White Bear

This was inspired by Charlie Brooker’s Black Mirror. In case anyone hasn’t seen it, spoiler alert.

If you were to wipe the memory of an event from your mind, has it still happened? Clearly, yes, because there’s (assuming you’re not a total nihilist) still an objective world out there in which events are recorded. Other people continue to have the experiences in their own memory and will behave accordingly.The record of the event is engrained on the world in terms of physical evidence and will manifest in the physical world accordingly. Even if you wipe out the physical evidence, in principle the chain of causality exists and can be traced back to show an event happening.

But, did it happen to you?

One might naively say “yes” for the same reasons above. Except, consider who you are. How do you want to define “you” in this sense. Is it the physical atoms that compose your body, or the emergent patterns that compose your mind? These aren’t the same thing, that much is obvious.

If it’s just the atoms, then it would suffice to trim someone’s finger nails and place these cuttings in prison for their crime of theft. If it’s just atoms, with no emergent properties, then we would string a handgun up with a noose and hang it, not the person who pulled the trigger, for murder. If it as just the atoms, then even if we wanted to imprison a human body, we would let them out at most a year or two later when every cell in their body had cycled through and the original molecules had decomposed and been replaced. Red blood cells last three months at least, taste buds on the order of days. A life in prison wouldn’t last long under these parameters.

If you, like most sensible people, accept that the mind is the pattern caused independently of the material, then from the perspective of justice, it makes no sense to punish just the material itself. Hence why we don’t release people from prison after they’ve scrubbed a certain number of dead epidermal cells from their skin and we don’t punish firearms for shooting.

So, if you erase an event from someone’s memory, does it make sense to punish them for it?

In White Bear, our (initially nameless) main character is revealed to not really be inhabiting a weird world where everyone is brainwashed (well, they are, but that’s a different point), but is actually living out a form of punishment. Her memory is erased each night and she’s made to relive an episode based on the experience child murder victim that she filmed on a camera phone. This is only revealed at the end, after her confusing day being chased and tormented. Her entire experience is reduced to being an amusement park, and the people following her are actually visitors wanting to see this odd form of justice up close. Her mind is wiped at the end of the day and the whole thing starts fresh once more with no clue of the revelation of what she had previously done until it was all over.

But with her memory erased, is justice even being served? Is the person who was complicit in a murder actually being punished? Such a thing, as strange a sci-fi concept as it is, might sound desirable to some people – wouldn’t they all like a punishment to fit the crime like the rhetoric-spewing table-thumpers they are? – but your memories are a key part of your personality, your experience and your mental state. Without those memories, or with different memories in place, you’re not the same person. What happens in White Bear is that the people all geared up to punish a murderer were, in reality, only punishing an empty shell. Using the proper terms, they’d explicitly removed the mens rea prior to punishment. That makes the punishment unjust. It makes it pointless. I’m pretty sure Charlie Brooker is smart enough to know that this is the feeling people should take from it, but probably don’t.

If anything, considering the inferences she made (and behaviour exhibited) upon waking up with no memory, they’re punishing a very caring person and a very good person – not an evil person or a maniac. There’s no sense of teaching anyone anything, or making them learn. There’s no sense of improvement made anywhere. Only a sense of sating an animalistic inability to separate the emergent mind from the shell that carries it.

You start White Bear thinking that people have been brainwashed into voyeurs by a mysterious alien force. But really, they’ve been brainwashed by their own bloodlust for punishment at all costs – even if that cost is the entire point of punishment and repentance. It’s the people who watch White Bear and think “I wish we could really do that to people” that the episode takes a long, firm, judgemental stare at.

Dumbest man alive?

So, I decided to subscribe to Ray Comfort’s Facebook page just to see if he can keep up his act rather than just save it up for his occasional documentary. (The title of this is something I’ve ripped from PsyGremlin’s blog, which examines Comfort’s documentary on John Lennon up close, and shows that it has next to nothing to do with John Lennon)

Anyway, the one piece of Comfort’s evangelism I want to address is this one:

Most atheists despise the very thought of “faith,” not realizing that they exercise it many times each day. If you want to see some faith in action, watch what happens at the lights at any busy intersection. Drivers speed up to a red light trusting (having faith) in their brakes. It hardly enters their trusting mind that if the brakes fail, they are almost certainly dead. Watch them take off as soon as the light turns green, trusting (having faith) that the lights are working correctly, and that the alternative light isn’t stuck on green. Their trust is so great (their faith) that no one is running a red light, that they don’t even look in that direction to see if the way is clear. Many trusting drivers have taken off in faith, and have tragically gone to meet their Maker. Watch unthinking pedestrians trust (have faith) the on-coming driver’s brakes and his ability to use them, as they step out in front of his car and trust (have faith) the light when it says “Cross now.”

