“In the latter part of his life Tolstoy “became the prophet of a new religion. It was to be based upon a few simple commandments: Be no man’s enemy; never give way to your wrath; and never resort to violence. He became a communist, a dissenter and a rebel—in short, a true disciple of Christ. he was ready to give up his fame, his position, his wealth, his very life if necessary, for the service of mankind. He dressed in a peasant’s smock and associated with the lowliest on equal terms.
“The world hailed Tolstoy as a prophet. But his family regarded him as a fool. His wife began to fear that he was losing his reason. His children yawned and turned away whenever he spoke about the brotherhood of man. To live a life of utter unselfishness seemed to them a sign of insanity. He became a stranger in his own house. ‘Perhaps you will not believe me,: he wrote a friend, “but you cannot imagine how isolated I am, nor in what degree my veritable ‘I’ is despised and disregarded by all those around me.’
“Tolstoy believed in establishing the democracy of Man. He wrote a number of essays and stories to illustrate the principles of human compassion and non-resistance to evil. He even went so far as to recommend the extinction of mankind through the establishment of absolute celibacy!'”
Me: never has compassion sounded so evil. This is what happens when a young man accepts as an ideal the real evil that is selfless altruism. And, it is this irrational idea of non-resistance to evil which is helping to spread the vile evil of Islam through the world today.
Oh, God and Allah, they don’t mind
If everyone will die;
They’re far from selfless, I do find,
With egos flying high.
They’ve got it all and do not dream
To give up what they’ve got.
Above the earth, they are supreme
And care for humans not.
Now God, he faked a sacrifice
For men’s adoring praise,
Then God and Son went laughing
Ever after all their days.
And Allah promised virgins real
To men who died in fight;
In dust they merged with their ideal
As darkness kissed their sight.
To be like God, then, self do love,
And do not give away
Your joy on earth—no thing above—
And master your one way!
Then feel God not, heed Allah nil,
But go with clear, bright mind,
Your sacred self to follow still,
And to your self be kind!
The Christian loved his enemy
And hugged him close and tight.
He did not live with pride to be,
And had no will to fight.
The Muslim slapped the Christian
Upon his selfless cheek;
The Christian turned the other way
To show that he was meek.
The Muslim then cut off his head,
As Allah told him to,
With sword of Islam lusty red,
Submission slicing true.
The Christian loved his enemy—
No just revenge he took—
Obedient to God’s mystery
And lies writ in a book.
The Christian and the Muslim race
On to the same set goal—
To get them to that empty place
That has no selfish soul.
It is a place, a “better” place,
Where everyone has Death
To eat away upon his face
And sniff his blood for breath.
The Christian helps the Muslim kill,
The Muslim helps his Christ,
With all adhering to Hate’s will
Of humans sacrificed.
Jesus did not suffer on the cross. If we take the myth at face value for a minute we see that Jesus, being the son of God, like God is immortal. And, knowing all things, he knows he is immortal. He knows that nothing can really hurt him or cause him to even come close to death. He knows that he will get up in three days and be totally pain-free, healthy and happy. He has no values, nothing to gain or to lose. He did not die, because he could not die, on the cross or anywhere else.
Whereas if you or I were nailed to a cross and a spear stuck in our side, we would really suffer. We would know that death was coming upon us; we would know anguish or fear, would know that our lives were permanently over. Thus, the idea that Christ took our suffering upon himself is completely phony bologna. Plus, God did not sacrifice his son. His son was with him, healthy and happy, a few days later. Note that in the story of the Trojan war Agamemnon sacrifices his daughter Iphigenia to appease the gods. This is a real sacrifice; Iphigenia does not come back. Agamemnon has lost her forever. And yet Christians are expected to make real sacrifices in their lives based on the example of a phony sacrifice. God is not selfless.
Of course, all of the above does deal with the question of whether sacrifice itself is good or bad, moral or immoral. To answer that question one must read Ayn Rand.
I imagined and face and called it God,
Then one said he was God’s spokesman
And I must obey whatever he’d say
Or I’d go to Hell as a broke man.
I imagined a Hell and scared me to death,
Then imagined rewards for obeying.
Then I cowered me in for the guilt of a sin
When I was a fetus a-straying.
Sudden, I stopped; how ridiculous, this!
Reality’s real, not imagined!
Let others go pray and deceive them in play,
But I’ll be a wide-awake pagan!
Oh, how many men do lie to themselves,
Then trick themselves with believing
That what is not real can be an ideal,
But is only a mind self-deceiving!
The Sprinter’s Speech
I did my best, the gold is mine;
I won by my own sure design.
I owe not God, nor helping team;
I am the whole of my own dream.
In light of glory here I stand,
The fastest athlete in the land.
My years of grueling practice done,
O’er bronze and silver I have won.
The pride of being fills me now,
The pride in self that I avow;
So cheer my self for selfish might
That ran in love to such a height!
The Swimmer’s Speech
The gold is mine, my shining star!
I swam the water swift and far!
And to myself I give full praise
That for myself did so amaze!
No god did grant me victory;
No one but I, and only me.
I am most proud for what I’ve done,
And shout aloud, “I won! I won!”
The Shot-Putter’s Speech
I held a planet in my hand,
Then whirled and threw it, oh, so grand!
The world did marvel this could be—
A record toss of majesty!
No help had I the sky to stun;
It was all me, and I have won!
So praise my gold that shows aright
The soul of pride I put in flight!
The watchers watch the runners run;
They’ve worked long hours with competence
To earn their pay for jobs well done,
And now see their essential sense.
A metaphysic joy is theirs—
Life’s purpose in a single act
Devoid of all distracting cares,
Alive in one bare shining fact.
To strive to do one’s very best
Through hours, weeks and years,
Made manifest in sporting test—
Arousing shouts and joyous tears.
A goal that’s got, a dream fulfilled,
With effort of glad life that lives—
This is the soul of choice that’s willed
And to itself most proudly gives.
The watchers watch the runners run
And feel inside the burning fire
Of love-of-rising never done,
Intense with sense of right desire.
Transparent effort seen by all,
An honest effort, win or lose,
Cloaked not in aught political,
No cheating/lying to confuse.
The people’s love of honesty
Shines blazing, like the high noon sun;
They cheer the man, who e’er he be,
Especially Mo, who rose and won!