The Other Side

And on the other side of the journey, we found judgement. It's often quoted, that old phrase, "Judge not, lest ye be judged." But the point really is that whatever you use on others, you also will receive; that much is clear. You will get back what you give out, in spades.

So should we then not use judgement?

No, we should. It is the critical faculty of being; all sentient beings use their judgement, some more formally than others. To not judge is to not live; to judge is to be judged. This is an unpalatable choice for those who would rather not be judged; it is par for the course if you don't mind.

When people tell me not to judge them, I shrug. It's impossible to not judge others; one can try, however, not to be judgemental — to not ALWAYS be judging others with the intent of deciding moral truths about them.

Besides, it's amusing to see that those who don't believe in judgement are the ones who are most sensitive to the deployment of this non-existent thing.

Inquest

And so Wolff (who once was a Knight of the Citadel) went up onto a hill, and he looked across the Valley of Hinnom, and he saw the hosts gathered at the Time of Contact. And he, being a herald learned and efficacious, saw the portent of the messages that were sent from Inquisitor to Inquisitor — and yet the Grand Inquisitor was not there.

For his health, the rumours said, he had been sent to the Isle of Sleep. But Wolff knew he was not there. For his mind, other rumours said, he had been sent to the Isle of Peace. But Wolff knew he was not there. For his heart, yet other rumours said, he had been sent to the Isle of Forgiveness. And Wolff wondered if that might yet be the end of the story.

But at the Citadel, the Black Seat was empty, and no man sat at the head of the Black Altar of Administration. Quietly, the Ladies of the Chamber went about their tasks, although they did not speak of Michelangelo, the archangel with the flaming sword.

Wolff felt a deep melancholy, that it should have come to this. For the Citadel, headless in a time of war, and with the places of rank filled by those who could not fill them, it was an evil star indeed.

Yet, as he remembered the times of Inquisition and Trial, he felt a measure of satisfaction. For all things come to those who stand and wait, and he had stood and waited long enough.

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Note: The fictional adventures of Sir Wolff do provide much that is of interest. You can find them linked here. Just ignore the one about earwax. That was an accident.

Punishment for Sin

It's always interesting to discuss Christianity with Christians. The main reason for this is that most Christians, being human, are pagans at heart. Their instincts are contra-biblical, so to speak, and never more so than when they talk about the just punishment (in this world) for misdeeds.

Normally, their main line of argument, whenever something bad happens, is to blame it on collective sin, ancestral sin, or personal sin. A recent example of this was blaming the Haiti earthquake disaster on alleged national Satanism. I've even heard that the reason one man had to have a heart bypass was because of the wrongs he had done to others. All this is plainly inconsistent with Christian scriptures.

To all Christians who pursue this unhealthily pagan obsession with finger-pointing, I simply suggest a thorough re-reading of the Bible in general. Sometimes, I point to the books of Job (where five different explanations for such phenomena all meet the disapproval of God), Ecclesiastes ("...time and chance happen to them all..." and other paradoxes of why good people get bad things happening to them while evil people don't), Romans ("...all have sinned..." and hence everyone should be visited by random disasters, I suppose) and the Gospels. Sometimes, I get tired of pointing to all the many cases where the Bible tells its readers that being born blind, or being shipwrecked, or being in a tower that collapses, has nothing to do with being in a state of sin.

The one comeback that I've found most common is a quotation from Exodus, often taken out of context, in which God says that he visits the sins of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation. To such people, I point out that the entire Mosaic code is a legal contract. Essentially, if your forefathers did something bad, somebody normally had to pay the price. This is especially clear when people read the Ten Commandments and stop at Exodus 20.

For example, there's an injunction (Exodus 20:12) that goes, "Honour thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the LORD thy God giveth thee." It is also known as the Fifth Commandment, the only one with a promise attached. But it is also a logical threat, if you read the elaboration of Exodus 20 that continues into Exodus 21 and beyond. If you read Exodus 21:15,17, these verses say, "And he that smiteth his father, or his mother, shall be surely put to death... And he that curseth his father, or his mother, shall surely be put to death." Well, that explains why dishonouring your parents will make your days short, doesn't it?

The Ten Commandments are of course the most frequently taken-out-of-context statements of the Bible, although they aren't the only ones. People get embroiled with varying interpretations of 'Thou shalt not kill' (the Sixth Commandment) even though subsequent passages and books clearly differentiate between a) manslaughter, b) accidental killing, c) 'lying in wait', d) military operations sanctioned by higher authority, and so on.

