I suppose it would be safe to call this an essay. I wrote it as an attempted response to the most famous brand of cop-out next to "faith": the "I feel god" sort of thing. I'm frankly getting very tired of this particular argument. It seems like I hear it even more often than "faith" these days. There are other ways of attacking the argument, I realize, but I'm a language nerd, so this is the route I'm trying to take. I wrote all this way past my bedtime, so if some part of it blows or doesn't work, let me know. I'll just be happy if I managed to stay coherent.

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What God Means to Youand Why It Doesn't Really Matter   It inevitably happens in any discussion where an atheist attempts to use scientific evidence and logical reason to corner a willfully committed religionist: either the faith card comes into play or the atheist is told that he simply does not understand God. His interlocutor will explain to him, often with a knowing smile or a sympathetic shake of the head, that all his arguments are necessarily strawmen because he simply does not "get it". If only the atheist could understand god, then he would understand god. The faith cop-out has been criticized numerous times in the past (another concept the atheist apparently does not "get" ), but there doesn't seem to be as much written about the latter argument, the one where the atheist is told he does not understand God the way that the believer does. Such arguments come in several variaties, most often assuming the shape of the "I feel him in my heart" argument or the "I cannot explain God in words" argument. Often times these arguments are just laughed out the door, and in many cases they probably should be; nontheless, the following is a charitable attempt to approach these kinds of arguments as if they were valid. At least one of these arguments (part one) is more common, but the others may be a bit fresher.   Part One: A Self-Referential God  
Let's begin by assuming that "god" is not yet beyond the scope of words. Whenever we use words to communicate with one another, each word has a very specific meaning. There are generally two different kinds of words: function words and content words. The words "therefore" and "very" are function words, for example, because the first signals that a conclusion of sorts is on the way, while the latter simply intensifies whatever follows. All on their own, though, the words don't mean much of anything. Content words such as happiness, toothbrush, and contemplation, on the other hand, all have meanings on their own. It seems safe to assume that "god" is meant to be a content word and that it is supposed to have a referent of some sort. The sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, then, is: to what does "god" refer? Faced with this question, it is not uncommon for the devout religionist to offer some secondary qualities or sub-components of "god". He may even try to throw in a sort of synonym, such as "the supreme being". Such attempts still ultimately fail to explain what he means by "god". To understand why "god" cannot be defined in terms of secondary qualities or sub-components, we need only look as far as some of our more common words. For example, suppose we were trying to define the word house. One might define house as "a common place of residence with doors, windows, many rooms, and a roof overhead". But is this a sufficient definition of house? What are we to say of words like appartment, dwelling, domicile, abode, home, dormitory, cottage, etc? The specific meaning of house seems to be more than a sum of its parts. But "god" is usually intended to be some kind of absolute, so it might be unfair to compare it to something like house. Let's try and pin it down to something more one-and-only. Suppose we were to ask for a definition of Richard Dawkins, and suppose we used for our definition "the author of The God Delusion". There is only one specific Richard Dawkins we are referring to, and there is only specific author of The God Delusion, but does this make our definition sufficient? Actually, no. To understand why the definition is not sufficient, we need only observe the following:   Richard Dawkins is the author of The God Delusion.Richard Dawkins is Richard Dawkins.   Clearly, what we mean by "Richard Dawkins" is not what we mean by "the author of The God Delusion". When we use these terms, we happen to think of one particular man, but the terms in themselves are actually describing two completely different things; thus, "the author of The God Delusion" is not a sufficient description of Richard Dawkins. We would not know that these terms described the same individual if we were not injecting some additional information we already possess into the terms. In other words, the connection between the individual terms is a bridge that we ourselves build. We cannot define Richard Dawkins using secondary qualities (atheistic), component parts (two hands), or actions (authors The God Delusion) because none of these accurately define exactly what Richard Dawkins is. Furthermore, we cannot try to define Richard Dawkins in terms of what secondary qualities (belief in god), component parts (hooves), or actions (participates in the X-Games) he lacks. This gets us no closer to an understanding of what a Richard Dawkins is. The term "god" is not exempt from this game. Expressions such as "supreme being" and "creator of the universe" do not work to define him either, and for identical reasons:  God is the creator of the universe.God is God.  God is the supreme being.God is God.  God is love.God is God.  Again, the terms might seem synonymous, just as "Richard Dawkins" and "author of The God Delusion" seem synonymous, but they don't actually mean the same thing. The connection between the two terms is a bridge that we must build ourselves. More specifically, in this case, it is a bridge that the religionist must build himself; and he certainly seems to do so.   Part Two: A God Beyond Description   Perhaps, then, "god" cannot be described with words. As we have just seen, any attempt to define "god" in terms of other terms seems doomed from the start. The visceral reaction to such a realization would no doubt be to withdraw into the silent recesses of our own minds, to slam the door on linguistic expression, to avoid any attempt whatsoever to describe "god" with words, to accept---here it comes!