50 Things You're Not Supposed To Know: Religion (14 page)

BOOK: 50 Things You're Not Supposed To Know: Religion
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Slaves, incidentally, are part of the prize God gave to Abraham in Genesis, and slavery itself is mentioned without a hint of condemnation within the Ten Commandments. And in case you are still not convinced, Leviticus 19:20 sets
down the rules for dutifully raping a slave woman. But the most blood chilling of all passages is found in Exodus 21:20–21. Here, the Word of God tells us, “When a man strikes his male or female slave with a rod so hard the slave dies under his hand, he shall be punished. If, however, the slave survives for a day or two, he is not to be punished, since the slave is his own property.” Yes, you read right. God gives you a thumb up for killing your slaves as long as they survive your beating for a couple of days … Lovely.
 
Ok, you may wonder, but at least the music will change in the New Testament. Jesus will get rid of this barbaric Old Testament crap, right? Some passages, after all, seem encouraging. At least indirectly, the injunction to “Do to others what you would have them do to you” appears to run counter to slavery. Plus, the ideal of the equality of all in front of God—Jew or Gentiles, slave or free, male or female—denies the very hierarchy on which slavery depends.
 
So how did the defenders of slavery spin the New Testament into a pro-slavery document? Well … it turns out that they didn't have to spin it that much. The first piece of evidence they could use in their favor is that despite being surrounded by slavery, Jesus never openly denounced it (or if he did, the Gospels are silent about this). But even less ambiguously, they could just quote direct passages that don't exactly sound like harsh criticisms of slavery. Titus 2:9–10 counsels, “Teach slaves to be subject to their masters
in everything, to try to please them …” 1 Peter 2:18 adds, “You who are slaves must accept the authority of your masters with all respect. Do what they tell you—not only if they are kind and reasonable, but even if they are cruel.” And in case you weren't paying attention, Ephesians 6:5–6 reminds you, “Slaves, obey your earthly masters with respect and fear, and with sincerity of heart, just as you would obey Christ. Obey them not only to win their favor when their eye is on you, but like slaves of Christ, doing the will of God from your heart.”
 
Ok, let's stop. I can't take this anymore. If we continue at this rate, I may convince myself that, since God is obviously fine with slavery, maybe I should be as well. After all, that's what the Bible says.
36 TAO IS THE SHIT
 
Taoists (and their close cousins Zen Buddhists) are funky people. The way they make their point is nearly always weird, and sometimes flat-out gross. Consider this dialogue between some guy (who no doubt regretted ever being part of it) and Chuang Tzu, one of the founding fathers of Taoism.
 
Having a difficult time understanding what exactly was this universal energy Chuang Tzu was fond of talking of, a man named Tung Kuo Tzu (we'll call him Tung for short) decided to question him about it. Where exactly can I find
this mysterious Tao you always speak about? “It's everywhere,” Chuang Tzu replied. Not satisfied Tung asked for an example. Chuang Tzu pointed to an ant crawling on the ground and said, “It's here in this ant.” Tung was taken aback that something so grandiose and elusive as the Tao could be found in something as low as an ant. Now, Tung was probably being just a pain in the ass. The idea that God (or however people conceive of ultimate reality) is everywhere and in everything is something found in many religions. But Tung continued his line of questioning demanding more examples, thus giving Chuang Tzu a chance to let loose. In short order, Chuang Tzu proceeded to explain that, if he wanted to find the Tao, Tung could look in the grass, in some broken tile, and in the steaming pile of shit that a dog had graciously just deposited nearby. Needless to say, Tung was speechless.
 
Poor Tung. He had come to question a great spiritual master about the secrets of the universe, and instead he was getting a speech about dog shit.
 
Chuang Tzu, on the other hand, was having a blast. He could have made his point about the Tao being in
everything in many, more delicate ways. But they wouldn't have been as much fun. The expression on Tung's face at the end of the speech was priceless.
 
Probably Zen master Lin Chi was in the same mischievous mood as Chuang Tzu when he advised his disciples that the key to enlightenment was to “Shit, piss, and just be human. Eat when hungry. Sleep when tired.”
 
What these two sly cats were doing with their scatological speeches was to teach a lesson to the delicate souls who have an overly romanticized notion of spirituality. So busy looking for deep, mystical truths, plenty of starry-eyed searchers begin dividing existence between physical and spiritual, profane and sacred. Many are those who, infatuated with all things “spiritual,” forget that real spirituality is nothing but daily life lived with full awareness. This is the only difference between a Buddha and an ordinary person. One goes through life awake, while the other is sleepwalking.
 
Annoyed with the many posers who crowd the spirituality-business, Chuang Tzu and Lin Chi have fun shocking them. Lin Chi would always yell at his disciples reminding them not to “love the sacred and disdain the profane.” In a similar vein, when people questioned him why he spent so little time in monasteries, master Tao-Chi would reply, “Drinking in the wine shops and sleeping in brothels—this is where I practice best.” The bowel movements of
dogs, wine, hookers, and other seemingly inappropriate subjects are all ways to shake overly rigid “religious” people from their own self-importance. By taking themselves too seriously, these guys ultimately missed the point. And if they didn't get it … well, then might as well have a good time freaking them out with the dog shit speech.
37 WHY A PAGAN EMPEROR WAS THE BEST THING THAT COULD HAPPEN TO CHRISTIANS
 
When people think of early Christianity under the Roman Empire, the typical images that come to mind are of crucifixions and lions having Christian filet for lunch, while the Roman plebs chant “Die, Christian bastards, die!” and some fat emperor, with an evil laughter looks on while squeezing the asses of his slave girls (and slave boys while he is at it). For the most part, these images are right on the money. Despite a long tradition of religious tolerance (or at least something close to that), the Roman Empire went after Christians with a vengeance. They were considered dangerous atheists, because of their deep hatred for the traditional gods. For good measure, they were also accused of cannibalism, incest and orgies (all that talk of “eating the body of Jesus” and “universal love” was slightly misunderstood). And, most worrisome of all, they refused to pay homage to the emperor, which was taken as a sign of disloyalty to the state. As long you were loyal to the state, the Romans would
have no problems with whatever weird beliefs you decided to live by, but even a tiny suspicion of disloyalty … well, maybe it's time to bring out the lions. And this is exactly what the Romans did for over two centuries.
 
