How pep rallies, grades, bullying, and wealth are religious experiences
Intro
We tell ourselves that school is about learning. But beneath the desks and diplomas runs a deeper liturgy: children are trained in rivalry, scarcity, obedience, and wealth-worship long before they enter the adult world. What looks innocent—pep rallies, honor rolls, varsity games—are our culture’s catechisms. If we want a future built on coherence rather than domination, we have to unmask the rituals that raised us.
We think school is about learning. But look closer. The bells, the rows of desks, the pep rallies, the punishments for whispering an answer—these are not neutral. They are liturgies, rituals that train us not in truth, but in culture and even empire.
The Normalization of Violence
Children learn violence early, not through weapons, but through chants. “Fight, fight, fight!” Pep rallies sanctify rivalry. Mascots embody tribal identities. Winning is exalted; losing is shame.
It feels harmless—“school spirit”—but beneath it lies the catechism:
Identity comes through opposition.
Belonging requires an enemy.
Joy can be found in domination.
The Classroom as Temple
Everyday schooling mirrors religious ritual:
Bells as church bells.
Desks in rows as pews.
Teachers as priests.
Grades as sacraments of worth.
And the creed is clear: competition is more sacred than truth. Whisper an answer to another student, and both are punished. Not because the answer was wrong, but because cooperation threatens the liturgy of rivalry.
Even attendance is ritualized. Perfect attendance is rewarded as holiness. Compliance itself is treated as sacred.
The Cult of Scarcity
Exams, rankings, scholarships, admissions—all teach the same lesson: worth is scarce, success is zero-sum. Life becomes a contest where one’s gain is another’s loss.
Graduation robes and solemn processions mark ordination into the empire’s priesthood. Scarcity, cloaked in pageantry, becomes destiny.
Scaling Competition into Sacredness
Empire’s genius is not only to normalize competition but to scale it:
Individual: spelling bees, grades, test scores.
Group: rows vs. rows, teams in gym class.
Class: whole classrooms against each other.
School: freshmen vs. seniors, junior varsity vs. varsity.
Community: The Varsity game—the cathedral service.
At that game, the banners wave, bodies are painted, hymns are sung, the whole town assembles. Violence is sanctified as meaning.
This ladder of rivalry is the same ladder that built our gods: from tribal deities to national gods, to “the Lord of H
osts.” Competition scaled upward until divinity itself became varsity—the biggest game, the highest stakes.
Testing as Ritual Submission
Standardized tests mimic worship:
Rows of bowed heads.
Demanded silence.
Proctors as priests.
Detention is miniature prison. The lesson is clear: time itself can be taken as punishment. Authority is absolute.
Bullying as Leadership School
Empire crowns its apprentices early. Bullies are rarely treated as corruption of the system—they are often praised as “leaders.” Aggression is recast as charisma. Cruelty becomes popularity.
Schools protect order, not justice. Victims are told to toughen up. The strong are admired. This is how empire breeds its generals, CEOs, tyrants—those who dominate without shame.
Wealth as Sacred Authority
Status is purchased: shoes, cars, gadgets, trips, neighborhoods. Privilege buys protection and prestige. Children learn that worth can be bought, that wealth is destiny, that inequality is natural.
School becomes empire’s first temple of wealth-worship.
God in Our Own Image
Here is the theological revelation: when humans invent gods, we shape them in the image of the world we know.
The classroom produces a god who grades.
The empire produces a god who conquers.
Empire’s god is a cosmic schoolmaster who:
Rewards obedience.
Punishes “cheating.”
Praises winners.
Condemns questioners.
This is not divine revelation. It is projection. We sanctified the very structure of the classroom. God became the eternal examiner in the sky, grading us forever.
The Mask of Innocence
Adults bless it as harmless: “healthy competition,” “character-building,” “preparing kids for life.” But it is not innocence. It is indoctrination. Empire doesn’t only train soldiers in barracks. It trains children in classrooms.
The Cost
By graduation, hierarchy feels natural. Scarcity feels inevitable. Rivalry feels holy. Wealth feels sacred. Empire has discipled us without our knowing.
The Refusal
These hidden liturgies are not harmless—they are catechisms of empire. They must be unmasked.
And we can begin to imagine new liturgies where:
Cooperation is sacred.
Truth matters more than victory.
Worth is abundant.
Care defines leadership.
Questioning is devotion, not rebellion.
Toward Sacred Coherence
If we could create gods to sanctify domination, we can also create meaning that sanctifies life. That is the threshold before us.
We no longer need liturgies of rivalry. We need liturgies of coherence. We no longer need a god who grades us. We need a way of living that calls truth sacred, care holy, and shared life worthy of reverence.
Empire taught us to chant for victory.
What if we tried chanting for coherence?