Pope Francis and Climate Change

So Pope Francis recently wrote a paper on climate change, wherein he stated that all the data points to three things. The first is that climate change is a real thing that is actually happening. I didn't think this needed to be said, but apparently I was wrong. Just shows what happens when I act as if humanity is not populated entirely by dense, knuckle-dragging mongoloids. Damn you, optimism!

Anyway, the data also says that climate change is harmful, and that action needs to be taken in order to prevent its effects from worsening even further. Again, I figured this was obvious. Again I am wrong.

Finally, the numbers point to humanity as the number-one cause of climate change. The planet is fucked, and we are all collectively responsible for this fact. I guess our species really is idiotic. Would you look at that? I was right about something for once!

So after Pope Francis pointed all this out to us, and urged the proper authorities to take meaningful action on the issue, people flipped their shit. Most of these people were the uber-religious right-wing type, which really should not have surprised me as much as it did. There were two narratives these assholes pushed, none of which is particularly accurate. Nor are they all that different from one another, come to think of it. They're both bullshit, anyway.

People like Greg Guttfeild, the 'comedian' on Fox News, claimed that Pope Francis is not an authority on science, and so the church should stay out of the discussion. In essence, he should've left the science to the scientists. That's odd. He wasn't saying that when creationists wanted to teach their crackpot theory in high school science classes, now was he? That seems a tad hypocritical to me.

And, also, his argument is factually incorrect. Pope Francis is leaving the science to the scientists. Everything he said in that document is corroborated by data and scientific consensus. Pope Francis is merely agreeing with it. He recognizes that the Church holds immense power and influence over the common people. He has elected to use that power for good, and that's awesome.

The other talking point these people spewed forth from the depths of hell is that public opinion skews against climate change. The American people don't support taking action against it, so therefore we shouldn't do it.

Quite frankly, I have no fucking idea where this is coming from. This shows that the people, by and large, support action in regards to climate change. But even so, who gives a shit? Climate change is an objective reality. It's a fact. You don't get to have fucking opinions on facts. Just trust the scientists, okay?

Just something to think about.

Humanists Behind Bars

Recently, an inmate in a correctional facility in Oregon sued the prison for the right to practice his 'religion of humanism.' The Federal Bureau of Prisons recognized his plea. This means that, for the purpose of the prison system, humanism is considered a religion. This new designation affords humanist prisoners the right to form study groups, hire chaplains, and speak to philosophers.much in the same way that Christian inmates would be allowed to hire priests.

This seems to be following the US Army's example of recognizing humanism as a 'religious choice.'

Now, many atheists, most of whom refer to themselves as secular humanists, take this as a mixed blessing. And, honestly, I can sort of see where they're coming from. After all, humanism is not a religion, and recognizing it a such might contribute to the collapse of the already tumultuous relationship between outspoken atheists and conservative Christians. After all, we've spent years correctly denying the claim that atheism is a religion, and now it is being recognized as such. At least it is in one specific context.

So, doesn't this designation sort of undermine our push for scientific literacy and reason? We claim that said push is not about furthering a religious agenda, and this law seems to be in direct opposition to that claim.

In this context, I don't think it does. See, this isn't really about the classification of humanism. It isn't a religion, but I don't think designating it as such here will actually contribute to misinformation among theists. At least, not among those theists who still have functioning brains. There aren't many, but they're out there. My point here is that calling humanism a religion is a means to an end. If there were a way to get around that, I'm sure prison officials would have taken that path. But I don't know. Maybe I'm giving these people too much credit.

Or rather I would be, were it not for the fact that this case does not designate humanism as a religion. It explicitly calls it a religious choice, as the US Army did. This is not the same as a religion. I think it can best be summed it with a quote from Bill Maher. "Atheism is religion like abstinence is a sex position." Yes, these two things are very different, but they're on the same spectrum. Opposite ends of it, sure, but the same spectrum nonetheless.

This case is not about religion. It's about whether or not secular humanists are entitled to the same protections under law as religious folks. Quite simply, this is a matter of human rights. The FBP was sued by the American Humanist Association, and they agreed to acknowledge humanism as a worldview, rather than a religion. So, really, the argument against this is meaningless.

This decision allows humanists in prison to request time and space for activities, the right to form study and debate groups, and many other things. Before, only theists had these rights. This breaks down the barrier between special religious rights and opens the door for debate and discussion. This is about equality. We have to focus on that, rather than the technical label.

Just something to think about.

The Thing About Symbols

I like Christmas. The fire crackling in the hearth, the stockings stuffed to the brim with candy and gifts. The tree standing there, ornaments glittering in the light. It is regal and grand, a symbol of the season. It is proud, and it fills me with a sense of belonging, of hope.

That is, until I get to the top. The angel on high, looking down on me from her kingdom in heaven. They tell me I am loved, and that she serves as a reminder. I can tell none of them ever paid attention in English class. Show, don’t tell. If I am valued, it is not enough to say it. Be there for me in times of crisis, let me know it will be okay. Only then will I feel as though I matter.

