I doubt, therefore I think.
I think, therefore I exist.
I doubt, therefore I am imperfect.
I am imperfect, therefore imperfection exists.
Imperfection exists, therefore perfection exists.
God, by definition, is perfection, therefore God exists.
God is perfect, therefore God is good.
God is good, therefore God would not deceive us.
God would not deceive us, therefore the world and my experiences in it are real.

This proof actually shares the same fatal flaw as the other God proof I’ve heard:

Something can exist either in thought or in reality.
I can think of God, therefore God exists in thought.
It is more powerful to exist in reality than in thought.
God is, by definition, the most powerful, therefore God exists in reality.

The flaw, of course, is that we are asked to accept that because something is conceptualized, it must exist in accordance to its intrinsic characteristics. Yet if I believe that God is, by definition, a delicious jelly donut sitting on my desk, there is still no jelly donut on my desk. Those of us not well schooled in metaphysics may not be able to articulate exactly why we know these proofs are bogus, but we do know it.

(Note: I am not a philosopher, so if you’re outraged at how much I screwed up my summary of these ideas, I apologize.)

However, in some of my musings this year, I have come across my own conditional proof that God exists. Conditional in that it does not prove God, but makes God a necessary derivative of another belief. Here it is:

If we have free will, God exists.

Maybe some of you are nodding your heads and saying “good point,” or shaking your heads and saying “nope.” You have probably already jumped ahead through everything else I’m about to say. If, however, you’re going “huh?” then you can benefit from reading my explanation.

It started in Mexico. I have no real explanation for why it started in Mexico, except perhaps that I (like Descartes, it would seem) had a lot of free time on my hands. It was then that I began doubting free will.

It seems, scientifically, that to believe in free will, you must at some point stop your understanding of physical science. Scientifically speaking, our brains are very complex systems of electrical signals and chemical reactions that form what we experience as thought. Like everything in nature, these systems react to stimuli in the environment, chug through some insanely complex equations, and churn out an answer. It’s conceptually no different from the reaction you get when you mix baking soda and vinegar, or when you charge a battery, or when you plant a seed. There are variables (how much vinegar you used, how long the battery is charging, nutrients in the soil, and so forth) that, depending on the complexity and our ability to measure them, we may or may not be aware of. But if we were to know all of these variables, we could predict the outcome. Chaos theory says that we cannot–that the universe is far too complex for us to predict outcomes like that. But if we were omniscient about the present, we would be able to predict the future.

Are you buying this? Let me ask you something: if you flip a coin, what are the chances that it will land heads? Fifty percent? Fifty-one percent? Say you flip a coin and it lands on heads. Given the exact physical circumstances of that toss–air currents in the room, your pulse, everything–what were the odds that it was going to be heads? I claim 100%. If you built a time machine, went back in time, and observed that coin toss again without changing anything (forget Heisenberg for a second), it would land on heads. Every time.

Apply the same concept to a choice. What will I eat for breakfast? Cereal or eggs? I think I’m choosing, but I’m actually just running an equation in my brain based on my hunger, how long it’s been since I last ate eggs, how much time I have before I have to be in class, and so forth. I may choose to make eggs. If I go back in time and watch that play out again, I will once again choose to make eggs, because that was the outcome of that equation (note: for this reason I don’t believe in alternate realities–at least not according to the “we create one with every choice” theory).

The end result is predetermination. Given the exact same circumstances, we will make the exact same choices, just like the same math equation will always yield the same result (and don’t give me any plus-or-minus crap or start talking about the number i).

There’s a whole concept in philosophy that assumes all this, and goes on to explain our experiences and sense of self: epiphenominalism. “In the Philosophy of Mind, a dualist theory of mind-body interaction which maintains all mental events are causally dependent upon physical events (i.e., brain states). According to this theory brain events cause mental events, but not vice versa” (Maricopa). Essentially, our experience of making a choice is actually a side-effect of our body making that choice. It’s an illusion, unintended by the brain–a “ghost in the machine.”

You may disagree, but I think all of this makes perfect sense.

