Why I am an Agnostic.

Anyone who reads my blog would be forgiven for thinking that I am a practicing Christian. However, the truth is much more complex. This essay will outline why I cannot believe in God, with a particular focus on my relationship with Christianity, as this is the faith I have explored and experienced the most. I will first outline why I appreciate Christianity, before outlining my main objections to the idea that such a God as the Christian God can exist.  

Why is my faith a question of ‘cannot’ rather than ‘will not’?

The first thing you may notice is that I assert that I cannot believe in God. Not that I do not want to believe in God, and not that I would never believe in God, but that I cannot believe in God. This worldview is not uncommon. Comedian David Baddiel wrote in his most recent book about ‘The God Desire’, and prominent youtuber Alex O’Connor advances a form of ‘non-resistant non-belief’ to his 700,000-ish subscribers. I am not the kind of non-believer who views all faith as irrational and unreasonable, or suggests that even if God did exist, I would not believe in him, because he is some sort of totalitarian bigot. 

In short, I am simply being tentative with my language, for the sake of both myself and others. I will never refer to God as a ‘delusion’, I will never disrespect someone who believes in God, and I myself have had a positive experience with Christians whenever I have sought to explore faith. Having deconstructed my 16-year-old self’s New Atheism, I see no reason to set out to disparage believers in the way that Richard Dawkins does. Furthermore, I cannot say that I disagree wholeheartedly with every argument for the existence of God, every argument for the truth of the Bible, or the Christian principles of love, compassion, peace, and justice. I will always appreciate Christianity, and it would be a lie if I said that I had never actively sought it, making me, in the truest sense, a ‘non-resistant non-believer’. This is why it is more appropriate for me to say that I ‘cannot’ believe in God.

Why am I an agnostic?

I believe that agnosticism (traditionally characterised as the view that the existence of the divine will forever remain unknowable) most accurately sums up the ambiguity of my faith (or lack thereof), in that I accept some elements of Christianity and reject others, I accept some arguments for God, and reject others, etc. I began to use the label ‘agnostic’ when I realised that I detest much of today’s atheist discourse, which seems to be more about who can ‘DESTROY’ or ‘ANIHILATE’ a religious apologist in a YouTube debate, rather than seeking to understand religion and believers on a deeper level. I also feel that it describes the ambiguity that I have found necessarily arises whenever one studies religion at a deeper level. For example, before I began my A-Level study of Philosophy, Ethics, and Religion, I was infinitely more staunchly atheistic than I am now, as I reach the end of my two years of study, and I expect this uncertainty to increase as I continue to my Theology and Religion undergraduate course. Put simply: the more you study religion, the more complicated it gets. In reasonable and intellectual discussion around philosophy of religion and theology, there is little room for complete truth or complete falsehood (in that, never will 100% of the truth claims of one side of a debate be true, as opposed to 0% of the other side). Just because, in this essay, I am making arguments to justify my lack of faith does not mean that I reject all arguments for the existence of God.

What is good about Christianity?

I have found myself drawn to Christianity on a number of occasions, simply because I believe that it is ‘good’. Now, you might ask, what even is Christianity? And this would be a valid question. Do I mean strict, historic, traditionalist Orthodox Christianity, progressive and non-conformist Christianity, or the rabidly insane American Protestantism that seems to dominate political discourse in the west? What I mean is that the values of egalitarianism, justice, temperance, peace, and love extolled in the Bible, in primarily, but not exclusively, the New Testament, constitute a Christianity that I appreciate and view positively. Furthermore, the often positive role of Christians in many of the left-wing social movements that I support (such as the pro-Palestine movement, the trade union movement, conscientious objection, the green movement, and so on) leads me to understand Christianity as capable of proving a progressive force in society. Christian leaders such as Pastor Munther Isaac, Pope Francis, and St. Oscar Romero have had a significant influence on my worldview, and their faith undeniably drives their social activism in a positive way. It is often said that one can ‘believe in’ something in many ways. Do I believe in the positive impacts of Christianity, in the same way that I believe in socialism as a cure to the ills of capitalism, or believe in Matt Smith as the best Doctor Who? Yes. Do I believe in its truth, in the same way that I believe in the unavoidable truth of gravity or evolution? Probably not.

