God/Gods is
God/Gods is not
Paul Dvorak asks
everyone including blog readers: “What is God?”
Add your
definition/opinion/belief/refutation to Senior Researcher Paul
Dvorak's report (the book The Answer in its next published edition in
the section of this following excerpt) by posting in this blogs
comments...
More of THE ANSWER:
Demarist is hosting
a conference, the subject of which is me and my accidental
involuntary part in the founding of the alien religion. He’s
invited all the best available minds in cosmology and philosophy, I
know because I also subpoenaed them all to brief me on this “God”
subject. To me every one has refused, replying that my lami summons
is invalid. Trumped by the “request” of a rookie! Sure he pays
better since he has a budget. All I’ve got to offer is promises
that sound even to me like bald faced threats. Threats have always
worked for me before. Now I have to learn how to be nice!?
Fortunately Demarist is young and naive enough to easily believe that
it is for the benefit of both of us to combine our parties.
The buffet is laid.
The place is filling up with sober conferees.
My old junior
research co-worker (what’s his first name? suit?) Demarist arrives
at the Launch Lounge Balance VIP with his entourage of a Librarian,
very young skinny goggles wearing stick figure, and assorted juniors
and liaisons. I recognize several. They ignore me. Demarist is
effusive in greeting Space and I. Space remembers him but is wary of
his live posse, especially those in the interior pixel camo uniforms.
The Librarian acknowledges me with a scowling bow. No handshake.
“Paul,” Demarist
goes straight for familiar, “This is Rex Stout, Public Librarian
First Class.” This librarian with a dogs name scowls again at my
outstretched hand.
“Mr. Dvorak.”
His voice is British public school. He hunches and stays at a
diagonal to me as if ready to leap away were I to attack.
“Don’t worry I
won’t bite. He might” I indicate Space, who doesn’t like him
and has activated his doggy suit ETACS. “But I don’t.”
“A bite would be
minimal compared to your record with librarians! You’ve killed five
of us!” He’s done his homework.
“They died. True.
Several were my close friends. But I haven’t ever killed anyone
that wasn't technically dead already. War is a dangerous business.
Declare war and you’re a target. Have you declared many wars
Stoat?” You child.
Demarist answers:
“This is Rex’s first assignment.” Like a schoolboy Scout
reacts: “And your first research.”
Helen arrives live
and Rex Stout stares at her like he’s never before seen tits. She
thrusts out her chest and wiggles them at him. “OOhh isn’t it hot
in here.” Spout turns a blush. She unlinks more Velcro. I can tell
from past experience with her that she is now planning exactly how
and when to kick him directly in the groin systems. I contemplate
this with anticipation while part of me feels I should save him to
destroy later for myself. It would be so easy. I make the
introductions.
“Helen Tiberius,
Rex Stout, and surely you remember Demarist…” who she has latched
onto with a kiss that churns as she devours his lips his face with
smacking slurping sound effect. Pulling his hands up unto her breasts
she turns him so she can stare at Rex Stout.
“They were always
very close.” I aside to Stout who stands bug eyed open mouthed
aghast. No handshake for him. Demarist breaks Helen’s vacuum with a
cross eyed stagger back to reach for the wall. His hair is messed up,
his suit rumpled, he steadies himself. She’s shut down half his
lami’s, he’ll have to reboot his suit once he recovers his
senses.
We leave them to
mingle. Let him research me from afar. Librarians don’t scare me.
Alien Gods don’t scare me. Handi-cabs docking, that scares me.
Hungry lawyers, scary.
“What do you think
about God, Helen?”
“God? Paul you
know I’m agnostic Reformed Governmental Atheist. No ‘God is my
copilot’ for me” she announces from between finger quote marks.
“What about you?”
“Dog is my
copilot.” It’s amazing how long I’ve known her and we’ve
never really talked religion. She has brought it up when an agnostic
atheist holiday comes around and she wants a day off, like
“International Rationality Day” or “Discount Sale Week!” It
must be that those court orders the union imposed on me in my
position as her superior that I am “not to offend her atheism” by
mentioning or invoking “God” actually have an affect on my
behavior. As a swinger sex talk is okay with Helen, but one word of
God and she’s calling the shop steward.
My copilot takes us
in to the ample buffet for a landing at the chicken bits platter.
