On Monday, I went to a lecture on the Death Penalty by a Fulbright Visiting Professor from Hong Kong. He's a philosopher (and a practicing barrister), so I was expecting a thoughtful, provocative exposition but instead, came away feeling a little disappointed that none of my pre-conceptions had been challenged and that I'd rather wasted two hours of my day what with travel time to the U. The main argument against the Death Penalty, as presented here, was that eye witness testimony is deeply problematic (unreliable and prone to distortion or untruth, whether deliberately or due to genuine error); relying on circumstantial evidence in a capital crime is on shaky moral ground; and it is better to let a criminal go free than to execute an innocent person. As I said, coming from a philosopher, this was a disappointingly simplistic argument, with little finesse.
That same evening, I went to a Sundance Film Festival screening of the documentary 'The Redemption of General Butt Naked'. If, like me, you need a quick (non-partisan, of course!) wiki-minder of who or what a General Butt Naked is, then you can
find out here, and find out about the documentary
here. If you can't be bothered following the links, between 1989 and 1996 Joshua Milton Blayhi, aka General Butt Naked, was a warlord in the Liberian Civil War. He raped, murdered, butchered and mutilated countless thousands of people in those seven years. He was the commander of the Butt Naked Brigade, a platoon of child soldiers who fought naked apart from the shoes on their feet, the automatic weapons in their hands and the drugs in their blood. The war ended in 2003, but in 1996 Blayhi had an epiphany, converted to Christianity, laid down his weapons, and became an evangelical preacher. The film makers followed him from 2007 to 2010, documenting his personal crusade for redemption both in Liberia and while he was living in exile in Ghana.
I was not expecting to enjoy this movie. And I didn't. Not that it was a bad documentary, you understand; just that it was pretty difficult viewing and some of it was very disturbing. But it did bring me back to the lecture earlier in the day. What if the death penalty isn't enough to give retribution for the crimes someone has committed or caused to be committed? In 2008, Blayhi was the first of the former warlords to stand and give evidence before the Truth & Reconciliation Commission (TRC) in Liberia, testifying that he (or those under his command) were responsible for the deaths of at least 20,000 people - men, women and children. The TRC have granted Blayhi amnesty from prosecution for war crimes. So, we're not dealing with possibly flawed or tainted eye witness accounts (of which there are many), but the admitted guilt of this man. There is no case of mistaken identity. Condemning a man for one act of 'evil' [insert your own definition here] may be morally ambiguous, but what about twenty thousand acts of 'evil'? Does one act of 'good' [let's take his conversion and quest for redemption at face value] absolve him of what he has done or caused others to do? I'm even more conflicted thinking about this now, three days later, than I was when the images of the lives he impacted were still fresh in my mind.
And then on Tuesday, this story was brought to my attention and it really tied me in a knot.
The Egg, by Andy Weir. It's not long, as short stories go, so for those of you that can't be arsed clicking on links, here is the complete story:
You were on your way home when you died.
It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me.
And that’s when you met me.
“What… what happened?” You asked. “Where am I?”
“You died,” I said, matter-of-factly. No point in mincing words.
“There was a… a truck and it was skidding…”
“Yup,” I said.
“I… I died?”
“Yup. But don’t feel bad about it. Everyone dies,” I said.
You looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me. “What is this place?” You asked. “Is this the afterlife?”
“More or less,” I said.
“Are you god?” You asked.
“Yup,” I replied. “I’m God.”
“My kids… my wife,” you said.
“What about them?”
“Will they be all right?”
“That’s what I like to see,” I said. “You just died and your main concern is for your family. That’s good stuff right there.”
You looked at me with fascination. To you, I didn’t look like God. I just looked like some man. Or possibly a woman. Some vague authority figure, maybe. More of a grammar school teacher than the almighty.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “They’ll be fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They didn’t have time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside, but will be secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If it’s any consolation, she’ll feel very guilty for feeling relieved.”
“Oh,” you said. “So what happens now? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?”
“Neither,” I said. “You’ll be reincarnated.”
“Ah,” you said. “So the Hindus were right,”
“All religions are right in their own way,” I said. “Walk with me.”
You followed along as we strode through the void. “Where are we going?”
“Nowhere in particular,” I said. “It’s just nice to walk while we talk.”
“So what’s the point, then?” You asked. “When I get reborn, I’ll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all my experiences and everything I did in this life won’t matter.”
“Not so!” I said. “You have within you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just don’t remember them right now.”
I stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. “Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you are. It’s like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it’s hot or cold. You put a tiny part of yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it back out, you’ve gained all the experiences it had.
“You’ve been in a human for the last 48 years, so you haven’t stretched out yet and felt the rest of your immense consciousness. If we hung out here for long enough, you’d start remembering everything. But there’s no point to doing that between each life.”
“How many times have I been reincarnated, then?”
“Oh lots. Lots and lots. An in to lots of different lives.” I said. “This time around, you’ll be a Chinese peasant girl in 540 AD.”
“Wait, what?” You stammered. “You’re sending me back in time?”
“Well, I guess technically. Time, as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I come from.”
“Where you come from?” You said.
“Oh sure,” I explained “I come from somewhere. Somewhere else. And there are others like me. I know you’ll want to know what it’s like there, but honestly you wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh,” you said, a little let down. “But wait. If I get reincarnated to other places in time, I could have interacted with myself at some point.”
“Sure. Happens all the time. And with both lives only aware of their own lifespan you don’t even know it’s happening.”
“So what’s the point of it all?”
“Seriously?” I asked. “Seriously? You’re asking me for the meaning of life? Isn’t that a little stereotypical?”
“Well it’s a reasonable question,” you persisted.
I looked you in the eye. “The meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature.”
“You mean mankind? You want us to mature?”
“No, just you. I made this whole universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature and become a larger and greater intellect.”
“Just me? What about everyone else?”
“There is no one else,” I said. “In this universe, there’s just you and me.”
You stared blankly at me. “But all the people on earth…”
“All you. Different incarnations of you.”
“Wait. I’m everyone!?”
“Now you’re getting it,” I said, with a congratulatory slap on the back.
“I’m every human being who ever lived?”
“Or who will ever live, yes.”
“I’m Abraham Lincoln?”
“And you’re John Wilkes Booth, too,” I added.
“I’m Hitler?” You said, appalled.
“And you’re the millions he killed.”
“I’m Jesus?”
“And you’re everyone who followed him.”
You fell silent.
“Every time you victimized someone,” I said, “you were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you’ve done, you’ve done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by any human was, or will be, experienced by you.”
You thought for a long time.
“Why?” You asked me. “Why do all this?”
“Because someday, you will become like me. Because that’s what you are. You’re one of my kind. You’re my child.”
“Whoa,” you said, incredulous. “You mean I’m a god?”
“No. Not yet. You’re a fetus. You’re still growing. Once you’ve lived every human life throughout all time, you will have grown enough to be born.”
“So the whole universe,” you said, “it’s just…”
“An egg.” I answered. “Now it’s time for you to move on to your next life.”
And I sent you on your way.
So, Blayhi, it would seem that you, and I, will both get what's coming to us.
