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If you read the comments section at this Debunking Atheism post you will see that Daniel Morgan has taken a stab at defining good and evil.  (Apparently, Loftus still cannot do so.)

Morgan says:

Similarly, let me put forth a definition of “good” and “bad” to create a very simple moral framework:
“good” is the state of actions, events, and natural conditions which minimizes, if not reduces altogether, babies being slaughtered in genocidal warfare

“bad” is the state of actions, events, and natural conditions which does not minimize, nor reduce altogether, babies being slaughtered in genocidal warfare

But this is, of course, a completely arbitrary claim.  I could just as easily respond with: “‘Good’ is people with brown hair, ‘bad’ is people with blond hair.”

Morgan then “proves” his point by saying:

Of course, the presupps can disagree with me on the definition of good and bad here, which I have purposely restricted to the case of infanticide, as the result of genocidal warfare. If they do, though, I would love for them to explain how my definitions of “good” and “bad”, as objective markers, fail.

As much as atheists love to point out that it’s improper for theists to make them prove a negative, they sure like to insist on theists proving lots of negatives.  Morgan can’t provide evidence for his definition of “good” and “evil” so he instead relies on, “You can’t prove it’s wrong.”

But of course I don’t have to prove it wrong.  Morgan has to prove his definitions right.  And that is something he cannot do in his atheistic worldview.

And that is the point that the atheists keep missing.  We are not debating what behavior is or is not good or evil–we are debating how one knows what is good or evil.

Before Morgan’s non-answer of the question, Joe Holman attempted to provide a reason for saying something is evil by saying:

…nerve cells being rended, ripped, or torn by a hungry predator, sharp metal objects being plunged into soft bellies like a pearing knife through a tomato, a bullet penetrating a lungsack and causing a slow, painful death…these are things that all human and animal kinds realize are wrong except in the most dire of circumstances.

But this is absurd.  Animals don’t know anything about sharp metal objects, bullets, or any of the like.  They are not cognizant of these things.  But even if they were, it would not magically make such things “immoral.”

Holman seems to say (as Loftus has claimed before) that pain = evil.  But he cannot point to nature for this fact.  Animals kill each other all the time.  I’m quite sure the zebra thinks it’s painful to have a cheetah attached to his hamstring, but that doesn’t make the cheetah evil for killing the zebra.  Similarly, this argument ignores the fact that massochists exist who actually enjoy pain.  Holman’s argument doesn’t prove his morality.

The atheists are still left holding on to stolen concepts.

Loftus is at it again. Now he says:

Suffice it to say that if theological determinism is true, then God cannot be a good God because he decrees all of the evil we experience in human history.

Notice that he uses the term “good” and “evil” in the above.  Scour his article, however, and you will not find a definition of either term anywhere in there.  If Loftus’s entire argument is that God is not X because of Y, then wouldn’t it behoove him to demonstrate this?

Instead, Loftus relies on stolen concepts and ambiguities.  He doesn’t define the terms because he knows as soon as he does it will become obvious that his “argument” is mere assumption.

I ask Loftus to provide for us definitions for “good” and “evil” and demonstrate logically how his above conclusion is correct given those definitions.  If he cannot do so, then that will speak volumes.

 

The Debunking Atheism whackos are at it again.  Apparently, they only have one argument (aside from posting their biographies and pretending it’s argumentation).  Their argument is that God is evil, therefore He doesn’t exist.

Naturally, none of the atheists have yet established how the word “evil” has any meaningful definition in their worldview.  Instead, they simply bar anyone from questioning their presuppositions with threats of banning.

I, for one, am getting quite sick of the endless parade of the same tired argument over and over again.  Until the atheists can provide a reason by which they can declare there is such a thing as evil, then their entire argument is a shell-game.

Atheists assume a definition of evil that automatically includes God’s actions.  But such an assumption is not warranted.  Indeed, in the atheist worldview, evil is a relative term.  It is quite possible that what is evil for us is not evil for God (after all, the atheist will admit that what is evil for Christians is not evil for them, therefore all morality is relative to the subject anyway).  So unless the atheist can prove that his morality must be followed by God, there is no reason for us to accept that the atheist’s definition of evil is the valid one.

I default to God’s definition in such instances.

So this is really quite easy to show there is no contradiction.

1) God does things that we think are evil.

