Frequently, in the godless heathen circles of the internet that I frequent, theologians can be seen berating non-believers and non-theologians for criticising religion the way the vast majority of believers practice it, then recommending their own proprietary version of God be studied and apprehended fully before atheism (or even moderate faith) is a viable, intellectually honest option. The gods of many theologians however, far from being well-researched fleshed-out three-dimensional deities, might as well not be called “God” with a capital “G” as demanded by Christianity, so deist and impersonal and generic are they. Some might as well not exist at all, having been thrust even further from the realm of testability or even plausibility than the old fire n’ brimstone Hell-maker they apparently think nobody worships anymore (in which case they should visit Kentucky. Or Queensland. Or freakin’ Uganda).
If you have no idea what I’m talking about, analogise this: an attack by a theologian is pretty much like me saying “I don’t like this game called tennis” and then some sophisticated tennologian comes up and says “Stop attacking this easy-meat low-hanging fundamentalist tennis where everything is about hitting a ball with a racket over a net in attempt to get it past another person and reach a score of 40 before they do! You need to understand tennis properly before you can criticise it; here, engage with my highly rarefied and totes intellectual “Ground of Tennis” in which one simply places any spherical object on a table and appreciates its perfect ball-ness, attempts to ascertain the interrelated ballity of all spheroids and understands that the single quality of sphericality is all that is needed to appreciate the goodness and greatness of Tennis. The net, the lines, the ball-children and the tennis bats are all frippery and extremism and by criticising those elements, you’re not only ignorantly missing the point of Tennis but are behaving just like the fundamentalists you decry.”
It shouldn’t need pointing out that if we’re just discussing balls, we’re not talking about effing tennis anymore – and you, my dear sohpistry-coated spherologian, are just talking bollocks.