The edged tool

Today's post comes to you from the Odd Bedfellows department.

Okay, so all of you probably know all about the Harry Potter series.  Kid finds out he's a wizard, gets an invitation to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has a variety of adventures while under the tutelage of Albus Dumbledore, and eventually duels with and kills the evil Lord Voldemort.  The series is beloved by some, criticized by others (especially for Dumbledore's repeated cavalier attitude toward putting the child he's supposed to be protecting into situations where he could get killed), and rejected completely by an increasing number because of its racist tropes and author J. K. Rowling's vicious homophobia and transphobia.

You may also be aware of the fact that ever since the publication of the first book in the series, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, in 1997, the entire concept has been under attack by evangelical Christians.  It's all about magic, celebrates witches and wizards, and never portrays any of the characters as believing in God.  With regards to the last-mentioned, the omission is as good as an admission; the Harry Potter series isn't just non-Christian, they say, it's anti-Christian, and inspired by Satan.  Because of this, the books are frequently featured in book bans and book burnings.

It was bad enough that when the staunchly conservative Reader's Digest interviewed Rowling shortly after the skyrocketing success of her first book, they were inundated by irate letters to the editor.  One of the ones they printed said -- this is from memory, so it's just the gist -- "I am outraged that you would publish an interview with J. K. Rowling.  Her book has led to a million innocent children being baptized into the Church of Satan.  I know this because I read it in an article in The Onion."  The editor, showing remarkable restraint, responded, "You might want to be aware that The Onion is a satirical news source.  Its articles are meant for humorous effect only and should not be taken literally."

As you might imagine, this had little effect on the evangelicals, who went right on screeching about how evil Harry Potter is, ad nauseam.  Then, in 2014, one of them, a woman named Grace Ann Parsons, decided to take matters into her own hands.

She rewrote the story, as... um... anti-fan-fic.  The result was called Hogwarts School of Prayer and Miracles.  Hogwarts is recast as a Christian school run by Dumbledore -- and his wife Minerva McGonigall and daughter Hermione.  Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia are evil atheists who have hidden from Harry that his parents were Christian martyrs.  But Hagrid, an evangelical missionary, finds Harry, tells him the sad story, and converts him to Christianity.  Voldemort is there, doing his evil work -- to make Christianity illegal.  The Good Female Students are always subservient to the men; the Bad Female Students are the ones who speak up and/or have talents outside of cooking, sewing, and cleaning.  The four "houses" -- Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw -- represent four different sects of Christianity, with Slytherin being intended to represent Catholics.

Oh, and there's a bunch of stuff about how Voldemort loves Barack Obama.

Well, the whole thing went viral, both amongst true believers and people who found it funny.  It even attracted the attention of book reviewer Chris Ostendorf of The Daily Dot, who said the writing style was so bad it "makes E. L. James [of Fifty Shades of Grey fame] look like Shakespeare."

But the reason this comes up today is that I just found out that Hogwarts School of Prayer and Miracles has recently been turned into a comedic stage play.

I'm not entirely sure what to think of this.

It's not like Hogwarts School of Prayer and Miracles was satire from the outset, the way Trey Parker and Matt Stone's musical The Book of Mormon was.  At least most people don't think so.  There are a few who believe that Grace Ann Parsons never existed, and the whole thing was written to be deliberately and laughably bad.  But the majority of the folks who've expressed an opinion seem to think that Parsons was honestly trying to create something that would have the draw of Harry Potter, but sanctified.

And if that's the case, isn't turning her work into a stage play that's meant solely to mock kind of... I dunno, mean-spirited?

Don't get me wrong; I think the evangelicals are largely a bunch of dangerous loonies, and their book bans, book burnings, and lobbying for censorship are horrible.  At the same time, I'm no fan of Rowling either.  Not only is her anti-trans work horrifying, just taken on their own merits the Harry Potter books are far from perfect, with numerous plot holes, some big enough fly a Thestral through.  (My opinion is if you want to read some good fiction with the Chosen One trope, Ursula LeGuin's Earthsea trilogy and Lloyd Alexander's Chronicles of Prydain beat Harry Potter by a country mile.)

I'm also not arguing against satire, here.  Well-aimed satire -- such as the recent torching of Donald Trump and his sycophantic toadies on South Park -- is a time-honored way of pointing out the flaws of the powerful.  But good satire always does what I call "punching upward."  It's David-versus-Goliath.  The ridiculing of Parsons's book, on the other hand, is punching downward.

Better known as bullying.

I'm reminded of the sickening nastiness surrounding the novel The Eye of Argon, by Jim Theis.  Argon was written when Theis was sixteen, and was published in the Ozark Science Fiction Association's fanzine the following year.  It was picked up and publicized in the 1970s as the Worst Science Fiction Novel Ever Written, and excerpts were read aloud at science fiction conventions to gales of uproarious laughter, and even republished in magazines.  Fifty years later, it's still happening.  It has become a party game -- people take turns reading excerpts, and are eliminated from the game if they laugh.

All this derision, aimed toward a novel written by someone who was sixteen years old.

And the sad postscript is that Theis was interviewed in 1984, and described how hurt he was by all the ridicule -- and stated, unequivocally, that he would never write again.  And he didn't.  He died in 2002 at the young age of 49, determined never to expose himself like that again.

How fucking sad is that?

And ask any writer, and you know what?  Every damn one of us will corroborate that we were all writing complete tripe when we were teenagers.  Many of us, myself included, wrote tripe well beyond that.  (There's a reason that there are no extant copies of anything I wrote before the age of thirty-five.)  They'll all also confirm that when we write, we're at our most vulnerable, showing our hearts and souls, and that nasty critiques sting like hell.  I still remember a "friend" telling me, after reading the first two chapters of a manuscript, that it was "somewhere between a computer crash and a train wreck."  Because of that, I abandoned the story for years, but unlike poor Theis, I did eventually come back to it -- it became my novel The Hand of the Hunter.  

Yes, as creators, we need to be able to withstand some criticism.  Well-meaning and intelligent critiques are one of the main ways we learn to improve, and I have really valued the input of the editors I've worked with over the years (as hard as it is sometimes to hear that My Baby isn't perfection itself, as-is).  But singling out a work simply to laugh at it isn't helpful, it isn't productive, and it isn't kind.

