Tag Archives: Christianity

[Rev.] or the Jew behind the brackets …


[Rev.] Romulus Campan LTh (Hons), FDScMH (Forensic), CertEd, QTS,
PgCert Religion, Spirituality & Mental Health,
PgCert Special Psychopedagogy,
PgCert Autism & Asperger’s
Chair, Disability & Neurodivergence Staff Network – BSMHFT

Not all real-life stories have a beginning; especially those born from echoes of generational suffering and pain.

It hurts endlessly and helplessly, running from echoes of hope-lost parents’ and grandparents’ tears, loving me, hating me, mourning me ahead of my escape from the same pain and suffering generating the screams of my untimely beginnings.

I never understood until today, the reason for carefully picking the fluffs scattered all over my blanket and eating them; I know now, it was the insolence of roughly round little objects impossible to integrate with the rectangular fold of my crib’s side covering blanket, neither white nor blue…

They were tasteless, oddly textured, eaten nevertheless by a weird little boy more disturbed to sleep by the unfitting randomness of an old the blanket’s fluffs, then by the TV sound of some program I wasn’t supposed to see in my parents’ living/bedroom…

A few decades later, waking up in a bed I didn’t at all plan before getting drunk the evening before, desperately understanding that no shower could wash down a pang of guilt I never felt before, I remembered the religious pamphlet someone threw under the door of my shared, four-bed nurse-hostel.

The message was simple: “Cast your burdens onto Jesus, he’ll carry them for you”. Remembering from my Catholic altar-boy years that praying is getting on your knees and talking to an unseen deity, I threw myself by the side of my bed and cried my heart and burdens out onto this Jesus, probably the first time in my life until then, when I was able to have a meaningful “conversation” with someone I called “God” …

“God, if you exist and hear me, I desperately need your help…”

And I went on and on calling God, Jesus, the Father, the Holy Spirit/Ghost, the Holy Trinity, anyone and everyone I hoped might have listened.

You don’t need too much psychotherapeutic training to know how honest tears and words of acknowledgment can alter the dynamics of hopelessness. That de-traumatizing experience became an anchor so deep into my life’s timeline, that it transformed it from linear into circular, around a newfound religious dedication.

One must remember that just some weeks before my drunken nightmare my uncle called, to share a family secret so deep, that it emerged only after my maternal grandmother’s death. You see, I was told that we were Jewish; suddenly, at that moment, a murky world of stories meant to cover the truth about our roots, fell apart, with the real stories of what truly happened unraveling themselves still, to this day. But that’s for another chapter…

A few more years -and three children- later, I started my formal, five years Licentiate in Theology university training, which forever changed my spiritual landscape. Because against all hopes and plans to become a supercharged Minister of the Word, exposure to the rigors of academic research, Hebrew, Greek, Latin and Systematic Theology forced this student to allow mathematical-precision analysis and logic, into the world of “simple” faith. The road to understanding the derailment and hijacking of a genuinely Jewish, messianic sect flocking around the hopes to see the newest prophet preaching another dreamed miracle of deliverance, in this case from the Roman oppression, was long.

Having lost in the first year of my theological seminary, the twins we prayed for, had a cataclysmic effect on my belief in any form of love from the God I was training to serve; but I marched on “in the footsteps of Jesus”.

I became a regional missionary for a Hungarian Protestant denomination, an ordained minister of the sacraments through an international ministry and Eastern European representative for a non-denominational organization promoting and researching a Christian scientific, creationist worldview. My/our TV and radio programs were broadcast all over the world by religious and secular stations, being invited in Europe and the US by churches, theological seminaries, universities and schools to teach, present and debate on such subjects.

I previously mentioned “simple” because and against opposing opinions, faith is a continuous exercise of accepting something no one has ever proved, closely followed by another exercise, that of denying literally the obvious, what anyone could experientially prove.

I believe therefore that faith is an exercise of denial, self-inflicted on an individual or mass level, in order to maintain a perpetual pseudo-reality, in face of an experientially obvious one.

Realization wasn’t easy; going back and forth between the certitude bringing doubt, having to check for myself everything the Apostles claimed, and the guilt-ridden doubt of having become an apostate, condemned to burn for eternity in a lake of fire.