That atheists somehow profess “faith” is one of the most common tactics found in the evangelical playbook. It’s a textbook tu quoque fallacy, and indeed is likely to be the single most common version of it you can find. It’s an odd accusation, though. Isn’t faith supposed to be virtuous? To simply believe because faith tells you to? So, clearly, atheists must be virtuous to express such faith. Or maybe not.

Faith or inference?

Comfort here is using a very broad and unusual version of the term “faith”. Now, this in itself is fine. “Faith” is just five letters arranged in a certain way; so long as you’re consistent you can define it to represent whatever you want, but as we’ll see in a moment, this can have unwanted consequences.

Faith usually means, by most people’s definition, as believing that something is true without evidence that it’s true. You take it on faith that a particular god exists, for instance. You take it on faith that this god wants you to wash your toes a certain number of times before praying, or to not pull and levers on an arbitrary day of the week, that sort of thing. There’s no actual evidence for this. There are a few books dictating it, but there are books that are testament to the existence of Gandalf and Harry Potter, this says nothing. There is no physical law of the universe  Given this understanding, Comfort’s accusation that drivers profess “faith” in their brakes is plain wrong. Brakes are designed to stop cars. Brakes are tested to make sure they work. They must pass tests of tolerances against ware and tear. Their expected life time is known and replacements occasionally made. At the very least, a driver approaching a red light will have repeatedly used their brakes on the drive so far. This is no guarantee that they’ll work next time – but this is much in the same sense that we can’t guarantee that the sun will rise tomorrow because of the finite potentials for alien invasions destroying the Earth or spontaneous quantum death of the universe.

To be slightly technical, expecting your brakes to work when approaching a red light isn’t an expression of faith on behalf of a motorist or a pedestrian, but a reasonable inference based on past data.

But in the world of Ray Comfort and his rather bizarrely gullible followers, there’s no room for such subtlety.

A poor definition

Let’s assume for this second part that Comfort’s wider definition of “faith” to encompass reasonable inferences holds true. As I said, this is fine. You can define words how you like so long as you’re both consistent and let people know that bellabubing your flapdoodle isn’t quite as dirty as it sounds.

The question then remains: “so fucking what?”

Simply put, the fact that Ray cheekily expands his use of faith to encompass reasonable inferences doesn’t change the fact that they are, in fact, reasonable inferences. Even if you described the faith Comfort has in a God that is curiously absent in the real-life smiting or healing business (or has aim so terrible as to be completely indistinguishable from random, deity-free natural disasters) as “faith” and described the inference a driver makes about their brakes also as “faith”, they’re qualitatively different things. This doesn’t prove anything. It certainly causes a massive problem for what “faith” is because if trusting that your brakes (that you’ve observed to work previously) is faith, then is there an action, or belief, or factoid, that would not be counted as faith?

Without an example of this, the entire concept fails to have any meaning. It’s like using the word “stuff” to refer to absolutely anything in the universe. It’s nice and all, but it doesn’t narrow ourselves down and you’ve lumped in a cubic lightyear of hydrogen gas in a nebula with a coffee pot – it’s a pretty absurd abuse of language. To rip an example from Scott Clifton, we use words like “small” because we can define them in contrast to things that are “big”. If things weren’t bigger nor smaller, then the concept of size wouldn’t exist.

By the same token, if Ray Comfort insists that atheists have faith, and insists that drivers have faith… then it becomes a useless concept to use. He proves nothing, and indeed weakens his own ability to use the word “faith” anything.


For the sake of completeness, it’s worth pointing out that Comfort continues a little more after that paragraph:

With these thoughts in mind, it’s important to know that when a Christian says to have faith in God, we’re not saying to believe that He exists. That’s axiomatic. We are saying to exercise the same trust we have each day in things and in people. The difference being that God is utterly faithful because He cannot lie. You can trust Him to never let you down. Ever.