So where does free will come in to play? Do we have free will? I believe I make choices all the time. I believe I have free will. Maybe I’m just suffering from the delusion of mental existence, but maybe I’m right, and there actually is free will. But here’s the thing:

To the best of my scientific and philosophical understanding, free will is impossible. Therefore, free will can only exist by divine miracle.

If there is divine miracle, there is God.

“You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor[h] and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you: Love your enemies[i] and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your brothers, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.” - Matthew 5:43-48

Often only a small snippet of that is quoted, which is fine, because it makes the same point as the whole passage. I’m just really partial to the whole thing.

In March of 2007, I attended a protest against the Iraq war organized by Valpo students in Indianapolis. Frankly, I found the whole thing appalling. I find that I often do not identify with the more vocal components of the anti-war movement, because sometimes it feels they’ve taken the issue of the war and turned it into a war right here at home. Those who oppose the war are our allies, and those who support it - and those who perpetrate it - are our enemies.

At this particular protest, a representative of the womens’ advocacy group Code Pink stood up and told what I can only call lies about our president. Maybe she believed them, but I didn’t - if George Bush were stumbling through the White House in drunken fits and and calling his wife “the C-word” in front of the White House Press Corps, we’d know about it. The media certainly has no bias against sensationalism.

But what really got to me was a war veteran and current professor (of communications, I think) who was sort of MC’ing the event. At one point, he started off on a rant about how he’s against the idea of impeaching President Bush and Vice-President Cheney, because it lets them off the hook. “I don’t want them impeached,” he bellowed, “I want them prosecuted! I want them to spend the rest of their natural lives in a jail cell!” The fact that impeachment does, in fact, mean prosecution (and not removal from office, as he seemed to believe) aside, I was struck by the tone of anger and vengeance that was seeping into this protest.

I did not act; I watched myself act. I saw myself turn from where I’d been standing, with my back to the protest, holding a sign with the name of an Indiana native who’d been killed so that it was visible to traffic passing through the circle. I saw myself walk to an open area in front of the angry man, drop to my knees, and pray.

Your peace, your love, your forgiveness, your mercy….

Tim e-mailed me recently to alert me to a comment he’d deleted, due to name-calling and profanity, from my post about my arrest at an anti-war demonstration. I assume that means I shouldn’t re-post it here, but it essentially lauded me for my actions and had some harsh things to say about the arresting officers, and about police in general.

First, I want to say that the police officers who collected us from the federal building and drove us to central booking were the absolute epitome of civility. The one who drove James and me even expressed some support for our position, though coupled with doubts about our chosen method of expression, and they removed our handcuffs before procedure really permitted it because they could see that we were not a threat. I have no complaint whatsoever against these officers, and would object to any harsh words spoken against them.

I cannot provide the same level of praise for the U.S. Marshals or the Sheriff’s deputy in the court house, but I will say this: All of them did their jobs. They may not have been warm and fuzzy towards us, but I feel that, had they been, it would be the exception. As a former Resident Assistant, I understand a little of the need for detached formality and established dominance when dealing with a “deviant,” and that’s what we were. Nobody can be expected to walk that line perfectly, and while that might leave us some complaint against the power differentials set up by the law enforcement system, I don’t feel that we should cast officers of the law as our enemies or slur them with personal attacks for what, most of the time, really just amounted to being professional.

But the officers’ actions here aren’t really relevant to my point. If this story is made to be about the injustice, perceived or real, of my arrest, then the true point of my action is lost. If the punchline becomes a jumble of harsh feelings towards the police, then the real crime goes uncorrected. My battle is not against George W. Bush and Dick Cheney, or against Richard Lugar and the United States Marshals. My battle is against the evil of violence that can take hold in every human heart, including my own. If I cast people as my enemies, then I have allowed that evil to take hold of me, warping my cause into a point of division and hate.

“Love your enemies” wasn’t just aimed at the masterminds behind the Iraq war: it applies to those of us who oppose it, too. “End the war” isn’t the ethic, it’s the realization of it - and that ethic is love. Our actions must be rooted in love or we will lose sight of our goals and be dragged down into the same quagmire of opposition and retribution that we profess to oppose, and even a total political victory will come at the cost of a moral defeat. I do not believe that the end justifies the means: our actions must reflect the spirit of the world we wish to see, or that world will dance forever outside of our grasp.

