Why Do the Religious Reject Science While Embracing the Impossible?

[promethean75]

So, it's just more of the same mystical mishmashing by metaphysically mendacious mongrels of monotheism, Mike?

[Alexis Jacobi]

Esteemed BigMike: I want you to know that I knew that this conversation (i.e. between us recently) would end up exactly in this way as it has in the past. I trust you did know that, right?

Only an idiot or a masochist would deliberately engage in what is inherently futile hoping it will not result in futility, yes?

Futile conversations (I learned long ago) can only be rendered productive if one understands their dynamic from the start and resolves to take full advantage despite futility.

[BigMike]

So, it's just more of the same mystical mishmashing by metaphysically mendacious mongrels of monotheism, Mike?

Exactly. It's like a séance with thesauruses—chanting incantations of “Implicate Order,” “metaphysical insight,” and “moral depth” while carefully avoiding any measurable, falsifiable, or even clearly stated claim. They mix their mysticism like it’s a cocktail—two parts vague intuition, one part poetic flourish, and a generous splash of divine suggestion.

But yes: same old soup, reheated. Just now served with a smug wink and a side of “you wouldn’t understand.”

[BigMike]

Esteemed BigMike: I want you to know that I knew that this conversation (i.e. between us recently) would end up exactly in this way as it has in the past. I trust you did know that, right?

Only an idiot or a masochist would deliberately engage in what is inherently futile hoping it will not result in futility, yes?

Futile conversations (I learned long ago) can only be rendered productive if one understands their dynamic from the start and resolves to take full advantage despite futility.

And yet here you are, Alexis—fully aware it’s futile, fully aware how it ends… and still showing up like clockwork, arms full of riddles, ready to smirk and swerve when a straight answer is called for.

If this is your idea of “taking full advantage,” I’d hate to see what you do when you’re not trying. You say you’ve learned from these exchanges, but all you’ve demonstrated is that when pressed for clarity, you retreat into ambiguity and declare victory through poetic ellipses.

So if you knew it would end like this, why keep circling the drain? Masochism, habit, or just a deep-seated fear of confronting the fact that your worldview doesn’t hold up once stripped of metaphor?

You’re not here for truth, Alexis. You’re here for theater.

[Alexis Jacobi]

And yet here you are, Alexis—fully aware it’s futile, fully aware how it ends… and still showing up like clockwork, arms full of riddles, ready to smirk and swerve when a straight answer is called for.

If this is your idea of “taking full advantage,” I’d hate to see what you do when you’re not trying. You say you’ve learned from these exchanges, but all you’ve demonstrated is that when pressed for clarity, you retreat into ambiguity and declare victory through poetic ellipses.

Well, I have (I assure you) analyzed the reasons why I (bother to) participate here (on the forum generally, amid so much dysfunction).

I have unquestionably gained from everything that happened on this thread. Honestly.

My abiding interest is in the sociological and psychological dimension of what goes on in men who have had their “horizons” stripped away from them, and who end up in desperate spaces — in desperation.

You are certainly such a man. And I too — and everyone writing on this blessèd forum — has a relationship with this existential desperation.

It is the cause of so many conflicts, spats, run-ins, huffy exchanges, absurd posturing, games played with deadly seriousness …

You seek a coherent narrative (I actually see you seeking and needing a metaphysical substitute which, strangely, results in the formation of another metaphysical structure!) that you can build upon. That makes sense of ideological chaos and mire. And your focused personality is uniquely proportioned to operate as a “prophet” (hence the book titles and the practiced sermonics).

If I “show up like clockwork” it is because, even though very weird and strange, everything going on today is interesting! And I am resolved to profit (and have fun).

Straight answers, you towering fool, go over your head time and time again!

Is the whip a last resort with you?!

[henry quirk]

You’re here for theater.

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

[BigMike]

And yet here you are, Alexis—fully aware it’s futile, fully aware how it ends… and still showing up like clockwork, arms full of riddles, ready to smirk and swerve when a straight answer is called for.

