The Wager

A short story

When I come to, I'm in an elevator of sorts.  The old-fashioned kind with a lever, it's mostly made of wood, and dimly lit.  There is an attendant.

"Ticket please," he asks.

"I don't have a ticket."  But he nods towards my hand.  And of course, I am holding a ticket.  I look at it.  It's stamped with only two possibilities, Heaven or Hell.  Of course, my ticket is punched Hell.

So right there, in the elevator, jumbled memories flow...

I remember my early life in a protestant church run more like a petty, gossipy social club than an institution of faith.  My parents dragging us all to church more for show than out of any sense of deeply held religious conviction.  I remember Christmas pageants with dubious casting, Vacation Bible School in the fellowship hall, and the Red-Letter Bible the congregation presented to me when I formally joined the church as an adolescent.  They had my name inscribed on the cover.  I still have it.

I recall later losing whatever faith the church instilled in me.  But was it faith?  Or just a young person going through the motions in small town America?  In fact, as a young child, the most important lesson I learned in church was the value of sitting still.  Otherwise I'd be beaten when we got home.  Surely, that's faith of a sort.  The faith of Pavlov's dog.

Decades later, I remember Bart Ehrman had a huge impact on my parents.  I think he gave them the permission they sought to leave the church.  And their faith.  But I do not trust him because he only criticizes Christianity and never has much to say about other religions.  Yes, I realize he is a New Testament scholar and I'm sure he would argue that he simply sticks to his knitting.  But I find it odd to advance disbelief without some mention of other faith systems.  It makes me question the former evangelical's motives.

I remember that Daniel Dennett reminded me of an heretical Santa Claus, and consequently, I could never take him seriously.  I know I should be embarrassed to admit this.  But I'm not.

I also remember the ever thoughtful Sam Harris and his books The End of Faith and Letter to a Christian Nation.

I recall Harris debating some famous brain dead actor on national television.  Only the completely ignorant and incurious can muster the actor's level of self-righteous anger.

I remember the courage of Ayaan Hirsi Ali, who also has to deal with ignorant, incurious, self-righteous anger from people much more immediately dangerous than some sciolistic actor.  People of faith.

I remember Richard Dawkins' hand-painted neckties.

I remember the movies Spotlight and Philomena.

But I also remember It's a Wonderful Life.  And the numinous wedding scene in The Sound of Music.

I remember it was the fourth horseman who made the subtle but important distinction between the numinous and the supernatural.  He then went on to...

The attendant clears his throat.

No, I did not expect to be here in this elevator.  I expected nothing.

I realize that I'm still looking at the ticket.  "Heaven" I announce weakly.  The attendant looks at me rather skeptically, but pushes the lever forward and holds it there.  I recall vaguely that the lever was sometimes called a deadman switch.  Quite so.

It's a slow journey upwards and it gives me time to gather my thoughts.  But not enough time.  The doors creak open and I can see the pearly gates.  Just as described by the faithful.  But I expected a line; I needed a line for more time.

"Where's the line?" I mutter.

As the elevator doors close, I hear the attendant saying, "No lines in Heaven."

There's a gatehouse, an office of sorts, and Saint Peter looks up and sighs.  "I'm pretty sure your ticket is otherwise punched young man."  I'm well north of fifty, but I guess everyone is young to the first apostle.

"I was hoping there's some type of appeal process."

"Hmm...well, anything is possible here.  But you'll have to take it up with the Boss."

There may be no lines in heaven, but there is a rather large waiting room.  Saint Peter points me to it.  There is a sign over the door that says Purgatory.  "You can wait there."  Peter says.

Purgatory is like a large doctor's office waiting room.  I find a seat and just as I am sitting down, an angel with a clipboard appears in a doorway on the other side of the vast chamber.  She calls out loudly, "Hitchens.  Christopher Hitchens."  I see Hitch rise from a near slumber.  I don't know how he managed it, but I swear he's holding two fingers of Johnnie Walker Black in one hand and the latest issue of Vanity Fair in the other.  As he makes his way across the room, he looks like he's off to another debate with some poor theologian.  But I can no longer share his confidence.  I mean, here we are.

If they are just now getting to Hitchens, looks like I am going to be here for some time.  Unlike a doctor's office waiting room, and unless you are Christopher Hitchens, there is no reading material in Purgatory.  Not even five-year-old National Geographics.  And I've left my iPhone somewhere.  I look around and apparently everyone else has as well.  No, there is only one thing to do here in Purgatory.  Sit and ponder.

