I'm agnostic because I went through the usual process of parents insisting you go to church, and yet they didn't. So there's me, sitting in the chairs, thinking, 'Jeez, why am I here? I'd rather be playing tennis, seriously.'
I was brought up Roman Catholic. I'm not even baptized.
I suppose I'm a lapsed Catholic. You would consider me an atheist or agnostic.
I use God in my songs a lot but I don't have a relationship. I don't know what that means.
I don't see any god up here.
I definitely know the minister Honorable Louis Farrakhan. But I don't really believe in organized religion like that. I don't know what it does for people in the long run.
You know, they are fooling us, there is no God.
It's hard to say, 'I don't believe in God.' I would love to know if God exists. But it's a very difficult thing for me to believe.
Yeah, but actually, I've got the same questions about God.
Religion is all bunk.
Is there a God? There is, but we don't know where. Or who. And, indeed, why.
Questioning my spiritual life has always been germane to what I was writing. Always. It's because I'm not quite an atheist and it worries me. There's that little bit that holds on: 'Well, I'm almost an atheist. Give me a couple of months.'
I don't believe in heaven and hell. I don't know if I believe in God. All I know is that as an individual, I won't allow this life - the only thing I know to exist - to be wasted.
From the viewpoint of a Jesuit priest I am, of course, and have always been an atheist.
When I approached God at that time, I hardly had a living faith in Him. The agnostic was in me, the atheist was in me, the sceptic was in me and I was not absolutely sure that there was a God at all. I did not feel His presence. Yet something drew me to the truth of the Vedas, the truth of the Gita, the truth of the Hindu religion.
If Jesus was here, do you think Jesus would show me any love? Do you think Jesus would love me?
I don't know if I'm a medium for some outside source. Whatever it is, frankly, I hope it's not what I think … Satan.
So lonely 'twas that God himself Scarce seemed there to be.
As I work in the afternoon on committing to paper some of my morning's thoughts, I find myself just about to close on the knotty question of whether or not I believe in God. In fact I am about to type, 'I do not believe in God', when the sky goes black as ink, there is a thunderclap and a huge crash of thunder and a downpour of epic proportions. I never do complete the sentence.
What I am is a heretic who's recanted and, thereby, in everyone's eyes, saved his soul. Everyone's eyes but one, who knows deep down inside that all he has saved is his skin.
I once heard a preacher who sorely tempted me to go to church no more.
Again, conventional Catholicism does not much appeal to me.
Heaven is on this earth. There are no angels on the clouds with twanging harps... That's just another man's fantasy.
Question boldly even the existence of God.
When I lay these questions before God I get no answer. But a rather special sort of 'No answer.' It is not the locked door. It is more like a silent, certainly not uncompassionate, gaze. As though He shook His head not in refusal but waiving the question. Like, 'Peace, child; you don't understand.
