Anyone who knows me knows my opinion of religion runs in stride with that of Bill, er, William James. I admire the will to believe in the face of all logical obstacles to faith. But as someone once sort of said: "Some faiths' fathers are bigger than other faiths' fathers." Close enough for government work. I understand the lure of tradition, the comfort of struggle, the intuition of order and all the many reasons faith survives in a world without reason. (I could discuss in great and grave detail the respect I have for the denizens of The Weblog via a discussion of God as omnipresent syncategorem to their otherwise secular propositions. Another night.) That said, to respond to unreasonable reality by spending $226 million etching science fiction novels from the fifties on stainless steel plates, wrapping those plates in Kevlar and burying them in bunkers smacks of untenable thought. Especially when those bunkers bear the symbol of The Church of Spiritual Technology. Unhinged from tradition, faith becomes a unsound enterprise productive of nothing other than unstable minds.
While I cannot identify the precise moment when faith slips from struggle to suspect irrationality, I can say in no uncertain terms that once you consider etching Battlefield Earth on stainless steel plates to better bury them deep beneath the Nevada desert a fine idea, you've crossed the line.