Because contrary to popular belief, Christianity is a religion of “love” for the surprisingly simple-minded majority only, living a carefully constructed denial of selectively placing their spiritual desperation in the illusion of a “love” to be found in far less verses, than the threats of eternal damnation from their “son of David, son of God” …

You see, Christianity is supposed to be the finalisation/fulfillment of Judaism through a once and for all sacrifice of David’s heir. At a closer look, however, Judaism, the religion of a deity redeeming his people through vicarious sacrifices of animals by a dedicated priesthood to act on behalf of Israel, has been taken over and de-judaized, to suit the imperialistic agendas of succeeding conquerors beginning with Constantine.

Nevertheless, and regardless of all efforts by the New Testament writers, their Jesus character’s ancestry doesn’t match the rigorous expectations set out in the Jewish major prophets, causing, therefore, the ab-ovo collapse of the whole system.

However still, I have been left an agnostic minister, with the moral responsibility to care for every evil-hating soul, which is ultimately the only requirement of Judaism, in a nutshell…

I declined around 2009 to continue being the Eastern European representative/director of the aforementioned international creationist ministry, having built an effective regional representation involving religious and secular universities, television and radio programs, many still broadcast around the world to this day. The reason was simple; I find it intellectually, morally and ethically impossible to promote and defend, anything logically and/or rationally untenable.

I continued as a government translator/interpreter and a qualified teacher, having specialised over the years in special Psychopedagogy – Defectology, a postgraduate training giving skills in teaching children/adults with innate or acquired Neurological/Sensory disorders.

A very important part of my professional duties was a project I initiated and carried out over several years, designed to raise awareness of anti-Semitism and about the Holocaust, through visits organised to the Budapest Holocaust Memorial, located in the former Pava Street Synagogue. However, by the end of 2009, we arrived as a family at the point where we couldn’t afford the rent previously affordable through my ministry support.

This is how by mid-2010 I became the 24/7 carer and personal assistant of a middle-aged, British gentleman with hemiplegia; away from my family until 2014, relearning and applying the fundamentals of care from a clinical, social and psychological perspective, having to rely sometimes on nothing less than my combat medic experience for organising life moments running away and returning/revolving around a life forever changed by a massive stroke.

Fully reuniting in 2014 with my family raised the question of spirituality, of living our Jewish heritage in a community. I met an amazing young Rabbi, who rekindled the hope of continuing what we so much loved with our South-East Hungarian Synagogue Fellowship.

In vain as it turned out because the U.K.’s rabbinical Council decided that our papers aren’t up to their expectations of orthodoxy, and our Jewishness isn’t the same as “theirs”, expecting from us to basically undergo a reconversion procedure…

I’m still hurting, even after five years, to be told that I have to prove my Jewishness either by producing original ancestry papers or by reconversion. It still feels like what the Nazis wanted by chasing and scattering our family all over Romania, burning every trace of our Jewish heritage, might have succeeded.

I will forever be thankful to the rabbi for not letting me go before wrapping me in my ancestors’ Tallit Gadol (prayer shawl) and Tefillah, holding my hand and reciting together the Shema, every true Jew’s call for our long due God…

Here I am, therefore, a mutilated Jewish soul, having travelled through valleys of shadows of death, awaiting alone in Leonhard Cohen’s larger than life spiritual shoes “for the miracle to come”, tired of all the maestros telling me it’s Mozart, when in reality it’s the same, lame sound of some cheap bubble-gum …

I do however, consider myself privileged to work as a forensic MH practitioner, with specialists from all areas of mental health clinical care, being also as Chair of a dynamic Disability and Neurodivergence staff network, raising awareness and driving changes to benefits staff with neurodivergent conditions and their families.

But what does [Rev.] actually mean?

It stands as a bold statement of a well-earned professional dignity, in respect however of my [temporary(?)] inactive status.

And to silence the ignorant choir of self-appointed “specialists” and “experts”, “autism advisors/consultants/etc”, I have put on display my credentials, the infrastructure of my oftentimes merciless assertiveness.

As I am writing I hear and see, the voices and faces of my patients for whom my years of study and dedication could become steppingstones onto a future away from a criminal justice system which has only started to learn, that maybe mishandling due to misunderstanding, of an autistic person in distress, could well be considered “assault against a vulnerable individual” as automatically as their autistic-reflex reaction is hastily considered “assault against a law enforcement officer” condemning an innocent individual to a stigmatised life …

I remember a couple years before the confusing end of the second millennium, an American missionary kindly offered his Microsoft Encarta 95 Encyclopaedia. As I inserted the disc into the drive, I was surprised to hear the inimitable voice of Nelson Mandela, quoting one of his own thoughts, which as years passed by, became more and more embedded in the foundations of my own thought process, a beacon of resilience for the painful years to come, a root and fruition to withstand the atrocities committed against us, the vulnerable and the oppressed, by the laws created for, and by those wearing their Orwellian, face-stomping boots:

“Let there be justice for all.”


