A friend sent me an essay that drew together three threads of human tragedy, which I won't further elaborate upon, as the author hasn't given consent and I've no idea if he intends to publish. Suffice to say that it explores our inadequacies as humans. One of many intriguing considerations is our inability for any remedy, any kind word or embrace, to relieve the pain of the most fundamentally damaged.
I do not like to think of myself or any human, indeed, as damaged
in ways beyond repair. But what stops us from being so? Some divine law preventing
unfairness? Karma? The healing power of the universe? There is little justice
on earth, especially where the law casts its shadow. It must be in the
afterlife, then, that we are rewarded or condemned for our choices. Maybe
that’s so. But it is guaranteed that this life, at least, may be filled with
much more suffering than hope.
I have, after great struggle, found my own sense of God. But
His existence does not mean, in my mind, a corresponding sense of purpose, or
dedication to goodness, or even a natural order or process of events. Atheists
live in a world where our existence was brought on by chance, and by the laws
of physics; I would argue that the world of believers is worse. We live in an
existence where God is real but cannot alleviate our suffering; our clockworks
have been assembled by the Watchmaker but we have broken nonetheless; God
created us of nothing but set us at odds with the rest of creation. If we are
the chosen ones, meant to speak and read and invent, then our heartlessness and
corruptibility means we have somehow broken a sacred contract. And if we are
not, if we rose by accident long after the hand of God finished molding our
planet, then our awfulness is inherent to all creatures; any living thing that
becomes sentient will also likely take on our bizarre mix of good and evil.
Chimpanzees, our closest living relatives, are also the only other animals
besides ourselves known to kill for fun. Either our nature is a violation of
God’s intent, or it is a symptom of self-awareness. Neither is palatable.
I will not say that there is no goodness in us, just that
our goodness is so fleeting, so difficult to transform into real, tangible
things. We are indeed crippled by the vast difference between intent and
results. Some people are irreparably damaged and it is almost certainly other humans that damaged
them. We are indentured to Nature at birth,
but worse, we are indentured to each other. We rely on each other to survive,
and yet, we too often make it difficult for each other. We hurt those who
create for us, underestimate their needs, punish them for trying to negate their own pain - even for trying to negate ours. Our goodness
is mired in mediocrity, hate, imagined differences, bitterness, jealousy, apathy.
Each one of us creates suffering or hope; failure to produce one is a de facto
creation of the other. Not enough of us create hope so it is suffering that
overwhelms us.
So part of me believes there is other life out there. All of me believes it is smart enough to stay the hell away from us.