It is easy to see why Christianity resonates with me in many ways. Why, then, am I unable to believe in God?

My first objection: the problem of evil, and the suffering of human and non-human animals.

I believe that it is incredibly difficult to look at a world where suffering is so endemic and conclude that a transcendent creator is at the heart of this world, that there is a divine force uniting all beings, and that there is a divinely-ordained moral code that all can receive through reason, intuition, or whatever it may be. This is not to say that there are no moral standards in a world without God, and it is certainly not to say that Christian culture cannot ‘cure’ many of the problems of evil and suffering in the world (just look at any Christian charity, social movement, or the work of any liberation theologians). It is simply to say that I cannot recognise the depth of suffering in the world whilst believing that an omnibenevolent, omnipotent, and omniscient being has created and fine tuned said world.

Although the ‘inconsistent triad’ argument may be considered rudimentary, I still hold to it. It goes as follows: it is logically impossible that God can at once be all-loving, all-powerful, and permissive of suffering. If he was both all-loving and all-powerful, he would have both the desire and the ability to end suffering, yet he does not. Therefore, it follows that either God is not all-loving and all-powerful, or he is non-existent, and given that all Christian teaching in the last two-thousand years has upheld God’s all-loving and all-powerful nature, to the extent that God is considered to be objectively, definitively, and inescapably omnibenevolent and omnipotent, I must conclude the latter. The only thing that would change my view is if there was no suffering in the world, or at least an amount minimal enough to be deemed solely the result of human error, and almost everyone, I like to think, would agree that this is not true. The idea that an all-loving and all-powerful God failed to account for cancer, war, genocide, earthquakes, suicide, nihilism, rape, abuse, poverty, and all other evils and hardships is about as believable as the suggestion that those very evils and hardships exist having been seminally inherited from a man whose wife tempted him to eat some fruit. In response, a Christian might say that the teachings of Christ, the work of the Church, and the fundamental moral principles that can be ascertained from scripture represent the solutions to these serious problems of evil and suffering. In many situations, I would agree. However, this does not make the idea of an all-loving and all-powerful God in a world rife with dissatisfaction, unhappiness, and hardship any more persuasive or logically possible.

Now, lets say that Christian responses to the problem of evil and suffering, such as the theodicies of Augustine and Irenaeus, or even the admissions of Richard Swinburne and Alvin Plantinga that this problem is unsolvable, were valid. One thing they have in common, particularly the theodicies, is a focus on explaining the plight of humans in a world full of evil and suffering. Yet, none focus on the suffering of animals. I came across this argument due to atheist commentator Alex O’Connor, and I must say that I find it completely unavoidable. It proceeds that even if the suffering of humans can be explained in a world where an all-loving, all-powerful God exists (which it cannot), nobody has accounted for the needless suffering of animals. Not just the suffering inflicted upon animals by humans when we eat them, hunt them, and race them (as all of this can be seen as the sole responsibility of humans) but the completely needless suffering that takes place without our knowledge, in the wild. An estimated 1.6 trillion animals are killed by humans in the wild every year. When we factor in the animals killed by other animals in the wild, deaths which seem even more pointless and cutthroat, we see a clear problem. Animals suffer and feel pain. An all-loving God would feel empathy for his creation (which includes animals). An all-powerful God would do away with the ‘food chain’, and any senseless violence built into the fabric of his world that needlessly brutalises trillions of innocent animals, from spiders to elephants. Yet the suffering of animals persists. One cannot even suggest that the issue of animal suffering can be tempered through Christian values, as animals (as far as we know) cannot repent and be saved. We also cannot argue that the animals’ souls are developed through suffering, as this is a human-centred theology. We must, then, conclude that either God has a distaste for innocent creatures that feel pain as we do, or God is not powerful enough to stop both the natural and man-made brutality inflicted upon animals. Christians would not accept that God can be anything other than all-loving and all-powerful, and as this clearly cannot be true, he must, therefore, not exist. I have come to believe that not only is the answer of Christianity to the problem of evil and suffering pertaining to humans deeply unsatisfactory, but also that the answer of Christianity to the problem of evil and suffering pertaining to non-human animals is non-existent - there is not one theodicy or legitimate argument within apologetics that addresses animal suffering!

