Hello, arc! And welcome to this forum.

I am glad for your success on Thin Within. Losing weight is a difficult business for me - I never lost much weight at all on any other plan and had long given up before I found Atkins.

Since this is a low-carb-oriented forum, we're pretty much going to take swats at any diet that isn't low carb, and at any article that uses erroneous information to impeach low carb. Hell, we even play one low carb diet off against each other.

Furthermore, you must realize that religion does not work out to be a positive experience for everyone. I and others carry scars from our religious pasts and I think that was driving some of our concerns about Thin Within - the potential for a sin-based theology driving a diet plan is unnerving, even if the actual plan is light on the fire-and-brimstone stuff. (We don't know a lot about Thin Within - do you know any good links?)

Why do I turn to food instead of God? Because God doesn't speak to me. When I used to try to pray, I ended up praying to silence. No bushes burned for me; no seas parted - although, I admit I eat WAY too many loaves. The grace of God was never granted to me despite my longing for it.

This failure of grace is often explained me as a self-sabotage to the Seven Deadly Sins http://deadlysins.com/sins/index.htm. Stop the sinning (or repent), the story goes, and the grace comes. But neither calm nor fevered prayer for forgiveness has ever worked for me - just the silence answers.

So, I was at a dead end. I turned to God, but for me, the line was dead, and the only blame was to me, for being such an accomplished, evil sinner.

That is the situation that makes me leery of any religion-based diet plan: God takes the credit; I get the blame. Sorry, no thanks.

As it happens, two of the deadly sins fall in favor of dieting (gluttony and sloth lead to obesity) and no less than five fall opposed to dieting (envy, anger, greed, lust, and pride). My Atkins and dieting sins appear to be as follows:

1. I envy those who are thinner and more muscular than me.
2. I am angry that I am so overweight.
3. My lust burns unfulfilled because women are repulsed that I am so overweight.
4. My pride in my overweight appearance is low - and I want to be more prideful of it.
5. I watch greedily as each pound melts off me on the Atkins Diet.

Of course, one may also be a glutton on the Atkin's diet (a "luxurious" diet featuring all the tasty foods I love in amounts without restriction) and since I've mostly ignored the exercise rules (due to my sloth), that puts me at a perfect 7 for 7 on the deadly sins scale. Like I said, no grace for me. Oh, well.

There is an upside to my acceptance of this lack of divine grace. I'll never drink SF Kool-Aid in Jonestown in pursuit of it. I'll never crash an airliner into a building in the hunt for it. I'll never drown my children in despair over it. Others who've heard the awful silence, and blame their sinful selves for it, all. The logic of failing faith is inescapable: "If I REALLY believed, I wouldn't be in such a sorry state."

Gotbeer... I *completely* relate. I've been "burned" by sin-based theologies myself. But I think maybe there is grace to be found in our acceptance of the workings of our bodies. There are many here who, for the first time perhaps, approach dieting as a gentle and patient nurturing of ourselves towards our goals, instead of the brutal self-flagellating denial and starvation that we used to use. We are learning to forgive ourselves the "sin" of being fat, and love ourselves in spite of it. In a strange way, and perhaps unintentionally even, I feel closer to Grace in this respect than I have before, because I'm working more in harmony with my body and not fighting it so much.

Unfortunately, without the science of LC involved, I too can only see a bitter ending for people with insulin issues who feel faith will suffice to overcome their problems. They will probably not find their Grace this way.

In a dualistic religious sense (spirit and physical; mind and body separate at death) the grace of this diet (I feel it) is a different issue from the grace of god (I don't feel it).

In a more wholistic, naturalistic religious sense, where mind and body are one and each perishes when either dies, grace is grace, regardless of where one finds it (because the divine is manifest in the physical world rather than a separate spiritual world).

