Purveyor of Bollocks to the Crowned Heads of Europe
Thursday, 27 September 2012
Dreaming something into existence
The post for the Head-Vicar is coming up shortly, and I have a mind to apply for it.
So long as the pubs are closed I can fake the gravitas, but I'm not sure I could fake the theological training and background.
It is not as if you are required to believe in God to be Archbishop of Canterbury these days, but even if you have your doubts, these can all be explained away by professing to a philosophical tradition going back to St Anshelm, if Melvyn bloody Bragg is correct.
You know that old adage, 'If God didn't exist we would have to invent Him'? Well according to Anshelm, we did, and that is the best argument for His existence I have heard yet, but that way madness lies.
There is a good reason why the overwhelming majority of Christians resemble sheep following a slaughterman into the abattoir, and that is because if they understood the truth behind their religion, they would all go stark, staring mad.
There is a wonderful bit in a science-fantasy book by Jack Vance, where someone destroys his adversary by putting 'the curse of all knowledge' on him. In an instant, the accursed victim assimilates total knowledge of EVERYTHING, and - his mortal frame unable to contain it - rapidly turns into dust which swirls away into the wind, never to recompose. I think that is what happens to all of us eventually, but to have it thrust upon you in the prime of life is insupportable.
In Bertram Russell's case, he had just popped out to the shops to buy some pipe tobacco when he had his revelation, and the revelation was that Anshelm's one-liner proving the existence of God was 'sound'. How very English.