God is nothing but death, and every religious impulse is a longing for it. Strip away the flowery justifications, the moral posturing, the desperate clinging to eternity, and what’s left? A deep, pathological worship of annihilation. Every major faith glorifies self-sacrifice, submission, and the erasure of the self. To obey, to kneel, to suffer in this life for some imaginary reward beyond it—this is the essence of religion. It is not about life, growth, or truth. It is a death cult, teaching people to despise their own existence, to reject the present in favor of a fantasy, to mutilate themselves mentally and physically in pursuit of an afterlife that does not exist. The most devout believers are the most lifeless, their every thought wrapped around dying correctly, pleasing some invisible executioner so they can finally be free of the burden of being alive.

The entire structure of religious faith is a slow suicide, dressed up as devotion. Why do the faithful love suffering? Because it brings them closer to their beloved death. Why do they resent joy, freedom, and pleasure? Because those things affirm life, and they have already chosen to reject it. Every prayer is a whisper into the void, begging to be released. Every act of piety is a step toward nonexistence. The true God of every religion is not a father, not a savior, not a creator—it is the abyss, yawning wide, calling its worshippers home. And they go willingly, hating everything that reminds them they are still here, still breathing, still bound to the flesh they so desperately wish to escape.