bullethead
Of the hard cast variety
Again I agree.
Things certainly could be found that would change our current understanding but for right now I am going with what we got.
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Thoughts? From people with non-sheeple brains
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Again I agree.
Things certainly could be found that would change our current understanding but for right now I am going with what we got.
SemperFiDawg
Political Forum Arbiter of Truth (And Lies Too)
Despite all our differences it's kind of amazing that on a base level our views are not that very much apart. You think energy has always existed. I do too. I just attribute it to a Being.
StriperrHunterr
Senior Member
Same here, I accept it as the best fit model, but nothing more.
StriperrHunterr
Senior Member
That's only the result of looking at it from human eyes.
I'm not trying to insult, but if you step out of your human perspective and look at it, what do you think the odds are, given the enormity of the universe and all the wacky conditions that exist within it, that the Creator would be like us?
bullethead
Of the hard cast variety
I knew that in our first posts with each other.
I stopped at energy because I could not find anything beyond energy.
I could attribute energy to being whatever I wanted but it would just be speculation.
I do not find it at all odd that a being would attribute everything else to another being. I just have not found it to be true.
ambush80
Senior Member
Because logic doesn't allow for the supernatural.
bullethead
Of the hard cast variety
Precisely.
Our planet is 4.5 billion years old and only recently(on the earth's timeline) have humans existed on it. It took an awfully LONG time for us to inhabit a planet that was made just for us.
I feel that we are a product of the planet and the timing of our existence was right for the particles, chemicals and conditions at hand.
ambush80
Senior Member
"The God of triangles has three sides."
--Old Yiddish Proverb
Israel
BANNED
Perhaps think less of numerical oneness than unity. Not to the exclusion of numerical oneness, nor to the annihilation of individual identity.
But one cannot explain this anymore than this could be explained.
I am crucified with Christ, nevertheless...I live, yet not I but Christ lives within me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.
God is one...
One may at once experience passenger, spectator, and participator...just not originator. But I can't explain that either...it is a remarkable place of rest. .
But one cannot explain this anymore than this could be explained.
I am crucified with Christ, nevertheless...I live, yet not I but Christ lives within me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.
God is one...
One may at once experience passenger, spectator, and participator...just not originator. But I can't explain that either...it is a remarkable place of rest. .
bullethead
Of the hard cast variety
Always lots of words for not being able to explain.
WaltL1
Senior Member
Or even understand it. So why do it?
How does one who doesn't understand it and doesn't believe it then pass it on to someone else?
Israel
BANNED
Yeah, I know.
Life can't be explained. Just lived.
Life can't be explained. Just lived.
StriperrHunterr
Senior Member
s o c k s
bullethead
Of the hard cast variety
Now that is more like it....it has a very non-believer ring to it.
SemperFiDawg
Political Forum Arbiter of Truth (And Lies Too)
Not sure that's true.
SemperFiDawg
Political Forum Arbiter of Truth (And Lies Too)
No offense taken. Not sure it's possible to divorce our thought from being homocentric any more than it is to accurately think outside the constraints of time. Both seem to be innate to our make-up. What other perspective could/can we accurately use. We're the only living beings that we know of with our level intelligence.
As far as the odds of something/someone else being out there, to my understanding the odds of there being another planet out there capable of supporting life ( and I may be mistaken on the exact wording of this) are one in one hundred trillion, trillion, trillion.
I think the appearance of design is a valid argument for a designer and one that can't be summarily dismissed without a stronger explanation.
bullethead
Of the hard cast variety
I think you are very mistaken on the odds of another planet being out there that is capable of supporting life.
A carpenter is a designer or creator but he didn't make the molecules that make the wood. He just forms it into the table.
The randomness and chaos in the universe does not lend well to well designed.
We know the molecules and particles and atoms that came from the Big Bang are the make-up of everything in us and our universe.
Adding a god to the mix just complicates it or is an attempt to try to understand what is not understood. Same goes for your next comment of : "God created/designed the Big Bang".
It is a total assertive and assumed statement.
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bullethead
Of the hard cast variety
http://www.space.com/15433-alien-life-red-dwarfs-habitable-planets.html
http://discovertheodds.com/the-odds-of-life-on-another-planet/
and those are but a few a quick search brings up.
http://discovertheodds.com/the-odds-of-life-on-another-planet/
and those are but a few a quick search brings up.
ambush80
Senior Member
Israel
BANNED
Oh, now we are talking odds?
