The God of the Agnostics

I came next upon a God sitting on a high fence,
And waved to Him, saying
“Come down and talk the whence.”

“I can’t; I am stuck here, but Salutations to you.
I am the God of Agnosticism, one neither false nor true.
None of the agnostics know if I exist or not,
So here I must stay put a lot,

“Along with the Tooth Fairy,
Santa Claus, and the Easter Bunny,
Just in case we all might exist or not,
As a quadzillion-to-one shot.”

“Why can’t agnostics make up their minds?”

“My followers cannot even make or see
Probability judgments about the question of Me.
This is the limitation of agnosticism,

“Perhaps the error of no consideration
Of the likelihood of that for which evidence seeable
Is not even the least bit conceivable.”

“It is a fallacy; what I call the poverty of agnosticism,
Because though being agnostic is reasonable criticism
For some things, such as whether life exists elsewhere,
It is not appropriate for those things undoable,

“For which the idea of evidence is not even applicable;
However, actually, we can actually still talk
About the probability of the event,
While even going for a walk.

“The true fallacy, however, is that the existence ever,
And the nonexistence of You never,
Are not even on an even footing to begin with.
The two are not at all equiprobable cases.

“The burden of proof lies with the believers,
For anything that we can conceive of
Can be claimed to exist, as that we love,
Such as ghosts, spirits, and such forth.

“Are we then to straddle a fence that has no worth?
And, never seen. So, then, at the end of the day,

“Probability creeps into the beliefs of the agnostic way,
For in practice they end up in the lurch,
Not going ‘half the time’ to Church,
But mostly deciding not to go at all.”

“Yes, they still decide that which is ‘undecidable’,
For the fence is very uncomfortable
And so then the superposition

“Decoheres into the inclination
Of non belief—until, right here,
The Extraordinary’s evidence appears.”
He came down off the fence,
For he couldn’t exist and not exist at the same time.
I continued on through the undulating hills.

(We can refer to the fence sitters as non theists
In order to get away from labels like ‘agnostic’
Which might imply that the probability of thinking
God or not is on some kind of equal footing;

Plus that the fence sitters don’t really stay
On the uncomfortable fence but usually…

Go one way or the other way
In life’s practice of the everyday,
Although some might go to church
On alternating Sundays.

In between, perhaps they go
On wild picnics with their sweetie
And drink wine and do all that ‘bad’ stuff,
That we can’t say here, while waiting for some
Extraordinary evidence to appear.

I will soon have a talk with
Old Jehovah Yahweh’s Thee.
He’s not so terrible as many
Have made Him up to be,
But then again He’s not
So great either—He’s quite off,
Just another poor middle manager
Caught up in the layoffs.

I already spoke to the Deity
The God who doesn’t ever interfere
In the running of the universe.

The Pope doesn’t know it here,
But a Deity is what he’s
Leaning toward when he says then
That evolution is acceptable now
For Catholics to believe in (no mind).

The Deity Guy was
Actually kind of a great scientist.
And I already met with
The Creationist’s ID God,
Who while still a Designer
Is, well, not so cool at all, either,

For He gets back to what
The Fundamentalists believe,
And neither, they would say,
Did evolution happen,
Or if it did ever function,
God constantly stepped in
To rectify its direction.

I haven’t really begun
To scratch the surface of all the Gods,
Though, for so many lie now beneath the sod.

I’m only interested in
The person-type Gods of monotheism,
And I’m hardly even getting
Through those variant theisms
That fight amongst themselves
Over Jesus’ divinity, or if there is a Hell,

Or a Devil and some Angels about thee,
And over so many more
And other major differences, totally.

Then there are the multiple Gods,
Now up in the millions,
And the many Gods-who-are-not-persons,
Plus the TAO, the Consciousness,
And some way-out Ones.

There are also hundreds
Of long gone, ‘sure thing’ Gods,
Which I needn’t get into,
Except to wonder, and say:
Is that how the future will
Look at our Gods of today?

I can also skip the many
Weird offshoots that persist,
Like those saying that
The self is not allowed to exist,
Even calling it ‘ego’ to make
It seem so much worse;
I don’t have time for these
And other cult-level verse.)

