Recently, I’ve come to a peculiar crossroad in my path towards maturity that I’m not entirely sure how to cope with. “Emotional, spiritual, and intellectual evolution” is actually the term that I fondly refer to it as. Since shedding the burden of having a significant other and the complications of frequent physical love (the latter not so much a burden, the lack of it being more the parent of a more inward evolution that was borne to fill this void), I’ve found myself delving very deeply into my own mind and the minds of others. I often sit and read, thinking, postulating, and in my own private way, praying.
I’ve come not only to worship the ethereal God of man, but the more secular, personal god of Knowledge. I seek understanding of the world, no longer blindly entrusting my fate to an unseen (yet, to me, somehow undeniably ubiquitous) deity. I cannot, I realized on my short walk down this path, that I cannot truly, sincerely call myself a Christian. I say that, I now know, to simplify my belief structure to those I feel would not understand otherwise. I find far too many holes in their doctrines—Jesus being the Son of God, yet entirely mortal, but somehow capable of otherworldly miracles, as a deity? I find it hard to not, as a literary and budding science fanatic, to read the Bible and take apart these miracles and try to place them into a logical explanation; I try to see the allegoric aspects and interpret the metaphors. Try as I might, I may very possibly just not be adequately adept at translating poetry quite yet to do so. Christians find refuge in these mysteries and I can respect that, but these holes are far too wide for me.
I cannot deny that there does, in fact, exist a divine power that presides over us all, because there is much that science cannot explain. For example, the origin of all life on this planet—Evolution seems the most probable, but it is hard to accept that this just randomly happened without some provocation from somewhere. The Big Bang, a decently reasonable theory could explain where the Earth came from, but where did the Big Bang originate? But I cannot worship a man that walked the land, the same as I—mortal, flesh and blood—for something inexplicable inside of me feels that this would be almost untrue to the God in my heart.
This is not to say that Jesus did not exist, nor that he was unwise—I believe that he was a truly sagacious individual—a radical thinker, a revolutionary and a rebel in his own right—that taught deeply profound tenets. Love thy neighbor as thyself. Honor your family. Love your God. These dogmas are so powerful, so moving, that religions all over the world agree with them. But I quarrel with the idea that he died to relieve me of my sins, presumably Original Sin, when even today, we still have to be baptized to cleanse us of that very same burden.
No, I worship a totally different trinity. I worship knowledge, love, and honor. These three “gods” all intertwine almost perfectly. Knowledge can lead to love, and this love can include anything or anyone—a god, family, friends, lover, et al.—and with this love, in my eyes, honor must come holding its hand, else the love is just pretense.
I’ve come not only to worship the ethereal God of man, but the more secular, personal god of Knowledge. I seek understanding of the world, no longer blindly entrusting my fate to an unseen (yet, to me, somehow undeniably ubiquitous) deity. I cannot, I realized on my short walk down this path, that I cannot truly, sincerely call myself a Christian. I say that, I now know, to simplify my belief structure to those I feel would not understand otherwise. I find far too many holes in their doctrines—Jesus being the Son of God, yet entirely mortal, but somehow capable of otherworldly miracles, as a deity? I find it hard to not, as a literary and budding science fanatic, to read the Bible and take apart these miracles and try to place them into a logical explanation; I try to see the allegoric aspects and interpret the metaphors. Try as I might, I may very possibly just not be adequately adept at translating poetry quite yet to do so. Christians find refuge in these mysteries and I can respect that, but these holes are far too wide for me.
I cannot deny that there does, in fact, exist a divine power that presides over us all, because there is much that science cannot explain. For example, the origin of all life on this planet—Evolution seems the most probable, but it is hard to accept that this just randomly happened without some provocation from somewhere. The Big Bang, a decently reasonable theory could explain where the Earth came from, but where did the Big Bang originate? But I cannot worship a man that walked the land, the same as I—mortal, flesh and blood—for something inexplicable inside of me feels that this would be almost untrue to the God in my heart.
