What if God is an Axolotl?
If you wanted sound theology, what are you doing on Substack? Go to church.
“What if god is an axolotl?”
A throwaway comment by a friend upon seeing a “benevolent axolotl.”
Inspired by my friend’s musings, my mind created the following scene:
The Incompetent Architect
I imagined a little axolotl playing among its other deity friends. Like how a child holds up an art project to show its parents, so too did this axolotl show its world, its beloved creation, to its parents. The axolotl was proud of what it had worked so hard on. But the poor axolotl was not yet a talented architect of worlds. It had made some grave mistakes. It did not yet realize the disaster it had created. The axolotl stood, beaming up at its parents with hopeful eyes, craving their praise, endearment, and affection. But even the most supportive and loving parents could not look at this abomination and smile. The world, if it had looked in the mirror, would have screamed. The best the axolotl’s parents could muster was a grimace. They said the axolotl had to destroy its creation for it housed too much pain and suffering. It was inhumane. They were horrified their precious child had done such a thing.
The world, if it had looked in the mirror, would have screamed.
The young axolotl was crushed. It had tried so hard. It had done its best only to have created a living, never-ending tragedy. It did not yet know that there would be plenty of time and new opportunities to create beautiful worlds. All it knew was this world. It loved its creation. The axolotl now felt rebellious. It was mad at its parents, at the world, for not seeing the beauty within the horrors. For not seeing the potential. For giving up hope so soon. So the young axolotl hid its world away. It could not bring itself to destroy this world it loved so much. Instead, it spent all its free time trying to fix its world, making it free from disease, natural disasters, scarcity, murder, and death. It told its inhabitants that as long as they did not reproduce, then it had just enough time and energy to keep them all safe. But the people of the world did not listen. Their numbers were multiplying and the axolotl could not save them all. Disease turned into pandemics. Natural disasters became more frequent and devastating. Scarcity fostered evil. Murder turned to genocide. Death was king. All the while, the axolotl ran furtively to and fro trying and trying and trying to save its creation by answering their numerous calls for help. But there were too many and all the axolotl could hear were the loudest, most urgent pleas.
It was no use. He was just an axolotl. He watched with growing panic at what he had created. Horrors he had never fathomed roamed. Saving one life felt useless when millions of others were suffering and dying. As he’s running away to the next call amid a tsunami wave of cries he cannot surmount, something makes him stop. The axolotl turns around. He sees the beaming eyes of the family and friends surrounding the loved one they thought they’d never see again. For just a moment, the all-consuming guilt disappears, replaced by pride that it was able to bring happiness to these few people. The moment cannot last long for the horrors press in and the tsunami crashes.
A New Interpretation
Later as I was walking along the bridge to the world of dreams, the story took on a more personal light. Instead of creating an entire world, the benevolent axolotl had created only me with beaming pride. I saw the axolotl showing me, its art, with hopeful eyes to its parents. I saw how much the axolotl rooted for me and defended me against the voices that said I was broken and hopeless. I wondered why I couldn’t adopt that attitude as well … The world of dreams engulfed me, presenting chaos, absurdity, and raw emotions for me to experience amid complete acceptance.