The promise of the faith books is that the truth they claim to speak is for ever, but as each day passes great chunks of them become less relevant and more often ignored by even the most observant of followers. Overpopulation, capitalism, environmental unsustainability, sexual liberation, education, equal rights, the internet, Cheestrings – while the faithful turn to their beliefs as a refuge from these realities, the truth is that each of these things and many more grind away with persistence and speed at the pillars of 2,000-year-old folk tales and superstitious myths. It’s why the Church of England is so often in turmoil. It’s more progressive than most of the others, which is to say they move at the same pace as a weary snail with a six-bedroom maisonette on its back, but still faster than the rest. The C of E acknowledgement that the world is not the same as it was this morning blows a big raspberry into the pages of the Bible, and the Bible says nothing in reply because all the people who wrote it are dead.
I know that for a lot of atheists the contradictions of the religious books are off-putting and undermine the case for the existence of God. I’m not interested in whether or not you can prove that God exists; that argument, along with evolution versus not reading enough, is a distraction from what matters to me personally. Is God any good? Are the books these faith groups cling to like driftwood in a raging sea of change worth the paper they’re written on? If I signed up tomorrow and ignored the whole issue of proof, would I be electing to follow a way of life that is kinder and more serene than the one I have now? Can the Bible, Qur’an and Torah provide relevant examples of how to lead a better life without immediately undermining those stories with something any thinking person must conclude is steeped in illogical cruelty? The answer seems to be an emphatic no on all counts.
11
Jesus Christ!
I THINK I QUITE LIKE JESUS. HE SEEMS TO HAVE BEEN A NICE sort of fellow, and given the cards he was dealt and the awkwardness of an overbearing and ever-present Father, he did very well indeed. It can’t have been easy for him. You only have to look at George Walker Bush to see how badly these things can go wrong. For Christians, Jesus and his teachings are supposed to make up the core of their belief system. They follow Christ and try to live by his suggestions. I think Jesus was a man of peace so obviously there are areas where modern Christians fall down, but a great many of them take the most positive aspects of New Testament teaching and succeed in applying those ideas to modern life. Jesus seems to have been very charismatic, a good speaker, something of a hippy, which I like, and almost certainly a socialist. Jesus managed to put an extraordinarily positive spin on the horrors of the Old Testament and the excesses of his Father’s wild mood swings and extreme behaviour. He was very much the Alastair Campbell of his day.
It’s all very well for me to like much of what Christ taught, but I still can’t be a Christian because I can’t ignore the rest of it. It’s a package deal, and to invest something as important as a belief system in it, and alter one’s life accordingly, has implications I am not willing to bear. Maybe it’s enough to do what any discerning adult with an education is able to do – take what you want and leave the rest. Cherry-pick the best of what Christ sought to do and draw a veil over the mad bits. I discriminate like this all the time. I enjoy my copy of The Greatest Hits of the Osmonds but I’m not sure I’d have the strength to listen to all of their albums. Or indeed any of their albums. The same is true of Tom Jones, although my research has shown that Tom Jones has only ever released Greatest Hits collections. Perhaps I should treat Christ like I would the starter section of a Chinese menu. Sure, the mixed starter platter sounds appealing – you get a bit of everything, it takes away the burden of choice and it does include sesame prawn toast, which I like – but when it comes it’s always a disappointing collection of shiny, golden, deep-fried nonsense. Much better to do the research, ask the questions and order what you like. I’ll have a number 7, a number 9, a love thy neighbour as thyself and the crispy seaweed, please.
The trouble with Christ is that he explicitly endorses the work of his dad (not carpentry, the work of his other dad: the dad Jesus saw for awkward weekend visits to McDonald’s before being passed back to his mother). While the New Testament rethinks a lot of the ideas of the Old, it never goes as far as specifically condemning the worst bits. Nor does it seek to explain the extraordinary priorities of the Father. The New Testament doesn’t have a line tucked neatly into the Gospels explaining that most of the stories from the Old are metaphorical and were written by men in the spirit of creating a sense of awe for a decrepit, malevolent God they had mistakenly assumed meant well.
