Create Your Own Religion (26 page)

Yes, vast numbers of rich people are addicts who can't kick the money habit because they have too much to lose. It's also true that poor people by definition don't have much to lose. But this doesn't mean in any way that they are necessarily less addicted to wealth than the rich. Obsession is in the mind, not in one's bank account. Being rich or poor is really not the issue. Being obsessed is, and obsession is available to everyone equally. Money is not good or bad. It's just a tool: everything depends on how it's used.

Learning how to approach money without falling into the trap of indulgent addiction or cheap self-denial is a balancing act. Tilt too much to one side and you lose all perspective. I got an early start in the game as a kid, courtesy of my parents. Despite being very young and not exactly swimming in gold, they would always let me make my own decisions as soon as I was old enough to understand the implications of my choices. They made it clear that as long as they had the bare minimum necessary to pay for food, rent, and the like, they would let me have the final word on whether I wanted to buy myself toys or not. Would this particular toy make me happier? Would I still be playing with it long after the initial rush was over, or would it only be fun for a moment? The choice was mine. And so here I was, at five or six years old, feeling very honored by the responsibility I was given and thinking hard about whether a toy was worth my parents' money or not. Early on, I learned not to deny myself what I truly craved while at the same time not to waste money on nonessential
stuff. And it turned out that, after thinking about it long enough, not too many material things were essential to my happiness.

In my way of thinking, there are two ways to be rich. One is to be rich. The other is to be perfectly happy with few material possessions. The end goal, after all, is to be happy. If you don't need much to get there, great. If you need a lot, but you get there anyway without trading all your time and energy in the process, that's great too. I have nothing against indulging oneself. But I want to be equally comfortable playing with expensive toys if they are easily available, and not thinking about it twice if they are not. Basically, I strive to make sure my state of mind is not determined by my bank account. If wealth comes in my direction, my life will certainly be a little easier, but if it doesn't, I don't want to stress over it.

As it is hopefully clear by now, the reason why I emphasize frugality so much is not because I find something inherently sinful in wealth; it's because if you have few needs, it's much easier to fulfill them. If your needs are many and expensive, they can be easily fulfilled only if you win the lottery, marry rich, or are lucky enough to be paid lots of cash to do something you love. Otherwise, they'll turn into a prison forcing you to give away a big portion of your life in order to afford them. Learning how to be content with less, then, can be one of the most liberating things one can do.

It was after listening to a lecture by John Li Schroeder, a professor in Asian philosophies at Santa Monica College, that I decided my time was simply too valuable to waste it becoming the errand boy to a million different needs. From then on, I wouldn't be after wealth for wealth's sake. I would be after living comfortably
and
having plenty of time to do what I want.

After I made that choice, life got much easier. Now, I work thirty-two weeks a year doing something I like. And since this is still too
much effort, during those thirty-two weeks, I work only four days a week, for perhaps no more than twenty-five hours a week. This is enough to provide for all my needs. The rest of the time, I'll work if I feel like it, playing with things I love to do—such as writing this book.

On plenty of occasions, when I've shared my priorities with someone, I get responses along the lines of “You are so lucky to be able to live like that,” or “I wish I could do the same.” At first, I feel bad for these people, but after I ask them a few questions, they almost invariably end up pissing me off. They usually make much more money than I do, and they don't have any major obligation forcing them to work so intensely. There is no village whose survival depends on the money they make, no sick relative who needs a million dollar operation. Here are people who live in bigger homes, drive fancier cars, and indulge in many more luxuries, and yet they comment on how lucky I am??? Luck has nothing to do with my lifestyle, or theirs. It's a choice.

Although I understand the importance of warning people against greed-addiction, I don't fully agree with the hardcore condemnation of wealth expressed by many religious people throughout history. Even deeper, however, is my disagreement with those religious views praising moneymaking as a moral virtue. The religion I want to live by has one goal and one goal only: helping me lead the best possible life I can live. Being rich is no obstacle to this goal, but neither is it required for it. . . .

