The Perfect(ish) Religion

This morning, I awoke with a dream. I wanted to create an organized religion that was just, that was genuinely interested in helping people rather than lining the pockets of its leadership, that would always put the good of the people ahead of the institution. I wanted to devise a faith that was not built on fear and control, that was not ideological or dogmatic, that recognized fundamental truths about human existence, and gave its followers comfort and a benevolent purpose for their lives.

After a moment, I realized how intimidating a goal this was. No organized religion, ever, in all human history, has been anything like that. The question came to me, "If I truly want to create a force for good in the world, why construct a religion at all?" I can find no satisfactory answer. Why try to open people's minds by stifling their free will? If you wish to put people before the institution, why not leave out the institution completely? For all their high-minded talk about bringing people together, what religions truly excel at is leaving people out, sorting believers into separate in-groups, each believing that, while those other groups might be nice enough folks, theirs is the one and only true faith. The only good religion is no religion.

Since there can be no such thing as a perfect religion as far as the people are concerned, I will approach it from the opposite side and attempt to assemble an ideal faith from the perspective of those who would found and lead it. Put another way, if I were an unprincipled, opportunistic con artist who wished to follow in the footsteps of Joseph Smith, L. Ron Hubbard, and Moses by founding a religion in order to increase my personal wealth and influence (the only honest motive for such an operation), what religion would I found?

The first and most essential step is to move to an area of the world where the people are poorly educated and especially gullible. After briefly consulting an atlas, I have chosen my home city of Hagerstown Maryland, where for generations, thousands and thousands of men and women have been duped into paying money from their own pockets to read the Herald Mail.

That done, I must next establish myself as the unquestioned leader of the flock, the chief prophet, the man with God's ear. To do this, I'll take a page from the Muhammad playbook (also known, I believe, as the Qur'an) and announce that I have begun receiving visions from the Almighty-revelations, whispered to me by God himself, whose voice only I may hear. Even in Hagerstown, most people are not that stupid, and my claims will be met with skepticism, especially by local Muslims, to whom this will sound strangely familiar.

I will prove the legitimacy of my visions by producing a deck of ordinary playing cards, giving it a few quick shuffles, and inviting someone to randomly select a card. Once they have memorized their card, I will have them place it in the middle of the deck, and cut the cards several times so as to lose it entirely, making it impossible for me, who has not even seen the card, to locate it. Taking the cards in my hand, I will turn them face-up and spread them out across the table. Waving my hand over the cards, I will ask God to guide me to the chosen card. To the amazement of all, I will reach down and pluck the volunteer's card from the deck, thus proving that my hotline to God is the real deal.

To ensure the loyalty of my new congregation, I'll have to undercut whatever preexisting faiths they may belong to and establish my new religion as the only game in town. Since they all believe I'm God's speakerphone, thanks to my proficiency at rudimentary card magic, I can do this pretty easily by relaying a message from God that the Bible, the Qur'an, the Book of Mormon, Dianetics, and whatever else they're into, are complete frauds, and from now on they should take their spiritual guidance strictly from me. Then I'll lay down some ground rules, my own version of the Ten Commandments. Only, I know people have shorter attention spans these days, so we'll go with Seven:

I. If you want to go to Heaven, every spare cent you've got at the end of the month goes to me. Don't worry about your own bank accounts, your retirement funds, your kid's college money-you'd just spend it or lose it or otherwise piss it away, anyhow. Give it to me, I'll take care of it.

II. Don't pray to God. He's busy. That's why he hired me. Pray to me and I'll see what I can do. I can't move mountains or cure cancer, but God never does any of that, either. At least if I can't get something done, I'll send you a brief, personalized letter explaining why, providing you include a SASE with your original prayer request.

III. Don't kill, rob, rape, or generally screw over anybody, if you can help it.

IV. Don't ride motorcycles or watch football. (I hate motorcycles and football.)

V. You'd better bury Ned right! And don't cut up nor otherwise harm no whores!

VI. Don't chew gum, either. (I hate that, too.)

VII. If you're ever arrested, do not mention my name. You never heard of me.

Once a week-let's say Tuesday, nobody ever does anything on Tuesday-we'll meet for a few hours so I may impart my wisdom to the group and collect any money I might be owed. I will deliver a brief sermon, share any new visions the Lord hath given me since the last meeting, answer any questions the faithful might have. Then we'll watch a movie. I will choose the movie, so it will always be a good one. Talking during the movie, or failing to turn off a mobile phone, or otherwise causing a disruption is grounds for immediate and permanent excommunication and eternal damnation in the deepest, hottest fires of Hell. And once that happens, nobody can ever absolve you-not the Pope, not Pat Robertson, not even me.

That sounds like a pretty big deal . . . maybe I ought to make that a commandment:

VIII. No talking during the movie. And turn your goddamn cell phone off!

So Eight Commandments. Still better than Ten.

Instead of a stuffy, pretentious church sanctuary, we'll have our weekly meetings at a movie theater. With all the cash I'll be collecting from my followers, I should be able to afford renting one of the little screens at the mall or out at Leitersburg once a week. We'll save certain movies for special occasions. For my birthday, we'll watch my favorite movie, Sherlock Jr. In fact, I'll declare Buster Keaton a saint. We'll also celebrate the more fun holidays of other religions. Like Christmas, only without all the Jesus stuff. For Christmas, we'll watch Miracle on 34^th Street, or maybe Bad Santa or The Ref some years, if I feel like mixing things up.

Some weeks, for educational purposes, I might show an episode of a Ken Burns documentary, like The Civil War or Baseball or Jazz. Naturally, I'll make them all watch every episode of Cosmos. Carl Sagan's a saint, too. And Christopher Hitchens-I bet he'll love that.

The rest of our core beliefs will be enlightened and humane: we'll take evolution over creationism, thank you very much; we'll be all for gay equality; we'll favor conservation of wildlife, resources, and natural beauty; we'll hold regular public rallies, and burn Toby Keith, Lee Greenwood, and Darryl Worley in effigy, and dance and sing around massive bonfires we've built out of copies of O magazine we've shoplifted from various retail outlets around the county; we'll teach our children not to be such obnoxious little twerps, and to keep still and shut up when out in public, for God's sake; we will fall en masse on any guy we see wearing a polo shirt with the collar turned up and stomp him into unconsciousness (for his own good); we will vote, but never for candidates from the two major parties, and especially not for nutjobs like Ron Paul or Mike Huckabee; we will make fun of people who believe that 9/11 was an inside job, or that the moon landings were faked, or that UFOs and aliens abductions are real, and tell them how stupid they are, and how much they suck; we will not proselytize, or protest things other people say or do which may contradict our faith, because the only reason to do that is if you're insecure about your own beliefs; we will learn from the example of followers of other religions from all over the world and throughout history, and try our best not to be such assholes.

That's a decent enough foundation, I'd say. With any luck, in a few years my new religion will have grown to include those who weren't there at the very beginning. I will welcome these newcomers and their wallets and purses with open arms. My only ambition is to preside over a happy and contented flock, and live a life of ease and unfathomable wealth.