The whole issue of metaphor is a very interesting one when it comes to debating scripture and its meaning. Some religious folks will insist that a piece of writing is fact until such time as it’s proved to be nonsense and then without the blink of an eye they say, ‘Oh well, obviously that bit there is a metaphor.’ They play it like a trump card, but it’s not. It’s lazy and dishonest. At best it’s a wild card in one of those irritatingly complicated games where a two means you change direction, queen is miss a turn, a five is pick up six cards and an ace means you have to get a round of drinks in and do the shit-head song. I understand why they do it. It’s either that or admit the whole thing is based on a series of decreasingly well-intentioned lies. Switching your view to claim something is meant as a metaphor is no way to win an argument. Neither is war, so given the propensity of religious believers to perpetrate either or both of those two, I’d sooner the metaphor defence, but it’s annoying none the less. It feels like arguing with a fish. I’d almost rather they didn’t engage with the discussion at all, shove their fingers in their ears and start singing …
I am a C …
I am a C.H …
I am a C.H.R.I.S.T.I.A.N …
As science reveals more about our past and present, the position of the devoutly religious becomes more and more difficult to maintain. It’s only a matter of time before religious communities are left with no choice but to shout, ‘Ta da! Ha ha, joke’s on you – the whole thing was a metaphor and we never meant any of it. You’re right, we evolved. Sorry, metaphor got out of hand. Back to what you were doing, people.’ They’d blush for a bit, see if anyone was buying the deception and move on.
Of course, there are some ridiculously naive people who claim everything in their particular holy book is fact, including the direct contradictions. Fact plus direct contradiction of fact equals fact squared. These people bring out a mean punitive side in me that wants to say, ‘Fine, if you are willing to discard the brilliant work of dedicated and enquiring scientific minds, you don’t get to use any of the stuff they’ve invented. Out of your SUV, American Christian dolt – it runs on oil, which we know was formed long before God made the Earth. There were dinosaurs. This we know because there are bits of them in the ground and it means your book begins with a massive lie. The universe is miraculous in its power to inspire but it did not come from a miracle. God did not create people 4,000 years ago because if He had, He’d have been done by the patent office as there were already people here. There had been people here for thousands of years. No more DVDs for you, Mr Creationist! No more toast, computers, aeroplanes, rubber soles, cinema, mobile phones, Rampant Rabbits, Cheestrings, roller-skates, mojitos or MRI scans. Scientists either know what they’re doing or they don’t. Why the hell should you be allowed to ignore what they say on things that don’t suit you, like climate change research and evolution, but embrace it wholeheartedly when it comes to cancer treatments and Nintendo Wii? The response, when faced with a life without scientific innovation, would be to fall down weeping and mumble something about it all being a metaphor anyway? Yeah? Well, now you get to play on your metaphorical computer because you sure as hell aren’t getting a real one.’
Jesus was noted by historians as having had an impact on a tiny area of the world which, since he died, has spent most of its time at war with its neighbours. A shame, as one of his titles is ‘the bring
er of peace’. Tony Blair is peace envoy to the Middle East, an apparent parallel he no doubt enjoys as Jesus is his friend. It’s one that I enjoy because the irony of it is too delicious not to. If Jesus was the Son of God, then he has succeeded in his Father’s challenge to inspire humanity, up to a point. His message has glued communities together and doubtless fuelled many great acts of kindness and charity. That’s good, well done, Jesus, a success … apart from those millions of people born somewhere Christ’s message has failed to take hold, through no fault of their own. They are condemned. Sorry, no Heaven for you, Mr Chang, you live outside the catchment area. If God was my dad I think I’d have addressed that obvious and glaring problem. I’d have tried my hardest on that one. If failure seemed certain after my best efforts, I would have eaten humble pie and gone up the management chain to the Father (all-knowing, all-seeing, all-powerful creator of all including Muslims, Jews, Buddhists, Atheists, Arsenal fans and Chinese people) and asked for help in rectifying this simple problem. How hard is it to admit that despite working your sockless sandals off, the job’s only partially done? How hard is that admission of a problem, compared with say, oh, I don’t know … being nailed by your hands and feet to a wooden cross? No, I’d have given a little knock on the big shiny door to God’s office, shuffled past the ‘You don’t have to be mad to