And I'm in agreement with the Twelfth Doctor on this point.

So, yeah.  I find myself in the odd position of supporting the evangelical Parsons over the people who are ridiculing her.  I guess I just don't like seeing people embarrassed.  It's why I find a lot of sitcoms unwatchable.  I hate being a bystander while someone is put in a position of being laughed at, and that seems to be a mainstay of comedic television in the last couple of decades.  I once told a friend I would rather be physically beaten than humiliated, and that's nothing less than the unalloyed truth.

Anyhow, let's be careful who we choose to target with our laughter, okay?  Satire, sarcasm, and ridicule are edged tools, and they can leave lasting marks.  Use them with care, and if you're not sure, don't use them at all.  We humans are fragile creatures, and too damn many artists, authors, musicians, dancers, and other creatives have been turned away from a lifetime of self-expression by an ill-timed nasty comment.

Ask yourself if you want to be the reason someone gives up on creativity forever.

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Executive orders, task forces, and paranoia

In further evidence that we're living in the Upside Down, a man who once publicly said "I have no reason to ask God for forgiveness when I have never made any mistakes," and who says his favorite book of the Bible is "Two Corinthians," has once again somehow convinced evangelical Christians that he is the Lord's Anointed One, despite his most striking claim to fame being embodying all Seven Deadly Sins in one individual.

The latest stunt by Donald Trump is the creation of a "task force to eliminate anti-Christian bias" from the United States.  This plays right into the evangelicals' all-time favorite hobby, which is looking around for stuff to be outraged about.  To listen to their preachers and televangelists and whatnot, you'd swear being a Christian in the United States was to risk being dragged into the Superdome, Roman-Colosseum-style, and fed to the lions.  Unsurprisingly -- to people who have at least some glancing connection to reality -- the opposite is true.  Just shy of ninety percent of the members of Congress identify as Christian; amongst Republican members, the figure rises to 98%.  In some parts of the country you couldn't be elected as Village Roadkill Collector unless you're a Christian.

For Trump, of course, this move is not because he actually believes that Christians are being persecuted, or would particularly care if they were.  As far as I've seen, Trump's beliefs can be summed up as "I'm in support of whatever gets me praise, power, and money."  This is all about cozying up to evangelical power brokers like John Hagee and Mike Huckabee, and through them, to their rabid MAGA supporters.  As far as the "anti-Christian bias" they're trying to eliminate, it's mostly regarding issues like requiring the Bible be taught as factual in public school classrooms, the Ten Commandments being in every governmental office building, and eliminating evil stuff like admitting we queer people actually exist and deserve rights.

The thing is, the clownish attempts by Trump and people like Representative Nancy Mace of South Carolina (who recently accomplished the astonishing feat of edging out both Lauren Boebert and Marjorie Taylor Greene as the stupidest person in Congress) are only a smokescreen for a far darker and more insidious push toward turning the United States into a Christofascist theocracy.  Trump may not have the first clue about actual Christian theology, but you can bet that people like Pete Hegseth, Russell Vought, and J. D. Vance do.  Those three, and others like them, are deadly serious; given free rein, and they'd look very like the American version of the Taliban.

[Image is in the Public Domain]

Fortunately for those of us who like the idea of separation of church and state, Trump has one saving grace; he has the attention span of a disordered toddler.  As Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez put it, "Yes, this administration is dangerous and cruel, but they are also shockingly dim and incompetent."  As further evidence of this, Trump has now (by executive order, of course) created a "White House Faith Office" with televangelist and certifiable lunatic Paula White-Cain in charge.  White-Cain, you might recall, has been something of a frequent flyer here at Skeptophilia, most recently because of a claim that she'd had a vision wherein "God came to me last night and showed me a vision of Trump riding alongside Jesus on a horse made of gold and jewels.  This means he will play a critical role in Armageddon as the United States stands alongside Israel in the battle against Islam," and that because of this the faithful should donate their entire January salary to her and she'll make sure to pass the cash along to Jesus just as soon as she gets around it it.

In choosing White-Cain, however, Trump hasn't pleased everyone.  Illustrating the general rule that for every evangelical there's an equal and opposite evangelical, some prominent Christian leaders have objected to White-Cain's prominence, one even going so far as to call her a "heretic and known false teacher who has no regard for the Gospel of Jesus Christ."  Scott Ross, a Texas-based "Christian leadership coach," said, "Paula White, head of Trump’s White House Faith Office, is no Christian leader.  She preaches the heresies of Word of Faith & Prosperity Gospel, both utterly opposed to authentic Christianity.  Worse, she has lived a life of scandal, with multiple husbands, twisting the Gospel for profit.  Arguably, this is the worst and most dangerous thing President Trump has done—putting a false teacher at the helm of faith outreach.  Lord, have mercy on our country and this administration."

Even so, it's doubtful this will be enough to change many people's minds.  All Trump and White-Cain will have to do is to start snarling about the evil anti-religious libs and us hellbound LGBTQ+ people running around clamoring for equal rights (if you can even imagine), and the MAGA types will pull right back together into a nice, orderly herd again.

It'll take more than this minor internal squabbling to rid the Religious Right of its paranoia.

In one way, of course, the Christians are right to be freaking out.  Church attendance has been dropping steadily for twenty-five years; in 2018, for the first time ever, the number of people who state that they attend church weekly dropped below the number who say they never attend.   Estimates are that Christian church attendance has been decreasing by around twelve percent yearly for the past fifteen years, and there's no sign of that changing -- regardless of any mandates via executive order.

Funny how when religious leaders embrace hate, intolerance, and bigotry, use their religion to impose their will on others, and champion a president who is a narcissistic, vengeful, spiteful serial adulterer and compulsive liar, a lot of people decide it's time to find better things to do with their Sunday mornings.

I'll add here something I've said many times; it's not that I have anything against Christianity per se.  I have a lot of Christian friends of various denominations, and by and large, we get along fine.  My staunchly-held opinion is that we all come to an understanding of the universe and our place within it, and the big questions like the existence of God (or gods), the role of spirituality, and the meaning of life, in our own way and time.

But if you start using your religion as a weapon, either to force your own particular subset of beliefs on others or to deny rights to people you don't happen to like, I (and many of my friends, of both the believing and nonbelieving varieties) are gonna object.  Strenuously.

