A few survivors thank God for saving their lives.
A few thousand non-survivors are silent.
What would they say, if we could ask them?
Did they pray? Did they plead for their lives in their last few minutes?
Why did God crush them, smash them, burn them, trap them under rubble to die in slow agony? What did they do wrong?
And what makes the survivors think they’re so fucking important, on their little dust speck in the vastness of space.
Could it be Christian Narcissism? It certainly looks like it. All one bundle with the rest of the I – Me – My Soul junk. The comforting arrogance of being right about everything, knowing It All.. Having a Personal Relationship with the externalized projection of a concept. An anthropomorphic idea of godness derived from highhanded interpretations of selected writings, put forth by men who have used it to grow and maintain their power.
Anyone who is alive to tell their story can make up whatever they want. Conquering colonizers write history. They are the survivors. The people they tried to wipe out – from the time of Moses’ Marauders, ravaging their way through the blood-soaked pages of the Old Testament, to the dark days of smallpox blankets and native culture destroying schools – have a pitifully small voice. Murdered in the name of God under the authority of powerful religious leaders, their lives didn’t matter.
You have to be really good at cognitive dissonance not to be bothered by this shit.