Alchemy.

I have the New Testament here beside me, and I need to read through it again carefully. But, as with Judaism, much of the religion comes from the people who are followers, as in the Talmud. With Christianity, a lot comes from the Christian Church, stemming from the New Testament. But anyway, I say this: even though I have read it, as with the Old Testament, it is a little mystical in that you aren’t sure what you’re reading. It’s a task of trying to understand the meaning and purpose of what the text actually is—the true nature of it.

But anyway, I’ve said this because I am about to put forward a critique. I don’t think Christianity is the solution to the problem of our society. I think religion and God are the answer, absolutely and always, and the good we know of from Christianity and Islam comes from human goodness—devotion and dedication.

Judaism is quite different; it doesn’t give a doctrine like the other two. To become a Jew, you must study a lot and engage in philosophy. If Judaism is the Old Testament alone, then I think it is good, and likewise with the other two, if the text is helpful. But the text of the Old Testament is much more philosophical and complex compared to the New Testament. Anyway, let’s leave Judaism alone for now and explore that later.

My drive for this critique is the suffering I see in my fellow man, and the failure to fix it, as with Shia LaBeouf. I see a man who has spent so much on Christianity, and he’s had the best money can buy. And there are countless people with a story of being saved by Christ and Christianity who also come to fail again. A positive point is that I think it has given them something, a vital thing—a lifeline, perhaps: a vague belief in God. Through Christianity, they’ve realised God exists, and it changes their lives. In Christianity, a common thing people say is that they’ve realised God is a loving God. Both these realisations are great things to discover.

But I once heard a joke by Manly P. Hall, who said that many such people who are reborn and renewed—who have found Christ, the Lord—have to be reborn again the next year and the next. That was the pun, and it was funny to hear it, but it highlights a significant problem.

As with that man I mentioned buying the best of Christianity one can buy, I mean that he had such amazing socialisation: meeting great figures in the faith, attending great teams, etc. As a rich celebrity and a genuine guy, he was met with such great and graceful open arms. And yet, not too long afterwards, he was lost and completely worse off.

You could say this is a matter of the individual, not the religion. But it isn’t so. Christianity works for the moderate person who is doing okay, and it gives that little extra dynamic of life, and hope and a vague faith. It can be the icing on the cake for many. But for the person who is lost, or the person who wants to self-develop, even from a mediocre and moderate starting point, i.e. not unwell, it isn’t the answer. And I know it isn’t the answer because I know the reality of the situation.

First of all, Christ, for the most part, is probably symbolic. Believing in Christ is a way of saying that one cannot fathom God, nor claim to know of him. In that case, it’s logical. But that is not the Christian view. In the literal understanding, there was a human—he was the Son of God, whatever that even means—and all of these things happened. It’s a story, but what does it mean? He died for our sins so that we can go to heaven and be forgiven, so it represents God’s mercy and humanity, if you like. I lose sight of it because it is so complex as a symbolic text, allegorical or esoteric. Most people do not think of it like that.

Now here is my critique, finally.

The truth will set you free. Follow Socrates and become a philosopher and a religious philosopher. What does ‘God’ actually mean? This is where to begin.

God 1: A power or force, perhaps the only power or force, supernatural, watching over and/or within everything, including us. A higher being than us. (The most basic concept of God.)

God 2: The same as God 1, but this God also controls things, or can—perhaps sometimes, perhaps absolutely everything.

God 3: The same as God 2, but ‘it’ is also moralistic, as we know morality.

God 4: Similar to God 3, but conceived as a set of laws, including physics. Not a relationship of bargaining and discourse.

God 5: Many variations, all differing in what each god likes and dislikes, approves of and disapproves of.

And so we realise that the famous question, ‘Do you believe in God?’, is actually complicated. It may have been simpler a couple of hundred years ago regarding aspects of life, with fewer variations as in God 5. For instance, Catholics in medieval times probably shared the majority of ideas about God, in the same way that people following Islam do now in countries ruled by Islam. But still, regarding small and subtle things, each man’s god may differ. Because it is the specifics of what God allows and doesn’t allow that amount to what a person believes in—their good.

God 6: The Good. It is similar to God 4, more like moral laws, but it is not necessarily tied to supernatural systems. A person can believe in Good, and this belief system can be the same as God 5, but it is framed differently, because they can both share the same principle of what is acceptable and what isn’t acceptable. The only difference is that God 4 involves believing that a supernatural system or force is enforcing those laws accordingly. God 6 doesn’t consider that.

This God 6 is a good idea to remember when we speak of these phrases:

Spiritual but not religious (God 1).

Religious but not spiritual (God 6).

My written and spoken philosophy is mostly from the position of God 6. Sometimes God 5 is cited under the Socratic premise of ‘maybe’. But, if the truth be told here, my belief and concept of God is God 5.

We’ve gone a little way off our subject, which was Christianity, and then truth, and then God.

It’s firstly important to understand or figure out what exactly you mean by the word ‘God’. In philosophical fashion, you’d have to explain why or how you believe in such a thing. We must question what we believe in. And ‘believe’ is a complex word.

