Apologies to Bertrand Russell for borrowing the title of his famous work.
The statement “Why I’m Not a Christian” should be understood loosely in this context. It does not specifically target the Christian mindset, nor is such an interpretation intended. Instead, it is an attempt at critiquing the general venality of those who profess and promote organised religions- Christianity, Islam and Hinduism as well, though the latter do not fall into organised category.—the religions that most shape daily life in India.
I have often wondered why the cross is the cornerstone of Christianity. The cross, represented in its simplest form by two lines intersecting at right angles, predates Christianity in both Eastern and Western traditions, tracing back to pagan times. It was used not only for its ornamental value but also for religious significance and as an instrument of torture.
In the early days of Christianity, the cross was rarely depicted in Christian iconography. Some suggest that Jesus died on a single-beamed stake, a common tool for torture and impalement, rather than a cross. Yet, why does the Christian establishment, which zealously nurtured and evangelized its version of Jesus’ story, insist on portraying him on the cross? The answer lies in control. The powers that govern the Christian world use the agony and humiliation of Jesus’ crucifixion to ensure the flock adheres to their dictates. It is, to paraphrase Christopher Hitchens, “the repulsive idea of vicarious redemption.” Hitchens wrote, “I find something repulsive about the idea of vicarious redemption. I would not throw my numberless sins onto a scapegoat and expect them to pass from me; we rightly sneer at the barbaric societies that practice this unpleasantness in its literal form. There’s no moral value in the vicarious gesture anyway. As Thomas Paine pointed out, you may take on a man’s debt or even his place in prison—that would be self-sacrificing. But you may not assume his actual crimes as if they were your own; you did not commit them and might have died rather than do so. For another, this impossible action would rob him of individual responsibility. So the entire apparatus of absolution and forgiveness strikes me as positively immoral, while the concept of revealed truth degrades the concept of free intelligence by purportedly relieving us of the hard task of working out ethical principles for ourselves.”
The perpetuation of Jesus’ image on the cross, despite the claim that he was taken down, entombed, and resurrected, seems to stem from a sadistic disregard for his suffering. Would Indians tolerate memorabilia of Shaheed Bhagat Singh depicted hanging from a noose or Gandhi lying in a pool of blood?
Christians claim the cross symbolises God’s act of love—Christ’s sacrifice at Calvary, “the Son of God who washes away the sins of the world.” It also represents Jesus’ victory over death, as his resurrection is believed to have conquered death itself. Yet, this veneration reeks of hypocrisy, selfishness, and disregard for another’s agony. Perpetuating the image of Jesus on the cross is an abhorrence, especially given the Church’s failure to defend him during the kangaroo trial orchestrated by the priests. This disrespects a man who, possibly influenced by wisdom gained in the East, stood against much of what Christians now practice in his name. The concept of vicarious redemption, championed by the Church, is one of the most macabre ideas ever conceived.
This brings me to the hypocrisy practised by the Church and its followers. Shashi Tharoor, in his book on Indira Gandhi, wryly commented on her twenty-point program, noting, “Even the good Lord had only ten points!” Yet, even the Ten Commandments, crafted by God, are often relegated to ceremonial occasions during holy mass.
In the New Testament, Jesus distilled the Ten Commandments into two powerful principles: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, and mind,” and “You shall love your neighbour as yourself.” These commandments encapsulate Christ’s teachings. Yet, the Church and its zealous followers often quote them like the devil citing scripture for his own ends.
Jesus did not distinguish between a Christian God, Jewish God, or pagan God. He urged love for your God, not a specific deity. Yet, Christians divide God and human hearts by race, ethnicity, country, and denomination. In India, particularly in Kerala, Christianity is fragmented into Roman Catholic, Orthodox, Marthoma, Canaanite, Malankara, Evangelical, Presbyterian, and Pentecostal factions, among others. Not long ago, a pitched battle erupted inside a Kerala church. Many dioceses refuse to solemnise marriages between different denominations, using baptism and communion to control the flock and instill fear from an early age. The uncertainty and insecurity of life are exploited to enforce conformity.
This perversion is anti-Christ in every sense, especially when priests and zealous practitioners hurl vitriol at coexisting religions. Is this due to a misunderstanding of Jesus or simple intolerance? History reveals the cruelty of evangelisation, from the atrocities committed by missionaries in the Americas to the Vatican’s complicity with fascists and Nazis during the Holocaust. The Church’s opposition to scientific discoveries and inventions further exemplifies its rejection of inconvenient truths.
Proselytisation has been used as a tool to increase the flock, often through financial and other enticements to convert the poor and ignorant. Why must conversion be necessary for economic upliftment? If Jesus urged loving your God, this God is not jealous or sword-wielding, unlike the vindictive deity of the Old Testament. It could be Mother Nature herself. Loving your neighbour as yourself requires no quid pro quo in the form of conversion. A true Christian should find peace in a church, mosque, temple, or any place of worship, without needing a medallion of Christ on the cross.
Then there are the hypocritical practitioners—those who pray, observe the Eucharist, confess, and donate generously while professing sacrifice and disdain for material wealth. Yet, they cling to their possessions. True sacrifice is rare; those who claim to give everything often extract a pound of flesh later, undeterred by religion or kinship.
Are followers of Islam or Hinduism, as practised in India, any better? No. Religion, as currently practised, is a bane on humanity, more dangerous than opium and deadlier in its toll.
When Islam kills in the name of God, it ceases to be a religion of love and compassion. When the Golden Temple was filled with weapons, it lost its sanctity. Injustice and pain inflicted on a Hindu, Jew, or Muslim are equally egregious, as suffering knows no religious bounds.
Islamophobia is not a mere phobia; it is rooted in reality. Innocent Muslims suffer because their religion remains mired in a 7th-century tribal mindset, lacking the courage to unite against murder, rape, and pillage within or beyond their community. The promise of paradise to justify terrorism is beyond comprehension. A faith that once contributed to learning has been constricted by obscurantism, denying the right to think. When schools are razed and girls are terrorised, Islam loses its claim to salvation, corroded by bigotry. Sectarian conflicts, such as between Shia and Sunni, further prove that religion often divides rather than unites.
Hinduism, unique to India, has been hijacked by ash-smeared, trishul-wielding bigots in saffron. When religion merges with political opportunism, it becomes a pernicious force. Hinduism, with its pantheon of gods and goddesses, once allowed devotion to any deity without incurring the wrath of others. Yet, the spread of Aryan civilisation introduced the caste system, entrenching discrimination that now threatens this way of life. India, historically a haven for Jews, Christians, Muslims, and Buddhists, as seen in the Cheraman Masjid (639 AD) and Cochin’s Jewish synagogues, now faces rising intolerance, with daily reports of rape, murder, corruption, and desecration of nature.
Blasphemy laws and fatwas silence expressive voices, revealing the fragility of faith. A faith that trembles at a book or caricature is brittle indeed. How does a film about a widowed Hindu woman by the Ganga denigrate Hinduism? As Voltaire said, “I detest what you say, but I’m prepared to die for your right to say it.”
Faith is tarnished not by criticism but by how it is practised. As John F. Kennedy said, “Religion must be as private as one’s toothbrush.”
