The Flood

THE FLOOD

'Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain.' As I make my first sortie into hermeneutics pertaining to this Biblical passage, I launch from the premise that taking God's name in vain in any immoral or noxious sense has to be a greater transgression than colloquially uttering 'Oh, for God's sake!' or something like it out of harmless habit and to no effect. The immoral or sinful transgression, then, must be the claim that one believes in the ideals the word 'God' represents or inspires whilst acting in contradiction—which would entail being a wolf in sheep's clothing, vainly averring lordliness or professing to be doing the Lord's work and lording it over others.

Whichever flavour it takes, in the name of God or on God's behalf, it always involves falsehoods and one of the simplest examples is to lie under oath—a direct violation of the Logos, a mode of persuasion which deals in factual information and truisms; to claim that something true and important is meaningless could also be construed as a way of taking God's name in vain. It would be criminal to burden people with fruitless responsibility or make them bear the proverbial cross to no avail or nefarious ends. One can deceive an entire population into believing that something is absolutely necessary for a positive outcome and a prosperous future in the knowledge that said plan is likely to beget disarray and chaos. Such human catalyst is the epitome of a false prophet, and from the pulpit he or she is sure to lead societies into disrepute.

Eventually, the accumulation of corruption in a city threatens the established order and creates a disorder which begins to drown its citizens, so to speak, like a destructive flood consuming the rules and the game itself which emerged long ago out of the primordial chaos due to an organising principle and the purpose towards order. Any path which is not aiming at what is absolutely ideal (as metaphorically prescribed by the Sermon on the Mount) risks the proverbial flood to the detriment of what is morally virtuous. To paraphrase Milton, you're in hell to the degree that you're distant from the good. Walk with God as Noah—who represents an ideal mode of being during a crisis, as a tender of the garden and shepherd of all things—did during the flood, and you are more likely to find yourself in the proverbial ark, kept afloat and searching for a solution. Destroy your ideals as the Biblical Cain did in the form of Abel (whom God favoured) and you have succumbed to perdition, where the only road is a downward spiral.

Lost, denying reality and opposing what is true is adopted as a Satanic strategy. 'Satanic' because Satan is the father of lies, a rebellious symbol against the Logos. Lying is the most arrogant way of being because it blatantly denies reality or bends its factual structure in the belief that one can get away with it, that reality won't snap back because you think yourself to be better than everyone else and can thus outsmart them all. The temptation conjured by the intellect is characterised by pride and arrogance—a danger symbolically represented by Lucifer, the fallen angel who champions falling in love with its own productions and the subsequent sentiment of assuming that nothing worthwhile lies outside of its thinking purview; in other words, this devilish attitude describes the totalitarian mindset.

The danger in nihilism is a tendency to overlook a meaningful existence. Atheists mainly revolt against zealots who use literal or twisted interpretations of ancient texts to manipulate the masses. Indeed, the secular tend to weaponise the ideals of the Enlightenment in order to ward off the dangers of dogmatism—and in many cases they have reason to do so. Organised religion is nothing but a profitable business like any other, or perhaps worse because it profoundly exploits people. But there is value and great meaning to be derived from wisdom literature and sacred texts which reflect archetypal truths that can be applied today in a pragmatic manner. Ceasing to believe in God could mean renouncing ideals and virtue itself—things we cannot do without if we are to have meaningful and fulfilling lives. If you are not aiming higher, or at something greater than yourself, you will be inevitably lost and the only way after that is down into perdition.

I'd like to elaborate further on this ...

Basically, the idea behind seeing Biblical passages through a Jungian lens is that it reveals more sense beyond what is literally implied. Behind its romantic parables is an implicit psychological process full of archetypal observations and an accurate account of reality itself from the human perspective. The reality seems dreadful but the indication here is that human life is a perpetual struggle where the possibility for improvement and potential betterment should always be remembered. It's a noble pursuit, because, in spite of the hurdles and the chaos, one perseveres with strength and the faith to endure; otherwise, what do we have if not the search for truth, meaning and purpose?

Suddenly, the Biblical concept of free will becomes clear as we can choose between two modes of being: Abel or Cain (two opposite ends of an existential spectrum). Of course free will is absurd when we take into account that we live in a cause-and-effect universe and determinism is more objectively evident. But the anthropic lens gives us the illusion of freedom to choose, and the illusion is true enough. We can either embrace the whole pursuit towards self-integration and virtue by taking responsibility and enacting the hero archetype (follow Christ) OR we can be bitter and blame the whole world for having to struggle through tragedy and damn it all to hell.

In the Bible, Jesus Christ is both redeemer and judge—representing both the left and right hands of God, which symbolise mercy and judgement. The mercy is the compassion necessary to create a balance whereby people can pick themselves up having previously taken a fall. In a state of depression, individuals need encouragement and reminders to believe in themselves because everyone has potential; so when someone is down, suspend judgement lest they are overwhelmed and have mercy instead. When they are up, they can continue with divine inspiration as they follow God, who, by His very holy nature, can't help but judge all things.

The crucifixion of Jesus is a merciful narrative where the Messiah shows us the way to redemption which often involves carrying the burden of life, taking responsibility and willing to make sacrifices. In the Book of Revelation, he returns as all judge and everybody fails by his standards as the approaching apocalypse conveys the finality of all things and the inevitable loss of everything including one's life which the majority is not prepared for. By that time, there is no mercy, only judgement. Psychologically, it appears to relate the senior outlook of someone who, having experienced and committed enough errors in life, begins to have a cantankerous attitude whereby everyone and everything is judged including oneself. Nothing is ever good enough in this irascible viewpoint where it becomes clear that nobody is anywhere near the ideal that was unobtainable to begin with (at least within one's lifetime), and we can only hope that the next generations learn from our mistakes and strive to get closer to the grace of God. The Nicene Creed, which informs liturgy in much of mainstream Christianity, includes the following statements about Christ:

'...he ascended into heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Father. He will come again in his glory to judge the living and the dead, and his kingdom will have no end. ... We look for the resurrection of the dead, and the life of the world to come.'