Why I can’t go back

I’ve been engaged in a debate with theists about what I must do in order to see that there really is a god.

First, I was told to ask God to reveal himself.

I pointed out the absurdity of addressing a serious question to what I considered a fictional being. I might as well ask Santa Claus for a nice gift this Christmas.

But, I asked anyway. Right there on the discussion, I typed it in. “Please God, if you exist, please reveal yourself to me.”

Nothing happened.

I was accused of being too “mechanical”. Yet I assured them I was sincere, and I was. I am a curious person with an open mind: if there really is a god hiding somewhere, and making him visible is as easy as just asking him to, then I want to try it.


Then they suggested I read the Bible. I said I had. I said that the more I read it, the more certain I became that it was the (very) human product of an ancient Middle Eastern society.

Finally, they concluded that my “heart was not ready”.

I asked what exactly it was that I needed to do in order to get my heart ready.


This entire exchange brought home to me just how feeble the edifice of religious belief is when pressed.

It appears, at first glance, as a massive castle soaring majestically into the air. But on closer inspection, it is a mirage. It is nothing more than an image projected from believers’ minds like some holographic rendition of reality, ready to disappear as soon as the suspension of disbelief crumbles.

It crumbled for me, several years ago now. And, like the magic trick that never looks the same once the sleight of hand has been revealed, religion will never look the same to me.

And I’ve never been happier.


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