7 Day Workshop - Day 1

So, the title of this presentation, which will span seven days, is 'Reading Our Lives Through the Principle'. As we grow up, one thing we can say about all human beings is that we are born knowing basically nothing. As we start to discover ourselves, we begin to explore the world around us and ask questions about it. One of the questions that children most frequently ask is 'why?' They ask why this, why that, why do I have to do this, and so on. This constant questioning arises from our innate desire to make sense of the nature of reality. We are born with a built-in desire to understand the world we live in because, at times, it can seem incomprehensible. When we can understand the world, everything becomes more predictable and meaningful, rather than random and chaotic. We seek to uncover the principles that govern the way the world works, such as why some apples fall and others float, or whether all stairs will lead to a fall if we jump off them. Understanding these principles helps us make sense of our reality and our lives.

I’d like to introduce myself a little bit. This is me; I hope you can still recognise me even though I had more hair back then. I’ve frozen this picture in time because it’s the one I always use, as it represents how I liked to look before I started gaining weight. This is my dear beloved wife, Ruth, my better half. We got married in 1982, having met in 1981, introduced by Father and Mother Moon, who blessed us in marriage. We have four children: Robert, our oldest son, and his wife, who have two children, including our first granddaughter, Charlotte. Our second son, Jonathan, and his wife, Arena, live in Singapore, and our third son is Alexander, while our youngest is Elizabeth. One thing we enjoy is going on holiday together. Recently, my wife and I moved in with our older son's family, which has been a blessing. We live in a slightly separate home, about 30 feet away from the main building, in a one-bedroom flat, which is very nice.

Now, if you ask yourself how to make sense of who you are, what would you say? You might identify as British, Japanese, Croatian, or something else. You might mention your weight or height, or your profession, whether you are a doctor, teacher, or office worker. However, if you really want to reveal who you are, you tell your story. Stories are important because they provide insight into our identities. For example, my family background is quite diverse. My father was born in Siam, now Thailand, while my mother was born in Jerusalem, Palestine. I was born in Uganda, and my sister was born in Kenya. This diversity raises questions about how we came to be. My grandfather was very English, and I have a picture of him from when I first met him in London. My family history spans several continents, which I find fascinating.

When I look at my family history, I see how much I have inherited in terms of values and my sense of identity. I identify as Jewish by birth, Christian by upbringing, and a member of the Unification movement by choice. I encountered the Divine Principle at 18, which transformed my life. Although I was raised Jewish, I was not particularly conscious of my heritage as a child, except for the traditions my grandmother observed. My father is a Christian, and I was baptized and confirmed in the Church of England. However, I struggled to understand the sermons I heard in church, despite my deep love for Jesus. I attended a Christian school where we had worship services, which I enjoyed, but I found the theology abstract and difficult to grasp. I often questioned the meaning of the Nicene Creed, particularly why we professed belief in the Catholic Church when we were part of the Church of England. My RE teacher acknowledged the validity of my questions, which highlighted my struggle to accept beliefs I did not understand.

This questioning nature has always been a part of me, and I never understood why until I took an interest in Judaism, which encourages inquiry. My teaching style is deeply connected to who I am as a person because the Divine Principle is personal to me; it is not just abstract doctrine. When I first encountered the Principle at 18, I was filled with questions about Christianity and Jesus. One day, while walking along Oxford Street in London, a young lady approached me and asked if I was concerned about the world's problems. I responded affirmatively, as I had been thinking about these issues since I was 13, particularly after visiting the Soviet Union. She asked me how I planned to solve these problems, and when I admitted I hadn't figured it out yet, she invited me to a lecture on the subject. I was intrigued, even though I suspected she was from a religious group.

I was approached by someone about their religion, and I said, 'No, thank you, I'm a Christian.' She replied, 'I'm also a Christian, and these lectures help me to love Jesus more.' I was stuck; how could I say I didn't want to learn to love Jesus more? I couldn't say no, so I had to say yes. I attended some lectures similar to the ones I'll be discussing this week, and then I went to a workshop for a couple of days. For me, it was a life-changing experience. Instead of going to the Church of England, where I grew up and was supposed to believe things I couldn't understand, I found that when I heard the Divine Principle, it made sense to me. It helped me understand myself, the world I lived in, and other people. I realised this makes sense; it is true because it resonates in a very scientific way. It helped me to understand God and Jesus much more, to love Jesus more, and to understand the Bible more. The only thing I couldn't understand was why I hadn't worked it out for myself; it seemed so obvious.

