1st Edition, Unreviewed
Much blood has already been spilled in the name of “God,” and it continues to be.
It is the human subterfuge of an obsessive desire to subject others to what we think, even when the differences are not so vast.
No matter the conception we make of God — whether He is Mother Nature, a single superior entity, or a collective one — we attribute to Him the responsibility for generating life and sustaining it.
It is difficult to reconcile the logic of this thought, where something superior dictates the fratricide of its own creation, when He Himself would have the power to do so, whether through the filter of His creation or the span of its existence.
This suggests an arrogant thought: that perhaps we would need to correct the actions of our own creator, or at least that we are indispensable in the tasks we assign to Him.
It is insane.
Something so implausible finds residence only in a soul that carries everything — except God.
Christianity, Islam, and the ancient Norse religion (Vikings) deny the concept of cyclical life between two states of the soul, something generally known as reincarnation.
Judaism, though it follows this line of thought, nevertheless adds the concept of temporality in the soul’s stage toward something better after death (Gehinnom), except for essentially evil souls.
In the old Greco world, the sense of a single life predominated. Yet some Greek philosophical segments admitted the possibility of metempsychosis, while the Romans, through a Stoic vision of the soul, understood that the cyclical state would be a cosmic recurrence leading to cycles of destruction (ekpyrosis) and rebirth.
Druidic, Buddhist, Hindu (Samsara), African religions, and Kardecism place reincarnation at the center, translating it into an evolutionary process of the soul through cyclical existences in matter, which subsidize opportunities for repair and reconciliation with the common sense of the divinity that governs our destinies.
Materialism conceives that life arises from matter and dies with it, anchoring its origin in a peculiar combination of physico‑chemical conditions over time.
We can summarize human thought into two great strands, grouping religions into two sets: those that accept reincarnation, and those that reject it.
Within the group of religions that embrace reincarnation as the evolutionary process of the soul, we can further divide into two subgroups: those that understand the spirit may inhabit diverse physical forms, and those that restrict such thought, conditioning that the soul’s evolutionary state never regresses in its existential expression during reincarnations — as in Kardecism.
The wonder of this diversity is that it provides freedom of choice, offering the way of thinking closest to each person’s nature and to the sense of life one wishes to employ for existence.
No matter the choice, all bring side effects of anguish and anxiety when the soul seeks answers beyond what it can find in its own creed — whether due to lack of effort, opportunity, or theological resources.
Such unanswered questions burden the spirit and may reinforce the feeling of “guilt,” since all religions have a merit‑based character — that is, they understand that punishment or reward comes from our choices, including materialism through the consequences of the physical law of action and reaction.
This feeling of “guilt” subsidizes human sense, regulating social control through fear or reward, catalyzed by a common sense that our conscience elaborates sooner or later. It translates into something difficult to explain, and impossible to escape indefinitely — except in psychotic states of profound emotional imbalance, while they last.
In any case, the concepts that build our religious or philosophical perceptions shape the purpose of living.
If life is finite, its origin favors or condemns by a merit granted or denied by something superior, without tying to previous contexts that justify such choice, since existence is unique and shelters no past.
If life is infinite, manifesting through constant evolution in successive experiences, the weight of the soul’s origin is softened by the renewal of opportunities that alternate, where apparent inequalities between cycles are compensated throughout this process, renewed by new opportunities and contexts.
Thus we may risk the following thought — a corollary that enfolds something pragmatic, indifferent to the religious modality of any option:
If we do not control the origin, guilt dissolves in the amenity of a nature we carry, whose origin is part of this natural process of evolution, beyond our will at the act of creation.
As we forgive ourselves for something whose origin we do not control, we begin to live with a sense where guilt assumes only the function of discomfort — signaling the need for repair. Therefore, it makes no sense to crystallize into the fixed idea of self‑punishment, which, soaking the soul in self‑destructive feelings, only competes with the true purpose of life: repair through compensation and constant effort toward our improvement — the only means that comforts the soul and restores lost peace of spirit.
The side effect of forgiving oneself through constant correction also makes it easier to forgive our neighbor, through the understanding that we are “brothers” who share the same weaknesses of a nature in which we were forged.
In short words, it makes more sense to exchange self‑punishment for the pragmatism of action, since we do not know for certain the origin of this faltering nature under the undeniable process of evolution that governs life — transforming these differences into temporal details, because they too will accompany the constant renewal of what we understand along this path, whose dynamic process is commanded by a single principle of transformation toward the greater expression of the meaning of living.


