Category Archives: ‘Proof’ of God

In the Beginning, our End

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For God so loved the world that when the first humans couldn’t resist the temptation he deliberately put in front of them, he abandoned them, sending them, and every other creature that occupied the Earth, into terminal decline. He loved the world so much that because of this one transgression he introduced death into his not-so-perfect creation. And he didn’t care. He let them and their descendants all the way down to the present day waste away, miserably and painfully, until they were finally extinguished.

He had to adjust other parts of his creation to assist in this process. He changed the purpose of microbes and viruses so that overnight they became the agents by which he could wipe out the humans he loved so much. God knows what the original point of these creatures was, but he adapted and evolved them with his special magic to suit his new, all-loving purposes. He rapidly evolved still others – flies, larvae, scavengers and still more microbes – so that they became waste disposal systems. Without them, the corpses of all the humans and animals he’d condemned to die would lie around forever, cluttering up the Earth.

This is how the Bible tells it anyway (with a bit of extrapolation from me), the linchpin on which rests not only Judaism but Christianity too. Yes, I know it’s an allegory – though there are still many today who take it literally – but either way, it’s a terrible story. Even without an understanding of evolution, not to mention human psychology, it makes absolutely no sense.

The priest or whoever wrote it (it certainly wasn’t Moses) didn’t have special insight into the mind of God (guess why) nor did he know anything about any archetypal human couple. (He wasn’t there, see.) Instead, he saw the sorry state of the world, including how he and his fellow tribesmen lived short, brutish lives that after only about 40 years (if they were lucky) ended in a miserable death. It seemed irreconcilable with his deity who he felt sure must have created a perfect world. How could he not have? Disease, death and decay could only be the fault of humans. They couldn’t possibly be his perfect God’s doing. So he wrote his myth but still couldn’t exonerate YHWH – his neglect and callousness, not to mention the necessity to evolve microbes and the like to carry out his final solution for his so loved creation. He doesn’t come out of it well; he’s ‘loving’ but having unfairly tempted his creation, he takes offence when they ‘disobey’ and condemns them all, including those not yet born, to a short brutish life ending in a miserable extinction. That’s how much he loved the world.

The original author or someone after him tacked the Adam and Eve story onto an existing one about the creation of the Earth and from then on, up to modern times, his myth was accepted as the truth about our origins (and ‘fallen state’). How do we know this? Because this is how myths are created. They are early attempts to explain life, the universe and death, usually set in the distant past and involving the imaginary gods of the culture that produced them. They were never written, inspired or passed down by deities that have never existed; they’re explanatory stories made up by humans, all of them now redundant.

Written By God

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According to researchers, recent analysis of the Bible strongly suggests that it was written by God. I kid you not. The headline above, from Britain’s Daily Mail, proves it.

The researchers in question were ‘a computer scientist at Carnegie Mellon University and a Lutheran pastor in Germany’. Their findings were announced by The Mail in its Science section, conclusive proof that God himself, the mythical creation of an ancient nomadic tribe, personally wrote the Bible! He didn’t inspire it or guide the pens of the men who put it together. Oh no, he actually wrote it.

How can we know this? Because there are way too many coincidences, too much foreshadowing of later events in stories written hundreds of years earlier, and too many fulfilled prophecies for it not to be.

This analysis is of course seriously flawed. Operating within the parameters that the far from objective ‘researchers’ set for it, the project told them exactly what they wanted to hear. Yes, there are some themes and ideas that run throughout the Bible but this is because its various authors were all concerned with the gods, one in particular. This is all they wanted to write about and all that subsequent editors were interested in too.

The Bible is noticeably short on recipes and sports reports because such things were of no interest to the priests and zealots who wrote it. We might have had a more engaging and less divisive book if these men and their later editors had been more interested in sport and cooking, but they weren’t and the Bible reflects this fact. But there’s nothing supernatural about this. The authors were, like many other ancients, concerned with meaning of life stuff and the God myths that seemed to them to explain it. The god the nomadic tribes of the middle east thought explained it best was YHWH. Far from being a consistent presence in the books of what is now the Old Testament, YHWH changes depending on who’s shaping the myths he plays a part in. This is not, incidentally, what theologians are pleased to call progressive revelation.

It’s a reflection of multiple authors writing over long periods of time in various contexts about the same thing. Nonetheless, the way humans relate to YHWH changes from book to book, as do his morals, demands and expectations. If YHWH authored the Bible, the one character he hasn’t got a grip on is himself.

