The fact that this is happening in today’s armed forces is genuinely appalling, and we thank Lyngar for bringing it to our attention. But “God” should be capitalized here, and in the sentence that follows: “Modern attempts to force ‘god’ into inappropriate parts of the public sphere is a Cold War relic.”
Then there’s the piece by an atheist named Loren Miller titled “Is god good?” That question has been debated for centuries – but with a capital “G.”
I understand why some atheists might want to write “god” instead of “God.” If you believe that the word describes a human phenomenon rather than a genuine and existent deity, it might seem appropriate to use the lowercase form. But it’s not. If you are referring to the singular and all-powerful deity of monotheistic tradition, you are using a proper name. That means the capital “G” is a must.
“About what?”
“The wedding, about why it happened so fast. You promise me first to say nothing.”
“OK,” I agreed testily.
“You see, he was in love with a girl from Ukraine, where he was studying.” She was referring to The Groom. “Another student, but a white girl.” She told me her name. “She was just here, in the summer. She met everyone in the family, visited all the houses. I thought she was a nice girl, well brought up. I liked her. Everyone said they liked her. She is going to be a doctor.”To be sure, there will continue to be many opportunities to use the word in lowercase form. The phrase “belief in gods” is punctuated correctly. So is “belief in a monotheistic god.” But the phrase “belief in god” is not correct, no matter what you do or don’t believe.
You’ve said it a thousand times, and I get it: You don’t believe in capital-G God any more than I believe in Tinkerbell. That doesn’t change anything. (See what I did there? I don’t believe in an entity named “Tinkerbell.” But since it is the proper name of a, yes, fictional character, I capitalized it.)
The “god” construct, however it’s intended, looks like an ungrammatical affectation. It makes the writer seem petty and silly, like those Republicans on Fox News who talk about the “Democrat” Party. It also seems intended to show disrespect to the beliefs of others (who shouldn’t care, but some of whom undoubtedly do).My father was the flint-fisted epitome of the “alpha male” that the pick-up artists and the frat boy wolf packs aspired to be. My mother and I were images in a photo frame that assured his bosses he was a family man, a man who could be trusted. We were bellies and backs and cheeks, the soft places that bore his anger, or any feeling that found expression in his fists. And he was the axis of the turning world—at least to my mother, who sent my abuser (a choir boy, a Boy Scout) home to his parents with a polite explanation that he was simply “too old” to be babysat. Until his family moved, I’d see him at the bus stop, and that copper-penny taste of fear would flood my mouth.
Before I could ever know anything different, this was maleness: aggression and protection, equally awful. Something cowardly and brute, something that hit you with its belt and pulled you beneath your favorite Lion King blanket and stuck its fingers into your vagina. My mind was still a dark house, waiting for positive moments—happy memories in the making—to light up each room. My father took a hammer to the circuit box, left me to wander the rooms of that dark house; and the neighbor boy who made “a secret game” of putting his hands under my dress while we sat on the couch, watching videos of Disney princesses whose happy endings came in a man’s kiss, pulled me into the basement.
Sometimes I still wake up with that copper-penny taste in my mouth, only this time, it’s not just fear—it’s anger: Every day brings some fresh Hell of sexual and gender-based violence. In her book “Men Explain Things to Me,” Rebecca Solnit writes, “Violence doesn’t have a race, a class, a religion, or a nationality, but it does have a gender.” And in an interview with Democracy Now after the shootings in Isla Vista, in which Elliot Rodger spread terror across a college campus, Solnit elaborates, “Every woman, every day, when she leaves her house, starts to think about safety … women are so hemmed in by fear of men, it profoundly limits our lives.”
The true nature of creation may be in dispute, but the proper usage in this case is not. Webster’s Dictionary tells us that a “god” is “a spirit or being that has great knowledge, strength, power, etc.” while “God” is “the perfect and all-powerful spirit or being … worshipped by Christians, Jews, and Muslims …”
The fact that this is happening in today’s armed forces is genuinely appalling, and we thank Lyngar for bringing it to our attention. But “God” should be capitalized here, and in the sentence that follows: “Modern attempts to force ‘god’ into inappropriate parts of the public sphere is a Cold War relic.”
