There’s a strange peace in how money behaves. It neither prays nor blasphemes. It circulates, quietly indifferent to the altars and idols around which people organize their lives. Whether you bow east or west, chant hymns or hum music, money moves with the same rhythm. It doesn’t care who folded it first, only who holds it now.
Walk through a bustling market in Varanasi, Jerusalem, or New York, and you’ll see this quiet truth in motion. The same currency buys faith candles and Friday night drinks, funds temples or fuels mafias. It enables corruption in holy lands just as readily as it builds cathedrals—flowing through cartels in Mexico or bribes in Vatican corridors without pause. Money doesn’t discriminate between offering plates and hedge funds, or between saints and sinners; it simply flows toward need, value, or greed. That’s why it’s agnostic: so impartial that it empowers every act, noble or vile.
Religions themselves reveal money’s deeper role. Vast fortunes accumulate in church coffers through tithing and donations—The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints holds nearly $300 billion in assets from member contributions, while others like Tirumala Tirupati Devasthanams manage $31 billion in gold and properties. These systems are designed to channel wealth upward, sustaining leaders and institutions that preach from pulpits built on ledgers. Money doesn’t reject faith; it propels it.
And yet, to call money atheist would be wrong. Atheism requires rejection; money doesn’t reject—it serves. It recognizes no gods, but it enables every act in their name, from divine charities to hierarchical empires. It cannot believe, yet it participates in belief every day. That’s its paradox.
Money is agnostic because it belongs everywhere, fueling good and ill alike. But not atheist, because it never stands apart. It’s always kneeling, somewhere, in someone’s wallet.
Money is Agnostic but not Atheist.
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