Fearful Children

I’ve recently engaged with a few intelligent religious people. These interactions interest me because I am curious to understand how questioning, inquiring minds can surrender themselves to the blind, unquestioning faith required by religion. I’ve concluded the following from these interactions:

(1) The religious fear being alone in this world. It is far more comforting to believe that a supernatural fatherly figure is constantly on call for advice and reassurance.

(2) The religious fear mortality. It is far more comforting to believe in eternal life than to feel the pressure to achieve success and happiness in this brief earthly one.

(3) The religious fear not being loved unconditionally. It is far more comforting to believe that a supernatural father loves them in spite of their faults and imperfections.

(4) The religious fear that the only determinants of success are their own actions and a lot of luck. It is far more comforting to believe that a supernatural force has already mapped out a blueprint of one’s life and that this is already largely predetermined.

(5) The religious fear the randomness of life. It is far more comforting to explain away the variation in life experiences as their supernatural creator working in “mysterious ways”.

(6) The religious fear insignificance. That they are merely cousins of millions of other earthly lifeforms sharing this brief spark of random existence on an insignificant planet orbiting an insignificant star in an insignificant galaxy in the vast expanse of time and space is a position of humility too scary to contemplate.

(7) The religious fear that life has no purpose. It is far more comforting to believe that they (and the vast expanse of time and space) were created for the sole and trivial purpose of blindly worshipping a supernatural creator.

The fear of loneliness, failure, immortality and insignificance are the foundation stones of religion. Every child needs to, at some point, come to terms with the fact that daddy is not always going to be there for them; that their success in life is largely down to their personal ambitions and a large dose of luck; that they are not going to live forever; and that they are not as important as they might have originally thought. Every child needs to at some point confront their fears and grow up.

Black sheep

I recently attended a memorial service at a local Methodist church for my great-aunt (my mother’s mother’s late brother’s wife) who had died from cancer.

Although not late, I arrived to a full church. Lurking in the alcove at the back of the church with a silly smirk on his face, which immediately seemed to me somewhat inappropriate, was a chubby man dressed in shorts and a black t-shirt with a picture depicting our specie’s evolutionary progression from some lower life form to a geek at a desk – if not inappropriate, most certainly unnecessary.

My mother beckoned me as she shuffled to make space for me on the pew she was sharing with her mother and sister. I self-consciously squeezed past a row of knees and wedged myself between my mother and my gran. My mother immediately referred me to a hymn sheet which included a couple of paragraphs apparently written by the deceased’s daughter – my mother’s cousin. It read something like “If there are roses in heaven, pick some for my mother…”.

I thought it only respectful to participate in the hymn singing. However when the pastor summoned us to prayer, I gently fought the almost instinctive act of dropping my head. Instead I, alone, looked directly ahead. I purposely refrained from joining the chorused Lord’s Prayer – suddenly acutely aware that my mother would have noticed my quiet rebellion.

After the service, the deceased’s daughter approached my dad and myself, thanking us for coming. (The last time I had seen her was probably twenty-five years ago. She had aged but was as attractive as I remember her being, only now embellished slightly by a slight Bohemian dress sense which I did not recall as a fifteen year old.) She went on to say that she will miss her mom terribly but that we should “rejoice as she is now in heaven”.

Another attractive middle-aged women approached me smiling (I’m not used to this) saying, “You probably don’t remember me – I’m Karin”. I didn’t recognise her but remember her well. She always seemed so much older than me whereas now we were both adults. I remember having a bit of a crush on her as a teenager.

After tea, my uncle attempted to make light of the occasion joking that when he dies and is “up there” (pointing skywards) he will something or other.

The afternoon flooded me with emotions that did not abate for a few days. Half of me felt attracted by a reconnection with family I had not seen in a long time. The other half of me felt repelled, almost alienated, by the common thread of religion that bound this family together. I felt like a gang member who had forgotten the secret hand shake.

Ebony and Ivory

At a braai (the South African term for barbecue), my wife once got into an argument on race. Her antagonist argued that interracial sex was “wrong” (or at least unnatural) on the basis that “you don’t see baboons and monkeys having sex, do you!?” Frustrated by the stupidity of this argument, my wife chose to demonstrate her disdain by leaving the lunch table for a few minutes. The awkward chatter that followed was indicative that her point had been well made.

