On an evidentiary basis, I see no reason to take the Bible as instructions from the heavens.

On a psychosocial basis, I see many reasons to see people's faith as good-faith efforts. That is, I do not see religion as inherently malicious. Nor do I assume there is no wisdom to glean from scriptures.

But people who will try to talk me into seeing The Truth (ie, the Christian God) are as a rule not very good at arguing. They will always lose - not because I'm stubborn, but because if they were as skilled as I am, they wouldn't stick to their position.

If someone tries to convince you that there was never a moon landing, or that high-fructose corn syrup is a great health supplement, or that the earth is flat - do you anticipate that they'll win the argument with you? What about if you're especially informed on the topic, from various perspectives? But they mainly know the one, and don't seem to know how to play devil's advocate and critique what they would prefer to be true? Do you anticipate they'll surprise you and convince you?

No, because if they knew what the hell they were talking about, they wouldn't be taking this route, nor would they be at their current location.

Many Christians *think* they know what they're talking about, because they have studied their religion, and if they believe in it, which they diligently do, then it must be true, and this truth must be "showable" to others. And, sure, they *do* know about Christianity.

The trouble is that their study and their belief are not based on reliable evidence - this is even considered a feature, not a bug. They think it's a hurdle real Christians get over (and everyone *should* get over) in order to see the heart of the matter.

The problem is that the heart of the matter is not the heart of the matter. It isn't true.

It isn't an important quirk of Christianity that faith is required to "see it." No, it's a direct consequence of those not actually being the facts.

Sure, I could lie to myself. I could even lie to myself about lying to myself - so that I take this confabulation as a good thing, a great thing, a soul-saving thing, a testament to my love of the Creator who loves me, etc.

But the core facts of Christianity are not facts. It isn't some quirk or test that we can't prove them. We can't prove them because they aren't true.

Do I know this absolutely for certain? Well, before I answer that, let me ask and answer some other questions, which some may consider a detour for both delaying and dodging, but it is for neither. Do I know absolutely for certain that any groups of planets orbiting stars exist outside of the Solar System? Do I know absolutely for certain that our own Sol releases heat by nuclear fusion? Do I know absolutely for certain that my next door neighbor is not an alien?

No.

I don't.

There's little or nothing I know absolutely for certain. Usually, my handy go-to example of certainty is my name. Is my given, legal name Lyndon Goodacre? Yes it is. How certain am I of this? About as certain as I can be of anything. Yet could I somehow be mistaken? I could. That possibility I fully accept, without embarrassment or defensiveness. All kinds of strange things are possible. And, point of fact, I *have* had at least one dream in which my name was something else. In order for my name to be something else, all it would really take is for me to be dreaming. And I've definitely had dreams before in which I asked myself whether I was dreaming, and I concluded that, alas, I couldn't possibly be dreaming. Yet I was.

I'm about as convinced that the Bible's supernatural elements are fiction as I am of my name.

Sure, I wasn't there. So I'll extend extra uncertainty. But the stories - and the defenses of the stories - don't add up. The way people defend Christianity is not the way people defend the truth. It's the way people defend delusions. And this is extremely noticeable when you have enough relevant experience. 

ADHD means being cursed with less of the thing everyone agrees makes or breaks an intention: consistent application.

They talk as if this one thing you lack is just a choice equally available to everyone.

You watch as they lose respect for you. Their ethic is so founded on seeing what you lack as a simple moral, a thing chosen by the good.

If it's just a choice, those who make the effort of choosing it are to be admired - and successes will reward them - while those who do not make the effort and do not choose it are to be seen as deserving their failure.

Never mind that someone with ADHD may well be trying harder than others, even much harder, in some important senses. Who finds it easier to ride a bike, the frequent biker or the kid trying to get going for the first time, in fits and starts? Now imagine the fits and starts continue... and continue... and continue... and you can't quit... but everyone thinks you're hopeless or not trying or not worthy or whatever. And *you* think that, sometimes, because what else are you supposed to think? And your thinking it is contagious, so other people think it, and their thinking it is contagious, so you think it, and... you know, it's pretty silly.

Everyone agrees that what you lack is all it takes. And without what you lack, nothing will ever work.

I'm rarely surprised by the content of critiques of what I say, because I've already thought of it, heard it elsewhere, etc.

What usually surprises me is the rigidity of other people's opinions and the lack of coherent logic and evidence under the surface.

I feel like Socrates. Prod a little, and everyone's opinion crumbles to dust and they get angry. That's egotistical to say. But many people relate to Socrates, because many people still have his experience, because most people are still like the people he talked to in the famous dialogues. They think they're sure, but mainly they're sure because they're proud of having an opinion, and they really don't like to be challenged on it, despite what they say.

Now, we don't have to *enjoy* critique and the possibility that we've said something out loud that's just plain wrong.

Who actually enjoys that? Or much?

