Evidentialism, Part II


Clearly, it’s Evidentialism’s time.

After America officially declared itself a cult nation, the time has come to kill the cult.

The election results have shown us, once again, where America stands. This wasn’t just a choice of parties, policies, or candidates. It was a choice between reality and denial, between reason and delusion. It was a choice to remain shackled to cult-like devotion or to embrace a future rooted in evidence and truth.

Evidentialism offers a different path.

Evidentialism is not just another belief system. It’s an invitation to rethink what faith could be, grounded not in superstition but in science, not in prophecy but in possibility.

It doesn’t ask for blind allegiance; it asks for curiosity. It doesn’t promise salvation; it invites us to learn, to question, to grow.

Cults thrive on unshakable faith, blind allegiance, and control. They feed on fear, bigotry, and the promise of salvation for some at the cost of damning others.

In America, cult thinking has sunk into the roots of our politics. It preys on those who need hope, selling them easy answers and demanding loyalty in return. The results are division, distrust, and denial on a national scale.

This is the America we’ve come to know—a place where belief eclipses reason, where ideology overwhelms evidence, and where leaders are chosen not for competence, but for charisma and conformity to the party line.

America’s most enduring cults? Christianity, Islam, Judaism. Death cults, born of Iron Age goat herders, latching onto a world that has moved on.

These religions were written in an age of superstition, a time when disease was seen as punishment, and women were seen as property.

These texts are woven with prejudices, prescribing submission, obedience, and disdain for outsiders. And they’ve been used for centuries to justify every kind of injustice—from slavery to war to the subjugation of half the human race.

They insist they hold the keys to morality, yet their values are stuck in a past of blood sacrifice and brutal punishment. These texts teach followers to distrust those who look different, love differently, or think freely. They offer certainty, but at the cost of compassion. And as long as they rule our lives, true progress is stifled.

In Evidentialism, there are no chosen people, no inherent worthiness or shame based on birth, race, or gender.

There is no room for misogyny, racism, or prejudice because science doesn’t support them. Scientific data shows our shared humanity, our shared biology, our shared struggle for understanding in a vast and complex universe.

Evidentialism isn’t about following a prophet; it’s about following questions—questions that lead us deeper into the unknown, into the beauty of the mysteries around us.

Evidentialism offers a community grounded in reality, not fantasy. Instead of sermons, there are talks, discussions, open forums where ideas are exchanged, and new knowledge is celebrated.

Imagine gatherings that inspire, where people learn and grow together, and where curiosity is the highest virtue. It would be like a TED Talk but with substance and depth, a place where ideas matter more than beliefs. Instead of fear and shame, the focus is on optimism, the joy of discovery, and the shared wonder at our place in the universe.

Imagine a country where leaders are elected not for how well they appeal to tribalism but for their commitment to truth, their integrity, and their expertise. Where debates are grounded in evidence, where policies are crafted from data, and where governance reflects our best understanding, not our worst fears.

Instead of rule by dogma, we’d have a government inspired by science, one that looks to solve problems, not to divide people.

It won’t be easy. Breaking free from cult thinking is hard. It’s painful. It demands that we admit where we’ve been misled, where we’ve allowed ignorance to guide us. It demands more from us than faith alone.

But this work, this commitment to knowledge, is what can move us forward.

True change doesn’t come from doubling down on ancient beliefs; it comes from embracing new ideas. When we open our eyes to reality, we gain the freedom to address our most urgent problems with clarity and resolve.

We face environmental crises, political corruption, and social divides that demand more than superstition. They demand evidence, action, and people who understand that the future is a choice, not a destiny.

Evidentialism sees this world—not a promised afterlife—as the place where our actions matter most. It’s not about promises of paradise or threats of hellfire. It’s about making this life, this world, the best it can be. It’s about asking, learning, and building together. It’s about being accountable to each other, not to an ancient text or imagined deity.

America has had its fill of empty promises, of leaders who sell salvation while peddling division.

The time has come to choose a different path—a path of curiosity, of courage, of genuine progress.

The time has come for a new way to find meaning in a chaotic world—one based on what we can know and what we can build together.

The time has come to replace dogma with inquiry. To choose a future that is awake, alive, and always searching.

Clearly, it’s Evidentialism’s time. Kill the cult.


The re-election of Donald Trump lays bare a grim reality: America’s Christianity dooms its women, binding them to a worldview where equality is viewed as a rebellion against god’s order.

Trump’s victory is not just a political event but a cultural reaffirmation of a nation steeped in patriarchal religious values, where women are encouraged to embrace subservience as a virtue.

Despite decades of progress toward gender equality, Trump’s re-election proves how powerful the grip of Christian conservatism remains, a force willing to overlook misogyny, abuse, and inequality in favor of preserving a rigid social order that keeps men in control.

American Christianity functions not as a personal faith but as a political weapon, one that enshrines male authority as natural and punishes women who step outside prescribed roles. Much like authoritarian religious states where clerics enforce gender roles through law, America sees its own brand of patriarchy wielded by conservatives who evoke “traditional values” as a rallying cry.

Trump’s evangelical support base doesn’t simply accept his blatant sexism—they celebrate it, seeing his strongman persona as a necessary bulwark against a world they fear is losing its way.

News flash: It already has.

For his supporters, Trump embodies a cultural nostalgia for an era when men led without question and women’s lives were confined to the home. This vision is not a relic but a core belief in a vast swath of America, upheld by religious leaders and congregations who preach submission as a feminine virtue.

The message is clear: Independence in women is dangerous, a disruption to the social order ordained by god.

Trump’s re-election speaks to a willingness in America to forsake progress in favor of patriarchal “stability.” In this America, Christianity is not a liberating force; it is a doctrinal cage, one that restrains women under the guise of moral integrity and family values.

Until America confronts this intersection of faith and misogyny, women will remain at the mercy of a culture that views them as less-than, no matter how loudly it claims otherwise.

Now or Not

Misinformation —
it’s a wrong turn,
a half-remembered story
passed along,
a misstep in the dance of facts.
An honest mistake,
a stumble in the dark
where truth is blurred,
but no harm was meant.

Disinformation —
it’s crafted,
a lie dressed in fine clothes,
set loose with purpose,
sharpened at the edges.
A map with false roads,
leading you away,
to twist and turn,
to confuse, to control,
to hold power in deception.

One is an error,
born of not knowing.
The other, a weapon,
wielded with intent.