I believe that in the beginning, the world was overtly theist—a time when God was present and active, communicating with humanity through direct encounters, visions, angels, and miracles. The stories of Moses, Noah, and others show a Creator who interacted personally, sometimes dramatically, with His creation. I see those events not as mythology but as snapshots of a time when God was still shaping the rules of engagement between Himself and humanity—a time when He was fully hands-on.

I believe that Adam and Eve represented the first true experiment in free will. The angels, magnificent and obedient as they are, operate more like divine machinery—intelligent and powerful but without genuine freedom to choose rebellion or loyalty. Humanity was something different: a species given the power to choose for itself. God created a perfect environment, the Garden of Eden, and placed within it a single temptation, the “apple,” not as cruelty but as proof of freedom’s reality. A decision that cannot be refused isn’t a decision at all. The fall of man wasn’t simply a failure—it was the unavoidable test that proved humanity’s autonomy was real.

In that context, I see the being known as Samael or Satan not as a tragic hero or a rogue god, but as a necessary counterbalance in the divine equation. If there is only one choice—God—then freedom is an illusion. The existence of temptation makes faith authentic. In that sense, Satan’s rebellion and continued opposition were never beyond God’s plan; they were part of it. Even evil has a role to play in the sorting and refinement of souls. Samael fulfills his part, not out of free will, but as a being destined to test, to tempt, and to mislead—a function as deliberate as it is dark.

Humanity’s early relationship with God was tumultuous. The Old Testament is full of divine wrath, disappointment, and silence. I don’t see this as contradiction; I see it as emotional authenticity. God said He was unchanging, yet His methods evolved. Perhaps that evolution isn’t in His nature but in His approach—a progression from control to compassion, from law to love. His followers often felt abandoned, and history records long periods where He stepped back entirely—the 400-year silence between testaments being one of the clearest examples. In those moments, I see a God who observes but does not intervene, who turns His face away not out of indifference but out of principle. When humanity chooses separation, God honors that choice.

Jesus, to me, represents God’s ultimate attempt to reach us another way. If the Old Testament was logic, law, and structure, then Jesus was empathy, emotion, and relationship. I see Him as an avatar of God—similar to how a human might control a character within a game world. To the other characters, that avatar is one of them, but the consciousness behind it operates on a higher plane. Whether Jesus was God Himself in flesh or the son of God acting as His perfect representative doesn’t really change His essence or His mission. He came to redirect humanity’s course, to remind us that the law was meant to cultivate love, not to replace it. He healed, taught, and sacrificed Himself to model what divine love looks like when embodied.

After Jesus’ departure, I believe the experiment entered its final stage—one of divine restraint. God shifted from active management to observation, letting humanity write its own story within the framework He’d set. He may still nudge events from time to time, but always in ways that preserve plausible deniability. A miracle that could be explained as luck or coincidence serves the purpose better than an undeniable act that would remove the need for faith. Faith only matters when belief remains a choice. In today’s world, where every strange event could be recorded and dissected online, God’s subtlety seems even more deliberate. To act in a way that could be proven would defeat the entire structure of belief He built around freedom and trust.

I don’t believe the Bible is perfect, though I see it as roughly 80% accurate in spirit and history. God wouldn’t allow His core message to be utterly corrupted, but translation, interpretation, and human bias undoubtedly altered the finer details. There are contradictions, moments where God seems to change, and centuries of silence that must be acknowledged. So I hold Scripture as sacred but not flawless, divine in origin but human in transmission. It’s a guidebook, not a courtroom transcript.

As for heaven and hell, I believe this world functions as a kind of cosmic sorting ground—a moral simulation, if you will—where souls are tested. When the body dies, the soul is evaluated. Those who pass enter the “heaven simulation,” those who fail descend to the “hell simulation.” If a soul never truly got the chance to be tested—say, a child or someone whose life ended prematurely—it is given another try. Not reincarnation in the mystical sense, but a recycling of opportunity, ensuring every soul gets a fair and complete test before the final verdict is rendered.

On the subject of evil and suffering, I think humanity is its own worst enemy. Satan may tempt, but we execute the plans ourselves. We are quick to credit good to God and evil to the devil, but most of the time, both arise from human choice. God gave us free will; we often use it poorly. The result is suffering we then blame on divine neglect. In reality, we’re living with the consequences of our collective freedom.

Miracles today, if they occur, are rare and ambiguous by design. They don’t dominate headlines, and they often have alternative explanations. When Jesus performed miracles, they were direct, public, and unmistakably tied to Him. Modern “miracles,” by contrast, are subtle and uncertain—perhaps divine, perhaps coincidence, perhaps natural law we don’t yet understand. I think it’s safest to acknowledge them without over-assigning divine credit. If God truly acts, He does so quietly, allowing room for doubt, preserving the sanctity of faith.

Prayer, in my belief, has drifted away from its purpose. Too many treat it like a wish list, asking God to intervene, fix, or heal. But if God truly refrains from interference, then prayer as request loses meaning. I see prayer instead as gratitude—a means of acknowledging the Creator, thanking Him for existence, for nature, for consciousness itself. It’s an act of respect, not negotiation. God owes us nothing; we owe Him everything. Asking for more feels presumptuous. Thanking Him feels appropriate.

I attend a non-denominational church, though less frequently now. As my beliefs have evolved toward a more deist understanding, the need for organized worship feels less essential. I no longer look for God in sermons or buildings, but in the quiet order of creation itself—in sunsets, mathematics, moral conscience, and the beauty of life’s balance.

Ethically, I believe that humanity carries a built-in compass—an innate understanding of right and wrong placed within us from the very beginning. That internal sense of morality is evidence of divine authorship, a fingerprint of our Creator’s intent. Even when culture corrupts or confuses us, that inner sense persists. It’s our spiritual DNA.

As for angels, I believe they are like cosmic artificial intelligences—magnificent, obedient, but programmed. They follow orders, execute divine tasks, and operate without personal will. Satan, in that light, wasn’t truly rebellious in the human sense but acting out a predetermined function. God required a tempter to complete the system of freedom, so He designed one. When the time comes, that same system will likely call for another angel to end the experiment, just as it once required one to test it.

I don’t believe there are limits to God’s restraint. I think He could intervene, but chooses not to. This restraint is a moral commitment, the final phase of His experiment: having tried direct control in the Old Testament and direct contact through Jesus, He now tries no control. This, I believe, is the truest form of free will—the Creator standing back and allowing His creation to define its own legacy. It’s a bold move, but if love freely given is the goal, it’s the only way.

About This Belief

This statement isn’t carved in stone. It’s an ongoing reflection of what I believe today, shaped by observation, logic, experience, and faith. Like any sincere philosophy, it will evolve as understanding deepens. My aim isn’t to convince anyone—only to be honest about what I’ve come to see as the most coherent explanation for existence, morality, and the silence of the divine.

Filed under: Personal - @ 2025-11-14 7:40 pm