This “having a budget” thing sure means good catering. In the
line for the waffle bar a fight is breaking out between two groups of
theologians. Chevrolet holo calls in to give us a “who’s who”
of who’s here in person and by holo call. She has a head up of the
conference deck plan with red and blue blips and info tags. Above one
list the theme of Demarest’s conference: IS PAUL DVORAK CAPABLE OF
UNDERSTANDING THE NATURE OF GOD? This explains the psychiatrists and
psychologists who have claimed widely distant corners of separation
in the lounge, barely able to tolerate the others presence. I am
closely observed back and front analyzed. My title for this event:
GOD WHAT IS IT? Helen say’s that sounds like I’ve stepped in
something mysterious. No one of the consultants attending knows my
theme since they are all Demarest’s paid “guests” and
definitely didn’t exactly expect me to be here to hear them talk
about my “blah blah intellectual capacity blah.” The heavy
theosophical presence leads me to think Demarist intends to make a
complete report inclusive of the definition of God, or all
definitions, just as I would if I were investigating myself
investigating claims of contact with God. That’s why all the
rabbi’s, preachers, and mullahs, and monks. So, somebody here has
to know what God is. How could they tell if I can find out the truth
if none of them know it? To counter the righteous enthusiasm of the
preachers and prophets he has packed the room with a cohort of
quietly mumbling philosophers who crowd the barista. “Is the nature
of God unknowable?” the philosophers kvetch. “Is hinting at it or
being enigmatic an indication of knowledge or just faking?” The
monks maintain silence. The preachers are certain; I interpret: “Oh
can’t tell you…you’re not ready…better donate more money to
prove you’re serious…oh well God doesn’t want to talk to you
because you haven’t given me enough money…” Even a researchers
budget can’t cover such knowledge. “How much money does it take
before some one who can’t know can tell you the unknowable?” I
ask a squinty Philosopher type. “No one knows.” He speaks the
truth. The main foundation of many historically successful religions
is that they not reveal the true nature of the ultimate relationship
with God until after the checks clear and the ask-er is dead. No
refund no returns. If the dogma is wrong complain to God.
Several
counter-dogmatic theologians are jostling each other at the buffet,
egged on by their holo caller deacons and scholars to insist on
exclusive rights to what they each say is the same God. They agree
that each is referring to the same one “God” but disagree on what
“God” has to say about everything else since. They can agree that
one or two particular persons had things to say about alleged actions
or motives of God, but cannot agree on what the words mean. Why did
they even come here? An active research in acquire mode is a great
way to get history to validate their God concept through inclusion or
conclusion or refutation. Some religious organizations have not
responded to Demarest’s request to participate, the Roman Catholics
most absent, fearing a refutation perhaps. The Pope’s have long
ignored my demands and threats. No Atheists attend other then Helen.
Why would one care? No client of the Governmental recognized personal
New Religious category has bothered to put forth a definition of God
since of course none is needed to obtain Government subsidy funding
and support; what does God really have to do with a love of beer?
There are several very loud very angry attendees shouting at everyone
that they know all about God and are personally in touch with the
deity and for the right amount of money can confuse anyone with
doubletalk and bullying until they think it might be true. It’s a
battle of clashing charisma’s. They naturally accuse each other of
lying and are here only for the attendance fees that Demarest’s
suit is so generously disbursing. Maybe they’ll get a convert or
two, you never know, and that would be money in the bank for them.
Looks to me like Helen is about to convert one of them into a eunuch.
Preacher suits are thin in the crotch, big on lighting and sound
systems, low on the combat armor. He’s saved by a blasphemous
utterance from across the room that he must respond to. She finds
more prey instantly among the righteous ones attracted to her chest
baring flight suit. It’s all so much fun to watch but, I have to
know, I need to ask: “What is God?” to anyone I can button hole
with no escape.
“A delusional
concept.”
“The almighty
Father Who Art In Heaven.”
“The forces of
nature.”
“The earth
Mother.”
“Creator of the
Universe”
“A metaphor.”
“A universal
conscious that’s accessible by few; being the subconscious’s
alpha rhythm.”
“An aspect of
human conscious effort to make sense of life.”
“All knowing all
seeing.”
“Dead.”
“Fear of the
unknown and our struggle to deal with it.”
“Immortal supreme
consciousness.”
“Fate and chance.”