I, as is characteristic of me in times of conflict, chose to remain mute. It is something I am not proud of. George Orwell said that one’s prime responsibility lies in being able to tell people what they do not wish to hear. I justified my silence on the basis that I was not one hundred percent certain of my facts.

My cowardice prompted me to spend most of that evening verifying the biological definitions of species and race and understanding the relationship between baboon and monkey on the tree of life. I later proceeded to point out to my wife’s antagonist by email, the following:

• A species is defined as a group of organisms capable of interbreeding and producing fertile offspring. Humans of different race are therefore, unquestionably, of the same species.
• The baboon (papio species) is one of 15 distinct species of monkey. Baboons don’t choose not to interbreed with other species of monkeys – it is biologically impossible for them to.

I need to learn to make these arguments verbally.

Fat pecky chicks

Why is it that racism and religion are so often joined at the hip like Siamese twins – time and again appearing together, blissfully unaware of the paradox of their union?

This weekend I made an effort to dress up for a Seventies themed 40th birthday party. The birthday boy was the husband of a girlfriend of my wife’s. The girls share a genuine and rewarding friendship, albeit somewhat Wisteria Lane-esque, with a number of other girls in the neighbourhood. The boys (husbands) have supported this friendship ring by getting to know one another and frequently joining the girls to socialise as a group of couples. The boys are nice enough blokes but I struggle to find a lot of common ground with them, probably, if I am honest, because most of them and their wives are ardent church-goers.

During the course of the aforementioned evening, one of these gents engaged my wife and I in a conversation about health spas. He and his wife had recently enjoyed a weekend away at a local health spa and were planning an imminent repeat of the experience. He was passionately stressing to us how relaxing and therapeutic the experience was and encouraging us to also explore it. There was one thing, he added, that he had had to get used to: and that was the “fat, pecky chicks” massaging you. (Pecky is a particularly derogatory South African term for a black person. My stomach turned slightly, my distaste masked by the silly grin I reserve for my quiet tolerance of this latent predjudice that still pervades white middle class South Africa.) And this from a man who herds his family to church on Sunday and pays a premium to send his children to a local Christian private school. Sweet Jesus.

A funeral through atheist eyes

Feeling like a spy, a Russian sleeper at the Super Bowl in the 70’s.

Feeling sad for the family and friends of someone I didn’t know. Sad for both their loss but also their expectation that they will one day be reunited with the deceased.

Feeling torn between keeping my secret but being true to my principles. Singing a hymn but not answering Amen.

Reflecting on the immense power of imposition of religion on children as I watch 40 year old men talk to both their dead father and mythical god.

Watching a son hold his widowed mom and knowing that any rational engagement with this intelligent man would drive a wedge between him and his mother. Do I have that right? Is it not more ethical to let the delusion lie?

Hope suspends thinking.

Brotherly love

Imagine attacking your sister with an axe and leaving her for dead with her brains leaking from her smashed skull. What could possibly drive a brother to such barbarity?

Steven Weinberg once said: “Religion is an insult to human dignity. With or without it, you’d have good people doing good things and evil people doing bad things, but for good people to do bad things, it takes religion.”

Gul Meena, pictured above, was married off to a 60 year old man at the tender age of 12. After years of repeated beatings from both her husband and her family (when she turned to them for help), she fled from Pakistan into Afghanistan with another man. Her brother tracked them down, killed her friend and then attacked her with an axe, hacking at her head, face and body 15 times. Assuming she was dead he returned to Pakistan certain he had restored his family’s honor.

What does it take to so short circuit a man’s innate morality and a brother’s natural love for his sister? It takes an institution that indoctrinates from a very young age; demands a suspension of rational thought; and holds as a virtue unquestionable obedience and blind faith. It takes religion.

Related articles

• Scars are an ‘honor’ victim’s sole testimony (nytimes.com)
• How my brother tried to kill me in ‘honor attack’ (cnn.com)

Amina

“My body belongs to me, and is not the source of the honor of anyone”. These were the words scrawled in Arabic across the naked torso of a young Tunisian woman known as Amina. She posted this photograph on Facebook a few weeks ago in protest against the oppression of women in her country.

A local cleric, Almi Adel, responded saying that Amina “should be punished according to sharia, with 80 to 100 lashes, but [because of] the severity of the act she has committed, she deserves be stoned to death.”

That a woman can be threatened with barbaric murder for doing no harm to anyone sickens me.

Support Amina on 4 April 2013 – International Day to Defend Amina – by baring your breasts on social media sites, tweeting with hash tag #Amina or signing a petition.