*If you would like to support my work please consider donating at paypal.me/RevRomASD




It’s not important to remember days, and wonder
why has our time become so slow;
it doesn’t matter anymore if there’s no thunder,
after the rain, before the bow…

It matters not why in our backyard’s desert,
there are no camels and the Bedouins have left;
what truly matters is a sense of water,
illusion wildly clenching to my chest…

Tired, alone and ravaged by disasters,
battled by winds having no taste of sea,
sold by myself to unforgiving masters,
too thin to die, too obvious to see…

In no-man’s land they’re selling cheap allotments,
graveyards to be, or not to be;
some weird biochemical arrangements,
for my abandoned christmas tree…

5th of April 4th, 1984…

“what does the LORD require of you but to do justice…”


One of the Bible’s (OT and/or NT) foremost statements, mentions God’s topmost requirements from mankind, which is “to love/do justice…”
Well, if mankind’s self-righteous, mostly fundamentalist “christian” crowd would heed this basic advice, they would have to stone their god and his accomplices, simply because these scriptural books are by far, whosoever’s most blatant record of injustice against mostly unsuspecting innocents.
My inner rage against this sadistic display of injustice is paired only by a cancerous pain and sorrow for the countless victims of this merciless religion, closely followed by it’s prequel, judaism, and it’s sequel, islam, all just patched-up versions of ancient, human sacrifices requesting religions.
Because it’s utterly hard for me to decide if child sacrifices to Moloch were more vicious than leaving an entire nation to centuries of Egyptian slavery, or the sacrifice of a god’s son for the “sins” of others, or the raising to power of a god’s inquisitorial vicars, or eventually the public maiming of petty thieves, or hanging of infidels…
To expect the love of justice from heirs of countless generations of victims of gross injustice, amounts to a sadism against which the Inquisition’s methods could be considered as mere colloquialism.
A “story” we were told by one of the most idiotic zealots to call himself a “pastor” I have ever encountered, story which regardless if true or purely fictional, would make nevertheless a good point to what this so called “justice” is all about.
The tale speaks about soviet psychopath Joseph Stalin, inviting a western official to a protocol visit to his Kremlin. After usualties, the guest(s) asks Stalin about how could such a system manage to keep such a large nation into what couldn’t be called as less than oppressed submission? Stalin asked one of his attendants to bring him in, a live chicken. To the obvious shock of his guest(s), Stalin proceeds to pluck all poor live chicken’s feathers off, causing visible and violent injuries, and wounds to the innocent bird. He then calmly throws a handful of breadcrumbs on his own booted feet, laying the scared animal nearby. After a few moments of confusion, and as if nothing seems to have happened, the bleeding, naked bird starts to obnoxiously pick up the crumbs, feeding from atop the boots still sustaining the hands which savagely tortured her.
“You see?”, asked Stalin of his quietly shocked guests, “you can do whatever you want to your people, as long as you remember to feed them…”
Doesn’t this tragically resemble to all bleeding and naked religious yard-birds, thankfully saying “grace” over the usually just-about sufficient meals “provided” by the same god who just some weeks or months or years ago have maybe killed their children, husbands or wives, parents or any other loved ones, silently allowed a few world wars, a few holocausts, scripturally condones slavery, genocide, infanticide, just to name a few of these “how can’t you see” ones?
Unfortunately though, not all naked and wounded human chicken of this world have access to the scarcely provided crumbs.
The poor majority linger in overcrowded social ghettoes, silently awaiting for their well-fed gods to remember them when the time for the next culling-war of the useless’ time has come…
Allow me please, to leave you with some food-for-thought.
About some more than a decade ago, I was part of christian prison ministry, which included the highest security prison of a central European country. Only life-terms, over twenty years imprisonment for multiple and/or aggravated murder and others as such were given the “privilege” to “live” there.
On one occasion, the team leading pastor drifted downstairs with a group of Q&A, leaving me behind, alone and scared with the rest of this “elite” crowd…
One particular individual stood my way towering over my own more than 6 feet with his  7 feet and over 150 kg, asking the following:
“Is it worth being faithful to god and his commandments?”
“Of course,” I replied, “because god is love, and he has the best plan for all of us, regardless of what we’ve done!”
To which he sternly replied:
“I wonder what Job may have had to say to that…”
I left in silence, as on those dim stairs, for this locked-up for life inmate, my god-defending theology would have proved as irrelevant and humiliating, as all other religions. Because only after I have lost – as an already devout trainee minister – my own first two precious children, I understood why I should never again mention that god gave back Job more riches and more children than before.
To this day, not even the daily sight of my other precious children can ease the tormenting pain caused by the loss of my first two…
Because only a mercantile bastard would expect to be worshipped for giving “other” children to someone whose children he assassinated in the first place.