The illusion is further shattered when I look back at history. Throughout time, the angel has been used to torture and oppress in the name of freedom. It has been forged into a weapon, a tool of dehumanization. How can it make me feel loved if it forces me to change who I am?

Items Found on the Corpse of a God

Items Found On The Corpse of a God

Item 1: Darkness.

Item 2: Firmament.

Item 3: Sticks.

Item 4: Corn husks.

Item 5: Small handheld mirror.

Item 6: Clay (dried).

Item 7: Spyglass (collapsible).

Item 8: Wooden box (unopened).

Item 9: Copy of the Holy Scriptures of the Highfather (heavily annotated).

Item 10: Prayers from the faithful:

--Subject: "I have a question about..." (1,082,334).

--Subject: "Thank you for..." (4,127).

--Subject: "Please give me..." (42,881,458).

--Subject: "Help, [insert monster here] is attacking us!" (11,240).

Item 11: Packet of biographical information on local warriors.

Item 12: Address of war hero Esper Agomar

Item 13: Legendary Flaming Sword (well--used).

Item 14: Collection of severed heads offered up as sacrifices by the war hero Esper Agomar: 

--The Mawbeast of Rogal Fenn.

--Kell Baruch, King of the Giants.

--Glomfreet, Ice Dragon of Splinterstone Peak.

--Various unnamed horrors of questionable infamy (18).

--Innocent bystanders (14).

--Various priests the of Highfather (7) and attendants (10).

--Filia Agomar. (Missing Head)

--Esper Agomar, Jr. (Ashes)

Item 15: Lightning bolts (infinite).

Item 16: Charred remains of the war hero Esper Agomar (cause of death: lightning bolts).

Item 17: Paternity test results.

Item 18: Bottle of antidepressants.

Item 19: Bottle of whisky.

Item 20: Letter of resignation (unsent).

Savior Management Incorporated: Short Fiction

Savior Management Incorporated

Chris Costello

Murray Sampson’s office was the kind of place everyone wanted to be. Elegant, but not showy. Lavish, but no too indulgent. At least, that’s what he liked to tell himself. His coworkers had a different opinion. 

He couldn’t really blame them for that, though. He had a view of downtown LA that most men would kill for, and his desk was fashioned out of the finest oak available. The rumor around the office was that it came from Edgar Allen Poe’s coffin. Murray had long since stopped trying to correct them. It was from Alexander the Great’s. A waterfall flowed unendingly into a marble basin over in one corner, and the Mona Lisa was framed above the door. It was on loan, but he’d take what he could get.

Murray sat hunched over his desk, scrawling furiously on a length of parchment. Many of his contemporaries had moved on to laptop computers, but he still preferred the old fashioned way. Some of his clients found it endearing.

Ordinarily, he worked at a leisurely pace, letting the ideas come to him on their own terms. Now, however, he wrote as though his hand was on fire. Sweat poured off his face, causing the ink from his quill to smudge. 

He glared at the phone on his desk, willing it to ring. Nothing happened. Murray let out a deep sigh and ran his hand through his hair. He was going bald, but a few stubborn strands still clung to his head. He admired their tenacity.

Usually, he let his clients call him first. It made them think that they were in control of their own destinies. That was essential if you wanted to establish an effective working relationship. But he needed to get some things off his chest, and fast. He went over his options. Shattering the illusion was the best way to fix the problem, but this kid was going to be big one day. He didn’t want to cheat himself out of ten percent.

Just then, a shrill noise cut through the air. The phone. Murray’s hand twitched as he went to pick it up. Against every fiber of his being, he stopped himself. You had to keep the clients waiting. It was a good way to keep them in line. Gods could get pretty full of themselves, and since many of them still held onto some of their old power, it was best to feed their egos. So he waited. After an appropriate amount of time, Murray picked up the receiver. “Savior Management Incorporated.” He said. “Murray Sampson speaking.”

“Hey, buddy.” The voice on the other line was slow and smooth, like maple syrup. “It’s Quetzalcoatl. Just wondering how the comeback tour plans are shaping up.”

Murray sighed again. “Quetzal, I don’t know how to tell you this, but you’re screwed.”

Quetzal laughed nervously. “What? I hope you’re kidding.”

“Son, I never joke around when it comes to business. That junk with the Aztecs really did a number on your approval rating.”

“Murray, come on. The Aztecs were a complex and distinct culture. A lot happened. You gotta give me more than ‘that junk.’”

Murray massaged his temples and took a deep breath. “Oh, gods. I can’t believe I have to explain this to you. The human sacrifice. The people aren’t huge fans of that. I know that’s shocking, but just go with me on this.”

“Don’t patronize me, man. I’m a god.”

“I know a lot of gods, many of whom are more successful than you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Quetzal retorted.”Name one.”

“I’ve got a meeting with Poseidon in an hour.” This, naturally, was a lie. He’d dropped Poseidon as a client years ago.

Quetzal said nothing. Then, “I never partook in the ritual killing thing, even when it was legal. You know that.”

“I know, I know. Conquistador propaganda.”

“Damn straight.”

“Don’t interrupt me.” Murray snapped. “I tried that propaganda angle. Didn’t work out. They’ve been teaching that stuff in high school history classes for years. It’s too far ingrained in their minds. I can’t help you any longer.”