At first glance it may seem to address some of the issues described above. It’s just an analogy at the end of the day. But does it really? The analogy is a bad one. The situations are comparable for all the reasons espoused above. When he states that God will never let you down ever, he’s moving faith back to being an absolutist position. He gives no room for error or contingency as a reasonable inference allows for. He’s trying to evoke a sense of trust, and then yank it away to replace it with faith. It’s a good old fashioned semantic switcheroo, which is what makes him a bullshit merchant.

Who am I?

A while back, someone down the pub asked me if I had figured out who I was before I got married – the silent implication, of course, being that they had a particular cynicism towards long-term relationships and so viewed it as something I clearly rushed into and will inevitably regret (or maybe that’s projection, I dunno, but it’s a reasonable inference when you meet a twenty-something divorcee). I made a fairly wry reply along the lines of “yes, I did”, something about the internet, and moved on. I’d never really given much thought to the question of “who I am” up to that point.

More recently, I have given it some thought. And that thought has lead me to the conclusion that it is a totally bullshit question.

Really, what is it even asking? If you don’t know this, you can’t really generate an answer. At least give me a sample paper with some relevant answers here. Who am I? Is it my name – no, that’s just a label. Is it my occupation – no, because you’re not your job (unless you are, or whatever). It’s not my gender, sex, race, sexuality – those are just random attributes associated with yourself, they’re not “yourself”. It’s not my hobbies, clubs I’m involved with, political opinions – those are things I “do”, not “am”. Scratch those off the list of reasonable answers and you’re not left with much.

Now, at this point I could just say “E-Prime” and have done with it, but really that’s something else entirely. After all, we’d still want to figure out what the question is asking by phrasing it in E-Prime. As pointed out above, the question certainly isn’t asking for a list of attributes. E-Prime could help us tell when a casual “Who are you?” can easily be answered with “Agents Mulder and Scully, FBI”, but that oh-so-deep-and-meaningful version renders out less well in it.

So what could it mean? Does it ask you to describe your “essence”? Perhaps, but even then you’ve replaced bullshit with more bullshit. What the hell does “essence” even mean? It’s like some form of dualism, but more abstract and more full of itself. It’s asking for something more detailed than just a list of attributes and more qualitative than quantitative, requiring some thought and discussion rather than some box ticking, and yet it has to be simple and fundamental to you, and you alone. It’s supposed to capture the thing that makes you “you”, and not someone else. In this respect, the question is more like “who are you?”, not “who are you?”. Still, this doesn’t help us answer it.

In truth, there is no one right answer to it and there’s no one right interpretation of the question. The best we can do is say that who I “am” is really a big detailed description of my attitudes, behaviours, thoughts, opinions, all across a range of subjects, that aren’t just regurgitating what someone else has told you to think, that describes how I act and react and what I will think at any given moment for any given situation because that’s certainly going to be at least consistent. This is what people are asking for; and answering this is the only response that makes sense because all of that sort of stuff satisfactorily describes who you are.

This brings me back to the original point of someone hoping that I “discovered who I am” before a fairly arbitrary marker in my life – and it brings up why the question is full of even more bullshit than it appears at first sight.

Nothing in that list of opinions, ideas, attitudes or behaviours is fixed any more than the atoms in my body are fixed and unchanging. I “am” not the same person I was when I got married. I “am” not the same person I was when I was asked that by some randomer in a bar somewhere a year and a bit later. I hardly consider an opinion or attitude of mine valid if it was written more than a few months ago. I’m happy with this constant change. If I was going to have the same opinion of myself a year from now, there would be absolutely no point in living. I may as well consider myself at the peak of personal development and throw myself under a train because there’d be literally nothing else to do.

So why would I ever need to figure out “who I am” at any one point in time? Why would I even consider that even a valid thing to attempt? Who I am is whatever is sitting in front of you right now. It’s what I do, it’s what I think, it’s how I behave and how I react. Check back in five minutes to see if there’s been any improvement.

The one and only problem I have with the moderately religious…

Generally, I have no trouble with the moderately or liberally religious. Really. Contrary to popular opinion of me, simple belief doesn’t bother me, and I don’t care what you believe. It’s only what you then do with it and how you action it that I object to. Oh, and mostly why people believe, as that’s usually far more interesting.