And if that makes you feel "persecuted" -- well, that sounds like a "you problem" to me.

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Unwinding the spell

In C. S. Lewis's book Mere Christianity, he addresses the question of why there are unkind and unpleasant Christians (and, conversely, kind and pleasant atheists) by claiming that we should be making a comparison instead with how the people in question would have acted otherwise.  He uses the analogy of a toothpaste's advertising claim to give you healthy teeth:

Even then we must be careful to ask the right question.  If Christianity is true then it ought to follow that any Christian will be nicer than the same person would be if he were not a Christian…  Just in the same way, if the advertisements of Whitesmile’s Toothpaste are true it ought to follow that anyone who uses it will have better teeth than the same person would have if he did not use it.

But to point out that I, who use Whitesmile’s (and also have inherited bad teeth from both my parents), have not got as fine a set as some healthy young African boy who never used toothpaste at all, does not, by itself, prove that the advertisements are untrue.  Christian Miss Bates may have an unkinder tongue than unbelieving Dick Firkin.  That, by itself, does not tell us whether Christianity works.  The question is what Miss Bates’s tongue would be like if she were not a Christian and what Dick’s would be like if he became one.

The fact that we have no way of knowing what they would have been like had their beliefs been otherwise -- that C. S. Lewis himself wrote, "To know what would have happened?  No, no one is given that" -- is a snag here (and awfully convenient to his argument), but we'll leave that aside for the moment. 

Miss Bates and Dick, as a result of natural causes and early upbringing, have certain temperaments: Christianity professes to put both temperaments under new management if they will allow it to do so.  What you have a right to ask is whether that management, if allowed to take over, improves the concern.  Everyone knows that what is being managed in Dick Firkin’s case is much ‘nicer’ than what is being managed in Miss Bates’s...

We must, therefore, not be surprised if we find among the Christians some people who are still nasty. There is even, when you come to think it over, a reason why nasty people might be expected to turn to Christ in greater numbers than nice ones.  If you have sound nerves and intelligence and health and popularity and a good upbringing, you are likely to be quite satisfied with your character as it is.  ‘Why drag God into it?’ you may ask.  A certain level of good conduct comes fairly easily to you.  You are not one of those wretched creatures who are always being tripped up by sex, or dipsomania, or nervousness, or bad temper.  Everyone says you are a nice chap and (between ourselves) you agree with them.  You are quite likely to believe that all this niceness is your own doing: and you may easily not feel the need for any better kind of goodness.  Often people who have all these natural kinds of goodness cannot be brought to recognise their need for Christ at all until, one day, the natural goodness lets them down and their self-satisfaction is shattered.  In other words, it is hard for those who are ‘rich’ in this sense to enter the Kingdom.

It is very different for the nasty people – the little, low, timid, warped, thin-blooded, lonely people, or the passionate, sensual, unbalanced people.  If they make any attempt at goodness at all, they learn, in double quick time, that they need help.  It is Christ or nothing for them.  It is taking up the cross and following -- or else despair.  They are the lost sheep; He came specially to find them.  They are (in one very real and terrible sense) the ‘poor’: He blessed them.  They are the ‘awful set’ he goes about with-and of course the Pharisees say still, as they said from the first, ‘If there were anything in Christianity those people would not be Christians.’

Lewis's apologetics are, unfortunately, specious, and not only for the reason I noted.  His sharp writing style and folksy arguments are understandably appealing, but here -- like many places in Mere Christianity -- his logic doesn't hold up to close scrutiny.  In fact, in the case of "niceness," he's got it backwards.  There is abundant evidence that Christianity (or any other religion) doesn't take what you were born with and sanctify it, make it better than it would have been; instead, it amplifies your natural tendencies.  

So a person born with a kind, forgiving, loving, benevolent nature might well be impelled to do even better if (s)he espoused a religion that valued those things.  But a narrow-minded, spiteful, violent, arrogant person who joins a religion becomes a Tomás de Torquemada, a Cotton Mather, a Judge Jeffreys... or a Jim Bakker or John Hagee or Greg Locke or Rick Wiles.  Awful people who become devout rarely improve their behavior; all their conversion usually accomplishes is to give their hatefulness a nice added gloss of self-righteousness.

[Image licensed under the Creative Commons Aronsyne, C.S.-Lewis, CC BY-SA 4.0]

I got to thinking about Lewis's argument while I was reading an article yesterday in The Daily Beast entitled, "Why Jimmy Carter's Life Should Make the Christian Right Feel Ashamed," and my immediate reaction was to add, "... But It Won't."  As I'm sure all of you know by now, President Carter died a few days ago at the venerable age of 100, and there's been much attention given to his amazingly selfless work for charity, most notably Habitat for Humanity.  The difficulty for Christians, however, is the degree to which Carter's Christianity is being looked upon as an outlier.  In the last twenty years, Christianity has come to be associated with some of the most vile individuals I can think of, culminating in their wholehearted support of an amoral, viciously vengeful, narcissistic adjudicated rapist for president.

The article's author, Keli Goff, writes:

As a person of faith, I have been horrified to watch Christianity’s fall from grace in mainstream America today.  Having mentioned my church in passing to a group of peers, I was once recently met with surprise—surprise that I’m a practicing Christian because, I “seem like a nice person.”  I’m no biblical scholar, but I’m pretty sure that if people conflate your religion with being a terrible human being you’re probably doing it wrong.  Yet in recent years that has arguably become the face of mainstream Christianity, and any Christian who cares about the future of our faith should be deeply concerned.

But... other than a handful of exceptions, they're not.  The vast majority of them are completely unapologetic about their hatreds, whether it's toward minorities, immigrants, LGBTQ+ people, liberals, or just anyone who's not a straight white conservative American.  

Yesterday I drove past a house where there was a huge flag flying saying "God, Guns, and Trump."  How can this now be the rallying cry for people who claim to follow the same man who said "Turn the other cheek" and "Bring unto me the little children" and "Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the Earth"?

Or is that "Woke Jesus," and now we have to follow the new and improved gun-toting, anti-immigrant, Murika-loving, queer-bashing Jesus?