A recent Discovery program on mummification by Japanese Bhuddist monks in the early 1800's showed some interesting dietary ideas. The monks decided to begin their own mummification approximately 10 years before they expected to die. Their diet was changed from one of rice and wheat products to one comprising only of nuts and seeds gleaned from the local countryside. This was coupled with a strict exercise regimen, the idea being to loose as much body weight as possible so that putrifaction of the flesh upon death was kept to a minimum.

Rather an extreme form of weight control methinks. But even then they knew to cut the carbs.

Paradise Lite

In heaven, you'll be thinner, happier, and smarter—or so Americans think.

By Adam Kirsch

Posted Thursday, Feb. 5, 2004, at 12:05 PM PT

http://slate.msn.com/id/2095002/

Heaven has always been a touchy subject for religion. In fact, as Peter Stanford shows in his new study Heaven: A Guide to the Undiscovered Country, the greatest prophets have had little to say about it. Of course, the Old Testament contains references to a world to come, and the foundation of the New Testament is Jesus' promise of resurrection and "the kingdom of heaven." But Moses and Jesus—and, for that matter, Muhammad—didn't spend much time actually drawing a map of the afterlife. In First Corinthians, St. Paul laid down the orthodox line when he simply refused to speculate about what heaven had in store: "Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor have entered into the heart of man, the things which God has prepared for those who love him."

It is true that, logically, we simply cannot know what heaven will be like. If, as Christianity believes, it is the place where our souls are united with God, then it's no more possible to describe heaven than it is to describe God himself. That's why Dante, at the conclusion of Paradiso, declares that he is unable to write down what he saw: "From that moment my vision was greater than our speech." For austere or mystically inclined believers, this absolute otherness of heaven is what makes it absolutely desirable. "To be in paradise," John Calvin reminded his followers, "is not to speak to each other and be heard by each other, but only to enjoy God."

But heaven is not just an embarrassment to human reason; sometimes it is just plain embarrassing, a wish-fulfillment fantasy that has more to do with appetite than faith. Stanford's book, though light on analysis, is full of examples of the strange and frothy heavens invented by ordinary believers over the centuries. In the Middle Ages, the legendary land of Cockaigne was one such folk heaven: an endless feast, complete with pigs that trotted, already roasted, to the dinner table. By the 18th century, celestial luxury had become more refined, but it was no less extravagant; the popular tract Friendship in Death imagined "bright cascades and crystal rivulets rolling over orient pearls and sands of gold."

By holding such populist visions at arm's length, the churches have tacitly admitted that heaven puts religious faith itself in a dubious light. Belief, it can easily seem, is just the quarter you put into the divine slot machine in order to win the jackpot of the afterlife. And certainly the greed for heaven is still alive and well. That much is clear from A Travel Guide to Heaven, a new Christian inspirational book. The author, Anthony DeStefano, takes his travel-guide conceit literally, declaring that paradise is "Disney World, Hawaii, Paris, Rome and New York all rolled up into one"—the "ultimate playground, created purely for our enjoyment." The disingenuousness of DeStefano's fantasy has to be read to be believed: He looks forward to a heaven where you are your earthly self, but thinner, younger, and prettier, and where you will do nothing but race from one game, hobby, or exotic sight to the next, "having fun" for eternity. No detail is too small for DeStefano's cruise-director God to take care of: "You shouldn't be shocked," he writes, if on Judgment Day "you feel a paw anxiously poking at your leg"—yes, Rover will be there, too.

Ironically, while A Travel Guide to Heaven is clearly the work of a true believer—and is shelved in the religion section of the bookstore—it has nowhere near the moral concern of two recent best-selling, secular accounts of heaven. Mitch Albom's The Five People You Meet in Heaven—the follow-up to Tuesdays With Morrie—and The Lovely Bones, the hugely successful debut novel by Alice Sebold, have a genuine thirst for heaven. These heavens are not easy consumerist paradises. Instead, both Albom and Sebold give us something new in the history of the afterlife: a therapeutic heaven. For both writers, heaven has nothing to do with pleasure; it is the place where you listen to your inner child, repair your self-esteem, and finally reach closure.