About a thousand years later, the angel calls my name.  I make my way across the chamber, down a corridor, and enter what looks very similar to a courtroom.

The Lord is sitting at the bench starring at a computer.  He looks up, "Ah yes, I have your file here."

"I did not expect You'd be computerized Lord."

"Neither did I.  But Steve Jobs showed up a few years back and brought me a Mac.  Revolutionized the place.  So much better than that contraption Henry Ford brought Me a few decades earlier.

"Now I see that We've judged you guilty of lack of faith, disbelief, and general heterodoxy.  Is that so?"

"Yes Lord, I am guilty of that offense."

The Lord grimaces, "You did not believe in Me?  You lived a life without Me?"

"Sadly, yes my Lord."

"Well it's a pretty clear cut case; you don't belong here.  What am I missing?"

By now, I have had lots of time to consider how I would answer the Lord.  "Well Lord, it is true that I lived a life without You.  But I did live by two principles which I think You approve of."

The Lord gestured that I could continue.

"Well the first of these is Treat others the way you wish to be treated."

"That's the Golden Rule and you can find it in the Bible," the Lord interrupted.

"Yes Lord, but it need not be.  I would argue that it is entirely practical.  We may treat others well out of the goodness of our heart or because You command it.  Or we may not.  But one reason to treat others well is that we hope that they will return the favor.  Some don't, but most do."

"And your second principle?" asks the Lord.

"My second principle was Live and let live.  Most people agree with it in theory.  Just ask them.  But very few seem to be able to follow it in practice.  People want other people to believe in their god, to join their church or political party or environmental crusade, and to basically think and act like themselves.  This seems to be human nature.  And when others fail to do so, this can and does lead to various levels of separation and dispute.

"I always thought that unless someone is hurting someone else, I needed to respect their choices and leave them alone."

"Yes, yes, very wise" sayeth the Lord.

"Anyway, I tried very hard to live my life by these two principles."

"Yes, your record indicates a good life.  Perhaps not exemplary, but on balance a very good life."

"I'm no saint, my Lord."

"No one has to be my child.  Now, that's all well and good, but you still lacked faith."

"Yes Lord, and I have had lots of time to think about it.  And here is the question that I wish to put to You:  Does lack of faith make me a bad person, ineligible for heaven and eternal salvation?"

"Well that is Our precedent, yes."

"Then Lord, with all due respect, You are correct, I don't belong here.  You agree I lived a good life, but insist upon belief that I could not find."

And then a most surprising thing happened.  Unbeknownst to me, Saint Peter had slipped into the back of the courtroom.  And suddenly he spoke.  "May I be heard, my Lord?"

"Of course Peter, always."

"Lord, I have been the Keeper of Your Gates for some time now.  And I can tell You that we have admitted many many applicants with faith, but also with, hmm, how should I put this?  Less than stellar records.

"Of course, they're all believers, and they've all asked for and received Your forgiveness for their transgressions.  We only admit the truly penitent.  But nonetheless, my Lord...well, You've seen the records Yourself.

"Honestly Lord, for some of these characters, I often wonder if faith is not merely an excuse for misbehavior?  It's as if faith itself is some form of indulgence."

"What are you saying Peter?"

"Well Lord, I'm asking:  Can we not weigh actions and motivations along with faith?"

"Of course Peter, but faith is paramount."

"Then Lord, I would like to ask for a pardon for this applicant.  Like You said, while his record is not exemplary, it is far better than some of our...current residents."

The Lord turns back to me.  "You have a worthy advocate in Peter, but what do you have to say for yourself?"

"Well Lord, I was wrong and if it is not too late, I would like to ask for Your forgiveness.  While alive, I never had faith.  But standing here before You, I have to believe."

"Of course it's too late; that's why we're here."  He thundered.  He went back to His computer and I thought we were done.  I turned to go and accept my fate...

But then He added quietly, "Nevertheless, pardon granted.  You can thank Peter on your way through My gates."

Suddenly relieved and grateful, I meekly ask:  "And Hitchens, my Lord?"