This is not to say that Jesus did not exist, nor that he was unwise—I believe that he was a truly sagacious individual—a radical thinker, a revolutionary and a rebel in his own right—that taught deeply profound tenets. Love thy neighbor as thyself. Honor your family. Love your God. These dogmas are so powerful, so moving, that religions all over the world agree with them. But I quarrel with the idea that he died to relieve me of my sins, presumably Original Sin, when even today, we still have to be baptized to cleanse us of that very same burden.
No, I worship a totally different trinity. I worship knowledge, love, and honor. These three “gods” all intertwine almost perfectly. Knowledge can lead to love, and this love can include anything or anyone—a god, family, friends, lover, et al.—and with this love, in my eyes, honor must come holding its hand, else the love is just pretense.
I fear I haven’t explained effectively.
I have an insatiable thirst for erudition. I pour over pages at a time, for hours at a time, soaking up as much as possible. Absorbing all this information has naturally provided segue for understanding. What I realize now, is that even since childhood, the term I’ve always craved to be referred to as “wise.” So I consumed knowledge day and night, as much as I conceivably could before my body gave way to fatigue. Learning became my sustenance. But I did this for a very different reason as a child, I know, I did it out of pure vanity and obscure arrogance. That has changed. I now pray at night to repent for such a sin— for the selfishness behind it all. But now, I learn to love, and love to learn. I try to understand as much as I can about other things, people and places, because if I know about it, then somewhere in all of that, there is something that I can relate to. If I can possibly relate to it, then I can love it, because what I’m relating to is a part of me and I’m an admittedly very selfish person—just like the rest of the world.
I have an insatiable thirst for erudition. I pour over pages at a time, for hours at a time, soaking up as much as possible. Absorbing all this information has naturally provided segue for understanding. What I realize now, is that even since childhood, the term I’ve always craved to be referred to as “wise.” So I consumed knowledge day and night, as much as I conceivably could before my body gave way to fatigue. Learning became my sustenance. But I did this for a very different reason as a child, I know, I did it out of pure vanity and obscure arrogance. That has changed. I now pray at night to repent for such a sin— for the selfishness behind it all. But now, I learn to love, and love to learn. I try to understand as much as I can about other things, people and places, because if I know about it, then somewhere in all of that, there is something that I can relate to. If I can possibly relate to it, then I can love it, because what I’m relating to is a part of me and I’m an admittedly very selfish person—just like the rest of the world.
Never close your mind to the ideals of another person, even if you don’t like what you are hearing. This person is sharing with you something that he believes, a small part of who he is, something that he loves. By this person showing you this, he has shown you that in a way, he loves you as well. To respond to this love with scorn without asking the necessary questions to ensure your total comprehension is inhuman and cruel.
But this love cannot stand alone. It needs its eternal companion, honor. Honor is a broad term for many things—courage for your object of affection when they are experiencing any sort of travail, shunning any lie, even loyalty to this person when he is alone… I could go on describing my idea of honor, but I fear I’ve been long-winded enough thus far. To forego this trait would be to compromise the authenticity of your feelings towards this person, because the purest of love holds nothing sacred, except the love itself.
I wish many more people could see this as I do, but then again, my fervor and zeal for education is as much as vice as it is a blessing.
Ignorance is not as much bliss as knowledge is misery.
I know, thus, understand, and therefore empathize. I can understand what a person feels, and somewhere inside of me, if this person feels it feverishly enough, I can feel it too. It burns at me like a fire—but this fire was a gift deigned upon us by Prometheus, according to lore, a gift we were never supposed to have. So I am grateful to the Divine that I can feel this pain, as I was never really supposed to understand. I can acknowledge that I am not some pawn in an idol’s perverted chess game, but my own sentient being, struggling to connect to holiness through my mortal ilk and their own perceptions.
