"Gods, too, decompose.
God is dead.
God remains dead.
And we have killed him"
(The
Gay Science, Friedrich Nietzsche 1882)
The
idea that “God is dead” (from the German Gott
ist tot), also referred to as “the death of God,” first appeared as
commentary in 1882 as part of a German publication Die fröhliche Wissenschaft (The Gay Science). Attributed to Friedrich
Wilhelm Nietzsche (1844-1900), a German philosopher, poet and cultural critic, “the meaning of the
phrase is often misunderstood.” Nietzsche did not believe “in a literal death
or end of God.” His concern was more with the “western world’s reliance on
religion as a moral compass and source of meaning.” His philosophy, in general,
was more centered on the idea of “life-affirmation” and a passive, nihilistic point of view.
For some, this statement defined Nietzsche
as an atheist. For others, it “reflects a more subtle understanding of divinity.”
For Nietzsche, it expressed his fear that “the decline
of religion, the rise of atheism, and the absence of a higher moral authority
would plunge the world into chaos.” He recognized that “the western world had
depended on the rule of God for thousands of years” and so religion “gave order
to society and meaning to life.” Nietzsche believed that, without God, “society
will move into an age of nihilism” (complete denial of all established
authority and institutions). He warned that life “will turn away from itself,”
leaving “nothing of value” in this world. Although Nietzsche is considered a
nihilist by definition, he was, however, "critical of it and warned that accepting
nihilism would be dangerous.”
“God is dead. God remains dead. And we have
killed him. Yet his shadow still looms. How shall we comfort ourselves, the
murderers of all murderers? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the
world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this
blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves? What festivals of
atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of
this deed too great for us? Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear
worthy of it?” (The Gay Science, Friedrich
Nietzsche 1882)
The
question “Is God Dead?” appeared on the cover of the April 8th , 1966
edition of Time. The inside article “addressed
growing atheism in America
A May 2011 Gallup poll established that “when given only the choice between
believing and not believing in God, more than 9 in 10 Americans say they do
believe.” The 1 in 10 remaining revealed “they have no formal religious
identity.” Other statistics showed that “a lack of religious identity increased
in every U.S. state between
1990 and 2008,” however, “less than 2% of the U.S. U.S.
adults,” with more than “13 million self-described atheists and agnostics
(nearly 6% of the U.S.
“What can be asserted without proof can be
dismissed without proof.”
(Christopher Hitchens, British-American
author/journalist)
From 2009- 2015, I lived in the heart of Kitchener, Ontario. On
occasion, I would saunter down to the end of my street and seek refuge from my wacky
world in Victoria Park. On a summer day, I usually took a good book and a bag
of treats for my feathered friends. The park is located in the downtown core and tends to act as a gathering
point for bikers, strollers and overheated children. A large splash park, a small
lake and paved paths leading in all directions attract a cornucopia of citizens
out to experience nature in an urban setting. Ducks and geese abound. Children, usually screaming for gratification, attempt to scatter away from their
families throughout the play areas, all the while running through goose poop
and down covered grasses. Schneider
Creek feeds this manmade lake and encourages daytrippers to stop and sit on a bench
to enjoy the view. At the time, and considering Covid-19, I just assumed everyone would be wearing a mask and social distancing. I will also assume that it is okay to still feed the wildlife even though you are not supposed to.
My regular resting place lied just over one of the small bridges that greet you when you explore the park. Near to the small tributaries that feed the wetland, demure islands direct the flow of the quaint waterway. An aging, iron monolith spans the stream leading to solitude. Amid
dense spruce trees, and next to several large flowerbeds, the bench I favoured was secluded
for the most part (or so I thought). This respite always helped to clear my mind and free my spirit. Like a form
of meditation, the time I spent alone in this haven cleansed both my
body and soul. When the wind softly blew and the trees swayed in accord, I closed my eyes and I was taken away. I can hear the rustle of children and parent's calling from the distance. I can once again find a glimmer of peace.
