When I was born my parents lived in a house on a different street than the house I remember as a child. I have no memories of that house, except perhaps, a memory of lying in a crib as my mother brought over a bottle. I can’t even be sure of that memory. My first memories began in the second house I lived in. I don’t know about your childhood, but mine was filled with play. I had no worries, no, not even when my father was laid off his job during hard times, or was out of work due to a union strike. I didn’t worry in the least where my next meal was coming for there was always something to eat.
Life was good and I expected it to last forever.
Nothing lasts forever. The only thing that never changes is the fact that there will always be change.
I remember very distinctly the moment I became aware that my existence was finite. I could not have been beyond the age of five or six when a relatives death prompted questions. It was then that I was told that everybody dies. I realized that the life I was living would come to an end some day. My youthful mind could not deal with the fact that someday there would be no me. I felt true sadness and extreme fear. It was my first emotional event that I can actually remember.
The fact that everyone dies is at least a truth. There are those who put this fear of death to use. These people, whether knowingly or unknowingly, provide the empty promise of life eternal. As proof of their promise they offer the lack of proof that it is untrue, and surprisingly, nothing more. Nevertheless, millions buy it day in, day out. Without a shred of evidence that what they offer as product has any existence, they receive bountiful monetary offerings. Many have realized that what they really offer is a cure for something they had created.
Everyone is aware of the extreme pliable nature of the young child’s mind. Indeed, they say, if they can have the child at seven, they would have them as an adult as well. Only a child can be made to accept the outrageous as true. Santa, they think, just might be able to squeeze down that pipe, that chimney. Jesus could have walked on water, after all, that is what that grown man, that I trust, just said. Children are programmed to trust.
The sweet innocence of childhood can be so easily twisted, warped into something, directly opposite of reality. Just like some genetic defect, we find, this warping, this twisting, can be passed from generation to generation.
What harm could this possibly be, to pass on these mental genes? Does it not do good?
What little good such organized delusions accomplish is done in service to the perpetuation of the delusion. This good is more than negated by the harm that accompanies the enactment of the delusion. From war, to hate, to divisiveness, the baggage of such delusions is immense. The numbing of inquisitiveness, a necessary feature of the delusion, allows the delusion to maintain its grip securely. You dare not ask questions concerning the nature of the delusion. No matter how absurd, the delusion must be held and protected.
Childhood does not last forever. In a short time the adult emerges. Will the child become a carbon copy, hating those who do not hold the same ideas in their heads? Will the bigotry, hatred, and divisiveness be passed on indefinitely?
Education is the answer, of course. Education, if allowed, can eventually eradicate the ignorance of such delusions as those created by religion.
Perhaps parents have done evil by lying to their children. To protect the tender feelings of children many lies are told. Some of these lies, as those in religion, carry on with the child as they mature. Some lies eventually are revealed for what they are. The parents themselves determine the endurance of these untruths. Santa soon is rendered into a fairy tale, along with the Easter bunny. If an adult maintains a lie is truth, perhaps even believing the lie themselves, the child is unlikely to uncover the deception until it is set, like concrete in their brain.