Chapter 10. The Fate of Children and Those with Mental Impairments

Nothing is more harrowing than witnessing, hearing about, or even simply being aware of the death of children. Their potential, their unlived lives, the emotions, feelings, and experiences they will never encounter—all of this weighs heavily on our minds. While the death of adults is equally tragic, they at least carry with them the wealth of experiences accumulated over a lifetime and, often, an understanding of their own mortality. In contrast, children neither ponder death nor prepare for it; they cannot fully comprehend it.

It is perhaps for this reason that the term 'innocence' is so frequently used to describe children. Intuitively, we feel that adults, having lived and achieved something in their lives, can bid farewell to the world they are leaving. After all, they have had the chance to acquaint themselves with it, recognise their place within it, and form meaningful connections.

This sense of injustice is deeply rooted in our collective consciousness. Dostoevsky captured this in his own life when he endured a mock execution in his youth. The trauma of facing imminent death, only to have it revoked, led him to an understanding that resonates with Solzhenitsyn's observation: If each and every person capable of self-reflection were imprisoned in silence, without explanation, they would all know why!

When we hear of civilian men and women perishing under the bombs of a hostile state, we may rationalise their deaths, viewing them as potential adversaries, carriers of an antagonistic ideology, or even as expendable for failing to take an actively righteous stance. Yet even the most fervent patriots and tribalists are profoundly moved by the deaths of children. Children hold no ideologies, no sense of nationhood, no feelings of superiority; they pose no threat of dominance or opposition.

No one wishes to harm children. Yet, when certain states make decisions that lead to the deaths of innocent children and civilians, these actions are invariably justified as part of a grand mission—the pursuit of welfare, happiness, and the future of humanity. In this quest, the dominant side will always claim to choose the most humane methods. However, should it lose its dominance, it inevitably becomes more radical in its measures to "save humanity," making significant compromises and sacrifices for the greater good—much like those currently vying for dominance and resources with their own vision of an ideal world.

People may differ in their subjective definitions of the common good, but representatives of virtually all ideological perspectives would likely save children if given access to a magical button that could remove them from the epicentre of "justice" being meted out. Yet, without this button, they find themselves unable to achieve their goals without the tragic sacrifice of children.

If God exists and is omnipotent, it is reasonable to assume that He possesses access to all possible "buttons," including one soaked in the world's tears and labelled "children."

Even though everyone—from radical extremists to moderate humanists—condemns those who allow the deaths of children for reasons other than a so-called "great cause," society continues to accept such tragedies as part of the natural processes within the conflicts of our species. These events are often attributed to misconceptions, the malfunctioning consciousness of individuals, or the inevitability of circumstances. They are rationalised as part of the evolutionary process of civilisation-building. Even believers, often viewed as barriers to this path, explain these tragedies as the result of human will driven by materialistic values—resources, influence, and territorial ambitions.

But a parasite eating away at a child's eye from within, a hurricane ripping an infant from its mother's arms, or the piercing gaze of a child after chemotherapy, filled with trust as it meets their parents'—who will answer for this? How can such suffering be explained? How can one reconcile with the idea that there is someone who sees everything, understands everything, could have prevented it, and chose not to? How can anyone possibly believe in such a being? Can sceptical thought, even when adopting the perspective of a believer, truly offer an explanation?

Paradoxically, what people often use to justify wars—the pursuit of sacred or humanistic ideals, where children's suffering is pitied but deemed a necessary cost to prevent even greater harm—might also serve as a framework to justify God's actions. If this reasoning satisfies humanity in its own choices, then perhaps a similar logic could apply to divine decisions.

If you doubt that any goal could justify the death of children, consider the counterfactual: imagine if Ukraine had not been provided with weapons to resist since 2014. In such a scenario, Ukraine might have been taken without a fight, with casualties limited to dozens rather than the hundreds of thousands, including children, now lost. The psychological toll would have been far less severe. Russia, retaining control over Ukraine through a puppet government, might even have formally returned Crimea while maintaining its vassal-like influence. However, people would have continued to live as before, with a sense of discontent and lack of freedom.

Yet, we collectively accept that the sacrifices made today are the price for values that, we hope, will someday reshape the world, eradicating inequality, injustice, and the root causes of mental suffering. If you hold the belief that humanity's enlightenment is inevitable and that warm relations and contributions to global economic development, rather than war or construction of military alliances, could have shaped future generations—granting freedom not only to Ukraine but even to Russia itself—even if you cite dozens of historical episodes supporting this optimistic view, can you guarantee the accuracy of your calculations for a few specific nations and outcomes? According to social psychology, certainty in one scenario or another is merely an illusion, yet we always tend to exercise caution towards the worst-case scenario.

If we assume that God does not merely guess—unlike humans, who act out of fear of unpredictable outcomes stretching across generations, unable to control what they might lose—then He must have not only the right goal but also the best means to achieve it. God's certainty about the future implies a level of precision and intentionality far beyond human capabilities.

The key difference between the global community and God, as discussed in earlier chapters about the "helpless God," lies in the tools available to Him. Unlike humans, God has deliberately limited His means of intervention, using only "manual tools"—sinful and imperfect people who have agreed to align with Him. These tools, rusted and flawed, operate within the constraints God imposes on Himself to avoid pressing the "nuclear button"—the act of intervention that would annihilate self-awareness as a phenomenon on our planet.

Some might object, arguing that the presence of God and His laws, as described in the Bible, did not destroy the self-awareness of angels. Why, then, would it threaten human self-awareness?

The distinction lies in the nature of volition. Angels retain their self-awareness because they actively and consciously choose their patterns of existence every moment. Their volitional consent ensures their alignment with God's presence. Those angels who rejected this alignment were granted freedom from living according to these patterns and from the presence of God in their domain.

Unlike humans, however, angels have direct knowledge of the actual reality and of God as its ultimate source. This knowledge places them in a state of perpetual suffering and hatred, born of their refusal to accept the reality they inhabit. Their awareness fuels a desire to inflict maximum pain on their perceived enemy, finding satisfaction in every death, every destruction of the original order. In their hatred, they immerse themselves in emotions eerily familiar to ambitious individuals experiencingwar.

Both humans and angels who have rejected the established laws are granted the freedom to experience their alternative version of reality. This freedom allows them either to recognise its inherent flaws or to interpret their experiences as the result of a cruel game by a reckless God or the randomness of evolution. It is their persistence in maintaining a sense of righteousness, even in defiance of natural patterns, and, most importantly, their ability to act according to their thoughts that preserve their consciousness.

The freedom granted to angelic personalities—whether from a parallel reality or the same reality in the form of a subquantum shell localising their personal information and separating them from Infinite Personified Information—is nonetheless constrained by the rights of humans to their own perception of reality. Angels, like God, are bound by the principle of respecting human autonomy and, therefore, have no right to direct intervention. Direct contact, even with God, occurs only with an individual's explicit consent and permission, provided it does not infringe on the rights of others or disrupt the autonomy of the material environment. This framework upholds the principle that humans are the "gods" of their own reality.

