Gambling on Faith
You know how autistic people won't pick up the culture they're in nearly as well as most people? Well, religion is often part of culture, and to the extent that it is, and the extent that we don't absorb culture, we don't seem to absorb religion either.
I don't think that predisposes us to atheism, though; because atheism is a religious stance (just like choosing not to eat dinner is a choice about what to have for dinner). Autism does seem to predispose us to choosing our own religions rather than naturally flowing into our parents' or peer group's viewpoints, though, at least once we pass the age at which abstract thought becomes possible (and quite probably before then).
My mother is Christian, but I wasn't--not until I was eleven years old and had decided for myself whether she was right. And it turned out that, eventually, my theology differed wildly from hers, even though we fall under the same general category. Similarly, my own mother (who almost certainly has Asperger's, like me), broke away from her own mother's Catholic denomination; and her husband, my father, also autistic, broke from his parents' nominal Lutheran category. My mother is Messianic Jewish, even though she's not Jewish; I'm... a sort of generic Christian, I think. My two sisters tend towards the agnostic, though the younger one isn't sure yet (yes, that's a joke).
But none of us followed, precisely, in the footsteps of anyone around us; we determined our beliefs for ourselves. We questioned everything, and rejected what didn't seem to fit, and made our own theories. It's the normal teenage rebellion, I think--only in our case, we had been less attached to begin with, and were more driven to find truth than most.
There's one viewpoint that I think we autistics may be more predisposed to, though; and despite our tendency to rely on concrete ideas, pictures, or logic, it isn't atheism but agnosticism--the viewpoint that it's impossible to know whether God (or the supernatural) exist. (Atheism has the same uncertainty, by the way; you can't prove God not to exist, either.) That's because in many cases we seem to like certainty most of all, and truth; and while it's impossible to know anything with 100% certainty (except possibly your own existence), religion has more uncertainty than most subjects. Saying "You can't know" is literally--logically--true; so it's no surprise that people who want certainty would go for the one possibility of it. But agnosticism doesn't deal with the reality of the idea that "it's impossible to know"; because, if objective truth exists, then you have to deal with the possibility of what that truth is.
(Agnosticism does assume objective truth, since "It is impossible to know" would not be true if truth were subjective, because if truth were subjective, then you could make something true by believing it, thus creating an objective truth, even if it would only be objectively true if applied to you. Actually, depending on how you define "objective truth", the preceding statement should prove its existence, though not its extent, no matter what you happen to believe.)
In any case, agnosticism doesn't deal with the content of the things it states are possibly true and possibly false; and in my opinion, when the subject is so important, you can't sit on the fence like that--you have to gamble; you have to decide what you'll act on.
I am a Christian, but I think I am more aware than most that I am acting only on what I think is probably true--that it's faith, not certainty, that drives my philosophy. Some people think of faith as a synonym for certainty; but I don't think that's it at all. Faith is what lets you cross the street even though you can never be 100% certain that there isn't a car coming; it's what lets you say "I do" even when you can't be 100% certain that your prospective spouse cares as much as you do. For many people, it's emotions that jump the gap from "probably" to "definitely"; but I don't have that. I'm aware, every day, of the uncertainties of life. I have a memory from when I was six years old of consciously accepting the small risk that the plane I was on would crash... maybe my mother remembers it; she was the one who reassured me that we wouldn't crash, and I remember thinking to myself, "We could; but the chances are so small that I'm not particularly afraid."
Faith is the gap between "I'm 99% sure that God exists" and "I'm acting as though I'm 100% sure."
Why am I not an agnostic; or at least, why am I not acting like an agnostic? Well, first of all, from what I can tell through logic, Christianity is "probably true"; and the offer of access to absolute truth and absolute good is just too much to pass up--back to that Aspie love of certainty again. (Not that most people don't love certainty--they love it every bit as much as I do; maybe more. But they don't seem anywhere near as aware of uncertainty!)
When I became a Christian at the age of 11, I was playing the odds: I bet my life, and my decisions, on the possibility that God not only existed, but embodied the absolute good and absolute truth that I have longed for ever since I understood the concepts.
If you've read the Bible at all, you remember that Jesus had somebody who seems to have thought a lot like me among his disciples--Thomas, the one who insisted on touching Jesus's wounds to see for himself that Jesus wasn't a scam or a ghost. Jesus let him do it--and then he commented that those who can believe without proof are blessed. I tend to agree--they are. People like that, who don't question, have a great deal less distress from the whole affair than I'll ever have. But then again, look where Thomas ended up--a missionary, and then a martyr, like eleven of the twelve (if you count either Matthias or Paul as the twelfth, instead of Judas)... Seems like the "question everything" deal worked for him. And, anyway, God doesn't want fake faith, because there simply isn't any such thing. If the closest I can come to faith is to play the odds and hope--I sure can't brainwash myself in any case--then I have a feeling he either understands that, or else he isn't who I think he is.
And... well, if you want to be cynical about it, what did I have to lose? If Christianity wasn't true, what did it matter whether I decided to act on it or not? At the very least, I would have some ethical direction, even if it turned out that heaven didn't exist. At the very least, I'd have a good grip on a philosophy that let me see the intrinsic value of human life, and the importance of trying to understand and help others, even when they were strange and frightening and clannish and loved tedious music that repeated the same unvarying theme until you got sick of it. At the very least, I'd have hope that the things I love--the absolute good, absolute truth--actually existed; and I'd have a target to shoot for.
