Deaf and Dumb--Part 1

In February, I learned of a recent ad campaign. Funded by individual sponsors, the Atheist Bus Campaign utilized tube stations and buses to spread an important message across the British Isles: “There’s probably no God. Now stop worrying and enjoy your life.” (A Slice of Infinity, 2/4/09)

Philip Pullman utilizes the well-crafted fantasy world of the His Dark Materials trilogy (including The Golden Compass, The Subtle Knife, and The Amber Spyglass) to gradually put forth some similarly disturbing thoughts. Mary Malone, one of the characters from The Amber Spyglass, offers Pullman’s young hero and heroine an expanded version of the Atheist Bus Campaign’s ideology:
“I used to be a nun, you see. I thought physics could be done to the glory of God, till I saw there wasn’t any God at all and that physics was more interesting anyway. The Christian religion is a very powerful and convincing mistake, that’s all….I thought, ‘Will anyone be better off if I go straight back to [my room] and say my prayers and confess to the priest and promise never to fall into temptation again? Will anyone be the better for making me miserable?’ And the answer came back—no. No one will. There’s no one to fret, no one to condemn, no one to bless me for being a good girl, no one to punish me for being wicked. Heaven is empty. I didn’t know whether God had died, or whether there had never been a God at all” (chap 33).

The heart of Pullman’s own particular message begins to surface as one enters the final third of The Amber Spyglass:
“Well, where is God,” said Mrs. Coulter, “if he’s alive? And why doesn’t he speak anymore? At the beginning of the world, God walked in the Garden and spoke with Adam and Eve. Then he began to withdraw, and he forbade Moses to look at his face. Later, in the time of Daniel, he was aged—he was the Ancient of Days. Where is he now? Is he still alive, as some inconceivable age, decrepit and demented, unable to think or act or speak and unable to die, a rotten hulk? And if that is his condition, wouldn’t it be the most merciful thing, the truest proof of our love for God, to seek him out and give him the gift of death?” (chap 24).

Later, the adolescent heroine and hero of Pullman’s trilogy demonstrate that merciful love of which Mrs. Coulter speaks. They stumble upon a heavenly being, an ancient personage of “terrifying decrepitude, of a face sunken in wrinkles, of trembling hands, and of a mumbling mouth and rheumy eyes,” captive within a crystal carrier or litter (chap 30). Moved by the plight of such a pathetic figure, the children free him from the crystal encasement. This pitiful being, no longer capable of speech or thought, “would have followed them anywhere, having no will of his own, and responding to simple kindness like a flower to the sun” (chap 31). But once exposed to the open air, his wizened body cannot withstand the wind’s pull. He begins to dissolve before the children’s eyes; and “their last impression was of those eyes, blinking in wonder, and a sigh of the most profound and exhausted relief” (chap 31). A girl and a boy unwittingly perform the greatest act of kindness humanity can offer: releasing God from his long, enfeebled toil.

Pullman adds further layers to this idea throughout the His Dark Materials trilogy, but the implication is clear: God is hostage to our persistent and unwarranted need of him. No longer essential, the Creator remains trapped in our selfish ignorance.

The pendulum of thought swings back to the Clockmaker Theory, this time with a flavor of moral relativism. If I wish to believe in the existence of God, that’s fine. It’s even possible that there was a God. He may have been instrumental in setting up the world; he may have involved himself with humanity for a time. But he is no longer evident. The God we continue to hold captive to the whims of our own pathetic need is dreadfully advanced in years. He no longer possesses the ability to communicate or direct. He is mute. Speechless. Dumb.

But that’s all right: God is no longer necessary. The cogs and gears work just fine on their own. So why bother God (assuming he ever existed, assuming he exists still)? “There’s probably no God. Now stop worrying and enjoy your life.” In essence: “Thanks for the jumpstart, God…if you actually gave us one. But you’re free to go now. We’ll take it from here.” How sad. How arrogant. How frightening.

On behalf of the thousands and millions who will be affected by such a message, I am enraged. “Better to have a millstone hung around your neck and be cast into the sea” than to actively promote such lies. I also find myself sincerely mourning for Mr. Pullman and the sponsors of the Atheist Bus Campaign. My heart breaks under the knowledge that anyone would cling to the hopeless hope of this three-dimensional world. To borrow the imagery of C.S. Lewis, we forge “little scratches in the crust” of Truth, and satisfy ourselves with the lifeless knowledge to be found in our wealth of “dead gold, dead silver, dead gems” (The Silver Chair, chap. 14).

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This is the first of what will be at least two or three installments. Where do you think our examination will turn next? And aside from conjectures about the direction of my thoughts, dear reader, what are your own thoughts at this point?