Consequently, we cannot attribute natural disasters like hurricanes, parasites, or epilepsy to God—or even to the devil. However, instances of illness or misfortune imitating a disease may occur for individuals who, through volitional consent to certain ideologies, have opened the door to such influences in their sphere of physical reality. This influence can extend to their children, who, not yet having reached the age of conscious responsibility, remain under the authority of their parents' choices. This perspective may explain why Jesus required faith from the father of the possessed boy in Mark 9:23 rather than directly commanding the demon to depart.

When God portrays Himself as having "bound hands," it is unlikely that He intended to demonstrate His omnipotence within the human realm. Rather, He seeks to convey how deeply He suffers because of this, calling humanity to humility and forgiveness.

Even if we assume that God cannot prevent the death of children due to a global goal of minimising the overall backdrop of suffering, a troubling question arises: why exacerbate this inevitable grief with His intervention? Why, when possessing a rare right to intervene—presumably to maintain a delicate informational balance and preserve the possibility of choosing between subjective and objective reality—would He use it to cause death rather than save children? It is like a pilot dropping a bomb on a building where the enemy is hiding, parachuting in to rescue the children, but then inexplicably choosing to shoot some of them instead.

We are, of course, aware of cases where military personnel have deliberately killed children—snipers, for instance, faced with harrowing decisions between the lives of their comrades and a child coerced into taking up arms by adults or grief. Soldiers who have endured such experiences almost always require rehabilitation and grapple with lifelong pangs of conscience. Yet, if you ask their compatriots—those for whose values they fought—whether they condemn such actions, the answer is overwhelmingly no. Surveys show that the majority of people do not condemn these soldiers; instead, they express sentiments like: "I hope they knew what they were doing and acted to save more lives or prevent something even worse."

Strikingly, a similar reaction often arises when believers are asked about God. Many respond with the same reasoning: "I hope He knows what He's doing and wants to save more lives or prevent something terrible."

Taking this near-universal justification, which satisfies nearly everyone except pacifists, as a starting point, let us now consider instances where God has acted to prevent something terrible. We will examine and analyse these cases alongside the tragedies that remain unexplained.

Mauled by Bears

Before we delve into this episode (2 Kings 2:23-24), which seems more fitting for a Stephen King novel, let us first consider the kind of God a sceptic might find ethically and logically acceptable—one who, before passing judgment, takes into account the volitional aspect of a person’s development.

A child develops gradually, ideally shielded by their parents from an aggressive external environment, until the moment they become self-aware, realising their autonomy and taking responsibility for their life and decisions. At this stage, they are no longer driven solely by stimuli, instincts, or externally imposed influences but possess the ability to analyse and even change these factors. Alternatively, if circumstances do not permit such reflection, they may still form an internal stance based on what they can comprehend.

If we follow this line of reasoning, the Bible itself offers references to this developmental threshold. For example, children aged 12 and older were included in the census, and in Jewish tradition, this age marks the Bar Mitzvah (13 years and 1 day for boys) and Bat Mitzvah (12 years and 1 day for girls). A striking example is found in Jesus' life at the age of about 12. At this point, He demonstrated autonomy in decision-making for the first time, staying behind in the Temple to engage with the scribes, contrary to His parents' expectations. Until this moment, the sacred texts emphasise His unwavering obedience to His parents' will.

Of course, the specific age is not absolute. In psychology, this period of emerging autonomy is often placed within a broader range, typically between 12 and 15 years. It is equally important to recognise that for some individuals, this state of conscious decision-making may never fully develop due to mental characteristics, illnesses, or injuries. In such cases, it seems reasonable to assume that God would account for these "involuntary rebels," understanding their limitations. For them, the opportunity to make fully conscious decisions might not arise in this life but would undoubtedly be provided in another context. This aspect will be addressed briefly at the end of this chapter.

Nevertheless, the Torah refers to adolescents aged 12 to 18 as children, much as we do today, recognising that while their consciousness may exhibit maturity, their overall physiology remains in a stage of development. However, the Torah designates those who have reached 20 years of age as adults or "men"—the so-called "age of the sword," marking a boy's readiness to carry weapons and participate in battles.

Interestingly, Jewish tradition also recognises a "second bar mitzvah" at the age of 82, calculated as 70 (the biblical lifespan average in Psalm 90:10) plus 12 (the age of the first bar mitzvah). This concept reflects the idea that a person at this age often reverts to a state of needing guidance and assistance from others, as they may lose control over actions, decisions, and responsibilities—not only for others but even for themselves. This is a generalisation, of course, as medical data shows that individual circumstances vary greatly depending on numerous factors.

With this biblical framework for human responsibility in mind, let us consider the children who encountered such a tragic fate in the episode involving Elisha. The text notes that they had wandered unnaturally far from their settlement ("Some youths came from the city," 2 Kings 2:23), suggesting they were no longer under parental supervision. They had ventured far enough to pursue the prophet into a grove or forest area, where they encountered two mother bears with cubs.

The key focus of the text is Elisha's curse upon the adolescents. While this may have been coloured by the emotions of the narrative, the essence remains unchanged: the act was intended to preserve the authority of those tasked with correcting distorted information. Whether we interpret the curse literally or metaphorically, its significance lies in emphasising the importance of maintaining respect for those responsible for addressing misinformation and upholding societal order.

The backstory and context of this episode lie in the growing loss of trust in prophets and the division of the people amid widespread worship of foreign deities, particularly the god Baal. Against this backdrop, the only prophet with remaining authority, who had initiated reforms to address distorted beliefs in Israel, dies. His successor, Elisha, immediately faces doubt and scepticism—even from Elijah's own followers. After an incident that undermines the confidence of his supporters, Elisha encounters hostility from the populace. As a result, he is rejected as a messenger and pursued by a group of adolescents. These youths, old enough to be ideologically driven, act independently of their parents' influence, motivated by their own beliefs.

In their panic, many in the group may have stumbled over one another, forming piles of terrified adolescents, some immobilised by fear. Given the distance from the city, help was unlikely to arrive in time. Others may have been injured or killed by the bears, whose natural instinct is to eliminate perceived threats while they are moving. The group's actions—making noise in a forest during a season when bears are particularly protective of their young—was itself a dangerous misstep.

Now, imagine that this group, through their actions, risked provoking a catastrophe capable of destroying billions of lives. If your only available means to save humanity was a coincidence of circumstances—in this case, the presence of bears nearby—you might, at the very least, refrain from preventing it, especially when it is clear that convincing the group through the only available tool, Elisha, would have no effect.

As allegorical as it may sound, such reasoning is one of the few ways to reconcile the severity of these measures. This harshness can be understood not only as the result of a "Bound God," unable to act freely without undermining the principles of autonomy and balance but also as a calculated decision to preserve the last "functional tool" available for restoring order. Sometimes, severity at an early stage prevents far greater calamities later, reducing the risk of collapse for an entire undertaking.

Anyone who has managed a company or enterprise is familiar with the principle of a three-phase approach to discipline in start-ups:

1.    Issuing a warning and providing an opportunity for correction.

2.    Administering pre-emptive punishment to establish clear boundaries.

3.    Demonstrating leniency in response to future mistakes, fostering gratitude, loyalty, and stability within the team while ensuring staff retention.

