All the Answers
Sept 12 2010

Doubt is not the opposite of faith,
conviction is.
Because the faithful are almost all afflicted
with doubt.
Who talk to their gods,
then hear nothing.
Who see evil
go unpunished.
Who wonder about the after-life,
and still have fear of death.

An atheist like me,
who scorns superstition
only believes
in what can be seen, and measured
has always envied people of faith
— their serene certainty,
the succor of a personal god.
Not knowing
they, too, have dark nights of the soul;
kept awake by doubt,
the guilt of their betrayal,
the constant work
of faith.

My universe is cold, vast, indifferent,
without meaning
or purpose.
Where I find infinity
almost as difficult as God.
So lying in darkness
at 4 in the morning
I know I’m alone.
There is no consolation.

All I can do is wonder
at the complexity of things,
feel humbled
by my ignorance,
and concede
not all can be fully known.
But unlike the others
I cannot fill this void with gods.

Still, the believer and I
are not as different as I thought.
Because we both take delight
in praising creation
the intricate beauty of life.
And content, despite
not having answered it all.

And remain wary
of men of conviction,
who hear daily
from God.
The fearless leaders,
the solipsists, and sociopaths,
too self-absorbed
to even ask.



I sent this poem off to my sister-in-law. It was New Year’s on the Jewish calendar (Rosh Hashanah), so I began my comments this way:

Happy New Year to everyone. I have to admit, Rosh Hashanah makes a lot more sense than the conventional calendar: September -- with the start of school, the change of season, the melancholy of impending fall -- has a lot more sense of endings and beginnings than Jan 1.

Here's one I think you may like, because I know you're fond of the philosophical ones: which I, on the other hand, am extremely reluctant to write. Mostly because they can be self-indulgent and pretentious. And also because they tend to be written in a more pedantic, argumentative way: that is, saying more than showing. And also because I'm more about style than profundity, more about privacy than confession. But for some reason, I felt it was time to write this. And since this poetry business is about going with the gut more than the head (which I tend to be a lot better at!), I decided to go along.

I think I was somewhat influenced by that idiotic Florida preacher (the Koran burner and canny self-publicist), who must think he has a direct pipeline to God. Always be suspicious of people who insist on a personal and revelatory relationship with God! Sensible people of faith have doubt because they approach their faith with humility and a sense of nuance. Conviction, like this man's, is accompanied by a desire for simplistic solutions and the comfort of absolute authority. I like to use the word "literalist" instead of "fundamentalist", since their belief system is based on a literal reading of scripture, rather than an allegorical one. And, paradoxically, this means that they usually stray a long way from the fundamentals, which have (or should have) more to do with tolerance, love, forgiveness, and humility than rigid notions of good and evil, ex-communication, heresy, and hell. (I wanted to get the word "megalomaniac" into that last stanza: but it was just a little too much. Would have been a nice rhyme, though!)

I was probably influenced my Mother Theresa, as well, who apparently despaired for several decades before her death at no longer hearing God, at feeling abandoned and perhaps betrayed by Him. Imagine, Mother Theresa afflicted not just by self-doubt, but by doubt in her basic faith! What a telling contrast to this despicable narcissist's utter conviction.

I will also add that the second last stanza was influenced by something I heard an Orthodox Jew say about the nature of prayer. It was that in Judaism, supplicant prayer is unbecoming, and that the purpose of prayer is not to ask for things, but simply to give praise: give praise for His creation. As an atheist, the natural world fills me with unspeakable wonder. I don't need to believe in God to feel this; and I'd even venture to say that being mindful about the wonders of creation is a form of praise, and maybe even of prayer. (I use the word "creation" intentionally, and a little mischievously, since I know it has strong religious overtones that must sound strange coming from a confirmed atheist.) I should add that this idea of a "personal" God is, I believe, a lot closer to the Christian version than the Jewish one, whom I understand keeps His distance; that is, gives us the free will to freely make our own mistakes!

The 3rd last stanza -- about the limitations of science, and by implication of human knowledge -- is not to suggest that I’m agnostic. That’s not the kind of uncertainty I’m talking about. Because I’m an unrepentant believer in a material universe; one without gods, cherubim, or extra-terrestrial visitors. Unlike the agnostic, I feel no need to keep a bargaining chip in my hip pocket, just in case I may need it some day to pass into heaven. But this stanza is an acknowledgement that science may not be able to answer all the questions, and that we can be humble about our limitations without having to wave our hands and invoke some superstitious explanation to fill in the blanks. It’s also a bit of a repudiation to the so-called “new” atheists, who can sometimes give an unworthy (and probably unjustified) impression of intellectual arrogance and infuriating certainty.

That’s because I’m not trying to convert the religious to my world view; which is how some have viewed Richard Dawkins’ proselytizing. Because life is hard, and whatever gets you through it. So if faith works, then who am I to judge? And why hold everyone else to my version of intellectual integrity? As the poem says, faith is an enviable consolation, and probably a lot more congenial way to get through life than my astringent rigid rationality. I may not be willing to allow myself the delusion of God (incapable of it, actually) just because it makes me feel better. For me, that would be intellectually dishonest, and therefore unforgivable. But if someone else is able to sustain that delusion, and it works for them, then all I can do is encourage them. …And maybe even honour them with a touch of envy!

The militant literalists of every faith have recently (and probably always) been putting religion on the defensive. Which is too bad: that we’re always held hostage by the extremists. But I’m perfectly OK with “the believer” of the penultimate stanza. It’s the final stanza’s “men of conviction” I’m wary of.