Seek First the Kingdom - The March of Hope - Forward
Mesopotamia, 2700 B.C.
Welcome to a new series! I hope you enjoyed Journey to Christendom - the Freedom Dance. Monday’s weekly publication is moving to Seek First the Kingdom - The March of Hope. You will find out what happens next on the Trail of the Dogmatic Creed with St. Joan and St. Thérèse!
Somewhere on these ancient plains early on a still night, perhaps after family, guests, and servants ready themselves to take their leave for sleep, we might imagine this great king, one of the first warriors and dragon-slayers to rise up out of the ancient mythologies to take on the figure of an actual historical personality[1], staring out into the setting darkness. The moon has made her presence felt, the stars are beginning to shine, and the animals of the night begin to make noises in the sand and shrubs. This is the time of day when one can be alone and think. This is how an ancient hero slips unnoticeably into quiet time, a few moments before retiring when a great mind can reflect. As the servants finalize the cleaning and prepare for bed, our king moves further outside. Tired, he puts his hands on a short stone wall, leans on his arms, surveys the land, and wonders.
He has conquered. He has defended. He is a master. He recently threw back his bitter enemy Agga[2], king of Kish, the perennial, pestilent threat to his people, who time and again sought our great king's land. This time it is for good, our king hopes. "To the pit of Hades for Agga!" our hero might even say to himself if he had happened to have any notion of hell. A city wall was built to protect his stronghold, the first one of its kind in this land. The inhabitants feel safe again. Our king is noble, and the people honor him. But beneath all this activity, accomplishment, and glory, he is deeply unsettled and wondering.
Gilgamesh, king of Uruk, is living in an early time, a time before the Bible, a time before religious tradition as we know it was handed down as dogmatic truth to be accepted, a time before the world's major religions of either Western or Eastern origin could stake their claims. There is no self-help literature, no infomercials, no New Age movement, no Islam, no Catholicism, no Protestantism, no Buddhism, and most likely, no real mature Hinduism. Our king has none of the religious "baggage" we take for granted; in this sense, he might be considered free. Alternatively, he might be regarded as lost.
This great king is in a position we can hardly imagine today. He is trying to put life together, its point, purpose, and end, all in a meaningful way, without the aid of the world's religions as we know them. He struggles with life just as we do, thousands of years later, in our post-industrial, high-technology world that our great and noble king could have never imagined. He is great, but he feels small. He has accomplished much but feels empty. He wants to conquer the world but is beginning to wonder what happens after that. He needs to know where he is going and what life is all about. In other words, like us, he wants to hope.
Gilgamesh, though, is particularly contemplative and solemn tonight. This night is different from the rest because he has finally come to articulate and formulate the problematic stirrings in the deepest part of his soul. If you were to probe his thoughts by attempting to draw out his speech, you might hear him sound slightly evasive; you would sense that he is holding back; he is not telling you everything that lies in his heart to burden it. What is it, great Gilgamesh?
We are now at an exciting juncture in our story. Let us temporarily take an imaginary remote control, hit the fast-forward button, and move thousands of years into the future.
The year is now 1971 A.D. A famous modern pop star named John Lennon, a revolutionary coming out of that dark period in Western history called "The Sixties," has written and published a song that, out of all of his hits, particularly caught everyone's attention. It remains hugely popular even today in the new millennium, is considered by many to be a work of spiritual genius, and has almost become a creed for a creedless, non-religious spirituality. The song is called "Imagine." It speaks eloquently of a world without religion, dogmas, borders, etc. We are supposed to believe that if we could ever reach this perfect world of nothingness, we might just be happy. This is, of course, nothing in itself but the superficial imaginings of Eastern religious and spiritual thought, which have had a heyday in the Western world due partly to fellows like John Lennon.
