What does it mean to be ‘selfless’? Is charity a selfless deed? All of those humanitarians who gave and gave, requesting nothing in return – if they received a sense of satisfaction from their donations, this alone destroys the commencement of altruism. If they expected praise or rewards in the next life for their actions, they possessed a selfish incentive, however irrational. Even martyrdom can be selfish if the individual in question is giving his essence for something that he cannot live without. But what of the man who is truly selfless? The man who deliberately denies himself happiness with nothing to achieve? Who lives entirely through others and for others? Is he even a man at all, or an instrument, passed from person to person in a sea of faces; used, abused and discarded as an empty shell with no voice left to plead for mercy?
As adults now, most of us can recall when our parents before us introduced the figure of Santa Claus into the Christmas season. As we aged, we came to realize that Santa Claus is a mythological creature, much like fairies and talking snakes. But, for years, our guardians did everything they could to convince us otherwise. They demanded that we surrender the initial development of our rational minds in order to trust them. At such a young age, we were more susceptible to gullibility, but, fortunately, as we grew older, our parents generally confessed the truth. But what if that never happened? What if you wandered to the foot of your mother and father’s bed in the wee hours of the night, your toes chilled and your pajamas wrinkled around tired skin, to ask: “Is Santa Claus real? Tell me the truth, I can handle it,” only to have them insist: “Why yes, of course he is!”
One must never underestimate the potential psychological damage of having an unstable parent who proceeds to impose his or her delusions on the dependents in subordination. This is the story of such a child, a little boy who was brainwashed to believe that he was destined to die for the world after serving years in its shackles. This is the story of Jesus Christ.
In understatement, at the time of his birth, adulteress women were not taken kindly. They were slaughtered publicly. Mary, the mother of Jesus, would have been shunned, denied access into the local Synagogue, even killed if she had revealed the true circumstances of her pregnancy. As a self-preservation mechanism, she told a lie to her husband, who was not the father of the child in her womb, and to her village. She told them all that she was still a virgin to mortal men, but that she had been impregnated by God. Therefore, the boy whom she would later birth was declared a Messiah. It was a fairly unoriginal tale; in fact, it had already been used to describe Horus, Mary’s inspiration.
Jesus was raised with her anecdote rammed down his throat on a regular basis. It was not to be doubted, not to be questioned or implored, because if he disbelieved his own identity as God’s son, he disbelieved his mother’s purity. In an effort to make the deception more realistic, a purpose had to be applied. Mary knew that Jesus would come to wonder why the Lord had taken her, leading to further suspicion, and so she developed a preparation to rationalize the matter. Jesus had grounds for living: he would develop the one, true religion. He would save the people from their corrupt nature as sinners, and his bereavement was resolute from the beginning, when one of the three wise men, supporters of Mary’s claim, gifted the youngster with a crown of thorns. Some children have marriages arranged from their conception. Jesus had an execution.
Throughout his life, Jesus was made to suppose that the way to perfection, the just and good way, was unremitting sacrifice. He preached the message as his mother preached it to him, and there were many who accepted, because it sounded attractive enough. If you create a herd, because that’s what they were: brainwashed cattle, and train them to put others first, you are safe-locking existence. Their labor is desired, because, as the instigator, you are among those “others.” Of course the little animals want the larger ones domesticated.
In time, there were those who opposed Jesus as well, whether for philosophical and theological reasons, or simply because they knew the truth about Mary and were disgusted that the product, a bastard child, had grown to be an icon. For whatever impetus, Jesus was presented with the ultimate proof of his divinity. He was asked to die for his followers. Desiring nothing but to live up to his family’s expectations, certain that what he was doing was correct, Jesus did not protest. He allowed them to nail his hands, his feet, to the wood of a crucifix for the whole world to laugh at. The pain was excruciating, and Jesus did cry out in utmost anguish. Then he gritted his teeth, eyes brimming with tears, and he spoke no further ill against the attackers with sadistic intent. If this was what his father wanted… Oh, help him, Father.
But it came to pass that Jesus realized that he did not wish to expire. In the mob of colors, of abrasive cackling, pointing fingers and cowering believers, he was filled with fury. Why should he perish as entertainment? Why had he wasted years trying to help these imbeciles, these ogres?
“My God! My God!” He screamed to the sky, “Why have you forsaken me?” And, with a clap of thunder, Jesus Christ died in vain, the product of repetitious insanity and ghastly substratum.