Biomythography 150
No One Converts
They say there’s no point in trying to convince anyone about religion. No one ever converts. Except they do, sometimes.
When I was in college and believed deeply and fervently in my version of atheism, I was always happy to talk. I could go on and on about it. I thought I could convince anyone, really, if they were interested in the truth. Atheism isn't comforting at first but it is a truth and it's a gateway to more important truths. So I was always interested in finding like-minded life explorers.
It's important to have friends with views opposed to yours. Nevertheless, it establishes a bond of friendship to go on a mental journey together, to search for the truth, as much as friendships happen during a physical journey. Literature is full of stories about heading abroad to accomplish a common mission. It's the plot of the Dirty Dozen, O Brother Where Art Thou, Lord of the Rings, and many others. The theme of going on a mission to resolve a coherent philosophy isn't as popular. But, for friendship, it's still as good.
Here's the thing: if you're raised in a Jesuit school, like my friend Michael, and you take philosophical debate seriously, you're a good candidate for the mental journey. And if you're raised by a philosophy major father and you read a lot of his library out of boredom, it's much the same; you’re a good candidate. Together, Michael and I tended to drift from talking about food at the dining table to talking about philosophy.
We were the philosophy geeks at our college, often to the surprise and annoyance of others at our table. Finally, Michael proposed that we set aside time for better discussion
“You like rationality,” he said. “Well, I can describe a rational proof of God.”
I had heard them all, I thought. I had not only been raised on Aristotle, Plato, the pre-Socratics, Dogun, D.T. Suzuki, Paul Reps, and Alan Watts but I had decided on my own to invest in books like Critiques of God. Still, I had to admit there might be arguments or demonstrations of divinity I had missed.
Instead of dominating dinner conversations because we couldn’t shut up about our beliefs, we waited. After dinner, we walked the halls of our dorm and talked about the logic of a philosopher in the Catholic church, Thomas Aquinas. After a couple evenings like that, Michael grew impatient with the people around us. He didn't like the constraints of the dorms. Traveling from wing to wing meant passing through the bathrooms.
The next week, after dinner or late classes, we hiked on the sidewalks between the campus dorms. Our conversations grew longer and more detailed. We roamed farther. We marched from the sidewalks to the dirt paths and outlying roads, talking. We strolled in the purple dusk of sunset. We debated under cloudy skies and next, under a clear, cold starlight. Within two weeks, our debates lasted so long we had to do laps around the campus.
We were true believers. And in a religious sense, our talks were exciting. I didn’t always have immediate answers for Michael's questions. Sometimes I had to think for so long I would put off an answer until our next walk. Michael did, too, because I posed questions of my own and gave answers he didn't seem to expect. For my part, at least, I was inexperienced in such a deep level of debate. And surprised to have the friendship of such an earnest seeker for the truth.
After the first few days I started to recognize every twist and turn in the arguments of Thomas Aquinas. I knew Michael had found them convincing. They were ancient reasonings, though, and had been thoroughly refuted in the ages since. I had, years before, educated myself on some of the logical refutations and added my own notes.
Michael found Pascal's wager someone compelling, too - or at least enough to try it on me. But it wasn't a wager I would make myself. There's no particular logic against it other than my judgement that it's a pointless guess and morally suspect. We both agreed, actually, that God probably wouldn't be too flattered by someone believing in Him for an "eh, why not" sort of reason.
Interestingly, it was my own thoughts that seemed the most compelling to Michael, just as his personal views on a very personal God were the most moving for me. Our logic wasn't pointless - it was the way we both worked as we tried to make sense of our lives - but every logical system has to ground itself on judgements and observations about the world. Some of our observations weren't the same.
“I can feel God,” he said one night as we turned a corner in the road near the Enfield Mods. He stretched out is arm, almost pleading. “Can’t you?”
“I do feel something,” I admitted. For me, it was a sense of calling beyond humanity and even beyond life itself. It was a nebulous sensation but it was there, a duty to humankind, a sense of holiness around me.
In fact, the sensation of holiness was a driver in my search for the truth. In some ways, I was looking for an explanation for why I felt it.
(to be continued)
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