From Dreams to Who Knows Where

Night before last I had a series of dreams about three large trays of things that were put in front of me, apparently for me to do something with – to sort out, perhaps? The same trays appeared in turn more than once, but even so the memory faded quickly. I associate the things on the trays with charcoal briquettes, poker chips, fragments of stone, bits and pieces of this and that. “Junk” comes to mind. I felt I was supposed to deal with all those things, but I rebelled and said, “No, just let it fall as it may. Do as you like.” The feeling was that I’d had enough, that I was courageously refusing to take responsibility for all this stuff that was put on my plate by . . . what? A “higher power”?

It was in that context that I had a new feeling of fearlessness that expressed itself in a kind of flippancy in addressing the “higher power”. It was as if I were recognizing a greater power in my own self, as well as a dependable helper which some might call “spirit guide” or “guardian”. . . a helpful power which assists, protects, heals.

My attitude was something like, “Look, I’m tired of this nonsense. I’m part of the stars and galaxies. I’m at home everywhere.”

My disrespect reminds me of the concept that we are gods, as well as an ancient idea I read recently that God was created to serve man and not vice versa.

The traditional Christian religions encourage an attitude of humble fearfulness toward which I thumbed my nose with my defiant flippancy. “A neurotic goes through life as if constantly expecting to be spanked.” Regardless of the pretty words about love, and that fact that one can now see Roman Catholic priests prancing down aisles playing guitars, the traditional idea of organized Christian religions has been: “Do exactly as we tell you and you’ll be all right, but you’ll be in terrible trouble forever if you don’t obey.”

The very fact that the God is addressed so often with the word “merciful” implies that He might not be. Those in a position to exercise mercy are conquerors and despots.

I’m belaboring the obvious, but I want to put my last night’s sense of fearlessness in perspective. If you have read FLIGHTS OF PEGASUS you know that I write a lot about spirit and afterlife in a non-Christian context . . . but in many of us there are still thorns of childhood indoctrination that need to be dissolved and that have not been replaced by any similarly authoritative explanation of how the universe works. My emphasis here is on “authoritative”. We exchange the certainty of paternalistic, authoritative, fear-enforced dogma for unanchored wondering about the endless mysteries of existence.

Don’t misunderstand me: Wondering is the preferable way to go, and fleeing back to authority and dogma would be surrendering to fear. But how fortunate are those who were never inculcated with terrible ideas in the first place!

How is it that the rule of fear and pain seems to have triumphed in so many religions? Is it because fear is inherent in the human condition? Or is it because those who want to dominate a tribe quickly discover the power of frightening people with threats from “supernatural” beings regarding whom the priest or ruler claims some special knowledge and relationship? The strength of a priest or king can be put to the test, but there is no limit to the strength of an invisible, imaginary power.

The core of fear in Christianity has obviously been the fear of hell, of damnation in some form. Which makes me wonder about an ideology like Judaism, in which I understand there is no hell, or even an afterlife. Jewish holy days don’t involve the components of some kind of cosmic “salvation” as much as celebrating historical events in which the Jews’ enemies were overcome or killed. And they have a legalistic aspect, as in the annual Kol Nidre prayer which I just discovered, which is said in synagogues on Yom Kippur (the Day of Atonement):

‘All vows obligations, oaths, and anathemas, whether called 'ḳonam,' 'ḳonas,' or by any other name, which we may vow, or swear, or pledge, or whereby we may be bound, from this Day of Atonement until the next (whose happy coming we await), we do repent. May they be deemed absolved, forgiven, annulled, and void, and made of no effect; they shall not bind us nor have power over us. The vows shall not be reckoned vows; the obligations shall not be obligatory; nor the oaths be oaths.’

Jewish comedians joke about being guilt-ridden, but what is the source of their guilt? Guilt seems a close relative of fear. Can you suffer much from guilt if you don’t think something bad might happen to you because of what you did to cause the guilt? Society associates guilt with punishment . . . but without damnation, where is the punishment? Is the penalty suffering illness or poverty in this life, or an early death? And if the latter, by what mechanism can priests or their equivalent take advantage of such fears to keep the tribe in line? I think of the Old Testament Hebrew prophets and their frequent warnings that their tribe will be punished if it doesn’t obey the laws laid down by the tribal god. And the prophecies of punishments for Hebrew disobedience came true again and again – but they were earthly punishments, not afterlife punishments. Can the constant threat of earthly punishments be as effective as the threat of eternal punishment in an afterlife? I doubt it.

This meandering post is definitely not meant to answer questions, but instead to ask them. I’m hoping for comments.