-to be continued…-

4th of April 4th, 1984…

Self-Inflicted hope, against inflicted hopelessness…


As previously mentioned, hopelessness must be deliberately inflicted -and to a certain extent accepted- in order to exist. Thus neither hopelessness nor hope should be considered as “normal”, simply because they can’t be; no one would ever need hope in a world where expectations would not arise from unmet needs and growing frustrations. And with hope useless, hopelessness would become obsolete, superfluous. Hopelessness therefore must be inflicted upon authority’s mostly unwilling subjects, through an intricately designed, perpetual scheme of vexatious sufferings, always paired with poverty or its threatening prospect. Hope, as its emotionally balancing counterpart, could exist only where hopelessness has been previously induced, maintained.
Hope is authority’s most cleaver device, offered freely as a substitute for everything and anything between lasting happiness and long life, there to soothe all pain, pacifier for authority’s -fooled into submission- subjects. But the matter’s sadistic twist resides in hope’s need to be self-inflicted, taken and swallowed upon offer, never to be pushed down anyone’s (un)suspecting throat.
Yes, hope must be self-inflicted in order to release its pseudo-rewarding, pseudo-hormones; after all, we were “created” with free will, which means inflicted hope would transform us into machines, isn’t it…?
Sancta semplicitas…
It is so hard to understand now, my own two decades of self-inflicted blind hope called “Christianity”… Hard and humiliating because I wholeheartedly believed it against all sane logic and reason, continuously living the guilt of blaming myself for any emotional failure to abide by its ideology, guilt commonly known as desperation. Because all it’s left for hope if not self-inflicted, falls into desperation’s ever changing maze, with minotaurs of doubt awaiting their prey at every – not prayed for – corner… Christianity’s madness has gone so far as of dumbing otherwise intelligent people into oftentimes praying for “nothing bad to happen” even if there isn’t any foreseeable reason for fear.
It seems as “I’ll be with you always” has its serious problems to be met only by “Ye shall hope I’ll be with your hopes, always…”

-to be continued …-

Photo: http://m.izleneo.com/nazim-hikmet-ran-siiri-hayati-iskalama-luksun-yok/

“Guard your heart, above all…”

or Orwell’s 1984, revisited…

“Who controls the past, controls the future…
…who controls the present, controls the past.”
George Orwell

It’s never been easy to return… Anywhere…
Especially to places echoing unwanted memories, long gone past times stubbornly alive and well enough to torn -always nearly- healed wounds. Then comes the bleeding, the tears, and the eagerly seeking emotional “healers”, ready to open another “friendly wound” nearby, just to reassure themselves a higher place in some heavenly Disneyland…

Having -to some degree, and to the outspoken surprise of many- successfully baptised in two (1st, 2nd) former articles, Orwell’s “1984” onto a -never intended by the author- creationist pamphlet, I decided to return for a much needed revision of the past, motivated by my newly found liberty of thinking, in a honesty driven attempt to do some justice to both Orwell and myself.

To shortly summarise it, I don’t believe anymore in a biblical creationism which’s originator is supposed to be a deity not at all impressed by the worldwide daily torture and genocide of innocent humans, with a tragic emphasis on children -all for his glory-.
I never believed either, because there’s nothing neither rational nor logic to believe in, evolutionism, having settled myself into believing in mankind’s absolute depravity, in a world where the one thing worth living for, is the love of those who love you… And if no one loves you, read Philip Pullman’s “His Dark Materials” monumental Trilogy and you’ll see, you’re not alone!

