Musings on God and Culture

The problem with not giving God any of the credit is that you can’t give Him any of the blame, either. If I am responsible for bringing all of the positive things into my life over the past few years, then I’m also responsible for all of the shit I’ve put myself and others through over all the years before (and since, for that matter). And by what is one’s life judged? (Leaving aside the question of “By whom?” for the time being.) Is it by the cumulative effect of one’s actions for good or ill; or is it by the quality of the person one has become by the end? Is it by the consistency with which one lives up to a set of values over a lifetime; or by the fervency with which one approaches them once the truth of what is at stake becomes clear? By the amount and quality of one’s work; or by the depth and sincerity of one’s love? Or does the judgment come in those moments of supreme doubt or suffering, when one is forced by life to make the impossible choice on the basis of criteria that no human being can ever reconcile with rational thought? And how can you know until the time comes?

I think perhaps the crux of the dilemma is best expressed by what I think I remember to be a Jewish tradition. (Andrea?) The idea being that, in the beginning God was everywhere and everything. When He decided to make his Creation, He had to withdraw from part of the universe in order to make room for it to exist. And thus He observes his Creation from outside, caring extravagantly for what happens to his Children but no longer able to direct their actions or correct their mistakes. Thus it can be argued that without God nothing else could be possible, yet by the same token without God (having removed Himself from his creation) all things – both good and evil – become possible. It is said that if a single bird falls from the sky, that God is aware of it. But the bird falls nevertheless.

These thoughts come to me unbidden and interrupt me as I am trying to absorb as much as I can about this place, its people and culture. I’ve been re-reading a novel called The Sparrow, about a first contact with an alien culture, and I find my experience here to be similar in many ways. I am constantly torn between what I am learning in the classroom and what I am experiencing on the street and in my home; learning textbook French while at the same time having to adapt to the African version of the language and somehow trying to reconcile the differences; perpetually anxious that out of ignorance or misunderstanding that I will commit some cultural faux pas that I am utterly unaware of and which nevertheless could destroy any sense of rapport that I might have established with my host family or within the community. And constantly aware that no matter what happens, based on my conception of my relationship to the universe, that I AM RESPONSIBLE.

The sense of responsibility is perhaps the most difficult aspect of this experience. The truth that I must take responsibility for all of my actions, and all of their consequences, is palpable in a way that it has never been for me before. At times (this moment is one of those times) the feeling makes me want to retreat into my room and not venture out for fear of making some colossal blunder. At other times I am overcome by the impulse to judge these people and their culture by the standards with which I grew up – most of which are alien to their way of life. This, in turn, makes me feel enormously guilty because I know that down that path lies disaster. It is a razor’s edge, and I marvel that so many have come before me and managed to navigate it successfully. How many of them had these thoughts as they embarked on their task? I have no idea…

If ignorance is bliss, then just call me ecstatic.