On Cinema, Gods, and the Dust of Bohol
I do not watch these modern films made by artificial intelligence, but my wife does. Since we live under the same roof, it is impossible not to hear the voices drifting from the television. Listening to them, I am reminded that just as with our notion of God, fictional characters merely inherit our own traits. If we are petty, greedy, or given to deceit, the dramatist endows his creations with those very same vices. In the quiet act of composition, we inevitably spill ourselves onto the page.
Have you ever considered why the Greek Zeus and the Filipino Diyos sound so remarkably alike? They stem from the same deep, human impulse. Ludwig Feuerbach noted in his study of Christianity that theology is, at its heart, nothing more than anthropology. Humanity conceives an external divine ideal merely by projecting its own capacities—its love, its reason, its fragile will—onto the heavens. Whatever concept of God we fashion, it remains tethered to human nature. When we attempt to sever that connection and declare our projections absolute, we breed terrible doctrines of supremacy—much like the Nazis or the architects of apartheid in South Africa, where Mr. Elon Musk was raised. They invented myths of “Aryan purity” or “chosen peoples,” not out of truth or science, but to justify breaking others.
To impose one’s will by force is as old as Cain and Abel: one commits the murder and promptly blames the victim. It is the very same logic as the “nanlaban” pretext invoked during the presidency of Rodrigo Duterte, who now awaits reckoning before the International Criminal Court at The Hague. Theodore Parker wrote—and Dr. King so often reminded us—that the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice. In Cebuano, we call this natural balance gabâ, a word far older in our souls than the borrowed Sanskrit karma.
There is a quiet irony in our history. The Philippines was among the 120 nations that voted to adopt the Rome Statute, establishing the ICC. A key advocate for our entry was Harry Roque—then a dedicated professor and human rights lawyer who spent a decade lobbying for the tribunal, long before he became spokesman for the Duterte administration. He surrendered his principles for political gain, much like Judas for his silver.
Yet so many of our countrymen fail to see it. They consume propaganda with an astonishing, gullible appetite. At the ballot box, they gamble away their children’s future, choosing men who project a crude, performative strength while ignoring basic facts. Thus, the reins of government fall to the undeserving—mostly scions of long-standing political dynasties who seem incapable of holding an honest job. Many are lawyers who could earn a respectable living in the courts, yet the allure of power proves far sweeter than integrity.
After decades of yielding to these dynasties, we watch our neighbors pass us by. Vietnam, once devastated as a proxy war, now manufactures electric vehicles, while we cannot even forge a single bar of steel. Perhaps we are simply a people destined to squander what we were given, leaving foreign conglomerates to strip our mountains bare. In my own province of Bohol, no one can honestly say the people ever profited from the quarries of Garcia Hernandez. All that ever reaches them is the dust, blowing quietly off the rocks and quarries settling over their homes.
