You have nothing to lose by believing in God… If it doesn't exist you've lost nothing, but if it does – you will go to Heaven.

Blaise Pascal (1623 – 1662)

Once upon a time, at the edge of the known world lived a noble tribe of the Somehowis. Before long, everyone called them the Happy Somehowis - for with a smile and goodwill to all they would explain the great truths of the Cosmos to anyone, even to the poor and the sick…
Where did those great truths come from? The holiest of provenances - the “Mind of Somehow” who had lived in Eternal Clouds since the beginning of time, even before there were any worlds at all...
wEvery full moon, a joyous procession of Happy Somehowis would follow their leaders up a mighty mountain - getting so near to Eternal Clouds that a hallowed breath of the “Mind of Somehow” was believed to caress their faces -
At length, a Sacred Decree would thunder down upon the entranced crowd; “Remember that whatever happens, always happens SOMEHOW - so hold this true in this world and you shall live happily forever in the next!”
While they all could recognize it as the voice of their highest leader, no one ever doubted that the “Mind of Somehow” was itself gracing their lives with divine omniscience.
“If living happily forever can be true SOMEHOW, then why should we think otherwise?” they would reason contentedly and everyone felt strengthened and much at peace.

Happy Somehowis had long prospered and their monuments to the “Mind of Somehow” were renowned far and wide. Then one fateful day, a Stranger from the edge of the known world approached them not on foot - as had been the custom since times immemorial, but astride a big metal horse never seen before -
There was fear at first, then cautious curiosity… But within a week, a wave of child-like delight swept over most of the tribe. From distant places they would come - often with babies in arms, gesturing at the big metal horse and giggling. It's believed the more outgoing had even asked questions but here, the story fades…
wTo this day, no Happy Somehowi will say what happened to the Stranger or the big metal horse – it became a taboo. There are rumours, but it could be just a fickle indigenous lore...
“This Mr. Stranger argued that whatever happens has an explanation - how could we allow this blasphemy to poison the minds of our children?” Such ominous murmur had been overheard from time to time amongst the tribe's hereditary overlords.
But the Happy Somehowi intellectual elite dismisses the implications; “Our records from that period prove this big metal horse was so intricate it must have been the work of the devil himself” a high Education Ministry official was quoted recently. “Our thoughts and prayers are still with the Stranger - clearly a victim of the devil, like we all were…”
Their UN ambassador was scathing about growing demands for an inquiry into the fate of the Stranger all that long ago –
“The whole humanity knows how much Happy Somehowis love peace…Are we the peoples who defy our common “Mind of Somehow” and promote all kinds of lewdness across the world? No sir - so thank you very much!”

Perhaps the most intriguing of hints came from a wealthy Happy Somehowi often associated with the leaders. One night - tongue apparently loosened by drinks, this person claimed that hundreds accused of having followed the Stranger's ideas were quietly tried, then buried alive in mass graves…
His grandfather had provided the carriages - it's been an open secret in the family...
Here, it is hard to be sure - for this person later vehemently denied saying it, then passed away in a high-class asylum shortly afterwards.
wBut all who were there that night agreed on a curious detail – this person wept as he kept recalling his forbearer's story about Happy Somehowi boy scouring a mass grave for his father. It seems the youngster came across a clenched fist protruding over the ground and as he forced the fingers open, a scrap of writing fell out -
Scrawled in blood, some unfamiliar words were still legible… “FREEDOM”, “CRITICAL THINKING” But once he saw the blackened fingers pointing at him, the boy ran away in panic…