“Are...are you letting me go?”

“Yes,” Murray said matter-of-factly. “You’re simply unfixable.”

“Wait, man. Let’s not do anything too crazy, here. I can change. I’m willing to make some concessions.” Quetzal’s voice quivered. “Come on, man. You’re the best in the biz. I need you.”

So much for all that stuff about being powerful. Murray thought. “Look, I love hearing you grovel, I really do. I could listen to this all day. But, sadly, I’m expecting another call. A far more important one.”

“But-” Before Quetzal could finish his rebuttal, Murray hung up the phone. It felt good to have washed his hands of that, but it did little to alleviate his stress. The kid still hand’t called. Reluctantly, Murray picked up the phone again and dialed the kid’s number.

He didn’t answer right away. That much was to be expected. He was on his way to the top. The kid was probably out on the town with Zeus and Thoth, making memories.

Eventually, though, the ringing ceased. “Hey, Murray.” Said the kid. “What’s shaking?”

For a brief moment, Murray was taken aback. He was usually the first one to speak. He felt strangely emasculated. Murray took a moment to psych himself up again. “Hey, Mr. Christ.” He said. “Nothing much. I jotted down a few notes about last night’s show.”

Jesus yawned hugely. “Which one was that?”

Murray kicked himself for not being specific. Jesus was a rising star, and his schedule was stuffed to the gills. Even in his infinite wisdom, he couldn’t very well be expected to remember them all. “The one in Jerusalem.”

“Oh, yeah? What about it?”

Murray winced, grateful that Jesus couldn’t see him. Although with power like his, who knew? “I gotta say. I don’t think they liked you there.” Murray sat back and waited for a bolt of lightning to smite him then and there. None came, and he let out a sigh of relief.

“What makes you say that?” Murray searched for the note of rage in Jesus’ voice, but found only neutral curiosity.

“I mean, the torches and pitchforks were kind of a red flag.”

Jesus sucked in a gulp of air. “Oh, yeah. Do you think it was because of the carpenter joke? I thought it was funny, but I guess it’d be hard for some people to relate.”

“No, no. The carpenter thing was fine.”

Jesus chuckled. “When you have a hammer, life is just a box of nails. That’s killer.”

Murray decided not to chastise Christ for interrupting him. If everything went well, he could end up as the Messiah one day. No sense in screwing that up. “Yeah, it is. I think it was mostly the part where you cured the lepers and fed the poor.”

“What?” Jesus’ voice was like a sword cutting into Murray. “Are you saying I can’t heal the wounded anymore?” 

“No, no, no!” Murray shouted, perhaps a little too quickly. “I wouldn’t dream of censoring you. You can do the piece. I’m just saying, don’t open with it.”

“Well, why the hell not?” Jesus was practically screaming now. Images of fire and brimstone flashed through Murray’s mind.

“Look, this might be hard to hear, but it’s kind of a downer. I’m just being honest. Personally,I love the bit.”

“Well, do have any suggestions?” Jesus didn’t sound angry anymore. He just seemed bored, as if this whole interaction was beneath him. Maybe it was.

“Yeah, actually, I do.” Murray tried to keep the animosity out of his voice, though he knew it was useless. Jesus could probably tell what he was feeling without even 

speaking to him. “You gotta open with the water to wine thing.”

“But-” 

“Just trust me on this.” Murray took a risk cutting off the King of Jews, and it paid off. He was allowed to continue speaking. Or, perhaps more importantly, to continue living. “It’s real impressive and, let’s be honest, a drink loosens them up for the rest of the show. If you want to get a laugh with that lame camel through the eye of a needle bit, you gotta get some wine into the audience. I know,” He continued before Jesus could chime in, “Some of this is pretty harsh, but I’ve been in this business since you were just a moat in your old man’s eye. I know a thing or two. If you want to become a household name, you’ve gotta listen to the advice of your representation. I don’t care who your dad is.”

Jesus was silent. Perhaps he was too dumbfounded to speak. Murray imagined that the Prince Of Peace got his way more often than not. Murray didn’t care anymore. He had a lot riding on this kid’s success, and he wasn’t prepared to throw it all away.

“Before I forget this, wardrobe is very important.  You can keep the sandals, but please, for the love of all that is holy, lose the socks.”

“Okay, fine.” Jesus grumbled. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, one more thing. Drop the sandwich-making bit. Everybody can get that kind of thing down at Subway. It isn’t miraculous, it’s just boring.”

“Dude.” Jesus sounded genuinely hurt. “You’re kind of tearing apart my whole act here.”

“I understand your concern.” That was a phrase Murray had learned on his very first day. It sounded nice, like you actually cared, but it held no real weight. “But if you go with me on this, we might be able to score a gig at Caesar’s.”

“Oh, wow!” Jesus’ interest was clearly piqued. “You mean it?”

“One hundred percent.” Murray said.

“Okay. It’s a big risk, but one I’m willing to take. Catch you later.”

“Hold on!” Murray yelled just before the line went dead. “Before you go, don’t tell your father about this. He tends not to respond well to criticism.”