Stephen King has chosen to believe in God, which is fine. You can believe whatever you want, especially if you’re worth billions of dollars. But I find myself annoyed when he tries to stake his beliefs on bad evidence and stereotypes about atheists.
I choose to believe it, yeah. I think that – I think that that’s – I mean there’s no downside to that, and the downside – if you say, well, OK, I don’t believe in God, there’s no evidence of God, then you’re missing the stars in the sky, and you’re missing the sunrises and sunsets, and you’re missing the fact that bees pollinate all these crops and keep us alive and the way that everything seems to work together at the same time.
Nope, not missing them at all. Stephen King, on the other hand, is missing 14 billion years of physical history, a grand series of exploding stars and galaxies, the marvelous way light interacts with matter, optical physics, ecology, and co-evolution. Scientists see more deeply than the goofy façade theology paints over reality — that we tear down the cheap canvas backdrop of the bible, with its stars painted on and tricky illusions, to see the true glory of giant spheres of hot plasma exploding in ongoing thermonuclear reactions does not diminish us, but it does mean you’ve failed to see something important.
Everything is sort of built in a way that to me suggests intelligent design. But at the same time there’s a lot of things in life where you say to yourself, well, if this is God’s plan, it’s very peculiar. And you have to wonder about that guy’s personality, the big guy’s personality. The thing is, like, I may have told you last time that I believe in God. What I’m saying now is I choose to believe in God, but I have serious doubts.
Intelligent Design isn’t an explanation, it’s a cop-out, and if you’re reduced to speculating about the personality of the “big guy”, who happens to be an omnipotent super-being who transcends space and time, then you’re already guilty of shrinking your explanation for everything down to the size of your mommy and daddy.
I can forgive the willing suspension of disbelief by someone who makes a living writing about vampires, ghosts, and sewer-dwelling clown-spiders, but come on, it’s like your books: don’t pretend that there is reasonable evidence for these phenomena. Chalk it all up to someone trying to tell a best-selling story.
But if you’re going to persist in this Intelligent Design nonsense, I recommend reading Percy Shelley’s Refutation of Deism. It smacks down all that mucky sentimental nonsense about flowers and sunsets being the domain of god-wallopers hard.