work here … but it helps’ poster, smirked at the kitten on a washing line meowing ‘Hang in there’ and said, ‘Dad, sorry to be a pest, but the thing is, I’m not really reaching them all. Don’t get me wrong, it’s going terribly well, I’ve already got twelve … well, eleven and one who’s not sure, but because there aren’t planes and conference calls yet I’m not really getting to enough of them. I can see you’re busy, God, and the whole walking on water thing is brilliant. Really brilliant, as “convince them I’m from out of town” stunts go, it’s a doozy and I’m not complaining. It’s just that I can’t seem to get that far with it, especially when the sea’s choppy. Oh, and I could do with a wash. It’s very tricky to get clean. I keep floating on the top of the bath. I mean, don’t worry, God, the word is being spread … along with a fair whiff of BO … Anyway, I digress. I can’t reach them all, Dad, can you help? Can we do this again or in duplicate with a brother or sister maybe? What about low-cost miracle travel? EasyPreach? I just think it would be good to somehow get beyond the tiny, parochial bit where I live? I mean, water into wine’s great, really great … I love wine, who doesn’t? John really likes wine … but the thing is the whole Son of God, messenger, one third of the Trinity, prophet, spread the love, preach the word thing is only getting to about one per cent of the population … at best. So … well, I can see you’re busy. I’ll just leave that thought with you … because … you know … a huge number of your people stand no chance of ever knowing that you made them, broke them, then sent me to fix them. Let me know … post a message on my wall. Tweet me. Whatever … Bye, Dad … Wow, you can be aloof …’
I’m not talking about making faith easy, or oversimplifying the challenges of a life devoted to God, but couldn’t we give newborns an equal chance to compete in the spiritual running race that is this life? Why not do that? Blessed are the children, said Jesus. Blessed are the children, unless they’re born over there, then fucked are the children.
Maybe it’s no bad thing failing to qualify for the competition rounds to get into Heaven. I’m not sure it’s for me anyway. The devil has the best tunes and I’m only going to Heaven if I can take my iPod. ‘Only through me shall you enter the Kingdom of Heaven,’ said Christ. Yes, and only through Windsor shall you enter Legoland, but I don’t want to go there either. The idea of Heaven sounds good, I’ve described meals, women and holidays as heavenly, but the reality of Christian Heaven, as I understand it, is that there are no gays so the music will be crap, no Jews so the shows will be badly produced and very few Arabs, Asians and Chinese so the food will be bland. I don’t want to sit with Jesus at the right hand of God. I suspect that God’s right and left hands are both dripping with blood.
I’ve asked people to explain to me how Jesus’ agonizing and humiliating death on the cross is helpful to mankind because I’ve never understood it. It served as pretty good PR. Maybe it was the last-ditch effort to get the word out beyond the Middle East. It gets people’s attention when you tell them the details of how God stood by and watched his only Son die, bleeding and moaning in the sun, racked with pain. But why? I don’t understand how Jesus dying like that is supposed to be helpful. It’s the kind of attention-seeking that martyr mothers do at Christmas. They cook everything, clean everything, make everything, wait on everyone hand and foot and then get all cross because they’ve done the lot. Put your feet up, have a Chocolate Orange and let’s sit through the execrable Christmas special of a programme that’s usually quite good. It’s all very well, but what am I supposed to learn from Jesus dying for my sins? I’m still a sinner. Me and my friends still feel pain and live in turmoil. There was no shift in the fortunes of man when Jesus died. Is his pain greater than a woman drowned in a flood in Bangladesh? Or a child defeated by leukaemia on a hospital ward with pictures of Eeyore’s sad place on the wall? Does Christ’s death up there on the cross mean that a paedophile is absolved of blame for his or her crime? What? What’s it for? It’s the end to a good story and it gets my attention. I’m interested. Wait a minute. Please tell me it’s not another cryptic metaphor I’m supposed to decode …
There’s plenty about Christ to enjoy. I’d love to have seen him turn over the tables of the moneylenders in the temple. Direct action and part-time winemaking make for a heady combination and an exciting personality. If he ever did come back he’d have a field day on Wall Street. Sadly as a bearded Arab with a history of sedition and religious extremism, he’d stand no chance of getting past security at JFK, let alone coming anywhere near Wall Street. If he did come back, I fear all the new paintings of him would not be as a gentle melancholic-looking man clad in robes but in an orange boiler suit, crouched in a stress position with a black hood over his head at Gitmo.