My second objection: religion as comfort.

Religious belief of any sort is undeniably comforting. This is a simple fact. Christianity, for example, is notoriously uplifting and comforting for the poor, vulnerable, and downtrodden, as it allows people the dual benefits of moral rigidity and a reformed life, as well as the comfort of salvation and eternal happiness. In fact, almost all scientific evidence on the topic shows us that religious people have higher life satisfaction. Many are healthier than non-believers, and members of some denominations live years longer than non-religious people. Of course, these are generalisations, but it remains that Christians, for example, will continue to extol the many benefits of a spiritual life, and many agnostics and atheists are compelled to agree. However, I align myself more with the view that this does not necessarily prove the existence of God, it simply proves that religion provides comfort (and if God is, in fact, not real, then this comfort is synthetic).

“The desire to combat uncertainty and maintain control has long been considered a primary and fundamental motivating force in human life”. This is according to a study on the links between a feeling of a lack of control and the emergence of non-existent patterns and order in someone’s life. When presented with collections of dots or stock market figures or other random arrangements of objects and values, people who stated they felt a lack of control over their lives were more likely to notice patterns, coincidences, and orders where they simply were not present. This comforting feeling of being in a world that is ordered and purposeful when one’s own mind is not ordered is exactly the feeling that is provided by religion. Of course somebody with severe depression, or lack of meaning, or a very scattered and disordered mindset would find solace in a worldview that suggests the order and purpose of all things, claims the unconditional love of a deity, and provides an often positive sense of community and fellowship. I am sure that many of us have asked ourselves why Christianity has evolved to be so ubiquitous. Does the significant spread and success of religion and spirituality point to the truth of the existence of God? Or does it simply point to the obvious relationship between mankind’s apparent lack of agency, happiness, control, etc. and the purpose, love, and order of religion. I’m not sure that I have fully decided where I stand on this, as I don’t subscribe to a crude analysis that suggests genetic desires and biological impulses are the only ruling norm of human behaviour, yet I find it evident that religion (and ultimately, the idea of God) caters to deep-seated human impulses for comfort and agency that manifest particularly in those who feel like they have a lack of control in their lives and require some sort of order or purpose.

Lets explore this further. Recently, I attended a service at my local Methodist Church, which was a wonderful experience, as the community was very welcoming, and the service was enjoyable. However, at one point in the minister’s sermon (which I do not wish to disparage, as it was really very interesting and profound) he inadvertently exposed what I think is a significant issue for those who assert the existence of God. Namely, that belief in God is a comfort to those who fear death. The minister referenced his time as an army chaplain in Afghanistan, saying that when soldiers were about to embark on a new mission, as the possibility of injury or death drew closer, they would become more interested in God, the Bible, and the Church, through the chaplaincy. My initial response was: well, duh. Of course men entering a dangerous situation where many will not return are going to consider with greater legitimacy the claims of a faith that purports eternal life in heaven! This is not an attempt to make these soldiers seem stupid – it is the opposite. It is completely reasonable to fear death, and natural to temper this anxiety with a reverence for a God who apparently saves us, whisking us away to an eternal utopia (if, of course, we are worthy of saving). However, I fear that this belief, whilst understandable and a natural impulse, is just that. We are predisposed to want to believe that we will be saved, or that we are being looked after, or that we are loved, ordered, and purposeful, because the alternative is much less rosy. But that doesn’t make the alternative any less true. This is evident in four separate studies of religion and death awareness, which found that when people were merely asked the question of “what do you think happens after you die?”, their religiosity increased (even with regards to culturally alien religions). I would add that this is not simply a defect of religion, as without religion as this source of comfort, it is almost inevitable that something (or somebody) else would take its place – many in the secular world have replaced institutionalised images of God with ‘spiritual shopping’, others would argue that God has been replaced by wokeness, or veganism (or whatever right-wingers are annoyed about this week), and in Joseph Stalin’s USSR, he replaced religion with…himself. We yearn for something that brings us order (or at least the impression of it) and comfort, and God provides the answers.