I bet that got your attention.

Back when we had eight candidates tripping over themselves for the Democratic nomination, I was a John Edwards supporter (Kucinich wasn’t viable). I felt that of the major candidates, Edwards’ views and plans most reflected what I wanted to see in a president - and besides, who can resist that charming North Carolina accent?

But I always had room in my heart for Barack Obama, too, ever since his stirring speech at the 2004 Democratic National Convention. The night of the Iowa caucuses, even as I mourned Edwards’ distant second-place finish, I watched Obama speak with a warm heart, daring to hope that such a man could give me, for the first time since I started watching CNN, a president I could be proud of. For the first time in my young life, I was witnessing something I had only heard about from my parents - the start of a movement.

Barack Obama continued to grow on me, wooing me with his strong speaking style and kind character, and by the time John Edwards dropped out I was more than willing to jump on board the Obama train. I smile when I see the above image on T-shirts and telephone poles. This isn’t just a political candidate - I’ve been involved in political campaigns for over sixteen years. This is a movement. My generation has its first big hero.

But hold on a second. Barack Obama isn’t a taller, older, Black version of me. He supports a stronger military, which I do not. He opposes same-sex marriage, which I do not. I disagree with him on matters that I consider to be rather significant.

What’s more, Barack Obama is a man. He is fallible. He is as capable of leading us into a disastrous war, robbing us of our civil liberties and alienating the rest of the world as our current president (if not as likely). And the more power you have, the easier it is to make bad decisions. So should we really be putting him up on this pedestal, trumpeting him as some sort of prophet? In fact, isn’t it dangerous for us to put so much faith in one man?

I know this isn’t exactly a term paper. I’m just curious to hear some other thoughts on the matter.

Admin Edit 6/24/08: Added “capable” as corrected in comment #7 below.

Hokay, so. Here’s the question. Is there one truth in the middle of the theological dartboard that we’re all throwing at, some getting closer than others? Or is there wiggle room? Is it possible that when I say homosexuality is A-OK and my dad has a problem with it, we’re both somehow equally right thanks to the logic-defying power of God? If I’m a Christian and my roommate is a Pagan, are we just on different roads heading in the same general direction?

Gandhi treated God, Truth and Love as interchangable synonyms. He believed that there was some Absolute Truth that, if we are lucky, we can catch a glimpse of once or twice in our life. Otherwise we must hold to our relative truths (e.g. our religious traditions), which are all pointed towards that same Absolute Truth. A very Gandhian, Hindu-related view of this is that Truth is a big mountain we’re all climbing, but we’re all on different sides of it following different trails. Of course our experiences along the way are going to be different, and of course we’re not going to agree about what the path looks like - but in the end we’re still heading for the peak.

So that’s a Hindu take, but what does Christianity have to say on the matter? The Bible does seem to state pretty clearly that Jesus is the way - or, at least, we’re all so used to reading it that way that it’s hard to comprehend a more open theology actually being expressed in the Holy Book (people - including me - argue a more open theology all the time, but I really don’t think it’s printed on those pages). But, at the risk of being a heretic, how credible a source is the Bible? We’re told by our parents and pastors that it’s legit, but - and maybe your experience is different - God never came to me and told me straight up that the Bible is word for word an accurate picture of the way things are. The only thing that makes the Bible my source, as opposed to the Qur’an, the Torah or All I Really Need to Know I Learned from Watching Star Trek is the fact that I was raised a Christian.

Now, there is some stuff in the Bible that could suggest a more complicated reading of “Jesus is the only way.” Let me offer a slightly different interpretation of Matthew 25:37-39: “Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?’” Here we have a parable about people who clearly did not think they had properly served Jesus, who find that through their service to others really had. Perhaps they had not been Christians. They had done good work, but not in Jesus’ name. But because all good things belong to God, in showing Godly values they were in fact serving Jesus.

