Dear diary,
I had to write all the way to the end of my bible project before realizing that it is a bad idea. I wish I could have seen the truth at the beginning, but I was blinded by desire. I thought that people would say: “You rewrote your own version of the Holy Scriptures? How interesting; let me read it!” But instead, depending on their perspective, people give one of three replies:
1. If they believe that the Bible is sacred, then they say: “You rewrote God’s book? That was unwise. Who cares what you think; you have no authority. Only my religious denomination can tell me which version of the Bible is authorized: that is the only one that I will read.”
2. If they have already judged the Bible to be bunk, then they say: “You falsified further an already false report? What a waste! I would never give my time to any Bible.”
3. Regardless of their religious beliefs, if they are simply desirous of improving their knowledge of the Bible as literature, they say: “You made your own version of the Good Book? What are your credentials? Oh, I see that you are not backed by any respected institution. Well, best of luck trying to find a readership; I, for one, shall seek out publications exclusively from renowned scholars.”
I can’t blame anyone for reacting in these ways. I myself often share the stance of that third speaker, when faced with learning about the countless subjects that I wish to remedy my ignorance of.
But I think that I was at least vaguely aware of this dilemma when I began, and I assumed that people would find my outsider status intriguing: I must have been hoping that the notion of “average fool dares to take on the sacred” would allure some readers. I’m OK with being wrong. – And the reason I’m speaking of my former self as an unknown entity is that I seriously can’t recall what was in my mind then: it’s as if a different person got me into this mess.
The undertaking was profitable to me as a reader, however. Very much so. Never have I been more comfortable and confident about my biblical opinions. At the same time, I feel easy and loose about listening to others’ points of view: I have no need to bully anyone else with my ideas, as they’re all down on paper now, secure until the day of their cremation.
So what’s my takeaway? The Bible is simply a mass-control device. The poetry is as fine as poetry always is; but the idea that these texts add up to some Divine Message is hogwash. There is no sacred history: that’s only an attempt by the rulers to justify their rule. They’re still doing it, to this day. The worth of the poetic tales and the songs and prayers and preaching is as genuine as the worth of our modern creative writing – contemporary poetry, short stories and novels, essays, criticism, etc. People’s minds are brilliant and fruitful to explore. Some think similarly, others differently: I have no wish to homogenize the cornucopia.
What should we do with land? Should we divide it up, give every group their allotment? Then what? People leave their land to escape famine, or just from wanderlust; then time passes, and they return to find that same land occupied by other people. Can the two groups share the land? No. Why? Because they worship rival gods, and they have different rituals and incompatible cultures. Is all this true? I don’t know – I wasn’t there.
I want to say: I am a part of no group; all groups disown me; I’m in permanent exile. But that’s not the case. I’ve been rooted to this same area for my whole life. Then why do I not identify with it? Why do I not call this land “my land” and this people “my people”? Who is this people? I’ve never “lived off the land” – I purchase my groceries from the supermarket. What land my food came from is foreign to me. I don’t know the people either, who grew the crops that sustained me for all these years.
I don’t like the look of paved roads. I don’t like cars and trucks. I don’t like to see dogs on leashes. Then again, I don’t like to see dogs off leashes, either, because it means that they can come over and bite me, and infect me with rabies. Let us give dogs their own country, so that they can build a wall to keep out all dog-owners.
As for the idea of aging until one’s natural death: I’m against it. Not nature but I myself should determine my end point. So here’s my dilemma: I don’t want to grow old, and yet I dislike the idea of self-slaughter. Therefore, I keep on living and hope that I’ll never die.
I want love, but not the act of love. Or rather, I wish that I could experience the ecstasy of love yet without the physical exertion, all the sweat and heavy lifting. I wish that I could send a phantom of my person out to bed with lovers. Then I could enjoy selected perceptions from my representative.
Similarly, any time that others criticize me or fight me or punish me, I wish that a dummy version of myself could replace my actual self until the evil is over.
I prefer to be ahead of my time, as an artist. But I dislike having to wait for the Present Era to catch up with my creations. I do not like the idea of dying before my writings attain an audience. Yet, if multitudes of new readers were to begin to enjoy my writings, making my popularity skyrocket, this would prove that my works are intelligible to contemporary sensibilities and thus insufficiently futuristic. So, if God ever solves this quandary, I will appreciate it.
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