Going off the Rails
This is supposed to be a writing journal. I know that. But I find myself irrationally irritated, and in need of a bit of psychological purging.
That I am even taking the time to compose this post constitutes my own defeat. The Nitwit to whom I am responding and his ridiculous ideas deserve exactly no attention, but I have failed to ignore him or his idiocy. This failure on my part actually makes this a bit easier for me; I have nothing to lose from airing my irritation. Will he ever even see this post? Will anyone who reads his blog read mine? Unlikely. I am essentially yelling into the wind here.
But, as this particular Nitwit has so kindly granted me his permission to "say and publish whatever [I] please" (while degradingly refering to me as an "it" rather than as a person), I will do so. The Nitwit's animosity toward me began when I questioned his notions about child-bearing, particularly his curious claim that it is in some way noble to willfully abandon a child. That animosity bloomed into majestic hatred when I dared to even point out the fact that the cult which he so adores has been repeatedly accused of sexual misconduct with minors, making his views on children somewhat ironic. Apparently, even this much scrutiny of his beloved cult was too much, and I was summarily banned from the hallowed halls of his blog.
No loss there.
Recently, however, the Nitwit engaged in a staggering bit of cowardice. He criticized an atheistic author's fictional portrayal of deities for not conforming to the Nitwit's own personal conception of a deity that he believes actually exists in reality. This was not his bit of cowardice. That occurred after I responded to him (my first mistake) by suggesting that the foundations of his cult are not as sound as he wants to believe, at which point the Nitwit retreated, along with his criticisms of said author and of me, into the safety of his own blog where, being banned, I am unable to respond to his continued accusations.
As childish as this was, it was not at all surprising. As I pointed out to the Nitwit in a message that I wrote knowing only he could see it (my second mistake), the cult he so adores has practiced the silencing of its detractors for century upon century. Next to covering up the sexual indiscretions of its clerics, I daresay that muzzling critics is one of his cult's primary objectives, along with fleecing its congregations and simultaneously encouraging the unchecked expansion of those congregations to ensure the cult's propagation.
The Nitwit calls my immediate and passionate reaction to his idiocy Pavlovian. I do not disagree with him on that point. Anyone with a sufficiently developed sense of moral justice would immediately and passionately -- in, I concede, a nearly Pavlovian manner -- point out idiocy when idiocy presents itself. My response to him was no more Pavlovian than his immediate and passionate reactions at the mere mention of the word "god." Like one of Pavlov's canines, the Nitwit was compelled to immediately and passionately assert that the fictional deities of an atheistic science-fiction author were inconsistent with his notion of a deity that he, like your average Muslim, truly believes to be an actual part of reality.
Compounding this cowardice is the Nitwit's stunning degree of arrogance. He flaunted the fact that he has studied his mythology since the age of sixteen, and demanded to be respected for it unless I could say the same. I pointed out that I could, in fact, say the same, having studied that mythology and the languages of its composition since the age of fourteen. I further pointed out that it was my study of this mythology itself that led me to the conclusion that what I had been indoctrinated into believing from childhood (by the same cult to which the Nitwit clings) was not, in fact, based on sufficient evidence.
My studies of our shared mythology led me to atheism. At this point in the transaction, the Nitwit fled the public square and hid away in the solitude of his backalley, where he had electronically forbidden me to tread. Secure in his knowledge that I could not correct any of his inaccuracies, he accused me of forming my opinions based on a few books or a couple of magazine articles, derided me for quoting Sam Harris, and called me a "digusting...pig."
That is his wont. Again, this is not at all surprising. It has been my experience that the most devout and seemingly-mature religious disciples quickly transmute into tantrum-throwing children when presented with the case against their infantile faith. Perhaps it is that latent emotional immaturity, which allows otherwise functional adults to continue believing ridiculous and childish things, made manifest in the face of overwhelming evidence.
Psychology is not my field of expertise, so I will venture no guesses as to the root of the Nitwit's behavior. I will, however, point out the delightful irony in his demand to be respected for his own studies, after which he proceeded to scorn the doctoral studies of another. I quoted Mr. Harris only insofar as he was the most recent writer I have read to point out the fact that the Nitwit's mythology is based on "copies of copies of copies."
This point, which was not originated by Mr. Harris, is perfectly valid, and has been made elsewhere by others. Instead of addressing the issue of his cult's insubstantial foundations, the Nitwit, in classic diversionary fashion, launched an ad hominem attack against a person irrelevant to the conversation. But even if the Nitwit disagrees with everything that Sam Harris has to say, he ought, by his own standard, to respect Mr. Harris's expertise and the energy he has committed to his studies. It is only fair.
Now, as I've said, the fact that I took the time to write this missive at all signals my own defeat in this matter. The Nitwit is an "emotional toddler," but this is perhaps not his fault. He is mired, after all, in a juvenile belief system that encourages him to grovel at the metaphysical feet of a temperamental man-in-the-sky. I have no similar excuse. I ought to be the adult here, and ignore his childish behavior, and in that I have failed. I have no desire to engage the Nitwit in a debate, just as I am sure he has no desire to engage me in one, and for the same reasons: there is nothing to be gained. I will not change his mind on the matter, and I know it; he will not change my mind , and I am sure that he knows it.