So, people trying to say that the Earth is 6000 years old and claiming this ludicrous assertion is legitimate science – that pisses me off. People claiming moral absolutist authority (regardless of their inconsistencies) for their One True Religion – that hacks me off. People using religiously derived traditions as an argument against anything – I will not suffer such ideas to live. Anyone who does this is someone I consider fair game to attack their beliefs. Because, frankly, if you’re making statements that can be proven wrong, then people should try to prove them wrong – ideas that stand up to that sort of treatment are good ideas.

The liberally religious fall into this far less so. They more or less get on with it. You can have a sensible and grown up conversation with them on the subject. They’ll most likely view their religion as guidance rather than didactic statements of absolute authority. They probably won’t restrict their respect and friendship along religious lines. Perhaps they’ll even use their beliefs as a force for objective good, like helping people, rather than wasting their time on telling everyone how immoral homosexuality is and how women should shut up and stay indoors because… because… well, just because.

Hell, I know a couple of liberal/moderate Christians who would happily engage in a bit of creationist bashing for the same reasons I do – namely that they’re all scam artists trying to sell cheaply produced books and DVDs to the masses just to keep them stupid enough to keep buying those books and DVDs and throwing their money at megachurches.

Guys, continue with that. It’s great.

But… and this is a tiny little “but” in the grand scheme of things… let’s switch track from actionable beliefs to actual truth value.

Not actual factual truth value, but perceived truth value (if, of course, you care to discern a difference).

I presume that if you believe something, you believe it’s true. Well, Daniel Dennett did coin the term “belief in belief”, but the point of that is that no one ever actually thinks they merely have “belief in belief”. If you think it’s true, then, from your perspective it is true. You treat it as true. It’s an “I believe this chair is here so that when I sit down on it I won’t crash my arse onto the floor” sort of true. Well, I presume it is, because if it isn’t you need to have strong words with yourself.

So, when it comes to believing that a specific religion is true, then the only thing consistent with that is acting like it. At least actively converting others and warning them of the dangers of hell fire and so on. You need to go out there and really believe it. After all, this is your immortal soul you’re dicing with here considering what religions are about. But not only your own soul, but everyone else’s – and surely you’re morally obligated to save others. That means preaching, that means evangelism… that means being a disrespectful dick to everyone who doesn’t think like you.

The moderately/liberally religious don’t do that. They’re not dickish about that. They respect other beliefs. They think that others are entitled to their own beliefs. They’ll even have inter-faith platforms where they’ll be nicey-nice to each other in a constructive way. Some might even go so far as to hold the belief that all religions are right. Hey, I’ve heard that said on several occasions although I still have no idea how it’s internally consistent.

So, here’s my problem. Again, the one and only problem, and a tiny one in the grand scheme of things. If you think that all religions are valid, and can coexist, and you can generally live-and-let-live with differences, and you’re not being a preachy evangelical dick about it… doesn’t that mean that what you believe is somewhat arbitrary? If a vicar can stand next to an imam without shouting “You’re going to hell! Repent now sinner!”… doesn’t it say that the specifics of what you believe doesn’t really matter? If you can fall asleep a Christian and wake up as a Hindu then, from your view… has anything really changed about reality?

If so, and it doesn’t really matter what you believe, what’s the point in even having those beliefs?

Nanotechnology ate my hamster

Nanotechnology is great. New materials for advanced displays, molecular recognition for more selective catalysis, or new drug delivery pathways through dendrimers and nanoparticles. And there is the cool property of gold nanoparticles being red rather than yellow (with a size dependence on colour) due to the differences in light interactions at macro and microscopic scales.

Except few want to hear about that stuff. Make no mistake, nanotechnology is very real science – but it would be called “chemistry”, “biotechnology” or “materials science” if it wasn’t for the imagination-capturing concept of nanoscopic robots presented in decades of science fiction books and television.

The dream is simple: build a small enough intelligent robot and it will be able to manipulate not just pieces of plastic and metal as they do in a production line for cars, but atoms and molecules themselves. The possibilities of this are endless. Any molecule can be made with ease and without thought for a retrosynthesis process. Any part of the body can be repaired with just a computer program. Or they can just go wild and eat the entire Earth, converting its entire mass to a lifeless grey goo.

We’re all gonna die.