“An old guy with
glasses and a cigar or maybe a gray haired tall African man, or like
maybe a frolicking young woman with flowers in her long hair.”
“I think God
is…..is…..um….ah….well….”
“I’m not an
atheist but there is no God.”
“The trinity of
three. Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.”
“An irrational
belief.”
“You tell me…hey,
hey.”
“A biochemical
seizure disruption of the temporal lobe region of the brain causing
elevated pathway reinforcement between the amygdale to temporal
lobe.”
“God is love.”
“The spirit of
life.”
“Histories most
plagiarized brand.”
“Bark! Bark! Yip!”
The source of all flavorful chicken bits.
“God is what we
see when we go to heaven.”
“The sun of the
soltera system, our galactic home.”
“Spirit.”
Spirit? “Spirit.” “Spirit?” “YES! SPIRIT!”
“Ha, ha, the
government of course!”
“The ultimate
arbiter.”
“A….(blah blah
blah) coping mechanism.”
“Resonant energy
vibration of the cosmic microwave background.”
“Ignorance
harnessed for evil.”
“The author of the
universal story.”
“Cannot be named
or described.”
“A tool to control
populations of people.”
“Grace.”
“Nietzsche killed
God centuries ago.”
“God is great God
is good.”
“Opposite of the
devil.”
“I’m an
Agnostic.” I want at least a dozen Agnostics on my team as a close
debate rational shock squad.
“God is dog
backwards.”
“Hollywood.”
“The life of the
party!”
“I dunno?”
“Ex deo awareness
growing.”
“The paradigm.”
“Quien savy?”
“Change.”
“What is God?…
You ask what is God!… Ask God!… Only God knows God!”
And so I shall. This
bunch of Godly con men and grant hacks are playing it safe. No real
‘out there’ answers are popping up worth the amount of scornful
silences. I have trouble believing any of these people know what they
are talking about when it comes to reality let alone an abstract
dialectical concept. The ones that won’t talk are the scared smart
ones. I should try an get them all scanned with a green apples array
and hire a couple thousand clerks to sift through all the bullshit
for a year or two. That would separate the bull shitters from the
truth. If only I had a budget!
Just then, I myself
am cornered by an angry Jungian psychiatrist that has broken off from
the pack of bearded tweeds gathered near the salmon and crab.
“Be careful
researcher you’re playing with fire here. Humanity is caught in the
midst of an unconscious psychic epidemic of a malignant egophrenia. A
dualistic cultural mass hallucination capable of anything. Capable of
tremendous evil in the perpetuation of deep lies.” He jabs his
cellulose plate piled high with lab crab at me.
“I intend to
report all the lies I can get.” This is truth.
“You will report a
history that lies to itself!” He sputters buttered breath. I say
let upset overfed Jungians lie.
“What is happening
is the unconscious of the masses is shaping the world through mass
hysteria!” It’s a mess of masses alright! He nods agreement with
himself. Helen nods agreement.
“This an epidemic
of a scale not seen in centuries!” “God? or get the fuck out!”
I tell him firmly.
“God is a symptom
of the egophrenia that has history in its grip!” “Next!” We
move beyond the gestaltic schadenfreude.
‘God is whatever
you want God to be.” “I want God to be document-able verifiable
with corroborative evidence of existence.” Is that possible?
Suit! Note to self:
Read Hume then reread Hume!
“Man is God
incarnate. Life aware is God alive.” “What?”
“What? Not Who?”
“Or He? Or Her?”
“Are you not
afraid of God?” “Are you?” “Yes.” “That’s what scares
me.” People who are deathly afraid of ‘God’ are capable of
anything. This fear can be focused through lies like a cultural
weapon. This is the cause of war. Fear of others Gods. Fear of this
influence on culture makes history. So far no direct comment from God
on history. Does He read the reports from senior researchers?
“God
communicates with us by floods and earthquakes and hurricanes and
tornadoes and tsunamis and mudslides and volcanoes…” “Sounds
like not much good to say huh? But, if you have not been hit by a
tremendous natural catastrophe does that mean He’s not talking to
you?” She blinks at me idiotically.
“You should thank
God every day he has not destroyed where ever you are that day.”
“What about
night?”
“Especially at
night!” She’s safely holo call company distant from my heresy We
exit her sensory dialog cone.
