TEMPTED
AND TRIED
About
two weeks ago I gave a talk for the religious studies program at Beloit
College in Beloit, Wisconsin. My assignment was to initiate
a conversation about the
challenges and benefits of living with uncertainty in a
secular world.
I
took as my text an old hymn that was unfamiliar to all but one or two or the
students but that will be familiar to most people my age (72):
 |
| Debra Majeed, Chair, religious studies program, Beloit College |
Tempted and tried, we're oft made to wonder
Why is should be thus, all the day long;
While there are others, living about us,
Never molested, though in the wrong.
Farther along we'll know all about it,
Farther along we'll understand why,
Cheer up, my brothers, live in the sunshine,
We'll understand it all by and by.
What
is it we want to understand? We want to understand a lot of things, but perhaps
the most important thing is why bad things happen. Why is my grandson severely
retarded? Why did my neighbor die of cancer at an early age? Why did God permit
the Lisbon earthquake or the Holocaust? Why did God permit the shooting of
Michel Brown in Ferguson on the night of August ninth? My wife and I were in Ferguson that
night visiting our daughter and her husband, and we were forcibly reminded that
if there is a providential plan, it seems not only incomprehensible but ill-conceived
or even malicious. It’s hard to see wars, terrorism, genocides, epidemics,
grinding poverty, natural disasters, the shooting in Ferguson, as part of a
plan that we’ll understand by and by.
The
problem is, what do we do if we’re no longer confident that we’ll understand it
all by and by? What if we need to
understand it right now?
In
the ancient Epic of Gilgamesh, which
is really the first important text in the history of western literature,
Gilgamesh, prompted by the death of his friend, Enkidu set out on a quest for
immortality. Out on the edge of the known world he comes to a kind of
bed-and-breakfast place run by a “barmaid” who is also a hierodule or sacred
prostitute. Her name is Sidhuri, and after feeding and bathing Gilgamesh, and
comforting him with her body, she offers him some advice:
Gilgamesh,
whither rovest thou?
The Life thou
pursuest thou shalt not find.
When the gods
created mankind
Death for
mankind they set aside,
Life in their
own hand retaining.
Thou,
Gilgamesh, let full be thy belly,
Make thou
merry by day and by night.
Of each day
make thou a feast of rejoicing,
Day and night
dance thou and play!
Let thy
garments be sparkling fresh,
Thy head be
washed; bathe thou in water.
Pay heed to
the little one that holds on to thy hand,
Let thy spouse
delight in thy bosom!
For this is
the task of mankind!
I quote this passage because
it’s a passage I keep coming back to, in my own life and in my writing. There’s
a Sidhuri figure in almost every one of my novels. I give one example.
In
Philosophy Made Simple my
protagonist, Rudy, a widower who has moved to Texas to raise avocados,
struggles with all the big questions. Like Gilgamesh he encounters a high-class
prostitute on the edge of his known world. He’s introduced to her by his foreman,
Medardo, at an exclusive Mexican “club” just across the border from Rudy’s
avocado grove where he’s gone for what Medardo calls a “cultural Friday.” Her
name is María Gracia and she gives him some advice as they’re eating dinner:
“This
is it, Rudy. This is what you’re looking for—alegría.
The embrace of a woman. And the love of your daughters, your three lovely
daughters. Rejoice in them, and remember your wife with love. Your whole world
is full of love, Rudy, and I think you know that. ‘Gratitude’ is the word that
should be on the tip of your tongue. Not ‘I’m worried I’m worried I’m worried,’
but ‘Thank you Thank you Thank you.’ For your daughters and the good times you
shared with your wife, for hot water in your bathroom and this good wine, and for
these wonderful seafood enchiladas. Don’t be afraid.” She stuck her fork into
the last bite of her enchilada, pointed it at him, and then stuck it in her
mouth.
Most
of us find ourselves in Gilgamesh’s shoes, so to speak. Or Rudy’s shoes. Are
Sidhuri and María Gracia tempting us to abandon the quest to discover the
larger meaning and purpose of human life, or are they offering us the
accumulated wisdom of the ancient near east? Personally, I’m inclined to accept
the accumulated wisdom of the ancient near East. At the same time, like
Gilgamesh, I can’t entirely abandon the quest for some larger meaning.
When
I try to reconcile the impulse to continue this quest with a desire to accept
the accumulated wisdom of the ancient near East, I get all tangled up. And
maybe that’s true of all storytellers. Maybe this is why we become storytellers
rather than philosophers or theologians.