Cry our beloved country

South Africa, the land of my birth, has always been a land of contrasts. This week we both bask in the warm glory of success and stand in the cold shadow of death. We celebrate the successful hosting of the recent Africa Cup of Nations (AFCON 2013) after Nigeria beat Burkhina Faso 1-0 in the final at Soccer City in Soweto on Sunday. At the same time we mourn the gruesome rape and murder of one of our daughters, seventeen year old Anene Booysen, who was buried in a white coffin in Bredasdorp on Saturday.

It never ceases to amaze me how often sportsmen and women turn to their gods for divine intervention. AFCON 2013 was no exception. There were multiple occasions that player, coach or fan clasped hands, bowed heads or pleadingly peered heavenward begging for victory over their opponents.

My questions to these individuals are these: Can you imagine how Anene Booysen must have cried out to your god whilst she was gang raped? Can you imagine her desperate pleas to your god when this gang broke her legs? Can you imagine how when her attackers then disemboweled her, how she howled for mercy to her maker?

And, just before Anene Booysen later died in her hospital bed, can you imagine how she felt? Alone. Abandoned. Her relentless prayers met with a stony silence. Would you forgive her for thinking that your god is powerless? Would you forgive her for thinking that your god does not give a shit? Would you forgive her for thinking that, perhaps, your god does not actually exist?

Your flippant prayers for victory disgust me.

This argument, here translated in a local and recent context, is humbly borrowed from the late Christopher Hitchens.

 

Related articles

• In Bredasdorp, a community searching for its soul (dailymaverick.co.za)
• South Africa mourns gang-rape victim (aljazeera.com)
• Hundreds mourn at funeral of South Africa gang rape victim. (greatriversofhope.wordpress.com)
• Super Eagles Emerge AFCON 2013 Champions! (greenlightng.wordpress.com)

Sex, Lies and Teenage Pregnancy

Most religions view sex conservatively. They seek to restrict the sexual freedom of teenagers, frown on pre marital sex and are, as a result, usually opposed to the promotion of safe sex education of our youth.

Why is this? I can think of only two reasons. Firstly, religion views pre marital sex as inherently sinful. Secondly, the religious argue that pre marital sex results in unwanted teenage pregnancies which causes a whole number of obvious social problems in our societies.

The idea that consensual pre marital sex is immoral seems to me totally unfounded and illogical. Evil is doing something against someone’s will. Consensual sex, even at a young age, is by definition not evil. Religion has muddied the waters of morality with its twisted concept of sin.

The second argument against pre marital sex needs little rebuttal. The correlation between religion and unwanted pregnancies in the US depicted above says it all. Religion’s views on sex are obviously having the opposite intended effect.

Let’s give our children the respect they deserve. Sexually educate them. Help them negotiate their sexual awakening without guilt but armed with knowledge and access to a responsible sex life. Yes, this means giving them access to contraception. They have as much right to this modern wonder of science and medicine as we do. To do otherwise is the equivalent of not inoculating them against disease.

Baby Boks win in Baby South Africa

I’ve just finished watching the Baby Boks win the IRB Junior World Championship.  I only watched it on television but found myself cheering and punching the air every time the South Africans mauled the New Zealanders backward.  When we shoved the Baby Blacks off their own ball with our backs to our try-line, I almost ejaculated!

And then the game ended and the Baby Boks knelt in a huddle and bowed their heads and someone led them in animated prayer.  And all this happened (a similarly disgusted friend pointed out) before they had even shaken the hands of their opposition.  And then Wian Liebenberg, our captain, amid the post match euphoria, had the clarity of mind in the post match interview to insist on first thanking his Lord and savior.

Why am I angry?  I’m angry because our Constitution calls for the respect of all religions and by blatantly and exclusively offering praise to a Christian god for their victory our Baby Boks disrespected every Jewish, Islamic, Hindu, Buddist, and unbelieving South African in this beautiful, free and multicultural country.  I’m angry because Wian Liebenberg’s parents indoctrinated him from a young age to believe a fairy tale that their parents had indoctrinated them with and their parents before that.  I’m angry because grown men can kneel with young men and babble thanks to someone they have never seen, heard or felt.  I’m angry because grown ups can be so ignorant, so stupid, so certain, so doubtless, so obedient, so unthinking – so childlike.

Grow up South Africa.  Let’s leave the fairy tales of our youth behind and face reality like some of the more adult nations of the world.