Our computer specialist and German pastor also dredge up the discredited fantasy that Jesus fulfils all the prophecies of the Old Testament. Of course he does; that’s the way he’s written. His story – actually ‘stories’, plural – are rewrites of older myths, particularly those about Moses. Did Moses foreshadow Jesus, foretelling all he’d do hundreds of years before he was even born? Of course not. Did Jesus then knowingly mirror the acts of Moses during his life to prove he was God’s chosen one? Again, of course not; only a fool is taken in by this ruse. There have, alas, been plenty of them, including the present ‘researchers’.

The obvious explanation is the one that makes most sense; the Jesus stories are modelled on earlier myths and snippets from the Jewish scriptures without any of them needing to be remotely historical. The article mentions, for example, the description of the Passover lamb in Exodus 12 and gasps that, yes, centuries later, Jesus is referred to as the ‘Lamb of God’ (John 1:29). It doesn’t seem to enter the researchers’ credulous little heads that the later authors knew Exodus and decided to apply its imagery to Jesus. This is how the trick was done. There was no holy dictation making the connection. They simply applied earlier scriptures to Jesus and write his story around them. We can see this in another example from the report: Matthew used a mistranslation of Isaiah 7:14 as a template for his virgin-conception myth.

Claiming, as the researchers do, that the construction of later stories was God making sure no-one missed the point of the earlier ones is painfully niave.

Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice foreshadows Helen Fielding’s Bridget Jones’s Diary. The details of the two works are, after all, remarkably similar. The only plausible explanation for these similarities is that Jane Austen’s hand must have been guided by a spiritual force to record events almost two centuries before they would occur for real in Helen Fielding’s definitive version of the story. This at least is what these present researchers would conclude if they ran an analysis of the two Mr Darcy books in the same way they have the Bible.

Meanings, Feelings and Escapism.

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This post is a response to an anonymous ‘comment’ by, I think, our camp friend, Don. I have asked him several times to ensure his name is attached to his comments but he persists in submitting anonymously. This is the reason I haven’t published the comment he so generously blessed us with in response to It’s A Small World After All. It has all the hallmarks of a Don sermon: it’s overlong, condescending and redefines words to suit his agenda. Here it is with my comments in blue.

Neal, you’d be right at home with Kafka and Nietzsche. Who is this ‘Neal’ of which you speak?

As you come to the end of the essay – good one by the way – I think you do something that many do; you confuse purpose and meaning. It is easy to do. Even the theologians do it. But you, the great Don Camp, do not because you know better than everyone else. We should all fall on our knees before such a wonderful and wise prophet.

Purpose is what I do or am to do. And I do need that. It is work. I think it is built into us. I feel like I have fulfilled my purpose when (I) serve others.

Meaning is what I receive. So we’re playing semantics again. Despite the fact that meaning and purpose are two sides of the same coin, you want to split them and make them substantively different.

I asked AI to define meaning and it came up with this:

There is no single objective meaning to life; instead, it is a blank canvas. Philosophically, the prevailing view is that you are responsible for defining your own purpose (my emphasis). People generally find meaning through personal connections, pursuing passions, contributing to the world, and embracing the experience of being alive.

Oh dear, even silly old AI ‘confuses’ meaning and purpose. Evidently it needs you, Don, to advise it.

Meaning is what I receive. It is joy. It is what I receive when I sit on a high cliff and watch sea waves crashing upon the rocks below. Or the joy I receive when I stand and survey rolling hills of sage and juniper trees and bunch grass bowing in the warm wind. Or the joy that sweeps over me when I sense God close and am embraced by his goodness. And in all these and many more I feel like this is what I was made for. In all these I feel a oneness and completeness. I could be at peace with these forever. These are subjective feelings, as you inadvertently acknowledge with your use of the word ‘feel’. For some reason you mistakenly interpret your own emotions as externally supplied. You say you ‘receive’ meaning in this way as if it’s transmitted from somewhere outside yourself. It isn’t; what you’re experiencing is ‘emotional reasoning’, mistaking emotions for something that exists beyond yourself.  

Your emotions are not meaning in themselves. Listening to the grass grow or watching the ocean waves for all eternity isn’t going to provide you with anything like meaning. Not that you’ll get the chance, of course, when you’re not going to live forever. How careless of you to confuse feelings with meaning, Don.

