An almighty upheaval

Sam Snort was delighted to see in his television listings that Channel 4 were set to a screen a new series called Testing God.

“Great idea,” I thought, picturing a fantastic new quiz show – kind of ‘The Greatest Link’ meets ‘Who Wants To Be Everything?’ – with an ancient bearded gent in flowing robes answering questions before Chris Tarrant even has time to ask them.

Imagine the excitement as the show reaches its climactic question – so high are the stakes that if it was on RTE, God would now be on the verge of winning an umbrella. “So, Great Deity,” says Chris, “we’re all rooting for you on this one, best of luck.” God looks quietly confident, a touch smug even. “Here is your question: who won The League Of Ireland Championship in 1968? Was it Waterford, Cork Hibernians, Shamrock Rovers or Drumcondra?”

God strokes his beard thoughtfully but his eyes betray a rising panic. He shifts in his seat, smiles unconvincingly. “Take your time now, God,” Chris says sympathetically.

God knows the names of all the animals, can reel off every date in the Old and New Testaments and his specialist subject is life, the universe and everything. But League Of Ireland football in the ’60s?

Finally, he clears his throat, lowers his eyes and in a very tiny, singularly ungodlike voice asks: “Can I phone a friend please?”

The studio lights flicker, thunder rolls and deep in the bowels of hell, a phone rings…

Good shit, eh? I must smoke some more of it. Of course, the scene is entirely fanciful, a crazy work of fiction, the kind of thing that could only be produced by a fertile imagination liberally seeded with Grade A skunkweed. I mean, who in their right mind could conceive of such a ridiculous thing: A British quiz show asking a question about League Of Ireland footie?

The other problem with the scenario, of course, is that God doesn’t exist.

Astronomical Odds

This may come as news to quite a few people reading this but then what else are the popular prints for if not to keep you informed, enlightened and bang up to date?

Testing God actually made a fair old stab at, as Big Jack might say, putting the Great Deity under pressure. Indeed, to extend the footballing metaphor, it got right up his arse a fair few times but ultimately failed, Mick McCarthy-like, to kick him into Row Z.

The story is that science, nudging ever closer to A Theory Of Everything, can now explain the origins of the universe without recourse to the concept of The Great Designer. Specifically, the revolutionary science of quantum physics seems to provide the first convincing explanation for how something – and, indeed, ultimately everything – came out of nothing, thereby relegating poor old God to a place on the bench, at best.

Not so, say the God Squad. Even if something came out of nothing, how can we possibly account for a pin-point of energy, or whatever the fuck it was, evolving against literally astronomical odds, to produce the wonderfully diverse world we know today? Surely, here, we find the tell-tale interventionist thumbprint of the Great Designer?

Er, tricky one, say the quantum physicists (pause, roll up another doobie). Okay, how about we posit a multiverse – an infinite number of universes in which ours just happens to be the one in gazillion where everything fell into place? (Suck, giggle, return the Philip K. Dick novel to the shelf). Back to you God Squad.

God Squad: Bollocks.

No, I don’t understand any of this either, but it’s great gas, you have to admit, and much more sensible than An Irishman’s Diary. Plus it has the distinct virtue of being even briefer than ol’ Steve Hawkings’ Brief History Of Time. (On which point, I wonder will he ever get ‘round to writing the obvious sequel, A Brief History Of Newsweek? Har and, if you will, har).

Vast Strangeness

But I digress. Certainly, given a choice between pie in the sky and pi on the blackboard, Sam will check for the lads and lassies with the chalk. He is, if you like, on the side of the angles.

Sure, science can bust your balls too – ever succeeded in opening a carton of milk without squirting half of it into to your eye? But the idea of some Grand Old Man In The Clouds who actually gives a shit as to whether you pass your exam, get rid of that embarrassing itch, run the fastest mile in history or win a Grammy is so absurd that not even the vast strangeness of the quantum world comes even close.

And yet the believers insist on believing. Which is their right, just as it is the right of Sam Snort – top investigative journalist, card-carrying atheist and, coincidentally, god of poontang – to ask the tough questions.

And I don’t mean the schoolboy classic: If God is all-powerful could he build a wall so high that he couldn’t jump over it? I like it and I used to love it but it kind of outlived its usefulness round about the time of the third Yes album.

Nor do I mean: If God is so good why, in the Lord’s Prayer itself, do you have to implore him not to lead you into temptation? This is a nice one, for sure, and when you point it out, generally causes smoke to come out of the ears of the believers but you also tend to leave yourself open to awkward questions about the Zim’s lyrics and that’s really not cool.

No, my question, in a spirit of genuine inquiry and sincerity, is this: if God made man in his image, how the fuck do you explain away

Foghat?

Your ever-lovin’ Samuel J. Snort Esq