This brings us to the importance of stories. Alasdair MacIntyre, a Catholic Marxist philosopher, once said that man is essentially a storytelling animal. He becomes, through his history, a teller of stories that aspire to truth. You might wonder what a story has to do with truth. Some people dismiss stories as mere fairy tales, but actually, fairy stories can convey truth in a special way. A typical fairy story begins with a king and queen who are unhappy because they have no children. Then one day, the queen becomes pregnant, and they have a child, bringing joy to the palace. From the child's perspective, this story conveys a sense of belonging and hope. In this way, stories can teach truth, which is why all great religious leaders were storytellers. They used stories to communicate and teach truths, not through logic but through narrative.

The key question is not about the authorship of these stories; it doesn't matter if Shakespeare wrote his plays or not. I can only answer the question of what I am to do with my life if I can first answer the question of what stories I find myself a part of. I remember the first time Prince William gave his interview at age 21. A journalist asked him when he realised he would one day become the King of England. He recounted how, as a little boy, he noticed that his grandmother lived in a bigger house than anyone else, a palace. He realised she was a real queen, not just a make-believe one. As he grew older, he understood that one day, when his grandmother passed away, his father would likely become king, and eventually, he might become king himself. This realisation narrowed his options in life; he could no longer choose a career like others. His life became dedicated to preparing himself for kingship, and in discovering his place in the story of his family and country, he found his identity.

When people experience an identity crisis, it often means they do not know who they are, their origin, lineage, or place in the story of God's providence. However, when we discover our place in the story, we understand who we are, and it becomes clear how we should live. When I heard the Divine Principle, I also understood how I should live and what I should do with my life. We enter human society with certain roles into which we are born, and we must learn what they are to understand how others respond to us and how our responses to them may be misconstrued. We do not choose to be the oldest, middle, or youngest child; we simply are. If we are the youngest, we cannot say we want to swap places with our older sibling. We must learn what it means to be in our position.

Through stories, we learn about the world and the moral laws that govern it. For example, there are tales of two sisters: one kind and the other selfish. The kind sister finds that everything works out well for her, while the selfish sister faces negative consequences. These stories teach us about kindness and generosity, showing that if we are kind and giving, things tend to work out better than if we are selfish and greedy. Children's stories can shape their understanding of the world, and without these narratives, children may become anxious and confused about their identity. To understand our society, we must understand the stories that constitute its history. For instance, if we want to know why our country is in conflict with another, we must learn the stories of our nation's history and relationships with others. Only then can we grasp the complexities of our current situation.

We are born with questions: Who are we? Why are we here? What is our task? The best answers often come through stories. For Jewish people, their stories explain who they are; for Christians, their stories do the same. If we can understand our story, our task becomes much more meaningful. For example, if you ask three people doing the same job—cutting stones—what they are doing, their answers may differ significantly. One might say they are just chopping stones, another might say they are doing it to feed their family, while a third might say they are contributing to the construction of a cathedral. The third person is likely to feel the most meaning in their work because they understand their task within a larger narrative.

Barbara Hardy once said that we dream in narrative. Our dreams unfold as stories, and we remember, anticipate, hope, despair, believe, doubt, plan, and learn through narrative. Our identities are constructed from the stories we tell ourselves. This is an existential reality; we have stories running through our minds all the time. At the end of the day, we recount our experiences to loved ones, sharing the ups and downs of our day. The way we tell these stories shapes our inner world. Two people can have the same experience but recount it differently, leading one to despair and resentment while the other finds enrichment and growth. Therefore, how we narrate our experiences is crucial, as it shapes our entire perspective on life.