How Clear, How Lovely Bright
by A. E. Housman


How clear, how lovely bright,
How beautiful to sight
Those beams of morning play;
How heaven laughs out with glee
Where, like a bird set free,
Up from the eastern sea
Soars the delightful day.

To-day I shall be strong,
No more shall yield to wrong,
Shall squander life no more;
Days lost, I know not how,
I shall retrieve them now;
Now I shall keep the vow
I never kept before.

Ensanguining the skies
How heavily it dies
Into the west away;
Past touch and sight and sound
Not further to be found,
How hopeless under ground
Falls the remorseful day.

very nice. I must obtain a volume of the Shropshire lad. Can't say I ever owned one.

How hopeless under ground
Falls the remorseful day. — Bitter Crank

Ah, yes. The story of my life.

don't know if you have ever read this one (I'd be surprised, since it is fairly well known), but it's long been a favorite of mine. It is a statement about human nature thought processes, and interactions. — Michael Zwingli

Realized I hadn't responded to this one. Yes, it seems familiar. It doesn't move me like some of his other poems. What is it you like about it? Is it the content or do you find the form pleasing?

I heard the poem recited, first time, a few days ago while watching the final episode of the "Chief Inspector Morse" series (BBC). Morse and Sargent Lewis were having a 'pint' as the sun was setting. Morse recited the poem. "The Remorseful Day" was the episode title.

The retirement-aged Inspector was not well, suffering in the end from a perforated ulcer, an enlarged liver, and heart disease. A little bit later in the story, Morse had a heart attack and died. It was the final episode of a wonderful series that had run for 8 years.

A 'good drug trip' is said to require the right setting and the right set. The same goes for poetry, I think. The scene in the television show was the right set and setting.

Cue the doleful violas.

What is it you like about it? Is it the content or do you find the form pleasing? — T Clark

I rather think it is the statement made, and the succinct, parablic way in which it presented. I have always rather liked it, even though I tend towards sentimentality in poetry, and if one is looking for sentiment, Blake is probably not one's first stop.

Cue the doleful violas. — Bitter Crank

Or perhaps more like this:

I tend towards sentimentality in poetry — Michael Zwingli

This made me want to ask - do you like "Song of Hiawatha?" Maybe more romantic than sentimental. I don't know if it's a good poem, but I love it.

The God of the Old Testament

Of all my rotten luck,
The God of the Old Testament
Appeared and proclaimed,
“I am Yahweh, never absent,
For those schooled from infancy
In My strange ways
Have become desensitized
To My horrific side,

“And so they continue to
Keep Me very much alive,
Through their thoughts;
So, fire away at Me;
I no longer bite that hard, you see.”

“You’re too easy of a target to attack for free—
So it would be rather unfair of me.”

“True, and I won’t deny it—
It’s all there in the Testament.
I was the most unpleasant character
That anyone ever made up in literary fiction.

“I was revealed to be jealous and proud of it,
Petty, unjust, controlling, vindictive,
An ethic cleanser, genocidal, infanticidal,

“Filicidal, pestilential, megalomaniacal,
Homophobic, misogynistic, sadomasochistic,
And much more, and a Bully—who gave it
Free will only if it matched My own Will.”

“Peace be with you.
How about the New Testament
To replace and hide Your scent,
As many religions have already
Done through Jesus sent?”

“Yes, that Testament is quite opposite in tone,
But I am still the Father of Jesus sown,
So the problem of Me can never really go away.
I am what I was, still here unto the present day.”

“Well, so long. You’re the worst role model yet
That human mammals have ever dreamed up.
Who would imitate, emulate,
Or follow You as a ‘leader’?”

“Well, My followers are those numerous slaves
Who excuse my mysterious [insane] ways,
Along with my exclusive desert tribe.”

“Well, You’re the Boss, and, anyway,
Who ever said that a God
Had to be perfect and good?”

“Everyone that I told—
And those who thought I should.”

“Oh well, never mind; whatever pleases.
So, um, Joseph was not
The biological father of Jesus?”

“No, I was.”

“So Jesus really did descend from David?”

“That was on his mother’s side.”