Now, a lot of the above is quite outside common Christian theology, so I certainly wouldn’t express it in my work as a writer for Messenger magazine (COB equivalent of The Mennonite). But here’s an idea that came to me in the middle of the night some weeks ago:

My faith is a relationship that I have with God. It’s part me, and part God. Surely I can’t expect someone else’s relationship with God to be the same as mine, any more than I can expect someone else to have the same relationship with my partner as I do (I’d sure hope not!), or for my relationship with my brother to be the same as my relationship with Maggie who works at the coffee shop downtown. So in the same way that no two relationships are the same, no two faith journeys are. There. Is that a good, moderate way to hint at universalism?

I’ve shared a few of my thoughts on the nature of God and Truth, but I’d love to hear what some of the rest of you think about it. Because really, it’s behind most (or all) of the disagreements we have in the Church: the question of who, if anyone, is right.

Please share, and by all means contradict me fully.

Thursday, March 29, 2007, I joined eight other Manchester students, and three faculty and staff in a peace vigil at the federal building in Fort Wayne as part of a nationwide campaign called the Occupation Project, a civil disobedience campaign aimed at literally occupying the offices of U.S. Congressmen who refuse to cut off funding for the continuing war in Iraq.

We gathered outside the building at approximately 11:00 A.M., where we stood with signs and a massive banner and signed a petition to end the war, and a few of us took turns addressing the crowd through a bullhorn. A person connected to the federal building, who will remain anonymous for his own protection, came out and said that he had to tell us to stay off the plaza, but commented that we were becoming a “swastika state” and said that if it got much worse, he’d be coming over to our side. We opted to stay on the plaza and did not receive further interference.

James, a conservative Brethren gentleman from Warsaw, took Anna (a Manchester student) and one student from Goshen College named Bethany with him to an appointment with Phil Shaull, Senator Lugar’s aide, where they talked for over an hour. A few others of us tried to enter to deliver the petition we had signed, but security informed us that only three citizens were allowed in the congressional offices at any one time. We asked the officer at the entrance about it, and he told us it was a blanket rule that had been in place for two to three years. Marshals upstairs later indicated to us that this was not true, and that the rules were basically arbitrary.

At about noon Bethany and Anna returned to the street and filled the protestors in on the details of their meeting, which they said went relatively well for a meeting with anyone in government. At that point Cliff Kindy (CPT member) and I entered the building and went upstairs to deliver the petition and meet James. Several others remained behind saying they would risk arrest there if it became necessary. We were met on the third floor by two U.S. Marshals, who told us that Phil had gone downstairs to address us. After securing a promise from them that we would be allowed to return to the third floor, we went downstairs and found James waiting for us there.

Cliff and I chatted with James in the lobby for a while, then engaged Phil when he came back inside. The four of us talked for thirty to forty-five minutes, Cliff discussing the situation in Iraq with Phil and me explaining to him the absolute necessity for us to do whatever we had to in order to stop the bloodshed. We tried repeatedly to get him to call the Washington office and attempt to reach Senator Lugar, but he declined to do so. Phil’s family showed up to take him to lunch, and Cliff told him we would like to go back up to the offices and “pray for a miracle.” Phil told us the office was closed, and we said we could just pray out in the hallway. He told us we were welcome to go up, and we thanked him for his time.

On the third floor, Cliff, James and I gathered outside Senator Lugar’s office and prayed for a while, then read the names of all the U.S. soldiers who were killed in Iraq in March. We continued to chat and pray until around 3:00, when U.S. marshals approached us and told us that we needed to return downstairs to wait for Phil. We asked if Phil would be returning, and they said they didn’t know. We expressed uncertainty about going downstairs since we didn’t know if we’d be able to come back up, and one of the marshals told us, “This isn’t an invitation.”

Cliff said that he couldn’t speak for James or me, but that he felt the best place for him to be was outside the office. I told the marshals that I would like to come downstairs with them, but that things in our country had gone too far and it would be too easy for me to just walk away from it all. He called four or five more marshals for backup and we were placed under arrest and put in handcuffs.

As we rode the elevator down with the marshals, I felt that at least one of them (the one who had told us to leave) had strong negative feelings towards us. I wanted to tell him that we did what we felt to do and he did what he felt he had to do, so I still felt as if in that regard we were doing the same thing. I asked, “May I share one thing?” He sharply replied, “No talking!”

