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Date: June 15, 2004
I place a bunch of bananas atop my handlebar bag
which I now wear like a purse using my camera strap. A woman scoops
up the bananas and walks away, beginning to eat them. I grab her
wrists and force the bananas out of her spongy hands. As I look
around for support, she disappears. I regret not humiliating her
to teach her a lesson and to warn the villagers (though I am concerned
their martial law would be brutal); then she sneaks up later, kneeling
beside my bag, like a chameleon trying to blend into the hustle
and bustle. People warn me she is crazy which explains their ambivalence
earlier; besides, poverty and thievery is so common that Tanzanians
often say, “It is like a job; everyone must eat.” I
begin to slide my bag underneath my chair and she pounces on the
bananas. I kick her arm away and she growls. She begins pacing in
front of me and I notice she is gnashing her teeth on long crooked
nails sharpened to needle points. I crane my neck every which way
to follow her movements. I get very nervous and slide my chair into
a corner. People are yelling no and threatening her now. She retreats
to the street and picks up a stone and cocks her arm. I stand, ready
to dodge, fighting my instinct for a preemptive strike with my Coca-cola
bottle. An elderly woman wearing an expensive and therefore respectable
kitenge steps between us to ward the attack, and the insane woman
cries with frustration and pitches the rock onto the tin roof and
runs away. Had she asked, I would have given her banana (peeled
to prevent her reselling it for drug money). Perhaps, I should have
given her one anyway, but the principle of rewarding a thief rubbed
my saddle-sore bum the wrong way.
(I haven’t waxed philosophically for many moons,
so be ye forewarned.) This story illustrates several examples of
something so obvious that it has eluded me for years: every culture
I’ve experienced instinctively obey a similar code of morals.
Even the insane woman knew she was doing wrong.
I spent a day in a hammock on the white sand beaches
of Zanzibar reading “Mere Christianity” by C.S. Lewis.
Regarding morals, Lewis says, “‘Why ought I be unselfish?’
and you reply, ‘Because it is good for society,’ we
may then ask, ‘Why should I care what’s good for society
except when it happens to pay me personally?’ and then you
will have to say, ‘Because you ought to be unselfish.’”
Lewis implies that the “The Rule of Right and Wrong or Law
of Human Nature” is God’s will, as if God is motivating
humans actions regardless of a humans’ logic or emotion. Yet,
Lewis provides a more logically answer earlier in the same paragraph,
“…you can not have any real safety or happiness except
in a society where everyone plays fair.” What is good for
society is good for the individual. There is the Selfish Gene Theory,
which theorizes an organism tries to propagate itself at any cost,
in balance with what I theorize as the Martyr Gene, where the organism
is willing to sacrifice itself for the survival of the species.
Concerned I have misunderstood his argument, for
several weeks I try to of an example of Moral Law that doesn’t
qualify as a herd instinct. But, I cannot think of any examples:
isn’t a good law, good for the individual or the species?
What amazes me is that Moral Law has evolved to such a high degree
in humans that it can become a very abstract debate, for example:
would you sacrifice your life for a busload of commoners? Moral
Law is essentially the idea of the good of the whole, an idea, like
the perfect circle, that doesn’t exist in nature. Perhaps
this idea is what Lewis meant. I don’t think the concept of
good is evidence of God but this concept is a form of godliness:
the idea of law and order is a creative force. And, paradoxically,
the concept of good calls into existence its opposite: evil.
Continuing my investigation of good and evil, I buy
a Koran from a Muslim who seems proud to convert an infidel. I theorize
that religions are evolving and since, according to the Quran Mohammed
is the successor of Jesus, the Moral Law should be more enlightened.
