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From The Story of B:
Excerpt 3

Where the gods write what they write

“The God of revealed religions is a profoundly inarticulate God. No
matter how many times he tries, he can’t make himself clearly or
completely understood. He speaks for centuries to the Jews but fails to
make himself understood. At last he sends his only-begotten son, and
his son can’t seem to do any better. Jesus might have sat himself down
with a scribe and dictated the answers to every conceivable
theological question in absolutely unequivocal terms, but he chose not
to, leaving subsequent generations to settle what Jesus had in mind
with pogroms, purges, persecutions, wars, the burning stake, and the
rack. Having failed through Jesus, God next tried to make himself
understood through Muhammad, with limited success, as always. After
a thousand years of silence he tried again with Joseph Smith, with no
better results. Averaging it out, all God has been able to tell us for sure
is that we should do unto others as we’d have them do unto us. What’s
that—a dozen words? Not much to show for five thousand years of
work, and we probably could have figured out that much for ourselves
anyway. To be honest, I’d be embarrassed to be associated with a god
as incompetent as that.”

“Your gods have done better?”

“Good heavens, yes, Jared. Immeasurably better—infinitely better! Just
look out there!” She waved her hand at the world in front of them.
“What do you see?”

“I see the universe.”

“That’s it, Jared. That’s where the real gods of the universe write what
they write. Your God writes in words. The gods I’m talking about write
in galaxies and star systems and planets and oceans and forests and
whales and birds and gnats.”



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