This is why we will be looking at stories. You might wonder why I am focusing on stories when science seems more important. However, science itself is a narrative. A Siberian elder once said, 'If you don't know the trees, you may be lost in the forest. If you don't know the stories, you may be lost in life.' Many people become lost because they do not know the story of where they came from or the meaning of life. This lack of understanding can lead to despair, even to the point of suicide. Another reason I love stories is that they provide people with enough space to think for themselves. Reading novels allows us to enter the lives of different characters, helping us to reflect on life from various perspectives. Perhaps this is how we are made; perhaps words of truth reach us best through the heart, and stories and songs are the language of the heart. Terry Pratchett, a well-known author, suggested that stories shape people, not the other way around. Therefore, it is vital to consider the stories we tell children, as these narratives will influence who they become.

Stories shape people and inform their understanding of the nature of reality. This understanding influences who they are. You might wonder why people are different—Jews, Christians, Muslims, atheists, and individuals from various nationalities. Physiologically, they are almost identical; the blood is the same, the bone structure is the same, and while skin colour may vary slightly, all human beings are fundamentally the same. What makes them different is what goes on inside their heads—the different stories they hold. Sometimes, these stories clash. The narratives we tell literally create the world around us. If we want to change the world, we need to change our story. To change our inner world, we must change how we tell the story of our own lives. This is the basis of something called cognitive behavioural therapy, which focuses on this very principle.

Ivan Illich, an Austrian priest, educator, and anarchist, stated that neither revolution nor reformation can ultimately change society. Some believe that to change society, one must engage in politics or take up arms to overthrow existing rulers. Others think reforming structures is the answer. However, Illich argued that neither approach is effective. Instead, we must tell a new and powerful tale—one so persuasive that it sweeps away old myths and becomes a preferred story. This new narrative should be inclusive, gathering all bits of our past and present into a coherent whole, shining light on the future. To change society, we must tell a different story, one that provides a better explanation of reality and includes the histories of surrounding nations and religions.

I realised that this is essentially what Jesus and Muhammad were doing, and what Father Moon aimed to achieve. He did not attempt to change the world through politics; rather, in the last few years of his life, he delivered a peace message. Many assumed he had a political plan for peace, but he was actually telling a story. He recounted the biblical narrative of Adam and Eve, Jewish history, and Christian history, but he did so in a new and better way. By telling the story differently and incorporating various narratives into a coherent narrative, he believed he could bring about change in society and in the way people thought. To change the world, we must change the culture that creates it. This requires altering how people interact, treat, and think about each other. Ultimately, we must change the stories inside people's heads.

As I change, those around me change, and this gradual cultural shift can lead to a transformation of the world. This change is not achieved through force or politics, although political expressions may arise from it. All cultures, religions, and political philosophies have myths at their core. A myth is often misunderstood; it is not merely something untrue. Instead, a myth is a sacred narrative that holds religious or spiritual significance for those who tell it. It contributes to and expresses systems of thought and values. Scholars use the term without implying truth or falsehood. By definition, a myth embodies beliefs, concepts, and ways of making sense of the world, conveying spiritual and moral truths.

For example, consider the Hindu myth of reincarnation, which has shaped Indian society for thousands of years. This myth explains the caste system, where individuals are born into specific social statuses. The untouchables, at the very bottom, are born to clean the streets and live in rubbish dumps. Others are born as commoners, merchants, warriors, or priests, each with their predetermined roles. The myth of reincarnation suggests that one's current status is a result of past lives. If one accepts their life and fulfills their duties without complaint, they may be rewarded in the next life. Conversely, those who do not fulfil their responsibilities may be demoted in their next incarnation. This belief system supports the status quo, leading people to accept their circumstances as fair and just, as it is perceived that they deserve their fate based on past actions.

In contrast, the Bible presents a radical myth that challenges the status quo, suggesting that the way things are is not how they must be. It proposes that change is possible. Myths traditionally serve to maintain the status quo, leading people to believe that the current state of affairs is how things must be. To change society, we must change these myths and the ideas that underpin them. In the Western world, the two main sources of our cultural myths are Greek mythology and the Bible. Understanding these foundational myths is crucial to comprehending why society is structured as it is. Hesiod's Theogony, for instance, narrates the origins of the Greek gods and conveys the values and attitudes of ancient Greek culture. Each myth embodies and expresses the values of its culture, influencing how people perceive reality.