Having said that, I shall proceed to using the introductory quote in a much more simple fashion than that of some fans, who like to over-complicate Orwell even when that hasn’t seem to have been intended by Orwell himself. Because it is as clear as an evening’s shadow, that Orwell’s statement is nothing more than a very logical statement of the obvious. Or, to have it a bit straightened, who controls the past, does that from the same present from where the future is highly influenceable too.
In my -actually our-, rather awkward case, the past starts exactly where any logical inquiry should start, at the unknown, precise moment of our collective origins, shrunk for practicality’s sake only to humankind’s.
To be frank, no one has the slightest, absolutely comprehensive idea of what and how it was, or about who has done it, I myself joining therefore the ever swelling number of the “ain’t got a clue” club, with its daily multiplying group, or individual branches, all based on fairly unclear preferences.

As the main reason of this “revisit” is an utmost determined attempt to change the present-influencing past, I have to humbly remind my reader that the “YouTube” called devilish invention (cursed be its name), stubbornly stores hours of my past, of which as much as I would dream about, I can’t dissociate myself. As a matter of fact, some of the issues discussed there still occupy the “convictions” shelves of my intellectual stand, those having to do with what Pullman called “experimental theology”, as they deal with both scientific and spiritual matters, an otherwise just fancy terminology for the seen and the unseen…
Unfortunately still, probably several thousands of gullible Christians are still being spoon-fed by interested groups and individuals with things I’ve honestly said in a recent past when I believed and vigorously defended every single thing I’ve said; nevertheless, that’s not the case anymore…
It was exactly the rigour of facts against make-beliefs which convinced me to take everything I’ve adhered to, down to those infrastructural basics where not even Paul the Apostate’s “hopeful belief” could paint over the plain, factual truth.

What can I do about it, now?

Well, exactly what you Dear Reader can see for yourself: writing out my heart, the one about I’ve so painstakingly learned it is not the root of all evil, but the one true fountain of anything left good in us, oftentimes so stained and tired that it does nothing but wrong, thus hopelessly crying out for help…

Do I control the past? Yes, by all means, if I am at any subsequent time able to take a stand against anything I’ve done in it, I am controlling it.
Can I repair the wrongs I’ve done in the past? Yes, by all means, if I am able to -at any possible level- address what I’ve done in it, I already started repairing the damage caused… All of it? Oh, come on!
We’ve got a problem, us humans, with this “all” concept of ours, which robs us of the so many, literally infinite satisfactions, sacrificed at the feet of our self-made gods of an inexistent “perfection”.
Nothing’s perfect, no, and sorry all you religious folks, your gods are no exception, otherwise how do you think we’ve gotten all this, historically proven c**p? Out of something “perfect”? Oh, please, would you grow up?
Any “all” has a start which none of us knows where and when it will end, bearing within like a seed’s germ, what’s going to grow of it.
There’s no wholeness, no perfection, just parts of an unknown infinite, where nothing has any meaning without it’s vicinity, where right and wrong have become mere points of view, and one’s life seems to always be, someone else’s death…
There is nevertheless a beautiful common sense of good, the one reflected back through the eyes of innocent little children!
They haven’t learned to lie yet…

Life sucks, my friends, or as the wise uncle Solomon has put it, “All is vanity.”
As a matter of fact, I should start a “new” religion based entirely on the biblical Book of Ecclesiastes…

Unfortunately for me, “There’s nothing new under the sun…”

“Northern Lights”, (“His Dark Materials”) by Philip Pullman – The Liberty of Thinking 2

2. On Mind Tricks, Lyra’s Oxford, Northern lights, Daemons and Dust

“The trick […] is not minding that it hurts.” David Lean’s “Lawrence of Arabia”

I must confess I haven’t seen this movie, “Lawrence of Arabia”… The quote caught me from within Ridley Scott’s “Prometheus”, and wrote it down -as soon as I could- on one of Pullman’s Trilogy’s first cover pages, without knowing at that time the “rational” reason for doing so. It just felt right, as some sort of meta-communicative bridge between worlds hiding within their cores the same thought-old questioning of our own origins. And even if clarity/ transparency may lack from the wrapping crust of these worlds, or even if the movie quote may fail to show at first glance any bridge-likeness, the fact remains: mankind has become a conditioned mass of cyborg-like creatures, endlessly repeating irrelevant but more and more convincing mantras aimed at numbing the hurtful obsession about “why does it have to hurt”? Because you see, facts demand factual explanations, and since hurtful pain IS fact, it cannot be dealt away by tales made in the twilight shadowed rooms from above Vatican’s even darker archives…

