes adultery —or worse— the habitual violation of the Word of Wisdom.  (Either way, the drop-out presumably feels uncomfortable standing in the presence of the righteous.)

Though I had suffered my share of idiotic leaders over the years and had been, in fact, an idiotic leader in my own way, I never saw that as anything more remarkable than the general, human condition.  Nor did I leave the church due to sin.  I was not being disobedient.  I had stopped believing.  There is a big difference, but apparently only to me.  Very, very few of the faithful whom I have known and respected and loved for 30 or more years can get their heads around the possibility that a person can just study and employ the requisitely appropriate logic to arrive at an opinion contrary to theirs.  In their minds, there has to be a reason other than, of course, the fact that the church is not what the leaders claim it is.

And I have had plenty of the alternative reasons applied to me.  I have had a dear friend of more than thirty years accuse me of leaving so that I “can drink and screw around all I want.”  (Does he really know so little of who I am, or is he unwittingly expressing the only reason he would leave?)  I have had family members suggest anger, depression, and/or narcissism as the root cause.  Very occasionally, I am told I am too intellectual for my own good. (Well, it is comforting to know that for those few, at least, sexual deviance is off the table.)

It was difficult for me at first to be publicly called to repentance at family get-togethers or to discover that my children were being told what a disservice I had done them for rejecting my priesthood responsibilities; nevertheless, I figured it was the price I had to pay for delivering such a shock and I expected that eventually those who loved me would grow more comfortable with and accepting of my decision.  It’s been about four years now.  They haven’t.

The most difficult ones to deal with are the ones who, in fact, see themselves as open-minded and accepting: “Well, I figure you are on your own journey.  I don’t judge you for your choice.”  What shameless, ill-considered nonsense!  The fact that judgment is even mentioned implies that I have done something they deem to be wrong, but they are too passive-agressive to weigh in with an honest opinion.

Almost equally annoying are those who feel the need to make excuses for me.  “Well, he had a really tough time with his marriage.”  “You know, he only drinks coffee because his doctor says it’s good for his fibro-myalgia.”  I know they mean well, but there is nothing in my life about which they need to become well-meaning.  When someone whispers confidentially, “Did you know he drinks beer?” the response of a non-jugdemental believer should be, “So what?” and not, “But he has a good soul.  He’s just a little lost right now.”

I left the church because I no longer believe in its tenets.  It’s that simple.

Although I left my faith with good wishes for all who choose to remain, today I no longer feel much patience for them.  I don’t want to talk with them about The Church.  I don’t want the unwitting proof of their complete ignorance of their cherished faith, let alone of the world they live in.  I don’t want to hear their testimonies.  I don’t want to see their tears or suffer their reassurances of love for me “no matter what.”  Yes, I still believe that Mormonism can make bad people good and good people better, but the past four years have taught me that you can’t cure stupid.

Since PostSecret rotates its images out each week, I’m including the card here:

"Faking It" - posted 2/21/10 @ postsecret.blogspot.com

The blog is at makebelievemormon.blogspot.com, though there isn’t a lot there yet. She’s only been blogging for a month, with 10 posts.

Sometimes these solo blogs are more for the individual, something akin to a personal journal for therapy. But it also seems very lonely, as there are so many stories like this. Many people who struggle with aspects of the Mormon faith seem to think they are unique in these struggles, and they feel completely isolated and alone.

I think we are fortunate to have our group, and I think it is especially valuable to work out faith struggles in a personal, rather than on-line, setting. It is too easy for people sitting behind a keyboard and, likely, a pseudonym to spout off without regard for the individual. The discussions that we have had together are, I think, rare, and difficult to find for many who would otherwise benefit from them.

It isn’t lost on me that I am pointing out the limits of on-line forums as we, ourselves, begin to share our discussions in just such a forum. My hope is that we can archive these and continue our discussions here, while others who lack the relationships to consider these things in a serious and supportive way might listen in and participate.

