by John Toulouse
I’m going to start off this post with a bold leap of logic that will probably alienate two of our fourteen readers; Pat and Mel, nice knowin’ ya.
If you interpret the Bible literally, YOU ARE A LUNATIC. And not in the colloquial sense. I mean clinically insane.
Naysayers — a/k/a med-school nerds — would object that this would not meet the AMA-approved definition of insanity. To that end, I reluctantly offer a compromise: While perhaps not technically insane, Biblical literalists are, at the very least, deeply delusional. The most generous way I can characterize them is as dangerously irrational.
Let us consider, for a minute, the realities of the world the Biblical literalist inhabits. Granted, there are numerous accounts from The Book that seem to hold some historical truth, that have been corroborated in part by the work of archaeologists — that vexing lot typically pilloried in literalist corners.
But then there’s “creation.” Now, bear in mind that this is not an indictment of those who doubt the validity of contemporary evolutionary theory; as with any theory, there’s surely room for argument there. If you need to believe in the shaping presence of a benevolent puppeteer to sleep at night, so be it — everyone’s got their crutch. The fact of the matter is that most Westerners who believe in creation do so in an abstract sense while hedging their religious beliefs with common sense; from this springs the glorious mess confusingly labeled “intelligent design.”
Rather, this is an examination of those whose antiquated worldview didn’t come with the rather essential add-ons of revision and compromise: this would be the literalists. They believe the following to be true:
1.) An omnipotent being known as “God” suddenly materialized in a featureless abyss.
2.) After creating an immeasurable collection of stars, planets and suns, God decided to slap together a fertile planet he called “Earth.” This took him six days. On the seventh day, he chilled. This is understandable.
3.) Toward the end of this busy week, God created a male human in his image, a man he named Adam. He promptly removed one of Adam’s ribs — without anesthesia, mind you — and this immediately grew into a female human named Eve.
This is all fine and dandy so far, mind you. A wildly ambitious sci-fi tale, a grandiose proposal of origin. Sure, the chapter’s plot is a tad light on details, but so it goes — there’s a lot happening in this world that we simply cannot explain.
Which is what makes the Fourth Tenet of Biblical Literalism all the more astonishing:
4.) The entire body of scientific research addressing the possibility that the planet’s remarkable array of living organisms, humans included, came into existence through a slow process of adaptation to changing environmental conditions, from Darwin’s early observations of Galápagos finches to yesterday’s news that a team of Canadian researchers prodded stickleback fish to alter their own genetic makeup in just two generations…is bogus.
To this growing compendium of evidence that strongly suggests there is truth to evolutionary theory — that, while still a theory, is the best, the only, answer to “Why Everything?” we’ve got — the literalists reply, “But the Bible says it happened another way. So, no, your theory is incorrect.”
And to the 99.9999999999999999999999 percent of credible Western scientists and researchers who support evolutionary theory, standing amid an ark’s worth of carbon-dated dino bones, the literalists scream, “Conspiracy.”
And thus enters the question of sanity.
But there are quacks everywhere. I mean, everywhere. And by “quacks,” I suppose I mean “most people.” The world is a chaotic and oftentimes cruel place, and if you want to seek comfort in a belief that may appear baseless to others, shit, knock yourself out. Tap on that dashboard mid-intersection as the red-light camera sets you back $300. Wear black-and-orange boxers when the Dodgers come to town. Strap a vile of blood around your neck for protection from Honduran warlords. The point is, nobody should be banned from believing in seemingly irrational concepts.
But when those concepts come to gain traction as the norm, as ritual that should observed by all — well, that simply won’t do.
California’s gay marriage ban (sort of) met its long-overdue demise yesterday, when a federal judge struck down the progeny of Prop. 8 on grounds that “moral and religious views form the only basis for a belief that same-sex couples are different from opposite-sex couples.” The ban’s religious proponents — Prop. 8 was bankrolled largely by Mormons — made the predictable noise about constitutionality and activist (i.e., gay/liberal/San Franciscan) judges. (Watch Chief Bigot Randy Thomasson bungle monosyllabic words and blubber on curiously for awhile here.)
As is so typical of a politically-charged issue, though, the crux of the “con” argument remains buried amid recycled sound bites. This is a debate that has raged en force in California since 2004, when Gavin Newsom declared open season for gay nuptials in San Francisco (a move still blamed by centrist Democrats for dooming the rudderless Kerry campaign). Accordingly, the terms of engagement have undergone revision: “God” and “religion” are now seldom mentioned outright by gay marriage opponents, supplanted by less polarizing terms like “morality” and “nature.” Whether or not the Biblical literalists realize it, this semantic shift implies that they recognize that Californians’ support for their fearmonger initiative is on the wane: In times past (see: Anita Bryant), they could hide directly behind the Bible. Now, they’re at the point where they feel the need to euphemize religion.
