Thanks for the answers. They make sense, to me at least. So, if I may, pick your brain a bit more.
You base this gospel of Love on a few words by Jesus. You have stated it’s acceptable to cherry pick the NT if you come out with a gospel of love. What about the rest, the parts that aren’t so loving? How does the OT fit into this love concept? If God is Love, why wait so long to reveal this to people in the form of Jesus, a person who did not fit into their notions of the promised Messiah (persecuted, obscure rabbi instead of conquering hero and king)? Why tell them one thing to look for only to give them another completely different Messiah. That does not seem like a loving thing to do.
I would expand on Thunderbug’s question, if you don’t mind. Can you reconcile many aspects of this universe, which are patently unLoving, with their creator, who is Love?
I love these two quotes. They represent everything I know about theology. Actually, “know” isn’t really the right word. Maybe I should say that I accept them as axioms.
Sometimes I wish I had faith. Most of the time I appreciate the humility that comes from admitting that I know nothing about God - including whether or not He exists.
Here’s a question for Libertarian and anyone else who cares to respond: You said
and you also believe that Jesus is God. When we are “being God” through acts of lovingkindness, are we God is the same sense that Jesus was God? Is there any difference between Libertarian and Jesus? Was Jesus a bodhisattva, or something more?
Since it is my brain that you’re picking here, I’ll assume that you want an answer that is derived intellectually, and I’ll at least begin that way.
Let’s start with the Law of Noncontradiction. If we accept as our first premise that “God is Love”, then whatever comes later that might contradict our premise is false. Therefore, wherever it might appear that God does not love us, including in the Bible, there is something wrong: the writer might be lying; he might be expositing poorly; he might be misinterpreting what he thinks he has seen; we might be misinterpreting what he has written; and so on.
I tend to view the Old Testament, generally, as man connecting with God, and the New Testament, particularly the Gospels, as God connecting with man. There are exceptions, of course, and that’s why I say “generally”. Many of the Psalms speak of God’s loving kindness, as do many of the prophecies, but there is no point in pretending that an interpretation of God from much of the Old Testament as a vengeful beast is unreasonable. Likewise, there are passages in the New Testament (and even in the Gospels) that seem contradictory to the First Premise.
I do tend to give the writers some benefit of the doubt and assume that they are faithfully recording God’s destruction of cities and launching of plagues and whatnot as best they can in accordance with what they understand. But, in light of the First Premise, I have to believe that they often did not quite understand what it was they were witnessing.
Never forget how important a frame of reference can be when attempting to interpret an event. Always try to see things from God’s point of view, that is, from His reference frame of eternity and spirit, if what you want to do is understand God and what He has done. When He “looks down” upon the earth, He does not see just atoms, as we do, bonding together to form molecules, and cells, and organisms. He “sees” eternal spirits like Himself.
None of the atoms are truly alive the way the spirit is, not even the ones that are formed together as “living” cells. A much more accurate term for “living thing” in a physical sense is “dying thing”. We are dying from the moment we are born, and whatever else happens, it is a given that we will die.
People often lament that a “life” ends tragically early, as with our little grandson, Dawson. And yet, few people lament death generally as something unfair or cruel. Frankly, this seems inconsistent to me. If enough value is assigned to biological “life” to fret over its untimely demise, then why shouldn’t there be equal fretting over it ending whenever. After all, an extra few years here and there are but a blink in the evolutionary time-scale.
But from God’s point of view, this biological “life” is not life at all, but death. Its very existence begins a death timetable that is going to be realized sooner or later, no matter what a man does. What God sees as life is what is like Him — the eternal spirits that are made in His image and His likeness.
Put on your “God Glasses” and watch as He swoops down and blasts away all the atoms of Sodom. There is something there you can see as “foggy shapes” that is not destroyed, something that continues to live, something that is vibrantly real even as the dust settles onto the scorched earth. These are the spirits that formerly were engaged in a moral play. And no matter whether their play was one week or one hundred years, it will all seem like an instantaneous event to them, over as soon as it began.
Now, what happens to them?
Well, according to Jesus, that is entirely up to them! All will see God now, stripped of the shells that dimmed their spiritual sight. Some will go to Him, delighted that He has liberated them. Some will run away. Some will be drawn to His light. Some will be repulsed. They will compare God to whatever it is that they have sought out their whole lives, and if He is what they were seeking, they will know that they are seeing the longings of their souls. Others will see nothing that they desire, and will go their own way. Jesus said that “where your treasure is, there your heart is also.” If love is what you treasure, then your heart will yearn for God.