This is the question that I have struggled with. Just because God provides us with comfort doesn’t mean that he is real. Belief in him may well be a natural impulse, as we know the benefits that this can have, but it does not make him real.

My third objection: the argument from lack of experience.

In the last two years, I have studied philosophy of religion and Christian theology at A-level (and in an almost unreasonable amount of my own time), I have attended - and led - morning prayers at my Catholic college, I have engaged with members of the clergy, Christian teachers, and Christian support and charity workers, I have visited the Vatican, prayed in major basilicas and monasteries, and been blessed by the Pope. I have attended Catholic mass, Methodist services, made friends with people from all faiths and none, read and studied the Bible, read countless papers and studies, watched a frankly insane amount of debates between Christians and atheists, deconstructed my previous militant atheism, attended seminars, tutorials and lectures in philosophy and theology at Oxford University, and I even went to the trouble of successfully applying to study theology at Oxford next year. I have almost constantly considered faith, accepting and appreciating many elements of Christian theology. And what’s more, I intend to continue in this open minded and studious course of action throughout my academic career. In the last two years I have worked to position myself as the ultimate ‘non-resistant non-believer’. What have I got emotionally out of this journey? I have thoroughly enjoyed myself, met some wonderful people, had enlightening discussions, broadened my own horizons, learnt to accept the views of others, and become a generally more intelligent and well-rounded person. What have I got spiritually out of this journey? Nothing. This is my single most significant reason for not being able to believe in God (note my language again – I don’t not want to believe in God, if that makes sense. It is simply that, as it stands, I cannot).

I agree with the argument made by many Christian apologists that many non-believers exhibit resistance, and will therefore always find a ‘way around’ compelling arguments for the existence of God. Yet, I am a ‘non-resistant non-believer’. I would not reject God should he call to me, reveal himself to me, or should his followers provide legitimate evidence that overcome my objections to the existence of God. However, this has simply not happened.

J.L. Schellenberg makes the following argument: if our conception of God is that of an ultimately perfect and loving personal being that created persons with the purpose of reaching a loving end with God, then God should take every possible course of action to prevent his creation from being deprived of this personal, loving relationship. It follows that only stringent resistance from non-believers, in opposition to God’s attempts to lead his creation to conscious and positive relationships with him, could possibly lead to atheism or any other form of non-belief - non-resistant non-belief does not hold in a world where God fosters conscious relationships with his creation, allowing them to fulfil their purpose. What Schellenberg is getting at, is that, if God exists, then there will necessarily be no non-resistant non-belief. But since non-resistant non-belief exists, we must conclude that God does not. If I do not resist God, the Church, and Christian theology, yet cannot feel as if I believe in God, and physically cannot conclude that God exists, then he must not exist, as I am a non-resistant non-believer. In the least arrogant terms possible, I am proof that God does not exist.

To conclude:

As a ‘God-desirer’ or an appreciator of Christian theology, it’s not exactly easy to stomach that these objections, I think, are fairly strong. And yet this is the case. It is worth mentioning that I have significant and strong objections to many common atheist arguments, particularly the claims of the New Atheist movement, which I will detail in a further essay, as it is natural that my objections to the existence of God are only one part of my agnosticism. Overall, my objections to the existence of God are (1) the problem of evil and suffering pertaining to both human and non-human animals, (2) the idea of religion as a source of comfort rather than truth, and (3) the argument from divine hiddenness/non-resistant non-belief and lack of personal experience. I have outlined my objections (although not as in-depth as I might want to) as well as (I hope) adequately confirming my own positions and the language that I use to describe them. My conclusion, which, some part of me thinks is reluctant – whilst another part of me thinks it is rational and satisfying – is that I cannot believe in God.