A fictional proof of the existence of God:the rabbit in casserole

Back in the days Scholastic philosophy elaborated a bullet proof demonstration of the existence of God. We can think of God, which is the biggest, most sublime, Uber-paramount idea we could possibly entertain. Who put it there? Only God might have. Zac! 

You got it. If we can think of God then only God must concede himself to our mind. You are giggling? Not convinced? Maybe you find risible the Biggus Dickus argument that from our thinking we entail our own existence.

“I think, therefore I’m”.

Yet human minds always have found something magic in words. As if like the mere utterance of sounds CUM meaning, would produce an effect in reality. The more we worship the internal structure of language, the more we meditate in the empty hall of verbal building, the more names seem obviously to have powers of their own. The most intolerant Idealism is precisely the rise of words-thought to the throne of reality. I think, therefore I participate in the almighty divinity of consciousness, which is everywhere, which is everything. Therefore my thoughts are real, they are thing that constitute the nature of the universe.

But of course Idealism is actually a form of religion. And we know very well what happened to all religion in the West. They died. We know for a fact that the idea of God is a product of men’s thinking. We know for a fact that there are no spirits in the mathematical regularity of nature. In the universe there is only matter and all the riddles that torment human minds are created by misuse of language, thus, by an accurate police of our way of expression, we will get to the truth. IT COULD WORK.

If only we could make sense of impossible sentences like “The king of France is bold”: there is no such a thing of a king of France, yet our language can glide so smoothly on false surface??? And why “Transparent liquid on Earth is water” is true only if we point the chemical substance H2O? Why the correct usage of language has been anchored to reality only with the discovery of modern chemistry??? And what if we are in the matrix of vats for brains? What is fixing our expression to reality is we are not anchored to REAL thing, but only to a flux of information? Why??? Why if we randomly and assemble a sentence that by mere chance mirrors an actual true sentence of knowledge? Does our random sentence constitute an example of genuine knowledge? Why???

Well, the aseptic analytical philosophy of language, so impatient of finding mere deserts, actually found them: it is worshipping the divinity of language, like all the heat-stroked fanatics of God-desert, blinded by the undoubted dedication to the unique light in front of them. Guys, you are in the desert and that is a Kant-Mother-Fichte Star blasting all its nuclear fusion towards you. Turn!

We, nomads of those derelict, religious civilizations, we know that after the deposition of Gods, after the deposition of one, only God, the fanatic conviction in consciousness couldn’t stand still. We know that the mind itself, is a brain trick (thank you Patricia, and you Paul, you are awesome. Yeah, you married, tenured, published brains, you always are in my heart. Respect).

The mind is the hallucination of a community of brains to project virtual ecological niches where to play augmented cognitive performances. But the mind is empty. Nobody at home. Zero. It’s the hologram of a character played by a Homo Sapiens Sapiens body in social structures.

In the Demons of Dostoevsky, Stavrogin teases Satov the supposed believer about the existence of God. We can say a lot of nice and gracious words about faith and the projection of God. Basically the entire high hierarchy of the Catholic Church is convinced that God is actually a metaphor to help the sufferance of man. BUT to make the rabbit in casserole, all the sauce is not enough, not matter how logical, compassionate, goodhearted your deeds: you need the rabbit!

Well, we discovered that the casserole too is fictional, that the consciousness of men is fiction. That our experience of being self-conscious is fictional. Was it all a joke then??? What a cruel, infinite jest! The fake antagonist of Satov the believer is Kirillov, the humanist atheist. He discovered (and so did David Foster Wallace) the joke and the only way to solve the riddle, is to terminate the game by your own will. Shot the Brain-Sherif! Both Kirillov and Satov were puppets played by Stavrogin for his mere amusement, he knew that this is pure philosophy, just a game and it can be played only one way or the other. He killed himself as well.

So?

Well, there is no real rabbit and there is no real casserole, but we are still here, with our eyes wide open, and legs, and arms, and hearts, and sex, (thank you Nina), then something is there. Something is always there. I have a feeling that something is always near. You’ve sensed that something’s watching you. It’s a white rabbit and we follow him down the hole to see how deep it is. Always a mind happens when a cognition chases the trail left by another consciousness and when at dusk we finally reach the preceding mind, then it’s us leaving the footprints. Being the mind that our experience of self-consciousness is. Distant memories when we move the first steps, stumbling and then the first words, stammering, and all the game is just a loop. When you catch the character in the mirror, don’t be afraid to see a rabbit.