Friends; brothers: Is the world ready for Atheism?
Of course, I speak not of Atheism in the absolute and strongest sense. For who among the world denies the existence of great forces called gods? Who among us denies that these creatures imbue a third of all casters with their magics oriented toward a goal? Who among mortal men denies what every Dragon since the dawn of our race has yelled as it slew our families: that the Human’s god, Marduk, slew in antiquity the Queen of all dragons?
But when the question is who among us declares that such gods are unworthy of worship, I raise my hand and my voice to be heard. In delivering humanity from the tyranny of dragons and slaying their god, Marduk lifted up his own name. He asked for our worship in perpetuity in exchange, but I will indeed question whether such a being is worthy of worship.
I will admit, there is a powerful authority in the realm of the gods. It is a power that their most zealous followers carry to its most logical outcome every day when they torture to death the innocent who hold to offending doctrines. It is a power that the gods themselves use to hold mortals in no looser a grip than the great Dragons of old. In the grip of this divine authority, will the human bend as the Dragon does? Will the human bend as the Troglodyte before his sick sacrifices, living richly and dancing in the blood of creature whose only crime was to be overcome by the swarm?
Humanity should be his own master. When he is subjugated, he gives onto his tyrant only that which the tyrant is actually worth of: rebellion. This is the lesson I learn from the story of Marduk. Let us rise up and put our gods, our supposed betters who are nothing but mere tyrants, upon the altars of their own construction. Let us bring a death to our gods that they and their servants have so long inflicted on us.
I hear the dissenting voices now, who beg me to listen to the warnings of the gods, to not spit into the face of my better. And I will not listen to him. The only being I would dream of worshiping is the being who personally sculpted my form, who birthed my soul as his own. But this is not a mantel Marduk will claim.
For even the gods do not, except in rare and overzealous cases, claim to have been responsible for the creation of the world. No, nearly without exception, the gods join their hands and point to a being beyond themselves.
This mysterious creator, who none even among the elder most of the gods claim to understand, is heralded as the source of the division between mortal and immortal: this being is the father of the separation between humans and devils, between angels and demons, and between the hosts of soulless and ensouled which dot, if we are to believe our deities, the whole of the cosmos.
What can we say for sure about this creator, except that creation is signed by it? Does this creator exalt the good above evil? No. It remains indifferent to the actions of both good and evil. Does this creator liberate the oppressed who cry out? No; these cries too are met with utter indifference and utter silence. This creator is indifferent to our every thought, word, deed, prayer, and request. It is unconcerned with us, and so I will be with it.
I ask, as so many children have asked throughout the ages, is such a being even needed? Do we need a creator move the mountains which themselves are said to dance about the surface of the plane in a dance too slow for our eyes to follow? Do we need a creator to raise lakes in dry places? Can we not carry water? Can we not grow great mushrooms which fill whole caverns and feed our multitudes? Can we not learn to use the power given to every being in creation to do these impossible tasks?
In times far past, I would admit that the only reason I did not render worship unto this creator was that it never asks in any of the stories for worship. On this day, I am convinced that this creator has never existed. Our gods did not make the world: they merely awakened to it earlier than us. No creator made the gods, and the gods did not make themselves. Rather, our gods are nothing more than older and more primitive siblings riding high on their superior age and authority.
To gods and creators both, I render only spit.
Picurus – Oration to Friends