What matters is how we approach this, how we approach both sides of this coin when they arrive in conversation - when we should say something, when we should listen.

No one talks about the fact fairness is a ludic concept - a concept that depends on virtuality - yet I'm convinced of it. Until we apply a ruleset, "fair" is an opinion, just as "good" is an opinion before choosing a purpose. "Virtual" doesn't mean useless. Fairness is virtual.

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If there's a gallon of water & 10 people are thirsty, it seems fair to give each person 1/10 gallon. Under that "ruleset" (breakdown of the scenario), this seems fairest. What if someone is dying of thirst? The calculation needs adjustment! But there's ALWAYS more detail.

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Even if you completely describe the water and thirst situation, there are other considerations. Does the water "belong" to anyone? Is someone being a massive jerk? You can keep zooming in and also keep expanding the horizon. When does it stop? When can we agree on what's "fair"?

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It isn't hopeless. But the fact IS, "fair" is virtual. It depends on how you analyze the situation. We have to agree on what the "game" is, and then we can agree on what's fair. That seems inherent to fairness. Doesn't it? It can only be analyzed from the POV of a ruleset.

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No one talks about this. Either I'm mistaken, or that's potentially a big thing.

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This also relates directly to "deserving" and "earning." Both these concepts refer to an assumption of fairness. What does it mean to earn or deserve, really? Depends on a ruleset.

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That might sound like punting, or moral relativism. But I don't think it's either. Again, "virtual" is no more useless than "hypothetical," "planned," or "mathematical." The latter 3 are all virtual, in fact - yet critical.

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I used to be a writer in the sense that I made great efforts to get words right. And I believed that my words could do something. I wrote about momentous topics, sometimes, and felt this could contribute to change.

I think I've turned from a writer into a teacher. I can spot-check and clarify. People listen carefully to my opinions and reasoning under specific circumstances.

I no longer have much of a sense that any word I write does anything more than clarify a stray thought.

It makes people uncomfortable that their beloved confidence isn't always a good thing.

When they're faced with clear examples - for example, malignant narcissism - they find ways to wiggle out of recognition. They'll say that narcissism isn't confidence at all. They'll even say narcissism is the polar opposite of confidence: it's insecurity and low self-worth, nothing more or less.

That's imprecise at best and at worst may border on delusional.

Confidence isn't always good.

Some people seem to - perhaps even congenitally - have too much of it.

We base a surprising amount of morality on confidence, often without realizing what we're doing. Because confidence is taken to be a universal good, we have trouble seeing, acknowledging, and understanding examples where it isn't what's best.

Sometimes confidence is dangerous or catastrophic.

Sometimes doubt is a wonderful thing.

Many people today are no longer religious, but I think many have allowed worship of confidence to replace worship of blind faith in God.

Trusting in oneself at all costs is no more reasonable than trusting in God at all costs.

I'm here to point it out to anyone who hasn't realized it yet.

I generally believe Jesus existed. Most knowledge was carried in the oral tradition - often for centuries or more. A social movement clearly happened around that time; it left a giant impact on history. While the origin story could have been fabricated entirely, ie, patched together from other legends and myths (lots of evidence of this borrowing), it's more likely that a person of some fame and influence was mythologized, pre-existing patterns magnetizing to him in retellings.

There were many rebellious young men at the time claiming to be God fighting the Jewish and Roman establishments in Israel. We know a man called Jesus was crucified, but the others who claimed they were God would also have been crucified, as that was the standard penalty. It was a known crime with a known punishment.

It's quite possible the Jesus story is some sort of averaging of these people (and executions) spanning several decades, with other mythology attached. But it's more likely, in my opinion, that one of these figures stood out as particularly wise.

Someone had to weave those words. That *even he* (if this explanation holds) was crucified in brutal prejudice would have been striking, tragic, and strikingly tragic to his followers.

I see no reason to ignore the historical setting - the fact quite a few young men matched Jesus's broad description as heretic, prophet, and leader claiming to be God or hear from God directly - and insist NO such person existed. And, again, I see little reason to believe that the words of a particularly wise and memorable individual of this kind could not have been remembered for a few decades before they were written down. Oral tradition was the norm, not the exception.

By the time the words were written, it seems there was already a movement and religion. It isn't as if the words were written, sat in a book for some time, and slowly built a following with people who appreciated the book. It's more as if a religious leader created a movement and eventually followers recorded a mixture of fact and legend.

Still, he may be a sort of Everyman character representing a couple generations of rebels and heretics, the voice of the pure Jewish spirit under Roman domination before much (not most but a lot) of the population at the capital was slaughtered (a definitely real event, not long after, that would have been symbolized well by crucifixion, an iconically Roman punishment).

Whether it's true or not, I like the idea that some actual words of one of the rebels were remembered. And I don't find that at all implausible.

All this basically is what Reza Aslan says in his book Zealot, but I find it persuasive.