Forgive me if I philosophize for a moment, but you see, I’ve never really had a philosophy before. I’ve had religion. It seems that in my life I gave up my right to a philosophy, choosing to blindly adhere to the religion I was given and told to never question.
But as I see it, there can scarcely be any real truth to any word ever written or story told. Words themselves, these configurations of letters, are beguiling in that they have traditionally conveyed a certain meaning. But once upon a time, someone just made them up.
And that’s not to say that any given story or principle in the Bible is not true. But Truth is absolute, and though the Bible may very well be inspired by God, that inspiration has been filtered through egos, governments, time, and language. I don’t think I have enough faith to believe it to be infallible, nor do I have any reason to.
There are words in Spanish that have no English translation. Spanish! Espanol. It’s practically English with more style. And I’m supposed to believe that we have a perfect translation from ancient Aramaic?
It’s a book. And one way or another, like it or not, it was made up. Did God inspire it? Maybe. But when there’s room for doubt, it’s often best to give doubt the key. Not every hole of doubt needs to be filled with a plug of belief. When I don’t know, I don’t need to. I don’t need for that to be the Word of God – I have a relationship with Him. None of my girlfriends have come with an instruction manual, though I often wish they would have. And still, I would rather spend time with a woman than her diary. I would rather spend time with God than with a book about Him.
This is an excerpt of The Rucksack Letters by Steve McAllister. Buy your copy of the eBook on Amazon.com.