As a white person growing up in a western, Christian country, surrounded by American TV shows, Mattel toys and Legos, my formative years were spend surrounded by devout Catholic friends clutching crucifixes and being forced into attending thrice weekly masses by their religious parents and various Protestant demonimations – my own family included – who weren’t quite sure what their schtick was regarding God, but that they were quite sure he existed and had a son – Jesus – and that he was busy preparing an eternal place for us in heaven, while watching over us at all times. Well, except maybe when you’re in the bathroom, because Presbyterians and Lutherans are a little prudish when it comes to matters of religion being tainted with those of bathroom doings.
So there we were, Catholics and Protestants, each worshipping the same God in bizarrely different ways, but always with the same mindset; that Jesus will save us all eventually, except maybe really bad people, who will be swallowed up by the fiery rage of hell. And it will NOT BE PRETTY.
When I was little, to be a really bad person in the eyes of a Catholic could mean as little as not confessing your sins to a priest. Marie Fitzgerald’s mother found a condom in her older brother’s coat pocket. The reaction was akin to him having bludgeoned a priest with a house brick. I wasn’t sure what would constitute a really bad person to a Protestant – probably someone who used a lot of cuss words and wore their skirts too short.
By the time I was six years old I was a walking paradox. I was willing to believe that Santa Claus rode into town once a year on a magical sleigh, dragged through wintry skies by a school of lightning fast reindeer, or that the tooth fairy really did visit my bedroom in the dead of night to leave me a shiny new coin and take away my old tooth. But even at the age of six, I knew I didn’t believe there was a God.
I wasn’t quite Atheist. I was a starter-Atheist – an Agnostic. I didn’t THINK I believed, but I was a little terrified that maybe I was wrong after all and the devil would ascend out of the living room floor one day and drag me down to hell by my sinner’s ankles. When it didn’t happen, despite some fervent misbehaving, I had to face facts. It was all a little ridiculous. There were no monsters under the bed. There was no man in the clouds controlling everyone. Even the Incredible Hulk was just some guy painted green. If there WAS a God, surely He’d have said something by now about all the badness in the world. Wouldn’t He stop all those people starving in Africa? Wouldn’t He strike down those people bombing mosques and temples?
Of course it was a child’s logic. Nowadays I believe that if there was a God, he wouldn’t necessarily save anyone. He wouldn’t want your soul. Your “soul” is nothing but an abstract idea. It’s yours and it’s your responsibility to do good things with it. He wouldn’t have time to arbitrarily go around saving people all the time. He’d put us all on Earth and say, “There you go. You’re free to do what you please and reap all the benefits and consequences of your actions.” Like a big lab experiment. I don’t think He’d mind people loving people they weren’t married to, because I think He’d approve of anything to do with love. He wouldn’t hate gay people or people of different religions or favour men over women or human over animal – not if he was truly good. He’d realize that people make mistakes and they can still be decent and redeemable. He wouldn’t approve of anyone with prejudices or bigotry, especially people who flaunted those prejudices in His name. I believe, in fact, he’d royally bitchslap those people.
Yet a huge percentage of devout religious people are bigoted. All religions. No exceptions. And ask any of them to explain their bigotry, it always comes down to their religion and what they believe their God wants. Religion is the tool that justifies all wars.
I don’t believe there’s any grand force out there, benevolently caring for us or willing our destruction because we did a bad thing. I believe we are what we are. We were born from atoms. We evolved. We learned. Sometimes we didn’t learn enough. We are responsible for our own destinies, our own fate. There’s no point thanking God because you survived a car crash. There’s no point asking why He chose to take your brother at such a young age. He didn’t do anything. Even if He existed He isn’t interested in taking lives, just like He wouldn’t be interested in saving them.
It’s all about us. And ultimately “we” are all we have.
#1 by Pepper on October 5, 2009 - 12:47 pm
I could relate.
I realize no matter how different the social sorroundings are- these stories of ’self realizations’ are always very similar.
Thanks for sharing, Vinegar
#2 by ET on October 5, 2009 - 5:14 pm
Haha, bathroom doings have always provoked certain mortal dilemma in the religious lot. They are never sure whether or not to attend to their God-praising duties while they are relieving themselves.