The answer to religion is discourse. It's like a virus of the mind that penetrates into the minds of the young and grows and reproduces, and without education and discourse it spreads. And once it makes its way through a culture it can take the most advanced people of a age and reduce them to nothing. we seen that in the middle east, civilization that were glorious when European lived in nothing but huts, reduced to pathetic Islamic republics. We see it in our own history, The iron will of the church repressing science and humans rights through out the Renaissance, until people like like Thomas Jefferson, Voltaire, napoleon, and until finally in a act of arrogance the pope defied the Italian army that sought unification of their nation. But now we are a culture with the power to end our own world and I for one fear that Monotheists who await the end with hope will turn revelations into a self for filling prophecy.
So must do want we can to make them listen to reason, and they often turn angry when we confront their belief's because the virus is so deep they cannot comprehend a world without it, but they will with time. That is why we should be kind to these people, they think we are evil, let our actions and words show other wise and maybe just maybe they will come to reason.
So must do want we can to make them listen to reason, and they often turn angry when we confront their belief's because the virus is so deep they cannot comprehend a world without it, but they will with time. That is why we should be kind to these people, they think we are evil, let our actions and words show other wise and maybe just maybe they will come to reason.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
