Mob Psychology

“Platitudes, generalizations, the people want idiocy,” Jeremiah snarled as he paced.  “Open up any religious doctrine, and what could be found?  Simplifications of inane, obvious rules that all had more exceptions than there were applications.  Common sense, codified.  Breaches of intelligence, punishable.  Well, that bit isn’t so bad, but no reason to have your fingernails ripped off just because you’re stupid.”

Little Isaac sat perched on his stool, watching his master in his barely comprehensible fit of rage.  His purpose was not to understand what his master said, though.  He swung his legs absently, listening and hoping that he might get it all, someday.

“People would think starting a religion would be difficult, but they’d be wrong.  No, no, writing the religious texts is what’s difficult.  No one will remember me in a couple hundred years.  They’ll remember the book.  What the book says about me.  What the book says about life.  Of course, they won’t follow it.  No way to avoid misinterpretation, no way to avoid twisting of meaning.”  Lifting his head, he snapped at the ceiling, “I don’t suppose You will bother doing anything about that, eh?”  A pause.  “Didn’t think so.”

Isaac looked up at the ceiling but couldn’t see anyone.  Usually, people called that kind of thing “mad”.  But Isaac knew that when someone like Jeremiah did it, he was convening with God.  As far as he could tell, it just depended on how many people called the person mad and how many people called him religious.  Most people generally agreed Jeremiah was religious.  Isaac supposed he would understand when he was older.  That was what adults said about anything he didn’t understand.

“Well, let’s get this over with.  Come, Isaac.”  As Isaac hopped down off his stool, he thought he heard Jeremiah mutter something that sounded like, “Just so long as this misadventure doesn’t end in my horrible death,” but he couldn’t be sure.  He hoped he’d misheard.