If this is your idea of “taking full advantage,” I’d hate to see what you do when you’re not trying. You say you’ve learned from these exchanges, but all you’ve demonstrated is that when pressed for clarity, you retreat into ambiguity and declare victory through poetic ellipses.

Well, I have (I assure you) analyzed the reasons why I (bother to) participate here (on the forum generally, amid so much dysfunction).

I have unquestionably gained from everything that happened on this thread. Honestly.

My abiding interest is in the sociological and psychological dimension of what goes on in men who have had their “horizons” stripped away from them, and who end up in desperate spaces — in desperation.

You are certainly such a man. And I too — and everyone writing on this blessèd forum — has a relationship with this existential desperation.

It is the cause of so many conflicts, spats, run-ins, huffy exchanges, absurd posturing, games played with deadly seriousness …

You seek a coherent narrative (I actually see you seeking and needing a metaphysical substitute which, strangely, results in the formation of another metaphysical structure!) that you can build upon. That makes sense of ideological chaos and mire. And your focused personality is uniquely proportioned to operate as a “prophet” (hence the book titles and the practiced sermonics).

If I “show up like clockwork” it is because, even though very weird and strange, everything going on today is interesting! And I am resolved to profit (and have fun).

Straight answers, you towering fool, go over your head time and time again!

Is the whip a last resort with you?!

Alexis, if that’s your idea of “profit,” I can’t imagine what bankruptcy must look like.

You call me a “towering fool” and then immediately confess that you're here mostly to psychoanalyze forum members like a sidewalk philosopher with a clipboard and a superiority complex. You claim to study “existential desperation,” but all I see is someone terrified of clarity—clutching ambiguity like a security blanket because confronting the raw, unflinching facts of how reality works would burn through your poetic armor like sunlight through fog.

Let’s be honest: you don’t give straight answers because you can’t. And you wrap yourself in performance art, sociological psychobabble, and metaphor not because it illuminates anything—but because it keeps you safe from the danger of saying something falsifiable.

You mistake other people’s rigor for desperation. You see honesty about cause and effect and call it a collapse of horizons. But in truth, it’s your own refusal to engage in plain terms that reveals the desperation—not mine.

So crack that whip, Alexis. Smirk behind your mask. But just know: every dodge, every flourish, every “angel emoji” only confirms what’s been obvious from the start.

You're not above the argument.

You're just afraid to lose it.

[BigMike]

You’re here for theater.

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

Henry, thanks for the Shakespeare—always a crowd favorite among those who mistake poetic despair for philosophical depth.

But let me clarify something: quoting Macbeth doesn’t make your fatalism any less shallow. That passage is about a man unraveling, coming to terms with the collapse of meaning. You’re holding it up like a banner, as if it is meaning. But nihilism isn’t insight—it’s what’s left when insight is resisted.

You want everything to either sparkle with mystery or burn with doom. But reality isn’t a stage. It's not a performance. It's a system—intricate, causal, comprehensible. You just don’t like that it doesn’t bend to your old myths about soul and will and cosmic justice.

So keep quoting Shakespeare if it makes you feel profound. But don’t confuse literary beauty with metaphysical truth. One moves hearts. The other moves particles.

And I’m not here to strut or fret. I’m here to cut through the noise and get to the facts. Even if they don’t rhyme.

[Alexis Jacobi]

So crack that whip, Alexis. Smirk behind your mask. But just know: every dodge, every flourish, every “angel emoji” only confirms what’s been obvious from the start.

Your opinions have very definitely been clear from the start. And if they serve you, stay with them.

What else could one do?

[henry quirk]

I’m here to cut through the noise and get to the facts.

Yes, Mike, I know.

Here’s the brutal truth: your brain is a deterministic machine, operating under the same unyielding physical laws as a rock rolling downhill. You don’t control your thoughts, your desires, or your decisions. You are driven by a cascade of external inputs, biological processes, and environmental stimuli—all of which you neither initiated nor directed.

Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, those things: free will and morality and God Himself. In that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours, this meat machine world, is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that's a funny thing, when you think about it. We're just babies making up a game, if you're right. But our play-world licks your real world hollow. That's why I'm going to stand by the play-world. I'm on God's side even if there's no God and I will live as a free will and moral being even if there's no free will or morality. -With apologies to Mr. Lewis.

[BigMike]

So crack that whip, Alexis. Smirk behind your mask. But just know: every dodge, every flourish, every “angel emoji” only confirms what’s been obvious from the start.

Your opinions have very definitely been clear from the start. And if they serve you, stay with them.

What else could one do?

They do serve me—very well, in fact. They help me understand the world clearly and act accordingly. So yes, I’ll definitely stay with them. What else could one do?

[henry quirk]

It's only right the man should be quoted/excerpted proper...

"Narnia?" she said. "Narnia? I have often heard your Lordship utter that name in your ravings. Dear Prince, you are very sick. There is no land called Narnia."

"Yes there is, though, Ma'am," said Puddleglum. "You see, I happen to have lived there all my life."

"Indeed," said the Witch. "Tell me, I pray you, where that country is?"

"Up there," said Puddleglum, stoutly, pointing overhead. "I — I don't know exactly where."

"How?" said the Queen, with a kind, soft, musical laugh. "Is there a country up among the stones and mortar of the roof?"

"No," said Puddleglum, struggling a little to get his breath. "It's in Overworld."

"And what, or where, pray is this... how do you call it... Overworld?"

"Oh, don't be so silly," said Scrubb, who was fighting hard against the enchantment of the sweet smell and the thrumming. "As if you didn't know! It's up above, up where you can see the sky and the sun and the stars. Why, you've been there yourself. We met you there."

"I cry you mercy, little brother," laughed the Witch (you couldn't have heard a lovelier laugh). "I have no memory of that meeting. But we often meet our friends in strange places when we dream. And unless all dreamed alike, you must not ask them to remember it."

"Madam," said the Prince sternly, "I have already told your Grace that I am the King's son of Narnia."

"And shalt be, dear friend," said the Witch in a soothing voice, as if she was humouring a child, "shalt be king of many imagined lands in thy fancies."

"We've been there, too," snapped Jill. She was very angry because she could feel enchantment getting hold of her every moment. But of course the very fact that she could still feel it, showed that it had not yet fully worked.

"And thou art Queen of Narnia too, I doubt not, pretty one," said the Witch in the same coaxing, half-mocking tone.
"I'm nothing of the sort," said Jill, stamping her foot. "We come from another world."

"Why, this is a prettier game than the other," said the Witch. "Tell us, little maid, where is this other world? What ships and chariots go between it and ours?"

Of course a lot of things darted into Jill's head at once: Experiment House, Adela Pennyfather, her own home, radio-sets, cinemas, cars, aeroplanes, ration-books, queues. But they seemed dim and far away. (Thrum — thrum — thrum — went the strings of the Witch's instrument.) Jill couldn't remember the names of the things in our world. And this time it didn't come into her head that she was being enchanted, for now the magic was in its full strength; and of course, the more enchanted you get, the more certain you feel that you are not enchanted at all. She found herself saying (and at the moment it was a relief to say): "No. I suppose that other world must be all a dream."

"Yes. It is all a dream," said the Witch, always thrumming.

"Yes, all a dream," said Jill.

"There never was such a world," said the Witch.

"No," said Jill and Scrubb, "never was such a world."

"There never was any world but mine," said the Witch.

"There never was any world but yours," said they.

Puddleglum was still fighting hard. "I don't know rightly what you all mean by a world," he said, talking like a man who hasn't enough air. "But you can play that fiddle till your fingers drop off, and still you won't make me forget Narnia; and the whole Overworld too. We'll never see it again, I shouldn't wonder. You may have blotted it out and turned it dark like this, for all I know. Nothing more likely. But I know I was there once. I've seen the sky full of stars. I've seen the sun coming up out of the sea of a morning and sinking behind the moun- tains at night. And I've seen him up in the midday sky when I couldn't look at him for brightness."