Trouble is, taken literally this pipe dream is far from realistic. Not far from realistic in the sense that such abilities are more 500 years away than 50 years away, but far from realistic in the sense of “chemistry doesn’t work that way” and “physics doesn’t work that way”. It’s therefore unsurprising that such robotic nanotech is popular with people like Eric Drexler and Ray Kurtzweil – both singularity-obsessed engineers with no formal experience or training in how molecules work in real life. It’s not that these people lack the intelligence to fathom this (far from it) it’s just that they seem to have little first-hand appreciation for the real difficulties their ideas have to overcome. In a way, they’re like theologians discussing, with great depth and clarity, how many angels can dance on the head of a pin without much thought to whether angels even dance in the first place.

Far from nanoscopic problems

Nanotechnology is said to be a blend between biochemistry and modern engineering. This is a fair description, but overly simple in many ways. Nanoscopic robots have to cope with conditions that have absolutely no similarity to the macroscopic world we experience around us because of the change in scale. A bacteria can propel itself through water with a measly flagellum, while a ocean liner cannot, simply because at the bacteria’s scale, moving through water is more akin to burrowing through wet sand than swimming through easily parted waves. In organometallic chemistry, parts of molecules fall on and off all the time, often permanently, in direct competition with the solvent they’re in. While our own arms don’t necessarily come on and off so rapidly because we have many more bonds holding them together. More often than not, this sort of thing leads to a massive solvent-dependence on the reaction – what works in dichloromethane doesn’t necessarily work in water. Solvent molecules need to move out of the way before any reactivity can happen, and this can hinder any chemical reaction far more than you might expect if the molecule was on its own. Macroscopic machines don’t experience this; air simply moves out of the way with ease. If you want to think of a nanobot as something like a car assembly plant, imagine filling the entire production line from floor to ceiling with sticky gravel and you have a better idea of the environment such bots would work in.

No, you don’t get it. You are still in a pretend world where atoms go where you want because your computer program directs them to go there.

Next is the physical work they have to do. Chemical bonds take a lot of energy to break. This is why you can happily have oxygen and hydrogen floating around with each other without a problem until you heat it up with a flame. It’s why we’re constantly developing new catalysts and new processes to boost efficiency. Without this, few chemical reactions are straightforward. A nanobot would have to be able to overcome this by being able to stabilise all the reactive intermediates that simply don’t want to be in that exposed, half-built, state and will tear at anything that comes close in order to become stable. If thermodynamics says that involves tearing the nanobot apart, so be it; giving it clever programming won’t stop nature doing that. The only thing stopping oxygen eating away the steel in a conventional machine is its relatively huge size – at the nanometre scale, reactivity is much faster, and a metal nanobot would be oxidised and denatured fairly quickly.

But let’s finally wind down with some of the practicalities of how a magic nanobot is even supposed to know what it’s doing. For a single cell, its operation is chemical. Certain stimuli happen here, the cell releases a certain chemical there. It all works. For proteins and enzymes, these work as very specific catalysts that facilitate chemical reactions. And these can be very specific. While many chemical or transition metal catalysts may react with, say, “any alcohol”, an enzyme can pin its reactivity down to a specific kind of alcohol molecule. This is one of the reasons that propanol and methanol are more poisonous to us humans than ethanol (which we can drink in much larger quantities before killing ourselves). Our bodies can tell the difference even though, chemically speaking, they’re remarkably similar chemical compounds. Loading a program onto something so small is also an issue. What can store the information and how does it process it? A chemical will just move according to the chemical environment it’s in, getting some bonds to rearrange at that scale is infinitely more complicated than just sending a pulse of electricity down a macroscopic copper wire.

A nanobot would have to play at being a combination between Maxwell’s Demon (to be able to identify chemical compounds by some magic process) and the Incredible Hulk (to have the energy to pull molecules apart without being destroyed itself)  in order to perform its supposed function of universal molecule builder. This is a shame, because real nanotechnology can work some wonders, but not miracles.

Oh, Eric…

A quick summary of the Herp-a-Derp from Eric Hovind’s Facebook page. As always, this wouldn’t be nearly as interesting if Hovind was just a regular idiot spouting in the comments section. Remember, he’s in charge of a fairly big evangelical ministry; you expect him to be well informed.

RT @richardwmnelson: “Giraffes provide no established evidence for the mode of evolution of their undeniably useful necks.” Stephen Gould

Here, surprise-surprise, Eric is retweeting a quote mine of Stephen J Gould. Gould was a frigging evolutionary biologist, paleontologist and science historian. Does anyone think he’d say something to the effect that evolution has no evidence as this quote mine suggests? Raise your hand if you think he would. Anyone? No? Good. Don’t be stupid.