This was the part that the writer didn’t see. While he thought he saw destruction, he in fact saw liberation. What he thought was a vindication of his local tribe was in fact a vindication of God’s eternal plan. What we interpret as the death of bodies was in fact the birth of freedom.
Maybe men misinterpreted what the Messiah would be. Maybe they expected a literal king, like David, to rule over atoms when God intended a spiritual King, like Jesus, to rule over eternity. I’m reminded of a story from Kahlil Gibran’s Jesus the Son of Man (James the Son of Zebedee, “On the Kingdoms of the World”):
"My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you. You are my friends if you do what I command. I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master’s business. Instead, I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you. — Jesus (John 15:12, 14-15)
Jesus loves perfectly. In my moral journey, I am still learning how to love.
Since I’m relatively new here, I hadn’t heard Libertarian’s testimony before. Let me say it is indeed a moving and uplifting story. Perplexing too, although I have heard several similar accounts in my lifetime (and of course this does not detract from the wonder and uniqueness of each).
I have also seen God. My testimony is available upon request, but suffice to say I cried tears of happiness and laughed at the indescribable beauty of the pure love I was experiencing. I was absolutely, 100% certain that I was in direct contact with God=Love.
Every such experience is different and unique, but I would venture that all share a common intensity and certainty that the experience is divine in origin. Atheists who have never experienced such are indeed missing out. Indeed, I would venture that I am a rare example: An atheist who has seen God. I do not know of another person who has felt what I and Libertarian have felt and gone on to believe that it is more likely than not that nothing supernatural exists.
I would hope that you do not merely conclude that I didn’t get the “real deal”. More likely, you might declare, as Libertarian has, that I am simply denying what I “know” to be true.
My life has been one long experiment on what my brain is capable of, and my working hypothesis is that seeing God is only one experience out of many of similar intensity and dedicated focus on love, specifically, that I have had. Having known first hand the love and peace of Christ, I am happier, more at peace, and hold a greater sense of awesome wonder at the prospect that:
I am the most incredible thing in an incredible universe. I am a pattern of ever-changing atoms which somehow has the ability to think. Nothing like me existed for 12 billion years. I am borne of supernovae, I am Made of Stars. Every piece of sensory input I receive has an inexplicable quantum effect on the universe - I am the universe’s way of observing itself. My life is a wonder; I will live my life in wonder.
Whew. You’re right, you don’t sound like most Atheists I’ve talked to. You’ve said that you “believe that it is more likely than not that nothing supernatural exists”, but from your description above, the “natural” universe sounds pretty “super”.
Would you be willing to expand a bit on how you experience the-world-at-large, and how Love fits into the picture? I’m also curious about exactly what you don’t believe.
And Lib:
I still don’t get it. But I do get the sincerity and compassion with which you’ve responded… thank you. (you too, Fatwater)
When my eldest daugher was born, I was but 27 years old. I mistakenly thought that I knew who God was because I knew what love is.
When my wife and I saw our baby girl for the first time, all frustration faded into the universe, all anger absorbed into our unconscious, all memory of past events reduced to miniscule thoughts hidden deep in our mind. Emotion welled up, and evidenced in our eyes were the tell-tale tears carrying feelings we could not express in words. Our minds were completely free, and a new emotional being came into light, and we found what love is. Enbodied in a 6 pound beautiful little girl, we could see perfect reflections of ourselves.
I am now retired, and have seen two more perfect reflections made in the likeness of Love enter into this earth. All of my children are grown, and each were left to their own devices to discover for themselves what Love is. Libertarian speaks of morality, and being on a moral journey.
My children were raised in a house where *Virtue was embodied in a standard of moral correctness. If I ask my son who God is, he will tell me, God is all around you. I did not tell him or teach this to him. He learned through example. But he is not a religious person, he is virtuous nevertheless.
Love to me embodies a feeling of rightness, moral fortitude to the evils of the world. When I look at my wife I see love, the same love that I see when I look at an unspoiled landscape, a masterful painting, a father walking with his young son teaching him the ways of the world.
