One of my favorite quotes is something plucked from a Time Magazine interview with Richard Dawkins, wherein he stated:
“What I am skeptical about is the idea that whatever wonderful revelation does come in the science of the future, it will turn out to be one of the particular historical religions that people happen to have dreamed up… it does seem to me to be a worthy idea. Refutable – but nevertheless grand and big enough to be worthy of respect. I don’t see the Olympian gods or Jesus coming down and dying on the cross as worthy of that grandeur. They strike me as parochial. If there is a god, it’s going to be a whole lot bigger and a whole lot more incomprehensible than anything that any theologian of any religion has ever proposed.”
Love that.
He’s right, of course. If there were anything awe-inspiring about an old white guy in bronze-age jammies, I suspect we’d see more of them in big-budget films. Imagine: Jesus reprising the greatest roles of Marlon Brando, Al Pacino, and Chuck Norris – a fish in one hand, an animal-skin scroll in the other, making Vin Diesel cry… More from shame than from fear, I'd guess. Still… I smell money, there. Cartoon Network, I hope you’re paying attention.
As I write this, I realize that many who’ve rejected the current brand of mythology aren’t ready to make that open leap, and may benefit from a transitional form of fable. Now, we have Bertrand Russell’s flying teapot, and the Invisible Pink Unicorn – but those are for illustrative purposes concerning that which cannot be seen/disproven, and in practice, run counter to entire notion of skepticism. But not to worry. To those lovely individuals, I suggest having a go at some on-the-fly religious invention.
I’ll go first.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you… The Visible Pink Dolphin.
The first thing you’ll note in the grand list of “Reasons My God is Superior to Abraham’s” is this: I’ve documented proof of his existence. You can see him, touch him – even hop in the water and give him a tickle, if you’re so inclined (you weirdo). Second, hearing his voice isn’t indicative of failing medication or anointed wisdom; and can be recorded for future reference, so there’s no potential break-down in communication when his orders (pertaining to the all-important salvation of every living thing) are conveyed through a single, very-fallible, very-corruptible individual. Third, he’ll never frown on you. It’s anatomically impossible for him to do anything but smile in your general direction. Fourth, he’s no intention of ever directing your life. Whether or not you snarf down a bit of bacon on a Friday or accidentally brush up against a bed that’s housed a menstruating female (gasp) has very little to do with him. Fifth, he’ll never ask of you any unseemly thing; like sacrificing your first-born son, or ramming a plane into a building. (To say nothing of the whole “Job” incident.) Best of all, no tithing! Apparently, cash and sea water aren't a brilliant mix. As such, the most he’ll ever expect is that you toss the beach ball back into the water from time to time, when you’ve the occasion. And lastly, no cumbersome, inapplicable manifesto to memorize, even in select chunks. His entire philosophy can be summed up in Sam Cooke’s “Twistin’ the Night Away”.
From here, you can invent rituals as you see fit (they're important, I'm told), so long as you change them on a daily basis. It's good to keep things fresh, and will seem a nice change when compared to practices that have stagnated since their conception, eons past, when individuals (whose mental-prowess was doubtless inferior to yours) developed them. Just make sure they’re suitably absurd – the more brow-raising a religion is, the more credibility it seems to garner. Touching your nose to the floor or ensuring your meat is taken from a cud-chewing creature hasn’t much on using your lunch break to submerge your head in the sink for a bit of mid-day fin-worship or, better yet, standing from your desk at random intervals to shout “Sea World is the highest form of blasphemy”.
And remember, when they call you out on your chosen brand of insanity, don’t be discourteous… Return the favor.
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