Down in London last Saturday I passed a rally in Trafalgar Square. Having just eaten at the Texas Embassy and had a Mexican beer (always liquid fuel for philosophical thought on past form) I was feeling pretty good. However the speaker was talking about happiness and the banner in front of his podium had the word Gospel.
Life cannot really be less without accepting that someone was tortured to death, and that their death on a wooden beam allows humans to be worthy. It makes me rather unhappy to think that an other’s death due to religious intolerance as the ultimate scapegoat is the basis on which the validity of the human race depends – our actions meaningless without accepting the dogma of the economy of salvation.
This dogma makes me sad. The idea that Jesus proved Satan wrong – that it was possible for a man to live in a way that Adam failed – seemed a better one when I studied the bible. But then, according to that study Jesus was born only of woman – and in a previous incarnation was the first of all creation. According to scripture this was man plus – one that has never walked the earth before or since with such timeless first hand knowledge and supernatural power. The Christian role model is a hard act to follow, and morally speaking sometimes questionable when it comes to family and the destruction of those that disagree with you.
In the Jose Mestre blog someone is offering to send me more Jehovah’s Witnesses literature – stressing the hope and comfort the teachings give. Yet the hope and comfort I get in life comes from something greater then the supposed authority of the Gospels. It comes from the fact that many people will speak out because of injustice, even if it means their death. That as a people, sometimes against insurmountable odds, we shall reach beyond what is deemed possible for the betterment of ourselves.
Life has it’s highs and lows. The good times and the bad – and we can be fixated on particular moments, chained to them as a prisoner or drunk on their memory like a maturing wine in the cellar that we keep getting drunk on – not moving out of the rut. Happiness is indeed a quality that makes the human condition bearable.
The happiness that day in London was being able to see people I disagree with being able to talk without fear of imprisonment; to be able to eat a good meal; to go to a book shop without fear of censorship. And joy for my friend and her husband who I found out in London are expecting their first child.