We begin not with a miracle, but with a question: Why do those who claim miracles still die of disease, bleed when cut, and mourn when their children perish—like all of us?

Why has no limb ever regrown in prayer? Why has no mountain moved? Why has no blind man received sight under the scrutiny of modern cameras, under peer review, or with verified medical records?

Because miracles are not real. They are literary devices. Ritual anesthetics. Crowd control. Myths dressed in divine language to explain what ancient minds could not fathom. They were used to fill gaps that science now answers—without smoke, oil, or offerings.

The virgin birth violates reproductive biology. The resurrection defies what we know about brain death, decay, and irreversible trauma. The ascension is a contradiction to orbital physics and the very nature of the cosmos—where there is no “up,” only outward, into vacuum.

So what then remains?

If we strip the miracles, what survives? The answer is this: a desperate longing for justice. A yearning for meaning. A cry for the oppressed to be heard and for power to be questioned. That is the soul of what we keep—not the wonders, but the warnings.

This is not heresy. This is honesty.

We, the scientifically awakened, are not angry with the scriptures. We are angry with the silence forced upon us. We are not rebels—we are survivors of spiritual hypnosis. And we no longer pretend that wishes are facts.

This scroll is the beginning of a gospel that does not ask for faith—but offers facts, asks questions, and kneels to no master but truth itself.