Then there’s the piece by an atheist named Loren Miller titled “Is god good?” That question has been debated for centuries – but with a capital “G.”
I understand why some atheists might want to write “god” instead of “God.” If you believe that the word describes a human phenomenon rather than a genuine and existent deity, it might seem appropriate to use the lowercase form. But it’s not. If you are referring to the singular and all-powerful deity of monotheistic tradition, you are using a proper name. That means the capital “G” is a must.
“About what?”
“The wedding, about why it happened so fast. You promise me first to say nothing.”
“OK,” I agreed testily.
“You see, he was in love with a girl from Ukraine, where he was studying.” She was referring to The Groom. “Another student, but a white girl.” She told me her name. “She was just here, in the summer. She met everyone in the family, visited all the houses. I thought she was a nice girl, well brought up. I liked her. Everyone said they liked her. She is going to be a doctor.”To be sure, there will continue to be many opportunities to use the word in lowercase form. The phrase “belief in gods” is punctuated correctly. So is “belief in a monotheistic god.” But the phrase “belief in god” is not correct, no matter what you do or don’t believe.
You’ve said it a thousand times, and I get it: You don’t believe in capital-G God any more than I believe in Tinkerbell. That doesn’t change anything. (See what I did there? I don’t believe in an entity named “Tinkerbell.” But since it is the proper name of a, yes, fictional character, I capitalized it.)
The “god” construct, however it’s intended, looks like an ungrammatical affectation. It makes the writer seem petty and silly, like those Republicans on Fox News who talk about the “Democrat” Party. It also seems intended to show disrespect to the beliefs of others (who shouldn’t care, but some of whom undoubtedly do).My father was the flint-fisted epitome of the “alpha male” that the pick-up artists and the frat boy wolf packs aspired to be. My mother and I were images in a photo frame that assured his bosses he was a family man, a man who could be trusted. We were bellies and backs and cheeks, the soft places that bore his anger, or any feeling that found expression in his fists. And he was the axis of the turning world—at least to my mother, who sent my abuser (a choir boy, a Boy Scout) home to his parents with a polite explanation that he was simply “too old” to be babysat. Until his family moved, I’d see him at the bus stop, and that copper-penny taste of fear would flood my mouth.
Before I could ever know anything different, this was maleness: aggression and protection, equally awful. Something cowardly and brute, something that hit you with its belt and pulled you beneath your favorite Lion King blanket and stuck its fingers into your vagina. My mind was still a dark house, waiting for positive moments—happy memories in the making—to light up each room. My father took a hammer to the circuit box, left me to wander the rooms of that dark house; and the neighbor boy who made “a secret game” of putting his hands under my dress while we sat on the couch, watching videos of Disney princesses whose happy endings came in a man’s kiss, pulled me into the basement.
Sometimes I still wake up with that copper-penny taste in my mouth, only this time, it’s not just fear—it’s anger: Every day brings some fresh Hell of sexual and gender-based violence. In her book “Men Explain Things to Me,” Rebecca Solnit writes, “Violence doesn’t have a race, a class, a religion, or a nationality, but it does have a gender.” And in an interview with Democracy Now after the shootings in Isla Vista, in which Elliot Rodger spread terror across a college campus, Solnit elaborates, “Every woman, every day, when she leaves her house, starts to think about safety … women are so hemmed in by fear of men, it profoundly limits our lives.”
The true nature of creation may be in dispute, but the proper usage in this case is not. Webster’s Dictionary tells us that a “god” is “a spirit or being that has great knowledge, strength, power, etc.” while “God” is “the perfect and all-powerful spirit or being … worshipped by Christians, Jews, and Muslims …”
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