OK, I was just saying this stuff to sound cool. I need a mansion by the beach, damn it! Please send your contributions to the “Feed Bolelli” campaign. God will love you for it.

Nationalism is an infantile disease. It is the measles of mankind
.

—Albert Einstein

The whole country is standing still, holding its collective breath. From the balcony of my house the view is surreal: the normally noisy, insanely busy streets of the city are deserted and eerily silent. It looks like one of those post-atomic movies where only the buildings remain, but every trace of life has been wiped out.

Inside my house it's a whole different story. About thirty of my father's friends are piled up on top of each other in the tiny living room, their eyes all glued to the TV screen. It's one of the decisive games of the World Cup, and the Italian national soccer team is fighting a head-to-head battle with Brazil.

What am I doing out on the balcony at a time when everyone in the country is watching the game? I am a soccer refugee, a World Cup pariah, quite literally cast out of the house. A quick poll among those present resulted in my banishment. I am eight years old and only my age spares me harsher sanctions. My crime is clear and unforgivable. I brought it on myself. I could have kept my mouth shut, but I'm too stubborn for that. So when invited to join the pro-Italy chants, I repeatedly voiced that I was rooting for Brazil.

You are rooting for whom?!? Throughout the World Cup, some games I have rooted for Italy, and some games I've rooted for their opponents. Today, I'm for the opponents. Before a game, I look at who the players are, and, depending on how much or how little I like them, I pick which team to root for. I choose my allegiance based on the individuals, not on what passport they carry.

My sophisticated argument goes nowhere. In the entire country, there are probably no more than three other boys my age who don't root for Italy—strange freaks who will no doubt be dropped by their own families into the sea with a stone tied to their necks. I'm the lucky one. Normally, my father's friends like me a lot, and maybe that's why they don't murder me outright. But my offense this time is too heinous to go unpunished. It's red card time for me. And so here I am—in exile on my own balcony.

In case you are wondering, I swear there is a point to the story of my World Cup exile, and yes, it will eventually connect with religion, but not yet. Please indulge me just a bit longer.

I was recently reminded of this episode when a Colombian friend who spent too many hours watching the History Channel asked me if the achievements of people such as Leonardo da Vinci, Galileo Galilei, Ludovico Ariosto, Giacomo Puccini, Julius Caesar, Giuseppe Garibaldi, Caravaggio, Marco Polo, and a million others
made me proud of my Italian heritage. I must admit that when foreign women project their Italian stallion romance-novel stereotypes on me, suddenly being Italian seems like a good deal. When they look at me with dreamy eyes and comment how much they like my accent, I gladly bask in the benefits of coming from an Italian heritage. But as much as I love being at the center of a woman's attention, the very idea of national pride strikes me as too stupid for me to embrace. And so this is exactly what I told to my surprised Colombian friend (by the way, Axel, pick up the damn phone once in a while, you bastard . . . ).

If I am to be proud of my heritage because I was born in the same nation as all the amazing individuals he mentioned, what should I feel about being born in the same nation as a fascist dictator like Benito Mussolini, a serial killer like Il Mostro di Firenze, and countless mafia bosses? Aren't they also part of “Italian heritage”? And just so we don't get too stuck on Italy, isn't it true that pretty much any other nation in the world has produced some wonderful individuals and some very evil ones, along with plenty of mediocre people?

As my World Cup experience proves, I guess I was weird from the start. But I still fail to see any appeal in concepts like patriotism, nationalism, or ethnic pride. They seem to me different names for the same disease: prepackaged identities that divide human beings along racial or national lines.