The problem really is selective retention of a collective whole. The Bible's legal code is as consistent as anything else can be said to be consistent, and is remarkably liberal for its time once you read it as the contract it is meant to be part of. It is this burden of massive legal contract which prompted St Peter to say in Acts 15, "Now therefore why tempt ye God, to put a yoke upon the neck of the disciples, which neither our fathers nor we were able to bear?" as the answer to whether Gentile converts should obey the Mosaic law.

The first key point of Christianity, with respect to sin and punishment, really is that if everyone is a sinner, then retribution should fall on everyone. It is like failing a pass/fail test; you can fail by 1 mark, 10 marks, or get a big fat zero — but a fail is a fail and you will suffer the penalties.

The second key point of Christianity, is that an unbelievable and unjust and undeserved general amnesty has been declared. No matter how much you failed by, you get a pass. Maybe not a distinction, but a pass. This of course will irritate people who have passed by working hard, but since the Examiner has decided to do it, you can't complain (see the parable of the workers in the vineyard, Matthew 20).

A Christian is technically one who claims that amnesty. It can be claimed by just walking up to the Examiner and saying two things: 1) I admit I have failed (hence, I qualify for the amnesty), 2) I believe you have the administrative right to grant that amnesty and I want it from you. Most people don't believe it is so easy.

But this is exactly what should happen if you follow the basic premise of why the amnesty is given. According to the Christian Bible, God wants everyone to pass. If you cannot pass on your own merit, you have to ask for the amnesty. The catch is twofold and completely based on faith. Firstly, there is no direct evidence of what your score really is — you are only told that everyone fails. Secondly, there is no direct evidence that you need the amnesty (or even, that the amnesty exists or works as advertised).

To me, what's really interesting is the different ways humans interpret this situation. Sometimes, I think to myself, "That's a great deal, why don't more people take it up?" This is often answered by, "What deal?" or "I'm sure to pass!" or "There's no test, there's only a great deal of schooling for no final reason."

Perhaps this is why so many people insist on one of two main ideas: for every human sin, there must be some sort of retribution; and, there's no such thing as retribution—all disasters are just the logical effects of people being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The idea of undeserved benefit is an alien one, even though it crops up often enough in human society.

Word Of The Day: Selah

The Hebrew word 'selah' is found more than 70 times in the Psalms. Its meaning is hidden, but in my studies, I have come to think of it as a word equivalent to the idea 'from here to eternity'. It is a kind of rainbow bridge, symbolic of permanence and yet of dynamism. It establishes a present moment, and yet indicates what certainly has been and is certainly to come.

In recent days I have heard exposition of Psalms 23, 90, 91, 94 and 127. The integrity and humanity of the Psalms, regardless of content, are obvious and yet unusual characteristics. Despite being divinely oriented and inspired, they are humanly crafted, with an occasional eye for vengeance and personal displeasure. There is something gleeful, for example, in the 23rd Psalm when it says, "Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies." But that particular statement deserves (and receives) no 'selah'.

And yet, all that is not the point. The point is that while the Psalmist (whichever one wrote a particular psalm) occasionally takes digs at his personal foes, his reliance in God for all things in their good time is the bottom line. The Psalmist might wish all manner of nasty things to happen — and does indeed sometimes call upon the Lord to inflict them on his foes — but still believes that whatever God decides, it will be just and complete. It will bridge the past and the future while establishing the meaning of the present.

I have never publicly been accused of being a bad teacher before. Yes, I am conscious that I have not always been the best or most appropriate teacher to my students. For that, there is certainly some penalty to be paid, and I accept that. I have come out of classrooms sometimes with the horrible feeling that my lesson was not a very good one. But I don't think that I am totally a bad teacher. Yet, all that is just as much not the point. It is God who will judge how good or bad I was (am?) as a teacher, and I will leave it to Him. Selah.

Mockery And Judgement

I remember that in late 2004, I was being pilloried for the contents of this blog. Those contents are still there for you to see, if you're wondering why this should be so. At that time, I remember distinctly the phases of emotional sensation that passed through me.

First, I was amused. I could not believe that people were reading it the way they claimed they were. I could not believe that rational people could do that, anyway. It did not help when the Inquisition got its facts wrong. But then, they were the inquisition, and I was being put to the question. Lesson: the Inquisition cannot bear to be wrong.

Secondly, I was furious. I could not believe they were charging me on the basis of their misinterpretations. I could not believe that they were actually taking a line of peculiar interpretation, applying it in defiance of all hermeneutic principles of analysis, and using it to club me over the head and gag me. Lesson: the Inquisition will always claim the higher ground.

Thirdly, I was defensive. Perhaps, this was my undoing. I believed I was perfectly right in what I had said, that there was no wrong in it. And in a technical sense, I was indeed right. However, I learnt something. If the Inquisition could be misled, it must indeed be true that what I had written was misleading. Lesson: the Inquisition are people too.

