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Wholly mendacity?

Can God lie? Whoa…

Uhmm, I think we should define our terms first, eh? For one thing, it probably makes a lot of difference whether or not you capitalize the ‘G’ in god. The capital ‘G’ usually refers to the biblical God (sorry Biblical God -I figure I should also capitalize anything to do with the Bible or I’ll find myself trolled or something); the small ‘g’ on the other hand is used for those divinities who seem to earn less press. They have a lot of names; I do not know all of them. I do not know all of the God names either, but God was the most common one they used in church when I was a kid. Of course things change -including me: I no longer go to church. But that doesn’t mean I don’t try to keep up with the more contemporary theological constructs; it doesn’t mean I don’t believe in anything…

But as to divine mendacity, I think there may be further clarification of the term required. Perhaps there is a difference between outright lying, and dissimulation (‘deceiving’ is a too honest a word): telling white lies innocently and with the best intentions. And, for that matter, there is also the hesitation of mentioning something that would best be kept off the record for the time being – it would then count as an omission rather than a falsehood, and I’d rather not get into the sins of omission and commission right now, okay?

Of course, in terms of reliability, a question immediately surfaces: how do we know about the rules? I mean who is telling us about them? Is it God/god, or his/her/its representative? And since even a message whispered along a line of people rarely arrives intact (remember that old ‘Telephone Game’ we used to play as kids…? Okay it was pre-internet and I used to play it in 1950ies Winnipeg), then why should we trust the Divine Messenger to get it right, trust that they hadn’t manufactured what was said because they weren’t sure they’d heard it correctly in the first place… or had their own message…?

You see why there might be problems? You see why my parents got phone calls from the Sunday School?

As I saw it, things might work better if there were a whole bunch of gods, so I could pick the one who specialized in the area of my request. And that way, I could switch deities at will and avoid having one getting tired of my demands and hoping I’d just go away and deal with my life on my own. But I realize that was a different time; God/gods in those days were likely used to obedience, or at the very least, trembling words; I don’t think they quite knew what to make of questions from kids. They were probably like most parents and turned deaf ears to constant the babbling, but if they had to answer in loco parentis they employed the standard response: ‘Because I said so…!’

Or at least that’s how I figured God would do it -I never actually got an answer -I mean not in words at any rate. It was more the absence of any reply to a prayer, even if it was performed as per instructions: kneeling with steepled hands beside the bed in a darkened room. I’m not complaining, or anything -any reply you don’t hear is, at the very least, not a lie; it’s hard to be disappointed in a belle absence I figure.

I remember when I was fifteen or so, and at the insistence of my barely religious parents who no doubt felt guilty about their own theological paucity, I was forced to take religious confirmation classes at the neighbourhood church. The minister was busy teaching prayers and catechisms to my silent-mouthed friends, but I kept asking questions, so he called for specialist help, I suppose. At the next class I was assigned a smiling young seminary intern who, I was told, was interested in missionary work.

Jim -he insisted I call him that- was willing to listen to me, and no matter how irreverent the question, seemed happy to engage. In fact, he was the first and only officially sanctioned religious acolyte ever assigned to me -no doubt to simulate the demanding field conditions in which he hoped to be placed eventually.

But I didn’t know any of this at first; I was just curious. I thought I’d approach my questions carefully though, so as not to give him the chance to use the talking points in which I’m sure he’d already been coached. In fact, for several minutes we merely danced around each other with polite introductory conversation. I wanted to lull him into complacency before I tested his mettle. I mean, I was only young and he would try to test mine, I was sure.

“God is supposed to be omniscient, right?” I asked, opting for the ‘G’ as a sign of respect for his chosen career. He nodded; that was an easy one for him, I could see. “And has existed for ever…” A smile slowly blossomed on his lips as he nodded, confident now that I was a pushover. “God is perfect, correct?” He almost blushed with Faith. “God wouldn’t try to fool me?” I added, in an attempt to get him to continue to agree with me. He shook his head in vehement acquiescence.

I hesitated for effect. I wanted him to think I was going to ask what everybody asks: ‘So why is there evil in His world?’ But I surprised him. “Can God lie…?” I asked, trailing my question with an ellipsis to make him wonder if I had inside knowledge, and make him think before he answered. Then I threw an apparent spur of the moment addendum at him. “Remember Descartes’ cogito ergo sum?”

He hesitated before he spoke, and I could almost see the gears turning behind his eyes. “It was an Evil Demon that Descartes thought might try to deceive him -not God! You can believe God, G,” he added, using italics and then my nickname in hopes of bonding with me.

I smiled back at him. “So if God is omniscient and doesn’t lie, or try to deceive people, why would a demon be allowed to do it?”

He sighed; he was back on familiar territory I could tell. “God lets you learn from your mistakes, G. God lets others try to deceive you to test your faith. If you didn’t have free will, then you’d only be a puppet.”

“So then it’s okay if I don’t have any faith?” I tried not to gloat, but I think I twinkled my eyes.

His mouth dropped open briefly, and his smile disappeared behind his lips, until he realized I was just playing with him. “God hopes you will come to your senses, G,” he managed to say, but I could tell I was testing his patience.

“You mean like Pascal and his Wager? Live as though God exists because you risk nothing if it doesn’t, but you gain eternal Life if it does?” I knew the substitution of ‘it’ for ‘He’ would bother him, but I figured this would presage real-life field conditions for a missionary. “I mean, a real God would know I was lying, eh?”

He shook his head slowly and the smile returned. “I can see why they assigned me to you, G,” he said, his eyes alive again. “Thank you,” he said, shaking my hand for some reason. “I’ve really enjoyed this, and I hope they send me back here again.”

They didn’t, but I’d like to think I hadn’t wasted his time; not even my parents seemed bothered or surprised when I withdrew from the confirmation classes. Of course, maybe he’d talked to them; maybe they’d all realized that the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree…

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