But I am brought back too soon to a world that is too much with us. That’s the fleeting nature of emotions, Don. Feeling the world is too much ‘with us’ (incorrect preposition?) is also an emotion, not an eternal truth. What it comes down to is, as Exub1a puts it, preferring your own constructed reality over the beautiful chaos of real life.

I think the two together, purpose and meaning, are what life is about. But they are only satisfying to me when they include forever. Oops! Offer is time limited and excludes forever. Sorry Don. You’re living in a delusion. Without that there is an incompleteness, like the loss when one who was part of that completeness dies. Says who? It’s a non-sequitur to claim that life without delusion is meaningless. Of course, it’s an assertion beloved of religionists who like to tell non-believers their lives are meaningless without their imaginary God. It’s a lie, Don.

Without that I at 81 would be an old man like Ernest Hemingway when the fishing and hunting and women were gone. The only thing left is to end it. Nonsense. You’re very fortunate to be 81. I know 81+ year olds, who enjoy life as I, a mere stripling of 71, do. Even when it is restricted by the infirmities of older age there is still much to live for. If your fantasy is all that makes your life worth living, you are indeed to be pitied (cf. 1 Corinthians 15:19).

 

That’s it, Don. If you want to comment in future your comment must include your name somewhere. Otherwise, straight in the trash it goes. And what would be the purpose of that?

 

Conversion Porn

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You’ll recall, I’m sure, all those stories you were told at church, youth group or summer camp about people, almost always the worst of sinners, who had wonderful, supernatural conversions. They turned from debauched lifestyles to Jesus, who set them on the right path and turned their lives around. I’m sure there were people who experienced something like this, but any overpowering emotional experience can produce similar results. Remember those high-profile conversions though? When Jewish Bob Dylan gave his life to Jesus and made gospel albums. My, how we rejoiced! Nicky Cruz of Run Baby Run fame, saved by Jesus from a life of knife crime. Doreen Irvine, one time prostitute, stripper, heroin addict and witch who turned to Jesus to find redemption, not to mention a best-selling book, From Witchcraft to Christ. Joni Eareckson who broke her neck diving into shallow water and, paralysed, called upon the Lord to help and restore her.

Boy, did we love these stories back in the early 1970s. I can’t remember how many times the church youth group was shown The Cross and the Switchblade, with Eric Estrada as Nicky Cruz and Pat Boone as David Wilkerson, the pastor who converted him. I know a dog-eared copy of From Witchcraft to Christ was passed round too and that we took a bus trip to see Doreen Irvine speak somewhere. Likewise Joni Eareckson’s and her best-seller. (I still have some admiration for Joni, who seems the most genuine of them all, despite making a living from her life-changing accident and subsequent conversion.)

Bob Dylan’s gospel albums? Not so much. Who wants to hear him torturing some less than sparkling songs about Jesus? Certainly not me, not now, not even then. Despite claiming he saw Jesus in a vision, Dylan’s love affair with JC was mercifully brief.

What I didn’t do at the time was ask questions of these stories, particularly whether they were really credible. It’s strange how all of their protagonists got best-sellers out of their miraculous conversions. How most hitched a ride on the Christian speaking circuit, not to mention the movies some of them had made of their stories. It seems a good living could be made from meeting Jesus. But credible? Not so much. Certainly Doreen Irvine’s story has been disputed and debunked. I should have asked too why Nicky Cruz and his gang were the only ones saved out of all of the knife gangs in New York in the 1960s. Was Jesus not interested in the others, nor their potential victims? What about their non-conversion stories? And Joni: why did she have to be paralysed for Jesus to get in touch? Was she really restored by him? Certainly not physically; she remains paraplegic to this day, still clinging to stories of how Jesus saved her. Does she not wonder why he didn’t act a few seconds earlier to prevent her terrible accident? (Apparently not: she ‘rationalises’ her accident as God discipline of her in order to bring her to himself. Nice God you got there, Joni).

I wish I had asked these questions back when I was a gullible teenager subject to the church’s propaganda, instead of lapping up the conversion porn they made sure came my way.

Two Ways of Knowing

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A Christian friend told me recently that there are two ways of knowing: science and faith. I don’t agree with him of course and, while I expressed my scepticism, I didn’t argue. It seemed unlikely he would change his mind.

