It has almost become a national obsession to live in two universes at the same time.
One of them, of course, is the ordinary world where we were born, grew up, work, grow old, and die. The other one is usually religious; a remarkable variety of gods, spirits, value systems, and supernatural real estate: heavens, hells, animal spirits, ghosts, gremlins, and goblins.
The natural world has been here for a very long time. The supernatural worlds are the inventions of primitive human beings, trying to make sense of things they did not understand. Maybe there were spirits in the trees. Maybe the sea was angry. Who knew what a great power the sun was, or why, sometimes, it went dark during the day?
Being born was a mystery, and dying was fearful. Sometimes they sent tools with the dead for use in the next life, and sometimes they killed horses and servants and young girls to accompany and comfort the dead. It was awful, but we learned, slowly.
We learned how the world works, but we never quite forgot those bizarre, early beliefs. In primitive societies everywhere, and in civilized worlds sometimes, people still live in a world of ghosts and spirits, gods and demons, and believe in heavens where stables of virgins wait for those who die heroically, blowing themselves to hell. It is probable that most Americans still live, part-time, in one of those other worlds.
We speak incessantly of being a chosen people, of obeying God, not man. We quote Moses and Jesus and Muhammed, say that we have heard holy spirits or demonic spirits speak to us, and wonder whether the people we elect to office believe in the correct gods or leprechauns. Some even wonder whether it is possible to be a loyal American without professing a fundamentalist christian faith.
It is primitive and debilitating.
We should, rather, celebrate what we have learned, and are still learning, about the world and how it works, and be eager to learn more. We should be afraid, only, of the notion that Neanderthal or Babylonian myths, or Michele Bachmann, has the best alternative universe.
There are people who still try to read hurricanes or east coast earthquakes as messages from the gods, for their clues about budget deficits or health care plans. Politicians tell us, with perfectly straight faces, that they consulted with their gods before they decided to run for office, or before they voted aye or nay on raising the debt limit.
Oh, dear god, please do something about our educational system! Maybe send down some new curriculum guidelines, and manna for lunch!
Listen for the thunder! Let me know what you hear.
One of them, of course, is the ordinary world where we were born, grew up, work, grow old, and die. The other one is usually religious; a remarkable variety of gods, spirits, value systems, and supernatural real estate: heavens, hells, animal spirits, ghosts, gremlins, and goblins.
The natural world has been here for a very long time. The supernatural worlds are the inventions of primitive human beings, trying to make sense of things they did not understand. Maybe there were spirits in the trees. Maybe the sea was angry. Who knew what a great power the sun was, or why, sometimes, it went dark during the day?
Being born was a mystery, and dying was fearful. Sometimes they sent tools with the dead for use in the next life, and sometimes they killed horses and servants and young girls to accompany and comfort the dead. It was awful, but we learned, slowly.
We learned how the world works, but we never quite forgot those bizarre, early beliefs. In primitive societies everywhere, and in civilized worlds sometimes, people still live in a world of ghosts and spirits, gods and demons, and believe in heavens where stables of virgins wait for those who die heroically, blowing themselves to hell. It is probable that most Americans still live, part-time, in one of those other worlds.
We speak incessantly of being a chosen people, of obeying God, not man. We quote Moses and Jesus and Muhammed, say that we have heard holy spirits or demonic spirits speak to us, and wonder whether the people we elect to office believe in the correct gods or leprechauns. Some even wonder whether it is possible to be a loyal American without professing a fundamentalist christian faith.
It is primitive and debilitating.
We should, rather, celebrate what we have learned, and are still learning, about the world and how it works, and be eager to learn more. We should be afraid, only, of the notion that Neanderthal or Babylonian myths, or Michele Bachmann, has the best alternative universe.
There are people who still try to read hurricanes or east coast earthquakes as messages from the gods, for their clues about budget deficits or health care plans. Politicians tell us, with perfectly straight faces, that they consulted with their gods before they decided to run for office, or before they voted aye or nay on raising the debt limit.
Oh, dear god, please do something about our educational system! Maybe send down some new curriculum guidelines, and manna for lunch!
Listen for the thunder! Let me know what you hear.
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