Rich J. Stone
Beyond Superman
Maxwell fled to the desert. He needed to be visited
and this was, logically, the most likely way for it to
happen. The desert provided mirages. The desert
provided many mythical tests. Surely, the desert
could provide an audience with God.
He sat in his Audi A4 Quattro waiting for epiphany to
strike. He did what any good Philosophy Ph.D. would
do -- he contemplated his existence. Finally he came
to the conclusion that he did, in fact, exist, or else
he wouldn't be feeling hungry. He took a bite of a
formless Snickers bar that had melted in the glove
compartment. "A Ph.D. in Philosophy," he thought
while licking his chocolate-covered fingers. The
entire concept was confusing and redundant. A Doctor
of Philosophy degree in Philosophy -- philosophical
mastery in the subject of the philosophical mastery of
philosophical masters. His head began to throb.
Sometimes thinking really sucked.
Maxwell had been teaching basic philosophy at UNLV.
The entire basketball team was enrolled in his class
-- it had supplanted Intro to Geology as the class
taken to keep their grades up and their scholarships
intact. So Rocks for Jocks was replaced by Thinkin'
'bout Drinkin' -- the name derived from the somewhat
rudimentary discussions of Socrates and the hemlock.
He assigned Plato's dialogues as readings; and this
semester, as an in-class project, Maxwell created a
dialogue between Socrates and himself, as to whether
or not he should spend the extra money to buy the
Audi, or just opt for a Dodge Neon, or something
equally unimpressive. Socrates argued strongly for
the vehicle with "comfort, speed, and nimble handling
incorporating sporty driving characteristics in a
luxurious package at an attractive price." And
although the students usually didn't leave the class
with a deeper understanding of sophistry or Socratic
method, Maxwell had learned quite a bit from the
athletes. Particularly their cock-sureness in the
existence of God and their unflagging faith. All
logic pointed to the contrary -- that no Great Creator
existed; yet the overwhelming majority of the earth’s
human denizens believed. And logic also dictated
"where there's smoke, there's fire." So what the hell
was he missing? He got out of the car to stretch his
legs. He decided to wander a bit. Not recklessly, of
course. He wouldn't allow himself to lose sight of
the Audi.
"Here I am," he thought aloud. "I'm wandering in the
desert. Like so many before me. Moses, Jesus,
Mohammed. All desert wanderers." Desert wandering
led him to revisit his theological thought processes.
Why had no one been visited by God in so long?
Biblically speaking, God had been quite a busybody
from Genesis to Deuteronomy, and He was all over the
place in the New Testament. Then He seemed to take a
break for awhile and made a comeback in the Koran with
a new look and a new name. And He really hadn't made a
lot of public appearances since; claims by David
Koresh, Jim Jones and Oral Roberts notwithstanding.
"Look at this freakin' place!" he shouted. No one was
around for miles. "Of course, you're gonna give
yourself an imaginary friend. And why not one with
special powers? That's why God hasn't shown up.
We've got Superman now." He laughed derisively at no
one in particular. "Does Superman believe in God?
Does he ever mention Him? Let us review the new
Scripture of D.C. and Marvel Comics." He ranted with
the zeal of a televangelist. He wiped the
fast-accumulating perspiration from his forehead. The
sun was beating down hard.
"Nietzsche was wrong," Maxwell preached. "God is not
dead. He's alive and well in the vivid imagination
our child-like populace."
Just then a flash of lightning struck the Audi.
Night fell. The car's battery was fried. His mobile
phone was worthless; the digital network did not cover
the desert. He decided to stay in the car until
morning and then walk the five or so miles to the
highway and flag down some help. He had brought
enough water and candy bars to get him through the
night and sustain him for the morning trek. He kept
busy so as not to think about why the lightning had
hit his car at that particular moment. The argument
between Atheists and Theists wasn't limited to the
existence of God; it also included the existence of
Coincidence. In a random structure, things are bound
to occur simultaneously. And sometimes these
simultaneous random events will be randomly ironic.
But in an ordered Creator-driven universe, every event
is part of a grand scheme. His head started to throb
again. He unwrapped another Snickers. He hoped the
fresh sugar rush would help his headache. Just as
others' faiths were tested in the desert, his lack of
one was being scrutinized now.
Then the Light appeared.
Maxwell stared through the windshield at the flashing
supernatural phenomenon. Without thinking (something
he rarely failed to do), he ran out of the car to try
to get inside the Light's ray.
