Hitch

On the death of Christopher Hitchens I find myself reflecting upon the thing that seemed the most passionate within his philosophy, and that was his position as an antitheist. Spell check may be suspicious of such a word, but the meaning is plain enough. It was not enough for Mr. Hitchens to say that he was a non-believer. He put forward the proposition that religion was something evil and should be combatted at every opportunity. In our society that prohibits the establishment of a government sponsored religion while at the same time allowing the free exercise of religion, this may seem extreme and unworkable. To him it was a natural progression of logic built upon modern scientific techniques. His assertion , “Religion makes good people do bad things” is hard to refute within the history of any religion. While this is a general observation of religion, he does take the time to specifically point out, with clarity, issues he has with all the major religions. While his logic is not impenetrable, there is far more truth in it than most would care to face. One must also concede that his logic is stronger than most religious doctrine, particularly if one were to take religious words literally and not allow for metaphor.

So why is this important? If I consider myself a man with a spiritual component, why would I consider the writings of this man profound?

Perhaps the answer is that I believe that any person of faith should address truths rather than leave them unheard. Can your faith offer an alternative to the reason used to dispute it? Are we, as spiritual beings, prepared to engage in the discourse and explain ourselves to those who blame us for most of the world’s ill? I would say that most are not prepared for such a thing, and many will react violently whenever unkind truths are spoken that may cast disdain upon their belief. It would be much easier if my internal computer could not calculate with quite so much clarity. Indeed, I may sound arrogant in the saying, but many religious folk simply cannot and will not look outside the consensus that gives them the warmth they need to continue to believe. Logic does not matter to them as it does to me.

If logic is an overriding axiom of truth, as I believe it should be, how can anyone believe in anything spiritual? This is one of Hitchens primary assertions. It is tough to hear some of the truths he speaks and I am sure he has won many converts to disbelief and derision of religion. In point of fact, he has had an effect on my own perspective on spiritual faith. I will leave it to the reader to pursue the things that may seem profound to each individual, but I do personally feel that 95% of what he says is really indisputable. It is in that other 5% that I feel I have room for spirituality in my life.

Many times, those who hold religion in disdain tend to use the evil actions of the men who hold prominence within that faith as a reason to hold the precepts of that religion culpable. This is, in my opinion, one of the weaknesses in the manner in which Hitchens attacks religion. I just do not believe that man has the ability to rise above his innate frailties regardless of effort and predisposition. It only takes one transgression to erase a lifetime of careful adherence and good works, and this appears to be too great an obstacle to be overcome by human beings. Regardless of the nature of the adherents, I think that truth still makes an immortal claim. This concept allows me to disregard the more ignoble acts of pious men, but does not clear up the question of what is true.

One thing that seems duplicitous to me is when someone claims to believe something that is impossible to prove without moments of doubt. I make no claim of such and indeed I have doubted every concept put forth to explain the unexplainable, unless it had a solid foundation of logic and reason. So where do I end up coming down on religious truth? I feel somewhat ashamed to say that at this point in my life it is down to a few of the more provably propitious concepts that seem to be a large part of the Christian faith. Life, Love, Forgiveness and Charity are the primary reasons I allow latitude to Christianity for some of its more obvious flaws. Because Christianity is an absolutist faith in which you must believe some very key things enumerated in the Holy Bible, and since almost none of it is provable outside the philosophy, I am sure the prominent figures in the church would tell me that I do not qualify due to my recurring doubts of some of the stories contained therein. I would counter that even the most pious among them would not contend that the Bible is to be taken literally in all places, but more accurately, that the line between truth and metaphor is more clearly defined by them than me.

I make no claim to being a biblical scholar, nor do I feel the need to be. A cursory examination of these texts expose some of both obviously true and obviously false notions created in a time prior to modern science. I am fully capable of discerning the logic behind certain concepts and deciding how much stock I put into the metaphysical explanations of the universe. I do feel free from coercion when I say that I tend toward thinking that almost all of the stories in the Bible were meant to tell a story of meaning and as such are probably much more metaphor than literal truth. That places me in the tenuous position of being a faith of one. I know that I still pray, and I say the name Jesus when I do so, but my meaning may not be the same as those around me.