“God is the darkest creature in the universe, sitting on his
throne of perpetual malice. He gives only one answer. Silence is his answer,
always. The silence that surrounds him is the silence that condemns him. This
is no ordinary silence. It’s the silence of eternity. Where did this moral
monster come from? From the mad fantasies of men. He is the empty toy of an
over-indulged, blue-eyed child. The world does not need him.” (Mark Romel, Egyptian writer)
She
cried out from the bridge and quickened her pace towards me. She wasn’t more
than four or five years old, but her vocal chords were already well trained.
She stood only so tall, but her auburn hair was long and free flowing. Her
purple shorts matched her colourful t-shirt; it was painted with white daisies
and fit her ever so tightly. She was slim and energized and did not even notice
me as she ran to the flowerbed just before my position. Her mother followed
right behind. For a moment, I cursed them both under my breath for intruding on
my privacy. Damn the public part of a park!
With
little hesitation, she climbed right into the mass of geraniums and lilies, almost a blend with her colour scheme. She seemed like a sweet little
girl, but man, she sure could scream. Her cries of exuberance were not quite
enchanting, but her joy could be heard throughout the area. You could tell from
her energy that she was thrilled to be amidst the rainbow of plant life. She
walked about the garden rapidly, spying on each blossom, each flower, like it
was a piece of heaven. Her Mom cried out to her, “Carrie, get out of that
garden!” Little miss sunshine simply continued to graze.
Sometimes
when I am not around children I forget how innocent and impeccant they really are.
They never cease to amaze me with their insight. The simplest things are the
most incredible to them. I sat there watching with a smile, despite her banshee
wailings. The echo of them still linger in the air like fog and smoke. Once again, her mother
called out for her to cease and desist, but the sounds of the child's fury outweighed all others. The wee thing bent over, picked herself a lily, and after hiding it
behind her back, then made her way in leaps and bounds to the bench her mother had found for herself. She stopped dead, presented her gift and said, “Mommy, look
what Jesus made.”
“Only sheep need a shepherd.”
(Voltaire - François-Marie Arouet, French
historian and philosopher)
He
must have been at least seventy-five, perhaps even eighty years old. He stood
on the corner with his small wicker basket, nodding to all as they passed his
way. Although limited by the lack of
teeth, he tried to smile nonetheless. It was not that he appeared frayed, by
any means, but his body looked weak beneath an oversized suit jacket
and ill fitting slacks. His hat was dashing, brimmed with a light blue ribbon, and pinched perfectly to each side of his head. Perhaps it had
been Sinatra’s fedora, tossed to the crowd when he played the Toronto C.N.E.
Grandstand in September of 1984. Just maybe as a younger fellow he had reached out
from that crowd of revelers and clutched the prize. It was dapper and it seemed to make this
man.
I
just assumed that the pamphlets he attempted to give each passerby were either
promotional flyers from some business in the area or Watchtower material from
the Jehovah’s Witness temple down the street. Each soul within his reach was
met by a colourful page with wording I could not discern from my vantage
point. With only fifteen minutes left in my lunch break, eye spied this old man
in a sea of people. It was not that he seemed timid, rather he struck me as
unobtrusive, careful not to offend. He was sure to offer each one his gift of
paper, but he never forced it upon anyone. As each message disappeared into an
ocean of irrelevance, he carefully took another and then another, not once
hesitating in his mission. He never spoke a word.
The
wicker basket that held his revelation was made for a fisherman, but the cap to
hold things in tight had been removed and was nowhere to be seen. His shoes
were old, but nothing in comparison to the man himself. Each sole had seen far better
days. Even the obvious polish he had used to hide their scars was aging rapidly
and crumbling from being well worn. Despite his attire, and overall appearance,
I didn’t feel sorry for him. Sometimes people just glow with a form of energy,
an aura if you will. He may have appeared to be one way, but his output was
vibrant. No lack of nimbus could explain his glow away. He radiated, apparently
quite happy to be doing what he was doing. The warm morning sun began to give
way to darker afternoon skies, a harbinger of all the wet that met the rest of
the day. With my free time quickly ending, I dropped my cigarette to the
ground, stood rather quickly and fixed myself as I pressed my boot to ensure my
bad habit would not spread to anything vulnerable. I took one last look at the
man and his hat and started walking in a direction which would not cross his
path. Something overtook me, rapidly reaching inside and suggesting that I turn
around. I could not help myself, I just had to see. As I approached him, he
reached inside his carrying case and pulled out a yellow page. Not two, not
three, but just one perfectly timed to hand me. He nodded, as if offering a hello.