Lyra’s Oxford resembles way too much to the labyrinthical corridors of all earthly powers, where feverish minds decide what’s “heaven’s” best for us, somehow always forgetting to ever ask for some sort of delegation of interests and authority, from those in whose names they pretend to be acting.
Interesting enough, Lyra’s private “little” world seems to have stretched from grim sculls hiding catacombs, through servant swarming kitchens and robe hanging wardrobes, to her favourite heights, innocent little fiddler on the rooftops of unseen -soon to be cut open- new dimensions…

Northern lights have been my life-long favourites, being utterly convinced of their angelic origins. They were -all through the religiously devoted period of my life-, dimensions transcending robes of angels, standing guard at the gates of forbidden worlds. The more time went by, and the more I watched pictures and documentaries about them, the more my convictions became stronger, in spite of condescending looks from my rather scientifically trained friends and colleagues. Regardless of my own theological training, little have I known prior to reading Pullman’s trilogy, that in Lyra’s Oxford “experimental theology” is the equivalent of science, with a seemingly clearer understanding of the much more personal -than thought- forms and identities of the unseen…

It is truly relevant to notice that Pullman settles the first part of his Trilogy in a world he seems to be knowing more about than his/our own “scientific” one, shown throughout in the detailed understanding of the intimate relationship between men and their daemons, which must be stemming from depths where few have ventured, and even them, fringe-landers of a rather psychoanalytical sort…
Humans, witches and armoured bears, all have in common either their daemons, or as revealed about armoured bears, their longing for them…
Pullman’s lexical choice for naming the soul-entity of these characters, bears the true mark of any revolutionary with a cause-flag worth bringing its bearer right in the middle of ecclesiastical crossfires, because nothing rings a more unpleasant set of bells than the word “daemon”, archenemy of any New Testament heaven daydreamer, even though the original benevolent concept gained its ill famed “contemporary” meaning in the inquisitorial crucibles of Christianity…
The daemon is one’s very own, inner being, that part of all of us from where sometimes congruent, other times divergent thoughts emerge, usually our “opposite sex” side, with which we should learn to communicate in a much more intelligent manner than the occasional curses thrown following a missed hammer hit… Lyra’s horror reached its climax every time she saw a person without a daemon, exactly because of the tormenting thought about the loneliness awaiting anyone without this perfect, most intimate match for their souls, soul-mate(s) indeed…
Unfortunately, humans have forgotten to communicate with their own depths, arriving at the (painfully well-known for many) dead-ends of themselves, condemned to what some have called “cosmic loneliness”, desperate remoteness of psychotic existences, treasuring what’s left to them: scattered anti-depressants smelling of dirty sock and condoms used long ago, desperately stuck to bottoms of filthy drawers…
Pullman has done what not many dared before him (except for denominational protesters and others alike…), that is to free himself and all those ready to follow his heroic example, onto the liberty of thinking his own (not anyone else’s) thoughts about both his private and also his collective existence…
Lyra’s second name, Belacqua, regardless of any Dantesque echoes, means “beautiful water”, which makes an absolute portrait of not only Lyra’s translucent, “heart on sleeves” character, but also of its adaptability to extremes, impossibility of containment outside something truly suitable, with metaphoric hints at this beautiful water’s vital role, to become much clearer by the Trilogy’s end.
Having said these, I’ve arrived at this all important, yet utterly secretive meta-existent entity called Dust. I apologise for the rather more confusing than clarifying just-previous attempt to pre-define Dust, calling to my defence nevertheless, no other than the Trilogy’s author himself, who in a recent interview about an approximate date for the publishing of his next, final follow-up volume, confessed that in this volume everything concerning Dust, shall become clear…
And if the author’s own life-line thrown unto all who still struggle to understand this all-important entity/concept still lays half-length in his hands, I shall do no more than stating for now, that Dust is existence itself, both before and after it rose to different levels of consciousness, cause and effect shaper of everything seen and unseen.