And if it really is true? Well, then, I suppose I'll have everything I've ever wanted.
I don't think that predisposes us to atheism, though; because atheism is a religious stance (just like choosing not to eat dinner is a choice about what to have for dinner). Autism does seem to predispose us to choosing our own religions rather than naturally flowing into our parents' or peer group's viewpoints, though, at least once we pass the age at which abstract thought becomes possible (and quite probably before then).
My mother is Christian, but I wasn't--not until I was eleven years old and had decided for myself whether she was right. And it turned out that, eventually, my theology differed wildly from hers, even though we fall under the same general category. Similarly, my own mother (who almost certainly has Asperger's, like me), broke away from her own mother's Catholic denomination; and her husband, my father, also autistic, broke from his parents' nominal Lutheran category. My mother is Messianic Jewish, even though she's not Jewish; I'm... a sort of generic Christian, I think. My two sisters tend towards the agnostic, though the younger one isn't sure yet (yes, that's a joke).
But none of us followed, precisely, in the footsteps of anyone around us; we determined our beliefs for ourselves. We questioned everything, and rejected what didn't seem to fit, and made our own theories. It's the normal teenage rebellion, I think--only in our case, we had been less attached to begin with, and were more driven to find truth than most.
There's one viewpoint that I think we autistics may be more predisposed to, though; and despite our tendency to rely on concrete ideas, pictures, or logic, it isn't atheism but agnosticism--the viewpoint that it's impossible to know whether God (or the supernatural) exist. (Atheism has the same uncertainty, by the way; you can't prove God not to exist, either.) That's because in many cases we seem to like certainty most of all, and truth; and while it's impossible to know anything with 100% certainty (except possibly your own existence), religion has more uncertainty than most subjects. Saying "You can't know" is literally--logically--true; so it's no surprise that people who want certainty would go for the one possibility of it. But agnosticism doesn't deal with the reality of the idea that "it's impossible to know"; because, if objective truth exists, then you have to deal with the possibility of what that truth is.
(Agnosticism does assume objective truth, since "It is impossible to know" would not be true if truth were subjective, because if truth were subjective, then you could make something true by believing it, thus creating an objective truth, even if it would only be objectively true if applied to you. Actually, depending on how you define "objective truth", the preceding statement should prove its existence, though not its extent, no matter what you happen to believe.)
In any case, agnosticism doesn't deal with the content of the things it states are possibly true and possibly false; and in my opinion, when the subject is so important, you can't sit on the fence like that--you have to gamble; you have to decide what you'll act on.
I am a Christian, but I think I am more aware than most that I am acting only on what I think is probably true--that it's faith, not certainty, that drives my philosophy. Some people think of faith as a synonym for certainty; but I don't think that's it at all. Faith is what lets you cross the street even though you can never be 100% certain that there isn't a car coming; it's what lets you say "I do" even when you can't be 100% certain that your prospective spouse cares as much as you do. For many people, it's emotions that jump the gap from "probably" to "definitely"; but I don't have that. I'm aware, every day, of the uncertainties of life. I have a memory from when I was six years old of consciously accepting the small risk that the plane I was on would crash... maybe my mother remembers it; she was the one who reassured me that we wouldn't crash, and I remember thinking to myself, "We could; but the chances are so small that I'm not particularly afraid."
Faith is the gap between "I'm 99% sure that God exists" and "I'm acting as though I'm 100% sure."
Why am I not an agnostic; or at least, why am I not acting like an agnostic? Well, first of all, from what I can tell through logic, Christianity is "probably true"; and the offer of access to absolute truth and absolute good is just too much to pass up--back to that Aspie love of certainty again. (Not that most people don't love certainty--they love it every bit as much as I do; maybe more. But they don't seem anywhere near as aware of uncertainty!)
When I became a Christian at the age of 11, I was playing the odds: I bet my life, and my decisions, on the possibility that God not only existed, but embodied the absolute good and absolute truth that I have longed for ever since I understood the concepts.
If you've read the Bible at all, you remember that Jesus had somebody who seems to have thought a lot like me among his disciples--Thomas, the one who insisted on touching Jesus's wounds to see for himself that Jesus wasn't a scam or a ghost. Jesus let him do it--and then he commented that those who can believe without proof are blessed. I tend to agree--they are. People like that, who don't question, have a great deal less distress from the whole affair than I'll ever have. But then again, look where Thomas ended up--a missionary, and then a martyr, like eleven of the twelve (if you count either Matthias or Paul as the twelfth, instead of Judas)... Seems like the "question everything" deal worked for him. And, anyway, God doesn't want fake faith, because there simply isn't any such thing. If the closest I can come to faith is to play the odds and hope--I sure can't brainwash myself in any case--then I have a feeling he either understands that, or else he isn't who I think he is.
And... well, if you want to be cynical about it, what did I have to lose? If Christianity wasn't true, what did it matter whether I decided to act on it or not? At the very least, I would have some ethical direction, even if it turned out that heaven didn't exist. At the very least, I'd have a good grip on a philosophy that let me see the intrinsic value of human life, and the importance of trying to understand and help others, even when they were strange and frightening and clannish and loved tedious music that repeated the same unvarying theme until you got sick of it. At the very least, I'd have hope that the things I love--the absolute good, absolute truth--actually existed; and I'd have a target to shoot for.
And if it really is true? Well, then, I suppose I'll have everything I've ever wanted.