While it is natural to feel sympathy for those who, by necessity, become examples of these disciplinary measures, the reality is that an act of decisive severity—applied at least once—can be far more effective than periodic half-measures. Such actions serve as a powerful deterrent against neglect of responsibilities, creating a long-term culture of accountability.

It is likely that God employed a similar principle in the punishment of Ananias and Sapphira (Acts 5:1-11) and in other instances throughout the early stages of spreading the message. In these cases, we can discern the “golden principle” of effectiveness: an illustrative punishment that ensures clarity and commitment. This element of calculated severity will also emerge in subsequent analyses of Divine judgment. In such a context, this approach is incomparably more humane than any ‘justified’ war or counter-terrorist operation.

The Tenth Plague

In Exodus 11:1–12:13, we encounter the direct and immediate extermination of children—an act attributed to divine intervention. Unlike previous instances where God's "bound hands" or respect for individual autonomy were emphasised, here there is no such restraint. Whether carried out by God Himself or a supernatural entity often referred to as the "destroying angel" in certain translations, the firstborn were coldly killed. Here, at least, we see a moment of equality: death struck indiscriminately, sparing neither religion nor ethnicity—unless the household had marked its doorposts with the blood of a sacrificed lamb.

Even if we assume that God's intervention was mediated through a natural mechanism, such as a virus, its selectivity cannot be explained by natural patterns of spread. The biblical narrative is straightforward in its explanation of the reasons, but it is worth considering details that might soften the perception of arbitrariness within this otherwise inviolable reality—a reality that God, while intervening indirectly, chooses not to alter fundamentally.

The "destroying angel," sometimes referred to as the "Lord" in biblical texts, could be interpreted as a fallen angel with limited rights to physical intervention. Such an entity might have been permitted to act under specific constraints, with the purpose of achieving a critical outcome: compelling the release of a tribe on the brink of losing the vital information entrusted to them. The target of this act was not only Pharaoh but also the enslaving society as a whole, forcing them to relinquish their captives.

This drastic intervention may have been driven by the increasing assimilation of cultures and the rise of idolatry, which provided a foothold for fallen angels to exploit. By leveraging humanity's right to shape their inner and partially outer realities—so long as these did not violate others' perceptions of order—a selective approach to the ten plagues may have also addressed the growing influence of Egyptian ideologies on the Jewish people themselves.

Even if everyone, except for one undecided individual, were unified in their views, divine intervention would still be limited to avoid disrupting that person's perception of reality. In this light, large-scale phenomena described in scripture—such as the stopping of the sun at Joshua's command (Joshua 10:12–14)—were likely illusions, crafted to appear as miraculous prolongations of daylight. This could have been achieved through natural means, such as the strategic dispersion of clouds on the horizon, or perhaps through a localised, holographic glow simulating the effect.

Such a "local miracle" would be permissible only when it aligns with the unified perception of reality among the victors in battle and the resigned acceptance of the defeated, already on the brink of eternity. Although an omnipotent God could have prevented the chain reaction of physical processes that would have wiped out all life on Earth if the planet's rotation were to stop, even this phenomenon would disrupt at least circadian rhythms and violate the right to perceive reality as it is.

However, one might argue that humans of that mindset could still incorporate these events into the reality they desired to believe in. You know what? Fair enough—though, at this point, we're already venturing into the realm of unfalsifiability.

Similarly, the intervention will not violate the principle of free will on Judgment Day, as by that time, every individual will have already made their definitive choice between alternative paths and the patterns of life.

The radical interventions described during the ten plagues in Egypt could signify the growing certainty among eyewitnesses. Initially, these events might have been interpreted through the lens of the pagan worldview. However, as their explanations faltered, a shift occurred—a dawning realisation of a reality governed by a singular, supreme God with fundamentally different values. Yet this realisation did not lead to humility for many; instead, it solidified a firm rejection of this God.

At the same time, wavering Egyptians had opportunities to interpret these phenomena within their own worldview. For example, they might have seen the plagues as expressions of their deities' dissatisfaction rather than signs of a singular divine power.

If my "uncertainty hypothesis" holds true, it may even suggest the discovery of an "elixir of immortality"—or at least longevity—without the need for dietary extremes like veganism. After all, if God is rational, He must ensure that no individual, whose personality is fully formed, dies before making an informed decision: whether to embrace objective good or to cling to an alternative set of entropic ideas.

Be that as it may, the Bible portrays the Ten Plagues in Egypt as illustrative in nature, aimed primarily at convincing the Jewish people—the informants—that God would protect them if they trusted Him and fulfilled their mission. After all, it would be odd to lead the Israelites out of Egypt at such a cost, only for them to conclude, "Well, we must just be extraordinary people who deserve to separate ourselves and wish the rest good luck."

At that moment, the goal was achieved: the miraculous exodus from slavery became the defining event in Israel's history. The subsequent instructions were filled with constant reminders of these "miracles," compelling the Israelites to remember their unique mission.

Yet, these miracles came at a tragic cost: the death of children—innocent lives, untouched by ideologies. Perhaps, for this reason, the narrative minimises their suffering. The morning cries and wails in Egypt suggest that the firstborn passed away quietly in their sleep, showing no signs of pain or distress that might have alerted their parents at the moment.

As painful as it is to contemplate, as a sceptic, I could accept a God who, in striving to save the maximum number of people, ensures that where intervention is necessary to prevent an even worse outcome, it is done with minimal suffering. The Tenth Plague demonstrates this principle: death came as a painless sleep, replaced by a new reality where those affected might one day have the opportunity to grow into a conscious choice—either to remain a free personality or to perish, still free.

But why were children chosen for this illustration?

The Bible suggests that Pharaoh's refusal to allow Jewish children to leave Egypt with the adults (Exodus 10:8–11) was a pivotal factor. This refusal implied either the eventual return of the Israelites to Egypt or the erasure of their identity as a distinct tribe. God foresaw that these children would be the ones to inherit Canaan and carry forward the key information entrusted to the Jewish people.

In contrast, many adults had already compromised their worldview through the integration of foreign ideas, as evidenced in passages such as:

Acts 7:42–43:"…forty years in the wilderness, O house of Israel? You also took up the tabernacle of Moloch, and the star of your god Remphan…"

Additionally, generations of enslavement had shaped the tribe's values, fostering a mindset focused on immediate comfort, rest, and indulgence—a slave mentality resistant to transformation. Even the extraordinary "experiment with supernatural uniformity"—clothing that did not wear out and manna that fulfilled every nutritional need—failed to shift their way of thinking.

This miracle of provision may have been possible only in the desert, where the conditions minimised interaction with surrounding tribes and the physical realities of their world, which could not be disrupted without their consent.

In the context of our discussion, it is worth briefly examining another episode that, to put it mildly, raises concerns among sceptics: the perceived arbitrariness and theatricality in the hardening of Pharaoh's heart. For the sake of fairness, it is important to note that the phrasing in the text suggests God does not directly override Pharaoh's volitional autonomy. Instead, God appears to create circumstances that lead to Pharaoh's obstinacy.

What is particularly striking is the alternating use of the phrases "hardened his own heart" and "God hardened his heart" throughout the narrative of the plagues—sometimes even in reference to the same event. This pattern suggests a unified semantic purpose behind the expressions: to explain the root of Pharaoh's stubbornness.

