Despite my misgivings, I continued to search for answers. The more questions I asked, the more flimsy god became. One after another, doctrines that I had once believed crumbled away under the weight of serious scrutiny. Hell was one of the first to go, and it’s the one that dealt the fatal blow to my faith.
Losing my belief in hell was as simple as reading a 1-sentence argument online. “Infinite punishment for finite sins is not justice.” That was it. I am certain that it could not have been my first time hearing some form of this argument but it was the first time I actually let myself consider it. I realized how cheap and petty the idea of hell was. In fact, god’s entire reward/punishment system started to look pretty asinine. God loves us, and yet is willing to let us be tortured for eternity rather than giving us a second chance? God has to send us to hell because he is holy and cannot exist with sin, and yet he has existed with us in our sinful state for the past thousands of years without any sort of spontaneous combustion? God is just and merciful, and yet thinks that our actions in a 100-year-or-less lifespan are enough to determine our eternal fate? How did any of this make any sense whatsoever?
Deciding that hell was a bunch of hogwash didn’t cause me to stop being a Christian. After all, Christianity and hell need not go together; it was easy to find expressions of my faith that did not include it. But all the same, it was a pivotal moment for me to realize that taking things on faith had allowed me to be so thoroughly duped by this lie. Hell, it wasn’t even a good lie. It was a lie riddled with glaring inconsistencies and with a pathetically obvious motive to manipulate and control church-goers. It was about as realistic of a threat as putting a dollar-store ghost costume on and wiggling my fingers while saying “woooo.” And yet I had swallowed it 100% and allowed myself to be fucked by it just as it was intended. I had let it so deep into my mind that, even once I realized how silly it was, it still could wake me up in the night, scared shitless. It made no sense. None! What had I been thinking?
If taking things on faith had caused me to abandon good sense this badly, what other obvious lies might I have accepted? What other inconsistencies might I have papered over with the pretty but flimsy excuse called “faith”?
I decided that simply saying “I believe it” was no excuse to fail to prove my doctrine beyond reasonable doubt. If something was true, there ought to be clear, impartial evidence for it. I was not going to be duped again. My rational mind was finally turned on full-throttle and it couldn’t be stopped. Unfortunately for god, he was no match for it. No matter where I turned for proof, he failed to deliver. Proof of Jesus’ divinity? Nope. Proof that the Christian god is the right one? Nope. Proof of god’s interference in the doings of men? Nope. Proof of miracles? Nope. Proof of god’s existence? Nope. Sure, I could squint and tilt my head and say “if you look at this from just the right angle and say the right things and believe it really, really hard, you can see god there.” But if I looked at it face-on with both eyes open, god vanished into the patterns and complexities of reality.
At my work, I was often the lone skeptic. I don’t mean to say I was the lone non-Christian. No, the school I taught at was full of astrology-following, Reiki-practicing, modern-medicine-eschewing, conspiracy-theory-believing instructors, both Christian and non (and I loved them, despite my occasional frustration with their strange theories). I once found myself pitted, almost completely alone, against the entire Massage Therapy department in a debate on the existence of auras. But I digress. The topic at hand, one day, was whether or not Reiki was an effective healing tool. After I presented studies and they presented anecdotes, they asked me if I would be open to changing my mind if I tried it and found it to be successful. “Sure, I’d consider,” I said. “But I would go into it skeptically since I don’t have any reason to think it would work.”
“Well, if you don’t believe it will work, then it won’t work for you,” they said.
“You know, the number one sign of a scam is when you’re told you have to believe something is real before you’re allowed to see the evidence,” I said.
I might as well have been reprimanding myself. If god was real, why could I not verify his existence independently? Why did the evidence only appear if I already accepted the premise? The sunset only looked like god made it if I already believed god made it. The bible only appeared to be perfect if I already believed that it was perfect. God only worked miracles if I already believed he would work miracles. God only seemed real when I believed he was real. I was required to trust in the conclusion before I could see the evidence. It was a scam.
Somewhere around that time, despite desperately wanting him to be real, I stopped believing in god.