We were taken to the back of the federal building and placed in a holding cell there. The next cell contained for or five men in orange jumpsuits, who asked us what we were in for. We told them the story and they congratulated us. We asked what their story was and their only reply was, “Long story, man.”

About fifteen minutes later, the Fort Wayne Police arrived to take custody of us and transfer us to the Allen County Jail. The officer who drove James and me to jail was sympathetic; when we told him we were trying to get Senator Lugar to cut off funding for the war, he said “Right on, that’s the thing to do.” Overall we found the police to be much more civil than either the U.S. Marshals or the jail officers.

Jail was an eye-opening experience to say the least. To understand it, you must take all of your pre-existing notions about what people in county lockup are like and recognize that they are completely untrue. For starters, your cellmates are your friends and the officers are not. Any idea of people injuring each other in there is completely ridiculous – on the contrary, my jail cell had a better community than most other places I’ve been. Everyone saw everyone else as friends, we were all on the same side, sympathy was plentiful and there was no prejudice, no cliques and no judgment.

One of our cellmates was Bill, a forty-something white man who appeared to have some Puerto Rican ancestry. Bill had run his own drywall business for thirteen years before he was picked up for felony DUI. He was placed under house arrest and not allowed to be self-employed, so he lost his business. He was required to have a job on a clock, but nobody would hire him because of his felony conviction. With no job he was unable to pay his court fees or house arrest payments, so he was hauled right back to jail.

Another young man, twenty-two years old, had a three-year suspended sentence for felony assault and was out on work release. He had a girlfriend, a small child and had finally found a place that would hire him with his conviction. He was trying hard to get his life back together. On his fourth day on the job, however, he failed a urine test and is now facing three years hard time.

The case that struck me most, however, was Joey. He was originally charged with battery against his wife, but that had been dropped in favor of a criminal recklessness charge. Joey suffers from a condition that causes him to have seizures, but the officers at the jail denied him his medication. Two of our cellmates said they’d been locked up with him before and he had a seizure, to which the officers said, “He’s fine, he’s just having a seizure” and threatened to add charges to anyone who helped him, even after he cracked his head open on the floor. Joey was released at the same time as me, but unlike me he had no money, no friends and, with the restraining order against him, nowhere to go. He was clearly mentally ill and in no condition to be out on the street, but instead of finding him any sort of help they just showed him the door. Right before he left, he grabbed my hand and said, “Pray for Joey and Angela, man. I’m trying to get right with God… pray for me.” I’ve never seen such a hard case.

One of our cellmates told us, “If y’all come back and protest this jail I’ll be out there with you.” He was right… we have so much more to protest after seeing what conditions are like there. One of our cells didn’t even have a bathroom – we were told they let people out every four hours – the officers were rude, and everyone in there had been in before. Talk about the revolving door… it’s clear that the system isn’t helping anyone.

After about five hours in custody, Cliff, James and I were released on our own recognizance with a promise to appear in court the next morning at 8 A.M. We were met outside the jail by some of our supporters, including Dave, a retired police officer and current rabble-rouser who, as far as I can determine, does everything (including working for the Fort Wayne Aggregator, fwaggregator.org). Turn your back on him for five minutes and he’s edited and posted a video online, made a half-dozen signs and banners, and called every local news media outlet twice. They drove us back to North Manchester.

Friday morning I got up bright and early to be at Cliff’s farm by 7:00. James met us there, and we drove to the courthouse in Fort Wayne together. There we got another look at how difficult the system is for people as we were directed, redirected, misdirected, and overall confused as to what the procedure was at the courthouse. We were required to see a video about our rights, but a (generally rude) officer from the sheriff’s department talked loudly at us the entire time, making it impossible to listen to our rights or what he was saying. I wonder if that’s the point: that keeping us from knowing our rights makes us less likely to exercise them (e.g. trial by jury) and expedite proceedings.

In court, Dave ran into an old neighbor of his named Bob, a former DA and capable, well-respected attorney. Bob offered to represent us for a “nominal fee” – a couple hundred dollars and some fresh asparagus to take all three of us to trial, versus a normal fee of at least one thousand dollars each for a jury trial. Bob filed some papers declaring himself as our lawyer and suggesting that the three of us be tried together and talked with the prosecutor, all within half an hour of meeting us.

