Episteme

I don't really have any elaborate theories on God. I can't really debate with someone whether God exists or not because I go back and forth on that question all the time. (Yes when I am scared, desperate, nervous or mad. No when I am everything else.) I think my lack of elaborate theories or talking points on the subject stems from the fact I don't have a really well developed philosophy around that and I haven't read a lot on that whole are of does-God-exist-and-what-does-it-mean-for-me-kind of thing, so there. If he does, then why do so many horrible things happen? He doesn't, then are we nothing more than highly complex animals ruled by purely by chemical reactions in a universe that is random, cruel and without meaning? That's pretty much it for me. I don't believe that life is entirely random and without meaning, but I do believe this idea, put forward by a former evangelical preacher turned evangelical preacher of the doctrine of inclusivity (as told on This American Life), meaning Jesus loves and forgives everyone and the only hell we should be concerned with is the one we create for ourselves here on Earth.

What I liked about this story is this one man's conversion from literal biblical interpretation to seeing a message of unending love and redemption for everyone, including Hitler. So then I am reading Zadie Smith's White Teeth, which is about those sorts of questions, in a way, but more to do with identity as an immigrant in a new country that is very different from your traditions and how it can radicalize the first generation born in this new country. The issue of God is unifying one, and the characters from "non-Western" places who hold dear to God in the heathen West, I read how they felt lost in a world of lust, sin and more sin (or freedom, love and more freedom?) and think things like (specifically about London), "this place and its demands, its constant cravings, this place where there exists neither patience nor pity, where the people want what they want now..., expecting their lovers, their children, their friends, and even their gods to arrive at little cost and in little time..."

It's true, isn't it, that all this is overkill? That global warming is caused by consuming too much and that we live in age of spiritual emptiness? Did God lead us into Iraq or the folly of a man who believed just that? OK, enough rhetorical questions. We are made to wrestle with these sorts of questions. Progress is defined such things, though not always answered correctly or at the right time. I don't think I'll ever refute the feeling of what WWII ultimately says about humanity, the preacher turned pariah but his own congregation and own community couldn't be more right.

Posted by Dawn at 10:19 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

After almost a year in Mexico, I'm finally buckling down and reading the country's history like it should be read. I wasn't a total slouch, but now, instead of just listening to audio books while I'm on the treadmill and also watching Alyssa Milano get stabbed by a warlock on Charmed, or some such drama, at the same time, I am really reading. Remember that, the thing we used to have time to do in college, when it was an obligation more important than spending eight hours at a desk in a swirly chair or cooking dinner for whoever?

So for me, its a very exciting development, this new habit of reading actual books, and it's introduced me to a whole new world. Among the people I've met are Francisco and Jose. And they aren't just any two dudes -- Francisco I. Madero was the first revolutionary president of Mexico after Porfirio Diaz' three-decade rule at the turn of the century. And Jose was his, um, imaginary friend.

Let me explain. Madero was a spiritual type of guy. He was very religious in a Christian sense and he also started getting into Hinduism by way of the Baghavad Gita. Part of the Gita convinced him that he should not be afraid of death in his struggle for justice (a passage Ghandi would use later on) and he considered himself a "medium" for other voices. One was Jose, another was named Raul, and in one instance it was Benito Jaurez, the 19th-century president who wrote Mexico's first constitution and who got sidelined by Don Porfirio, who was once one of his top military leaders.

I can't help but think it's a little funny. But still, Madero was better than the rest of us, a guy who saw something different that didn't fit into commonly accepted reality. He loved his wife and wrote her affectionate letters while preparing for revolution in the United States. He obeyed Jose when he told the young leader to put everything into the fight - he gave up hours of sleep by working late, getting up early, and giving up his siestas, he stopped drinking, socialized little, and devoted more time to reading Mexican history. Sound like you? Well, maybe if Jose talked to you, you would do it too.

Posted by Kim at 09:15 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)