But the point of "Imagining" seems to be that the hang-ups and baggage that have come down the ages through the terrorism of man-made institutional religion should be thrown out and destroyed to bring in a true humanism based on some Eastern spiritual platform of "nothingness." There is no right or wrong, no moral good or evil, except, of course, for religious dogma (traditional Western thought), which is considered to be evil, usually being referred to as "intolerant," "dualistic," or "divisive." Apparently, by this self-proclaimed modern, though very ancient philosophy, to warn against and even forcibly prevent someone from smoking cigarettes is a good, life-affirming humanism. However, to warn one that he is heading to spiritual death for eternity is intolerant and evil. You get the point. Some felt that Mr. Lennon's world was only for dreamers, which is precisely how he refers to himself in the song. He is a mere dreamer.
But I have great news for our pop star. We can investigate this matter after all, at least to some degree. This is precisely the interesting point to which I referred above. For Mr. Lennon’s benefit, Gilgamesh lived before religion, creeds, dogmas, and religious tradition. From the dawn of man, the ancients might have always worshiped nature, animals, and sun gods, but Gilgamesh knew nothing of God or the “man-made” dogmas that would develop millenniums later. This would delight Mr. Lennon, I think. We shall see, in this case, what happens in such a utopian world. Although not a perfect test case for a world without religion and dogma, Gilgamesh is probably the best we have from a historical perspective. No major work of literature than that which we attribute to him dates before 2000 B.C.[3] He is the closest tangible study to “imagining” a world with “no religion too.”
And so now, let us rewind to our hero and king, knowing that in him, we are witnessing a spectacular point in history. At this point, we can perhaps observe the spiritual insights of a man in a much purer time, in John Lennon’s dreamy time, just as we today gaze through telescopic lenses into the deepest parts of space to witness the dawn of an ancient but purer universe.
As we turn back to Gilgamesh, we sense that he remains disturbed and unsettled in his speech because he realizes that with all of his victories and glory, there is one enemy, one nemesis, whom he must face. For the first time in his rule, he sees no way to come out victoriously. This great enemy is death. And Gilgamesh, warrior, king, conqueror, dragon-slayer, has no answer.
Gilgamesh walks further out into the open land, and as you follow him, you hear a cry pour forth from the depths of his soul:
“I saw a dream this night.
The heavens roared, the earth resounded……He transformed me,
Mine arms were covered with feathers like a bird.
He looks at me, leads me to the house of darkness,
To the dwelling of Irkalla;
To the house from which he who enters never goes forth;
On the road whose path does not lead back;
To the house whose occupants are bereft of light;
Where dust is their food and clay their sustenance;
They are clad like birds, with garments of wings;
They see no light and dwell in darkness.
In the house of dust, which I entered.
I looked at the kings, and behold!
The crowns had been deposited.”[4]
Now we understand the king's dilemma, his soul-searching sickness. Gilgamesh realizes that he has no hope. And he is brutally honest about his agony. This is why he is so troubled, elusive, and quiet tonight. Yes, our great king, a man who is a shadow of historical reality walking out of the mist of ancient mythology, stands in that place that neither Mr. Lennon nor we can really "imagine." But Gilgamesh is really there, genuinely experiencing the naked and primordial reality of the fall of man into original sin, which begat hopelessness and death for humanity, though he has "no religion, too" to even tell him that. He nevertheless feels the fall of humanity in the depths of his soul yet has no answer to it. Having "no religion too," does not help him; it only leaves him in despair. You see, a world without religion, Mr. Lennon's world, is not happy; it is merely lost. Eastern religions like Buddhism or Hinduism try to explain how to deal with that sense of loss, but only when God becomes man to lead us out of darkness do we become found. The ancient writings about our great king demonstrate that early man felt the pain of loss that Augustine did in the fourth century and that we do today, but as opposed to Augustine or us, they had no clue what to do about it. Early man could feel the effects of the fall but knew not where to search for answers. Myths, legends, sun gods, earth gods, and all sorts of gods (e.g., as in Hinduism) would have to do.
But something very unique is going to happen. It will take place well after Gilgamesh takes his final resting place on earth. The answer for which the king searches is about to be manifest.
