i be naija

On Creationism

I believe there is a Creator. Or, to put it more accurately, I’d like to believe there is a Creator.

But believing is not the same thing as knowing—at least, not in the epistemological sense. My ‘belief’ is different from what I consider ‘knowledge,’ in that it is based on an imperative not too dissimilar from ‘faith,’ rather than empirical evidence, discernible by the senses or through deduction.

I believe there is a Creator; I just do not know that there is one.

Why I do believe that there is a Creator?

It appears highly unlikely to me that the universe, in all its complexity, began spontaneously and without cause, out of nothing. The sheer diversity and organization of things would appear to require the concerted action of a creator. In order words, I believe it is more likely than not that a universe as complex ours resulted from some sort of higher intelligence.

Also—and I am convinced many people share this sentiment—my belief in a Creator is driven by a desire, nay need, for there to be something bigger than me… for there to be something that transcends my mortality. Believing in a Creator satisfies that need.

 (True, true, these two ‘arguments’ do not offer deductively valid support for the belief in a Creator, either. Nonetheless, I think that the first one at least, is strong enough to support that belief.)

Why I do not know there is a Creator?

I cannot claim to know that a Creator exists because I have not seen any empirical, fool-proof evidence for His (or Her) existence.

What is your own belief based on?

Do you KNOW that a Creator exists? What is this ‘knowledge’ based on? If you have a deductively valid (i.e. 100% fool-proof) argument for the existence of a Creator, do post a comment. Note though that anecdotal “evidence” do not count.

Finally, without convincing empirical evidence, I categorically refuse to believe in:

voodoo · juju · jazz · deities · shamans · shamanism · astral travel · ouija boards · reincarnation · sublimation · demons · demonism · demonic possession · Satan · Satanism · conspiracy theories · spiritualism · charms · talismans · cults · occultism · fraternities · confraternities · angels · archangels · demonic suppression · feng shui · organized religion · psychics · magicians · magic · witches · wizards · witchcraft · wizardry · curses · spells · incantations · heaven · hell · purgatory · the sixth sense · extra sensory perception · past lives · aliens · unidentified flying objects · etc.

Read the Poem, Abiku, by Charles O.

Background

To the uninitiated, Abiku can be a rather daunting piece. This is so because an understanding of the meaning and implications of the Abiku concept is necessary for a proper understanding of the poem.

If the belief in the supernatural is all-pervasive in traditional African culture, then the belief in the inimical and diabolic variant is even more insidiously ingrained in that tradition. Abiku (figuratively “born to die”) in Yoruba lore refers to one such malevolent spirit who appropriates and insinuates a woman’s womb to be born and re-born, for the singular purpose of unleashing recurring tumult on such a woman. The woman, then, conceives, carries the pregnancy to term, delivers, only for the child, Abiku, to die within the first few years of its birth.

In some cases though, the spirit-baby pities her mother and decides to stay permanently.

The poem Abiku explores the travails of a woman who has birthed several Abiku. Each conception brought her an unnerving admixture of “elation and despair”. Indeed, she inhabited, perpetually, the twilight between exaltation and grief: in one year she would conceive, in another, deliver, and in a few more yet, mourn the death of the child. The poem captures a moment when our protagonist, pregnant again, sits on her windowsill and gazes at the night sky. Crying silently, she prays the gods to have mercy on her, and have Abiku stay this time. As though in assurance of a new resolution, the child stirs within.

Imagery & Symbolism

“Death” and “rebirth,” “emergence” and “spiral … into abyssal depths,” “elation” and “despair,” “arrivals” and “departures,” are imageries at odds with each other. We sense antagonistic forces—life and death, emergence and downward spiral, et cetera—engaged in tense battles, as though for their very own continuity.

The “accentuation” of the protagonist’s belly by the night’s full moon provides another striking imagery. For one, both are round; for another, both are, literally, full. Thirdly, and perhaps most importantly, just as the full moon heralds the dawning of a new day, the woman’s full belly portends the impending arrival of a new being.

Message

Undoubtedly, there are as many interpretations of a poem as there are readers of it. One of the messages I take away from the poem though is that, just as the protagonist, who had suffered repeatedly at Abiku’s hands, clung obstinately to the hopes of having a child that would survive past infancy, we all must remain steadfast to our higher aspirations in spite of (or, even, because of) the odds. We must, indeed, never resign ourselves to the accident of chance, or worse, fate.

Even in the face of forces seemingly outside of her control, our protagonist expressed hope for an eventual breakthrough (“maybe she’ll stay”) this time.

*

Rewritten from the original piece of May 9, 2002.

Here’s Sony’s billboard ad (in the Netherlands, at least) for its Playstation® Portable, depicting a Caucasian woman gripping the jaw of a woman of African descent, in an undeniably rude and condescending manner.

According to Business 2.0 (Vol.8, No. 1; Jan./Feb. ‘07, p. 105), Sony initially defended the ad, saying it was meant to “highlight the whiteness of the new model,” though they later apologized (and, I hope, pulled the ad).