In The Lovely Bones, we see heaven literally through the eyes of a child: 14-year-old Susie Salmon, who has been raped and murdered by a serial-killer neighbor. The lurid violence and emotional manipulations of the tale are standard popular-fiction fare. What makes the book unusual is that Susie's murder, and its ramifications for her family, are all narrated by the dead girl herself as she watches from heaven. Sebold does make some attempts at describing what goes on up there, imagining a paradise tailor-made to Susie's childish fantasies. ("Our heaven had an ice cream shop.") But there is something forlorn and even frightening about Sebold's descriptions of heaven since what really interests her—and Susie—is Earth. Far from being content in the afterlife, Susie has her nose pressed against "the Inbetween," trying to witness and, if possible, affect events on Earth. Like a course of psychoanalysis, this eager observation must go on until Susie has made peace with her "issues." Once she can approve of "the lovely bones that had grown around my absence"—"the connections ... made at great cost, that happened after I was gone"—she is released to some other higher plane of the afterlife.

In almost exactly the same way, Albom's heaven involves not leaving oneself behind but studying oneself more intensely than was ever possible on Earth. Eddie, the 83-year-old protagonist, dies saving a girl from a roller-coaster accident. Arriving in heaven, he learns that he must confront the five people he has most intimately affected and been affected by. He reviews his whole life, with the goal—again as in therapy—of putting his demons to rest. Eddie feared and resented his father, but he learns to see him as just a flawed human being who meant well. He neglected his wife but gets to spend more quality time with her and earn her forgiveness.

What these visions of heaven have in common is their refusal of transcendence. They are unable to believe in anything more important than the individual human being or more significant than his or her earthly suffering. What makes them distinctly 21st-century heavens is the nature of that suffering. DeStefano's heaven is really just an updated Cockaigne, full of the latest refinements in luxury. Albom and Sebold, on the other hand, could only be the products of our affluent, post-religious society—not pious enough to be concerned with God and not hungry enough to fantasize about food. Instead, the afflictions they want heaven to cure are the very ones our wealth seems to aggravate: loneliness, alienation, emotional deprivation. Instead of being "God's spies," as Shakespeare wrote in King Lear, we will spy for ourselves, on ourselves; heaven means a chance to get our inner lives right at last. (The same principle is at work in the Bill Murray movie Groundhog Day, which in its relentless focus on self-improvement, rather than self-sacrifice, updates It's a Wonderful Life for the 1990s.) Instead of angelic choirs, it now seems, we will be greeted in heaven by the sound of a billion voices, all talking about themselves.

Several years ago I participated in the Weigh Down Workshop. I found it to be a wonderful program--not guilt based at all--just a supportive approach to allowing God fill the empty places inside you instead of using food.

I dropped out of the program at a time of intense stress (daughter and husband both very ill)--and I'm totally dedicated to lc now--BUT, that doesn't mean there's no merit to the faith approach. I still utilize some of those techniques for dealing with emotional eating.

The title just about sums it up.

Gotbeer, your post has made me sad. You didn't mention how you got burned in your past experience with religion, but many people (including me) have had the same rotten luck to have learned from those who use guilt, blame, fear or other selfish emotions to try to control you. It's not right. And it's definitely NOT what God intended.
Your last statement in italics made me smile, because I felt the same way growing up.
As for the silence on the other end of the line (so to speak), God doesn't speak to us in burning bushes and parting seas in this age. There are many ways He does speak though. It's my hope that you will give God another chance, and not let false prophets keep you from the Truth--the greatest joy.

I have read through this thread with interest.

I have often thought that my religious beliefs have helped me with this way of eating, not because I think gluttony is a sin, but because my religious beliefs help me keep from getting focused on the issue of control. In my opinion, believing in something outside of oneself (whether it be in God, some other sort of higher power, or Pagan forces of nature) can help us be more accepting when we reach the inevitable (?) point where our weight loss hits a slowdown or a stall, or when we gain a few pounds because of normal fluctuation, even though we have been following our chosen eating plan faithfully. For me, my religious beliefs help me to accept that all I can do is my best (which will not always be perfect) and that the speed at which I lose weight is to some extent out of my control. This doesn't excuse me from looking for hidden carbs, getting adequate exercise, etc. It just helps me to accept that even doing all that, I can't control everything and one of the thing I can't control is when the next pound will come off.