God looks up and smiles.  "What a character, that guy.  You know, he stood right there where you are, and said, hmm wait a second, here, I had it transcribed.  He said:  Lord, I hope You noticed that I didn't try and curry favor.  That I was honestly unable to believe in the claims made by Your human... spokespersons.  Standing before You, I no longer have to take the word of other humans on the necessary propitiations and gestures and subjections that I have to submit myself to, in order to qualify.  But Lord, I cannot and will not be servile.  You'll have to judge me on the life that I led.  Can you imagine?"

Frankly I could imagine.  That sounded exactly like something Hitchens would say.

God went on:  "I had to admit that many of those whom he euphemistically referred to as My spokespersons are not here and will never be here.

"Anyway, I stopped him there, and granted him divine dispensation and had Peter admit him forthwith.  There is just no way I could deliver such a clever chap to the devil."

"But aren't you worried that he'll cause unrest here Lord?"  I ask.

Then God said:  "Well, it did not take him long to realize that he's dead and he's here.  I'm pretty sure, he'll come around.  Like you, he now has his evidence.

"Anyway, just imagine how much more interesting our dinner parties will be with him here.  In fact, I'm having him and Mother Teresa over this evening.  It'll be a hoot.  You're welcome to join us."

Thank You Lord.

Author's note

Britannica has a brief synopsis of Pascal's wager here.  

Pascal did not say that we should not weigh evidence, and as a scientist, I have no doubt that he did.  But his wager demonstrates that ultimately faith is a choice, and evidence, either way and to whatever extent, is irrelevant.  Faith is a choice we make in spite of doubt.

It is interesting to note that Pascal did not come to his faith as a result of his wager.  Rather, he crafted his wager as a logical exercise to buttress his existing faith.  Does that diminish the logical progression of his argument and certainty of his conclusion?  Have faith because it is too risky to not have faith.  I don't find that terribly convincing.  Perhaps we can come to faith ignoring evidence.  But can faith be sincere without conviction?  If God sees all, what is the efficacy of faith without conviction?  Pascal suggests that the probabilities of his wager don't matter, only the possible outcomes:  Infinite happiness or infinite suffering or mere finite existence.  Choose one.  And believe accordingly.  Can it be as simple as that?  We all must decide for ourselves.

As a counter to Pascal's non-evidentiary (to coin a usage) thesis, I had to include the fourth horseman, Christopher Hitchens, in the story.  At the time of his death ten years ago, Hitchens was arguably the most famous atheist in the world.  Certainly the most erudite.  Believing that religion was not only unsupported by evidence, but also positively harmful, he described himself as an anti-theist.  Hitchens wrote for Vanity Fair for nearly twenty years.  His counterargument?  What can be asserted without evidence can also be dismissed without evidence.  Again, can it be as simple as that?  We all must decide for ourselves.

Personally, I've always found people of faith who are willing to admit doubt much more compelling than people of faith with no doubt whatsoever.  But I would like to see all people of faith express a curiosity that extends beyond their own belief system.  It would be good for them, and good for all of us.  Frankly, I find the faithful's lack of curiosity... unforgivable.  And dangerous.

As for the atheists, the first thing that we must acknowledge is that they do not have a duty to prove a negative.  Of course not.  But I have come to believe that the vast majority of them are among the most fervently religious of us all.  They have simply replaced faith in the divine with faith in government.  Their willingness to believe in the efficacy of government, without evidence and often in the face of evidence to the contrary, is indeed an article of faith.  While certainly not true in every case (see the self-described secular conservative, Heather Mac Donald), the correlation between secular beliefs and leftist political thought is astounding.  Government is their religion, and the irony is completely lost on them.

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Neopronouns Are For All of Us

Modern Compelled Speech

I wanted to write something about what's going on with pronouns.  But in order to do justice to the topic, I just did not know where to begin.  You see, little pronouns are big these days.  Luckily, UNC Greensboro had me covered with a handy one page explanation.

Find the original document just below.  Or click here to view it on their website.  Or start here:  UNCG:  Why Pronouns Matter.  Good stuff.

Sure, this is completely insane.  But my problem is not that transgender, non-binary, and/or gender nonconforming people use factitious pronouns (I note the document's passive voice construction).  They can be as crazy as they wish.  We can all be as crazy as we wish.

The first problem is right there in the first sentence:  Pronouns are words that a person may use to identify themselves instead of their name.  But unless you are in the habit of talking about yourself in the third person, surely the pronouns that you use to identify yourself are I and me and we.  It seems to me that what we have here is a very basic and fundamental misunderstanding of third person pronouns.  They are not ours in the sense that we do not typically use them when referring to ourselves.  No, these pronouns belong to others.  So that is my first problem:  Do we have a right to dictate other people's language?  Obviously, some people believe that we do.