But the relationship between pagan Roman emperors and Christians could also be more complicated than that. Take the example of Julian, the last pagan Roman emperor.
 
Flavius Claudius Julianus was the lonely survivor of the massacres of possible troublesome claimants to the throne organized by Constantine's very Christian sons. Julian saw his whole family butchered by Christians, and he himself grew up under close watch—the possibility of getting whacked never too far from his mind. So, needless to say, when he finally did manage to become emperor, he didn't exactly have a soft spot for Christianity. Rather, his preferences were for Greek philosophy and classic Greco-Roman paganism.
 
In just about every way, he did everything opposite to the way Constantine and his evil heirs had run the business. Unlike them (and unlike most other emperors), he insisted on treating others as one of them, as if they were equal—something very odd in the highly hierarchical and class conscious Roman society. He immediately dismantled the secret police that Constantine had used to build his totalitarian state. And in a very dramatic move, he withdrew
the empire's support for Christianity. His religious platform was remarkably modern: freedom of worship for all, and no forms of state imposed religion. Despite his strong dislike for Christianity, he refused to systematically persecute them. Simply, he just took away government-paid salaries and other benefits from the bishops.
 
As surprising as this may sound, most Christians ended up enjoying more freedom of religion under a pagan emperor than they did when one variation of Christianity was in power. Christians, in fact, hated each other. As the Roman writer Ammianus put it, “No wild beasts are so hostile to mankind as are most of the Christians in their savagery toward one another.” The different branches of Christianity were in open war with each other, since most of them vied to be the only official one, and dismissed their rivals as heresies. Whenever one of them had been in power, Christians belonging to any other faction were persecuted just as much as pagans were. Political murders of “heretics” were the norm. By allowing the practice of all religions, instead, Julian actually stopped these persecutions of Christians against other Christians. And he even brought back from exile hundreds of dissident bishops. This move, however, was not particularly well received by most Christians who believed that anything less than giving them full power over society was a form of persecution.
 
In any case, this state of affairs was not to last since Julian was killed in battle while trying to expand the empire in the Middle East (Christian legends tell that he was speared to death by a saint!) The next emperors returned to a state-imposed form of Christianity and began sentencing to death anyone worshipping in anything but the officially approved manner. Had they taken their clues from Julian, instead, Western history could have spared itself centuries of inquisitions, crusades, witch-hunts, and other pleasantries.
38 GOD’S HIT MAN
 
Since the dawn of time, God's faithful followers have been locked in a war without mercy against the forces of evil. Christian theology (and Muslim too, for that matter) is clear on this matter. This is a fight that can't stop until the final showdown at the end of times, when God's partisans will drown their enemies once and for all in rivers of blood. Until then, the battle rages on, and the entire earth is divided in opposing armies. Neutrality is just not an option. Much like rust, Evil never sleeps, and its agents are constantly busy trying to hurt the followers of the one true faith. Given this outlook, it then logically follows that it is wise for God's people to strike down the devil's minions wherever they are found: heretics, witches, pagans and other fans of the devil simply have to be stopped.
 
It would be easy for Christians to despair when they are always surrounded by such scary opponents, but in the Spain of the 1400s, a man rose to their defense. His name?
 
Fighting out of the red corner, wearing the robes of inquisitor general, he is “The hammer of heretics, the light of Spain, the savior of his country.” Ladies and Gentlemen, representing the Holy Inquisition, and sporting a record of hundreds of heretics killed, I introduce to you, the one and only reigning heavyweight champion of the Catholic faith,
Tooooomaaaaaaasss de Torrrrrqueeeeemaaaadaaaaaaaaaa
!
 
A Dominican friar and Queen Isabella's personal confessor, Tomás de Torquemada had become Spain's first inquisitor general, which is to say God's right hand man in His fight against heresy. In his zealous quest, he set up a system that burned to death over 2,000 people (and many, many thousands more when imitators followed his lead in other parts of Europe). Some of his main victims were former Jews and Muslims posing as faithful Catholics but secretly holding on to their old beliefs. But even more broadly, Torquemada's mission was to bring down anybody holding ideas that differed from Catholicism.
 
His methods were not exactly the embodiment of Christian compassion,
but in the fight against the Evil One, a man's got to do what a man's got to do. Whips, hot irons, thumbscrews, stakes and other pearls of creative sadism were holy weapons to be used in defense of the Catholic faith. By the time Torquemada knocked on your door, you were pretty much screwed. It meant that someone had managed to convince him that you were an enemy of the faith who had to be stopped. The good, old rule “innocent until proven guilty” was not yet old and was certainly not considered good. The legal theory of the Inquisition was more along the lines of “guilty until proven innocent.” Actually, even that was too much to ask, since you really couldn't prove yourself innocent. If you confessed, then obviously you were guilty. But if you didn't, then it meant you were truly a lying, sneaky servant of the devil who should be tortured. If you confessed under torture, then it was a done deal. If not, again this only proved your guiltiness since clearly the devil was giving you supernatural power to resist pain: quite literally damned if you do, and damned if you don't.
BOOK: 50 Things You're Not Supposed To Know: Religion
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