Men tell me that of the gazillion (ok, some slightly smaller number) little swimmers doing the intrauterine freestyle, the "one" that won, of which, together with the egg makes me uniquely "me"...well, I don't have to go to far with all the other permutations for my dad and mom to be, his dad and mom, my mom's dad and mom, etc, etc.
Yeah, men can say that, and men might even say "hey, you're supposed to be somebody else!" But, hey, I get that a lot, (and I trust it might even be familiar to some others) from almost everybody except One.
He's the one who affrims, confirms, and even when needed, re-affirms...I am not only here...but supposed to be. And I am what I am.
I understand this man:
Hope had become very foreign to him.
There was a time in his youthful and sophomoric musings that he’d considered the accidents of his being. He’d ruminated over the biological imperatives thrust upon him by such simple things as spermatic motility. Who would he have been, and to what degree would he share consciousness with the person that might have been thrust down the birth canal if some other contender had won that race in the opposite direction those nine months before? And he understood that “he” wouldn’t then be, at all.
The mature egg that donated half his identity would have remained the same, but who was potentially swimming besides him in that intrauterine freestyle? More than simply brothers or sisters, but less or more than him. And it really wasn’t “him” swimming, only the potential for him, or in a very poor analogy, half of him.
He was the conjugation of both the swimmer and the target, and could not be conceived as one or the other. No pun intended. If indeed that seemingly fated swimmer (Binder knew as Binder) had veered up the left fallopian tube when the prize lay in the right, who would be? Would he be? Would she be? And ultimately what would the consciousness of “that one” perceive of this one?
It had long since been settled somewhere deep inside Binder that he might have been someone else. It seemed for him now that somewhere the real winner was robbed of his victory, and he himself was the product of someone’s musings as to the alternative of what should have been. He felt that existence vaguely beyond his apprehension, but like an amputated limb he was continuously aware of the pain with which this phantom life tormented him. If there truly were a “better self”, Binder was sure he was not it.
He was, precisely, Willy Loman in surgical scrubs.
And though I now laugh with him, for him, I am not...him.
Men tell me that of the gazillion (ok, some slightly smaller number) little swimmers doing the intrauterine freestyle, the "one" that won, of which, together with the egg makes me uniquely "me"...well, I don't have to go to far with all the other permutations for my dad and mom to be, his dad and mom, my mom's dad and mom, etc, etc.
Yeah, men can say that, and men might even say "hey, you're supposed to be somebody else!" But, hey, I get that a lot, (and I trust it might even be familiar to some others) from almost everybody except One.
He's the one who affrims, confirms, and even when needed, re-affirms...I am not only here...but supposed to be. And I am what I am.
I understand this man:
Hope had become very foreign to him.
There was a time in his youthful and sophomoric musings that he’d considered the accidents of his being. He’d ruminated over the biological imperatives thrust upon him by such simple things as spermatic motility. Who would he have been, and to what degree would he share consciousness with the person that might have been thrust down the birth canal if some other contender had won that race in the opposite direction those nine months before? And he understood that “he” wouldn’t then be, at all.
The mature egg that donated half his identity would have remained the same, but who was potentially swimming besides him in that intrauterine freestyle? More than simply brothers or sisters, but less or more than him. And it really wasn’t “him” swimming, only the potential for him, or in a very poor analogy, half of him.
He was the conjugation of both the swimmer and the target, and could not be conceived as one or the other. No pun intended. If indeed that seemingly fated swimmer (Binder knew as Binder) had veered up the left fallopian tube when the prize lay in the right, who would be? Would he be? Would she be? And ultimately what would the consciousness of “that one” perceive of this one?
It had long since been settled somewhere deep inside Binder that he might have been someone else. It seemed for him now that somewhere the real winner was robbed of his victory, and he himself was the product of someone’s musings as to the alternative of what should have been. He felt that existence vaguely beyond his apprehension, but like an amputated limb he was continuously aware of the pain with which this phantom life tormented him. If there truly were a “better self”, Binder was sure he was not it.
He was, precisely, Willy Loman in surgical scrubs.
And though I now laugh with him, for him, I am not...him.
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