Given that this is the new public face of Christianity in the United States, it is perhaps unsurprising that churches are hemorrhaging members.  Goff quotes statistics that there has been a twelve-percent decline in self-identification as Christian just in the last decade; New York Times columnist Nicholas Kristof stated that "More people have left the church in the last 25 years than all the new people who became Christians from the First Great Awakening, Second Great Awakening and Billy Graham crusades combined."

I find this encouraging, but perhaps not for the reason you might be thinking.  It's certainly not because I'm a nonbeliever myself, and have some misguided desire for everyone to think like me.  I honestly have no issue with what answers people come up with for the Big Questions, about the meaning of life and their place in the universe and the existence of a deity.  We all have to figure those out (or not) as well as we can, and who am I to criticize how someone else squares that circle?  What I judge people on is not belief but behavior, and if the ugly, vitriolic diatribes of the likes of Kenneth Copeland are inducing people to say, "this is not for me," then... good.  That should be your reaction to ignorance, nastiness, and intolerance.

And if the leaders of the Christian churches who are seeing their congregations shrinking don't like this -- well, they'd best figure it out.

As I mentioned earlier, however, I'm not optimistic about their coming to the right conclusions.  Today's Christian leaders seem to excel at considering the question and then getting the wrong answer -- blaming it on secular education, the gays, the liberals, or even kicking it up a level and blaming Satan himself.  That the fault might lie in their own hateful, exclusive, judgmental attitudes doesn't seem to have crossed most of their minds.

C. S. Lewis at least recognized this much -- that if you're on the wrong road, you don't get to your destination safely by continuing to forge doggedly down the same path.  In The Great Divorce, he writes:

I do not think that all who choose wrong roads perish; but their rescue consists in being put back on the right road.  A sum can be put right: but only by going back til you find the error and working it afresh from that point, never by simply going on.  Evil can be undone, but it cannot 'develop' into good.  Time does not heal it.  The spell must be unwound, bit by bit, 'with backward mutters of dissevering power' -- or else not.

Which is exactly right.  The problem, though, is that first you have to realize you've done the sum wrong.  And in this case, I don't think that's happened yet.  There are too many other convenient targets to blame.  Even someone like the near-saintly Jimmy Carter holding up a mirror to what evangelical Christianity has become is unlikely to wake anyone up, especially now that the Christofascists are in the political ascendency here in the United States.

And as long as that's the case, they're almost certainly going to continue down this road, watching their flocks dwindling away to nothing, and acting entirely baffled about why their message has lost its appeal.

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The outrage machine

As of this morning, I have now seen the following post five times:

It seems like it should be obvious this can't be true, because if there was a rule banning the posting the Lord's Prayer on Facebook, this post and the hundreds of others like it would have been deleted, which they weren't.  Apparently, that line of reasoning doesn't seem to occur to people, because instead, the whole thing elicited a chorus of "Amens" and lots of middle fingers raised by the members of the Religious Outrage Machine toward everyone they think is oppressing them, which is pretty much... everyone.

It's so widespread it made it to Snopes, which (of course) found there's no truth to it at all.  There is no prohibition against posting religious material on Facebook, as long as it doesn't involve hate speech.

So let's get something straight, okay?  You Christians in the United States are not a persecuted minority.  Estimates from polls in 2021 show that about 63% of Americans identify as Christian.  There is no basis whatever for the claims made in sites like TruthOnlyBible, which stated that there's a push toward conservative Christians being "[excluded] from basic services, such as air travel, hotel, cell phone, banking, internet shopping, and even insurance."

Seriously, considering how loud the conservative Christians are about airing their grievances at every possible opportunity, how long do you think an airline would last if they said "I'm sorry, you can't purchase a flight to Cancun with us because you're a Christian"?

The most bizarre thing about this claim is that in a lot of the United States, the opposite trend is true.  Despite the "no religious test" clause in the Constitution, in many parts of America it'd be flat-out impossible to get elected if you're not a Christian (and in some of those places, you have to be a particular sort of Christian).

Hell, the second in line for the presidency is an ultra-conservative, anti-LGBTQ, fundamentalist young-earth creationist.

Remind me again how embattled y'all are?

The fact is, no one is trying to stop people from praying, posting Christian stuff online, wishing people Merry Christmas, or going to church.  No one.  You're just as free to be religious as you ever were.  Maybe more people these days are willing to say, "You can't force your religion on me," but that does not equate to "And I'd like to force my lack of religion on you."

But people aren't galvanized by messages like "we're all just trying to get along, here."  Despite my frequent bafflement at why people seem to enjoy feeling indignant, I have to admit that feeding the outrage machine works.  It's why the imaginary "War on Christmas" absolutely refuses to die.  You'd think that twenty years would be enough to convince everyone that no one, not even an Evil Atheist like myself, is trying to kill Christmas, but another thing that comes along with this mindset appears to be a complete resistance to facts and logic.

If you convince people they have something to be scared and mad about, they act.  Which is why fear-mongering is all over the news.  It's why politicians are experts in stoking anger.

"Vote for me, I'll fix what I just made you afraid of" is a mighty powerful message.

But as far as Facebook and prayers -- as I've said more than once here at Skeptophilia, if you're trying to persuade someone of something, blatantly lying about it does not make your case stronger.  And while it might be easy to take advantage of people who can't be bothered even to do a thirty-second Google fact-check search, ultimately what it does is blow your own credibility to smithereens.

So please, please stop reposting bullshit like this.  Can I get an amen to that?

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The voice of an angel

New from the "It's Not A Sin When We Do It" department, we have: Christian Charismatics using a spin-off of the Ouija board to contact angels.

I was sent this story by a friend and long-time loyal reader of Skeptophilia, and my first thought was, "This can't be true."  Sadly, it is.  The same people who go on and on about how evil Ouija boards are and how you're risking your eternal soul even being in the same room with one are now saying that their Ouija boards are just fine and dandy.

The "Angel Board" is available from Amazon at the low-low-low price of $28 (plus shipping and handling).  In the product description, we're told that we can "ask any question we want, and the Angel Board will answer."  If you don't like that particular one, it turns out there are dozens of different makes and models, some costing hundreds of dollars.  

Because we can't just have one company capitalizing on people's gullibility.