My parents (and me until the age of 8) were brought up in a Christian denomination called the Plymouth Brethren. This is not the Exclusive Brethren you may have heard about, merely a fairly strict working-class Church which my parents left in order that they might “express their faith” more openly than they felt they could, in what could be described as a “Charismatic Anglican” Church, which I remained at until aged 18.
At 17, as a young, committed Christian in a healthy, bubbling evangelical fellowship (I used to lead the choruses), I regularly used to see friends and family experiencing an overpowering and wonderful personal meeting with God and wonder why I never had. I could pray for hours, sing with arms aloft until hoarse, concentrate every faculty of my being upon God with all of the intensity I could muster, and still all I could get was a quite pleasant yet in no way overpowering sense of peace, well-being and affinity towards my fellows.
One day I went to hear a speaker (his name was Eric Delve, probably unknown outside north west Churches of England). He was by no means a rabble-rouser, imploring us to come and feel the Spirit in a raised voice. He was laid back, gently funny, an entertaining but not particularly dramatic speaker, I thought, and spoke simply on the subject of love. For some reason, instead of pushing myself to concentrate on his words in order to further my relationship with Christ, I decided to just…let go. Just this once, I won’t try, I’ll just be. This concept of just being kind of stuck in my head. As he talked, it was something I felt I was being drawn to, like the thought that sends you to sleep. I’ll just be. His voice seemed to fade out and I started laughing. I remember wondering what was going on, but not worrying, in a similar way to how one thinks during dreams. I became unaware of my surroundings, yet my friends said I seemed quite lucid, apart from the tears and the fact that I kept looking at each of them as though they were a long lost brother who had finally returned. I felt the presence of pure love, and felt my soul doused with some kind of magical energy potion (corny but true). When I “came back”, the place was nearly empty - I’d been “gone” for 45 minutes. My mates assured me I hadn’t caused a scene by raising my voice or flailing about or anything, I had just looked the happiest person alive.
As I say, I was certain I had “seen God”, that there was no possibility that this episode was anything other than of divine origin. However, always curious, I wondered what else might be possible. I went to university (it couldn’t be anything other than physics, for me - why bother with anything less fundamental?). I did transcendental meditation. After a while, having had some interesting “waking dream” experiences, I again tried * letting go*. Again, POW! Tears, laughter, pure love, one hour “out”. Curiously though, no particular emphasis on the divine, only * my own self *. Other pursuits followed, each time being different, some more and some less having divine elements, some more and some less containing some aspect of “love” (Agape or, rarely, otherwise), but all being of similar intensity and “WOW!” value.
Eventually, it became apparent that there need not be any divine or supernatural (ie. outside nature) focus, or even brief occurrence of such subjects within my “voyage”, for these experiences to occur (although, as I said, nobody can rule them out as a source). My wonder became transferred from God (for giving me these Wow’s) to my brain, that it might produce them all by itself.
Just realised I said on the other page that I was 15 when I had this experience, but I’m sure I was a bit older - apols for confusion.
Don’t ask me exactly how, but I believe that one day there will be a satisfactory neurological explanation of how I experience the world. Love, insofar as we’re talking about the experience of Agape love here rather than merely performing charitable actions is, I believe, a general open-minded positivity which one can “train” one’s brain for in a similar way to the Cognitive Therapy popular with many psychiatrists treating eg. bipolar depression these days.
Hmm, quite a list. That nothing beyond, above or outside the natural exists or has ever happened. Even were God to literally appear before my very eyes during my normal everyday state of mind, I would assume someone with impressive technology was having me on.
First, I’m struck by the overwhelming emphasis on letting go, seeing as how this was Lib’s emphasis (and personal suggestion) as well.
I’d like to ask a few clumsy questions about your experiences (I have the distinct feeling that intellectually examining your experience is going to be, to paraphrase Elvis Costello, like dancing about architecture).
When you went from “… no possibility that this episode was anything other than of divine origin” to “no particular emphasis on the divine, only my own self”: what shifted? Was the “origin” palpably different in the later occurrences, or did you come to the conclusion that you had mistakenly attributed the first occurrence to the divine? In the episodes - “some more and some less having divine elements” - what was the experiential difference between having/not having divine content?
What kind of things “made it apparent” that whatever these experiences were, they probably weren’t divine?