The underlying cause seems to stem from the profound affront of a deity acting at the behest of His enslaved people. For Pharaoh, who considered himself a god, this dynamic likely provoked a toxic mix of pride, a sense of rivalry, and resentment over perceived interference in his grand plans. It also played upon a familiar human tendency—the reluctance to admit error or accept defeat.

Sodom and Gomorrah

While the explanation of the tenth plague in Egypt remains fresh in our minds, let us turn to another infamous episode of divine judgment: the destruction of the four cities in the Sodom Valley, where children, inevitably, would have been among the victims.

Despite its seemingly surreal nature, archaeological evidence suggests that a natural catastrophe did occur in this region, obliterating the city located at the site of Tell el-Hammam and its surrounding settlements. Whether these were the same cities described in the Bible is uncertain, but most biblical maps printed before 1990 placed Sodom and Gomorrah north of the Dead Sea. The interpretation shifted when a word in the biblical text, previously understood as "up," began to be translated as "south," giving rise to numerous alternative hypotheses.

Additionally, these cities are mentioned in ancient sources beyond the Bible. Tablets from Ebla refer to them, as do the writings of several historians, including Josephus Flavius, Tacitus, Sanchuniathon, and Strabo.

Tacitus Cornelius, a Roman historian of the 1st–2nd centuries AD, offers a vivid description:

"There the plains stretch out, which... were once fertile and covered with populous cities, and after that were burned by heavenly fire... the remains of cities are still visible, and the earth since then has become as if... charred and cannot bear fruit. Any plant, whether planted by human hand or sprouting on its own... withers, turns black and crumbles to dust. As for the destruction of once glorious and great cities, I am ready to believe that they were burned by heavenly fire".

According to the widely accepted view, the destruction of the cities was likely caused by the impact of a meteorite. Suggested explanations propose that this celestial object exploded in the atmosphere at an altitude of approximately 10 kilometres above the ground. This phenomenon can be compared to the Chelyabinsk meteorite of 2013 in Russia, though the event in question was far more powerful, possibly comparable to the Tunguska event of 1908. The explosion of the Tunguska meteorite is estimated to have released energy equivalent to 50 megatons of TNT.

Excavations at the site have revealed evidence of extreme temperatures. Sand and clay pottery were found to exhibit glazing characteristics of trinitite, a material formed at temperatures exceeding 2000°C. Additionally, bubbles on the ruins of walls resemble those observed after nuclear explosions. The meteorite's trajectory was likely at an angle of 45–50 degrees, as indicated by the scorched cuts on the walls and the remains of victims. Some of the skeletons appear to have been hiding behind walls, their upper bodies obliterated, with only burned sections of the spine remaining. Burnt grain discovered at the site has been radiocarbon-dated to approximately 1700 BCE ±50 years, which aligns with the biblical chronology.

Several unusual theories have emerged regarding the event. One theory suggests that fragments of a meteorite may have polluted coastal areas by causing a large chunk of cosmic material to crash into the sea. This could have scattered salt from the Dead Sea, transforming the land into a desolate "sanitary zone." Over time, this area may have been used to deposit the corpses of criminals or victims of epidemics and diseases, preventing their burial elsewhere.

Another hypothesis links the pollution of nearby settlements to the presence of oil and gas fields in the Dead Sea region. This theory draws support from the ancient name for the Dead Sea, the "Asphalt Lake." Historians note that bitumen islands, once floated on its surface, were later harvested for industrial use. The Bible also references bitumen pits in the valley (Genesis 14:3.). According to this explanation, the meteorite impact could have ignited combustible gases in the area, producing flames that rose hundreds of metres into the air and spreading pollution over a wide radius.

It is well-established that overheated liquids, when rapidly exposed to atmospheric pressure, instantly turn into steam, expanding in volume by approximately 1,700 times. For comparison, the explosion of TNT results in a volume increase of about 1,400 times. Evidence of such violent ejections can be seen in thorium mineralisations found near barites, which are soluble only in highly acidic solutions. These solutions, remarkably, did not have time to neutralise as they passed through multi-kilometre layers of carbonate rock.

Further evidence of an intense firestorm is provided by soot films on rock particles and numerous spheres of once-molten sulphur encased in marl shells. The explosion also triggered significant geological changes: a portion of the Dead Sea graben subsided by several tens of metres along a major fault line. This tectonic shift could have been caused—or at least exacerbated—by the immense energy released during the explosion.

Whether the "rain of burning stones and sulphur" described in the Bible refers directly to a meteorite explosion or was accompanied by the ignition of a gas field that scattered sulphur, the outcome remains the same: those at the epicentre of these natural anomalies perished instantly.

While the instantaneous nature of death may have spared victims prolonged suffering, it does not diminish the event's horror—especially if we consider the possibility that it occurred with divine permission. To reconcile this ominous allowance or even active intervention under the guise of natural processes, we must identify a compelling motive.

The Bible depicts the prelude to the catastrophe with grim epithets about the cities, presenting them as a quintessential contrast to all other wickedness on earth. While this portrayal may well be an exaggeration, our task is to approach this narrative from the perspective of justifying God's actions. Thus, we will consider these texts or at least some of them:

"The shew of their countenance doth witness against them, and they declare their sin as Sodom, they hide it not." (Isaiah 3:9.)

This suggests an open defiance and pride in their transgressions.

"…they commit adultery, and walk in lies: they strengthen also the hands of evildoers, that none doth return from his wickedness: they are all of them unto me as Sodom, and the inhabitants thereof as Gomorrah." (Jeremiah 23:14)

This highlights not only personal sin but also the active encouragement and propagation of violence and wrongdoing.

"Even as Sodom and Gomorrha, and the cities about them in like manner, giving themselves over to fornication, and going after strange flesh, are set forth for an example, suffering the vengeance of eternal fire." (Jude 1:7.)

Interpreters and linguists agree that the phrase "going after strange flesh" refers to unnatural sexual practices, consistent with its usage elsewhere in scripture.

"And turning the cities of Sodom and Gomorrha into ashes condemned them with an overthrow, making them an ensample unto those that after should live ungodly; And delivered just Lot, vexed with the filthy conversation of the wicked: (For that righteous man dwelling among them, in seeing and hearing, vexed his righteous soul from day to day with their unlawful deeds;)" (2 Peter 2:6-8.)

In this passage, the term "wicked" is intensified by the epithet "filthy", underscoring the excessiveness and extreme nature of the transgressions. Notably, the wickedness is described as both visible and audible, highlighting its pervasive influence.

The mention of God hearing the cries from Sodom suggests that these cries may have included expressions of suffering and despair from some of its inhabitants, underscoring the depth of corruption and the anguish it caused.

"Behold, this was the iniquity of thy sister Sodom, pride, fulness of bread, and abundance of idleness was in her and in her daughters, neither did she strengthen the hand of the poor and needy. And they were haughty, and committed abomination before me: therefore I took them away as I saw good." (Ezekiel 16:49–50.)

This passage expands the critique, attributing Sodom's downfall to a combination of wealth, pride, indifference to others, idleness, and overindulgence. These excesses paved the way for debauchery and, ultimately, the "abominations" that led to their judgment.