The philosophy in the Old Testament (the Jewish Torah) is an eye
for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Perhaps corporal punishment was
necessary to restore law and order just as Dr Leakey’s authorization
to shoot poachers on sight was the only law to nearly eliminate
poaching. Then, as humanity’s awareness grew they became ready
for Jesus’ philosophy of brotherly love, to turn the other
cheek. I agree that violence begets violence; however, I am dismayed
to read in the Quran that Mohammed reestablished the Law of Equality:
one murder for one murder. One day I am dining with an agreeable
Muslim and confess that I am reading the Quran. He tells me the
bible “is quite mistaken” about Jesus being God, and
he soon finds a passage in my Quran to prove it. In addition, the
Quran says that Jews and Christians have forgotten (sometimes translated
as: corrupted) Allah’s message. The Muslim is the first to
buy my meal in Africa. I refuse politely three times before accepting.
The Quran dictates to feed ten indigent people for expiation; I
wonder, are alms given under the duress of hell a charitable, soul-building
act?
Consider these passages: But if they (unbelievers)
turn renegades, seize them and slay them wherever ye find them;
and take no friends or helpers from their ranks. -- To him who fighteth
in the cause of Allah, whether he is slain or gets victory, soon
shall we give him a reward of great value. -- Men are the protectors
and maintainers of women, because Allah has given the one more than
the other. -- As to those women on whose part ye fear disloyalty
and ill-conduct, admonish them, refuse to share their beds, and
beat them.
Not only is the Quran a moral leap backwards and
Allah a vengeful God cowing mortals into obedience and choosing
whom he will guide and whom he will lead astray, it has a law for
every action that inhibits the need for thinking, indeed it says:
Ask not questions about things which, if made plain to you, may
cause you trouble…. Some people before you did ask such questions,
and on that account lost their faith.
As Lewis said, there is no shortage of good advice
in the world, the problem is no one listens. Just as I am considering
how The Gospel teaches wisdom, especially the parable of the loaves
and fishes, serendipity smiles upon me. (If you are looking for
evidence of God look no further than this experience.) Immanuel
escorts me to his restaurant, which turns out to be his office for
selling bus tickets. He undercut the real restaurant and had his
wife prepare my meal. He seats me at a small desk in the center
of a small room facing the open doors and the road. Before me is
the standard meal – rice, beans, spinach and stewed tomatoes
and beef – all the dishes are covered, the food is cooked
perfectly and doesn’t contain one grain of sand. There is
a pitcher of water, soap and a bowl. Immanuel seats me and aids
my washing by pouring water, warmed on the stove, over my hands
and into the bowl. He tells me of the cyclists he has met and of
a man that has walked twice as far and through twice as many countries
as I have cycled. "If you believe in God anything is possible,”
he says.
I ask, “Which God?” and he looks confused,
so I rephrase, “Which religion?”
“Protestant,” he says. When I agree
that I was raised protestant, he leans back and puffs up his chest
and preaches in a baritone voice, “What is the bible? It is
a history written by men about God’s creation. Most people
must read the bible and have faith. You have been around the world,
and you have seen God’s glory direct. You are a witness to
God and his creation. You have a great opportunity: when you go
home, you can tell people the truth about God. So, I encourage you,
don’t despair.” And when I finish my meal, he says,
“I want to give you a gift.”
I begin to object: I don’t want anything; he
doesn’t have much; and, like a typical American, I don’t
want to be indebted to him.
He pulls a book from underneath a pile of papers.
“I want to read a passage from the bible for you.” He
reads psalm 24 and soon his voice is booming of the cement walls
like Samuel Jackson in Pulp Fiction, “Yea, though I walk through
the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: For thou
art with me.” He waves his hand indicating my surroundings.
I have just descended into the Great Rift Valley a hot, thorny,
inhospitable desert. And, by coincidence I have just made a journal
entry that reveals a shadow of fear: One day I will say this was
the greatest adventure, perfect even in its imperfections. Yet,
I am greatly troubled by mundane problems. I can’t enjoy my
trip. I feel as if I am hiding.
As I leave, Immanuel says, “Remember God is
with you.” I feel reinvigorated with the belief that people
must take responsibility for their freedom and salvation, and that
people are good, the world is good and God is good. Even a day later
I am feeling especially proud, as if God has given me a special
mission to bear witness, when I see a sign in the next village:
ecclesiastical assemb LIES OF GOD
Certainly, if I know anything, I know God has a sense
of humor.
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