Squidbert

I haven't blogged about PZ for a long time. But I must mention that he is back, once again in rare form, arguing with a cartoonist. Next week he'll debate Paris Hilton on the timely topic of the unspeakable dearth of symbolism in the modern American novel, and how it relates to the proper use of the phrase "my bad."

If you check your brain at the door and actually try to make sense of a biologist arguing with a cartoonist over theology, and risk your sanity by taking them both seriously, and keep repeating to yourself: No, I have not woken up inside an Ingmar Bergman flick, you might glean that the debate is over the soundness of Pascal's wager.

And that is a silly thing indeed. Because Pascal's Wager in all its forms is nonsense. Nobody can believe in God just because it has a better expected value. Nobody can, in fact, believe in anything in which they don't believe—which is precisely why men need to be regenerated. And even if you could, by the force of your own will, convince yourself to believe in God—that wouldn't be enough, because the bible is quite clear that mere intellectual assent is not sufficient.