The Bible! I’m one of
the relatively few that’s actually read this sucker (well, most of it) and my
rants could fill a thousand unreadable pages.
My parents made an honest attempt at raising me Lutheran – they actually
succeeded in getting me confirmed – but I never believed a word that came out
of the Good Book or the pulpit. I could
never tell the difference between Zeus and Jehovah, the contradictions were
obvious and not all that mysterious, and the whole affair seemed more like a compulsory
display of social obedience than a thoughtful contemplation of the
unknown. And the fact that some of the
people around me actually believed this stuff – it scared me. Either they were crazy, or I was, and there
was only one of me.
I’ll
limit myself here to my favorite tale.
It comes right out of the gate, early on in Genesis. I’ve forgotten the chapter and the names, but
the story doesn’t need them. God’s
chosen people, the Abraham Jews, were out wandering in the desert, and they saw
a town that needed sacking. In this town
lived a bunch of nice people who had never met the Abraham Jews much less
wronged them. So God’s chosen tribe
gives the town a fair deal, saying to the townspeople, “Oh ye people who dwell
in this down, God is generous and will spare you. Provided, of course, that you cut off the
tips of your penises.” And strangely,
instead of telling these fetishistic Semites to eat dirt, the townspeople
accept the offer without much ado. They
accept the God of Abraham, proving their sincerity by mutilating every penis
they can find. And stranger still, the
following day the children of God go back on their word and sack the town
anyway, murdering with ease the laid up men, and probably raping the women and
children.
When I
think of this story, I like to imagine that it’s one of the few Biblical
stories that actually happened. I
picture the little town, which given the time and place is little more than
strategic piles of stone and dirt, sitting on a hill in the sweltering desert
sun. It’s pocked with hovels, maybe a
modest marketplace near the center, some oxen and sheep meandering about. Up marches this stinking, travel-weary hoard
from the depths of the desert, and they send forth a single envoy. The town is on pins and needles, wondering if
these are marauders or honest wayfarers.
The envoy reaches the gate and delivers his message: “We have recently acquired the ability to
talk to God, and he says you should all snip the folded little bits of skin off
your dicks. If you don’t, he’ll be very
angry.” The envoy leaves in a dirt cloud
of dignity, and the townspeople are equal parts baffled, frightened, and
amused. They decide to hold a meeting.
“This
is obviously a joke,” the wheelwright says.
“They’re having a go at us. If we
do this, they’ll spread the word from here to Babylon, we’ll be a laughing
stock.”
“But
what if they speak true?” comes the inevitable doubt from the
wheat-puncher. “Where have they come
from? Surely, if God is anywhere, he
lives in a cave in the desert.”
“If we
do this, I think the duty should fall to each man’s wife,” a woman dares. She, like every other woman, is often
misused, and relishes the idea of cutting just a bit too deep.
“Perhaps,
if we cut the tips from the fingers of the women, and present them to these men
. . .” the dirt-watcher trails off.
“Yes,”
utters a wise old lecher, “but if I were them I’d ask to see our cocks.”
“Maybe
we could peel the skin back when we show them?”
“Why
would God make cock decrees?”
Eventually
it is settled. The risk of God outweighs
the risk of embarrassment. The shears
are sharpened, the deed is done. And the
next day they all get slaughtered regardless.
It was
in my second semester at the university that I read this and other Biblical
Tales in a class called The Bible as Literature. More or less agnostic at the outset I was
full gallop atheist before we ever got to Solomon. For though I had never believed it, I had
always taken it for granted the Bible was at the very least a collection of
fables and morals which in summation had a genuine message to convey. It ain’t anything of the kind. In fact, there are a multitude of atrocities
committed on the name of God that are so bizarre and creative that I never
could have dreamed them up on my own. The
Bible is much better described as a depiction of the tribalism, brutality, and
insanity of humankind sans knowledge, and it is useful only as far as it warns
us against the pitfalls of ignorance. An
honest Bible comes with this preface – “Here lie the paths of ruin. Know them to shun them."
By the
way, if you ever have the opportunity and the unction, read the Book of
Revelations in a dimly lit sauna while listening to experimental jazz. It’s a trip.