Wherever in any Universe Life evolves Language and explanations of the natural phenomena begin to benefit their authors, no intellectual stratagem for securing such benefits will match CONCEPTUAL BLUFF in its audacity or effectiveness. And here, the credits belong entirely to that tireless jack-of-all-trades - the Adverb “SOMEHOW”.
wNow you must not be led astray by a little parable you've just read - Life won't benefit from insulting its peers with “Sure, I know how it happened - it was caused SOMEHOW” directly. The reason? To impress, explanations need the NOUNS - not Adverbs, to proclaim their merit to the world.
A quandary that throughout the Cosmos is bound to preoccupy any social climber - “How to keep the incontrovertibility of “SOMEHOW” bamboozling everyone without making it too blatant?”
Endless conceptual variations having been examined, a cheeky answer will sprout in the more entrepreneurial minds; “Let's pretend the “SOMEHOW” is a NOUN!”
w“Sure, I know how it happened - it was caused by X”
And thus, with “SOMEHOW” masquerading as “X”, Life's sentient faculties are bluffed into assuming that a founding father of Language is now giving them the name of yet another tangible, experience-tested entity of Nature. That, after all is the predominant conceptual function of a NOUN.
wAnd what, pray is the “X”? Whatever other “SOMEHOWS” masquerading as NOUNS it manages to be associated with - from the would-be “Afterlife” through would-be ”omnipresence”, “omnipotence” or “omniscience”, right down to the would-be “Creators” and “Creations”.
What happens next is even more insidious… With social survival relying on vigorous linguistic competition, no member of a group can afford to ignore the NOUNS circulating within it. Why? A delayed response means the loss of benefits which responding promptly could otherwise have resulted in.
But how does one respond competitively when encountering a conceptual chimera - the skin of a NOUN hiding the organism of an Adverb? “No time to lose” Evolution yells and the external appearances win over substance…
And once this subterfuge has permeated a society, CONCEPTUAL BLUFF faces only one impediment in its path - CRITICAL THINKING.

With Reality being an eternal repetition of patterns, repetitive pattern for a “Universe” evolves repetitive pattern for “Life”, which - having discovered repetitive pattern for “Language” culminates in repetitive pattern “Society”, etc…etc… REPETITIONS - this basic constant administers the affairs of Matter throughout the endlessness of its existence.
wHowever, linguistic Life in any Universe might also make a less apparent observation - Reality is inherently dual.
Meaning? One aspect of its corporeal characteristics is definable solely by WORDS, the other solely by NUMBERS. No overlap…
wTake a common example of say, the “rain” - what WORDS are potentially behind it? First, there's the phenomenon of “rain” which gives rise to Life's concept of “rain”, which - when the need to name that phenomenon arises, becomes translated into the social domain as the Word “rain”. That's about the generic gist of it…
Of course, one could waffle on and on about “rain”, but in the end there's probably only a few hundred statements you can make about it without repeating yourself. But it's worth remembering the NOUN “rain” very often emotionally connects to the Adjective “good” - we'll return to it later…
wThe same phenomenon “rain” - what NUMBERS are potentially behind it? Since the NUMBERS necessary to account for each material occurrence at every physical level within say, ten minutes of “rain”, would fill half of the Solar System - let's confine this query to a single “raindrop”.
First, it had condensed into a “drop” from numerous moisture “droplets”… How many? There was a specific NUMBER for it… Precisely how did they coalesce into that “drop”? A series of NUMBERS shall reflect that entire history - all fluctuations in electrical valences, all resulting additions.
When did it happen relative to the Earth's motion around the Sun? Where did it happen relative to the surface of the Earth? There're exact NUMBERS expressing those geometric co-ordinates down to the last infinitesimal.
NUMBERS, NUMBERS by the truckload and we hadn't even began looking at the richest numerical source - the NUMBERS that flow from “sub-atomic particles”, “atoms” and “molecules” like the Niagara Falls... Remarkably, no set of NUMBERS for “rain” – or any other sufficiently complex feature of the Universe, ever repeats itself.
w“Suppose that trillions of NUMBERS do change within a “raindrop” every single second – what's the intellectual point of it all?” you could interrupt at this stage. The answer will be self-evident shortly.
For the time being, let us return to linguistic Life that sees in the duality of Reality a chance to visualize the NUMBERS implied whenever a WORD – the NOUN especially, is being used to advance any ontological hypothesis.
When confronted with CONCEPTUAL BLUFF of Theology – yes, attempting to circumvent the inevitability of Death is a repetitive pattern that will recur wherever in any Universe evolves Language – such Life could well care to examine what NUMBERS potentially arise from the NOUNS central to this BLUFF…
Since Language is a mirror-reflection of Reality, let's imagine a literary tyro from whatever planet of 43 Big Bangs ago, or perhaps 7 Big Bangs into the future, dedicating a fable to the perpetual constant of duality –