"For had not the Lord of hosts left us a very small remnant, we should have been as Sodom, and we should have been like unto Gomorrah." (Isaiah 1:9 )

Here, the prophet Isaiah highlights that without God's intervention to preserve a faithful remnant, the tribe itself would have succumbed to the same depravity as Sodom, leading to its complete destruction.

First, it must be assumed that the inhabitants of Sodom were fully aligned with entropic ideologies and the practice of antinomy. Biblical descriptions suggest that indiscriminate violence was commonplace in the city, extending even to children, as reflected in the scene involving Lot. This episode depicts the crowd demanding that Lot surrender his guests, apparently leadinghim to first offer himself and his wife and then his young daughters in an attempt to placate them. The daughters are described as "not knowing a man," which likely indicates their young age. Lot's actions suggest that he was aware of the crowd's intentions and their prevailing moral depravity, shaping his desperate response.

An alternative interpretation proposes that the crowd, described as gathering "from small to great," came to ensure the guests were not spies. However, this theory raises significant doubts. After an extended dialogue with Lot, it would have been illogical for him to offer his daughters in place of the guests if the sole intent was to interrogate potential spies. Additionally, it seems implausible that such a mob would resort to cryptic language in its demands. Lot's own words, "do with them what you came for," further undermine the espionage theory, as they do not align with the context of an inquiry. Instead, Lot's behaviour strongly indicates that he understood the true purpose of the gathering, responding according to the societal norms he was familiar with.

The crowd's reaction to Lot's offer—deciding to seize everyone—further underscores the extreme moral degradation of Sodom. This episode illustrates that violence in the city had evolved into a deeply ingrained tradition, symbolising the culmination of a prolonged process of social and moral decay. Such behaviour reveals a complete disregard for individual autonomy and freedom, where violence was not merely tolerated but had become an expected, ritualised element of communal interactions.

It is, of course, difficult to believe that the entire population of Sodom was uniformly engaged in such practices. However, considering the tendencies of human psychology—both in antiquity and the modern era—some parallels can be drawn. It is well-documented that excess, overindulgence, and prolonged satiety can diminish the body's natural production of endorphins, the so-called "natural opioids." This effect mirrors the phenomenon observed with synthetic opiates: achieving the same level of pleasure requires progressively higher doses.

In the context of the discussion, this dynamic is further complicated by the fact that merely increasing the frequency of indulgence does not suffice. Over time, individuals seek new forms of stimulation and variety to maintain the same level of gratification.

This unrelenting pursuit of pleasure may have been reinforced by societal norms or legislation that elevated the "right to pleasure" to a ritual or sacred status. Such a system could have prohibited condemnation, refusal, or any restriction of these behaviours, fostering an environment where excess and indulgence became institutionalised.

A potential objection arises: could the inhabitants of the Bronze Age, with their challenging daily lives, have been so idle as to focus primarily on pleasure? This concern can be addressed by examining the region's natural resources and economic conditions. For instance, the "tar pits" of the area provided an easily accessible source of bitumen—a highly valuable commodity in the ancient world.

The Ebla tablets, which record purchase lists with corresponding prices in silver, underscore the immense value placed on bitumen, surpassing even other essential goods. For the inhabitants of the valley cities, including Sodom, bitumen was readily accessible—found practically in their “front yards.” Their location along a major trade route further facilitated distribution, eliminating the need for complex trading systems. These advantages afforded the population significant leisure time, fostering a culture increasingly unaccustomed to hard labour for survival. Over time, idleness likely set in, contributing to the moral decaydescribed in the biblical narrative. This pattern is not unique; history shows that many prosperous civilisations, once freed from the demands of daily survival, eventually succumbed to similar moral decline.

While the Bible outlines a range of sins attributed to Sodom and Gomorrah, the primary focus is on the extreme depravity of these valley cities. For example, the prohibition in Jewish law against intercourse with animals (Leviticus 18:22–25.) reflects the prevalence of such practices among the inhabitants of Canaan and cities like Sodom. The Israelites, by contrast, lived under strict boundaries that limited the scope of their pleasures. The valley cities, however, appear to have lacked such moral "stereotypes."

Now the picture becomes much clearer: as the novelty of consensual relationships wore off, the pursuit of pleasure began to shift towards scenes of violence and destruction. On that fateful evening, the entire town gathered—hoping at least to watch or, if lucky, to join in this new ritual "for the sake of all that is holy," which, of course, meant nothing more than pleasure.

The most harrowing possibility is that this relentless search for variety may have extended to children. Some theories suggest that certain perverse branches of the cult of Astarte included rituals involving children as symbolic acts to "cultivate fertility"—sometimes even involving entire groups. Such practices would not have starkly contrasted with early forms of Baal worship, which featured the ritual burning of firstborns.

God could not bear to witness such atrocities without profound pain, as indicated by the biblical statement that the cries from the city had "reached Him"—a metaphor signifying the point at which divine non-intervention had reached its limit. Most importantly, divine judgment brought an end to the unimaginable suffering of these children. At the moment of the cities' total destruction, God had the moral grounds to apply what might be described as supernatural anaesthesia. This intervention, occurring at the point of inevitable judgment, would not violate the principle of non-intervention, as the witnesses of such actions were already doomed by their own certainty and on the brink of facing ultimate judgment and the unfolding of eternal realities. Such localised events acted as "portals" from their temporal reality into the future.

Looking ahead, this principle implies that when a global generation arises in which every formed personality has made a definitive choice—whether for subjective desires or objective good—God's intervention will no longer constitute a violation of free will. If a tribe, civilisation, or region reaches a point where no one remains uncertain or undecided, divine action to end their suffering may follow. In such a "miniature end of the world," children would be spared prolonged pain through divine anaesthesia and offered a future opportunity to make their own choice during the prophesied thousand-year kingdom—a period of reflection and understanding before final judgment.

Great Flood

In light of the previous discussions, this section should be more comprehensible and, therefore, concise.

It seems that during this moment in human history, most people had reached a state of certainty in their moral choices—whether for good or for entropy—but not all. This unresolved minority prevented the complete cessation of humanity's cycle of birth and death. Perhaps one of Noah's adult sons still wavered, preserving his right to freedom of choice and self-determination. However, continuing the suffering of the majority, already consumed by moral decay, was not justified for the sake of this small number of undecided individuals.

The solution was a form of indirect divine intervention through instructions given to Noah. This method allowed the undecided (perhaps just one of Noah's sons) the freedom to interpret events as they saw fit: they could view their father either as delusional or as a particularly astute meteorologist. By using natural processes to deliver judgment, God provided room for ambiguity, preserving the autonomy of interpretation for those not yet fully decided.

Regarding the death of children, an omnipotent God could have applied a painless transition for them in this context as well. For the remaining witnesses, who had already solidified their moral stances, such an act would not violate the principle of free will. It is conceivable that minors and those unable to form moral judgments, such as the mentally ill, experienced a mass loss of consciousness or some form of peaceful passage.

As the Bible states: "As it was in the days of Noah, so it will be at the coming of the Son of Man." (Matthew 24:37.)

