My brother, in his youth, left the British Communist Party because it wasn't left wing enough, and then by a series of possibly random events, largely to do with disillusionment, became a Born Again Christian. He is very happy in his beliefs, and generally comforted by them, which makes me happy too, because I love him.
Aaha! Aaha! I used to say, with the arrogance of a woman who knows the answer, when I read Pilate's, 'What is truth?' Now I am as convinced as I want to be, that Pilate was on to something.
Pontius, I don't know. I used to know, and thought it extremely important that everybody else did too. Perhaps, if he'd lived as long as I have, Pilate would have saved his breath to cool his porridge. You can just make it up as you go along. As long as you can convince yourself, you can believe whatever you like and get away with it. Once I discovered this particular construct, I let go of a lot of junk that never made an iota of difference to me or anyone else, except as the means of separation from others, generally with the aim of engendering superiority.
I remain a theist. As a theist I began a journey out of certainty, and I like it here. Many of my friends are theists too; ready to stand up and be laughed at, though there are still enough of us to count. I'm not even a serious doubter. I say the Nicene Creed with fervour, and pray every day, but there's a growing list of things that I don't believe in, which can be summed up as anything that makes me mad at you.
I'm through with being told what to believe, and to return the compliment, I won't tell anyone else what to believe either. Except, perhaps, my brother... .
So my brother wants to engage me in a little Dawkins-bashing.
'Dawkins, I say to him, 'Is entitled to be as disagreeable, contentious, angry and dismissive as he likes. YOU are not.'
The Christ didn't say, 'Worship me.' He said, 'Follow me.'
Go on, I dare you.
Think: Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.