Centuries later, someone will write down a portion of a new collection of literary treasures. The writer's words will smash through Gilgamesh's stone wall that encircles his soul, freeing Gilgamesh and the rest of the world with him. It will give us hope. Somewhere in some land not far from our king, a person begins to write down the answer that THE God, as opposed to the gods, is giving him. This answer had been spoken for centuries by word of mouth in song and late-night storytelling, but now it must be put into writing. God wants all generations to know that we should have hope, that he has created the world from nothing out of love, and that he will save us from our tragic self-inflicted exile. God wants us to know that we have been created by someone for a purpose and that life has meaning both during and after earthly existence. God wants Gilgamesh to understand that the door to the dark house he saw in his dream will be opened and that the sunlight of the heavens will pour forth. God wants to destroy death and the myths that surround it. God is preparing to enter space and time to heal the dark world that ensnares Gilgamesh's soul. A world with "no religion, too," begets hopelessness; God comes to bring us hope, and here we find the beginnings of true religion.
Our mysterious writer begins with words that will echo forever through the ages, destroying myths and hopelessness, and bringing us into divine revelation, for God is about to speak. Our writer, likely not comprehending the ageless and universal effect of what he puts down, starts to transcribe these immortal words:
“In the beginning God created heaven and earth.”[5]
The most dramatic story the world will ever hear or read is about to unfold. The truth about creation is coming forth. Thousands of years later, enemies of God will claim that science has turned these passages into useless myths, but they will be so dangerously wrong. Their erudite and rationalistic hatred of God will only prove that they cannot see even a glimmer of that light for which Gilgamesh hopes. Our ancient writer is not attempting to refute the big bang, something about which he would have no clue; he is explaining its purpose and its source. The writer attacks the mythologies of purposelessness surrounding Gilgamesh.[6] If atheists and skeptics realized this point today, most of the world's problems might disappear, for we could follow God and actually make authentic progress. It is useless to argue a scientific case against God having a purpose, for material science is not equipped to deal with that question. Genesis is not about science but purpose, authorship, and meaning.
The truths of the first chapter of Genesis remain unscathed by modern atheistic materialism because the materialists can't see where they are shooting their arrows of scientific argumentation.
You probably know the rest of the first chapter of Genesis. Our hearts are gladdened and open wide in thanksgiving as we are informed that there is a God, that he has created us, and that there is a reason (logic) and rhythm (mysticism) to this creation. God created us, and he did so with the most inspiring and soul-numbing pattern, a pattern that would bring forth both mathematical logic and artistic rhythm. Our writer's words would continue to describe creation's methodical, mystical, and mathematical flow: on the first day…on the second day…on the third day…etc. There have never been more mystically haunting, inspiring, or beautiful lines in all of literature than in the opening chapter of Genesis. As Pope Benedict XVI puts it:
“These words, with which the Holy Scripture begins, always have the effect on me of the solemn tolling of a great old bell, which stirs the heart from afar with its beauty and dignity and gives it an inkling of the mystery of eternity.”[7]
God began his plan for saving us. The foundation of this plan is our creation. What a mystery! What hope!
“Creation is the foundation of ‘all God’s saving plans,’ the ‘beginning of the history of salvation.’”[8]
Man’s reason, logic, and scientific discovery can never remove this veil. Genesis is not only unscathed by modern scientific atheism; it is unscathable.
And so, with this unimaginably great news, our writer of scripture pauses a moment, and he perhaps reflects on the Epic of Gilgamesh; maybe he whispers to the heavens, “There is hope great king, Gilgamesh.” Mr. Lennon, having so egregiously missed the point in his song, might have at some point heard this same whisper.
I hope so.
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[1] Carroll, Warren H. (1985). The Founding of Christendom; A History of Christendom Vol. 1. Virginia: Christendom Press. p. 27.
[2] Ibid, p. 27.
[3] Ibid, pp. 27-28.
[4] Epic of Gilgamesh, Tablet VII, Ibid. p.21.
[5] Genesis 1:1, (New Jerusalem)
[6] Ratzinger, Joseph (Pope Benedict XVI). (1986). In the Beginning…; a Catholic Understanding of the Story of Creation and the Fall. Michigan: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company. pp. 12-13.
[7] Ibid, p.3.
[8] The Catechism of the Catholic Church. (1995). Doubleday: New York. Paragraph 280.