Interestingly, if not surprisingly, the reviews have been uniformly good. One five-star review says:

I have been on a path of spiritual enlightenment for 1 year now.  I have two other friends who have shared this path with me.  We share books, experiences, thoughts and feelings, but when one of us (not me) bought this book and “game” board to communicate with our higher-level guides or “guardian angels,” it became a turning point in my journey.  I didn’t think I was “advanced enough” or “spiritual enough” to make this thing work.  I learned, in about 2 minutes, that doubting myself was doubting God and his angels!  In one evening, I met my higher guide, felt unconditional love, and knew I wasn’t alone and never had been.  I was convinced, beyond all reason, of the presence of my angel.  To this date, I call him “J” as we haven’t yet tuned our energies to really work out the spelling of the name…  I asked him if “J” would be okay, and he said, “yes.”  He has answered to “J” ever since!  One evening, before I was able to acquire an “angel board” of my own, I tried an Ouija Board.  It took several attempts before J was able to answer me, but when he did, I asked if he preferred the angel board and he responded “yes.”  We had a very difficult, short conversation that night. The angel board is a MUST for all those who seek a closer relationship with their guardian angel, and who have not had much practice in meditation and raising their energies to a compatible level with the light bodies waiting to guide us!

It's to be hoped that when they "tune their energies" and she finds out "J's" actual name, it's not a rude shock.  It'd kind of suck if she thought she was talking to the Archangel Jophiel and it turned out she was having a conversation with, say, Jar-Jar Binks.

It bears mention, however, that not everyone is so sanguine about the Angel Board.  At the site Women of Grace, we're given the following warning:

Angel boards are just as dangerous as Ouija boards, perhaps more so because they haves [sic] the same purpose as a Ouija board – contacting “spirits” – only they pretend to be summoning guardian angels to make it seem less dangerous...  This is so dangerous on so many levels.  When a person evokes spirits of the dead, he or she is never in control because they are dealing with preternatural forces.  These are powerful beings who are possessed of super-human intelligence, strength and cunning.  Only the most naïve would think that they can control summoned spirits merely by “politely” asking them to come or go...  Needless to say, angel boards should be strictly avoided.

Over at Our Spiritual Quest, "ex medium and professional astrologer" Marcia Montenegro agrees:

Any attempt to contact or summon an angel will result in contact only with a fallen angel.  Spiritism is strongly forbidden and denounced by God and angels are spirit creatures.

 
There is no example anywhere in the Bible of anyone contacting an angel.  The angels who brought messages or did other things for people in the Bible were sent at God’s command.  They were never summoned by man.

 
Asking questions using this Board is the same as using a Ouija Board.  In both cases, only fallen angels, disguised as good angels, as guardian angels, or as the dead, will respond.

I never realized that borrowing from the spiritualists was such a big thing among the hyper-religious, but apparently it is.  There's even a "Christian Tarot deck," available at (surprise!) Amazon, which says that the practice if done right is "biblically consonant."  As you might imagine, this got quite a reaction, both from the people who think Tarot cards are the instrument of the devil and those who think divination is a divine gift.

Weirder still, sometimes those are the same people, just on different days.  Kris Vallotton, pastor of the Bethel Church and self-styled "spiritual leader," heard people said that he and his church members were using Christian Tarot cards developed by a group called "Christalignment," and responded in no uncertain terms:

This is insane... whoever is doing this needs to repent the craziness in the name of "reaching people for Christ..."  There are people who listen to our teaching and create strange and/or anti-biblical applications in our name...  [W]e need wisdom as we move into the cesspool we call the world.  Stop the craziness!

Shortly afterwards, Vallotton responded to his response in no uncertain terms:

There has been some recent concern about the ministry of Christalignment and their supposed use of “Christian tarot cards” in ministering to people at New Age festivals.  While the leaders of this ministry (Ken and Jenny Hodge) are connected with several members of our community (including being the parents to our much-loved brother, evangelist Ben Fitzgerald), Christalignment is not formally affiliated with Bethel.  We do, however, have a value for what they are seeking to accomplish.

When his followers raised hell about his sudden about-face, not to mention an apparent chumminess with occultists, Vallotton responded to the response to his response in no uncertain terms:

Let’s be clear: I was speaking against Tarot cards and their use, which I am still against.  I was addressing people who were accusing Bethel taking part in this practice.  We don’t and never have been been apart [sic] of this.  So that’s still true!  The people who were named in the article, were never named in the people’s accusations of us (that I knew of at the time) nor did I name anyone in my posts.  The article turned out to be fake news against great people who love God, don’t use Tarot cards and lead 1000s of people who do, to Christ.

So there you have it.  He's unequivocally for it except in the sense that he's unequivocally against it.

But he did get some support from one of his followers who said she thought there was nothing wrong even if these were Tarot cards, because -- and I swear I am not making this up -- he says that "'Tarot' is 'Torah' spelled backwards."

Predictably, I read all this with an expression like this:

My general impression is that the whole lot of it -- Tarot cards, Ouija boards, angelology, and the entire Charismatic movement -- is nonsense.  So arguing about whether a silly board game or some funny pictures printed on cheap card stock are going to put you in touch with an angel or with the Prince of Darkness is a little like arguing over whether 2 + 3 equals 17 or 358.

Anyhow, thanks to the loyal reader who sent me the link.  I suppose it's a good thing that this is what the hyper-Christians are currently spending their time discussing.  It's less time they'll have to spend trying to shoehorn young-Earth creationism into public school science curricula and voting in Christofascist authoritarians to public office.  If those are my other options, I'll take sacred Ouija boards any day.

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The lunatic fringe

If there's one thing I still don't understand about the past eight years of politics, it's the ongoing support of right-wing Christians for Donald Trump.

It's baffling.  The people who have been screeching "family values" for forty years support a guy who is a thrice-married serial adulterer who paid hush money to a stripper and porn star.  The same folks who want the Ten Commandments posted in every public school classroom back someone whose main claim to fame is breaking all ten on a daily basis.  The MAGA crowd considers Trump a "good Christian man" despite the fact that in a public speech he said his favorite book of the Bible was "Two Corinthians" and couldn't quote a single biblical verse from memory.  And the central tenets of the faith -- humility and repentance -- prompted him to state in an interview, "Why do I have to repent or ask for forgiveness, if I am not making mistakes?"