The Mother Earth Tartarus, the depths of the Earth, some say the underworld, and Eros, the god of sexual desire. To summarise, there is chaos, Earth, the underworld, and sexual desire. However, we cannot see any of it because it is dark. Let us name this darkness. From chaos, the first deities pop out of nowhere and asexually spawn Erebus, who is the darkness of this underworld, and Nyx, who is the darkness on Earth. When they mix, they create an outer atmosphere that the gods breathe. Then night spawns day and thus light. Meanwhile, Gaia, remember, spawns Uranus, the sky, Ore of the mountains, and Pontus, the sea. Let us stick with Gaia because, in her sexual desire, the gods could stop this unreasonable spawning and began to have children the way we know it today, viviparously.

Gaia tries to mate with her son Uranus, whom she has been holding above her, and gives birth to three Hecatoncheires, lovely monsters with a hundred hands and fifty heads each, and then three Cyclopes. After the mother and son produce these monsters, the genetics soar out somehow, and they have twelve gods called the Titans. Some say that Uranus hated the Hecatoncheires, so he hid his children on Crete. Others say that he hated the Titans, so he shoved them back up from where they were born. Either way, Gaia was not happy and asked the Titans to help her out. Sticking with the second story, when Uranus comes to have sex with Gaia, Kronos, who has been growing up inside her, chops off whatever he can get at from his angle. The blood hits the sea and creates more monsters: the Furies, Giants, and Nymphs. When his manliness hits the sea, it creates a foam which bears the child Aphrodite of love and desire. Now the Titans are freed, and Kronos becomes king.

Now that that is solved, everything is peaceful, right? Let us see. Now we have Kronos as king, and he marries his sister Rhea. They have children, and then Kronos hears a prophecy that one of his children will take his throne, being his father's son. This freaks him out, so he decides that he must eat them. Rhea keeps having kids, but each time she pops them out, her husband gobbles them up. Understandably, this disturbs Rhea. Upon the birth of her sixth son, Zeus, she hands her husband a baby-sized stone to eat. He thinks nothing of it and pops the stone. Meanwhile, Zeus grows up on Crete, where the Nymphs help raise him, and every time he cries, the guards bang their swords so Kronos won't hear him.

When Zeus is older, he conspires with his grandma Gaia to get back at his dad. They make Kronos throw up all of Zeus's brothers and sisters. When Kronos figures out what is happening, there is a battle, and Zeus does the only proper thing by chopping off his dad's genitals and tossing them into the sea. Karma, much? Now Zeus is king because he frees the rest of his family. There are his siblings: Hera, the goddess of marriage; Poseidon, god of the sea; Hades, god of the underworld; Hestia, goddess of the Earth; and Demeter, goddess of crops and harvest. These are the Olympians. Zeus keeps on taking control by banishing all the Titans of the last generation to the underworld. Zeus has one more great battle where his grandma Gaia had a kid with a hundred heads covered by flame named Typhon. By now, Zeus has acquired the thunderbolt, and he is able to drive him down and sentence him to providing for volcanoes.

Now, the story doesn't end. Just like any other king, god, Zeus marries and hears his kid is going to overthrow him. We all know that Zeus reigned on as genitals did not join his father's. So what does he do to make him different? Rather than stuffing the kids back up or swallowing them himself, he just swallows his wife before she has any kids. What about Odysseus? Athena, wasn't she one of Zeus's sisters? No, when Zeus swallows his wife, it turns out she was already pregnant with a girl. So the child pops out of Zeus's head after he swallows her mother: none other than the cunning daddy's girl, Athena. From then on, no one else really challenges Zeus. Other gods are born from incestuous relations with each other and so on.