Whatever the cover, though, the supporters of Operation Nohomo all operate on one, and only one, fundamental principle: They think gayness is gross.
I’ll break it down: When Bible-bangers call gay marriage “wrong,” they really mean “gross.” When they call it “unnatural,” they really mean “gross.” When they refer to God’s condemnation of homosexuality (their interpretation), they are saying “God says it’s gross,” which really means “we think it’s gross.” And, crucially, through Prop. 8 and its brethren, they are saying “we think everyone should think it’s gross.” Chisel through the thin oppositional facade, whatever it may be, and you’ll find a person who thinks guy-on-guy action is, basically, gross. (But lesbo action is usually probably definitely OK, especially if they’re both blonde.)
The passage of Prop. 8, to extrapolate, was 52 percent of California voters collectively whining, “Yuck, gross.” Judge Vaughn’s ruling yesterday was common sense, backed by the full weight of federal anti-discrimination law, retorting, “GROW THE FUCK UP.”
This brings us to a broader point of contention, one that won’t find resolution anytime soon: Since when is our government, are our lawmakers, expected — nay, allowed — to consider the holdings of a fictional book when forming laws? The “separation” debate is a tired, exhausted, borrring one, and I’m sure it’s clear by now just where I’d land on it. Let me, then, frame it in a new light:
First, for the sake of my sanity, let’s assume that we can agree on the fact that the Bible is a famous work of fiction (in that most of the tales contained therein have yet to be verified as factual historical developments). Second, let’s assume that you, esteemed reader, are capable of temporarily detaching yourself from the philosophical pressures of American society. Imagine, for a moment, that you are a Martian visiting Earth for the first time. Or a Namibian villager who just got satellite TV. With a package that includes C-SPAN.
Working under these modest assumptions, then, let’s consider another brilliant, violent fictional tome: Wolverine #126, the comic book wherein the eponymous hero faces off against arch-nemesis Sabretooth, a malamute/musk oxen-man whose deadly claws are fortified with indestructible adamantium.
Now let’s pan to a Congressional committee hearing on the legal status of adamantium, a high-profile affair replete with celebrity lawyers and sycophantic pols:
Congressman #1: “Now, you say this, uh, adamanta-, uh, adamantom is detrimental to society, do ya?”
Lars Holman, Chief Adamantium Foe and lifelong Wolverine reader: “Yes, Mr. Chairman, I firmly believe it is. I think we’ve shown time and again that adamantium is extremely harmful to Americans, especially our most vulnerable citizens.”
Congressman #1: “And how is that, exactly? I know we’ve heard it before, but I’d just like it spelled out one more time for the benefit of my colleagues here.”
Lars: “Of course, Mr. Chairman. Well, as I’ve pointed out in the past, in Wolverine #126, Sabretooth runs amok all over downtown Amityville, slashing innocent onlookers with his adamantium claws. Wolverine, as you all know, soon comes to the rescue and subdues Sabretooth, but the damage, sirs, has already been done: That day, adamantium was directly responsible for the deaths of three young women, all innocent bystanders, all with high-set cheekbones, mini-skirts…”
Congressman #1: “Despicable…”
Congressman #2: “Good lord…”
Lars: “Yes, sirs, it is shocking. It is just that. Furthermore, toward the end of the chapter Sabretooth, after returning to his penambular cartogenator sphere, takes ou-”
Dr. Simon Coopersmith, Georgetown University Molecular Sciences Department: “Uhm, if I may, honored members of the committee…I must point out that the events Mr. Holman refers to unfolded in a work of fiction. This is a fictional account. These events did not actually…happen.”
Congressman #1: “Wh-…why…blasphemy!”
(loud, unintelligible muttering throughout room)
Lars: “I…WAS…NOT…FINISHED.”
Congressman #1: “Proceed, Mr. Holman, proceed.”
Lars: “Thank you, Mr. Chairman. As I was saying…Wolverine #126 goes on to display for one and all the potential damage adamantium can, and will, unleash upon our free and great society should this committee fail to act. I must remind you, members of the committee, that adamantium can cut through wood, stone, metal, and, most terrifying of all…human flesh…and bones.”
Dr. Coopersmith: “Mr. Chairman, this is absurd. He’s talking about a comic book, for Christ’s sake. A comic book!”
Congressman #1: “Silence!”
Dr. Coopersmith: “But it’s, it’s NOT REAL!”
Lars: “HUMAN FLESH AND BONES!!!”
Dr. Coopersmith: “ADAMANTIUM DOESN’T EVEN REALLY EXIST!”
Lars: “HUUUUMAN…FLESH…AAAND…BONES!!!”
Congressman #1: “That’s it, meeting adjourned. Reconvene tomorrow, usual time.”
And that’s it; that’s how this works, whether we’re addressing Adamantium Flesh/Bone Attacks or the Great Gay Menace. So here’s to yesterday’s ruling, and to one less diversion* from the day’s real issues.
*UPDATE: Never mind.
