When I was thirteen, my granddad took me to the top of Brading Downs on the Isle of Wight
to watch shooting stars. We had cheesy-chips, tea, and saw a sight that I’ll never forget.
After a few showers, he explained to me that shooting stars are not actually stars at all,
but rather meteors; rocks that enter our atmosphere, collide with air molecules, and consequently
leave a glow in their wake. I mustn’t pretend to recall the evening in its entirety (or
more accurately, the morning), but if memory serves me well, after a moment of contemplation
I replied “I can understand why shooting stars are so poorly named.” To our ignorant
and terrified ancestors, meteors would have been, minus their speed, indistinguishable
from the stars behind them, as is reflected in a great many religious texts. At this point,
I was already in awe, but then my granddad imparted a fact that cracked the core of my
entire world, and to this day I still feel its reverberations… but I’ll get to that
in due course. First, I want to properly introduce the topic of this video. This is a break from
my typical style of content, in which I combat religious and pseudoscientific claims, or
comment on the rhetoric of religious and pseudoscientific apes, to have a rant… You can thus receive
this a futile attempt to maintain my sanity... and, perhaps, if you share my frustrations,
yours too. In recent years (largely, I have to say, because of Brexit). In recent years
(largely, I have to say, because of Brexit) I become painfully aware of the corrosive
nature of echochambers, and have consequently sought to avoid them – or at the very least,
step outside of those close to my heart regularly enough to always recognise them. Ironically,
this has lead to me spending more time around religious people than irreligious people,
which I almost recommend if only as it enhances the gift of being around those who are, as
Pascal put it, so made as not to believe. One such group in which the God Squad is strong,
is at my table tennis club. Most of the members are Christian, and yes, like the vast majority
of modern Christians, outside of the central tenants, none of them share the same views
– they are stellar examples of Cafeteria Christianity. The average age of the community,
like many table tennis clubs in the U.K., is just short of 70, and so if you’re looking
for a reason for the high religiosity in an otherwise largely atheistic country, then
there you have it. The league itself is comprised of teams from all around south-Hampshire,
and most of the clubs (including our own) operate from either a converted or active
church. This, naturally, spurs a lot banter. They mock me for utilising the generous lease
granted by the church, and I gently remind that they’re welcome, since it’s my tax
that predicates their freeloading faith, which now so “graciously” offers it back to
me at a premium. When they win a game against me, they playfully thank Jesus, and when I
win a game against them, I playfully thank Santa. When I lose an important team match,
they tell me that if I had only prayed I would’ve won, and when they lose an important team
match, I tell them that I didn’t pray for them because I didn’t want to distract their
god from his current occupation of given children aids in Africa. Humour is, as often noted,
a great way to break tension, and we hit each other with it fairly hard – and honestly,
I’d have it no other way. I’m sure, however, that every once in a while I overstep the
mark, as do they when the celebrate the notion of me burning in hell for eternity for the
“crime” of using the brain that their god so graciously gave me, but at the end
of the day, sticks and stones. One bit of banter, however, really gets under my skin
– not because it’s offensive, but because it’s so absurd – and that is the Christian
boasts of humility (which in and of itself is a contradiction). Christians frequently
call themselves humble for their believes, and either implicitly or explicitly call me,
the atheist, arrogant for “insert speculative reason here”. Now, I have no delusions of
grandeur. I’ve been accused of arrogance in the past, and in some cases rightfully
so, but to quote Christopher Hitchens, “To claim that I am privy to the secrets of the
universe and its creator – that's beyond my conceit.” All religions, of course, boast
of humility. In the Torah, Numbers 12, verse 3 states that “Moses was exceedingly humble,
more so than any person on the face of the earth”, and the etymology of the word “Islam”
is generally interpreted to mean “submission (to god), humility”. But for Christianity,
the claims of humility are much more pronounced, and for this reason are a prominent part of
their apologetic arsenal. “Blessed are the meek”, so says the Book of Matthew. “All
who exalt themselves will be humbled, and all who humble themselves will be exalted.”
And Philippians 2, verse 3, to give just one more example, warns “Do nothing out of selfish
ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves.” Rather,
in humility value others above yourselves.” Indeed, unlike the submission of Islam, which
is not humility, but rather servitude, many Biblical verses do legitimately encourage
humility. So what’s the issue (one might ask)? The issue is that these verses are predicated
upon sheer arrogance… and here is where my rant starts. Christians believe that there
is one perfect god and that we are created in its image (which is a not-so subtle way
of saying that we are, or are close to, perfect). Concerning humility, this isn’t exactly
a good start, is it? Granted, due to discovering many flaws with our apparatus (such as the
appendix, wisdom teeth, and visual blind-spot), many denominations now “merely” claim
that our being created in the image of god is a metaphor of our ascension from all other
animals, but even this contorted interpretation stinks of the hubris of us being “chosen”
by the almighty himself. Again, I say, not a good start. But as if this wasn’t already
a big enough slice of the not-so-humble pie, most Christians believe that the universe
was created with us in mind, that we are a vital part in a grand divine plan, and that
our consciousness will continue to exist long after all of the atoms that comprise us have
scattered to the winds. What’s more, many Christians insist that they have a personal,
one-to-one relationship for god himself, that they have interacted with, or received messages
from, angles, and that god not only hears their prayers... but answers them! Indeed,
in the mind of such a Christian, god rewrites his “perfect” plan in accordance to their
selfish preferences – just so that they can, for instance, win a table tennis match!
It has to be said: This is extravagant arrogance, and to downplay it by referencing a handful
of peculiar humble verses is preposterous. It’s somehow worse than Alexander the Great
naming seventy cities after himself and then insinuating humility due to his participating
in their conquest. Yes, it’s an act of humility to acknowledge the presence of someone wiser
than oneself, but to do so only in predication to the extraordinarily arrogant tenants of
Christianity, is absurd in the highest degree. Christianity is not, and has never been, humble.
Christianity is as humble as Islam is peaceful and North Korea is a democracy. There is nothing
humble about asserting that the universe revolves around you. Okay, rant over. Let’s end where
we began, by hopping back into my granddad’s truck. While sipping on my third or fourth
tea, gazing at the stars, my granddad got out of the truck and rustled around in the
cargo bed. A few minutes later, he opened the passenger door, and before me was his
telescope, pointing at what seemed to be a relatively big though not particularly bright
star. As I gazed upon it, my grandad said to me “Son, that is Alphecca, and if there’s
is a planet orbiting it, and upon that planet there is a member of a species with a telescope
powerful enough to look back at us, then they are currently looking at the dinosaurs – since
the light that enveloped the earth 72 million years ago is only now reaching Alphecca. The
Great Carl Sagan once said that “Astronomy is a humbling experience”, and it’s facts
such as just taught to me by my grandad that embody this truth. When I look at the night
sky I see an endless sea of galaxies, each with billions of stars, billions of planets,
and since life emerged on Earth within at least one billion years, I assume the existence
of billions of other organisms. This makes me feel utterly insignificant. I am a single
member of a patter-seeking primate on a mote of dust, suspended in a brief moment of time,
and in a cosmological blink I will forever cease to be. And yet Christians, which still
see themselves as the axis of all this vastness, have the audacity to call me arrogant, and
themselves humble… yeah, right. Anyhow, I’m Stephen Woodford, and as always, thank
you kindly for the view, and an extra special thank you to my wonderful patrons and those
of you who’ve supported the channel via other means. As insignificant as I am, thank
you for enabling me to produce relatively significant work.