Faith and science have different, incompatible concepts of reality. The first – and faith was first historically – is that there is an invisible realm beyond this one, populated by powerful beings who influence and manipulate the humans who live here below. This reality, though invisible and largely undetectable, is actually more real than the one we see around us. Glimpses have been had of it, however, by those finely attuned to it, in dreams, visions and messages delivered during heightened emotional states. These visionaries – prophets – then pass on to others what the beings of the hidden realm expect of them. Life is then to be lived according to the instructions so conveyed, which usually consist of attempts to appease these gods by doing their bidding. In return for this obsequience, you’re allowed to believe you will live on after death

The other epistemology – actually the only true epistemology in this instance – is empirical, knowledge-based science. A later arrival, historically speaking, than the gods of the invisible realm. The scientific method is the best tool we have for sifting knowledge from superstition and emotion. These, particularly the latter, often impede us in our pursuit of knowledge, which is why science strives to eliminate them from its investigations, taking an objective approach to evidence. Unfortunately, the findings of science are occasionally contradictory (can a man become a woman or not?) and very often misinterpreted by non-scientists. Politicians and the media frequently over-simplify science’s findings and interpret them in ways that suit their own agendas.

Then there are those who masquerade as scientists but are not. During the pandemic, the UK was locked down for almost two years on the basis of computer predictions of what might happen if certain conditions prevailed. These predictions were taken as a scientific conclusion when in fact they were hypotheses, which by their very nature, could not be tested. Needless to say, they turned out to be drastically wrong. Computer projections are not, in themselves, science.

Science, through its practical offspring, medicine and technology, has undoubtedly been a boon to humankind, in a way religion never has. It has also sometimes been a curse too, inflicting us with, amongst other things, an arsenal of ever deadlier weapons, the means of destroying the environment and Covid itself. Science is a tool and like any tool can be wielded both constructively and destructively.

So, perhaps the gods will save us from our own folly after all. If only they and their invisible realm existed. Alas (or thankfully) they don’t; there is zero evidence for them, and visions, dreams and wishful thinking as reliable means of knowing about them. We’re on our own. Science is the best hope we’ve got, our only sure-fire way of knowing. If only politicians and the media understood it more than they seem to.

You don’t have to imagine: there is no Heaven

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From an Anonymous commenter:

How do you know there is no Heaven or an afterlife? I have no proof Heaven or an afterlife exists either, but where is your proof that they don’t? I don’t think I will ever understand how atheists can be so certain of something that they can’t prove any more than I can understand fundamentalist Christians who say if you don’t accept Jesus Christ as savior you’re doomed to hell. You’ve got something in common. 

And my response:

Thanks for the comment, Anonymous. I’ve copied it here from the old post you added it to.

First, it isn’t up to those of us who question the existence of things like Heaven to ‘prove’ they don’t exist. It’s up to those who claim they do exist to demonstrate that this is the case. A negative proposition such as ‘there is no Heaven’ or ‘there’s no such thing as unicorns’, can’t be ‘proven’ as such, simply because its impossible to present evidence for a no-thing. A positive assertion, however, such as ‘there is a Heaven’, is theoretically demonstrable. But this particular claim never has been. No one has demonstrated where Heaven is (it has to exist somewhere, right?) No-one has ever returned from Heaven with empirical evidence of its existence. No-one has ever survived death to experience Heaven. No evangelical seems to understand that Heaven is exclusively God’s abode and no human will be resurrected into eternal life until the Final Judgement. That’s the Final Judgement Paul and Jesus said was just round the corner but which has never arrived.   

The problem is worse than this, however. There is so little evidence that a god exists, and even less the Christian God (see my previous post, as well as here and here). If there’s no God – and it is highly likely there isn’t – then all contingent beliefs are wiped out: there’s no Heaven, Saviour, Resurrection, Final Judgement, Hell or Eternal Life.

So this is how I know there is no Heaven: it all comes down to probability. The probability there is a Heaven is so infinitesimally small – its highly improbable in fact – that it’s safe to assume there isn’t one.

Despite first impressions suggesting this view has a lot in common with evangelical belief, I think you’ll find it is actually the opposite. While evangelicals accept on faith that Heaven must exist – because the Bible says so – the fact that its existence is both highly improbable and indemonstrable allows for the 99% certainty that it does not.

