I can think of worse places to begin a study of philosophy than Ecclesiastes. Best book in the whole collection, hands down. (I also rather like Psalms and Solomon's love poetry, as well as the popular fiction - Esther, Ruth, Sampson, Jonah an' them.)
When did you start getting into such arguments?
Hard to say. My mother had a pet JW one time - a bishop, they sent when the rank-and-file couldn't answer her - 'cose they're only allowed to read the highlited bits. She was a dab hand at scripture (also poetry, folk songs and maxims, which she collected. I never thought much about it, but she must have had a phenomenal memory; mine is nowhere near.) and they let me sit in - quietly - on their biblical discussions. I would have fifteen or so. She had plenty to say about Jehovah's duplicity and cruelty; never believed the book was true. She'd seen victor-revised history, close up, under Soviet rule and recognized the style.
In my late teens, it was fashionable (it was the ecumenical 60's!) to sample religions, attend church with friends of other faiths, experiment with folk mass and outdoor meetings. I even went to a service in sign language one time. (I far and away prefer Knox Presbyterian for their architecture and organs, as well as their style of service; I suppose it comes closest to the whitewashed country church of my summer vacations.) I don't think we argued much, but we
talked an ocean. There was also a program of after-class discussions in my school: each day of the week, an expert came to our library to talk with interested students about their profession. Thursdays was Father K, a cheerful, articulate young priest who wasn't a bit fazed by skepticism or incredulity, and was open to science. Some of my brightest contemporaries would show up for that circle. We threshed out the whole creation vs evolution thing, and I'm still amazed at the ignorance of so many semi-pro theists who stalk the forums today.
That was probably my fist experience of formal argumentation.
But by then, I had learned enough of man's and nature's viciousness that even Francis Thomson couldn't convince me that the Hound of Heaven
http://www.bartleby.com/236/239.html was my friend. Well, I mean, a 'perfect' being who is so angry with his creatures for being what he made them that he can't forgive them unless they sacrifice a perfect son he begets for that single purpose.
How can anyone get past the logic of
that?