The infamous John Taylor meets the God of Creationism

Aus einem Roman, den ich in den letzten Tagen gelesen habe:

(…)
“Hi there, sir and Sister! Good to meet you both! I am Chuck Adamson, the god of Creationism. Blessed be!”

I hefted Paul’s body into a more comfortable position and considered Chuck thoughtfully. “Creationism has its own god now?”

The new god smiled easily and struck an impressive pose. “Hey, if enough people believe in a thing…sooner or later, it will appear somewhere on the Street of the Gods. Though I have to say, if I see one more Church of Elvis materialise from the aether, complete with blazing neon and stereophonic cherubs, I may puke. A great singer, to be sure, but a fornicator and drug abuser nonetheless. We are a proudly old-fashioned, traditional Church, sir, and there’s no room in it for a sinner, no matter how talented.”
(…)

Chuck stepped in a little closer, and lowered his voice confidentially. “Come now, sir, you must understand that every new church needs a few good old-fashioned miracles to get it off the ground? You just spread the word, and the worshippers will come running like there’s a sale on. And before you know it, my humble establishment will be leap-frogging up this Street to better and better positions. Praise Creationism!”

“You can bring my friend back from the dead?” I said, fixing him with my coldest stare. “You can repair Paul’s body and return his soul to the vale of the living?”

“Ah,” said Chuck. “Repair the body, yes. The soul…is a different matter. A bit out of my reach, you might say.”

“So what you’re proposing,” I said,” is to turn Paul into a zombie and have him lurch about shouting Brains! Brains! while he slowly but inevitably decays?”

“Well, not as such…Look, I’m new,” said Chuck, a little desperately. “We’ve all got to start somewhere!”

“You don’t even know who I am, do you?” I said. “I’m John Taylor.”

“Oh Christ.”

“Bit late to be invoking him, Chuck. You’re the god of Creationism…That means you don’t believe in evolution, right?”

“Yes, but…”

“Your belief started out as Creationism, but has now become Intelligent Design, right?”

“Yes, but…”

“So your argument has evolved, thus disproving your own argument.”

“Oh bugger,” said Chuck, as he disappeared in a puff of logic.

“Nice one,” said Sister Josephine. “I would have just shoved a holy hand-grenade up his arse and pulled the pin. Heretics! Worse than fleas on a dog. His church has disappeared, too, and I have to say I find the pile of rubble that has replaced it rather more aesthetically satisfying.”

“He’ll be back,” I said. “Or something like him. If enough people believe in a thing…”

“If a million people believe a stupid thing, it is still a stupid thing,” Sister Josephine said firmly.

(aus: Hell to Pay – A Novel of The Nightside, von Simon R. Green)
Die logische Vernichtung erinnert an Douglas Adams und den Babelfisch.

Weihnachtsbotschaft

Zu Weihnachten eines meiner Lieblingszitate:

Susanne: Du hast gesagt, die Menschen brauchen Phantasie, um das Leben überhaupt zu ertragen.
Tod: Nein, die Menschen brauchen Phantasie, um menschlich zu sein. Um den Platz zu behaupten, an dem der fallende Engel dem aufstrebenden Affen begegnet.
Susanne: Mit Zahnfeen und Schneevätern?
Tod: Ja, zu Übung. Man muss damit anfangen, an die kleinen Lügen zu glauben.
Susanne: Dann glauben wir auch an die großen?
Tod: Ja, Gerechtigkeit, Gnade, Pflicht. Solche Sachen. (…) Man muss an Dinge glauben, auch wenn sie nicht wahr sind. Wie sollten sie sonst wahr werden?

Aus „Terry Pratchett, Hogfather“. Die einzig wahre Weihnachtsgeschichte. Oder besser, die einzig sinnvolle Geschichte zu Weihnachten. Wer das Buch noch nicht kennt, unbedingt lesen.