Your sense of self seems to have been tremendously impacted by these experiences. Would you elaborate a bit more on what you believe/don’t believe about yourself?
Did these occurrences have lingering affect on your everyday experience? (Were they like drug trips:“Oh. Hmm. cough, cough, that was interesting, but I’m back to normal now”, or did each one reverberate for days and/or leave subtle but permanent changes?)
Finally, what’s love got to do with it? (I mean, do you have a take on why a self-or-brain produced experience of such intense proportions would always be accompanied by overwhelming Love?)
A few words on behalf of millions of people who will never have the opportunity to join this message board:
I have never been drawn to organized religions, but I am faithful, I believe, to the god of love. My heart these days is with people in the third world, and so revolution is often on my mind. How can we reconcile a world full of good-hearted people (which I think is what we have) with a world full of people who have so little? How do these people survive their conditions? How can they improve their situations? The answers come back to Love, always Love. I will share these ideas with you:
In my circles we often talk about what the purpose of revolution is. Having discarded ideas of socialist/communist (etc) utopia, I have settled upon Paolo Freire’s goal of ‘the creation of a world in which it is possible to love.’
Wars without end (civil wars, generally) are driven by hate. You cannot recruit child soldiers without hate, nor kill innocent people without hate. You cannot strap a bomb to yourself and get on a public bus, without hate.
Hate is the opposite of love.
Freire (in Pedagogy of the Oppressed) describes Revolution as an act of Love. Keep in mind that he was working with very poor and disadvantaged people, and what was … um … revolutionary about him was his commitment to self-empowerment and education. He also spoke of revolution as an act of trust, education, imagination, and friendship. The first two chapters of this book are inspiring and enlightening for anyone interested in pursuing this further.
Martin Luther King also spoke along the same lines: you cannot free yourself until you forgive (love) your oppressor. Unfortunately I don’t have the reference (i was so inspired by it, I shared it with a friend who still has it) but he describes three kinds of love: romantic, companionship, and the third is a kind of love for humanity, for the world. The third kind is the revolutionary kind.
The third kind is also God, for Lib and for other theists.
People who I admire, for their ideas about love: Christ, Ghandi, Mother Teresa, bell hooks, the Dalai Lama.
A recent example that I find inspirational: after the ‘friendly-fire’ incident where four Canadians were killed by an American bomber, I was watching interviews with the families of the dead. Corp. Answorth Dyer’s father, when asked about what should happen to the pilot, said he forgave him. He knows what it is like to lose a son and would not wish that upon anyone (ie the family of the pilot).
I have read about an awful lot of misery and despair that exists in the world. There’s a lot to be upset about. The only way I can cope with it is through love.
What this means in practice is difficult. Again, I haven’t got my references with me and they don’t seem to publish these things on the internet. But if you approach an enemy with love, instead of hate, you will accomplish far more. For one thing, you will find your enemy isn’t an enemy, but a human being.
Ok Lib, so far so good. And it’s been very good so far I might add.
How do you view the last 2,000 years of Christianity then? Your explanations, while well thought out and sensible, sound quite “new age”. I don’t see these views you hold in the teachings of the 2,000 year old Catholic church, or the 600 year old Protestant church and certainly not in the 100 year old Fundamental church. How did you “get it” while they are missing it? Or are they?
How much love does one need to show to get on the good side of the big guy? And what exactly is the love you speak of? Is simple forgiveness enough? Toleration? Did Jesus love the Pharisees?
A story if I may. When my father passed away I, as his oldest son, was in charge of the funeral. Lovely way to spend the summer of your 21st birthday, huh? I wanted to bury him next to his mother, as the grave was empty as his father was buried with my aunt’s (my father’s twin sister) 3 year old child when they both passed away at the same time. My aunt, who was the only survivor in the family left and in charge of the grave site, told me I could bury my father next to his beloved mother and that she would take care of everything. As I was making arrangements, I was told the grave preparations were not made. I called my aunt to see if I could help, and she told me that I could bury my father there but for half the cost of the grave site (which was completely paid for by my grandparents). She made a mockery of my father’s death in my eyes. Needless to say, I told her to stick it and buried my father at another site. Do I forgive my aunt? I don’t know, I suppose I do. Do I love her? Absolutely not, I could never love such a horrible person (there are other stories involving her).
Would that keep my eternal spirit from dwelling with God in the afterlife?