---that our internal definition alone is a sufficient description of "god". No words necessary. This practice is a little more slippery than trying to define "god" with terms, but it turns out to be just as useless. To understand exactly how it is useless, let's put "god" off to the side of the desk for a while and examine a term that is a little more commonplace. Let us examine "book". Well, what is this "book" of which you speak? More specifically, what is your internal definition of "book"? It would obviously be fruitless of you to try and explain to me exactly what you mean by "book", but if you were to try and do so, you would not be handing me your exact internal definition. Instead, you would be drawing for me a series of dots, hoping that I would connect them in such a way that my own internal definition of "book" came to be as identical as possible to your own. You simply supply the dots (word definition), and I get to draw the internal definition on my own. But don't start planning your "fishers of men" Sunday school lesson quite yet. This is by no means a perfect system. Your internal definition is not going to pass flawlessly from your head to mine, and you are not the only means by which I can form my internal definition. (For example, I modify my definition upon seeing an actual book). No two people will have the same understanding of "book", and that understanding can change from moment to moment. What does "book" mean to the following people:  StudentTeacherLibrarianReview ColumnistPublisherBorders Employee  All of these individuals no doubt possess some different ideas and feelings toward books. They no doubt have equally different ideas and feelings toward terms like "reading" and "literary classic". The term "god" cannot be expected to dodge the same procedure. Just like "book", the term "god" will no doubt invoke different feelings and ideas in different individuals depending on their specific circumstances. And yet, can we say that any of them are wrong? We also form different feelings and ideas about the term "book" depending on what other words appear around it. For example:  Cookbook
CheckbookBook of the BibleComic BookBook of the DeadBook of MatchesGuiness Book of World Recordsa bookthe book   It's no question that these books all have different purposes, but it is not only the purposes we are concerned with. We are concerned with your internal definition---your mental image---of "book". Disregarding the content and purpose of these books, what are your feelings toward "comic book" versus "checkbook"? What are your feelings toward "cookbook" versus "book of the dead"? These feelings are obviously not inherent in "book". These feelings are associated with specific internal definitions (notice the plural) of "book". And it's interesting to consider the often overlooked subtle distinction between "a book" versus "the book". And yet all of these refer to a singular book. Compare this phenomenon to subtle differences in meaning and feeling when observing the following list, which is no different in format than the "book" list:   Christian GodIslamic GodJewish GodGreek GodDemi-GodSex GodOh my god!   All of these count as belonging to the "god" term, and yet none of them---not even all of them collectively---sufficiently define "god", whether we are using internal definitions or articulated ones. Let's try one last experiment along the same lines. Consider what your internal definition of the word "bird" might be. Try and get a good solid feel for it before moving on.    . . . . . . . . .    Got one? Excellent. Chances are high that you're gravitating toward a smallish, mostly harmless creature that flies, tweets or crows, and spends a fair portion of its day hopping along tree branches or telephone wires. Did your internal definition happen to account for something more like a turkey vulture? An ostrich? A penguin? A peacock? A rooster? Big Bird? In some way, these all fit inside of "bird", and yet none of them---not even all of them collectively---precisely capture "bird". Similarly, no matter what one feels, perceives, or pictures in the mind upon hearing or saying the word "god", it is guaranteed not to account for all possible meanings of the word, and---like the different perceptions of "book" or "bird"---the internal definition seems somehow dependent on personal experience and current circumstances. No internal definition can be trusted as the definition that does the trick. Our internal definitions, then, leave as much to be desired as our articulated ones.   Part Three: A God Unknown   It's easy to point out the inadequacy of word definitions and then to retreat into the realm of internal understanding; however, we saw in Part Two that this is not the "Get Out of Jail Free" card it appears to be. At this point, it would probably be tempting for the religionist to hone in on the fact that, despite all of us having different definitions of each term, we all still under the gist of the term. We all have a grasp of the "prototype". All our different, but none are exactly wrong. This would be a cozy fit for the religionist who contends that we all believe in "god", though some of us don't realize it. This unfortunately does not work. The existence of a common understanding does not necessitate that the understood thing must be associated with an extant thing. Although it is true that we share a common understanding of "bird" and "book" and that both of these things exist, but many of us also share a common understanding of "dragon", and yet this thing definitely does not exist (which is exactly why we like it). Even if it turned out that something very much like a dragon happened to exist, it still would not be a dragon. After all, no one reading these lines of text has the exact same understanding of what "dragon" means, so it is entirely appropriate to say that the thing would merely be like a dragon, since we know that all definitions are in some way imprecise. The following statements are not synonymous:   Creature X is a dragon.Creature X is Creature X.   Even if something very much like a "god" exists (we are still using the word "like" since we've already established that all definitions---internal or articulated---are in some manner imprecise), it would not be the same.   "God" is definition X.God is God.   In summary, 1) a common understanding does not entail any sort of ontological basis, as we saw with "dragon"; and 2) due to matters of imprecision, circumstance, and personal experience, the meaning of "god" (or "book" or "bird" or "dragon" or "Abraham Lincoln&quot cannot be tied down to any one person's internal or articulated definition at any one time. In fact, given the number of possible definitions at any one time, and given the imprecise nature of each of these definitions, there is a very high probability that the actual "god" in question (supposing there is one) does not agree with the observed definition. In short, your specific meaning will always be "god", but "god" can never be your specific meaning.   Part Four: From "The Word" to "a word".   A religionist might at this point try to turn the tables on his interlocutor. He might, for instance, argue that I have ensnared myself in a sort of trap. After all, how can I be skeptical of "god" when I have no specific meaning of "god" to be skeptical of? Doesn't "god" always entail more than whatever I am being skeptical about? What's the deal? The deal is that whatever one thinks "god" means cannot be exactly right, just like whatever one thinks "book" means cannot be exactly right. We're forced to say that neither term means one thing in particular until we have some means of narrowing down our definition. Fortunately for books, we can pick up an actual book and know exactly what we mean by "book". Unfortunately for God, definitions aplenty are the only thing he's got going.