Everything Is F*cked(28)
This sounds difficult, but is actually quite easy. Here are some examples:
If you don’t support the war, then you support the terrorists.
God created science to test our faith in God. Therefore, anything that contradicts the Bible is merely a test of our faith in God.
Anyone who criticizes feminism is sexist.
Anyone who criticizes capitalism is a Communist.
Anyone who criticizes the president is a traitor.
Anyone who thinks Kobe Bryant was better than Michael Jordan doesn’t understand basketball; therefore, any opinion they hold about basketball is invalid.
The point of these false us-versus-them dichotomies is to cut off at the knees any reasoning or discussion before your followers start questioning their beliefs. These false us-versus-them dichotomies have the added benefit of always presenting the group with a common enemy.
Common enemies are hugely important. I know we all like to think we’d prefer to live in a world of perfect peace and harmony, but honestly, such a world wouldn’t last for more than a few minutes. Common enemies create unity within our religion. Some sort of scapegoat, whether justified or not, is necessary to blame for our pain and maintain our hope.35 Us-versus-them dichotomies give us the enemies we all desperately crave.
After all, you need to be able to paint a really simple picture for your followers. There are those who get “it” and those who do not get “it.” Those who get it are going to save the world. Those who do not get it are going to destroy it. End of discussion. Whatever “it” is depends on whatever belief you’re trying to sell—Jesus, Muhammad, libertarianism, gluten-free diets, intermittent fasting, sleeping in hyperbaric chambers and living off Popsicles. Also, it’s not enough to tell your followers that nonbelievers are bad. You must demonize them. They are the downfall of everything that is good and holy. They ruin everything. They are fucking evil.
You must then convince your followers that it is of the utmost importance that everyone who does not get “it” be stopped, no matter what. People are either near the top of the value hierarchy or at the bottom; there are no in-betweeners in our religion.36
The more fear, the better. Lie a little bit if you have to—remember, people instinctually want to feel as though they’re fighting a crusade, to believe that they are the holy warriors of justice and truth and salvation. So, say whatever you need to say. Get them to feel that self-righteousness to keep the religion going.
This is where conspiracy theories come in handy. It’s not just that vaccines cause autism; it’s that the medical and pharmaceutical industries are getting rich by destroying everyone’s families. It’s not just that pro-choicers have a different view on the biological status of a fetus; it’s that they’re soldiers sent by Satan to destroy good Christian families. It’s not just that climate change is a hoax; it’s that it’s a hoax created by the Chinese government to slow the U.S. economy and take over the world.37
HOW TO START YOUR OWN RELIGION
Step Four: Ritual Sacrifice for Dummies—So Easy, Anyone Can Do It!
Growing up in Texas, Jesus and football were the only gods that mattered. And while I learned to enjoy football despite being terrible at it, the whole Jesus thing never made a lot of sense to me. Jesus was alive, but then he died, but then he was alive again, then he died again. And he was a man, but he was also God, and now he’s a kind of man-god-spirit-thing that loves everyone eternally (except maybe gay people, depending on whom you ask). It all struck me as kind of arbitrary, and I felt—how do I say this?—like people were just making shit up.
Don’t get me wrong: I could get behind most of the moral teachings of Christ: be nice and love your neighbor and all that stuff. Youth groups were actually a ton of fun. (Jesus camp is maybe the most underrated summer activity of all time.) And the church usually had free cookies hiding somewhere, in some room, every Sunday morning, which, when you’re a kid, is exciting.
But if I’m being totally honest, I didn’t like being a Christian, and I didn’t like it for a really dumb reason: my parents made me wear lame dress clothes. That’s right. I questioned my family’s faith and went atheist at age twelve over kiddie suspenders and bow ties.
I remember asking my dad, “If God already knows everything and loves me no matter what, why does he care what I wear on Sundays?” Dad would shush me. “But Dad, if God will forgive us our sins no matter what, why not just lie and cheat and steal all the time?” Another shush. “But, Dad—”
The church thing never really panned out for me. I was sneaking Nine Inch Nails T-shirts into Sunday school before my balls had completely dropped, and a couple of years later, I struggled my way through my first Nietzsche book. From there, it was all downhill. I started acting out. I bailed on Sunday school to go smoke cigarettes in the adjoining parking lot. It was over; I was a little heathen.
The open questioning and skepticism eventually got so bad that my Sunday school teacher took me aside one morning and made me a deal: he’d give me perfect marks in our confirmation class and tell my parents I was a model student as long as I stopped questioning the logical inconsistencies of the Bible in front of all the other kids. I agreed.
This probably won’t surprise you, but I’m not very spiritual—no supernatural beliefs for me, thank you. I get a sick pleasure from chaos and uncertainty. This, unfortunately, has condemned me to a life of struggle with the Uncomfortable Truth. But it’s something I’ve come to accept about myself.