Now, you will probably take away from this something like darkness, some gods, light, Titan gods, battle, new king that swallows, lovely gods, battle. Zeus has a war between Titans and Olympians and then sends Titans to the underworld. But that's just fine because remember that all this is interpreted from a poem that does not give us all the details. Many people read the story differently. The opening lines give no more detail than that. So if all you get is a concept of power, revenge, battle, sexism, familial love, and then familial love, that should be good enough. These themes of gods with very messy relationships and very human emotions resonate through all of Greek mythology and not just through Greek mythology; they resonate through the whole of European culture. These myths come up again and again.

So you might wonder, what are the values? What are the implications of these kinds of stories? What does this say about the relationship between the gods and human beings? Well, first of all, all the action takes place on Mount Olympus. It's all about the gods and the incredibly messy relationships they have with each other and the gods of the major characters. Where are the human beings? When we look at some stories, we find human beings like bit players; they are not important. The human beings are like the playthings of the gods; they are the toys that the gods play with. So that's the relationship there between the gods and human beings. As you can see, there is a lot of sexual confusion. Again, these kinds of values also show that the gods are not moral. Again, might is right. Who decides what is right? The one that has the most power. Zeus is the most powerful; he has a thunderbolt, and that is why he is right. Might is right; it's all about power. This is an expression of a certain kind of value which embodies the root of Greek society, and through these kinds of stories, these values are transmitted from generation to generation: the glory of war and all these sorts of things.

There is also a lot of conflict. There is a lot of fighting, and all conflict is resolved by one person killing another person. How are the husband and wife relationships or sexual relationships generally? Really problematic. How are the parent-child relationships? Really problematic. All these things express a certain kind of view about relationships. As I said, the values of these myths then become embedded in certain cultural assumptions. You might think, well, that was two and a half thousand years ago. But Clement Freud, the founder of modern psychoanalysis, based his whole science of psychoanalysis upon an analysis of Greek stories. He went back to stories like Oedipus and all these kinds of stories, and that became the basis of his understanding of the human psyche and human relationships, which was based upon the myth of the Greek stories.

Just to look briefly at another story to understand a little bit how these things work, this is about the myth of Oedipus, King by Sophocles. 'Hey, I'm the king, baby, but of Thebes, not rock and roll. Well, still, it's a pretty cushy gig for the most part, except for that pesky curse that's making everyone wither and die. It's really a drag when there are no cows for the royal burger, and your servant drops dead in your plate of wilted asparagus. I sent my brother-in-law Creon to the oracle to find out what the deal was. He got the answer right from Apollo's mouth: we needed to launch a full-scale investigation to find out who killed Thebes' previous king, Laius. I was on the case and was using proven crime-solving techniques, but my focus was pulled when that incredibly annoying chorus had to butt in.'

'All right, all right, so I got the old coot to make an appearance, and you know what his helpful hint was? Apparently, I'm the murderer. I think I'd remember something like that, don't you think? And then he told me I was going to die blind and alone and went on some cockamamie tangent about me being married to my mother. Okay, all right, guys, look, where's the camera? Come on, I'm being pumped. Right, Ashton, where are you? Dude, where's my chariot?' But I knew what was really going on. Creon and Tiresias were plotting to take over the kingdom. This wasn't the first time somebody had been after my crown. It was lucky for those backstabbers that my lady Jocasta showed up to calm me down. She told me all about how unreliable predictions can be, like once someone told Laius that Jocasta and Laius's son would kill him and marry her. Isn't that wild? But they got rid of that creepy kid. I mean, yeah, I did kill a few guys in a fight a while ago, but anyway, that's ancient history, totally unrelated.'

'Then a messenger showed up and dropped the bombshell that my dad was dead, but he really wasn't my dad because apparently, I was adopted. A lonely king and queen were shopping around for a kid and got one off a local shepherd or on eBay or something. I decided to investigate this shepherd, even though Joe didn't want me to. You'll be sorry. I probably should have listened to her because then I wouldn't have learned that I was Laius and Jocasta's kid, which means... which means... yeah, sorry. A servant came in at this dramatic moment and told me that Jocasta had killed herself. I couldn't believe my wife, I mean, my mum, was dead. I mean, oh, I was feeling a little emotionally fragile at this moment. You could say I was a sight for sore eyes, but I guess hindsight's always 20/20, right? At least I'm not being kept in the dark anymore. I'm sorry, these puns are getting cornea and cornea.'