“Well, my ancestors descended from the trees.
Hey, why don’t Catholics get the 72 virgins
That Islam gives for martyrdom for their sins?”

“I told each religious faith a different story.”

“You also gave a bible half-different
To the Mormon founder,
Joseph Smith, finely engraved
On golden plates he discovered?”

“Sure. I thought at the time ‘why not’.”

“You had Islam add different things
To their Koran as well?”

“Yes of the many more ways to avoid Hell.”

“And You told only the Catholics
That there were umpteen levels of angels
And that bread was your body
And that wine was your blood?”

“Yep, I told just them and a few other selves,
But they made up the Saints themselves.”

“And You presented differing visions
To the Lutherans,
The Episcopals, and the Jewish,
And to many other also-rans?”

“Pretty much,
Except that a King of England
Founded the Episcopals—
The Anglicans, of course,
Since his own religion
Wouldn’t give him a divorce.”

“And you killed everyone but Noah
And his family in the Great Flood, wet,
Even young children and their pets?”

“Sure, again, why not? Life is cheap.
However, My creation of the rainbow
Says that I’ll never be so cruel again.
What can I say—I goofed. My sin.”

“But You are infallible, and even omniscient
And so You know all of the future meant.
You even broke your own commandments!”

“My omnipotence of changing my mind
Got in the way.”

“But your omniscience knew you would…
One day.”

“Yeah, I know—it’s a paradox; oh the strife.
And I can still technically end all life,
By means other than a flood.”

“You burned people in Hell, not saved,
When they didn’t follow
The unfree will that you gave?”

“Yes, because I was not a loving God.”

“Well, God, who made You?”

“No problem—either I was Eternal or I made Myself”

“This is remarkably the same, but for Thee,
As the Universal ingredients would be.”

“Then who would need me—wait,
I don’t want the answer told.”

“Is the Earth only about 4000 years old?”

“Of course not but I may have let that slip to some,
To tease their intelligence apart from being dumb.”

“Do you mind-read
The thoughts of every human,
Using all of your acumen,
And write the earthly script for each event,
Being so omnipresent?”

“I tried that at first, but it didn’t work for Me
To put my finger on every atom that be,
To micromanage its doings for all of thee.”

“That’s called ‘God’s Will’,
By some, even now.
What went wrong?
Was it the where and how?”

“It disrupted the atoms’ normal
And natural movements.”

“And that’s what caused the storms unfocused,
The lightning bolts and the plagues of locusts?”

“Yes, so I stopped making such a mess of things.”

“So the prayers of six million Jews pleaded
In the holocaust went all unheeded?”

“Yes, plus I have better things to do, in time,
My sooth,
Than look after some old experiment of Mine
From my misspent youth.”

“Did you really make Adam and Eve
And all of Earth and Nature, as we believe?”

“Yes, I made Nature,
Including the humans, in My image.”

“It shows in their rage.”

“Thank you.”

“God, it’s ID deja-vu all over again—
I really have to move on.”

“No, wait. I like your questions.
I’m mellower now, this being My new direction.
Not as many strictly admit to Me anymore.”

“How come so many of the gospels were omitted
From the New Catholic Testament,
Like those of Thomas, Peter, Nicodemus,
Philip, Bartholomew, and more,

“As well as whole books kept from us,
Although You told some other religions to keep them,
Such as the Book of Revelations?”

“Those gospels were embarrassing and wild;
They told about My Son doing magic tricks
And practical jokes on people when He was a child.”

“Oh, we never heard much about his youth.
And didn’t You send the Mormons proof
That Jesus spent an early era
In what was to become America?”

“Probably.”

“What about the trillions of galaxies in the sky?”

“They’re just for show and scenery on high.”
“Where’s all your rantings and ravings
That I’ve heard about?”

“I now take Prozac for
My mood swings and bouts.”

“You don’t really exist, do You, as mental,
For how could You have an emotional system—
As composite—and still be absolute and fundamental?”

“No, I don’t exist,
For how could I since I am so horrible?
Human mammals made all of Me up
As a very bad example,

“As it turned out, from their many fears
In the childhood of their species’ years.
Unfortunately, it caught on to their children’s ears.”