Finally, Anonymous, no-one other than mathematicians and lawyers deal in proof. Scientists most certainly don’t: they are concerned with evidence and demonstrating something is or is not the case. You’d do best to drop ‘proof’ from your arguments. Unless you can prove something mathematically, you’re not going to provide or find proof, certainly not when contending with religions. Second, how about giving yourself an online name? Commenting as ‘Anonymous’ suggests you don’t have the courage of your convictions and also adds you to the numerous other Anonymous commenters who pop up on blogs. There’s no way of distinguishing between you.  

   

  

In which Howard visits Heaven and talks to Jesus

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I recently finished reading My Descent Into Death and the Message of Love Which brought Me Back by Howard Storm, in which he recounts events surrounding his serious illness in the 1980s. This, he is convinced, caused his death after which some very dark beings, who at first he mistook for deranged medical staff, attempted to drag him off to a very sinister place. Fortuitously, Jesus and his angels were on hand to intervene and rescued hell-bound Howard.

Perhaps in my Evangelical days I would’ve lapped up stuff like this, but not now. A Christian friend – the same one who lent me the book I wrote about here – bought me. I promised I’d read it but what a struggle it was.

Once rescued by Jesus, Howard felt divested of his ego and overcome by love. He underwent a life review and was ever so gently ticked off for all the times he was less than kind. Instead of enjoying this state of bliss, however, Howard took the opportunity to bombard Jesus and the angels with banal questions, which given Howard’s comatose state they had time to answer at great length over many hours (which is how long it takes to read about them.)

When he came round and discovered he wasn’t actually as dead as he thought he was, Howard was a changed man. Once back on his feet, he joined a succession of churches so he could share his experience. When they didn’t fully appreciate how he’d really spent time with actual Jesus, he trained for the ministry himself. He has been a pastor now for several decades, regaling people with the tale of his encounter with fantasy heavenly beings.

Undoubtedly, Storm’s experience was powerfully real to him, so much so it changed his life on his return to reality. As I read My Descent Into Death, however, I couldn’t help but feel I’d heard it all before: in Paul’s account of his imaginary visits to heaven and his encounters with a resurrected Jesus. These were probably not Near Death Experiences (NDEs) – though who’s to say – but, like Storm’s, brain-induced hallucinations.

As scientist Britt Hartley explains in the video sent by koseighty a while back, we now have a much greater understanding of NDEs; they are culturally determined hallucinations induced by the brain as it begins its shutdown. Hartley is clear that under stress the brain is more than capable of creating reassuring visions for itself.

But like Howard Storm’s, Paul’s ‘revelations’ are more than a mere sighting of Jesus. Paul too has a long discourse with the heavenly being conjured up by and in his own brain. He imagines Jesus explains to him how salvation works (in a mighty complicated way) in the same way Howard does. I’m sure this discourse, like Howard’s, did not take place during the visions but were worked out later, over time, as Paul, and Howard, interpreted what the inner-visions ‘must’ have meant.

Oddly though, given they both encountered the same character, it’s difficult to reconcile the messages each was given by him. Storm’s is of a mushy universal love, devoid of the demands and convoluted theology of Paul’s Jesus. Strange that the Jesus Christ who is, according to Hebrews 13:8, the same yesterday, today and forever, has modified and softened his message in the two thousand years between Paul’s and Howard’s revelations. It couldn’t be because Howard’s is the result of his conditioning by a modern American culture that sees Jesus as a shiny, white-robed figure surrounded by angels who dispenses nothing but all-embracing love and happy-clappiness, could it? It surely could.

 

The latest, most accurate translation of 2 Corinthians 12:1-5

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I met this bloke down the pub, oh, I dunno, 14 years ago maybe, and he was telling me how he’d taken a wild trip to another dimension. Yes, really. I believed him and so should you. I mean, why would he lie? He said it was absolutely fab and totally mind-blowing. The incredible beings he met in this other dimension told him that once he sobered up got back to reality he’d have to keep schtum about what he’d seen and heard. So really he couldn’t say much about it. Now, I mean, why would he make up stuff like this? He wouldn’t, right? Specially when people would say he was a nutter if he did. So it really happened, right?

Anyway, I promised I’d write it up for him if ever I started a blog, so I did, way back here. Honest to God, even after all that time I could remember what he told me word for word.

I might though have claimed it was me who’d tripped out in the other dimension (a spliff or two can do that to ya) so I’m here to set the record straight.

