It's a pretty metaphor, especially in the constructs of non-believers, and
so was the idea that human sacrifice supplied the vital force to ensure
that the sun would keep rising. As with all such constructs it's neutral,
and can be used for ill as easily as for good, an option that continues to
be exercised. It's I think our hubris to assume that its evil uses are
simply incorrect interpretations.

I think often of the story of the Gaddarene Swine, those poor beasts that
Jesus designated as the new hosts for the evil spirits inhabiting a madman.
The switch made, they galloped downhill to the Sea of Gallilee and drowned
themselves. One would have thought them God's creatures, and their now
bankrupt owners as well. But of course for Jesus they didn't count, as they
were unkosher, and their owners, who certainly weren't Jewish, were not
happy--they asked Jesus to leave, pronto, before he did more damage.
Universal love apparently had its limits.

Mark


At 07:11 PM 5/3/2005, you wrote:
>On 4/5/05 8:15 AM, "Dominic Fox" <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
>
> > What I
> > value about the Christian faith is the way that it encapsulates in
> > myth the violence and arbitrariness of (human) nature, but affirms the
> > non-finality of death and wickedness: while death may be (is,
> > certainly) the last thing that happens to any of us individually, it
> > is not the last word in the story that we inhabit, which is a love
> > story. Love is strong as death - well, one might at least
> > understandably prefer to think so.
>
>Beautiful, Dominic - yes, that is Christianity's poignancy for me also, the
>myth and the preference of belief, in the face of my own unbelief. I
>remember quite clearly as a very young child my cynicism about a god made in
>the image of those who worshipped him; it seemed to me to be human vanity,
>and quite clearly a consolatory story, and as far as I was concerned the
>world was without consolation. I was fiercely atheistic then; less so now,
>for I see the point and power of such stories in our making of ourselves,
>how in some ways we make what we believe come true, for good or ill. I look
>on religion with the sentiment - I use the word advisedly - of the
>unbeliever; but nevertheless, the idea of God as Love is a radical idea
>(what was it Aldous Huxley said about understanding the meanings of "God is
>Love"?) Those humble, vernacular stories in the Gospels also have an
>implicit argument against transcendence, a focus on the here-and-now, the
>sensual world, the practical action. Parts of the Upanishads are sometimes
>like that. It is a humble act that reveals the godhead: sharing food,
>helping a wounded man, loving others (which is often hard to do).
>
>Sad though that those kernels of ideas so often serve death and deathliness,
>closing against the humble sensual world, bending to the world of power and
>greed. As soon as there is one true god, it is possible to be the chosen,
>and to dehumanise those others who are not chosen. I always thought it a
>bit stiff that the wise pagans were sent to Hell in Inferno - even if an
>outer circle - how could they help it if they were born before Christ?
>
>The Song of Songs has long been one of my favourite love poems; I kind of
>link it with the Duino Elegies:
>
>But because being here is so much and all that is here
>seems to desire us, these vanishings, that so strangely
>approach us. Us, the most vanishing. Each thing once,
>only once. Once and no more. And we also
>once. Never again. But this
>once was real, even if only once:
>earthly and real, shining beyond revocation.
>
>Where that realness - that intense Spinozan idea of eternity, which is the
>immanent present wholly entered and lived and known - is set against the
>dark night when the beloved (however construed) is absent. It may be
>possible to believe that love is strong as death. Perhaps not, however, at
>the point of dying. I wonder. Not that I'm in any hurry to find out...
>
>Best
>
>A
>
>
>
>
>Alison Croggon
>
>Blog: http://theatrenotes.blogspot.com
>Editor, Masthead: http://masthead.net.au
>Home page: http://alisoncroggon.com