So, why, given this view, would we continue to adore the lesser divinities? Because they are more fully aware of us and more accessible, forming a bridge between us, and those above them.

But, what of those imperfections? First of all, as suggested in an article elsewhere on this site, it may well be that the imperfections portrayed in the stories tell us more about the author than about the deity. A being of the nature we've proposed would but rarely be speaking directly to one of us. (In Judaism, it is said that only Moses ever knew God personally). How many of us could ever hope to attain the level of spiritual development necessary to communicate with the Divine so fully? Instead, there would be a subconscious connection. An inclination toward the realization desired by the divinity. In the Bible (I'm looking for the passage) it is mentioned that a prophet sought the voice of God in a storm and God was not there. But in a gentle wind, he could hear the divine voice, as a whisper. That whisper, perhaps, is the gentle urging of our instincts, and our hearts, that is the voice of the Divine.

As is said elsewhere, we will have an experience of the divine other, and want to share it. But a list of adjectives does little to help the listener know the presence one has felt, so one invents a story, and makes the presence a character in it. Even so, one is a man, not a god, and in one's limitations, one tells an imperfect story. But as one writes it, one draws closer to the divinity, who would, in this view, feel ones thoughts and intentions, and so the gentle urging would begin. The story would be retold, and over the centuries, that soft voice would slowly ... ever so slowly ... make itself heard over the noise of human confusion, but only if it would be given a chance.

Thus, our theological perspective would seem to directly lead to two points of view, on the old stories. First of all, that what is relevant in them, is not the point of view of the divinity portrayed, but in how that point of view changes in the course of the story, for it is in the changes that the gentle voice would be heard. Secondly, that while we are to allow the myth to evolve, we are to be extremely reluctant to accept changes unsanctioned by history, and we allow the story to change but slowly, in our tellings of it.

In that way, the idiosyncracies of our era, and our personalities, will act but slightly on the story, and all but the relatively eternal divine voice, will tend to cancel itself out, in the long run. But we must be patient, and give the story time to write itself. Thus, we do not seek to fully "update" the story, any more than we would seize a sapling, and seek to stretch and carve it, until it resembled a mature oak. In either case, we would be killing the delicate living thing entrusted to our care. It is enough, that we know that the imperfections are there, and see the myth as the living piece of history that it is, and not as a dogmatic illustration, in every detail, of how it is that we should live.

This view of divinity also answers what may seem to be a perplexing question : how can one pray for another's survival, or one's own? If the gods exist, and are merciful, then aren't better things awaiting the one facing death, and wouldn't they let him return, if he really wanted to? If they don't exist, or aren't merciful, then to whom is one praying? And if better things await on the other side of death, then why do the gods always seem to object to murder?

But suppose, at this moment, they lack the focus to resurrect any of those who have died, or to save them from oblivion, and helping to preserve this life, is the most they are capable of? Or, suppose that travel in time is, in principle, possible, but that to alter events past, is to undo the existence of all conceived from that moment on? Then, the best the deity could do, would be to collect the departed in this moment, before olivion occurs, leaving a material form in his place (a mere shell), to preserve the integrity of the past time line, and bring him forward to that future time when the Divine is more fully aware. While hope might be thus salvaged, something very real would be lost ... the very existence of the departed, during the time between his death and future resurrection, a time he will fully miss, should this be the case.

If this is the case, then a divine prohibition on murder becomes entirely understandable, as much so as our non-theological common sense would want it to be.

Another point, is the common divine neglect that follows, when a people cease to follow their god's commands, many of which may be of a seemingly ritual character (say, adherence to kashrut, in Judaism). Is it not unduly harsh, and perhaps even egotistical, for the deity to engage in this? Not necessarily. If, by failing to keep the god's precepts, one loses the sense of communion with the Divine, then the god may very well no longer be hearing the prayers of the not-so-faithful, given our view. It is not harshness manifested by the god, when dire warnings against disobedience are made, but an explanation of the workings of reality, perhaps.

Thus, as we see, what may seem capricious and cruel from one point of view, can become tragic necessity from another.

Imagine then, a pair of children who, seeing a fire start in their home, cry out to their parents, and are greeted with silence. The elder child concludes that the parents must approve of the notion of their own home being on fire, and sets a few blazes of his own. The younger realizes that they are in a deep slumber, and goes from room to room, until he finds them, and then cries a little more loudly, with more passion, until they awake. With which child will the parents be more pleased, when they awaken?

The fatalist, who takes the pain that life brings as a sign that he is to accept it as part of that which is good, is as the elder child. We seek to be as the younger. If those who have heard us seem to turn a deaf ear when tragedy strikes, then let us seek to understand why - and take it as a sign that we need to pray with a little more passion and a little more devotion. It is not because we seek to appease a petty and spiteful deity that we do this, any more than the younger child imagined his parents would deliberately ignore him until he cried well enough. Rather, we do so to gain the attention we know they would wish to give, and instead of making our worship seem futile in the face of misfortune, our prayers gain an added sense of urgency.

That's all that we have up on this loop so far, though plenty more is in the process of being writte and just isn't ready for viewing, yet.

Come back later, and it will be. Let's return to the main thread of discussion, now, unless you'd like to discuss mythology, a little.