So that's a classic story of Oedipus, which is very influential for Freud. When we think about, okay, let's unpack the story, what are the implications? The whole story is to say that we are governed by fate. There is a Greek idea that the future is closed and cannot be escaped. Oedipus's parents heard this prophecy that he would kill his dad and marry his mum. They thought, we're not going to let this happen, so they told this person to go and kill the baby. The servant wouldn't kill a baby, gave it to a shepherd, and he was adopted. Then he came back and killed his dad and married his mum. The point of this is that the future is closed and cannot be escaped. The way things are is the way things have to be, and you cannot escape your future. This is a very powerful idea of fate, and this feeds into the Christian doctrine of predestination.

As the early Christian Church separated from Judaism, it became influenced by Hellenism and the Hellenistic myths it adopted. This was influenced by these kinds of myths and this kind of understanding of the nature of reality. Christian doctrine is predestined by God, whether a person goes to heaven or hell. It doesn't matter what that person does; God has already decided, even before you're born, whether you're going to go to heaven or hell. Everything that happens is part of God's plan. It's all God's will. Augustine, the greatest of the early Church Fathers, talked about, 'Felix culpa, oh happy fall of man.' Predestination within Christian doctrine means there is no freedom. This also feeds into something called determinism.

Something called scientific determinism. This is Ilya Prigogine; he was a Nobel laureate for non-linear thermodynamics and passed away a few years ago. He said the basis of the vision of classical physics, what you probably studied at school, was a conviction that the future is determined by the present. Therefore, a careful study of the present permits an unveiling of the future. We may perhaps even call it the founding myth of classical science. Scientists say if we knew everything about the way the world is today, we would be able to predict the future accurately. The only problem, the only reason why we cannot do that, is because our knowledge about the state of the universe today is limited. But actually, the future is already contained within the present, and the present is contained within the past. This is the basic myth of classical science.

Sometimes people say, well, science is not a myth; science isn't based upon myth. But actually, science is based upon that basic assumption, which goes all the way back to the Greeks. This is determinism. Some people talk about historical determinism. The way things unfold in history is determined. If you read a history book, sometimes you get the feeling that the way things turned out couldn't have turned out any differently. People made decisions, but they had to make the decisions that they made, and they really had no choice. This is a sort of economic determinism of Karl Marx, for example. Again, you get this idea coming from the Greek stories. This is from the Iliad, a great classical story by Homer, where the Greeks invade Troy. Agamemnon, the king, takes Achilles, one of his fighters, and wrongs Achilles by taking his wife. He receives a reprimand from Zeus, and Agamemnon says, 'Not I, not I was the cause of the act.' In other words, 'I'm not responsible for what I did, but Zeus and my fate and the Furies who walk in darkness, it was they who in the assembly put wild folly in my understanding on that day when I arbitrarily took Achilles' prize from him.'

Agamemnon then justifies and explains to other people why he took Achilles' wife, saying, 'Don't blame me; it's not my fault. The gods made me do it.' Here, the Greek view is that the gods are like puppeteers and human beings are like puppets on a string. The gods were having an argument among themselves, and one of the gods made Agamemnon do that to punish Achilles for something else or to punish the god that killed the support of Achilles. So that was their understanding: 'I'm not responsible for my actions; blame the gods, don't blame me.' Nowadays, people say, 'Don't blame me; I'm not responsible for my actions; it's my genes. Don't blame me; I'm not responsible for my actions; it's my parents who brought me up this way, my genetic inheritance. Don't blame me; it's not my fault; it's my social background that I came from. You can't expect me to have turned out anything other than a member of a gang and a drug dealer when you consider the social environment in which I came from.'

The basis of the Greek philosophical tradition was to say that actually the gods are responsible for what happens; human beings aren't responsible, and it's all determined by fate. Human beings don't have responsibility, and so you can see this.