“So, yet You still subsist
In this indefinite locus of wishes?”

“Yes, sort of.
I am sustained here since many children
Have learned to obey and listen
To what is-was told to them,

“For this obeying was an
Evolutionarily useful thing,
As many of their obediences
Resulted from warnings of things

“That were truly dangerous,
And so the children grew up
To indoctrinate their own children
In all the ‘knowledge’.”

“We’ll have to offer more reason
To those so indoctrinated.
Now farewell to You, the impersonated.”

“See you. Pay no attention to Me as certain,
But to all those blinded by the curtain.”

He soon dozed off into never land.

When I started this thread, I should have specified that posters should not include more than a limited number of personally written poems. Alas. Because I didn't, you have filled it with, by my count, 18 self-indulgent, poorly written poems.

I really like this thread. Lots of good interesting poetry and people with interesting ideas. What I've really liked is that it hangs around or a while, then goes away, then comes back again. Whenever it pops back up, it gives me pleasure. You have taken this nice, pleasing little thread and turned it into a dumping ground for your failed attempts at profundity to the extent that you've almost drowned out the good poetry out there. What I fear is that you have dozens more poems hidden away on your computer that you will continue to place here.

Please stop. There are plenty of poetry forums out there. Please stop damaging one of my favorite discussions.

This made me want to ask - do you like "Song of Hiawatha?" Maybe more romantic than sentimental. I don't know if it's a good poem, but I love it. — T Clark

Who can dislike an epic poem which is yet endearing? I first encountered the story of Hiawatha and Minnehaha as a child. It may have lost popularity today, as young people today are more (I want to say "vulgarly jaded", but I'll say...) worldly than they once were, but for a long time that story has entered the American mythos, and was often told to children.

Who can dislike an epic poem which is yet endearing? — Michael Zwingli

I'm glad you like it.

LOVE bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lack’d anything.

‘A guest,’ I answer’d, ‘worthy to be here:’
Love said, ‘You shall be he.’
‘I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,
I cannot look on Thee.’
Love took my hand and smiling did reply,
‘Who made the eyes but I?’

‘Truth, Lord; but I have marr’d them: let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.’
‘And know you not,’ says Love, ‘Who bore the blame?’
‘My dear, then I will serve.’
‘You must sit down,’ says Love, ‘and taste my meat.’
So I did sit and eat.

George Herbert 1593 -1633

‘Truth, Lord; but I have marr’d them: let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.’
‘And know you not,’ says Love, ‘Who bore the blame?’
‘My dear, then I will serve.’
‘You must sit down,’ says Love, ‘and taste my meat.’
So I did sit and eat. — Bitter Crank

I assume this is an explicitly Christian sentiment, but it would be more interesting if it weren't.

It is explicitly Christian.

Why would it have been better had a pagan said it?

Why would it have been better had a pagan said it? — Bitter Crank

Love is the love of Jesus, God. Takes away blame, easy peasy. It would just be more interesting, psychologically, philosophically if the love of each other, the love of other people, the love of other people for you, could take away blame. That would take some thought.

Love is the love of Jesus, God. Takes away blame, easy peasy. — T Clark

That is my biggest caveat against evangelical Christianity: all you’ve got to do is “repent” of your sin, which means you can sin all you want to...as long as you repent soon afterwards!...

...and as long as you confess belief in Jesus, you are saved, however much you may sin. James knew much better: “faith without works is dead.” And Jesus preached much better too. You may cry “Lord, lord,..” I did this or that in Your name, to gain significance among the faithful, but He replies, “I never knew you.”

It would just be more interesting, psychologically, philosophically if the love of each other, the love of other people, the love of other people for you, could take away blame. That would take some thought. — T Clark

Love your neighbor as yourself. How many who confess their faith in Jesus turn their backs on their neighbors? fail to stop for the guy carrying a gas can down the road?

if the love of each other, the love of other people, the love of other people for you, could take away blame... — T Clark

We project human traits onto God and describe them as perfect and transcending or exceeding the human domain. The love that Herbert depicts is perfect. Is our human love capable of transforming ourselves or someone else?