I smiled at him and said “thank you” before I softly walked away, his canary
coloured disclosure in hand. “God loves you and I do too,” was all it had to
say.
“Alone, I often fall down into nothingness.
I must push my foot stealthily lest I should fall off the edge of the world
into nothingness. I have to bang my head against some hard door to call myself
back to the body.” (The Waves,
Virginia Woolf 1931)
She
was mean, bitchy and quite the curmudgeon. She went to services anyway. Long
before my family arrived in Strathroy and began attending the United Church
My
mother used to talk to Dora all the time back when both old girls were alive. Miss
Fortner had taught her English and Poetry when my Mom was in public school. She
only ever had good things to say about her friend. She never understood why I
found the experience of her such a hard pill to swallow. I suppose I have never
really taken to something so bitter. She was friendly enough, and well liked
among our congregation, but I don’t ever remember seeing her smile. The more
people talked about her, the more the newspaper published her work or got her
input into current events, the more I struggled with understanding her
disposition. I mean no disrespect, but every time I ran into her at Church or
saw her out in public, I wondered how she had gotten such a big stick up her butt.
I couldn’t even stand reading her poetry.
When
she died in 1988, the town celebrated her life. The Age made nothing but grand gestures regarding the lady and her
work. My mother cried at the funeral, or so I was told. The Church welcomed her
into heaven with not even a pause to consider it. She had lived most of her life primarily as
a recluse, shielding herself from the world in a rugged home near the flour
mill where my first partner passed away. Her poetry was well received and she
published collections of it throughout her life. Her work in Flights of Fancy (1955) and Daydreams
(1958) made her somewhat of a local celebrity. As an adult, I find her work tactile, observational and pleasant.
People
never cease to amaze me. I am always surprised at what lies beneath our social
façade. In the summer of 1980, I first realized that not everyone is who they
seem. My Mom had arranged for me to take instruction, to be tutored by her
aging friend. I recall being quite intimidated as I knocked on her door. For a
moment, I thought that the house was about to cave in, all creaky and broken and
frail. Inside was like a museum. Antiques and books, so many books, filled the
space. It reminded me of some old professor’s office in those black and white
British movies they used to play on late night TV. She welcomed me into her
home and we headed to the back of the house and her private study. I stepped
inside and I couldn’t believe my eyes. From floor to ceiling stood
Christianity, represented through art and sculpture and literature. Everywhere
you looked, you could tell that Jesus had been there. I would not have been
shocked to have discovered Him under a pile of papers or magazines. Apparently,
there was so much more to Ms. Fortner than met the eye.
"Because you have seen me, you have
believed;
Blessed are those who have not seen and yet
have believed."
(John
20:29, NIV)
I'm not ready to die so I follow Covid-19 protocols the best that I can. I wear double masks in public, socially distance myself and adhere to all stay at home and capacity orders. Work at home has become the new normal. A walk may occur on Sunday evenings, but primarily I only go out only for the essentials. This house is more like an office these days but it is also safe and secure. My lifestyle is irrelevant and I haven't seen my friends in well over a year. Its a strange world. Large groups of people gather against protocol while the rest of us hide from them in our shelters. Truckers demand their right to die and to bring their children along with them for good measure. Churches expose their congregations for the right to worship and have to be closed down to garner any compliance. Of course, then they all whine about the fines while they whine about the mandates then whine that they are going to die. Our reality has changed and apparently now gives people the right to be reckless and negligent but not homophobic, or sexist or racist. Generally speaking, people don't seem to care. It's survival by any means. Such casual disregard is usually at the expense of those who prefer not to be dead.