Now some will argue:  Well, proper names are also used by others; and since we don't speak about ourselves in the third person, it is rare to use our own name when referring to ourselves.  And yet, no one would argue that your name is not your own.  But a name is a unique identifier for a person.  That is the definition of proper name.  On the other hand, pronouns are general, generic identifying substitutes.  If we make pronouns our own, they would become unique and lose their raison d'être.  Why?  Because they would then also become names.

But the larger problem with neopronouns is that their users and advocates expect us to join them in their madness.  They expect us to use their lexical creations.  And they further expect us to state our own pronouns in order to validate their insanity and grant the exercise some measure of legitimacy.

Now this may seem like a fairly benign exercise:  My name is Ben, and my pronouns are he/him.  What's the big deal?  But by participating in this exercise, you are signaling that you accept that pronouns are unsettled and subject to change, misuse, reversal, or outright fabrication.  And further, the reason pronouns are unsettled is because gender is fluid.  It's no big deal for Ben, but the problem is that it gives Xe license to run wild.  It is not so much that gender is non-binary, it is rather that gender is infinite, but at the same time evidently classifiable in the form of neopronouns.

Gender was once an exclusively grammatical term referring to words and language.  As best I can tell, we started applying this word to people in the late 20th century.  Fine, language changes.  Today, we generally view sex as a biological and therefore binary, and gender as a social construct and therefore non-binary.  To me, unless you argue that gender and sex are perfect synonyms, this distinction seems as valid as any other.  But it does present a problem.  Once we leave the moorings of binary biological reality, we enter a world of infinite possible creation.  And when coupled with insanity where does that take us?  All you have to do is a quick Google search to find out.  Here's a New York Times piece worth reading.

Think of it this way.  You go to a dinner party and there are maybe a dozen people there.  One person introduces herself this way:  My name is Mary Smith, and I am from the planet Ægir – in all seriousness.  Polite people may respond with:  Oh, I see.  But it takes an Orwellian atmosphere of intimidation for everyone there to then feel compelled to say:  Oh, nice to meet you Mary.  My name is Ben Johnson, and I am from Earth.  That's not tolerance or politeness, that's coercion.

But that is not all.  The document above suggests that you might even want to inquire how exactly to pronounce Ægir.  You know, it's important to get these things right.  Postmodern etiquette?  Merely contemporary good manners in the face of now acceptable subjective reality?  Or obsequious attentiveness to madness?

And then there's this:  Some people will use more than one set of pronouns, and you are encouraged to alternate among them in conversation.  Remember, they expect you to enter their fantasy world.  And if you refuse...what?  Well, some might begin to suspect you're some sort of bigot.  Just imagine the shame.

Here's a quick thought experiment.  Would it not be easier for everyone if we used sex to determine pronouns rather than gender?  I think the reason that this is not possible is that the people who argue most stridently that gender is fluid also believe that sex is meaningless.  Once you accept that a transgender woman is the same as a real woman, sex is irrelevant.

Some questions

So where does that leave us?  Sadly, the question becomes:  How far does one go to meet the demands of insanity?  And even if you argue tolerance above all, and politeness is best, when does politeness end and truth begin?  At a dinner party?  In a university lecture?  Testimony before congress?  How about a pre-op conversation with your oncologist?

Our Mary Smith, from the dinner party, was born in Topeka.  When does that matter?  Does it ever matter?

More questions:  Is Mary Smith insane?  Or is she a complete narcissist?  Or both?  And does that matter?  This gets us closer to the root of the problem.  I mean this nonsense is rife on college campuses today.  Can they all be insane?  Or have we simply raised a generation of narcissists?

And this is why neopronouns have exploded.  No self-respecting sui generis narcissist wants to use someone else's pronouns, much less something as mundane as he or she.  Of course not.  By definition, these narcissists are without equal.  They'll create their own unique pronouns, thank you very much.  And fully expect you to use them.  Be sure to write them down and get the pronunciation correct.  And for those who are not super narcissists, but perhaps have only a somewhat narcissistic personality, you know, your garden-variety narcissists; they may be happy to use non-original but sufficiently esoteric neopronouns because they still achieve the goal.

Now you may ask, what is the goal?  Look at me, I'm special, I'm so special that I have my own special descriptors, look at me!  Look. At. Me.  I insist.

