Someone asks me whether I believe in God and indicates that
a one sentence answer will do. Two at the most. It�s easy: yes or no.
I�m sorry, but why do you insist on subjecting me to the
tyranny of such a question? If you are truly interested in my response, you
will have to hear me out. If not, good day to you. Nothing is lost.
The question, like so many others, is tricky. It demands of
me a clear yes or a clear no. I would have one of those very clear
answers if the god about which I am being asked were so clear and well-defined.
Do you like Santiago? Excuse me, which Santiago? Santiago de Compostela in
Spain or Santiago, Chile? Santiago del Estero in Argentina or Santiago
Matamoros?
Okay, look, my greatest desire is for God to exist. It�s the
only thing I ask of him. But not just any god. It seems like almost everyone
agrees that there is only one God, but if that is true then one must recognize
that this is a god with multiple personalities, from multiple religions and
with mutual hatred for one another.
The truth is that I cannot believe in a god who inflames the
heart for war and who inspires such fear that nobody is capable of making even
the slightest change. Which is why dying and killing for that lie is common
practice, questioning it a rare heresy. I cannot believe, and much less
support, a god who orders people massacred, who is made to the measure and
convenience of some nations above others, of some social classes above others,
of some genders above others, of some races above others. A god who for his own entertainment has created some men to be
condemned from birth and others to be the select few until death, and a god
who, at the same time, is praised for his universality and infinite love.
How does one believe in such a selfish, such a mean-spirited
god? A criminal god who condemns greed and the accumulation of money and
rewards the chosen greedy ones with greater material wealth. How does one
believe in a god of neckties on Sunday, who shouts and swells with blood
condemning those who don�t believe in such an apparatus of war and domination?
How does one believe in a god who instead of liberating subjugates, punishes,
and condemns? How does one believe in a small-minded god who needs the minor
politics of a few of the faithful in order to gain votes? How does one believe
in a mediocre god who must use bureaucracy on Earth to administer his business
in Heaven? How does one believe in a god who allows himself to be manipulated
like a child frightened in the night and who every day serves the most
repugnant interests on Earth? How does one believe in a god who draws
mysterious images on dank walls in order to announce to humanity that we are living
in a time of hatreds and wars? How does one believe in a god who communicates
through street-corner charlatans who promise Heaven and threaten Hell to
passersby, as if they were real estate agents?
Which god are we talking about when we talk about the One
and All Powerful God? Is this the same God who sends fanatics to immolate
themselves in a market, the same God who sends planes to discharge Hell on
children and innocents in his name? Perhaps so. Then, I don�t believe in that
god. Rather, I don�t want to believe that such a criminal could be a
supernatural force. Because we already have our hands full with our own human
wickedness. It�s just that human evil would not be so hypocritical if it were
to focus on oppressing and killing in its own name and not in the name of a
kind and creative god.
A God who allows his manipulators -- who have no peace in
their hearts -- to speak of the infinite peace of God while they go around
condemning those without faith. Condemning those who have no faith in that tragic
madness attributed every day to God. Men and women without peace who claim to
be chosen by God and who go around proclaiming this because it�s not enough for
them that God would have chosen them for their doubtful virtues. Those
terrorists of the soul who go about threatening with Hell -- sometimes softly
and sometimes shouting -- anybody who dares to doubt so much madness.
A God, creator of the Universe, who must fit between the
narrow walls of consecrated homes and buildings uncursed by man, not so that
God has a place but so that God can be put in a place. In a proper place, which
is to say, privatized, controlled, circumscribed to a few ideas, a few
paragraphs, and at the service of a sect of the self-chosen.
Of course, the classic accusation, established by tradition,
for all those who would doubt the real attributes of God is arrogance. The
furious preachers, in contrast, do not stop for an instant to reflect upon the
infinite arrogance of their claim to belong to, and even guide and administer,
the select club of those chosen by the Creator.
The only thing I ask of God is that he exist. But every time
I see these celestial hordes I am reminded of the story, true or fictitious, of
the indigenous chieftain Hatuey, condemned to be burned alive by the governor
of Cuba, Diego Vel�squez. According to Father Bartolom� de las Casas, a priest
was present for Hatuey�s final hours, offering him Heaven if he converted to
Christianity. The chieftain asked if white men could be found there. �Yes,�
responded the priest, �because they believe in God.� Which was sufficient
reason for the rebel chief to refuse to accept the new truth.
Then, if God is that being who walks behind his followers in
a trance, in all truthfulness, I cannot believe in him. Why would the Creator
confer critical reason on his creatures and then demand of them blind
obedience, hallucinatory trembling, uncontrollable hatreds? Why would God
prefer believers to thinkers? Why would enlightenment mean the loss of
consciousness? Could it be that innocence and obedience get along well?
And does all this mean that God does not exist? No. Who am I
to give such a response? I was just wondering if the creator of the Universe
really fits in a nutshell, in the head of a missile.
Jorge
Majfud is a Uruguayan writer. He currently teaches at Lincoln University in Pennsylvania. He has traveled to
more than 40 countries, whose impressions have become part of his novels and
essays. His publications include Hacia qu� patrias del
silencio (memorias de un desaparecido) [novel] (Montevideo, Uruguay: Editorial
Graffiti, 1996; Tenerife, Spain: Baile del Sol, 2001); Cr�tica de
la pasi�n pura [essays] (Montevideo: Editorial Graffiti, 1998;
Fairfax, Virginia: HCR, 1999; Buenos Aires, Argentina: Editorial Argenta,
2000); and La reina de Am�rica [novel] (Tenerife: Baile del Sol,
2002).