A prevalent attitude in the modern world is one of victimhood, where individuals often say, 'I'm not responsible; don't blame me.' This contrasts with a mindset that acknowledges reality and asks, 'What am I going to do with my situation?' Some people claim victimhood based on their ancestors' experiences, asserting that their current state is a direct result of historical injustices. This mentality can be deeply ingrained, leading individuals to believe they cannot improve their circumstances because of past grievances. Such attitudes are rooted in the cultural narratives of the Western world, particularly in Europe.

In contrast to this victimhood mentality, there exists an alternative myth rooted in biblical tradition. To understand this, we must first grasp what the Bible is. It is not merely a single book but a collection of texts, akin to a library, encompassing various genres such as myth, history, law, and prophecy. Pope John Paul II noted that the Bible speaks to us about the origin of the universe, not to provide scientific explanations but to clarify the relationships between humanity, God, and the universe. When people read the Genesis creation story and compare it to modern scientific understanding, they often conclude that the Bible is incorrect. However, this perspective arises from a misunderstanding of the text's purpose and genre.

The Genesis narrative describes God creating the world in six days, which should not be interpreted as a scientific account but rather as a philosophical exploration of humanity's relationship with the divine. The Bible is not merely a religious text; it serves as a work of philosophy, prompting readers to think critically about spiritual and moral truths. Ludwig Wittgenstein, a Jewish philosopher, articulated that philosophy aims for the logical clarification of thoughts and is an activity rather than a doctrine. The Bible encourages readers to analyse and understand the relationship between God, humanity, and the universe, rather than simply accepting prescribed beliefs.

The Genesis account begins with the declaration that there is one God, contrasting sharply with the polytheistic narratives of Greek mythology. In this biblical view, the physical world is inherently good, created by God, and imbued with purpose. This stands in stark opposition to the Greek belief that the physical realm is evil and that human beings are trapped within it. The biblical perspective asserts that everything has meaning and is part of a divine plan. Furthermore, humanity is created in the image of God, which is a profound assertion not found in other religious texts. This notion implies that human beings are not mere playthings of the gods but rather children of God, deserving of care and love.

The biblical creation story also introduces the idea that both male and female are created in God's image, highlighting the equality of genders as different yet equal expressions of the divine nature. This concept is revolutionary, as it establishes a foundation for understanding gender equality within the context of spirituality. Additionally, the narrative suggests that human beings possess consciousness, enabling them to think, feel, and act responsibly. The Bible presents a linear view of time, indicating that history progresses and that change is possible, contrasting with cultures that perceive time as cyclical and unchanging.

The categorisation of reality is another significant theme in the biblical narrative. For instance, when categorising animals, one might use language to distinguish between different species. This process of categorisation helps us make sense of the world around us. Wittgenstein noted that the limits of our language define the limits of our world. Experts in specific fields, such as entomologists or botanists, have a richer understanding of their subjects due to their specialised vocabulary. The Bible reflects this idea, stating that God brought the animals to Adam to see what he would name them, illustrating humanity's role in categorising and understanding creation.

In contrast, the Greek philosopher Pythagoras developed a different approach to categorising reality through a table of opposites. He posited that everything falls into one category or another, such as order versus chaos or good versus bad. This binary categorisation reflects a philosophical attempt to make sense of the nature of reality. While both the biblical and Greek approaches aim to understand existence, their implications diverge significantly, shaping the cultural and philosophical landscapes of their respective traditions.

Bertrand Russell stated that he did not know of any other man who has been as influential as Pythagoras in the sphere of thought. The whole conception of the eternal world is derived from him, making him the most influential philosopher in the entire European tradition. Plato and Aristotle, along with all the Greek philosophers, were influenced by Pythagoras, who shaped a significant part of the European cultural and philosophical tradition. One of the key distinctions made by Aristotle was between good and bad, associating moral prestige with the left-hand column, where good things appeared. This basic assumption has informed the entire European cultural and philosophical tradition, suggesting that everything in the left-hand column is good, while everything in the right-hand column is bad. This raises the question of whether this dichotomy is true.