In the end, all I can really do is offer him Sura 109 from the Islamic Qur'an: unto you your religion, and unto me my (lack of) religion.
That I am even taking the time to compose this post constitutes my own defeat. The Nitwit to whom I am responding and his ridiculous ideas deserve exactly no attention, but I have failed to ignore him or his idiocy. This failure on my part actually makes this a bit easier for me; I have nothing to lose from airing my irritation. Will he ever even see this post? Will anyone who reads his blog read mine? Unlikely. I am essentially yelling into the wind here.
But, as this particular Nitwit has so kindly granted me his permission to "say and publish whatever [I] please" (while degradingly refering to me as an "it" rather than as a person), I will do so. The Nitwit's animosity toward me began when I questioned his notions about child-bearing, particularly his curious claim that it is in some way noble to willfully abandon a child. That animosity bloomed into majestic hatred when I dared to even point out the fact that the cult which he so adores has been repeatedly accused of sexual misconduct with minors, making his views on children somewhat ironic. Apparently, even this much scrutiny of his beloved cult was too much, and I was summarily banned from the hallowed halls of his blog.
No loss there.
Recently, however, the Nitwit engaged in a staggering bit of cowardice. He criticized an atheistic author's fictional portrayal of deities for not conforming to the Nitwit's own personal conception of a deity that he believes actually exists in reality. This was not his bit of cowardice. That occurred after I responded to him (my first mistake) by suggesting that the foundations of his cult are not as sound as he wants to believe, at which point the Nitwit retreated, along with his criticisms of said author and of me, into the safety of his own blog where, being banned, I am unable to respond to his continued accusations.
As childish as this was, it was not at all surprising. As I pointed out to the Nitwit in a message that I wrote knowing only he could see it (my second mistake), the cult he so adores has practiced the silencing of its detractors for century upon century. Next to covering up the sexual indiscretions of its clerics, I daresay that muzzling critics is one of his cult's primary objectives, along with fleecing its congregations and simultaneously encouraging the unchecked expansion of those congregations to ensure the cult's propagation.
The Nitwit calls my immediate and passionate reaction to his idiocy Pavlovian. I do not disagree with him on that point. Anyone with a sufficiently developed sense of moral justice would immediately and passionately -- in, I concede, a nearly Pavlovian manner -- point out idiocy when idiocy presents itself. My response to him was no more Pavlovian than his immediate and passionate reactions at the mere mention of the word "god." Like one of Pavlov's canines, the Nitwit was compelled to immediately and passionately assert that the fictional deities of an atheistic science-fiction author were inconsistent with his notion of a deity that he, like your average Muslim, truly believes to be an actual part of reality.
Compounding this cowardice is the Nitwit's stunning degree of arrogance. He flaunted the fact that he has studied his mythology since the age of sixteen, and demanded to be respected for it unless I could say the same. I pointed out that I could, in fact, say the same, having studied that mythology and the languages of its composition since the age of fourteen. I further pointed out that it was my study of this mythology itself that led me to the conclusion that what I had been indoctrinated into believing from childhood (by the same cult to which the Nitwit clings) was not, in fact, based on sufficient evidence.
My studies of our shared mythology led me to atheism. At this point in the transaction, the Nitwit fled the public square and hid away in the solitude of his backalley, where he had electronically forbidden me to tread. Secure in his knowledge that I could not correct any of his inaccuracies, he accused me of forming my opinions based on a few books or a couple of magazine articles, derided me for quoting Sam Harris, and called me a "digusting...pig."
That is his wont. Again, this is not at all surprising. It has been my experience that the most devout and seemingly-mature religious disciples quickly transmute into tantrum-throwing children when presented with the case against their infantile faith. Perhaps it is that latent emotional immaturity, which allows otherwise functional adults to continue believing ridiculous and childish things, made manifest in the face of overwhelming evidence.
Psychology is not my field of expertise, so I will venture no guesses as to the root of the Nitwit's behavior. I will, however, point out the delightful irony in his demand to be respected for his own studies, after which he proceeded to scorn the doctoral studies of another. I quoted Mr. Harris only insofar as he was the most recent writer I have read to point out the fact that the Nitwit's mythology is based on "copies of copies of copies."
This point, which was not originated by Mr. Harris, is perfectly valid, and has been made elsewhere by others. Instead of addressing the issue of his cult's insubstantial foundations, the Nitwit, in classic diversionary fashion, launched an ad hominem attack against a person irrelevant to the conversation. But even if the Nitwit disagrees with everything that Sam Harris has to say, he ought, by his own standard, to respect Mr. Harris's expertise and the energy he has committed to his studies. It is only fair.
Now, as I've said, the fact that I took the time to write this missive at all signals my own defeat in this matter. The Nitwit is an "emotional toddler," but this is perhaps not his fault. He is mired, after all, in a juvenile belief system that encourages him to grovel at the metaphysical feet of a temperamental man-in-the-sky. I have no similar excuse. I ought to be the adult here, and ignore his childish behavior, and in that I have failed. I have no desire to engage the Nitwit in a debate, just as I am sure he has no desire to engage me in one, and for the same reasons: there is nothing to be gained. I will not change his mind on the matter, and I know it; he will not change my mind , and I am sure that he knows it.
In the end, all I can really do is offer him Sura 109 from the Islamic Qur'an: unto you your religion, and unto me my (lack of) religion.