Religion, the Divine and the Edge of Chaos

Chaos Star

Chaos Star

I was reading about Chaos Theory and came across a theory concerning the “edge of chaos.”  It struck me that religion lies across this nexus.  Religion offers the hope of  becoming something more than what we could be, but, so often makes us something less than what we are.  It offers us the hope of an eternal and divine perfection, yet, so often those who are religious superficially (as so many are) as well as those who breathe deep of it’s air become so filled with hatred or disdain of those who do not share their beliefs as to make them less than what they could be.

We each have the divine in us.  Religion can draw this out.  There are many examples of this in history (Buddha, Jesus, Mohammad).  Yet, so many of us are base creatures.  We live out our hatreds using the words of the Gods or their prophets as justification for our hates, prejudices and pettiness.  The wisdom of our collective religions are bursting with exhortation to love one another and to be “our brother’s keeper.”  Too often, we fail to heed this calling choosing instead to condemn those who are different.  We use the spiritual wisdom of the ages as division when we should choose brotherhood and unity of purpose.

The order that Religious Wisdom should bring instead becomes chaos by our own choosing.

Afghanistan Chaotic

Deceptive Peace, Lost Tranquility...Violence stirs below

Deceptive Peace, Lost Tranquility...Violence stirs below

 

The Second Coming

TURNING and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

 

William Butler Yeats

 

 

I have to wonder if he was writing of Central Asia and the Middle East.