It is, of course. The experience of human love is how we know love can be transformative. Human experiences of many kinds are transformative. In tact, we don't have any experience except human experience--of anything.

So one can read Herbert's poem as an account of human love -- maybe exceptional love, but human love, nonetheless. Do people ever display exceptional love? Yes, sometimes. I wouldn't advise anyone to hold their breath waiting for an example of exceptional love, but it sometimes happens. When experienced, it is transformative -- as much so as the experience of God's love would be.

And by "love" I am not primarily thinking of ordinary romantic love. I'm thinking more about the selfless love of Agape. We might experience Agape and romantic love at the same time, but being the species we are, we'd probably be more fascinated by the erotic aspects of an erotic/romantic love / agape combination.

In objecting to the idea of giving to the poor because one might "entertain angels unaware", some dismiss the angels from the equation. The reason to tend to the poor is that they need care, and there but for the grace of God go I. Never mind angels--they are without need.

That is my biggest caveat against evangelical Christianity — Leghorn

The hard-bitten Puritans, early exemplars of what would later be evangelical Christianity, believed that it was anything but simple. The 5 points of the Puritan faith were extremely harsh:

Humanity is totally depraved
Salvation is beyond mortal striving
Grace is predestined for only a few
Most were condemned to eternal damnation
No earthly effort could save one

Hard-boiled Calvinism!

The Puritans had some very beneficial influences on the United States, but I find their Calvinism abhorrent.

But yes, salvation can become simplistic and formulaic -- bastardization.

Measureless dwelling
In the big oceans of jellyfish
Formal free
Cut loose
From culture and program
Sunrays play hide and seek
Their colors making me
Awe
I'm breathing like day and night
Tentacles tickle
Smoothness
It was there
Where I met you

That is my biggest caveat against evangelical Christianity: all you’ve got to do is “repent” of your sin, which means you can sin all you want to...as long as you repent soon afterwards!...

...and as long as you confess belief in Jesus, you are saved, however much you may sin. James knew much better: “faith without works is dead.” And Jesus preached much better too. You may cry “Lord, lord,..” I did this or that in Your name, to gain significance among the faithful, but He replies, “I never knew you.” — Leghorn

Say what you will, like it or not, sincere repentance and forgiveness are at the heart of Christianity. If there ain't forgiveness of sins, it ain't Christianity. That rubs some people the wrong way. Not me. Although I'm not Christian and original sin doesn't make sense to me, I still think it's a wonderful thing. And it's not evangelical Christians, it's all of them.

Love your neighbor as yourself. How many who confess their faith in Jesus turn their backs on their neighbors? fail to stop for the guy carrying a gas can down the road? — Leghorn

There are hypocrites of all religions, philosophies, and persuasions.

The love that Herbert depicts is perfect. Is our human love capable of transforming ourselves or someone else? — Bitter Crank

I guess that's part of my point. What can God's love do that human love cannot?

Do people ever display exceptional love? Yes, sometimes. I wouldn't advise anyone to hold their breath waiting for an example of exceptional love, but it sometimes happens. When experienced, it is transformative — Bitter Crank

This makes me think of one of my favorite poems, "Aunt Celia, 1961," by Carl Dennis. I heard it first on "The Writer's Almanac" and I've quoted it here before, probably in this thread somewhere. Here's an excerpt:

People will tell you there are many good lives
Waiting for everyone, each fine in its own way.
And maybe they’re right, but in my opinion
One is miles above the others.
Otherwise it wouldn’t have been so clear to me
When I found it. Otherwise those who lack it
Wouldn’t be able to tell so clearly it’s missing
As they go on living as best they can
Without complaining. Noble lives, and beautiful,
And happy as much as doing well can make them.
But as for the happiness that can’t be earned,
The kind it makes no sense for you to look for,
That’s something different.

That is my biggest caveat against evangelical Christianity: all you’ve got to do is “repent” of your sin, which means you can sin all you want to...as long as you repent soon afterwards!... — Leghorn

In defense of this particular point, I will note that the Christian conception of "true repentance" necessarily involves a "turning away" from the particular "sin" in question. For my part, the "biggest caveat" against any flavor of Christianity is the apparent non-existence of "God", and of "gods".