Let’s not waste our time analyzing the blatant racist undertone of the ad, but suffice it to say that I hereby resolve not to purchase a Sony product, until, and unless, I am convinced of a reversal of this unfortunate, unfortunate corporate mindset.  I really do not see myself buying a Sony product—PlayStation, Walkman, TV, DVD player, camera, headphones, computer, et cetera—anytime soon…

*

(Incidentally, I have a similar standing resolution for Tommy Hilfiger, who might have hinted that his designer jeans were never intended to be worn by black folks.)

I post this (inexhaustive) list of general investing perspectives to (1) document them for my future reference, and (2) in hopes that others might find them to be useful.

• Opt for fee-based financial professionals over commission-based ones. Since their remuneration is not tied to the sale of any particular product, they will be more likely to give you unbiased advice;
• Opt for unmanaged, or index, funds (like Vanguard 500) over actively-managed ones, or better yet, for total stock market index funds (like the Wilshire 5000). Over the long-run, index funds outperform even the best managed funds;
• Opt for funds with expense ratios less than 1%. You do not want to eat away at your returns by doling out exorbitant fees.
• Opt for no-load funds. Two words: NO LOADS.
• Take advantage of dollar cost averaging (DCA). (1) It is less painful to put away (relatively) small amounts on a regular basis, and (2) you are able to ‘buy into the market’ when the prices are low, thus spreading (or “averaging”) the cost to you;
• Consider exchange traded funds (like iShares 500), for their liquidity and lower expense.

Finally, here’s a summary of Suze Orman’s financial to-do recommendations (from her The Money Book for the Young, Fabulous & Broke):

1. Invest in your employer’s 401(k) program, up to the maximum match;
2. Pay down credit card balances; ask c/c company for interest rate reductions; transfer balances if necessary;
3. Save for a home downpayment using a money market deposit account (MMDA) or money market mutual fund (MMMF);
4. Open a savings account to build an 8-month emergency fund;
5. Fund a Roth IRA to the annual maximum;
6. Go back and fund your 401(k) to the maximum.

 Please feel free to share your own investing perspectives by posting a comment.

I share the sentiments of MyMoneyBlog’s author, about criteria for chosing an investment brokerage… The brokerage should exhibit all of the following characteristics:

1. carry index mutual funds,
2. have a large selection of no-transaction fee, no-load mutual funds,
3. have low expense ratios,
4. have minimal fees — and definitely no “hidden, tricky” ones, and
5. have a Web site with a good (useful, usable, and user-friendly) interface.

Some Suggestions:

Discount Brokerages

• Muriel Siebert, (800) 872-0444
• Scottrade, (800) 619-7283
• Fidelity Brokerage, (800) 343-3548

No-Load Mutual Fund Companies

• Vanguard, (800) 662-7447
• T. Rowe Price, (800) 225-5132

Share your perspectives and/or experience on this subject by posting a commment.

As early as the first few bible studies, I’d suspected that if I allowed myself to become a disciple, I wouldn’t remain one for long. But though I was convinced that organized religion was not for me, I felt obliged to humor the disciples, to accede to their oft-spurious interpretations of the Bible. Those disciples were driven by a certain curious impetus… and that impetus, I am willing to admit, impelled me to indulge them.

Soon, Dan (as I must call him for the sake of prudence), one of the leaders of the campus ministry, began to impress on me the imperatives of immediate baptism.

Subconsciously, I knew that baptism would be the seal that would bind me to the church. I knew that once I allowed myself to be submerged in those waters, I would, in effect, be entering a contract.

Being baptized in a church, I reckoned, was a marriage between the church and the convert, much like the union between a bride and a groom in which both are to “cleave to each other and become one.” Disengaging myself from the church after baptism, would, I was convinced, not fail to bring its baggage of trauma.

I stalled. I whined that I didn’t feel right about being baptized yet, that I was waiting to set my heart right with God, that I was waiting for the right time…

That phrase turned out to be my undoing. Dan countered that there would never be a “right time,” that there could never be a right time, that I had to make this the right time. He seemed desperate for me to be baptized, but I allowed myself to be persuaded by his rhetoric. It seemed quite plausible.

§

The following Friday was Good Friday, and I had gone to the weekly devotional that was held at their Michigan Avenue location. Dan arranged to take me to lunch the next day. Evidently, he had to complete the string of pre-baptismal bible studies as soon as possible, and add me to the flock of disciples as quickly. Did not Christ exhort his disciples to make disciples of all nations? Was not that the Messiah’s very mandate to his followers? Dan intended to fulfill that mandate, and he was doing a good job of it.

The next day, Dan picked me up from my Lake Meadows apartment at about 4:00 p.m. We then drove to Hyde Park to look for a place to eat and study the Bible. We found an Italian restaurant that suited our purpose, parked the car, and went in. Dan ordered a medium-sized pizza and the waiter brought some bread moments later. He sprinkled some cheese on the olive oil he’d poured on the saucer, dipped a piece of bread in it, took a bite, and said it was good. I tried it, and agreed.