Originally, it was
my intent to only take the Johnson & Johnson option. I would wait until it
was offered to me. Eventually, blood clots changed my mind very quickly. It is
just what I need, taking something to save me that ends up killing me. This is
one accident prone fella who don't take chances with his health. When the
Pfizer vaccine was finally offered, I let any concerns fall to the wayside. I
felt as if I had no real option other than to face fate or die on a ventilator.
I walked over to the Paris Fairgrounds and appreciated the rather sunny day. I
am not sure if that's ironic. I kept my
appointment, I got in line and then I answered the 387 questions asked before
approval. I then sat in a large hall waiting for the deed to be done.
Approximately, 30 - 40 people filled the
hall (including staff). All in all it took less than half an hour for the entire process including a 15 minute wait after injection. When my time came, I stood up, again waited in line,
then found myself in a simple booth. Just before the syringe, I prepared
myself. I felt like I was about to take the Mark of the Beast.
"The second beast was given power to give breath to the image of the first beast, so that the image could speak and cause all who refused to worship the image to be killed. It also forced all people, great and small, rich and poor, free and slave, to receive a mark on their right hands or on their foreheads, so that they could not buy or sell unless they had the mark, which is the name of the beast or the number of its name. This calls for wisdom. Let the person who has insight calculate the number of the beast, for it is the number of a man. That number is 666." (Revelation 13:15–18, NIV).
People who are guided by prophecy and conspiracy tend to selectively recognize the symptoms. When it comes to the Bible and Christ's return, there are very specific events that must occur before any anti-Christ (or anti-Pope) can rise to power. The rapture must occur. The Jewish Temple must be fully restored. Moses and Abraham are resurrected then murdered, which all the world will see. Any "mark' would result from an established kingdom, not something that is yet to manifest. The Jesus I know stands in great contrast to the very Apocalyptic warrior this Messiah turns out to be when He returns. I took the vaccine well knowing the religious and theological implications. The book of Revelation makes it clear we must choose to take the Mark of the Beast, or be slaughtered. The two are not mutually exclusive. Live or die, you must decide.
Many Christians that I have encountered during the pandemic expressed great concern over the taking of any vaccine and the implications when one does. Magnet to the arm aside, the Covid 19 solution appears to be working to some degree. We are in limbo, in stasis, waiting for the world that will come. I have absolutely no concern. I have conformed to my nonconformity. Most people need something to follow, something to make sense of this life and all the chaos that comes with it. Religion serves that purpose until it does not. Jesus can bring more harm than good. Although I am no longer a member of the Christian fold, I still cling to the occasional scripture to help see me through a struggle. I always manage to find what I am looking for, like signs on a highway or direction from a map.
"Then I saw “a new heaven and a new earth,” for the
first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any
sea. I saw the Holy
City
I
see glimpses of God almost everyday. Since I was young, I have always been in
tune with a presence I could not deny. I am aware of Him, in spite of the harsh
life I have witnessed. I see Him in nature and hear Him in song. God can be found in
children, in the aging, and even in memory. I will not believe that God is
dead. God must live and I believe that He does. No matter where I go I always see the Spirit working through others. People struggle together, try to help each other and generally think in terms of us rather than me. Children are amazed by their environment and strangers wish us a good day. God is not dead rather with us and all lives matter. There is always an indwelling, regardless of one's disposition or lot in life. There is no real choice to make. This world is slightly upside down. It is even a little terrifying, if you ask me. It can be hard to see hope and peace and safety. It can be a challenge to know where you are supposed to be and just exactly what one should believe. Which way are we supposed to go? No matter where I go I am constantly noticing signs of life.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/alunjohn/3314337804/
http://www.time.com/time/covers/0,16641,19660408,00.html
https://www.e-ir.info/2020/08/07/covid-19-conspiracy-theories-and-lacklustre-global-responses/
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