Puddleglum's words had a very rousing effect. The other three all breathed again and looked at one another like people newly awaked. "Why, there it is!" cried the Prince. "Of course! The blessing of Aslan upon this honest marsh-wiggle. We have all been dreaming, these last few minutes. How could we have forgotten it? Of course we've all seen the sun."

"By Jove, so we have!" said Scrubb. "Good for you, Puddleglum!

You're the only one of us with any sense, I do believe."

Then came the Witch's voice, cooing softly like the voice of a wood- pigeon from the high elms in an old garden at three o'clock in the middle of a sleepy, summer afternoon; and it said: "What is this sun that you all speak of? Do you mean anything by the word?"

"Yes, we jolly well do," said Scrubb.

"Can you tell me what it's like?" asked the Witch (thrum, thrum, thrum, went the strings).

"Please it your Grace," said the Prince, very coldly and politely. "You see that lamp. It is round and yellow and gives light to the whole room; and hangeth moreover from the roof. Now that thing which we call the sun is like the lamp, only far greater and brighter. It giveth light to the whole Overworld and hangeth in the sky."

"Hangeth from what, my lord?" asked the Witch; and then, while they were all still thinking how to answer her, she added, with another of her soft, silver laughs: "You see? When you try to think out clearly what this sun must be, you cannot tell me. You can only tell me it is like the lamp. Your sun is a dream; and there is nothing in that dream that was not copied from the lamp. The lamp is the real thing; the sun is but a tale, a children's story."

"Yes, I see now," said Jill in a heavy, hopeless tone. "It must be so." And while she said this, it seemed to her to be very good sense.

Slowly and gravely the Witch repeated, "There is no sun." And they all said nothing. She repeated, in a softer and deeper voice. "There is no sun." After a pause, and after a struggle in their minds, all four of them said together. "You are right. There is no sun." It was such a relief to give in and say it.

"There never was a sun," said the Witch.

"No. There never was a sun," said the Prince, and the Marsh-wiggle, and the children.

For the last few minutes Jill had been feeling that there was some- thing she must remember at all costs. And now she did. But it was dreadfully hard to say it. She felt as if huge weights were laid on her lips. At last, with an effort that seemed to take all the good out of her, she said: "There's Aslan."

"Aslan?" said the Witch, quickening ever so slightly the pace of her thrumming. "What a pretty name! What does it mean?"

"He is the great Lion who called us out of our own world," said Scrubb, "and sent us into this to find Prince Rilian."

"What is a lion?" asked the Witch.

"Oh, hang it all!" said Scrubb. "Don't you know? How can we describe it to her? Have you ever seen a cat?"

"Surely," said the Queen. "I love cats."

"Well, a lion is a little bit — only a little bit, mind you — like a huge cat — with a mane. At least, it's not like a horse's mane, you know, it's more like a judge's wig. And it's yellow. And terrifically strong."

The Witch shook her head. "I see," she said, "that we should do no better with your lion, as you call it, than we did with your sun. You have seen lamps, and so you imagined a bigger and better lamp and called it the sun. You've seen cats, and now you want a bigger and better cat, and it's to be called a lion. Well, 'tis a pretty make-believe, though, to say truth, it would suit you all better if you were younger. And look how you can put nothing into your make-believe without copying it from the real world, this world of mine, which is the only world. But even you children are too old for such play. As for you, my lord Prince, that art a man full grown, fie upon you! Are you not ashamed of such toys? Come, all of you. Put away these childish tricks. I have work for you all in the real world. There is no Narnia, no Overworld, no sky, no sun, no Aslan. And now, to bed all. And let us begin a wiser life tomorrow. But first, to bed; to sleep; deep sleep, soft pillows, sleep without foolish dreams."

The Prince and the two children were standing with their heads hung down, their cheeks flushed, their eyes half closed; the strength all gone from them; the enchantment almost complete. But Puddleglum, desperately gathering all his strength, walked over to the fire. Then he did a very brave thing. He knew it wouldn't hurt him quite as much as it would hurt a human; for his feet (which were bare) were webbed and hard and cold-blooded like a duck's. But he knew it would hurt him badly enough; and so it did. With his bare foot he stamped on the fire, grinding a large part of it into ashes on the flat hearth. And three things happened at once.