“No Mr. God, we never handle Permits for miracles in the main office… You must first contact the Department of Linguistic Reality, then the Numerical Reality, then have each Department approve your submission. Gotta pen? Great, let me give you these…” the receptionist at the General Department of Reality paused momentarily.
“Can't you understand it's urgent?” God protested, “I told you I'm trying to end a devastating drought… Many, many millions could perish if I…”
But eventually God wrote down the contact details, aimed a frustrated kick at the phone booth then hailed a cab to the Pearly Gates Park .
Yet having secured an appointment, God was rather pleased the next day with reception at the Department of Linguistic Reality. The Under Secretary himself met God at the foyer, bowing deeply and apologizing for the delay; “Of course, in this situation we shouldn't lose even one minute …”

“A Permit to cause the miracle - namely RAIN, hereby defined as “medium precipitation between a “shower” (Ref. # 3), and a “downpour” (Ref. # 5)”
So, there it was - in gold leaf lettering with purple ribbon weaving through and the crucial “APPROVED” stamp still moist. Heart pounding, God gently placed the document in a folder - then a huge burst of applause resounded around the offices at the Department of Linguistic Reality… All of the staff cheered and soon, even the Secretary took the trouble to ride the elevator down from the institution's 999 th floor and give God a heartfelt embrace -
“This is going to do a great deal of good. Outstanding - we‘re very proud of you” He patted God on the shoulder then winked; “And good luck with the numbers guys…”

Approaching the Department of Numerical Reality, God felt a distinct sense of unease. The complex of drab, hangar-size buildings seemed abandoned except for emitting an eerie, throbbing hum that kept resonating inside his head like a pesky drone. “Let's get that second approval on my Permit and I'm out of here double quick”, God sighed.
An “ENTER” sign flashed above the heavy steel door and God stepped into a hall crammed end to end with rows of computers. A guard glanced at his documents, grimaced and pressed the intercom. “Sir, another God with a RAIN Permit”, he shouted over the humming of electronic equipment. “Yep, I'll send him over right away”.
He pushed documents back across the counter and lazily run a finger over several smudged pages… “Office 3, Floor 2!”
wUsually charitable to a fault, God was a bit dismayed by the stark contrast between respective Departments of Reality. The elegant tower of glass and chrome, the tastefully appointed offices, the immaculately groomed staff of the Linguistic Department so well versed in social courtesies - it all seemed like another world.
And here, he had to contend with the crudity of the Numerical Department - a ramshackle outfit run by self-important yokels… “Oh, well, I'll just have to grin and bear it - but my noble deed shall come to fruition regardless”, God concluded with good-natured resolve.