"Behold!" a voice boomed. "Am I what you seek?"
Maxwell froze. "But..." he managed to sputter, "it
doesn't make sense."
The Light flickered a bit, as if puzzled. Then,
"Who's to say what makes sense? What are you, a
philosopher or something?"
Maxwell was taken aback by the casualness of the
Light's last statement. "Um, as a matter of fact," he
responded, "I am."
The Light flickered and snickered. "No shit? Usually
the philosophers drive junkers. How'd you afford such
a nice import? You got a real job on the side?"
Maxwell was speechless.
"That wasn't a rhetorical question, pal," the Light
continued.
"Oh," Maxwell said, finally able to regain his voice.
"I teach at UNLV."
"Full-time, I assume."
"Um, yes," Maxwell answered.
"I figured. Adjuncts make crap, don't they?"
"Um, yes," Maxwell answered obediently. He then bowed
his head.
"Is my light too hard on your eyes?"
"Oh, no. I just thought I should be...oh, I don't
know...reverential?"
"To each his own, I suppose," the Light said.
Maxwell rubbed his eyes. He pinched himself.
"What's your name, by the way?" the Light asked.
"You don't know?" Maxwell said.
"Have we met before?"
"I don't believe so."
"What do you think I am, a mind-reader?"
"My name is Maxwell."
"Nice name."
"And you are...God?"
"Me? Hell no. I'm Jerry."
"Then you're not...the Almighty?"
"Nah. I never went in for that stuff. Now Ike on the
other hand..."
"Ike?"
"God of Abraham. He started it all. Quite an
innovator."
"Uh..."
"And then, of course, with every great work of
innovation come the copycats. Although Judd, Alex and
Buddy did make it their own."
"What?"
"How can I explain this?" The Light flickered.
"Okay. You know when a really good innovative, fresh
movie comes out? What happens? You get a bunch of
imitations, but only a handful live up to the
original. You know what I mean?"
"I guess."
"Remember when Animal House came out. They made
dozens of teen gross-out movies, but just about all of
them sucked. The best of them was Porky's and that
still paled in comparison."
"What does this have to do with God?" Maxwell
sputtered.
Suddenly another great beam of Light appeared. It
hovered above the car and flickered; then another
Voice: "Jerry, is that you?"
"Fred?" Jerry asked.
"Yes," Fred flickered. "How're things?"
"Not bad. Not bad at all. We missed you at Roswell
last month."
"Yes, I know. I got hung up in Tibet."
"Are you working with the Lamas?"
"Just observing. Danny's doing most of the work there
now."
"Make sure to send him my regards."
"I will."
Maxwell stood motionless while Fred and Jerry engaged
in small talk.
"What brings you to these parts?" Jerry continued.
"Just on my way to Area 51; thought I'd have a little
fun with the generals."
Maxwell cleared his throat.
"Oh, where are my manners?" Jerry flickered. "This is
Maxwell."
"How do you do, Maxwell?" Fred said.
"Nice to meet you," Maxwell said weakly.
"Maxwell's a philosopher," Jerry offered.
"Really?" said Fred. "Such a nice car. Is that a
rental?"
"Maxwell's a full professor at UNLV," Jerry explained.
"How nice. So that leaves your summers open for
philosophizing, huh?"
Maxwell, newly emboldened, pressed the God issue.
"Can we get back to the Animal House metaphor?"
"Great movie," Fred offered. "Just don't make 'em
like that anymore."
Maxwell waited patiently while Fred and Jerry traded
quotes from the movie.
"Anyway," Jerry said, finally returning to the point,
"I was telling Maxwell about the Porky's Factor."
"Don't let me interrupt," Fred said.
"The Book of Ike," Jerry announced. He flickered a
little and then, as if reciting scripture: "In the
beginning, there were a lot of whiny humans. They'd
bitch and moan about how meaningless their existence
was, and wondered whether they had souls and if said
souls were eternal. Ike decided to take pity upon the
human and created God. He visited Abraham and told
him that He was the Almighty Creator of the Universe.
Abraham seemed to buy it hook, line and sinker. Ike
then came up with the most ridiculous and cruel prank
ever played upon a human. He convinced Abraham to cut
off a portion of skin from his most prized body part
-- and then to cut off that same portion from everyone
residing in his village."
"I should mention," Fred interrupted, "that Ike is a
loner who pretty much keeps to himself."
