You tell me a story with a moral. You tell me the story is true, and therefore the moral means something. The moral promises happiness if I follow the steps of the story. I tell you I know a different story with the same moral. My story has different steps, more vague, more malleable, and this appeals to me. I don’t know if the story is true or not, but I know that I like it better than yours. It’s just preference, it’s nothing personal against your story. You stick with yours, I’ll stick with mine and we’ll both get to the same moral at the end. No harm done.
You tell me my story isn’t worth reading, because it’s not true. I can’t actually enjoy my story the way you enjoy yours. I’m just not reading your story right to understand. My story is not credible like yours is, so it must not have the same moral, really. In fact, my moral isn’t a moral at all, it’s just a mush of assumptions I make after reading my story. My story isn’t even printed on paper, it’s just in my head, so what is it worth? Yours is published, so it must be better. The steps of my story don’t match the steps of yours, so they must be wrong, and they can’t lead me to the same moral. That’s just not possible. Your story offers so much more structure, more rigidity, it must be better than mine. Your story’s moral is more exact and defined, while mine is general and basic, so yours must be more credible. I should throw my story away and just read yours from now on until I love it as much as you do, and then I’ll never need another story again.
…Now, take all uses of ‘story’ and replace them with ‘belief,’ and every use of ‘moral’ with ‘god.’ See where I’m coming from now?