Why I Don't Believe

As a young person in church, I had questions. I noticed inconsistencies between the text of the Bible itself and what I was taught about the nature of God that were impossible to reconcile. How people could ascribe such a ruthless being, crippled by his childish jealousy and brazen in his cruelty, with capability for limitless mercy and love evaded my understanding. No one could rationally explain this, often seeming to ignore or make light of what seemed to be a serious question. What was more confusing was the meaning that my then fellow church members derived from the story of Jesus. I could never make sense of the idea that God would sacrifice a part of himself in order to save his own “children” from eternal torment as punishment for an original sin that he, the creator, must have anticipated in his omniscience. These were the questions that led to others, which eventually drove me towards another path for truth and separated me from the “flock”.
As I grew more distant from the church, I started to learn about other dogmatic faiths. I began to feel that they were all, for the most part, mutually exclusive of each other. “What does it mean”, I asked myself, “when many faiths exist, all purporting to be a sole means for salvation and truth? Do people understand how irrational it is to believe that their specific faith is truth while everyone else is deluded?” This seemed to imply that an members of an exclusive faith must perceive an inferiority of all those who don't believe as they do, as if all "non-believers" are somehow less intelligent or capable than they. I read about what people adhering to different myths about reality do to one another. These dogmatic faiths claimed to laud compassion while, at the same time, ended up acting violent. Looking at history, I observed what appeared to be a cohesive theme of fear, shame and control. I started to see similarities in the way that religious institutions and oppressive governmental institutions manipulated people by engendering a sense of shame and a fear of the unknown, causing them to cling their oppressor for security. I began to understand that these two institutions demanded unquestioning loyalty from their adherents, providing only further ensnarement into an ideology whose growth towered in importance over all other things. Shame and guilt become institutionalized virtues, further ensnaring adherents into a way of behaving that serves, primarily, to nourish the clergy and spread the ideology. The ideology begins to appear more like a parasitic virus than any sort of truth or wisdom about life. As the church claims that outside itself there is no salvation, it reveals its ulterior agenda. It is no coincidence that a chapel and a throne room are arranged in the same way. As the priest, or king, dictates to their followers, or subjects, they keep their own back against the wall, an action symbolic of their insecurity in the position of power they hold. The followers, or subjects, bow as they receive their truth (which, in almost every case, will speak to emotions and play on fears rather than appealing to rational intellect) and one must not question. If one does, they can expect to be singled out and rejected by the community. Seeing these things, I made a decision that I would not let peddlers of religion tell me what is real, what is important, how I should feel about what those around me are doing and what I should be doing myself. Those decisions are mine to make, and I am quite capable of making them well.
My life has been filled with a myriad of experience. I've understood pain, joy, greed, selflessness, addiction, violence, love, identity, denial, creativity and growth. I've realized, after trying to reach goals that are not my own, living in a society that is somehow able to tell itself that it's everything it's not, that a good way to be happy is to stop listening to the rumblings of the status quo for guidance and make decisions using the capabilities I was born with: I am able to be rational and reasonable. And I can be compassionate to others and act according to their best interest, as I share and understand their needs. I choose this not because I fear hellish retribution for being selfish, but because it's reasonable to treat others as I'd like to be treated. It feels better to give knowing that I'm doing it by my own choice. Also, putting zero stock in the idea of original sin allows one to be free from control. I can make informed decisions that serve my best interests, as well as the interests of those who share this time on the planet with me.
Self hatred results in violence to others. Life is paradoxical in that way. We lose what we cling to the hardest, we always tend to live out our worst fears, and we destroy things we touch when trying to define them, hold them fast, make them static. So much potential and an infinite plenitude of possibility exist if we decide to be open. “Eden” exists if we're ready to receive it. I can not, and will never be able to, subscribe to the limiting, static myths that so many others do, because, seeing the capability for infinite compassion and love, as a part of the cosmic dance, as a conduit for divine creativity and as god Myself, it would be blasphemy. Therefore I serve no gods and no masters.