2) God does not think they are evil.

3) Therefore, God does not violate His own standard of goodness.

4) God does violate our standard of goodness.

5) God declares our standard of goodness to be evil.

6) Thus it is good for God to violate our standard of goodness, for obeying our standard of goodness would be evil for Him.

This isn’t too complicated, and it shows the entire atheist’s argument to be the empty hollow whiffle ball that it is.

The atheist position relies on stolen concepts.  They must steal a Christian idea (the idea of good and evil) and then try to use that against the Christian, while forgetting the fact that the concept can only exist if Christianity is true.

But don’t expect atheists to grasp this.  They’ll continue to declare by fiat that they do have a morality (a morality they can’t demonstrate, nor a morality that they can enforce upon you).  Because otherwise they’d have to accept God.

Check out the first two paragraphs of this article. The key portion:

Raleigh, N.C.-based One Management Inc., the owners of the complex on South Church Street in Spartanburg, said no hymns may be played and the nativity scene the group puts up at Christmas will not be allowed from now on.The owners say the apartment complex must be “religion neutral” to avoid the appearance of discrimination based on faith.

In other words, the apartment complex is going to discriminate based on faith in order to avoid the appearance of discrimination based on faith.  The funny thing is that they probably don’t realize how idiotic they sound.

Here’s an interesting question.  The definition of the word “species” is: “A fundamental category of taxonomic classification, ranking below a genus or subgenus and consisting of related organisms capable of interbreeding.”

Now read this article about a hybrid polar bear/grizzly.

Since a grizzly and a polar bear are “capable of interbreeding” does that mean they are the same species??? :-D

Why is it that companies feel the need to use their sprinkler system to water the sidewalk, especially when I’m trying to walk to work?

Some things in life are easier to talk about than other things.  And some things we’d rather not talk about at all ever.  Unfortunately, sometimes the truth has to come out, even if it means ripping open old scars and picking at scabs.

It’s been a while since I’ve posted on the fact that I’ve been going through depression.  I just spoke with my doctor today, and naturally things are progressing very well for me.  However, my doctor did tell me that I had the worst case of depression that he’s seen in years.  And that naturally got me thinking about the causes of my depression, and ultimately I realized that it’s something that I’ve got to share.

My story begins when I was in third grade.  At that time, I had two best friends in the world, Adam and Mark.  Adam once gave me a Garfield comic book, and he had had his father who did woodwork so he gave me a plaque with my name carved in it.  Mark taught me how to ride a bike, and we used to go all over town.

Things were fine through third and fourth grade.  But something happened in fifth grade.  I still don’t know what it was, but suddenly I became the person that everyone picked on.

Kids are cruel.  This is undeniable.  You don’t have to teach a two-year-old to smash someone in the head with a wooden block or to steal the toy from the girl in the corner.  They do these things completely of their own nature.  And ultimately what I got to experience was pure, unfiltered human nature.

It started small.  People would come up and punch me in the arm as hard as they could.  Then they’d laugh.  I, of course, was an idiot and never fought back.  (To this day I don’t know why…it’s something that I can’t explain to myself.)  So the kids would escalate it.  They’d punch me in the arm a couple of times, and maybe kick me, and throw my homework in the trashcan and tear up my library books so I’d get a fine.

One day, a kid named David brought a coil of copper wire to school.  He had it rolled up into the shape of a club, and he hit me in the head with it as hard as he could.  I got dizzy and went to the nurse’s office; they called my parents to come get me.  My dad asked what happened and I said: “I got hit in the head with wire.”

My dad said, “Wire?”  It was the shocked way that he said it, like it was impossible for that to have been the cause.  And I know that he didn’t intend it that way, but it felt like he didn’t believe me.  I quickly explained that it had been rolled up into a club shape.

My dad took me to the doctor.  My doctor asked what happened and I said “I got hit in the head with wire.”  He said: “Wire?” in the same way that my dad had done.  I know that he too did not mean it in a way that doubted me, but it still felt that way.

My doctor diagnosed me with a concussion.  I went home and a few hours later there was a knock at the door.  David stood there sheepishly with his parents behind him and he apologized.  I was naive enough to think he meant it and I forgave him.  I hope that meant that it was over, that they’d be nice to me after that.

But of course that wasn’t what happened.