Life is Long and It Passes Quickly

Nothing on Earth is as close to immortality as the sightless joy of youth
Unable to foresee life’s end in some far-away place
How they dance and laugh and sing
Gravity unseen, misplaced importance drawn with an imprecise hand

How monstrous the hammer appears to me now
Knowing that the embrace of human anonymity is near
How measured my treasure of time, how well thought out my movement
Clinging, grasping, hoping, praying for the unreachable

The powerful joy of ignorance warms my shivering soul
The mocking thoughtlessness, I long for the carefree indulgence
Every day I pretend and by pretending draw nearer the hammer
I can smell the stench of its nearness

Where is the nobility of acceptance?
The end is inevitable, the faceless throng awaits
How I despise the collective, it’s uncaring march
And the divine indiscretion of sharing this oneness with the most wretched among us

The day will come for my descent to the destiny of all mortals
All the world’s greatness lies fleeting as a deep breath
Choking on the ash of all our weakness
Fear to melancholy, sadness to submission

When I feel the dizzying fall under a dulling awareness
will I embrace this as I embraced my earthly immoderation?
How I long for the ignorance and knowledge of youth

Noble Portion

Duty.

It is my misguided grasp of the concept that allows me to disregard justice. I find myself in a series of robotic head nods. This is my price for being forced to sit in a small room full of incapable decision makers while pretending their opinions are of crucial importance. There is no way any of them should be in charge of human life. I hope I kept that cocky smirk off of my face. Fucking peasants.

Stifling my urge for truth, I depart the bizarre theatre of Neanderthal philosophy. Refreshed from having dispensed with another virtue, I wonder how many more as I navigate down the hall. My senses have a sharpening clarity and I feel a small surge of adrenaline. I can see the detail of the stained ceiling tile…that corner of grime on the floor where the mop missed…the colors seem to pulsate and give off an aura that is just a bit nauseating. In the distance I can hear muffled laughter…strangely out of place in the critical care ward. I make my way to Room 7 in Tupelo Mississippi.

The doctor is standing outside the room’s curtain and begins his condescending monologue. There must be a class in medical school that teaches this banal form of arrogance with such refinement. Speaking in a way that confirms an unlistening patient, he does his best to feign tenderness, though he is a little too tired to give a great performance. I get the impression that medical staffs huddle up in a conspiracy that gently presses the urgency in pulling the plug sooner rather than later. Assured that he has had the desired persuasive effect, he takes his leave and I move in front of the curtain.

There he lay in his final moments, unaware of his doctor’s opinion on his importance to the world. I wonder what it is that one reflects upon as the human mind slowly ceases its activity. Is it merely a machine winding down, the white noise intruding upon a poorly tuned UHF channel? Is there a gentle emotional stream coursing through the mind that negates the ill-shaven, obese body that lies before me? I can see his sweat is futilely trying to escape from him only to fall deeper into the maze of fleshly wrinkle and fold, collecting into pools of stench and mixing with the cocktail of alcohol and iodine in a way that will stay with my memory forever.

I forced myself to approach, and feel like one who would submerge underwater to an unbreathing murkiness, knowing that you can be here only a moment before returning to the world above. In that moment I could feel my eyes searching…. trying to find something worthwhile in the wreckage. Somewhere there is still hope for good and for that I am ashamed. Even the most worthless among us must have some point of merit. Something that proves our humanity…some noble portion of our soul that can be thought of on its own and separately from all those things that scream for forgiveness. The water seems too murky for me now. I can only give forgiveness as a commoner who has a subconscious filled with reservation.

If I allow myself the pleasure of standing in judgment, I would look rather contemptuously at the undeniable weakness that must still inhabit this body. I could feel my lips wording my mental muttering, ”piece of shit…” Turns out, you are not even my real father, you big bloated evil son of a bitch. I am a little surprised and embarrassed at how easily my weakness is exposes itself.

His eyes are opening.

As he gazes around the room his eyes fix on my face. I can see the recognition, though he has laid eyes upon me very few times in my adult life. I can also see that he is attempting to speak, though it is a useless attempt. I clasp his hand and tell him I love him. It is my sickening gift to a dying man who knows no better. As his eyes and face moisten with regret I feel the sense of dark satisfaction. At least he has the shred of humanity to know a life of regret. To seethe with the lack of accomplishment and sense his imminent and rapid fade to anonymity is my quiet joy. Such is the vile indulgence I allow myself in that little room on this day. For the last time, I move from in front of the curtain.

I look back those years ago with renewed vision. Having become a father late in life, I will soon face all the steely tests of fatherhood and lay claim to my own noble portion, though I am certain the “duty” will not reside there…