Is there a God?

This post appeared on my old blog about a year ago, before we began experiencing technical  difficulties.


     So this rabbi walks into a bar, and he sees one of his former congregants.

     "Well, if it isn't Sam Goldberg!" The rabbi says. "I haven't seen you in ages! What are you drinking?"

     "Uh, beer," says Sam. "Well, you see, Rabbi Klugmann, I sort of stopped going to that temple of yours."

     Rabbi Klugmann orders a couple of beers and gives one to Sam. "So why don't you come to shul anymore?"

     "Well, I don't want to sound rude or anything, but it's all that mumbo-jumbo in the Bible. I mean you don't seriously expect any sane twenty-first century person to believe any of that, do you? About God creating the world in six days? It's all just scientifically impossible! Any sixth grade kid can tell you the Earth is billions of years old! And Noah getting two animals of every species into that little ark? There's no way that could ever happen! I mean, I could just go on and on about how stupid religion is!"

     "Okay, Sam," says Rabbi Klugmann. "So how are you doing? Do you want another beer?"

     And for the next couple of hours Sam knocks back the beer the rabbi buys him and talks all about his views on religion, politics, sports, his family, and whatever else is on his mind. Finally, Sam looks at his watch and says he needs to go home.

     "Well, it was great to see you again, Sam," the rabbi says. "You should come to shul, and then we can talk some more."

     "That's not going to happen, Rabbi," says Sam.

     "Why not?"

     "I told you, I'm an atheist. I don't believe any of that stuff about God ."

     "Me too."

     "What? I've been talking to you for two hours, and you haven't heard a word I said!"

     "Sure I have. You said no sane twenty-first century person can believe all that mumbo-jumbo in the Bible about God creating the world in six days and Noah getting two animals of every species in the Bible and everything. You said you're an atheist. I'm an atheist, too."

      "Wait, a minute. How can you be an atheist? You're a rabbi."

      "Nu? The God you don't believe in I don't believe in it, either."

      Before I can answer the question of whether I believe in God, I have to ask the person who's asking to define "God."  I tend to stay out of discussion with Christians who ask such questions, and nobody Jewish has ever asked me that question that I can recall, either.  Jews don't discuss beliefs very much, and although I spent most of today around Jews, including two hours of prayer services this morning, I didn't hear anybody make a big deal  about it. 

     The only people in my experience who seem intent on discussing the existence of God are atheists.  The atheists among my own family and friends are pretty good at minding their own business, but I find atheists on the Internet who seem to have some compulsion about identifying God-believers wherever they can, in order to heap scorn upon them and set them straight.  I find that argumentative atheists abound on the Internet, some of whom seem unable to respect anyone who believes in anything anyone calls "God." They appear to have a fixation with some magical "SkyDaddy" or "imaginary friend" deity, as depicted on the Sistine Chapel ceiling, something indistinguishable from Zeus, Thor, Isis, or the Tooth Fairy, in which they imagine all religious people believe. They seem convinced that if we all listen to Reason, a quality that atheists alone possess, then they will cure us all of this absurd Delusion.  In other words, their understanding of theology is roughly that of a fourteen-year-old.

     I used to be the most obnoxious supercilious atheist I knew, arguing with all the religious kids in school about how stupid they were to believe in that fairy tale God. Then something happened to me in eleventh grade that made me stop, and no, it wasn't any kind of mystical religious experience. I wouldn't say that my beliefs have changed in any way or that I reject my previous atheism.

      My brother, the math major, had turned me on to that great twentieth century atheist, Bertrand Russell, in tenth grade, and I tried reading everything of his that I could comprehend: his autobiography, Why I Am Not a Christian, and then his History of Western Philosophy. The turning point for me was when I got to his chapter on that great seventeenth century atheist, Spinoza. Russell called Spinoza "the noblest and most lovable of the great philosophers," so I knew I had to like him, too. To my surprise, this notorious atheist had a belief in something he chose to call "God," and Russell still managed to respect him. In spite of what I'd always heard about a God I couldn't believe in, I found that Spinoza posited a God that made tremendous sense to me. From the moment, I realized that all disagreements about the existence of God were semantic, and to continue to argue with people about it was a foolish waste of time.

          That probably won't end as long as atheists feel a need to look down their noses at other people, but if they're as rational as they believe themselves to be, they'll define their terms before they engage in these theological disputations.