↪PoeticUniverse

When I started this thread, I should have specified that posters should not include more than a limited number of personally written poems. Alas. Because I didn't, you have filled it with, by my count, 18 self-indulgent, poorly written poems. [...] What I fear is that you have dozens more poems hidden away on your computer that you will continue to place here. Please stop. There are plenty of poetry forums out there. Please stop damaging one of my favorite discussions. — T Clark

Change "you have filled it with, by my count, 18 self-indulgent, poorly written poems" to "...18 quite lengthy, self-indulgent, poorly written poems". I don't feel good having to say that, @PoeticUniverse, disliking to critique the opera of another in a way that might be hurtful, but such appears true. I have learned one thing from your contributions, though: that "stream of consciousness" writing is best kept within the realm of prose fiction, and then within the hands of masters such as James Joyce and Virginia Woolf. I think that you should desist in the pace of your contribution...maybe one poem per month, deal?

So Big Sister Pig asked:

"Oh Piggy Pigly on the wall
Who is ugliest of them all?"
After heavy, steaming snore
It replied to Sister Soar
"Oh Big Hog, behold
That's where the beauty lies
The ugliest are you, I'm told
By my hideous eyes
But beware that in time
Beauty too can rhyme
Upon your dirty slime
As on every random swine"
"If that's the case"
Growled Sister in delight
"On will be the chase!
Thanks Oh Pigly Bright!"
Every eye was asked with force
To collect with every other
Devourng them, wild like horse
She didn't care to bother
Every eye, her own ones too
Cracked by her tombstone teeth
Filling her with ugly foo
From her pighead big to teeth
So her ugliness was frozen
Beauty was no more a but
Feeling lucky to be chosen
She wallowed ugly in the mud

deal? — Michael Zwingli

I can agree to not posting any more lengthy poems.

I can see that your poetry is heart-felt and sincere. It's romantic, which is fine. It is also philosophical, as the OP specifies. But it is not good poetry. — T Clark

Amnity asks: What is wrong with it ? Constructive criticism, any ?

Any specifics concerning "But it is not good poetry?" to make your generalization helpful?

Here is the poem: https://thephilosophyforum.com/discussion/comment/599584

I can agree to not posting any more lengthy poems — PoeticUniverse

:up:

Amnity asks: What is wrong with it ? Constructive criticism, any ?

Any specifics concerning "But it is not good poetry?" to make your generalization helpful? — PoeticUniverse

Your poetry displays/employs a definite "stream of consciousness" style, whether deliberate or accidental. The problem with that, as I have noted above, is that lyric poetry, which truth be told is the type of poetry that Mr. Clark seems to enjoy and so is the proper, tacitly implied focus of this thread, in order to be "good", is best written with great deliberation and attention to meter and, if applicable, to rhyme. That is to say, it should be the opposite of stream of consciousness writing. The composition of a quality lyric poem is something tremendously difficult to achieve. Trust me, as a great lover of poetry, I have tried mightily, only to be confronted with the realization that I simply do not "have the muse". I can write snippets of good lyric poetry, perhaps put together a decent stanza, but in trying for a finished, coherent whole, cohesiveness always flees away from me. This just makes me appreciate the great poets even more.

There are types of poetry other than yours which employ a stream of consciousness style, such as free verse and slam poetry, and I think that they would both become as readily tiring as have your works...especially slam poetry, as I think Mr. Clark might object to the egregious use of profanity employed. Since this thread is tacitly about lyric poetry, I think that there is a limited tolerance for large contributions of other poetic styles, especially where said contributions are of great length.

Another problem that I discern in your poetry, is that it is just too damned intellectual. Rather, it is intellectual without the needed affect. In the poetical enterprise, intellectualism can be other than a good thing...quite detrimental to the end product, if it is not passed through the sieve of affect. Great poetry, even as it relates profound thoughts, does not do so by thinking, it does so by feeling, if that makes any sense. Great poetry presents the intellect filtered through the affect, with the result that it should make us think as a complement to feeling and this is something powerfully difficult to achieve.