ast fall, our oldest son saw himself as the next Bobby Fischer. Caleb, in second grade, had just beaten a fifth grader to start his on-again-off-again reign as the Larsen Elementary School chess champion. He was motivated and ready for his rise on the world scene. His lofty dreams came tumbling down in dramatic, tear-filled fashion in his first tournament away from his elementary school. He had expected greater things than one win, two losses, and two stalemates. It was a rude awakening.



Caleb comes by his false confidence honestly. I have fostered less-innocent, provincial presumptions all my life. But in fact, Caleb and I are not so different from most people.

For most of my life, I exercised implicit faith in my own inherited beliefs while considering all other gods to be shallow concoctions supported by lesser minds. My poor impressions of these gods and lesser minds were driven by inferences both unwarranted and legitimate.

My unwarranted criticisms resulted, in part, because other people’s beliefs were not well represented by my sources. I did not need to embrace mindless criticism, but I did, and I passed it on. It seemed to enhance the appearance of my cherished faith.

My legitimate complaints against the gods of lesser minds came, in part, because I was far removed from the powerful social forces that preserved those questionable beliefs. It was a distance measured in centuries, kilometers, or social interactions. That distance left me less informed but it protected me from malignant memes, contagious biases that entrenched illusions. The disassociation allowed me to analyze freely without being threatened by the conclusion.

My detachment from early Greek culture made it difficult to fathom that people actually believed in the Greek Gods. Their gods seemed so unrealistic. The stories of Hercules, sired by Zeus of a mortal woman, sounded like the stuff of pure myth.

The Greek Gods had their favorites, but it troubled me that they, in such ungodly fashion, treated some mortals with indifference. Strang- ely enough, within my faith, the story of a revered Job, and his large disposable family, did not bother me . . . much.

Today, I look with astonishment at the structures from ancient Egypt. Judging from my own experience, awe for their temples must have translated into another spiritual confirmation of belief. They put tremendous energy and thought into their edifices and their complex system of beliefs. The historically unequalled longevity of their society is no less impressive. They seemed to immerse themselves in their beliefs. They looked with great anticipation toward post-mortal lives with the gods, judging from their extravagant tombs. (If only their mummies could see them now.)

When it came to the fallen gods of yesteryear, thoughtful criticism was made easier by scientific progress. Time, and a little reasoning, has shoved back many a mystery that once required a fickle deity. What appeared to be gods toying with the sun has become just a solar eclipse. What was explained as a possessed child might now be diagnosed as an epileptic seizure.

Not many centuries ago, it was popular to believe that the earth was the center of the universe, that everything in the heavens moved around the earth--the sun, the moon, and all the stars. The order of things seemed obvious at the time, and it became ingrained in Catholicism. Galileo became a dangerous heretic for suggesting otherwise.

Today, we see the earth in quite a different role. It is a small planet in an immense solar system, orbiting the sun. Furthermore, the sun is but another rather insignificant star out of hundreds of billions spiraling through space about the nucleus of our Milky Way Galaxy. On top of that, our galaxy is one of trillions of cosmically immense galaxies moving through the expansive, visible universe. Who knows what lies beyond?

Admittedly, believing in an earth-centered universe is slightly less provincial than an isolated tribe who consider themselves to be god’s favored. It is no more shortsighted than people of long ago who believed in the man-made religions of their then great civilizations. It is an easy mistake to make, even with today’s enlightenment--thinking of ourselves as more significant, knowledgable, or noble then we really are.

Under threat, Galileo was compelled to admit that he was wrong, but the idea did not die with his forced retraction. No effort to enforce an illusion can succeed forever. Reality and her entourage have a penchant for nudging their way onto the stage before us, no matter how carefully we censor the script and characters.



Religious illusions that are compatible with today’s view of reality will eventually be cornered and harried by new discoveries. Defending those illusions will require increas- ingly complex structures of rationalization, fudged history, and intellectual duplicity. The prop of orchestrated peer pressure will help maintain those illusions long past their prime. As the gaping holes grow and multiply in the light of new revelations, dead poets and prophets will be recruited and molded to preserve the illusions. Living shamans and seers will be given the last word on anything they consider a moral issue, whether it be the way people dress or the age of the earth. When the ill-founded belief, with all its baggage, finally tumbles into disfavor, it will be transparent to all.

As a former advocate of my inherited religion, I encouraged people of other faiths to leave room for suspicion of their own beliefs. One day, with naive resolve, I concluded that every time I saw a fault in another, I would examine myself for the same fault. The results were revealing. In time, I discovered that I had long been a member of the league of lesser minds--and will be so till I die. Hopefully, I can use that bad news to some small advantage for myself and others.

For the curious reader, on March 19, Caleb was thrilled to finally win a small, honorable- mention trophy for placing twenty-first in the second grade division in the 2005 Utah State Elementary Chess Tournament.