What has added a whole new layer of bizarre pretzel logic to the situation is that at long last, it's registering with evangelicals that their support of Trump contradicts the actual words of Jesus Christ.  You know, Jesus Christ?  The guy the Christians believe is the Son of God?  The one the religion is named after?

So when Jesus's words fly in the face of what Trump says, it's gotta be one or the other, right?

Well, when confronted with this conflict, a majority of the evangelicals...

...side with Trump.

This has finally begun to alarm at least a few evangelical leaders, like Russell Moore, former head of the Southern Baptist Convention.  Moore said in an interview a couple of days ago:

It was the result of having multiple pastors tell me, essentially, the same story about quoting the Sermon on the Mount, parenthetically, in their preaching — "turn the other cheek" — [and] to have someone come up after to say, "Where did you get those liberal talking points?"  And what was alarming to me is that in most of these scenarios, when the pastor would say, "I'm literally quoting Jesus Christ," the response would not be, "I apologize."  The response would be, "Yes, but that doesn't work anymore.  That's weak."  And when we get to the point where the teachings of Jesus himself are seen as subversive to us, then we're in a crisis.

I'd say so.

In an odd synchronicity, this is a theme that comes up in my novel The Chains of Orion (scheduled for release in November).  In it, a violent reactionary cult called the Zealots revere the memory of an early spiritual leader, Blessed Julia Lowell.  But when a new manuscript is discovered containing the actual words of Blessed Julia, written in her own hand -- and those words command doing exactly the opposite of what the Zealots are actually doing -- they reject the document out of hand rather than change their ways, and ultimately assassinate the religious leader who brought it to light.

As Susan B. Anthony so trenchantly put it, "I distrust those people who know so well what God wants them to do, because I notice it always coincides with their own desires."

Add to all this the fact that some of the most outspoken evangelical leaders have, in the last few years, seemed to lose the plot completely.  The latest examples include self-proclaimed prophet Hank Kunneman, who "guaranteed" Trump would win re-election in 2020 because God himself said so.  He hasn't been much inclined to address the question since then, but just two weeks ago said that Jesus told him personally "not to apologize" for the error.  

Then we have Lance Wallnau.  Wallnau, you may remember, is the guy who in April went on record as saying that Satan was responsible for Tucker Carlson being fired by Fox News.  Well, he's still hard at it.  (Wallnau, not Satan.)  Just a couple of days ago he said he'd heard a voice while he was praying telling him, "Donald Trump will be elected for one more term," but when he turned around, no one was there.

But instead of seeing this as a sign of an incipient psychotic break, most of the evangelicals consider this business as usual.

Then there's Pastor Greg Locke, who is in another league entirely.  Locke's insane ravings have appeared here at Skeptophilia before, but he took a further leap into Cloud Cuckoo Land this week by preaching a sermon railing against The Barbie Movie, culminating with bringing out a Barbie Dream Home he'd purchased and demolishing it using a baseball bat to which he'd tied Bibles.

I swear I'm not making this up.  If you don't believe me, check out the video.

In a sane world, behavior like this would lead to the audience erupting in gales of laughter and Pastor Locke being hustled off the stage, given horse tranquilizers, and never allowed near a public event again.  Instead, the reaction of the crowd who had gathered to listen to him can be summed up as "Hallelujah!"

A friend of mine explained the response of evangelicals to Donald Trump as, "Of course they support him.  He hates the same people they do."  Free thinkers, the non-religious, immigrants, brown-skinned people, women in non-traditional roles, LGBTQ+ people.  As long as he demands an America free of any of those, the members of the Religious Right will vote for him enthusiastically.

To which I respond: well, okay.  But, you know, the Gospels?  The purported actual words of Jesus?  That contradict ninety percent of what Trump and his cronies are saying and doing?

I'm sorry, I still don't get it.

Given the fact that I just wrote a novel about this phenomenon, you'd think I wouldn't be as gobsmacked as I am.  Somehow having the lunatic fringe I wrote about in a fictional setting leap off the page into the real world is a little alarming.  At least some of the Christian leaders (like Moore) are recognizing the problem, and I have hope that a lot of moderate and progressive Christians are as appalled as I am.

Until they are in the ascendancy, however, I'm afraid that we're going to be stuck with living in a world where, as Oscar Wilde put it, "Life imitates art more than art imitates life."

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The empty pews

Today I'd like to look at two articles that are mainly interesting in juxtaposition -- and a third that is as horrifying as it is enlightening.

The first is from Christianity Today and describes a one hundred million dollar ad campaign designed to bring the uncommitted, undecided, and "cultural Christians" -- what the people running the campaign call "the movable middle" -- back into the fold.  The money is being spent for television and online advertisements, billboards, and YouTube videos, all designed to make Christianity look appealing to the dubious.  The program is called "He Gets Us," and focuses on Jesus's warm, human side, his struggles against people who judged him, and his commitment to dedicate himself to God's will even so.

I'm perhaps to be forgiven for immediately thinking of the "Buddy Christ" campaign from the movie Dogma.

The reason for "He Gets Us," of course, is that in the last ten years Christian churches in the United States have been hemorrhaging members, especially in the under-30 demographic.  A 2019 study found that 66% of Americans between 23 and 30 stopped going to church for at least a year after turning 18; most of the ones who left didn't go back.  The main reasons they gave for leaving were church involvement in politics (especially support of Donald Trump), issues of contraception and women's bodily autonomy, and policies and attitudes discriminating against LGBTQ+ individuals.

Haven, the group running the campaign, summed up the problem thusly: "How did the world’s greatest love story in Jesus become known as a hate group?"

The second article is a paper in the Journal of Secularism and Nonreligion, and attempted to quantify the degree of in-group favoritism and out-group dislike amongst various religions in the United States, agnostics, and atheists.  Contrary to the common perception that "atheists hate the religious," the researchers found that the converse was closer to the mark:

Atheists are among the most disliked groups in America, which has been explained in a variety of ways, one of which is that atheists are hostile towards religion and that anti-atheist prejudice is therefore reactive.  We tested this hypothesis by using the 2018 American General Social Survey by investigating attitudes towards atheists, Christians, Buddhists, Hindus, Jews, and Muslims.  We initially used a general sample of Americans, but then identified and isolated individuals who were atheists, theists, nonreligious atheists, religious theists, and/or theistic Christians.  Logically, if atheists were inordinately hostile towards religion, we would expect to see a greater degree of in-group favouritism in the atheist group and a greater degree of out-group dislike.  Results indicated several notable findings: 1). Atheists were significantly more disliked than any other religious group. 2). Atheists rated Christians, Buddhists, Jews, and Hindus as favourably as they rated their own atheist in-group, but rated Muslims less positively (although this effect was small).  3). Christian theists showed pronounced in-group favouritism and a strong dislike towards atheists.  No evidence could be found to support the contention that atheists are hostile towards religious groups in general, and towards Christians specifically.