Groups of kids would get together and tell me that they were going to beat me up after school.  They’d form their little mob by the front door, so I had to sneak out the back of the school and run home as fast as I could (I lived across the street from the school in those days).  They caught on and started posting “lookouts” at the back exit, so I had to hide inside the school and wait for them to leave.

My parents told me that I should just fight back.  They told me I wouldn’t get in trouble.  Even the principal of the school told me that she wouldn’t suspend me if I got in a fight.  But that didn’t change me.  It didn’t make me feel any more like I could fight back.  My will was already broken.

Adam and Mark began to join in too.  One day, after school, Adam pushed me into the fence and tore my coat.  That was the only time that I almost faught back.  I was ready to go, angered that he had torn my jacket and that meant my mom would have to sew it, so it wasn’t just me that Adam had hurt but my mom too.  I balled up my fist and stepped forward, and one of the other kids named Jesse suddenly stepped inbetween us and said, “Go home.  I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Which was absurd, since he was one of the guys pounding on me day after day.  Still, I went home instead of fighting Adam.  And the next day, Jesse joined in with the others making fun of the fact that I had “run home crying like a little girl.”

Mark was slightly different.  During the school hours, he would pound on me and mock me.  But a few hours after school, he would be my best friend again.  I used to call him my “After School Friend” because after school, he was my friend.  And at the time, I accepted the fact that he needed to fit in with his other friends, so he had to pound on me too.

My aunt once told me, “An After School Friend is no friend at all.”  But she didn’t understand.  An After School Friend was the only friend I had.

I used to wonder why battered women would stay with their husbands, but when I realized that it was really no different than what I went through I no longer wonder.  When you’re at that place where there is absolutely no one, you’ll take what little you can get.  You’ll rationalize and justify the pain–Mark had to hit me so he’d be cool with his friends, and I can understand that.  You pretend that the reality is what happens after school, when he’s being nice to you.  He just has to act in front of his friends.

And thus, you begin to act too.  You accept your fate because you know that afterwards you’ll at least have a friend.  And soon enough, you actually believe that it’s “normal.”

Fifth and sixth grade were hell for me.  My family moved to a different town after that, and I literally think it saved my life.  I don’t know if I could have taken another year of the abuse I got in school.  I once read that rape isn’t really about sex, but it’s about power; and if that’s the case, then I was every bit as much raped as if there had been sexual abuse.  I think the only difference was that the kids were too young for the hormones to have kicked in already.  Other than that, it was identical.

Being forced to lick dirt off someone’s shoe.  Constantly having to run in fear of mobs beyond the reach of authority.  Knowing every instant an adult wasn’t around was going to be pain.  Two years of this adds up.

I learned lasting things from those two years.  I learned that it’s best to not have any friends at all.  Because only your friends can really hurt you.  Your enemies are expected to try to shaft you–you’re prepared.  But your friends are supposed to support you.  But they never do.

Betrayal from a friend is worse than the pain of not having a friend at all.

I learned that I can’t have any really lasting relationships with anyone of the opposite sex.  It would require too much “opening up.”  I would have to allow her “access” and as had been proven to me, people with access were people who could hurt you the most.  So even though I could be (and have been) “friends” with many different women, I’ve never really had a true person I would call a girlfriend.  I simply can’t trust anyone that much.

I learned that I’m not someone that anyone cares about.  I learned that lesson particularly well.  I learned it so well that I began to hate myself too.  Then I figured if I didn’t love me, why would anyone else?  And it cycled deeper and deeper into depression.  The only reason I didn’t kill myself was because it would take too much effort to go through with it.  Besides, I’d probably survive the attempt, and my new motto became: No Pain.

But of course, it’s impossible to obtain.  Instead, I really have: Pain I’m Used To In Order To Avoid Potentially Worse Pain.

I’m still not completely out of the woods.  It’s still hard for me to trust anyone at all beyond the mere “acquaintence” stage.  I have several people whom I could call a friend, but no one whom I would expect to actually sacrifice anything for me if I needed it.  I’m more used to getting shafted, and it’s easier to accept if you just go numb.

A few months ago, I went with my parents back out to the old town I used to live in.  We stopped outside the house I had lived in for four years, and I realized that I didn’t remember it at all.  My parents did–they pointed out how certain parts had been altered and said things like, “I remember that window!”  But I didn’t.  It was a part of my life I have blocked out.  There’s a lot about those times that I don’t remember because I don’t want to remember it.  And there’s also things that I couldn’t forget if I tried.

