“You know me, you don’t mind
waiting, you just can’t show me, but God I’m praying, that you’ll find me, and
that you’ll see me, that you run, and never tire.” Ryan Adams, “Desire”
Perhaps the biggest genius
in the past 100 years, Kurt Godel, posthumously, published his proof of the
existence of a God. Indeed, his spouse recounts the most brilliant logician of
his time spent his Sunday mornings in bed reading Scripture.
Obviously, as someone fully
qualified to match intelligence with Dr. Godel, I find myself cringing at these
proofs, or those of maybe even greater minds, Aquinas. Not that they may not be
correct or probably correct, but because the modern Theists’ understanding of
God, and the modern Christians’ understanding of God in particular, should be
offended by these proofs, for two primary reasons:
1) The first is it assumes a conversation can occur
where whether God exists or not is meaningful in any sense. As I have written
in the past, I fully agree with the likes of Anscombe and Plantinga, whom
basically say this: in order to have a conversation where our minds can be
trusted to analyze any argument, belief, declaration, sentence, etc.,
particularly one that involves any of our senses (i.e. the tree is green, bumpy
and exists) it has to assume the underlying causes of existence is an
intelligent being that lives outside of this existence (i.e. what we call
God). Furthermore, to argue about anything
would presuppose that a belief can be held, or even more so, changed, therefore
presupposing free will. None of these things are possible in a non-Theistic
world. It’s just not. And I think this is one of the single most important
revelations women and men can have.
2) For those of us in the Abrahamic Faith (Muslim, Jew,
Christian being the primary make-up), Faith is the cosmic currency, the only
real “pay-back” we can provide, both through action and thought. With any kind
of proof, like with God writing “I exist” in the sky tonight, faith is squeezed
out; and along with it, in my estimation, the Christian Faith implodes.
Instead of “proofs”, I think
signposts pointing to God is a better why to discuss the many cumulative things
that send us to Faith. The existence of mathematics, its ability to perfectly
describe the natural sciences, why there is a mysterious impulse in nature to
exist, why nature argues through instinct life is better than death. These are
some of the brightest signposts I see. Others, like some of the other English
philosophers of Anscombe’s time, saw things like beauty as the most compelling.
And there is of course love. And then, then there is the hunt.
In one of Ryan Adams’
earliest songs after Whiskeytown, the lyrical genius sums it up, in a prayer to
God, which I am convinced, is answered every moment of each of our lives, from
the first primate that crossed the boundary to human: “You know me, you don’t
mind waiting, you just can’t show me, but God I’m praying, that you’ll find me,
and that you’ll see me, that you run, and never tire.”
In our limits of vocabulary
and humanity, the notion of God running and never tire to me, is still
remarkably perfect. With a God that created free-will creatures, God leaves it
up to us to nurture our Faith. But God also, like a mother separated from her
child, manically runs and shouts and searches frantically, never to cross over
God’s created boundaries, for each of his sons and daughters. Even to the ones
whom through a mix of genes and environment are sociopathic. Even to the ones whom
are among the most loving and giving, yet self-satisfying. And everyone in
between. This hope trumps proof. This hope sustains hope against hope, that
even the ones whom have lived a life denouncing God and his followers, may at
some point be tracked down.
It is to this God I pray.
As one who has loved ones running
out of time that have lived with their backs turned away and minds closed off
from God, my great hope is we do not have
a God that exists with proof but without maniacal lust for his created, but,
rather, a God that exists without proof but frantically runs without tire
toward his prodigal children.
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