Fourthly, I was repentant. If I had misled anyone, no matter what they were or who they were, I was guilty. Whether the rational man-in-the-street, so beloved of law and criminal justice, interpreted me correctly or not, the fact remained that at least three people were confused and two angry about it. Lesson: the Inquisition sets the tone, regardless.

And so, I stepped down from any authority of position I held. I could not totally divest myself of personal authority or the authority of skill and knowledge, but I voluntarily and in a spirit of reconciliation stepped down. I apologised to the community, and I meant every word of my apology. And there the matter rested for a while. But in my heart and mind, I remembered one last lesson: the Judgement of Gamaliel.

In Acts 5:17-42, the apostles were arrested for preaching about Christ. I claim no such apostolic status, and neither was I blogging about exalted matters. But the principle of Gamaliel's judgement remains the same for all unclear and ambiguous cases of new social phenomena: "And now I say unto you, Refrain from these men, and let them alone: for if this counsel or this work be of men, it will come to nought: But if it be of God, ye cannot overthrow it; lest haply ye be found even to fight against God."

I make no such claims, I say again, about apostolic legacy. However, I would put these questions, given the opportunity, to the Inquisition: Did you apply the principle of Gamaliel's judgement to my case? Has my blogging enlightened or darkened the world of men? Why did you think what I said was harmful despite the fact that at least one of you admitted it was truth?

The fact is this: God is not mocked, or deceived about the truth – what a man sows, he also will reap. The whole lesson of this episode, for the Inquisition as well as for myself, can be found in Galatians 6:1-10. I fully expect to be rewarded or condemned accordingly. In the meantime, I also know that this applies to all of us, every man and woman alike. God have mercy on us all.

Boyz

Some boys never change. They still get drunk, make jokes about who can't take his liquor, say naughty things about the ladies that they would never do while sober and in public. It is the dark side of childhood, and sometimes, for those who feel the gnawing spiritous need, it carries over into adulthood.

And some do. They grow up and try very hard to be gentlemen. Not that it always works, and sometimes the trying is painful to see. This too is a grievous misfortune.

Many tread the fine line in between. They get drunk and regret it; they are gentlemen without a cause; or they are not sure what they are, except that the old days were better than these.

Most will rationalise everything away. One thing outweighs another, one crime is small when buried beneath the rest of humanity's load. And who is to judge in the end? Certainly, not I.

The Greater Trumps: (28) Judgement

The Trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, says that venerable Book of Books. Indeed, this image shows a sea of graves, a sea of waves, a crystal sea - and the dead rising. Above all things and to one side stands an angel, who looks suspiciously like the Fool of the first trump. For this is the Judgement, and at the vanishing point of perspective, in the hallowed and infinite distance, is a great throne, hidden in pure light.

It is not only the dead who rise, but the images of the past, of all hidden things being called forth to face the Judgement. This is no mere transformation from one state to another, but irrevocable change without continuity - an apocalypse, an apostrophe, perhaps a catastrophe or eucatastrophe. Not everyone wishes for Judgement; some have things to hide. But this image signals that the time for hiding is over, that all things are made plain, and old things are raised so that they will no longer have power. There is no more burden of the past, no more burden of the future, for all things are made present and presented.

Once you have negotiated the Judgement, you have made irrevocable Decision the focus of your action. Where Will and Power are one, so let it be, ask now no more.

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When I was young I most enjoyed the Apocalypse of St John, among all the books of the New Covenant. Now that I am older, I realise why that must have been so: it is a book written in symbolic language, easy to understand and accept when you are a child. But the truths it conceals or half-reveals are painful to adults and those who have lived enough to feel guilt, remorse, and antipathy towards things past.

Georg Handel's oratorio, The Messiah, is a truly great work. I remember listening to it live once; my father had decided to play matchmaker and asked me to invite a young lady. I remember she was very pleasant company, but that was our first and last date. Decision had struck again, and it was irrevocable. But one of the great arias of the last part of The Messiah remained with me. The Trumpet Shall Sound will always remain a favourite of mine for its clear and clarion call, evoking the destiny of those who believe.

The trumpet shall sound,
and the dead shall be raised incorruptible,
and we shall be changed.
For this corruptible must put on incorruption,
and this mortal must put on immortality.

Whereas the image called Death signifies Change, and the image called Temperance signifies Alchemy, both are merely processes. The image of Judgement sounds the call to a pivotal moment, the dividing line between two states, beyond which return is impossible and no longer desired. Terminus est, the old language says.