I propose there are two kinds of belief. One is the furthest end of ‘I think’, a kind of guess or estimation and calculation. I think it’s about 5 km away. I think she is 5 ft 5. I think I left it in the bathroom. Belief in this sense is when we are very confident in the guess. However, it is the case that we can truly and genuinely believe that we locked a door or did something, but actually we have misremembered and did not do it.

The other kind of belief is a matter of hope and want. It isn’t quite the 99%-sure guess of the other kind. Rationally, it’s 50/50, or it can be lower or higher, but it is rounded up to 100% with our hope and want—making it a belief. It is certainly different in that it isn’t rational logic, but is instead emotional and sentimental.

We must ask ourselves what the nature of our belief is. Some people’s belief in God is rationalistic, in that it’s a matter of what they’ve seen and understood. But when the dust settles, I think it’s the case that there is always a question mark. Our minds are fragile and prone to error, and once it’s not in front of us any more—once we are relying on memory—there is room for doubt. And if you truly want to be a philosopher, you build your foundation on absolute certainty—mathematical standards of logic.

What do I believe?

Humility is a great thing and a good thing. The admission of “I don’t know” may seem like an act of lukewarmness in matters of faith, or perhaps it seems an overly negative kind of doubt, a weakness and lack of faith. But I assure you it is not, and instead it is a matter of a Godly trait: humility. And humility here aligns with truth. Humility—not knowing and knowing you don’t know—is a good thing in and of itself, but also, as Socrates said, this was his key beginning: “The only thing I know is that I don’t know anything.”

We have to develop a thinking style like that of a conversation between two people—you and me. The prosecution and the defence are always a good example too. And that should be how we think in these matters: we must argue with ourselves like we would with another.

What do you believe in? God? What does that mean exactly? If someone says that the Bible was written by God, or that Jesus was the son or some form of God, the question is: how do you know this? Perhaps you’ll say you don’t know how you know, but you know that you know. Another one was that Jesus died for our sins. And in Judaism, they say that God spoke to Moses on Mount Sinai.

There are two important things to be said here. The first is the point that you or I don’t know these things. I think all of it is hearsay, for starters, i.e. we read it or heard it. But that doesn’t make it any less or more true. The metric for that is how much sense it makes and the truth of our experience. The humble mind can accept and admit that they don’t know these things. And so don’t let a false confidence be the foundation of your belief system. Now the second thing, the second-best thing I can offer you, is the beautiful word: “Maybe.”

Maybe these things happened. Maybe that’s how it is. I called it beautiful because I have come to realise that this is a great choice and accomplishment of the person: to say maybe these things did happen. Don’t be in the group of people who are equally erroneous in saying that it didn’t happen. They don’t know it didn’t happen.

An interesting personal psychological point here is: if it didn’t happen, then what? What would that mean for me? And if it did happen, then what? What would that mean for me? And now that it is undecided, what does that mean for me?

Another direct question is: does God exist?

Well, as I’ve written elsewhere, we need to elaborate on what is meant by the word “God”. Yet regardless, the point here is that the answer to all of them is “Maybe.”

Fear not; do not lose heart. I am a man who has seen God with my very eyes—so to speak. For me, the way I say it, there is no maybe. I believe what I believe. I know what I saw and see. But the reason for the maybe is that, in conversation, we must acknowledge the technical possibility that we could be wrong, but we would put our lives on it that we are not.

And so I suppose this begs the question: what is so significant or necessary about this admission, this Socratic ridiculousness of saying, “Okay, I admit it: the sun may not rise tomorrow”? It’s a good question. The answer is: because we are establishing a mind that is logically sound amongst our peers, to the rest of the universe, and the mind must be able to follow this logic of proofs and rationale and logic.

Perhaps it is irrelevant to this particular subject, but as a reasoner, this development of the mind is key for all other matters. The mind must be able to reason objectively—aside from personal belief—and at least acknowledge the way of thinking which is in the middle space between two people.

It also highlights something to us: that the nature of our belief is individualist, and we must reckon with the problem of trying to argue the case for what we believe to someone else without personal experience. If the person has not had that, one must argue at the level of logic and rationale—objectivity.

So do not lose hope that I am in some kind of doubt. It’s difficult because I know the feeling beyond logic and rationale, proof, when we say we know that God is real. But in the quiet darkness of doubt, there is the philosophical possibility that you are somehow wrong.

Another key point of importance here comes from the fact that this admission can be a terrifying concept, and also it seems to go against your loved one, like unfaithfulness. But here is the word so important: faith. This is the nature of what faith is and how it is built, and trust, hope and devotion: the willingness and choice to believe—even when one can no longer see it. It’s a significant act in the alchemical world.

Another serious point is that it is important to overcome fear, sometimes for the sake of overcoming fear, especially intellectual fear, but also because sometimes it is the fear that stops us going beyond and deep into the meaning and reality of the thing. Meanwhile, it actually isn’t an instance of lack of faith or doubt if you are nonetheless devoted to “Good”.

As a human being, this is the situation: we don’t “know” things bigger than ourselves. My mother once said that if God is real, then he may have one important rule: that humans can never know that he’s there or that heaven exists.

