These “return to God” types are the softest cowards on the planet, desperately clutching their holy binkies because the real world scares the piss out of them. Life got complicated, morality got grey, and instead of stepping up, they mentally regressed to some fantasy where a sky daddy held their hand and told them what’s right. It’s not faith—it’s fear wearing a crucifix. They’d rather believe in invisible rules than face the reality that they’re just another hairless ape spinning on a rock with no divine script. Religion is their emotional support blanket because they can’t handle ambiguity without shitting themselves.
Their whole worldview is built on avoiding the terror of freedom. Real moral agency? Terrifying. Making your own meaning? Unthinkable. So they larp righteousness, scream “degeneracy!” at anything they can’t dominate, and pray for a time machine to take them back to when they didn’t have to think. It’s not just pathetic—it’s psychological weakness masquerading as divine wisdom. They talk like warriors for God, but they’re just scared little boys begging for cosmic babysitting. Cowards. All bark, no spine.