The truth is far more interesting. Gould is making reference to the “browser” hypothesis – basically the just-so Sunday-School version of how giraffes evolved a long neck. The idea is simple; giraffes with long necks can reach higher trees to browse for food, so ones with longer necks survive. It’s textbook evolution by natural selection. Literally textbook. But actually examining some evidence, such as the fact that young giraffes are far shorter than their adult counterparts, or the fact that during some seasons giraffes browse for food on far lower shrubs, suggests that this explanation is bollocks. A competing hypothesis is that giraffe necks come from sexual selection, and are a side-effect of the “necking” fights that males engage in. This stuff is interesting, and is science adjusting its theories to suit evidence – i.e., working perfectly fine – but is far too complex a topic for Hovind and the sycophants who follow him. It certainly doesn’t invalidate natural selection.

RT @pastorlocke: Humanism says that God is good because he does stuff for us. Christianity says God is good simply because He’s God.

Now, the easy route to this would be to ask what retarded dictionary Eric yanked this definition of humanism from. It has little similarity to anything humanists would actually say. Humanism is a philosophy that suggests you can derive morality (how to act “right” and how to act “wrong”) from purely a human perspective. Note, the mere fact that you can even attempt to do this is a big kick in the balls for moral absolutism. It really doesn’t say anything about God doing stuff for us. Indeed, being a fairly atheistic form of philosophy it doesn’t have much to say about God at all.

But the second part, where “Christianity says God is good simply because He’s God”. That’s something else. This is called the euthyphro dilemma. The short version goes like this: is God good because God wants to be good, or is good good because God says so. If the former then morality is external to God, and can be skipped out entirely (hence we can derive humanistic morality) – God is just a messenger. If the latter, then we run into a lot of problems because God is very clearly written in the Old Testament as a complete and utter prick, and so morality becomes some arbitrary nonsense that doesn’t even mean anything useful to us. What interest should we have in being “good” if this arbitrarily defined “good” thing involves endorsing genocide or slavery? If you have 30 minutes to spare, Scott Clifton explains the entire thing nicely here.

How would YOU answer these questions?
Are any of the people in this video ‘real’ Christians?
Why or why not?

This is in reference to an overly long and mostly boring vox-pop video where people answer such hot-potato questions about what football team God supports.

This one is remarkably easy to deal with: No True Scotsman, for the love of your God, Eric, look it up. This is fallacies 101, here. Does it matter if these people aren’t your “real” Christian – what interest to they have in being held under that definition if this is how you treat them as people?

#Atheists. Here is a revealing question. If I could prove the God of the Bible exists, would you worship Him? See, not an evidence issue.

Now, putting aside him pre-supposing an answer in order to make a snide remark (because I do this all the frakking time), the problem here is that there is a massive difference between the proposal “God exists” and the proposal  “God should be worshipped”. No, really, there is a huge difference there. Is God worthy of worship? Do we get something for worship? Why does God even want worship, and why does it matter? If God has such an ego, then why is this thing still worthy of worship? The questions on this can come thick and fast, and have nothing to do with evidence presented for God’s existence. Indeed, Eric is right to say that it’s not an “evidence” issue, but not quite in the way he thinks it is. Go on, prove it to me (in a way that also can’t arbitrarily be switched around to prove that I should worship Allah instead) that your God exists, I’ll wait. If it’s managed sufficiently, I will probably respond with “oh, fancy that”. Is that a problem for atheists? No, they’re just going to adjust their beliefs and suck it up. Is that a problem for believers? Only if they conflate the need to assert the truth value of their belief system with the need to spread a specific doctrine about it – in short, for a majority with a working brain it’s not a problem.

The irony I do want to point out is that the Hovind’s are massively right-wing in their political views. They think that the world doesn’t owe you anything for merely existing. Consider not-a-doctor Kent Hovind’s rant about the economy, for instance. You exist, but you’re owed nothing because of it. So the question we need to ask is this: if God exists, why do we owe him anything?

#atheists Do you get upset with how much the players in the #SuperBowl give thanks to God?

Well, no. But someone is clearly pissed off with the concept of atheists even existing. Don’t worry, you might grow up one day, Eric.