I have heard Obadiah say, “I choose to believe.”  I have also heard other Mormons speak of their faith as a choice.  Like Obadiah, these other Mormons seem to be well read enough to recognize their religion is not without historical or theological problems, but they still feel there is sufficient evidence in their lives to make the choice of belief.  None of these Mormons deny the contribution of environmental influences to that choice, but only insist that such influences are not fully determining, and, therefore, do not render the act of choosing a mere delusion of agency.

I, for a number of years and for a number of reasons, made the same choice; nevertheless, now that I overwhelmed by non-belief, I have the sense that I cannot choose to return once again to belief.  I wonder if this is actually true or if it just feels that way for the time being.  If it is just a temporary perception on my part, it feels so convincingly strong that I cannot imagine how I could accomplish a return to belief.  It feels so convincingly strong that I wonder if I actually ever chose non-belief or if it was forced on me by circumstance.

To keep things clear, I should stress that I am not talking about turning from disobedience and back to obedience or (as many would phrase it) from inactivity to activity.  I should also stress that I am not talking about disbelief, but rather non-belief. For the purpose of this discussion, allow me to establish disbelief as the opposite of (and possibly a form of) belief.  The theist makes a choice to believe in the existence of a personal god (or set of gods) that is (or are) concerned with humanity in general and/or with individual humans in particular.  Likewise, the atheist makes a choice to disbelieve, but in so doing takes a leap of faith just as the theist does.

Of course, most atheists deny any attribution of faith to their position of disbelief, which they see as scientific and not at all metaphysical.  However, I don’t use the word “faith” here to describe the paradox of a religiously held belief in anti-religion.  I use it instead to describe a choice based not upon complete evidence (something I see as unavailable to humans), but rather upon the sense of sufficient evidence.  (Although both the theist and the atheist claim sufficient evidence to support their respective choices, the atheist is, I think, correct in pointing out the qualitative differences in what each side counts as evidence.)

But let’s return to the notion of non-belief.  I think that the believer who moves from belief to non-belief passes through the gate of un-belief rather than disbelief.  Perhaps this sounds like a silly attempt at hair-splitting, but I see both belief and disbelief as the product that comes from a sense of sufficient evidence and, therefore, two sides of the same thing.  One can feel there is sufficient evidence to believe or one can feel there is sufficient evidence to disbelieve.  Unbelief, however, seems to me to be a moment collapse in a believer’s life when he or she perceives the evidence that once seemed sufficient to be, in reality, insufficient.  With that collapse, the former believer does not necessarily move from belief to disbelief.  Such a movement implies that the sufficiency of evidence supporting belief is replaced by a sufficiency of evidence supporting disbelief.  On the contrary, many believers once robbed of their belief, find themselves skeptical of the possibility for a sufficiency of evidence to support a new act of belief.  Thus, they do not adopt the atheist’s disbelief, but rather the agnostic’s non-belief.

Some atheist writers dismiss agnostics as intellectually dishonest cowards or logical weaklings.  But their “once burned, twice shy” attitude feels to the agnostic less like cowardice and more like wisdom.  At least, it does to me.

I began this exploration with the question about choosing non-belief.  I have the sense that belief and disbelief are both a matter of choice, but that non-belief is not.  I am not attempting to reject accountability.  I am simply attempting to explain my inability to imagine myself either joining the disbelievers or rejoining the believers.

Someone may insist that not choosing is the same as choosing not to choose, but this sounds to me more like word play than rational argument.  As an agnostic, I am not paralyzed by not taking sides in arguments over the big, ultimate questions.   I am fully capable of responding to and interacting with the world around me in a meaningful way because I have the sense that there is sufficient evidence for all of the ways I choose to respond and interact.  What seems most important, however, is my even stronger sense that there is insufficient evidence to support taking sides in questions concerning ultimate truth.  It is so strong, in fact, that I don’t feel like I am able to choose a side.

So I return to my original question: if we are not fully determined and can choose belief or disbelief, can one choose non-belief or is it forced upon one by a collapsing moment of unbelief.  If one can choose non-belief (in the way in which I have defined the word), how then can one un-choose it?