"But Jesus never..."

Those are the three words that some of the nicer Christians start with to defend the amorality, and sometimes immorality, endemic in Christianity in particular, religion in general.

"But Jesus never asked women to be treated as inferior to men, that was Paul..."

 "But Jesus never asked homosexuals to be stoned, that was just Levitical law which no longer applies because he fulfilled..."

"But Jesus never was for the rich, remember how he moved around among the lepers and prostitutes..."

You get the picture. If Jesus is silent on a matter, they get to ascribe the most favorable motive to that silence. For example, if he was silent on homosexuality, then they get to claim that Jesus did not discriminate against homosexuals. If he did not oppose gay marriage, then he must have been for gay marriage.

I submit that the above is a piss-poor rationalization to cope with the cognitive dissonance that such Christians find in their axiomatic, if often denied, equivalence of religion and morality. It is bewildering that they suppress their moral conscience to salvage their investment in amoral scripture. After all, Jesus never spoke (in the same Bible) against the tyranny of the Roman Empire, their death-by-crucifixion form of capital punishment, their enslavement of people, or their taxation without representation. So whither that condemnation of the founding fathers, for instance? But, that is a topic for another day.

Does religion do good?

Mother Teresa. Charities. Missionaries. Do Unto Others.

Religion or, rather, religious individuals, are touted as having done good in the name of their religion. Religious dogma encourages people to do good. Even if the fundamental beliefs in a God are wrong, shouldn't we still keep religion for this purpose?

Now, this isn't an argument as to whether or not the premise here - Religion yields a net good on society - is true, but whether its matters in terms of combating and eliminating it.

Superficially, from a purely utilitarian perspective, one may argue that, regardless as to the existence of a God, if belief in God results in a net societal benefit, then we should encourage it.

I disagree. A belief in Santa Clause may result in a net societal benefit, yet we have no qualms about allowing that belief to wither in children as they get older. Likewise we should have no qualms about doing the same thing to religious beliefs.

Selective Denial

Just when you think the media overexposure of Alaska Palin would ebb into obscurity, another memoir gets produced.  'The Rogue:<something>' by Joe McGinniss just hit the shelves and has details on some salacious affairs of hers.

Of course, the SheJesus of Wasilla was a little slow quick to issue a general denial.

Lies, lies, they are all lies, says The Palin Camp.

Tawd, the First Seccesionist-in-Chief Dude was incensed. Hard to say at whom, although for now the anger seems to be directed at Joe.

This is a man who has been relentlessly stalking my family to the point of moving in right next door to us to harass us and spy on us to satisfy his creepy obsession with my wife, his book is full of disgusting lies, innuendo and smears. Even The New York Times called this book `dated, petty,' and that it `chases caustic, unsubstantiated gossip.

See? Even The New York Times says it is dated, petty. But they don't say it is all lies, Tawd. That is telling.

Being an atheist versus being a believer

I've thought a lot lately about the question of being an atheist versus being a believer. To be an atheist is so simple, but to be a believer involves such a myriad of choices - you know - every proselytizer's brand is the correct one. And what about those who don't evangelize, who don't force their beliefs, their faiths, down your throat? Perhaps they do have the goods, what about them?

I was always afraid.

What if to be an atheist means, as they say, that you would go to hell?

Oh my. I got so tired of the fear-mongering from those, who quite frankly, were outsiders, mere silly stompers to the one I really feared, my paternal grandmother.

My beloved grandmothers paid a lot of attention to me - my mother could not - I know now it was the disease, the multiple sclerosis, that took all her energy, but that does not dissuade the desire, the hunger, the needs, of a child who wants her mother.

The stronger grandma was the most intensely religious, who took me under her wing and by dint of her personality, expected me to believe as she taught me - it annoyed her to no end that my father attended a more mild-mannered church with my mother, a woman who made her own choices about her beliefs at the age of five. Good for her. Good for her for not capitulating to my grandmother, whose might made right.

It isn't lost on me that grandma made such a play for me, the first daughter, to steal my mind and heart from mom, who had had the temerity of all things to steal her one and only son from her.

The intensity of her brand of religion was such that no human intervention was truly acceptable: if you truly believed, god healed all; any manifestation of disease was truly in your head; no medicine, no drugs; their use was only a sign of the weakness of your mind. You stand accused of weak faith.

So that was that.

The multiple sclerosis was "all in your head." Grandma's colon cancer also could not be overcome with her faith, or the faith healers, or later, of course too late, the surgery or other therapy. Irony.

The bottom line, which I could not perceive except in a foggy way in those years, is that I cannot believe.

I practiced my grandma's faith until she died. I learned "by heart," by memory, all the important parts of the bible. I attended, with great ennui, my parents' church. I tried other approaches that were not Christian; I argued; I didn't argue; I accepted friends for whatever they believed. I read. I struggled to read great works by the world's greatest philosophical minds without much comprehension or understanding.

I used the idea of a power greater than myself to make great strides in my personal problems; I attended a wonderful church for 18 years, carrying the Eucharist to those who were hospitalized and shut-in, knowing that I was completely unworthy and a fraud, no matter what good people thought I did, no matter what benefit they thought they received. I told myself "god just works through me," but I felt nothing.

Because I cannot believe.

I was nearly 30 when I began college. I was delighted to find that science does not require belief - it requires no faith to comprehend, to understand, to learn, to progress, to accomplish, to study, research or teach.

What an incredible relief.

It only requires one work hard and persist: two things I am very good at.

Still, all these years, the question of faith and belief has persisted. Superstitious thinking abounds.

The tenets of any religion, of any system based on faith and belief, are nothing more than mythology, of superstitious thinking.

I have come in the last two years to abandon superstitious hope, that irrational endeavor, because the void I thought I had to fill with faith and belief is no longer there. It no longer matters to me if there is a god. It doesn't matter to me if you believe. It matters not if I'm going to hell for not believing. It is like shrugging off the coat of despair - a great weight is gone.

It doesn't affect my moral character at all: what I know to be right or wrong doesn't fail me based on what some ancient Jews or ancient Olympians or wise old Buddists or budding Christians or authoritative grandparent or lost parent can set down to be correct - my moral code is entirely separate. My intuition is intact. My instincts and intelligence are reliable.

I feel comfort in my belief in myself, for once, and for once, I think, for always.


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