A lot of good people, people I think heroic and virtuous, do not believe in my God. They are my friends, my students, my colleagues. One of the latter said he thought you had to be crazy, literally nuts, to believe in a God—which doesn’t make my chances at tenure look very promising.
He may be right. I teach philosophy at a state university exploring the works of writers like Russell, Hume and Nietzsche. Such thinkers continue to give me all kinds of reasons to bail God-belief (in fact by now I can argue against God’s existence better than anyone else I know), but I don’t find such arguments satisfying.
Strong? Sure.
Emotionally compelling? Absolutely.
I gave up God-belief during my graduate studies when I realized the religious views I had defended since high school were insufficient. But recently that changed.
When I get serious about what is real and what the best possible life looks like, I choose to believe— even after a church I worked for fell apart, even after my son was born with autism, despite the arguments and the long season in which I felt confident a God was not there. I now choose to believe not only in a God, but in a very specific God.
This is what that path has looked like.