But what we really have are narcissists and cowards and tyrants:  The narcissists who demand others refer to them as Xe, the cowards who indulge them, and the tyrants who enforce the madness.

What is going on here?

Now, I have no doubt that there is quite a bit of overlap between these three groups:  The narcissists and the cowards and the tyrants.  But just for a moment, let's consider these as three distinct groups.

We can just about understand the narcissists and the cowards, right?  Don't like them, but we have all met them and understand them.  Best to ignore them.  Surely, let's not contribute to their psychopathology.  If you can ignore your narcissistic colleague or neighbor, I urge you to treat these people the same way.

To me, it is the enforcers that are so interesting.  We are talking about university types here.  Both students and faculty.  Oh, and the countless ancillary bureaucrats attached to the modern university.  With their idle...little minds.  Sure, some of these people are certifiable.  But all of them?  Just can't be.

It is important to understand that university communities are moving from mere encouragement to use preferred personal pronouns, to vigorous insistence on it.  Some have made it mandatory, threatening students and staff with disciplinary action for failing to observe and/or participate in the new standard.  More will follow.  And no doubt the good little conformists they produce are already carrying this nonsense with them into the workplace.

We need to add that labeling pronouns preferred has become taboo.  You see, preferred implies that their use is optional.  And if your proper name is mandatory, so are your pronouns.  Today's bien-pensants simply refer to these as personal pronouns.

One final note on the latest tenets of pronoun usage.  If one fails to offer their preferred personal pronouns, that's perfectly fine.  But, we should then make no assumptions about what their pronouns may be.  So instead we should use their name in place of pronouns altogether.  Each and every time:  Ben had a paper due yesterday.  But Ben turned it in late.  It is not like Ben to be late.  My guess is that the awkward language is purposefully designed to encourage everyone to offer pronouns.  Most people, especially young people, don't like to be singled out.  No Ben, we don't have to speak like that about you; but you never gave us your pronouns.  Why don't you do that now?  So Ben, too, adopts preferred personal pronouns and accepts all that goes with it – Just like everyone else.

So what are they up to?

Two things come to mind.  One, old Soviet-style humiliation.  They want to coerce you into publicly stating something you know is untrue.  They know it is untrue.  And they know that you know that it is untrue.  And they know that you know that they know.  But there is power in coercing you to not only state an untruth, but also to help them enforce it.  With all due and proper self-righteousness comrade.  Yes, there's real power in forced self-humiliation.

I have used the North Korean example before.  When the Dear Leader died, all, and I do mean all, good little North Koreans wept uncontrollably.  Why?  Did they really believe that a great man had just died?  The idea is ridiculous.  No, it was simple fear of the powerful.  And fear that their family, friends, and colleagues might turn them in.  For what?  Insufficient grief?  Well let's put it differently:  Insufficient allegiance to the narrative.  Sound familiar?  Is their artificial grief any more absurd than calling someone Xe?  So they all participate in the lie as an exercise in power dynamics.

Surely this is what we are seeing on college campuses today:  A demonstrable allegiance to a narrative.  Stop and let that sink in.  When did the goal of liberal arts education morph from developing a faculty for critical thought to fostering an allegiance to a narrative?  If you think this comparison is hyperbole, just listen to Yeonmi Park talk about North Korea and Columbia University.

Which brings me to my second point:  To what end?  Well the narcissists and the cowards are just useful idiots with a richly concocted fantasy that the tyrants can exploit.  I personally believe that it could be any ridiculous fantasy, it's just that gender identity theory is the one at hand.  I mean it is so preposterous that if they can feed it to the masses, by whatever means necessary, then they can tell the masses anything they want.  Peak Covid hysteria has presented the tyrants with a similar opportunity.  And one cannot help but notice the tyrannical overlap.

There's also critical theory and intersectionality and 1619 and any number of other exploitable theories.  But come on, the absurdity of gender identity theory with its attendant public declaration of pronouns.  And the demand to prostrate oneself to use the correct pronouns of the petty narcissists?  For the tyrants, it's just too good to pass up.  Of course it is.

If you believe that the man over there is a Xe, or better yet, a she, or at least pretend to believe, odds are, you'll believe anything that those in power tell you to believe.  And if you believe them, you will do what they say – Regardless of which end of the gun you are on.

Those who can make you believe in absurdities can make you commit atrocities.

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