Consider the treatment of left-handed people in Europe. The Latin word for left is 'sinister', which in English means evil. Throughout European tradition, left-handed individuals were often treated with suspicion, and left-handedness was associated with being crooked or evil. The language reflects this bias, where 'left' is not merely a direction but also carries connotations of wrongdoing. Conversely, 'right' is associated with doing the right thing, and in Russian, the word for right, 'pravda', also means truth. This moral overlay extends to the concepts of positive and negative as well. When someone is described as positive, it is generally perceived as a compliment, while being labelled negative is viewed unfavourably. Despite being neutral terms in a scientific context, they carry a moral weight in everyday language.

This moral overlay has historically favoured the male perspective, associating masculinity with good and femininity with bad. The European philosophical tradition has often been characterised by a conflict between these two columns, with the 'A' column attempting to eliminate the 'B' column. Some argue that this mistreatment of women stems from biblical texts, but the Bible itself states that male and female are equal, both expressions of the Divine. The idea that masculinity is associated with good and femininity with evil can be traced back to Pythagoras, who articulated the prevailing values of Greek society rather than originating them. This enduring influence has shaped the European cultural and philosophical landscape, and only recently have feminists begun to uncover its roots in the Hellenistic tradition.

Understanding this historical context is crucial, as Bertrand Russell noted its significance. The language we use is imbued with this mythology, and when we associate positive and negative with good and evil, we are perpetuating Pythagorean thought. This reflects a patriarchal society where men dominated women, and Pythagoras merely described the status quo. The challenge lies in recognising how deeply embedded these ideas are in our language and thought processes. For those who speak multiple languages, the differences in how each language frames reality can highlight these biases more clearly.

The biblical view of reality contrasts sharply with Pythagorean thought. The Bible states that God created humanity in His image, male and female, indicating that both genders possess dual characteristics of masculinity and femininity. This concept is expressed in the Divine Principle, which posits that every entity contains both yang and yin. The reciprocal relationship between these dual characteristics is essential for existence. Unlike Pythagoras, who viewed these characteristics as oppositional, the biblical perspective sees them as complementary and mutually attractive, each possessing equal value. This understanding transforms our view of relationships in science, nature, and between genders, emphasising that one cannot exist without the other.

In the realm of particles, atoms are composed of protons, electrons, and neutrons. If the universe consisted solely of positive or negative particles, no atoms would exist, as like charges repel each other. Therefore, the existence of atoms relies on the balance of positive and negative particles. Similarly, species, including cats and humans, require both male and female for survival. If a species were composed entirely of one gender, it would face extinction. This principle applies universally, as every entity exists because of the interplay between masculinity and femininity, which is a stark contrast to Pythagorean views that frame reality in terms of conflict.

The nature of reality, as described by the Divine Principle, lacks moral overtones. It presents a neutral description where dual characteristics form reciprocal relationships, both within entities and between them. For instance, an atom exists due to the relationship between its nucleus and electrons. This principle extends to molecules, where atoms share electrons to create balance. Even at the level of DNA, which is fundamental to all life, the double helix structure embodies both masculine and feminine characteristics. In humans, sex is determined by chromosomes, with females having two X chromosomes and males having one X and one Y. This distinction is crucial for understanding the nature of reality, as language helps us articulate these differences, preventing confusion and allowing for a clearer comprehension of existence.

Dresses cover a whole floor. If you're looking for men's clothes, you go into the basement, where there's a little corner of the basement in the department store that has some clothes for men. In contrast, there are so many clothes for women. This reflects the nature of reality, but at the same time, there's a distribution of masculine and feminine characteristics. Generally speaking, women are more like this, and men are more like that, from a scientific point of view. Of course, there's an overlap; some men have more feminine characteristics, and some women have more masculine characteristics. That's just the nature of reality.

The principle states that even though atoms become positive or negative ions after ionisation, each still consists of a positive nucleus and negative electrons in stable unity. Similarly, each animal, whether male or female, maintains its life through the reciprocal relationships of yang and yin elements within itself. The same holds true for every plant and person. A feminine nature is found latent in men, and a masculine nature is found latent in women. That's just the nature of reality.

When people talk about gender confusion, it's because there is indeed a spectrum. Within every man, there is a femininity, and within every woman, there is a masculinity. That's just the way things are.