Even in the end, we can anticipate mercy for children. After all, the world will have made its choice— There will be no hesitation between the scales of subjective alternatives and the absolute good. Children will be given their chance to decide, as mentioned earlier, during the period of the thousand-year kingdom. This transitional era, culminating in the establishment of the New Jerusalem, serves as a bridge to eternity while preserving a pathway to alternative choices.

During this time, human consciousness will delve deeply into the analysis of human fates and the intricate subtleties of psychology, which were, to varying degrees, influenced by entropy and antinomy. This process may be an essential step in enabling consciousness to fully overcome even the faintest allure of alternative paths—paths that, while seemingly progressive, ultimately diverge from the original design of harmony and purpose.

However, if someone intuitively feels the alienness of such a paradigm of happiness patterns, they will have a chance to escape from paradise hell, turning with dignity in their gaze to face the flame of approaching stars led by the one under which lived all those whose ideals touched the heart, with whom one wants to share the emptiness after the last collective resounding "no", clenching fists and teeth, to meet nothingness as the only justice. Although some interpretations of these events describe that those who rebelled against the announcement of the sentence would raise a rebellion and go to storm the New Jerusalem. These are more likely to be warriors who derived pleasure from it. The sceptical brotherhood will prefer to enjoy the autonomy of the last thoughts. Although the lot of sceptics is typically one of objectivity rather than ambition, it is likely that many of them would prefer to contemplate this thought eternally. Perhaps, during the period of objective choice before the first death, they leaned more towards intuitive good.

The Death of David's Infant for His Sins

Before addressing the most challenging aspect of this discussion—where, according to my concept, the justification of divine actions becomes less straightforward—it is worth briefly examining biblical episodes that also seem to reveal instances of direct divine intervention in the deaths of children, rather than mere inaction.

"After Nathan had gone home, the LORD struck the child that Uriah's wife had borne to David, and he became ill." (2 Samuel 12:15.).

The authors of the Bible often employed hyperbolic expressions, which can make the narrative appear harsher to modern readers. Such dramatic phrasing was effective for the mindset of that era, shaping a message that resonated strongly with its audience. It was likely anticipated that in later periods, particularly during the eras of humanism, individualism, and, eventually, 'feelism'—where personal emotions and subjective experiences often take precedence—the essence of such narratives would be revisited and analysed in a broader context.

For example, God's responsibility for the death of David's child could be interpreted as divine non-intervention in natural processes, despite David's prayers. Alternatively, it could be understood as God withholding a miracle due to David's state of diminished trust in Him, which might have restricted divine involvement. During this period, David's prayers could be seen as an expression of grief rather than a genuine appeal to God, reflecting a moment in which he metaphorically "closed the doors" to divine intervention in his domain.

The essence of the event remains unchanged: "because of David's sinful or post-sinful state, the child goes to God". However, the interpretation of this essence can differ significantly depending on the context of understanding.

Another significant episode concerns Michal, Saul's daughter and David's wife. While the text does not explicitly frame her childlessness as a punishment or curse, the context creates the impression of retribution for her mockery of David as he danced before the Ark of the Covenant:

«Therefore, Michal the daughter of Saul had no children to the day of her death" (2 Samuel 6:23.)

This estrangement likely transformed Michal and David's marriage into a hollow formality—a union where the outward appearance of their relationship remained intact, but the emotional and physical closeness had been irrevocably severed. The root of this distance may lie in Michal's enduring resentment towards David after he tore her away from her beloved Paltiel (2 Samuel 3:15–16). The account of her parting with Paltiel is devastating: his grief drove him to follow her, weeping uncontrollably, mile after mile, until he was forcibly sent back. It is a scene so heart-wrenching that it could stir even those unmoved by the anguish of Romeo and Juliet.

For Michal, the pain of this separation, compounded by her subsequent life with a husband she no longer loved, must have been unbearable. Isolated in her sorrow, she likely sought solace in her role as a mother, pouring her energy into raising the five children she took in after the death of her sister Merab, who had been married to Adriel: (2 Samuel 21:8.). These children, according to Old Testament law, were considered hers, and perhaps they became her only source of meaning in a life overshadowed by heartbreak and alienation.

The Genocide of Canaan

One of the most morally challenging episodes in the Bible is the narrative of the conquest of Canaan. According to biblical texts, this campaign, commanded by God, involved the total destruction of the population—women, children, the elderly, and even animals. Furthermore, property that could not be melted down was ordered to be burned.

Even when considering the immorality of the Canaanites, their barbaric traditions, and rituals that often victimised children—paradoxically sacrificed in hopes of obtaining more offspring—the notion of "rescuing" these children from suffering by slaughtering them is no less absurd and morally unjustifiable. Even if we assume the intention was to transfer them to a better reality, it hardly seems like the best method of 'transportation.'

If the risk lay in dangerous ideologies that threatened the existence of the Israelites or humanity at large, why not assimilate the children, who were still at a stage of unconscious choice and unshaped by such ideologies? Some may attempt to justify such radical cruelty by suggesting that even the children posed a comparable threat to adults. For such a justification to hold any weight, however, the threat posed by the children would need to be physical rather than ideological.

One plausible assumption is that God foresaw the presence of a dangerous infection or virus within the population of Canaan. This might explain the strict commands not to take any spoils, to burn cities along with corpses, and for the warriors to wash and undergo quarantine after the battles. Such a rule was also applied after the battle with the Midianites (Numbers 31:19.), where the soldiers were required to undergo a seven-day quarantine. Metals were melted down, and clothes were washed, suggesting concern about contamination.

The accompanying episode is equally horrifying: Achan (Joshua 7:25–26.), one of the participants in the massacre, is executed for bringing garments from a city cursed to be burned into the Israelite camp. Along with Achan, everyone who came into contact with him also faced destruction. From a modern perspective, the risk of a sick or contaminated tribe spreading disease could have been addressed differently—or at least explained in a way that aligns with contemporary reasoning.

However, God, working through limited human understanding, communicated in terms that would compel obedience, using concepts the people of that era could grasp. It is comparable to how we explain the danger of microbes to children: rather than providing a detailed account of biological mechanisms, we might use simplified or frightening imagery, such as describing "toothed creatures gnawing at their insides." Attempting to explain the complexities of microbial activity using scientific terminology would be as incomprehensible to a child as white noise.

Similarly, ancient peoples—descendants of generations of slaves and barbarians—lacked the conceptual framework to understand advanced epidemic processes. Presenting such processes in a way that would satisfy a modern, educated individual would have been equally futile. Instead, God framed these issues in the categories familiar to them, often linking hygiene and social practices to divine mandates or curses to ensure compliance.

For instance, while the Israelites likely had a basic understanding of disease, God described its consequences as curses resulting from violating the 613 commandments. Many of these commandments dealt with hygiene and social interactions, such as washing hands with alkaline water made from the ashes of sacrificial animals (to emphasise its sacred importance), covering food vessels with cloth, ritually washing dishes before and after meals, or burying excrement outside the camp "since the Lord your God walks in the midst of your camp to deliver you" (Deuteronomy 23:14.).

Otherwise, where would the motivation come from to maintain cleanliness when it is conveyed in the form of white noise? Instructions like: wash wounds and drink only living water (from springs); if the mould is black, the dwelling is cursed; if you touch the dead, you are unclean for three days—even if you washed; don't shave in the desert with a blade due to the risk of infection (oh, sorry, because it is an abomination before God); and don't grow extensive facial hair for the same reason, etc., might otherwise be disregarded.