According to Bob, we’d already received quite a bit of attention: the prosecutor (the real one, not an ADA) had been on the phone with the U.S. Attorney discussing our case and decided to move for dismissal due to a conflict of jurisdiction: state laws violated on federal property can be tried in federal court, and they were “trying to sort it out.” Since there’s no law precluding them from trying it in a state court (or, to my knowledge, in both courts), I’m fairly certain this was an excuse to get our case off their hands and try to minimize publicity. Since the area U.S. Attorney got his job as a favor from Richard Lugar, and since Richard Lugar will want to keep this quiet, chances of charges being refilled are, as Bob said, “slim.” The judge dismissed the case and we went on our way.

When we exited the building, we found that Dave had been busy: he had a big poster saying “Jail the WARmakers, not the PEACEmakers,” along with smaller signs saying the same thing with “Free Cliff, James and Nick.” He drove us to the run-down offices of Frost Illustrated, a left-leaning political newspaper, where we were interviewed about our experiences by a man named Michael who had extremely long dreadlocks.

My beliefs in nonviolence originated with my family. It wasn’t about belief or creed or religion or spirituality: it was the simple understanding that violence was under no circumstances to be used to solve a problem. I never got into fistfights with my younger brother because it was just not done. I wasn’t even allowed to own Ninja Turtles or Power Rangers because they were too violent.

But while my family was able to craft an understanding of nonviolence for me, my desire to act comes from my faith. As a member of the Church of the Brethren, I am committed to following the only we creed we have: “Continuing the work of Jesus: Peacefully, simply, together.” And, while getting arrested Thursday was a small part of that, I’ve still fallen terribly short of what I could accomplish.

We are entering our fifth year of war in Iraq, and Cliff tells us his contact at the Pentagon says an invasion of Iran is a “done deal.” It’s estimated that between 650,000 and one million Iraqis have been killed as a result of this war, in addition to 3,250 U.S. soldiers and thousands of other coalition troops and civilian contractors. And the terrible tragedy of it is, we live in a democracy. As Gandhi said, the government operates only with the support, or at least consent, of the people. So the bloodbath in Iraq isn’t the administration’s fault. It isn’t congress’s fault. It’s my fault.

As long as we quietly obey the letter of the law and go about business as usual, we are guilty of every death in Iraq. The blood of hundreds of thousands of innocent people is on our hands because, presented with the sickening horror of conditions there, we turn our backs. Or we comment how we’re against the war, hold a sign at a protest, write an article in a newspaper, contact our representative… we accept the strict guidelines of the system, a system that has been deliberately and effectively crafted to keep us quiet and submissive.

Fear keeps us in line. A far greater fear and stigma surrounds arrest than did forty years ago, to be sure. Rules stack upon rules until we all have jobs, careers, and reputations to worry about, so we pretend we can’t do anything about the travesties we witness. It would have been easy for me to just walk away from it all, but then instead of answering to the district attorney, I’d be answering to myself and to God.

Jesus said, “Love your enemies.” Jesus said, “Blessed are the peacemakers.” And Jesus said, “Take up your cross and follow me.” You cannot tell me that Jesus would read about the deaths, rapes, thefts, kidnappings, bombings, loss of infrastructure, and continuing violence in Iraq and then go back to his quiet home and do his homework. You cannot tell me that the logical conclusion of Jesus’ message is a near-silent complaint by someone who is still obediently upholding the status quo. You cannot tell me that Jesus was not being arrested right beside me. In fact, if I were truly serious about doing my part, I wouldn’t have been getting arrested in the federal building Thursday: I would have been in Iraq standing in front of a tank. That is the kind of radical discipleship that Christianity is really about.

These are our times, and God demands that we act. As Ron Sider challenged at the 1984 Mennonite World Conference, “Unless we are ready to start to die by the thousands in dramatic vigorous new exploits for peace and justice, we should sadly confess that we never really meant what we said, and we dare never whisper another word about pacifism to our sisters and brothers in those desperate lands filled with injustice. Unless we are ready to die developing new nonviolent attempts to reduce conflict, we should confess that we never really meant that the cross was an alternative to the sword.”