As we look to the heavens for answers, we must also examine the ancient texts that shape our beliefs—and ask whether they truly reflect the greatness of the God we claim to follow.

Did God create this vast, awe-inspiring universe—or did it all happen by chance, as some scientists propose? Most Africans, without hesitation, will respond, “Of course, God created it,” and quickly move on. But the real conversation shouldn’t end there.

Instead of asking whether the universe sprang from a random event, we must ask a deeper question—one that challenges both faith and reason. After all, scientists who suggest randomness do not cling to the idea dogmatically. In fact, they constantly test, revise, and discard theories when new evidence arises. They welcome better explanations, whether they arrive in a century or ten millennia.

But many believers don’t do the same. They cling tightly to sacred texts, refusing to release even one outdated verse. This difference in mindset highlights a deeper issue.

Do Our Ancient Texts Match the Glory of Creation?

Given all we now understand about the cosmos—its scale, its complexity, its ever-expanding beauty—do our holy books truly honor the kind of intelligence that could create such a universe? Or do these scriptures, written by people who barely understood the Earth beneath their feet, shrink the divine into a limited, human-like figure?

Across every major religion, the same pattern emerges: holy books written in ancient times, filled with stories that mirror folklore more than science. Yet people treat these books as flawless and final. While scientists openly say, “This is what we know so far,” religious adherents often say, “This is the unchanging truth—forever.”

And that’s where the problem begins.

What Happens When the Text Becomes Infallible?

Consider this: no matter how far science advances—even if we terraform Mars or grow children in artificial wombs orbiting Jupiter—many believers will still insist on the literal truth of doctrines like the virgin birth. Some will defend it to the death. Others will kill to protect it.

At some point, we must ask an uncomfortable but necessary question: what if the problem isn’t just how people interpret these scriptures—but the scriptures themselves?

If I write a book, and my readers begin attacking others based on what they believe I meant, shouldn’t we also interrogate the book? If its central figure engages in violence—and followers copy him—shouldn’t we reconsider what we call sacred?

Lately, I’ve been reading the Old Testament. And frankly, the parallels between its stories and today’s violence—especially in places like the Middle East—are disturbing.

A God Who Destroys, Commands War, and Demands Blood

From Genesis to Samuel, we see a divine character committing or commanding acts that, by modern standards, are shocking. In Genesis 6–8, for instance, God drowns nearly all life on Earth. Why? Because humans disappointed Him. That He supposedly created them in His image makes the act even more baffling. Humanity, ever since, has followed this example—erasing lives they did not create, believing they’re justified in doing so.

In Genesis 19, God incinerates Sodom and Gomorrah. In Exodus, He sends ten plagues on Egypt, including the slaughter of innocent firstborn children. In the books of Numbers, Deuteronomy, and Joshua, He orders the extermination of entire communities—men, women, and children alike—as the Israelites conquer Canaan. And in 1 Samuel 15, He commands the complete destruction of the Amalekites.

Biblical scholars have spent centuries justifying these events, labeling them “righteous” or “necessary.” But when we compare those stories to today’s headlines—bombed cities, displaced people, dead children—the resemblance becomes too glaring to ignore.

The scriptures are not just relics of the past. People still live by them. People still kill by them.

We Desperately Need a New Sacred Vision

So where does that leave us?

If no one is writing a new holy book—one that reflects our highest moral hopes rather than our darkest tribal instincts—maybe someone should. And if you believe you have that calling, perhaps this is your moment.

Because I recently had a realization while reading the Bible: maybe the issue isn’t with us. Maybe it’s with the book. Maybe we’ve spent too long trying to outgrow a document that was never meant to grow with us.

And we—who proudly call ourselves “people of the book”—have failed to rise above it.

It makes no difference whether you follow the Bible, the Quran, the Bhagavad Gita, or an ancient scroll hidden in some desert cave. You are only as enlightened as the book that guides you.

For generations, humanity has followed these texts, obeyed their rules, and revered their prophets. Many have done so with sincere devotion. Yet despite this obedience, violence, inequality, and division persist.

Rewriting Faith for a Better Future

Of course, some have tried to revise and modernize these scriptures. But their efforts often fail—not because they lack good intentions, but because the foundation they’re working with is too fragile. A few edits threaten to unravel the entire belief system.

Let’s take the Bible—particularly the Old Testament. In that book, God is the main character. He is to the Bible what Okonkwo is to Things Fall Apart: the centerpiece. But unlike Okonkwo, God is to be revered, imitated, and obeyed. And therein lies the danger.

The divine actions described in scripture—mass killings, holy wars, divine retribution—still echo in the way many followers think and act today. They justify bloodshed with chapter and verse. They echo ancient commands in modern contexts. The result? A cycle of violence, zealotry, and injustice, often carried out in God’s name.

Read those verses today and they sound like war reports from Gaza or drone strike updates from Israel. The weapons may have changed. But the words—and the cruelty—remain unchanged.

The Courage to Move Beyond the Old Words

So let’s face the truth: the book is the problem.

We need to let go of these ancient scripts—not out of disrespect, but out of hope for something better. We need a new sacred text—one that imagines a God who inspires peace, nurtures compassion, and models the very humanity we aspire to.

Anything less, and we’re just recycling conflict, praying for peace with one hand while holding a weapon with the other—quoting verses that once sanctioned conquest and death.

We must ask ourselves: are we honoring God by clinging to these violent scriptures? Or are we trapping divinity in the limitations of human fear and vengeance?

Let us write a new story. Let us envision a new God. Let us become better than the books we inherited.

Because unless we rise above them, we are bound to repeat them.

Rudolf Ogoo Okonkwo teaches Post-Colonial African History, Afrodiasporic Literature, and African Folktales at the School of Visual Arts in New York City. He hosts the Dr. Damages Show. His books include This American Life Sef and Children of a Retired God. His next release is titled Why I’m Disappointed in Jesus.