“Did you see the
entvid series? You know… 'God'… on entvid? They had five or was
it six…or…more…episodes...it showed all about God… I watched
some of them… great entertainment. You didn’t catch it then? Oh
too bad… you’d a had your answer now.” We narrowed his transmit
bandwidth with distance.
The ontologist
stared hard at me.
“Omnipotence…”
I met his eyes imploringly…”…is a very wide subject…covers
just about everything?” He does not flinch.
“Could an
omnipotent being create something so heavy God its holy self could
not be able to pick it up? Could an omnipotent being change the past?
Why should an omnipotent good God allow evil. Theodicy anyone? Is
this not the best of all possible buffets? Where do I put my
counter-factual subjunctive conditionals? Is omnipotence bound by any
laws of nature? Exactly how did Anselm fuck it up?”
“I think you’ll
need an epistemologist for that.”
“Ooh sounds
painful.” “It usually is.”
“God is inherently
mysterious, unfathomable, unknowable, so to seem close to God people
seek out the most incoherently confusing self professed personal
conductive spokesperson of God. The more hard to understand the
message the more scrambled the jargon-ed dogma the more out of
fashion the ancient names the more it will be unquestioningly
believed for truth. The more unlikely the event the more miraculous
the ideation. Popularly personalize a force of nature action of
change with a sub textual string of sounds and the mind of man will
hear a name for God.” That thought makes him chuckle. He turns
conspiratorial.
“Make a vague
announcement of a particularly exciting religious revelation and then
let others create the religion around this kernel in a conjectural
cascade. Thus holy books write themselves through the human need to
even subconsciously fill the blanks in the story to the best of the
ability of the collective imagination. Better yet make up a person to
experience this or even pick some chump and make up stuff about him.
A real person is better for immediate marketing of the conjectures.
The subject could even deny it all. A successful religious cascade
wipes away the true relative past anyway. Dangerous though, often
ends tragically with persecution and execution for the
founder-victim.”
“I’m becoming
familiar with that very scenario.” And here he recognizes me.
That’s me: victim of rolling conjecture. Rumor does kill on its way
downhill to God. A drunk epistemologist in a stained elbow patched
scanty systems resort grade commuter suit could be fun to hang out
with to mock reality together. He spots the Librarian staring at me
from amid a combat squad of documenting military intelligence assault
troops and the smart epistemologist flees to beyond camera range. I
get the same urge to flee.
The waste system
drain locker, what on Tera surface would be called the toilet or the
loo or the potty or the banyo is one place assured some privacy. Past
the hatch I leave Space and a hundred monet credit with the attendant
with her mints and odor eating aerosols and colognes. She has dog
biscuits! On my way to a booth I am “psssstttt..” at and beckoned
into a nozzle stall by a no-g suit with hood up, visor closed.
“Oh sorry I’m
not into that kind a thing…” I wave the psssttt’er off.
“Mister
Dvorak, I’m an emissary. I have a private message.” A whisper.
The radiation visor slipped away into the hoody of as shabby an
outmoded un-serviceable tape patched pod lami civil crew suit as I’d
ever seen. This guy obviously had no weapon as he obviously couldn’t
afford even a sharpened plastic knife. The small round face that
squinted up at me through thick goggles appeared to me as a type
sidekick character from an animae vid. Male, I think. Suburbatoid I
dubbed him. I stepped into his vacuous domain.
“Close the door…”
At narrow proximity
the face lost none of it’s cartoon quality while revealing the
dangerously cute features of a very intelligent badger human hybrid.
This body mod phase we’re in is getting ugly. Ugly cute.
Suburbatoid seemed quite smug that he gotten me into the toilet with
him. He locked his beady super badger eyes onto mine in a feint at an
attempt at total mind control. Badgers have tried at this game
before. I could not look away or I knew he would savage me with his
dull plastic butter knife.
“I represent a
secret society…” He paused for the affect of the effect.
“Which one?” I
was eager. I love secret societies. “The invisible Masters of the
Universe?” I’ve always wanted to see one of those. No. “The
Inelectuli?” They are out there somewhere I know it. Not? “Knights
of Darkness?” Suit had the yellow pages com code category ’secret
society’ scrolling on head up. Are you a really secret society if
you have a phone number? “Indemnifiers of Khoast?” “Lighteners
of the Armageddon? “Sons of the shadows?” “The, oh my God! The
Wilson Phillips family?”