True to form, the Assistant Inspector for Numbers on duty that day simply brushed past God's extended hand and pointed to a stool. “The specs?” he demanded. At last - seeing God somewhat mystified, he leaned over adding with pained precision; “The numerical specifications for your miracle, bud. Give me your set of NUMBERS for RAIN, so I can run them through on my Hyper-Computer… comprende?”
wThe two putative authorities on the aspects of existence kept eying each other uneasily. After blowing a ring of smoke, the Assistant Inspector rose nonchalantly throwing his cigar out of the window then motioned God over. “Come with me, God”, he ventured testily, “I want to show you something”
wAt the end wall of Office 3 the Assistant Inspector drew a silvery curtain sidewise, revealing an enormous plasma screen. He pressed several keys, the screen flickered then a bold message gradually stabilized near the top: “NO CHANCE CREATIONS PERMITTED”.
“A fine motto my organization is sworn to uphold without fear of favor” he declared, “Know what it means?”
“I just want to prevent a catastrophe, what's chance got to do with it?” God said with mounting anger, “Listen, countless people are dying every…”
“Yeah, yeah…wrong Department pal. You want somebody's shoulder to cry on, you go back to those perfumed monkeys from the Linguistics. Here, we don't deal with emotions - just NUMBERS”
Muttering under his breath, the Assistant Inspector entered a code and the screen came alive with RAIN - so real in its detail it could have been raining right in front of their eyes. “Is that the one you're after?” he asked.
“Yes, any RAIN will be fine – there's no time to loose, the people are dy…”
“Any RAIN will be fine, any RAIN will be fine…” the Assistant Inspector cut God short contemptuously.
“Never in the long history of the Universe was there an instance of just any RAIN” he sneered “Each one had a set of specific NUMBERS behind every distinguishable feature you care to name – so, where are your NUMBERS, can you give me a set for even one drop, one goddamn molecule of it? The Assistant Inspector pretended to wait for an answer he knew wouldn't come, lit a cigar and spread his arms in mock exasperation…
“And even if I approved your Permit to implement the RAIN we just saw as a miraculous Creation…” he whispered cryptically, “such RAIN would have only been a product of chance. Hey, you wouldn't want me to lose my job - would you?”
He pressed the key and turned to God, grinning. “One chance in a hundred and thirty seven quintillion - that is how many patterns for RAIN I've got on my Hyper-Computer right now. You only saw one - wanna see the rest?”
wGod shrugged, sensing his plan to save many innocent lives and improve the prospects of others wasn't being met with the degree of compassion - let alone understanding, he expected of those in position of responsibility. He rose dejectedly and looked towards the door. “Thank you for your time” he said softly, extending his hand…
“And where do you think you're going - didn't you read the fine print?” the Assistant Inspector enquired, blocking his way and pointing to the Permit agitatedly. “Here it is, read Clause 9 - whereas any God proves incapable of submitting the non-chance NUMBERS for a proposed miracle, that entity irrevocably agrees to be terminated forthwith in perpetuity”
God put his glasses on… Indeed, there it was in black and white. He smiled with a tinge of irony, realizing that the need to read the fine print didn't only apply to mere mortals. And after all the aspirations for enriching societies with his wisdom and benevolence flashed by - now but a torrent of futility, he slumped back into the chair. The two remained silent for a long time…

“Come on, not all is lost” the Assistant Inspector exclaimed with blatantly contrived cordiality, “Look at sub-Clause D of Clause 9, it still allows you to submit the non-chance NUMBERS for miracles other then the RAIN. Can you think of anything else - something really, really basic?”
“What about a geometric point, is it basic enough?” God said half-jokingly. The Assistant Inspector ambled towards the Hyper-Computer. “Let's check it out… infinitesimals, infinitesimals - here they are my little rabbits. Which particular infinity do you propose to base your algorithm on?”
God stared blankly. His interlocutor hesitated for a moment then picked up the phone. “Nurse, please come in - I think we've been at it long enough”. He looked God in the eye …
“Sorry pal - any infinitesimal you'd create would have its algorithm running on only one from amongst the potential infinity of infinities – every other infinity being equally capable of creating its own, distinct infinitesimal. So, you're still stranded in the land of chance…”
wGod drew back as he felt a soft touch on his forearm. “It is painless” the nurse assured him “We have plenty of experience”
He thought he heard; “When you've talked the talk, you've got to walk the walk”, recalled how pretty the nurse's face was then pondered the splendor of permanent, soothing stillness…

Men never do evil so completely and cheerfully as when they do it from a religious conviction.

Blaise Pascal (1623 – 1662)

 Although something of an improvement on the “You have nothing to loose by believing in God, etc…” bunkum, this observation is still not sufficiently all encompassing -
Monsieur Pascal could just as accurately have said; “Men never do evil so completely and cheerfully as when they do it to perpetuate their hereditary privileges”
Understandably, it's not something one would shout from the rooftops of 17th century France - where a scientist most likely had to rely on patronage, or at least acceptance, of the country's despotic Aristocracy.
wMODERNITY – a product of the last two centuries of the INDUSTRIAL and SECULAR REVOLUTIONS which Pascal obviously could not have foreseen, has updated his initial observation with another two blood-soaked themes - “Men never do evil so completely and cheerfully as when they do it for the glory of their Nation”
“Men never do evil so completely and cheerfully as when they do it in the name of their Working Class”
wYet in the end, evil has a common thread running through it; for across the history of every civilization in every era it was invariably aimed against Life's innate capacity for DISSENT - the source of CRITICAL THINKING.
“Men never do evil so completely and cheerfully as when they do it to stifle CRITICAL THINKING”