First, the sweet heavy smell grew very much less. For though the whole fire had not been put out, a good bit of it had, and what remained smelled very largely of burnt marsh-wiggle, which is not at all an enchanting smell. This instantly made everyone's brain far clearer. The Prince and the children held up their heads again and opened their eyes.

Secondly, the Witch, in a loud, terrible voice, utterly different from all the sweet tones she had been using up till now, called out, "What are you doing? Dare to touch my fire again, mud-filth, and I'll turn the blood to fire inside your veins."

Thirdly, the pain itself made Puddleglum's head for a moment perfectly clear and he knew exactly what he really thought. There is nothing like a good shock of pain for dissolving certain kinds of magic.

"One word, Ma'am," he said, coming back from the fire; limping, because of the pain. "One word. All you've been saying is quite right, I shouldn't wonder. I'm a chap who always liked to know the worst and then put the best face I can on it. So I won't deny any of what you said. But there's one thing more to be said, even so. Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things — trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that's a funny thing, when you come to think of it. We're just babies making up a game, if you're right. But four babies playing a game can make a play-world which licks your real world hollow. That's why I'm going to stand by the play-world. I'm on Aslan's side even if there isn't any Aslan to lead it. I'm going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn't any Narnia. So, thanking you kindly for our supper, if these two gentlemen and the young lady are ready, we're leaving your court at once and setting out in the dark to spend our lives looking for Overland. Not that our lives will be very long, I should think; but that's small loss if the world's as dull a place as you say."

Which character are you? The Queen with her facts or Puddleglum with his game?

An important question offered by a caveman.

[attofishpi]

That's a fairy smart answer-- lol!!

Poppy, which of these two men are the WISER? Which has the opportunity for greater KNOWLEDGE?

Man A: Atheist
Man B: Theist

Both these men are of equal intelligence, both have access to all the scientific comprehension and theories known to man.

ANSWER: Man B: Theist

Y?

..because the theist simply accepted that IF GOD exists, then it would be advantageous to have faith in ITS existence, since this GOD entity stated faith in ITS existence was a prerequisite to knowing of ITS (GODs) existence. Ergo, the theist has the ability to become more knowledge-able of the true nature of reality.

Do you disagree?

Alright, you are a believer.

No, I am a knower. I have KNOWN GOD to exist since 1997.

How do you explain a loving god creating a world where life lives upon life?

In the same way that any loving man enjoys a nice bacon sandwich.

Tell me, were you born into the religion you now practice, or did you make the decision when you were old enough to reason?

Duh! Poppy, GOD had me born into a Catholic school upringing. I KNOW there was a reason this entity did that - the reason, my sage explained to me.

I am sorry it must be painful to have something you have built upon to be challenged, but this is a philosophy forum.

That's right Poppy, this is a PHILOSOPHY FORUM - so why have you avoided my extremely important question regarding potential WISDOM and KNOWLEDGE of that of an atheist man or that of a theist man? (I am neither)..



So, AGAIN (and remember what you just said, this is a philosophy forum...as if u could 'challenge' me...lmao:-

Which of these two men are the WISER? Which has the opportunity for greater KNOWLEDGE?

Man A: Atheist
Man B: Theist

Both these men are of equal intelligence, both have access to all the scientific comprehension and theories known to man.

ANSWER: Man B: Theist

Y?

..because the theist simply accepted that IF GOD exists, then it would be advantageous to have faith in ITS existence, since this GOD entity stated faith in ITS existence was a prerequisite to knowing of ITS (GODs) existence. Ergo, the theist has the ability to become more knowledge-able of the true nature of reality.

Do you disagree?

[Alexis Jacobi]

What else could one do?

Sign up for The 18-Week Email Course!!

That’s what else. Please Mike. PLEASE!

You owe it to yourself; to others here; and to me!

[Alexis Jacobi]

In the same way that any loving man enjoys a nice bacon sandwich.

With mayonnaise?

Or?