The fact is, it's not the atheists who have a hate problem to address.  I find Haven's disingenuous question about Christianity and hate groups wryly funny, especially since they have also run ad campaigns for Focus on the Family, one of the most virulently anti-LGBTQ+ groups in existence (they are on record as calling LGBTQ+ marriage and parenting equal rights as "a particularly evil lie of Satan").

Maybe the first thing to do before trying to market a kinder, gentler Jesus is for the Christians themselves, as a group, to confront the Religious Right's ongoing campaign of persecution against queer people.  (And if you think I'm overstating the case by using the word "persecution," allow me to remind you that only six months ago, a pastor in Texas told a cheering congregation that anyone identifying as queer should be stood up against a wall and shot; only two months ago, a right wing nutjob went to a nightclub in Colorado Springs and did exactly as told; and shortly afterward, a different pastor told a different cheering congregation he was glad it had happened.)

And they wonder why people are looking at the church, shaking their heads, and walking away.

The last story I probably wouldn't have bothered commenting on if it hadn't been for the first two; in fact, when I first saw it, I thought it was a joke.  It's about former United States Representative and current complete lunatic Michele Bachmann, who since her failed attempt at re-election has turned herself into a spokesperson for the evangelicals.  She was on the Christian radio program Lions & Generals a couple of days ago, and proudly told the interviewer that she had spent Christmas day warning her grandchildren about the fires of hell.

No, I'm not making this up.  Here's a direct quote:

I was with two of my grandchildren this weekend, a two-year-old and a six-year-old, and I was just compelled to talk to them about, when we die, it’s judgement," she said.  "We talked about what heaven is, and we talked about what hell is.  That hell is just as real as heaven.  And in hell, there’s eternal fires and damnation and it’s a real place, we do not want to go there, that’s where the wicked will go.  And then I explained how they don’t go — that they receive Christ and confess their sins … [Jesus] cleanses them and then because of his righteousness, they go to heaven...  And so my little granddaughter immediately started saying, ‘I don’t want to go to hell, I want to go to heaven.’ I said, ‘Bella, can I pray with you? Let’s pray.  Do you want to pray?’ … And I think, why miss an opportunity?

Or, more accurately, "why miss an opportunity to subject a six-year-old and a two-year-old to religiously-justified emotional abuse?"

And once again, they wonder why people are looking at the church, shaking their heads, and walking away.

Look, I know, "not all Christians."  Not, perhaps, even most Christians.  As I've said many times, I have lots of Christian friends, as well as friends of various other belief systems, and mostly we all get along pretty well.  But unfortunately, in the United States, Christianity has allowed itself to get hijacked by the loudest, ugliest, and most vicious minority, and those are the people who are creating the image American Christianity has.  Until the Christians who really do stand for Jesus's command to "love thy neighbor as thyself" -- and that includes thy brown neighbor, thy immigrant neighbor, thy homeless neighbor, thy queer neighbor, thy Muslim neighbor, and thy atheist neighbor -- stand up and shout down the bigots and extremists, no multi-million-dollar ad campaign is going to do a damn thing to stop the pews from emptying.

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Broken tools

Since 2016, one of the most persistent puzzles to me has been the unflagging support of evangelical Christians for Donald Trump, a man whose main claim to fame seems to be embodying all Seven Deadly Sins in one individual.

I get why people with far-right ideology support him; that, at least, is consistent.  Trump has the same pro-corporate capitalist, xenophobic, anti-immigration, authoritarian views they do.  But the very religious have continued to idolize the man despite his openly admitting affairs while married, multiple credible allegations of fraud, and so many outright lies that it's impossible even to keep up with them.  They even go so far as to consider him anointed by God -- I heard one person, with no apparent sense of irony, call Trump "Jesus's Right-Hand Man."

When I've inquired (cautiously) into how "Jesus's Right-Hand Man" can be so dramatically and thoroughly flawed, I've heard comments like "God can work with a broken tool."  Which seems to me to be a puzzling stance for a group of people who ostensibly believe that the Bible should be followed to the letter, and anyone who doesn't do so is destined for the fires of hell.

[Image licensed under the Creative Commons Gerbilo, Christianity symbols, CC BY 3.0]

A fascinating study that appeared last week in Politics and Religion may have figured out the answer.  It's not that they think Trump is religious himself; they don't.  In fact, only 37% of the white evangelical Christians in the study said they thought Trump was religious.  (Surprisingly, Biden scored slightly higher.)  Despite this, they overwhelmingly voted for Trump -- because, the study found, Trump repeatedly emphasized that evangelical Christians were a threatened minority, and promised to protect them.

The perception, apparently, was that it didn't matter if Trump was religious, or even moral, himself; his election was "part of God's plan" to bolster up the evangelical community against perceived external threats.  Trump's strategy was to play into that fear -- and it worked.

"This finding suggests that Trump is a unique case when it comes to white evangelical evaluations of the religiosity of elites," said Jack Thompson of the University of Exeter, who authored the study, in an interview with PsyPost.  "Instead of projecting their beliefs onto Trump, and thereby supporting him because of his perceived religiosity, white evangelicals support him despite his lack of religiosity...  The findings concerning the salience of identity threats on conditioning white evangelical beliefs also provide an additional explanation for why evaluations on Trump’s religiosity might not have mattered when it came to their vote choice in 2016.  Namely, because Trump’s invocation of the decline of white Christian America proved effective in activating religious identity threat in a way that led to white evangelicals to coalesce around his candidacy.  In this way, Trump’s ability to articulate white evangelicals’ fears about the declining influence of Christianity likely overrode any lingering concerns about his religiosity."