Please don't be sad for me - I find I am much better off, and much happier, without God or religion in my life. And, as I understand it, hell is supposed to be full of loose women, liquor, slot machines, and playing cards, whereas heaven's invitees include nuns, penitent murderers, and a whole slew of the most annoying preachers you can imagine. Hell sounds to me like more fun than heaven.

God always has a chance with me - all he has to do is break the silence, and I'm all ears. Any time now, God. I'm ready. Any time.

I know that sounds insincere, but really - the ability to doubt is standard human equipment, and it was my doubt that saved me from the agonies of my childhood religion, not any divine intervention.

And why shouldn't we each demand a burning bush of our own? Moses, a murderer (Exodus 2:10-15), got a whole bunch of miracles, including that famous bush. Saul (Paul), who delighted in persecuting Christians (Acts 8:3, etc), got a personal visit (Acts 9:3-9). Even in this age, the Vatican is churning out new saints at a furious pace - and to be a saint, one must have "proven" miracles associated with one's veneration. I don't even need some miraculous cure or Virgin on my La Tortilla - all I ask is for God to say, "Hey, Frank, I hear you. This is God on the line." But all I hear is the silence.

But the Bible does speak, and here is what the "Good" Book says about me:

Psalm 14:1: The fool hath said in his heart, "There is no God." They are corrupt, they have done abominable works, there is none that doeth good.

That verse alone is enough to make one an Atheist: is it obviously a both a prejudiced screed and a sweeping generalization that can be proven false with the smallest counterexample. If this is big-T Truth, then Truth needs some serious detox work.

Here's a list of famous atheists: http://www.celebatheists.com/ So, none of these folks ever did any good, including Geldof's Band Aid/Live Aid? The millions the Gates's give to charity? That's a little good, at least.

Sounds like you're doomed for good, dear gotbeer. Welcome to the club.

(Heck, I do believe in some kind of a spirit within and outside, of course. However, cult beliefs, one-eyed views and lack of humanity doesn't have any reserved seat in my book.)

EDIT: Hey, didn't you use to have a journal?! Have I dreamed it or what?!

Well, maybe I'll be one of those loose women in hell! Hopefully I'll be a little slimmer by the time I get there.

I tested out as:

1) Secular Humanism 100%
2) Unitarian 91%
3) Liberal Quaker 75%

Interesting as I consider myself a marginal deist. Some of the questions needed another choice. Still came out close. For religions I think UU is the best, most tolerant religion - there is a church near me that I am tempted to go to. They accept everyone and do much good in the community.

My opinion is that if people can use a God or religion as the motivation to gain self control then more power to them. I just hope that people don't get weighed down in guilt, which can be a problem with the way gluttony is talked about as a sin. I can not even relate to someone who has been overweight their whole life. The pressures must be tremendous and certainly don't need religion inspired guilt.

I personally discovered a long time ago that there is no God up there looking out for me. I had to pull myself up. No one was going to help me - a God, parents freinds. Ultimately it was me, myself, and I that had to make things happen. We have to be accountable for the choices we make. I have seen remarkable things happen when one stays positive and tries to make things happen for the long haul- I have seen good results with and without religion. That is what it will take for most of us to reach goals - lose substantial weight and maintain.
Easy for many of us to say and hard to do!

Good luck for everyone to reach their goals!

I just had to pop in to do a happy christian dance and to wish you all Jesus' blessings.

Life is good and our time on this earth is so darn short compared to eternity.
Great books, "The case for Faith" by Lee Strobel and The purpose driver life by Warren.
They helped me when I felt like I was praying to the ceiling

*hugs* and *kisses*