The minister then produced his NIV Bible and began the systematic process of converting me to the faith. I listened, nodded and answered his questions in the affirmative. I asked a few questions of my own—questions that were either unsatisfactorily answered or entirely evaded. Dan told me that tomorrow was Easter, that Jesus arose from the dead on that day, and that the full implications of that resurrection were beyond the grasp of any single man.

Wouldn’t it be the absolute best thing for me to be baptized tomorrow, to be submerged in water, and to be raised, like Jesus, to a new life? Wouldn’t it be all too cool to say that I was baptized on Easter? I silently contemplated Dan’s modest propositions, and like the quixotic (sic) that I had become, agreed that it would, indeed, be cool to be baptized on Easter. Though I harbored reservations about baptism (in fact, I asked him if there was a way around the actual submersion, he said no), I neither committed myself to it nor expressed my reservations. We prayed, and he dropped me off at home.

The next day was Easter, and I brought myself, somehow, to go to the church. I had in my attendance of other baptisms heard the converts say they were “fired-up,” “sold-out” to God, and that nothing could be more “awesome.” Deep down, I had no such experiences. I was, frankly, in a trance, and the most important motivation for continuation on the path I’d set out on was the sheer novelty of being baptized on Easter.

After the worship service, I told Dan of my resolution to get baptized. He was ecstatic. He spread the word (you must marvel at the efficacy of word-of-mouth), and arranged, with a few snaps of the finger I think, to have the baptismal bath ready. Everyone was overjoyed. Hugs and congratulatory messages almost suffocated me.

By the time I arrived at the Michigan Avenue baptismal venue, almost every disciple in the campus ministry was already there and I was greeted with another round of hugs and congratulations. Apparently, I had made the best decision of my life, and everyone was happy for me.

I was asked to go and change into the T-shirt and jogging pants I’d brought for the purpose of the submersion in water, and was subsequently led to a back room where I was to be faced with the final, this-is-it, no-turning-back round of questions. In a solemn ceremony, Dan and two other patriarchs of the Campus ministry asked if I would be willing to be committed to the body of Christ, to attend every meeting of “the body,” and to forever live the life of a disciple. I answered all three questions in the affirmative. We prayed.

Our emergence from the back room was to rapturous applause and ecstatic cheers. Then began the obligatory flattery about the object of the convention: some said I was one of the most brilliant persons they’d ever met, others, that they’d never seen anyone so willing to study the bible, and that they were sure I’d make a fine disciple. Others, yet, couldn’t wait to see what God would do with me. Everyone had such kind words that, to tell the truth, I might have cried if I had one less drop of testosterone running through my veins. In all, everyone thought I would make one heck of a disciple.

I was still deep in my trance when somebody led me towards the baptismal bath. I stepped into the bath, waded to the deep end of it, and sat on the raised steps, the water circling my lower torso.

“Do you believe that Jesus died for your sins and rose from the dead to grant you eternal salvation?” I vaguely heard Dan ask.

“I do.” I said mechanically. If someone had looked into my eyes, they might have suggested that we postpone the event. Though I was sitting in that bath, I was really far away. Deep down, in whatever remained of my consciousness, I was asking myself, what am I doing? Why in the world am I doing this? I certainly wasn’t fired up.

But it was too late to withdraw now. Surely I did not intend to climb out of the water and declare to these incredibly awesome people that I’d changed my mind about being baptized in their church. To have done so would be to have committed an atrocity, a barbarity, and in fact, an abomination deserving of eternal damnation!

“What is your good confession?” Dan asked, jolting me out of my reverie.

“Jesus is Lord.” I said as we had rehearsed in the back room. Obviously, that utterance was not, by the most elastic definition of the word, a confession—never mind whether it was good or not. For my intellectual detachment from the process, I might as well have been reciting the rosary. At any rate, a thunderous applause rent the air as I made my “good confession.”

“I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost,” Dan said as he clasped his hands over mine, which were firmly covering my mouth and nose, and lowered me, backward, into the water.

I re-emerged to reverberating shouts and applause, and to the beginnings of the refrain, “We love you with the love of the lord…”—one that I came to understand was, for lack of a more apt description, the induction anthem.

As I climbed out of the water, someone wrapped my towel around me, and directed me to the men’s rest room where I dried myself, and changed back into my clothes.

When I returned from the bathroom, it was to another round of by-now-asphyxiating hugs and congratulations. There were two cards that had been signed by about every disciple in the campus ministry, congratulating me on making the best decision of my life.

§

It was at this point that I slowly began to emerge from the trance that had enveloped me all week, into the reality of my just-forged commitment. I knew I would eventually joist my way out of it, but I was presently involved in an intimate relationship with The Church.

With that, I became a bona fide member of The Church, a membership I was too willing to relinquish, but too ambivalent to; a membership that in retrospect was a veritable waste of my time and energies; a membership that allowed me to witness an admixture of hypocrisy, conformity, and servility, the likes of which I never wish to witness again.

[undated c. 2002 - 2003]