Many sects have vowed
To win the whole world
By conversion or sword
But none have ever succeeded
And none ever will.
The instability and sociality
Of imagination are to blame.
Denis Diderot argued
That a god was no solution
To the problem of explaining
A complicated world, because
Gods only compound complications.
I thought the same thing myself
As a teenager in the Pine Barrens,
Although I hadn't heard of Diderot.
It took me a few decades to square
The circle and come to terms
With why the further complication
Was so comforting and also so unstable.
Any sort of imagined explanation
For the complexity of perception
As modeled in our bowls of skulls
Necessarily cannot be as complex
As the endlessly incoming adjustments
To these modeled worlds. Gods feel,
Whether abstracted, anthropomorphic,
Or fabulously beastly, inevitably
Simpler than the inhuman mess
They're proposed to explain, simpler
Than any explanation lacking imagination,
Say someone's algorithmic science.
Given it's complexity we want to reduce,
A good god feels like a good solution,
Being imagined and therefore simple.
The only problems are these two:
First, and trivially, the logic is hopelessly
Built on a freak of memory, flawed,
And as an argument only making
Matters worse, duly noted. Nothing
Has actually been explained or simplified,
Only another gew-gaw added. So far,
Diderot and little me long ago.
Second, and vastly more consequentially,
Our gods are prisoners. Born of memory
And culturally infested imaginations
In an aggressively, opportunistically social-
Group-obsessed clot of buzzing brains,
They are dragooned into playing
Our cooperative competition murder games.
Every one of them falls hostage
To team spirit, and so goes the goal
Of all-conquering, goal inherently unstable
Because the fission-fusion necessity
Of people fizzes and fizzles eternally.
It's thus I explicate my own after the before,
My own summer daydream, my own
Patched and quilted blankets pulled up against
An early onset winter's night. God help me.