It is worth highlighting the clear prescriptions regarding the treatment of lepers, which included examinations, isolation, the provision of food, and the treatment of wounds with oil and ash—all carried out until the "curse of sin" was deemed to have lifted. If such measures of care could be established for lepers, why couldn't a similar approach have been taken with children from the defeated tribes, placing them under care in a sanitary zone? Why not extend this to a portion of less aggressively inclined women from these same tribes?

Perhaps the issue lies in the potential confusion such care might create. If these individuals were treated similarly to lepers—with examinations and minimal contact—it might lead others to assume the same rules applied and encourage closer proximity, thereby increasing the risk of contamination by a more deadly, unknown disease. Let us suppose that a strict prohibition was issued in the form of the phrase "do not touch the accursed," along with instructions to leave provisions on a loaded donkey for such camps and then burn everything, declaring it cursed. Even under such isolated conditions, the chances of survival for those confined would have been extremely low.

Moreover, the presence of a highly contagious infection could have resulted in even more agonising deaths, compounding the suffering. This might have provoked surviving women, embittered by their losses, to intentionally spread the disease to those they deemed responsible.

It is also important to note that these actions do not align with motives of genocide. Even fellow tribesmen who brought contaminated objects or individuals into their tents faced the same severe consequences. They were condemned to be buried under a pile of stones in an accursed valley, with their tents and possessions burned to ash. This strictness underscores that such measures were not driven by ethnic hatred but by an uncompromising effort to prevent contamination and safeguard the survival of the community.

The hypothesis of a deadly epidemic necessitating such drastic measures requires confirmation not only from biblical texts but also from archaeological evidence. Excavations in Canaan have indeed revealed characteristic bone lesions in shinbones consistent with diseases such as syphilis, tuberculosis, and typhus, including among children's remains. However, these findings are sporadic and span a wide chronological range, making it difficult to draw definitive conclusions. Additionally, the extreme measures taken—such as the burning of cities along with their inhabitants—likely destroyed much of the evidence that could provide further clarity.

Despite these challenges, archaeologists and historians generally agree on the sudden collapse of the flourishing Bronze Age civilisation, marked by the widespread desolation of cities in Canaan and northern Asia. This collapse is typically attributed to a combination of factors, including invasions by the "Sea Peoples," the Hittites, and mass epidemics, possibly spread by rats aboard ships. However, while there is limited evidence to support these theories—again, potentially due to the widespread practice of burning infected corpses—it is reasonable to assume that the tribes in question were afflicted by something even more virulent than Ebola or the Plague.

In this context, one could posit that God foresaw a deadly epidemic breaking out in certain cities, posing a catastrophic threat not only to the local population but also to the Israelites. The option of leaving these cities in isolation was likely untenable due to their history of raids or the potential for future attacks on Israelite settlements.

Interestingly, despite the seemingly anachronistic arrangement of texts in Exodus and Deuteronomy, we observe a shift in divine directives regarding the seven Canaanite tribes. Initially, God commands their complete destruction. However, following the obliteration of certain cities, the command appears to evolve into one of expulsion and a prohibition against intermarriage with these tribes.

Even in this version, logical and consistent with available data and the descriptions of events, there appears to be no more humanity than in the traditional interpretation, where the order to kill everyone is justified by God's foresight—something He knew about these children that we do not. If an epidemic were indeed the cause, it might have been more straightforward to frame the task as the eradication of disease. However, it is unclear whether such a framing would have been more effective than simply presenting the task in terms familiar to the people of that time—an understandable image of evil that needed to be destroyed.

The most humane explanation for these controversial passages of the Bible may lie in the human factor involved in their writing and transmission. Examples include hyperbolic rhetoric or specific euphemisms expressing total victory. For instance, the command to "kill everyone" in a fortified city may not have referred to women and children, as excavations often reveal such sites as military outposts, with civilians primarily living outside the city walls. Furthermore, the coexistence of orders to exterminate tribes with prohibitions against marrying their descendants suggests that such commands may not have been meant literally. Alternatively, they could represent later insertions by scribes outraged by persistent conflicts with the descendants of the Canaanites.

These interpretations, while rehabilitating the moral image of God, are often resisted in religious circles because they challenge the doctrine of biblical infallibility. This doctrine is rooted in several key verses:

•                Jesus' assertion: "Not one jot or one tittle will by any means pass from the law till all is fulfilled" (Matthew 5:18.).

•                The warning in Revelation: "If anyone adds to these things, God will add to him the plagues that are written in this book; and if anyone takes away from the words of the book of this prophecy, God shall take away his part from the Book of Life" (Revelation 22:18-19.).

•                Paul's statement: "All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness" (2 Timothy 3:16.).

However, a closer examination of these verses suggests they may not universally mandate infallibility. The first primarily pertains to the moral code in the Ten Commandments, the second exclusively warns against altering the book of Revelation, and the third focuses on the edifying purpose of God's messages—transmitting information to benefit and guide humanity towards salvation.

The meanings of many ancient Aramaic words have been lost over time and have been reconstructed solely through contextual analysis. Scholars acknowledge that numerous idiomatic expressions from that era are no longer understood due to the absence of explanatory records from contemporary people. Anthropomorphic expressions attributed to God, parables, and hyperbolic contrasts further complicate interpretation.

Moreover, the Bible often records human thoughts alongside divine messages, and it does not always provide a clear distinction between God-inspired revelations and human perspectives. For instance, the prophet Nathan initially conveyed his own decision as though it were from God, only to later retract it. Similarly, Jeremiah expressed deep despair and even attributed hatred to God—statements we understand as human emotions rather than divine messages due to their divergence from the broader biblical narrative. This principle can also be applied to several texts in Ecclesiastes, which at times verge on denying the existence of God altogether.

Additionally, the New Testament includes instances where the apostle Paul later criticised or revised his own actions. He also references letters he wrote that have been lost to history. Discrepancies in narrative details and chronology further highlight the human factor in the Bible's composition. Of course, such inconsistencies rule out the possibility of collusion or intentional fabrication, but they also suggest that God did not override human limitations during the writing process.

This indicates that while the Bible maintains a consistent overarching narrative, God may have chosen to preserve His message in its key aspects rather than in the minutiae of language, historical details, or the stylistic choices of the authors. The imperfections in its transmission underscore the human element—or, more precisely, human will—in its creation, without diminishing its central purpose: to guarantee its life-giving essence.

It is evident that late insertions have been identified in the New Testament, alongside transcription errors in the Old Testament. These range from minor issues, such as spelling inconsistencies and non-synonymous word substitutions, to more significant disruptions, like changes in the sequence or order of sentences. Moreover, the Bible itself cautions against adhering solely to the "letter of scripture" without grasping its "spirit," even referring to this overly literal approach as "deadly".

These observations suggest that not every word or passage in the Bible should be regarded as a direct expression of God's thoughts or ideas. Instead, the overarching narrative must be considered within its broader context and interpreted in light of God's described qualities. Ultimately, God's purpose, as presented in scripture, is the happiness of all creation—a goal that naturally entails minimising suffering and striving to save as many recipients of future good as possible. All details of the narrative and past events should, therefore, be examined through the lens of these ultimate objectives.