So why am I putting this up here on my blog?  Simply because it’s real.  It’s what happened, and I have to accept that this is my past in order to move on from it.  I rationally understand that God has His purpose for it.  I know my atheist friends would mock me for that: How can you believe in a God who allowed you to go through so much pain?  But I do. What I went through has so radically altered my life that I know I am nowhere near what I would have been had I not gone through that.  And I trust that I’m better off for it than I would have been without going through it.  I do that because I believe God has a purpose for everything that happens, and because I can hold to the fact that all things work together for good.

Yes, sometimes I hate God for it, it’s true.  But I can’t help but wonder what God has saved me from by having me go through this dark valley and learn complete dependence upon Him.

Atheists will often like to pretend that logic is a self-contained system.  By this I mean that the way atheists use logic is as the ultimate standard, the judge of all thinking, the epitome of rationality.  Thus, we read atheists who say that Christianity is “illogical” and ought to be disbelieved.

The problem with the atheist’s worldview is that logic is not a self-contained system.  Logic is dependent on something else–something that transcends logic itself–in order for it to be true.

It is actually quite simple to demonstrate this, using Gödel’s uncertainty principal.  No system can prove itself true because it must assume its axioms in order to test whether it is true or not.  In other words, suppose we wanted to determine whether logic was itself logical.  How could we do so?  We would have to use logic.  Yet using logic assumes logic is true, and thus we are assuming logic is true in order to test whether logic is true.

For an illustration of this, consider the following from the novel The Outlaw:

“How do we know that logic exists? The only way to ask that question is to use logic, right? We have to logically deduce what is valid in order to test it. In other words, we have to already assume that logic is valid in order to use logic to test and see if logic is valid. That, my friend, is circular reasoning.”“I think you’re losing me again!” Broadway said.  His head was starting to hurt.

“Okay, let me use another example. Suppose you want to build a machine to separate apples and oranges. So you construct this machine, put an apple in and it says, ‘This is an apple.’ You put an orange in and it says, ‘This is an orange.’ The only way for you to know if the machine is correct is if you already know what an apple and an orange is.

“Think about it. Verifying logic is the same thing as building a machine to determine if something is an apple or an orange. You are basically making a truth machine. Is something valid or invalid? That is what logic tests. But if you test out a logical sentence, you have to already know what the answer should be in order to test to see if your method is true.

“If you already have to presuppose the answer, then how can you determine if the method you used is correct? If your assumed answer is wrong, and the method gives you data that agrees with what you think, then you think that you have a working machine when you really have junk. If it disagrees, then what is to stop you from assuming that it is the machine that is wrong, instead of you?

“If you have to use logic to prove logic, then you have to assume it to be valid before proving it to be valid. Therefore, the very reason we use logic is based on circular reasoning, and logic itself would demand that logic is invalid.

“But if logic was invalid, how would we explain anything? We assume that logic is valid because of our limited observations, but we cannot prove that logic is valid using only logic. At some point, there is a step of faith where we assume it is true.”

 

From The Outlaw (c) 2005 by Peter Pike, p 246-247, Used By Permission. (Note: The Outlaw does have strong language and violent scenes, so if you read it beware that it is roughly equivalent to a rated R movie.)

Thus, we see that logic itself becomes self-refuting if it functions as an independent, self-contained system.  Logic dictates circular arguments are falacious (due to the fact that circular arguments can prove both sides of a contradiction valid); yet the axioms of logic are themselves based on a circular argument.  The only way to escape this problem is if there is something outside of logic that makes logic valid.

But whatever it is that exists outside of logic in order to make logic valid need not itself be logical.  In fact, one cannot say it is logical for that would be applying a systematic term to something that exists outside the system.  It is an improper use of language to do that.

Thus, if one argues that logic is a self-contained system, one is left with a self-refuted argument.  If one acknowledges that there is something beyond logic which establishes logic, then one must acknowledge that whatever that is needed to establish logic is itself not logical.  In both cases, logic itself cannot prove everything; instead, we must accept something as true apart from logic.

Thus, everyone at some point believes on faith instead of “reason.”