Jesus was a friend to the meek and downtrodden, he promoted the redistribution of wealth, he came to heal the sick and to forgive the sinner. He’d make the front cover of the Daily Mail at least once a week as the evil face of ‘Political Correctness gone mad!’ Most of what Jesus stood for, I support, but the family firm is corrupt. There are young people with little choice but to work at McDonald’s; some of them are nice, some clever. Most work hard and serve cheap McDonald’s food to the best of their ability. In almost every small-town High Street devoid of personality and regional identity, somewhere amongst that desert of hope and ambition there will be the golden arches shining out a message of greedy, faceless corporate blandness. When I see the glowing window display promising happy meal plastic tat and salted fat for my children, I feel anger, then sadness, then hopeless resignation. When I’m hungry I don’t want to be offered ‘fries with that’ because I don’t like the company. When I feel needy I don’t want to be offered an eternity at the right hand of God because I don’t like the company.
It’s not Christ’s fault that God is such a consistently unpleasant swine. You can’t choose your parents, right? But at some stage, given all that has been done in the name of God the Father and his prophets, you have to ask – was Jesus lazy? Careless? Was he inept? Perhaps Jesus was nothing more than unfortunate enough to be terribly naive. Jesus – the McDonald’s restaurant drone. Innocently flogging spiritual burgers and fries to those who don’t want to know where the sustenance came from in case they see how nasty much of the process and content is.
I can’t be a Christian because I’m not willing to add my endorsement to what the church seeks to achieve politically. If you describe yourself as belonging to a faith group, you make it possible for the politically determined elements of that group to cite your membership as tacit approval of their agenda. Participating in a religion is not an aggressive act for most people, it’s not cynical or mean-spirited; in fact, for t
he vast majority it’s the opposite of that. Being religious is personal and benevolent. But would you drink in your local pub if you knew the landlord was a homophobe and a sexist? OK, bad example. A boycott on pubs like that in the UK might well mean that only two establishments stayed open and they’d both be on Canal Street in Manchester. Religion is political and the number of followers ‘in’ one faith or another gives power to those who would seek to exploit it.
It appears to me like a human pyramid. In Christianity, the impressive triangle of political power looks like this. On the bottom, with their feet on the ground, are the rank-and-file believers, churchgoers who occasionally arrange flowers and dabble in light charity work. They are not judgemental or mean or smug, and their faith is as honest as it can be under the circumstances. They enjoy Thought for the Day on Radio 4 but like it best when it’s a Christian one. One row above them are the ones who are mildly disapproving of the somewhat occasional attendance of the bottom row. The second tier are religiously observant. They pray, sing, attend church, run weekend Bible studies and read the Daily Mail without laughing. They don’t exactly hate gays but if they ran a Bed and Breakfast the poofs wouldn’t get warm toast in the morning. Above them are the ‘active’ members of the church; they ruthlessly promote their passion for the Christian way of life and would not be in the slightest bit abashed to make it clear that Muslims have it wrong and will go to Hell, as will atheists, but not as fast as the Muslims. They oppose (for example) a woman’s right to choose to terminate a pregnancy and think that being gay is a wilful, unhealthy and curable obsession. They are judgemental and cherry-pick from the scriptures to suit the politics they grew up with. Above them, very near the top, are the ones who say, as Stephen Green from Christian Voice did, that the floods in New Orleans were God’s just punishment for homosexuality. They promote censorship and ignorance and think that bigotry is part of being a good Christian. They got a hard-on for the conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan because the ‘goodies’ had better guns. On their shoulders are the violent few willing to kill for God. Christianity has already done most of its wholesale killing. It scratched that itch with the Crusades. Plenty of Christians still kill people of other faiths but it’s more recreational now and they don’t march so obviously under the loving Cross of Jesus.
God Collar Page 19