Robin Fields sat in a tree and pondered an old conundrum, namely, the strange doctrine that we are saved or damned not by what we do but by what we believe.
It just doesn't seem fair, he thought. You can more or less control what you do but not what you believe, especially if the evidence is ambiguous or partial. Ambiguous evidence points in opposite directions, and no one knows for sure which direction is right. You just do the best you can.
The problem, as the young man understood it, is that the stakes are too high. It is incumbent on God, if there is a God and if s/he is good, to provide clear evidence so people can make a reasonable choice concerning what to believe. To posit the Bible as the Inerrant Word of God, as circular an argument as you can find, is hardly sufficient and can, in fact, issue in unbelief. Take eternal damnation as an example: That notion is reason enough to throw the whole thing out. Condemnation to an eternal state of suffering simply because you "choose" a conclusion that turns out to be wrong is unjust, pure and simple, and the attempt to persuade yourself otherwise is an exercise in bad faith.
Robin wondered as he sat in the tree, Why believe something as awful as hell and then try to convince yourself it's just and good?
That's when Robin wrote the following story:
Once upon a time a university professor wanted to build the perfect house: perfect in terms of comfort, durability, and aesthetics. But he believed that he must begin with the perfect shape. So, he called in the three most respected architects in the world and asked them, "What is the perfect shape?"
The first architect reached in his satchel. "You'll hardly be surprised at this," he said and held out a small pyramid. "What other structures have lasted as long as the pyramids of Egypt? And people come from all over the world to marvel at them, which affirms their beauty. Whether or not they're comfortable is another story. It helps to be dead. Anyhow, and this is important, keep in mind that, structurally speaking, the triangle is the simplest geometrical shape: three points, three lines, one form. That's why the triangle is the symbol for the Trinity. Your pyramidical house would have all that you want and possess ultimate meaning. Whaddya think?"
The professor thought for a moment and said, "Maybe, but why are so few homes built in the form of a pyramid? In fact, I've never seen a home built in the shape of a pyramid."
"That's because most people don't have your vision and your resources. They're not as smart as you are."
But the professor said, "Nah. I think people don't build pyramids because there would be too much wasted space around the bottom. Even if the thing were huge, it would be impractical. Forget it."
"Are you questioning the doctrine of the Holy Trinity?"
"I'm trying to build a house, okay? Don't make this about your religion."
Then he asked the next architect, "So what do you have?"
The second architect reached in his satchel and pulled out a globe. "Obviously, the perfect shape is a sphere. Indeed, in nature, the only perfect shapes are spheres. You know that from looking through your telescope over there." And, indeed, the professor did have a telescope, but it had less to do with stars than it did with sorority row, which was across the street. The architect concluded, "Besides, the circle is the symbol for God because God is perfect and circles are perfect. Whaddya think?"
"Maybe. But why have I never, ever seen a house built in the form of a sphere? I've seen half-spheres; what do they call them?"
"Igloos?"
"Nah. Something else."
"Geodesic domes?"
"Maybe. Anyhow, I think a globe is a lousy shape for a house."
"Are you questioning the perfection of God?"
"I'm trying to build a house, okay? Don't make this about your religion."
Then the professor asked the third architect, "So what do you think?"
The third architect reached in her satchel and pulled out a cube. "The cube--you see it everywhere! And why? The cube possesses an almost perfect utility of space; only the corners are wasted, and you can put a little table in the corners with a vase of flowers or a grandfather clock or something. What else? Oh, yes, the cube is perfect because you can bisect it into two pyramids. That's two Trinities for the price of one. Jung called it a quaternity and said the quaternity represents human participation in the Divine three-way relationship of Lover, Beloved, Love. That's from Augustine."
The professor said, "A cube house is boring, like something Mussolini might build or the Soviets. And don't make this about your religion! Can't you people do any better?"
The architects excused themselves for an hour or so and then returned with their heads held high and confident expressions. The third architect smiled winsomely and said, "We created your perfect house," whereupon she presented the model of a home: It had a steeply pitched roof, a turret at one corner, a fine living room, and a curving wrap-around porch. She said, "We put all the shapes together and voila!"
"Wait a minute," said the professor. "That's exactly like the home I grew up in! Where'd you find that model?"
"Oh, we did some poking around online and found your childhood home, and Bob here has a friend with a 3-D printer, so we sent the image to him, and he rushed the model over, and here you go!"
The second architect piped up and said to the professor, "Are you really a professor? You don't sound like any professor I ever had. You don't use big words or sound pompous."
"That's because I don't give a damn if I impress anyone or not. Now, back to my house," and he turned to the third architect. "So you're saying that I grew up in the perfect house?"
"Yep!"
"Well, that's the house I want!"
Suddenly, the devil appeared and said, "That's what I was waiting for! Now I get to take you to Hell and burn you alive forever!"
The professor was bewildered. "What?"
"You rejected the Holy Trinity when you rejected the Pyramid and the Perfection of God when you poo-pooed the Sphere and a relationship with the Divine when you dismissed the Cube, and instead mushed everything together into a chimera of Universalism. Now I get to take you to Hell and burn you--"
"I'm trying to build a house, you idiot! Don't make this about your religion! What is wrong with you?"
Then the devil grabbed the professor and dragged him to hell and threw him in a lake of burning fire where the professor screamed in agony forever and ever. The first two architects went back to their office, and the third architect shrugged her shoulders and said, "Well, I didn't see that coming."