The assertion that "scripture explains itself" underscores the importance of contextual analysis. However, it does not exclude the use of external criteria to assess its consistency. Without such criteria, meaningful analysis of the Bible becomes impossible. Throughout this work, I have incorporated what I refer to as the "three pillars" for determining truth, which also serve to activate will and responsibility in making informed decisions about one's beliefs.

These criteria are not foreign to the Bible; in fact, scripture explicitly recommends them. The first is reasoning and logic, as encouraged in passages such as Romans 10:2, Matthew 23:16-17, and Matthew 16:2. These verses highlight the importance of engaging with scripture through patterns of thought and logical analysis.

The second is intuitive morality, which acts as an internal compass for evaluating interpretations. This is reflected in verses like Romans 2:15, 1 John 3:20, and James 4:17, which emphasise the role of conscience in discerning right from wrong.

The third is alignment with physical reality, which serves as a measure of truth by comparing ideas or interpretations with observable evidence. This is supported by verses such as Romans 1:20 and Psalm 19:1, which point to the natural world as a testament to divine principles.

As we see, the Bible itself advocates for interpretative frameworks that extend beyond the text, incorporating external verification criteria to ensure a coherent and meaningful understanding.

If we accept the fundamental notion of the textual infallibility of every single letter, coupled with unwavering confidence in the correctness of its interpretation—without regard to specific circumstances or a precise understanding of the reasoning—we risk concluding that whatever God commands, even if it appears immoral or inhumane, must be obeyed solely on the basis of His perfect knowledge and omniscience.

It is evident that in a period of limited awareness when tribes could not fully comprehend God's reasoning—as was likely the case for the Israelites—they were still expected to adhere to His commands. However, even then, in obvious matters, such as the case of the golden calf, they were condemned because, at a basic level, they could already distinguish what was from God and what was not.

Likewise, today, everything that defies logic and morality should be questioned—let alone a situation where someone claims that God instructed them to kill. Would we not, in such a case, question their sanity and seek explanations for what might simply be the actions of a dangerous individual?

For the sake of objectivity, however, we must recognise that human consciousness, both then and now, requires an appropriate context and framework of information for motivation. For example, Abraham's willingness to sacrifice his son was rooted in a specific set of beliefs and understandings. He believed that God would resurrect his son, trusted in God's promise of descendants "as numerous as the sand of the sea," and was confident in God's inability to lie—all based on previously revealed evidence and the moral objectivity of God's general approach. These convictions provided Abraham with the psychological and spiritual foundation to act.

Abraham's statement to his servants that he and his son would return suggests he understood the command as a test of faith, not a final outcome. Importantly, God did not subject Abraham to the full psychological torment of the act, intervening at the critical moment when Abraham had cast aside all doubts and demonstrated his trust that his son would not die as a result of this act or that he would be resurrected immediately. This careful contextualisation of divine instructions underscores a broader principle: that God accounts for the specific understanding and framework of those receiving His commands.

Similarly, in today's world, if faced with a psychopath claiming that God instructed them to commit murder, I would need substantial evidence and context before even considering agreement with or approval of such an action. For instance, I would require knowledge that the intended target has a criminal past, evidence such as a social media post indicating plans for a terrorist attack, a video showing the person assembling explosives, and other material proof. Most importantly, I would need assurance that the so-called "psychopath" claiming divine revelation is, in fact, a counter-terrorism officer who has informed their colleagues, received clearance from higher authorities, and is acting under proper accountability. Only with all this information would I consider supporting such a revelation and responding, "Amen, brother, do what you believe God has told you."

Who knows? Perhaps Abraham acted with no less scrupulousness, precision, or care than we might today, given the standards of his time and the level of information available to him for consent. His actions highlight the importance of having an appropriate context and sufficient evidence to validate the moral and spiritual reasoning behind extraordinary commands.

Today, evidence and accountability serve a similar purpose, reflecting our modern understanding of God's motives in historical circumstances. These motives seem to have been focused on preserving essential principles: logical reasoning, moral foundations, and the alignment of practices with the patterns of reality. The ultimate goal was to minimise suffering and guide human consciousness away from self-destruction, steering it toward an alignment with patterns of objective happiness.

In the same way, God accounts for the context of each situation, including the period and the sufficiency of information to those involved. This principle is reflected in scripture, which advises, "test the spirits, whether they are of God" (1 John 4:1) and "if they do not speak according to this word, it is because there is no light in them" (Isaiah 8:20).

In modern terms, this principle could be rephrased as follows: "If a claim lacks logic, contradicts intuitive morality, and fails to correspond with observable reality, it cannot reasonably be attributed to God." Such claims directly conflict with the character and principles of God as hinted throughout scripture. After all, "even demons disguise themselves as angels of light" (2 Corinthians 11:14).

Thesis Summary of the Chapter:

1.              Self-Limitation of Divine Intervention

God's intervention in the lives of children or the mentally impaired is constrained by His principle of preserving free will. Divine actions are limited unless a specific situation requires balancing the scales of choice between worldviews. This self-limitation prevents greater suffering and ensures the integrity of individual realities.

2.              Opportunity for Conscious Choice

Children who have not yet developed a sense of personal responsibility, as well as individuals whose cognitive impairments produce similar limitations, are granted the opportunity to make a conscious choice. This choice allows them to decide between God/Life and the alternative—short-term gratification of self-consciousness, accompanied by a sense of independence and self-righteousness, which serves to alleviate mental suffering.

3.              Anaesthesia in Tragic Dilemmas

In scenarios where children are placed "at the fork in the railway tracks" in moral dilemmas akin to the Foot or Thomson trolley problems, decisions to prevent greater harm or reduce overall suffering may involve divine anaesthesia. This intervention ensures that their experience of pain and perception of suffering is entirely nullified.

Critics who dismiss this notion as speculative often point to the lack of concrete evidence supporting it. However, it must be noted that if these events are analysed primarily as illustrations of cruelty—whether or not they occurred historically—then, within the framework of a hypothetical God, equal consideration should be given to the potential for divine compassion and justice.

4.              Contextual Reading of Biblical Texts

The Bible should be interpreted within the broader context of its overarching narrative, acknowledging the challenges of fully restoring the original meanings of ancient expressions. Misinterpretations are inevitable, as God does not override human individuality, emotional expression, or cultural nuances in the conveyance of His message. For instance, Moses' emotional response when striking the rock at Horeb reflects his personal fervour rather than divine intention.

God's corrections are likely limited to fundamental truths, conveyed through "guides" who are closer to grasping the essence of these truths. Everything else is left to the universal balance, allowing individuals the freedom to choose their concept of God—or the absence thereof. This approach enables people to live according to their ideals of happiness, justice, and the common good, free from compulsion to exist in a reality that might cause them mental torment. At the same time, God provides sufficient grounds for individuals to reasonably accept either objective reality or a preferable alternative.

What if atheists designed a god? Would reason and morality align, or would contradictions emerge? Explore the deep philosophical dilemmas in If Atheists Created God.

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