"Yes," Jerry concurred. "Ike is a rather antisocial
being with a lot of issues. And jealous, too. The
thing that really sets him off is that humans have
such a wonderful sensory apparatus. The way they feel
after a good meal, a good drink..."
"A good blow job," Fred added.
"Oh yes. Blow jobs especially. Anyway," Jerry picked
up, "Ike was able to get his so-called 'chosen' people
to give up just about everything they could derive
pleasure from. And then the crème de la crème -- the
Ten Commandments."
"Oh, that cruel bastard."
"But after a while -- I think it was during the forty
years that Ike was continually giving Moses wrong
directions to keep him lost in the desert -- Ike got
bored with torturing this tribe of people and decided
to retire from the God business."
"That's when the copycats came in," Fred offered.
"Yeah," Jerry said, "you'd get a bunch of guys
pretending to be Ike, trying to get the humans to do
some weird shit, but none of it had that Ike touch.
You know what I mean?"
"Until Judd," Fred said.
"Judd?" Maxwell asked.
"Judd came up with the whole Christ concept," Jerry
explained. "Planned it out very well -- took years
coming up with the storyboard. A whisper in Mary's
ear, a sign for each of the Magi. Get John the
Baptist going, let it simmer for a while, then on to
Jesus. Very intricate latticework. Tremendously
plot-driven, too."
"Then Alex took it to a whole new level," Fred
commented. "He reinvented God. Even gave him a new
name. But after a while you could tell he just wasn't
into it."
"Yeah," Jerry said. "Mohammed would ask Alex all
these philosophical questions, until finally Alex just
got tired and gave his pat response: Allah's will.
After that, any hack with a Light and a Voice could
get into the God biz. Any question that was posed:
God's will."
"Just a disgrace," Fred said. "Total lack of
originality. Like watching Porky's Revenge for a
thousand years."
Maxwell held up his hand.
"Question, Max?" Jerry asked.
"Yes," Maxwell said. "If you're not God -- or Gods,
as it were -- who are you? And where did you come
from?"
"We just are," Fred answered. "We've always been
here. We used to hang out in another solar system,
but when that star started to collapse on itself, we
came here. We pick a solar system, hang out until it
becomes a black hole, and then latch onto another
one."
"But where did you come from? Originally?"
"Don't know," Fred answered. "Don't really care,
either."
"What does it matter," Jerry added. "We're not going
anywhere. None of us has ever died; or been born
either."
"But don't you ever wonder?" Maxwell asked.
"We don't die. We have no uncertainty. We don't need
to wonder."
"Where do humans go when they die?" Maxwell asked.
"How should I know?" Jerry quipped. "What do I look
like, the all-knowing, all-seeing great and powerful
Oz?"
Fred snickered and flickered.
"So let me get this straight," Maxwell said defiantly.
"You guys just came here from some distant galaxy,
and out of boredom and/or jealousy, decided to screw
with the entire human experience?"
"That sounds pretty accurate," Fred answered glibly.
"What about Jim Jones and David Koresh?" Maxwell
fumed. "Were they part of your fun and games as
well?"
"Koresh was Kenny's pet project and Jones was
Victor's," Fred said.
"That Victor," Jerry said. "He thought he was a
combination of Ike and Judd, when in reality he was
more like Caddyshack 2 -- a bad sequel that just
never should have been made."
Maxwell didn't know what to feel. These two obnoxious
frat-boy aliens had contradicted every bit of logical
thought that he'd ever had.
"Aren't you afraid that I'll expose you now?" Maxwell
asked.
"Afraid? Hardly," Jerry scoffed.
"How long can you go around with absolutely no
supporting evidence, promoting blasphemy?" Fred asked.
"By the time anyone would take you seriously, you'll
be long dead."
The two Lights flickered and snickered.
Defeated, Maxwell asked the only other question he
could think of: "Can you at least fix my car?"
"Where the hell are we gonna get parts for an Audi at
this time of night?"
And then the Lights disappeared in the desert sky.
Maxwell crawled into his car, curled up on the back
seat and cried himself to sleep. When morning came,
he woke up covered in chocolate. He set out on foot
for the highway. His head ached. It was as if he'd
been out on a drinking binge and was now feeling the
effects of a nasty hangover. Had it all been a dream?
Or a mirage? Was he yet another casualty of the
desert? Or had he actually been visited? And if he
had, it wasn't by God -- it was by a powerful alien
race that came to Earth after escaping from a doomed
solar system.
Just like Superman.
©2004 by Rich J. Stone