You do believe me, don’t you?

Your best mate,

Paul

A New Kind Of Christian

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You’ll be overjoyed to hear that Jordan B. Peterson has a new book out. He’s been busy promoting the not at all pretentiously titled We Who Wrestle With God. He was interviewed about it recently in British magazine The Spectator. The interview has to be read to be believed. The introduction can be read here but the rest, alas, is behind a paywall. Don’t worry though, I’ll supply you with the highlights. The article is a goldmine of stupefying statements about God and how Jordan is the only one who really understands the Bible’s stories. They need ‘arranging’, you see, and their underlying ‘hypotheses’ understood:

The Bible presents a series of hypotheses. One is that there’s an underlying unity that brings together all structures of value. The second claim is that there’s a relationship between the human psyche and that unity and each of the main biblical stories casts that unity in a different light, accompanied by the insistence that, despite those differences, what is being pointed to is one animating principle. As far as I can tell, that’s correct.

You got that? As ol’ Jordan humbly admits, this ‘revolutionary realisation’ is his and his alone. Of course, none of this sort of thing is original; the idea that characters, events and stories in the Old Testament prefigure realities in the New is as old as the hills. Typology can be imposed on any set of myths. The gospel writers and Paul did it, seeing Jesus prefigured in Jewish scripture and inventing stories about him so that he complied with these earlier types. There’s nothing ‘revolutionary’ about spotting this, but like so many before him, Peterson gets it back to front and falls, quite literally, for the oldest trick in the Book. Continue reading →

What to make of the Supernatural

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When I was young, about 8 or 9, I was frightened of creatures that invaded my bedroom in the dark: monsters under the bed, devils in human form lurking in the shadows, that kind of thing. One night when I couldn’t sleep through fear, it came to me that if these creatures were real then so too were the super-heroes I loved: Superman, Batman and the Legion of Super-Heroes! Now, I knew these DC characters didn’t really exist and so I reasoned (I think pretty well for a 9 year old!) that that neither did their evil counterparts, the monsters and devils I was scared of. With this realisation, the horrors were vanquished. Shadows were just shadows. There was nothing scary under the bed.

Somewhere in a recent comment, either here or elsewhere (I can’t remember which nor can I find it), someone informed me that I make the a priori assumption that the supernatural isn’t real.

The term a priori is used with abandon by people who don’t necessarily know what it means so here’s how The Oxford English dictionary defines it:

relating to or denoting reasoning or knowledge which proceeds from theoretical deduction rather than from observation or experience.

I’ll take that. The only way one can assess the supernatural is through reasoning and deduction. There’s no independent evidence for it that can be considered; no external phenomenon to observe and analyse; no science, history or philosophy books that take it seriously or even consider it. I have no personal experience of the beings that supposedly inhabit the supernatural realm; no gods, angels, spirits, demons, ghosts or goblins have manifested themselves in front of me. I’ve never experienced magic, spells or exorcisms, at least not ones that can’t be explained far more convincingly in other ways. So what does that leave in terms of evidence?

Fantasy stories and religious texts. These are the only sources of information about the supernatural, and at least one of them is entirely fictional. Fantasy stories are by definition fiction. They are made up. Similarly, religious works are the products of minds from before the advent of science; explanations of the world and human experience that their creators could construct only in terms of their localised, pre-scientific superstitions. No-one outside of those who’ve chosen to believe in them takes them seriously, which is why their claims are never considered in serious science or history books (Ken Ham’s ‘scientific’ publications are nothing of the sort; they’re religious texts masquerading as science.)

That the supernatural has to be argued for, from an assumption that it does exist, is clear indication it does not; such powerful beings would surely be apparent in the real world, just as they are in Stranger Things (a fiction in case you’re not sure.) No-one has so far demonstrated that the supernatural is real. It is possible to argue it is but only through reliance on the same religious texts, the authority and reliability of which is in dispute on such matters

So, do I make an a priori assumption the supernatural doesn’t exist? Yes, in the sense I take it a priori that it doesn’t. Is this an assumption? No, it is a conclusion arrived at through an assessment of the evidence – there isn’t any: consideration of accounts of the supernatural reveals they’re fictional or prescientific, while personal experience of the apparently supernatural is better explained by rational means. I don’t therefore assume the supernatural doesn’t exist, I deduce it does not.

Actually, I did this when I was 8 or 9.