(to be continued…)

Philip Pullman, “His Dark Materials”, “The Golden Compass” – The Liberty of Thinking 1


1. Introduction

his Dark Materials”, would have been my original title’s twist on Pullman’s own naming for this centuries changing, monumental trilogy.
It’s always rather complicated to explain emotionally driven decisions in a world where “law” has become a pathetic replacement of politically correct mathematics, yet the twist is something imposed by our deliberate reduction to a child’s limitations; but by who?
Milton’s famous line bears the mark of a both personal and -for that time- social respect for a divinity inherited far and remote from any “sacred” text, agnostically unknown therefore, feared and revered not for anything “he” has provenly ever done, but for something “he” could supposedly do if hurt in his quest for his own “glory”, built all over nearly any earthly religion upon the blood, sweat, agony and death of infants, children and adults, high on monstrous pedestals of an ever unmerited, torturous attitude, called “god’s love”; and as for such, I decided to refrain my majuscules respect within the use of “his…”.
Hoping by now to have been forgiven by my reader for the rather lengthy preamble, I shall disclose the dichotomy forcing me to write what I hope to progress into a longer series eventually leading to a book, about what I -again- hope to become a -as much as possible- comprehensive attempt to make Pullman’s trilogy clearly understandable even to those who by the nature of their own allegiance to systems of thought uprooted by, would hopefully be drawn to reading it (or about it, as it often happens first…), and thus be given the chance to exercise their true, liberty of thinking…
This dichotomy of mine stems from my own, former theological training combined with two decades of (hyper)active Christian faith, shattered to painfully sharp slabs of hurting memories; all these and my newly discovered liberty of thought…
“The Golden Compass” (originally published in the UK as “Northern Lights”), is not a compass at all, to begin with…
Lyra’s “instrument” is truly less than a north-pointing compass, yet so much more; it is as it’s Greek borrowed name reveals, a measurer of truth.
Yes, I know, have mercy on me by forcing me not to derail into the age-old dilemma of what exactly is “truth”, because I don’t want to end-up establishing the hot-bed of some new religion of “love”, providing incentives of fertility for the always ready seekers of holy reasons to behead, chop, cut ‘n further punish “heretics”…
The alethiometer is a worlds transcending pointer into the true content of anything asked about, regardless of who the inquirer, and who or what the object of the inquiry, is.
Made by “people”, incapable of choosing between inquirers, allowing access to otherwise hidden truths to either the skilled by “nature” or to those by “trade”, this strange tool isn’t at all the central theme of the trilogy’s first book, as suggested for some by its title.
The alethiometer is nevertheless a first clue into what the book is all about, namely the standard for truth. Pullman’n genius resides in a rare capacity of transforming stereotypes into the measurable reason for acting them, as brilliantly shown later in the trilogy by Lyra’s astonishing reassurance at finding out through her velvet wrapped “toy”, that Will is a “murderer”, judging as all should do, with a child’s remnants of innocence, that this truth combined with her own heart’s analysis of Will’s “that something” about him, means she should trust him in spite of all circumstantial facts and appearances.
For those of you who hopefully haven’t have had the chance of seeing the movie before reading the book(s), please refrain from doing so -in spite of its awesome cast, play & all-, because unknown to many, the producers, probably driven by some unusual religious tolerance, decided to emasculate the movie of the novel’s clear and healthy anti-Christianity message, reducing thus the whole, to a eunuch’s attempt to join a male choir’s baritone stand, before he’d open his mouth… The trilogy’s clear message is exactly this: that men are nothing less than victims of an ongoing, cosmic conflagration, where the parts fiercely compete over exclusive ownership rights of a species wrongly thought of as slaves, having no other inter-dimensional rights and duties besides the glorification of the one(s) to be found at the end of the boot(s), eternally smashing the broken teeth from behind their bleeding, boot(s) kissing lips; and where Christianity’s magisterio-inquisitorial boards are supposed to be the agencies translating all these as “god’s love”, ultimately leading to a redemption of which everyone knows everything, yet actually nothing…
Having -quite lengthily- said all these, let me remind my honourable readers, that even though my writing might resemble a rather academic book revue, it’s never been my true intention to write any such, regardless of how much -given it’s nature- should it look like one.
What you are about to read, is actually a manifesto calling for a new, well deserved liberty of thinking, based upon the very first literature wrapped philosophic attempt to provide humans from all existence’s dimensions with the field guide to regain a dignity so deeply lost at the bottom of their lives’ depths, that nothing else less than the utmost desperate attempt to destroy the “authority” usurping their throne within, would be just the pathetic carrying out of a death sentence involuntarily signed with the blood spilled from the severed ends of their own, umbilical cords…

(to be continued…)