is one of those words that has been bandied about into the realm of the meaningless. You can't define
any more than you can define
or
Everyone has his own definition, right or wrong. With so many different interpretations of a term, the intellectual noise generated turn the words into nothing more than floating abstractions-words meant to conjure up an emotional image that's not concrete or identifiable.' He stopped to smile at Ann and wink. 'How'm I doing?'
'The gods that existed before the advent of Judeo-Christianity were far more concrete,' she said.
'Yes,' he agreed. 'And they were denounced by later theologians for being
concrete,
easy to conceptualize. Who needed to pay a priest to communicate with such deities when an idol in the living room was sufficient to invoke the spirit?' He looked over into the study. 'Raissa! Make us some coffee!'
'Fuck off, love-I'm on a hot streak.' The word processor buzzed and clattered.
Golding smiled. I wondered whether the man ever frowned. I sniffed the air to check for the aroma of burning hemp.
'I guess I'll make the coffee.' Golding went to the kitchen, sidestepping books and plaques all the way. He spoke over his shoulder.
'As with any type of fiction, Dell, suspension of disbelief is an absolute necessity in religion. Faith is the tool used to undermine reason and circumvent proof. Faith supposedly operates where reason is deficient.
'
A coffee cup clattered to the floor. He stooped to pick it up. 'Religion, like politics, cannot be defended as rational.'
Ann smiled gently. 'You put in a qualifier back there, Mr. Golding. About the older gods.'
'Yes I did, Ann. And I'm about to get to that.'
I stretched my feet out and sighed. I wasn't getting anything that I figured would be of use. I stood and walked into the kitchen, pulling a cigarette from the pack in my coat pocket. I had to ask him the question. Directly.
'Look, Golding.' I lit up the coffin nail. 'I just want to know one thing.' I paused for dramatic effect and took a deep drag. 'Whether He exists or not, a lot of people act as if He does. With that in mind, how can I kill God?'
The canister of coffee slipped from Golding's hands to thud against the parquet linoleum, spilling its grounds like jewels from a chest. I had finally succeeded in getting him to frown.
It was actually more of a scowl.
'How, precisely, do you plan to kill God? Poison? Drowning? High explosives? Magic?'
'That's what Ann thought you could help me with. I-'
Anger gathered in his gaze like a burning L.A. smog. 'Kill something that doesn't exist? Kill a mere idea floating around in people's minds? I'm sorry if I seem insulted by your intrusion here. I don't have much time for cranks. You may have the coffee I promised you, then I'd like you to leave.'
'Dell is serious,' Ann said. 'I thought that your experience-'
'That's rather the point,' he snapped. 'My experience. I've been fighting a battle against antihuman, antirational, anti-joy brutes for thirty years. The most I can show for it is a few thousand people who now aren't afraid to question their early conditioning. That's good, and I've made a living at it. Around the world, however, murder and plunder still thrive in the name of God. Look at what Ireland is doing to Ulster and vice versa. Look at what Israel and PanArabia are doing to one another. Look at the Church that gathers and hoards gold and art treasures while its adherents starve, that smugly states that `the poor are with us always' without admitting that there's such a
