Bill's Notes

Here's a 1999 essay tracing the psychological roots of atheism. One thing that believers have consistently shown: That the supposed rational and psychological bases for skepticism leaves the atheist as intellectually vulnerable as the theist.

I had a few arguments years ago with atheists on the Internet. One thing in common they all had: The same constricted worldview I had back when I was an atheist. They refused to either expand their view to include things that didn't seem to belong in a materialistic universe — beauty, music, poetry, dance, wonder, whimsy, humor, as well as a strange sense that justice requires that things be different than they are and that we behave in a specific way.

The question "If God exists, why is there evil?" falls flat on its face. How did you get from "is" to "ought"? Go ahead ... I'll have a Diet Coke. (Crickets.) Yeah, that's what I thought. You can't get from "is" to "ought".

Sooner or later, you have to agree that you either have (1) faith in reason (demolished by David Hume in the 18th Century), or (2) faith in yourself (and you should know better than that). In fact, what most atheists do is try to have the benefits of Judaeo-Christian civilization, but without the actual all the demanding "God" stuff.

In 1999, Paul Vitz turned psychological tools on atheism. Basically, he says what the Church has long taught: If you don't believe (especially if you ardently don't believe), it probably says more about your relationship with your father than any philosophical discussion about God.

Now, in postulating a universal Oedipus complex as the origin of all our neuroses, Freud inadvertently developed a straightforward rationale for understanding the wish-fulfilling origin of rejecting God. After all, the Oedipus complex is unconscious, it is established in childhood and, above all, its dominant motive is hatred of the father and the desire for him not to exist, especially as represented by the desire to overthrow or kill the father. Freud regularly described God as a psychological equivalent to the father, and so a natural expression of Oedipal motivation would be powerful, unconscious desires for the nonexistence of God. Therefore, in the Freudian framework, atheism is an illusion caused by the Oedipal desire to kill the father and replace him with oneself. To act as if God does not exist is an obvious, not so subtle disguise for a wish to kill Him, much the same way as in a dream, the image of a parent going away or disappearing can represent such a wish: "God is dead" is simply an undisguised Oedipal wish-fulfillment.

It is certainly not hard to understand the Oedipal character of so much contemporary atheism and skepticism. Hugh Heffner, even James Bond, with their rejection of God plus their countless girls, are so obviously living out Freud's Oedipal and primal rebellion (e.g., Totem and Taboo). So are countless other skeptics who live out variations of the same scenario of exploitative sexual permissiveness combined with narcissistic self-worship.

And, of course, the Oedipal dream is not only to kill the father and possess the mother or other women in the group but also to displace him. Modern atheism has attempted to accomplish this. Now man, not God, is the consciously specified ultimate source of goodness and power in the universe. Humanistic philosophies glorify him and his "potential" much the same way religion glorifies the Creator. We have devolved from one God to many gods to everyone a god. In essence, man-through his narcissism and Oedipal wishes-has tried to succeed where Satan failed, by seating himself on the throne of God. Thanks to Freud it is now easier to understand the deeply neurotic, thoroughly untrustworthy psychology of this unbelief.

Of course, Freud was wrong. As Vladimir Nabakov said, if you want to apply Greek myths to your private parts, that's your business. But the point of Vitz' essay is that those who do use psychoanalytical arguments against God are holding, er, a double-edged sword.

That said, one of the most useful points in this article concerns its attitude toward non-believers -- specifically, that unbelief, if truly rooted in bad relationships with fathers, and thus we believers should not be angry, but compassionate toward those who don't believe.

Small-town America, Saturday night. The smell of funnel cakes, sausage-and-peppers, cheesesteaks frying. A band playing Beatles cover tunes. Small children waiting in line for carnival rides. Neon lights, waffs of cigarette smoke, delightful yelps.

Between the dunking machine and a haunted house, a field marked into 1,000 squares. Two bulls, a calf and a cow portentously penned. Tickets sold, $10 a piece, $2,500 first place, all for a good cause. A bearded man in front of me smells of too many beers and too few showers.

10:30. The referees are in place at the fenced edge, preparing for their task. A few families eagerly await the main event. Without fanfare, the cows are let out of the pen. They stroll out. The cow, apparently named Lucy, strolls to the middle, calf at her side. Good. I have square 483; my friend, 484. And we wait. The tails are wagging — here it comes, right? So soon? But no, the bulls and cow and calf, in turn, urinate copiously.

Suddenly, a referee from the edge cries out, "There!" Two assistant referees march onto the field with the seriousness of purpose commensurate with such a task. They scrutinize the ground, discuss, call over other arbiters, discuss more. My mind briefly adjusts the famed paeon to the pay-privvy:

There she stands
Catalyst of greed
Paid ten bucks
But she only peed.

A ruling on the field. Not the right emissions. The event continues.

The bovines, with ruminant vacancy, amble to an edge of the field. Uh-oh. Down there are high or low numbers — whatever they are, it won't be in the 400s. The calf stays close to his mother, then begins to play, nuzzling, jumping and demanding attention. The mother obliges with mammalian warmth, rubbing its maternal nose under the calf's neck. The mother gently strokes the calf, a playful push. The bulls lose interest in this touching scene and slowly return to the pen.

The human families call out — trying to attract Lucy to their side of the field. Lucy goes one way, then the other, adrift. The referees wait. The families wait. Is this it? Will the tail wag?

Suddenly, Lucy the cow, turns and strolls across the field and then into the pen.

My friend and I decide to go, deciding to be philosophical about it: [A]nd therefore never send to know for whom the cow flops; it flops for thee.