There is a strong connection between religion and patriotism, nationalism, and ethnic pride. If we reach into the past far enough, we
find ourselves in an age when religion and ethnicity were inseparable. Everything revolved around our tribe, our people, our god(s). What better way to nourish ethnic pride than the idea that our god(s) is/are better, more powerful, stronger, and wiser than our neighbors'? About three millennia ago, tribes in the Middle East were the chess pieces in a competitive game among the local deities. Each tribe had its own set of gods and would proclaim their superiority over the gods of their rivals. The point wasn't to convert foreigners—though occasionally that did happen. The point was to reinforce one's sense of identity by claiming to be the favorite tribe of the best gods in the neighborhood.

Ancient Jewish tribes took this game to a whole new level, and much of the Old Testament is a chronicle of the squabbles between these competing factions. The most monotheistic among the Jews—which, incidentally, were not always the majority, since polytheism thrived among them for a very long time—argued that their tribal God was not just the best among many, but the
only
true God. The gods of other tribes were either illusions or demons. As a corollary to this radical thought, the architects of this religious revolution married monotheism to a virulent ethnic pride. “We are God's chosen people,” screamed Moses' boys, “and as such we are entitled to a promised land reserved for us by the one and only legitimate deity.” The fact that the promised land was occupied by other tribes didn't make it any less promised. It only meant that God thought chasing them out would be good exercise for His chosen people.

The idea of a chosen people and a promised land is a strong example of the union between religion and ethnic identity. It is not a coincidence that these terms appear in the Old Testament along with other pearls of ethnocentrism, such as prohibitions against intermarriage with foreigners and religious sanctioning for genocidal
“holy” wars of conquests against rival tribes. They are the bedrock of a supernationalistic theology.

Once claiming divine approval for racial superiority fell out of fashion, many Jewish and Christian people had to eventually rework the words of the Old Testament to alter some of its obviously racist meanings. In its original context, the idea of a chosen people was tied to claiming title to the land of neighboring nations and enforcing racial purity by law—things that the modern world doesn't look kindly upon. Even though there is an occasional nutcase around who will still defend the original interpretation, most modern apologists of monotheism have dramatically altered the meaning of “chosen people” from racial entitlement to an emphasis on sacrifice, responsibility, and service to God.

Others have opted to not try to salvage what they considered a broken concept and have decided to abandon it altogether. The great Jewish scientist Albert Einstein, for example, wrote:

For me the Jewish religion like all others is an incarnation of the most childish superstitions. And the Jewish people to whom I gladly belong . . . have no different quality for me than all other people. As far as my experience goes, they are no better than other human groups, although they are protected from the worst cancers by a lack of power.
²³⁷

Springing straight out of the heritage of Judaism, Christianity had to grapple with this problem from the beginning. With their usual clarity, the Gospels offer room for very different interpretations about the “chosen people” issue. Matthew 10:5–6 quotes Jesus telling the Apostles, “Go not into the way of the Gentiles, and into any city of
the Samaritans enter ye not. But go rather to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.”
²³⁸

Further strengthening the idea of Jesus as a prophet strictly for Jewish people, Matthew 15:22–28 reports a fairly disturbing dialogue between Jesus and a non-Jewish woman. Having heard of Jesus' abilities as a healer, a woman asks Jesus to help her daughter. Jesus refuses, saying, “I am not sent but unto the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” When the woman insists, Jesus again refuses, adding a delicate touch of comparing of foreigners to dogs: “It is not meet to take the children's bread and cast it to dogs.” In this passage, he basically tells the woman that his skills are reserved for the Jewish people (“children” of God) and not foreigners (“dogs”). After the woman suggests that sometimes dogs get to eat the crumbs that fall off the table, Jesus gives in to her quick wit and persistence and agrees to heal her daughter.
²³⁹

Other passages, instead, tell a different story. Mark 16:15, for example, quotes Jesus urging his disciples to go preach to all nations around the world. Luke 10:30–37 contains one of the most radical of Jesus' parables, the story of the Good Samaritan. Here Jesus suggests that a Samaritan—a member of a neighboring nation that was often in conflict with Jews—can be capable of kinder behavior than the highest authorities of Jewish society.