Why? Because people would depend on him too much, like a weakened child, and people would run to him all too easily. And also because it is said that life is a test or a training—growing experience—and with the knowledge of God, we would not become what we need to become, which we will without the certain knowledge of God.

We must create it and establish it anyway. Why? Because we must love Good and Justice—God’s law—above all and always. Let us bring heaven upon earth.

But we don’t need to think only about these theoretical propositions. The main thing we want to do is build the foundation of our house of brick and stone: solid, nothing that can be blown away or shaken. And so we want to think about our belief in a way that there is no doubt, or, better to say, no argument against it.

Aside from arguing with a non-believer, it is also applicable that we must argue against the cynic and doubter deep down in us. By establishing the indestructible foundation, this is what creates a mind and heart with no anxiety: the security of truth, humility and righteousness. Anxiety comes from dogma.

And so what is God? What do I believe in? What do I know? Me, Adam Russell.

I, like most of us, believe in God, which is a law and order in the universe, and a God who is the creator or being or force behind that law. I believe there is no other such thing. I believe in God, a concept as the father and mother of all beings. I don’t know the nature of reality, the material or the spiritual, or how to word it.

And that’s what God is for me. I believe God and his law want us to evolve into angels: pure, true, kind. And I believe there are many ways, ethics and practices that we must do and not do to become that, i.e. no drugs, no contraception, no eating animals, no cruelty, and so on. This is my belief. I feel it in my gut and my heart. It makes sense to me. It’s like a truth I can see with my mind, with the third eye—not anything sensory—but it’s something my logic and reasoning have concluded.

If someone asked me, though, “Do I know for sure that this is the case? Is it possible none of this is so?”, my heart and my gut would say I am sure. And we should follow both. But, like I said, in the quiet darkness of night, in pure rationale, there exists a philosophical doubt. Usually this is associated with a moment of losing hope or faith, but not always. Because here’s how it goes. The question is put to me: “How do you know? Admit you don’t!”

Before I continue with this point, I want to add how I know, but which is still subject to doubt because we are human beings, relying on the soundness of our minds and systems.

For me, I began to see God internally and externally. I began to see the justice at work. I began to see that people paid the price for justice and injustice, and the reckoning as alluded to in Genesis. And like laws of physics, we see that things work a certain way, causes and effects, and in all of this is revealed life’s desire, life’s character, what it wants, what it favours and what it doesn’t like.

And with this law, I began to wonder at it with my intellect and reasoning, logic, and it made sense that it is an evolution towards the best type of beings. Of course they’d be fair; unfairness is like stupidity, the opposite of evolution. Justice and fairness aren’t simply dividing the spoils; it’s a matter of understanding who deserves what and why, according not to the reasoner but to the overall collective and unity of life.

And so it made sense. It clicked. And yet the evidence I speak of was primarily these laws occurring and working in myself. Feelings deep down worked like pain and pleasure, all to the effect of pushing me this way or that way—towards righteousness. And luckily, I was philosophical enough to deal with all the deal-breakers, all the critiques which break a person’s belief—theory of the Good God: why do children die? Why so much suffering? Etc.

And so I have perceived all this. My belief is 100% because of the sight and logic of it, and not due to faith and hope like most. But my mind and reason are all human, and let’s say, for argument’s sake, that the mind cannot be trusted, even though my sense of the truth is perhaps beyond the mind.

But anyway, it is a valid argument, though mostly from outside, i.e. another person. But like I said, we must allow the question from another, as we are a society, and in a dark moment I admit: maybe I’m wrong.

And maybe you’ll understand that, in the same breath, there is something inside me that rejects this idea of it not being true. And it isn’t through fear, my world collapsing and so on. There isn’t a fear. I am ready for a rest, and my theories about the afterlife anyway include the possibility of myself no longer existing. Perhaps my soul returns to the collective soul.

I didn’t lose faith or hope or composure in this admission. As I’ve said, I can’t unsee what I’ve seen. I can’t not understand what I now understand. But for argument’s sake, I admit my belief or knowledge is perhaps dependent on the soundness of myself, and therefore there is a possibility it is not so.

So I had to think about this, and I wanted to figure out: what do I believe in with all my heart and my mind? What can I swear to that is unquestionable, undeniable?

And I discovered it: I believe in Good. Good is something that I live for and will die for, even if it isn’t a universal law, even if there isn’t a force or higher power behind this. I know that I love this, that I’ll die for it and live for it. And this is what I believe in.

And the reason I say it isn’t actually a moment of loss of faith to admit this is because, actually, we are still, in practice and in principle, devoted to the same thing, whether it be supernatural, all-powerful, universal or not.

If God is a law or a force, and a person doesn’t believe in such a thing—the supernatural—and that person is an atheist, then an atheist can still believe in the same thing as me. We can be of the same religion, because this is the most important thing of all. This is God. This is what a humble human needs to conceive. The Good.

A person can believe and pray to a higher force, a creator, the powers that be. He can have full dialogues and receive all kinds of gifts via manifestation. This is not the God I know. Perhaps it is him, or it, but perhaps it isn’t.