So "God can work with a broken tool" turns out to be pretty spot on, as does the observation by a friend of mine that "the Religious Right loves Trump because he hates the same people they do."  

The whole thing makes some twisted kind of sense.  If you're convinced that "God has a plan" -- and that, importantly, you know what that plan is -- then it doesn't make a difference who contributes to the working out of that plan.  It could be the most evil human being alive, committing atrocities, and as long as that moves God's plan forward -- well, that's what needs to happen.

Mighty convenient, that.

One has to wonder how this will continue to play out, because there's no doubt that evangelical Christianity is declining.  A study in 2021 found that between 2006 and 2020, the number of self-identified evangelicals in the United States dropped by 37%.  (In the same period, the number of Roman Catholics also dropped by 27%.)  What that suggests is that the fears of decreasing influence are well-founded.  At some point, the mobilization of the remaining evangelicals because of fear will inevitably be overcome by the fact that they're simply too few in numbers to make a difference in national elections.

At least, I hope so.  I'm not religious myself but have no problem with people who are, as long as they stay in their lane and don't attempt to force belief down my throat.  On the other hand, any group who could support a moral degenerate like Donald Trump can't be allowed to swing the direction of our entire nation.

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Waves, demons, and sunk costs

I find it utterly baffling how hard it is for people to look at something that didn't work out like they expected and say, "Well, I guess I was wrong, then."

I mean, on one level, I get it.  I'm no fonder of being wrong than the next guy.  Finding out you're mistaken, especially about something important, can be devastating.  And admitting you're wrong can be nothing short of humiliating.  But even so -- when the facts demand it, we don't really have a choice, do we?

To judge by a great many people, apparently we do, and that choice is "hang on like grim death to what we already believed, and summarily dismiss any evidence to the contrary."

Take, for example, last week's election here in the United States.  Many of us, on both sides of the aisle, were expecting a "red wave" -- that the Republicans would score resounding wins, and end up with decisive majorities in the House, Senate, and gubernatorial races.  Didn't quite work out that way.  The Democratic majority in the Senate looks like it'll be up by at least one, possibly two; at the time of this writing, the control of the House of Representatives has yet to be decided, but any majority (either way) is going to be razor-thin.

My reason for bringing this up in the context of "being wrong" is not the pollsters, nor mere voting citizens like myself.  I have nowhere near the expertise in political science to expect my prognostications about elections would carry any weight at all, and polls have been wrong as often as they're right.  No, what I'm looking at here are the people who predicted the "red wave" would happen -- because God had told them so personally.

Let's start with pastor George Pearsons, who told an interviewer on The Victory Channel that he knew the election wouldn't be "stolen" because he'd gotten the information directly from the Big Guy himself:

This afternoon I'm in the kitchen, and I'm fixing something to eat, and Terry and I are talking about the election, and the different things that are happening.  And for a moment I got quiet, and I heard the voice of the Lord.  And you know what he said?  He said, 'I got this.'...  Father, we thank you.  We have worked together between heaven and Earth.  Two years, praying, standing, believing,  We are, as believers, emboldened, empowered, and standing on our authority in the word of God.  This election will not be stolen.  Corruption, you bow your knee, your name to the name of Jesus [??? sic], and Father we thank you that we've seen in two years, Jesus himself has rolled up his sleeves, and he has worked, and his people have worked with him, in every shape, form, and manner.  So Lord, we thank you that this deal is over.  It's up.  And now we hear your voice: 'I got this.'  And we praise you and honor you for the victory this night for the United States of America.

As the results started coming in, though, the tune changed.  My Pillow guy Mike Lindell, also speaking on The Victory Channel, said he saw it coming, despite what God himself had said to Reverend Pearsons, and that had been announced on the same channel, only hours earlier:

Well, it's kind of what I expected.  They're stealing everything.  Just in Herschel Walker's race alone, over two hundred thousand votes have been injected into his opponent to get to this runoff stage.  They stole the governor's race with Mastriano in Pennsylvania, we've seen an early injection of ninety thousand votes in the computers, and Kari Lake, they're trying to steal her race, too.

Needless to say, there was no "injection" of votes, and the races weren't "stolen."  Walker's in a runoff but is trailing Raphael Warnock, and Mastriano lost fair and square.  But saying that is a bridge too far for people like Lindell.

A couple of days afterward, when it became clear that there had been no "red wave," the christofascists were scrambling around trying to figure out why the divine guidance had turned out to be flat wrong.  No way could they just say, "Maybe God didn't speak to us after all," or "Perhaps hitching our boat to Donald Trump wasn't such a great idea," or (worst of all) "It's time to do some reflection and rethink whether our message of exclusion, ugliness, and hate is in line with Jesus's actual words."  Instead, they cast around for what could possibly have made the election go sideways, and landed on the obvious answer:

It was the demons.

Pastor Shane Vaughn said that of course what God told him wasn't wrong, and of course he wasn't delusional when he claimed to hear God speaking in the first place.  It was just those damn demons:

That's why there was no red wave.  Abortion.  Abortion changed everything.  And even though all the polls showed the economy was the main issue, abortion is a religious issue.  And religion creates more passion than anything in the world...  And there's a religion of demons that loves abortion.  That religion of pro-abortion showed up.  It was bigger than anybody understood because of the passion those demonic powers create in their church of heathens that love to kill babies.  Now that's why there was no red wave.  Abortion.  Had it not been for the abortion issue, I promise you, the whole country would be red today.  What happened in Pennsylvania -- anybody who could vote for that monster, Uncle Fester, proves to me the power of demonic activity in the world today.  That's the only way you could vote for that man.  That's it.  Those demons did show up, and those demons do have power over this Earth.

So if the supernatural voice you supposedly heard telling you something turns out to be wrong, you have to invent a supernatural enemy to explain what happened?

I understand the sunk-cost fallacy; that once you've put a tremendous amount of personal and emotional energy into supporting something or someone, it's a huge effort to reverse course.  But seriously; isn't it time for some reassessment, here?

It puts me in mind of a couple of quotes, the first from Susan B. Anthony: "I distrust those people who know so well what God wants them to do, because I notice it always coincides with their own desires."  And even more to the point, from theologian and writer Timothy Keller: "If your god never disagrees with you, you might just be worshiping an idealized version of yourself."

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