Plastic Gods Chapter 3
"Dahlia"
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Aios’s attention was pulled from Mona’s world by a knock on the door.
He looked at his phone. 7:30 AM. He thought he had let his colleagues know not to bother him this early.
Still, it was a busy time of year. Student theses were due next week, and Aios had his own project to work on: a presentation in front of the Board detailing his “contributions to his field” that year. It normally wasn’t a big deal. He’d just write a lazy article about whatever personal reading he’d done that year, buried in enough academic jargon that someone would have to concentrate for hours to extract the little wisps of meaning that were actually thrown in there.
This year was different. He’d been waiting for this for almost ten years—this project had taken up a good portion of the latter half of his career. This was the year that he was going to unveil the Microcosm.
Of course, this meant that he’d be better off playing nice with his coworkers, so against his wishes, he covered his Microcosm with a sheet and walked over to the door.
Standing at the door was a young woman with blue eyes and curly blond hair. He assumed she must have been a student, but as far as he knew, it was the first time he’d ever seen her.
“Hi, Professor Roe,” she said. Clearly, she knew who he was. Aios gave her a fake smile.
“Yes?” he said.
“I’m here for office hours,” she said. “You changed them to 7:30?”
“Oh, yes, right,” Aios said, tempted to explain to the girl that he had done this so no one would show up. “You’re in my Intro to Philosophy class, right?”
“Advanced Metaphysics.”
“Oh, yes, right.” Aios nodded. So she was a Ph.D.Phil student.
‘Ph.D.Phil’ is an approximate translation, but a near-perfect one. When Aios was a young man, his degree was termed a ‘doctor of philosophy’ degree. As the name suggests, this degree was only available to students of philosophy—philosophy being an intersectional discipline combining science and history and logic and all other known paths to knowledge. Students of philosophy were said to acquire ‘true’ intelligence, something akin to wisdom.
Sometime during Aios’s parents’ youth, the trend towards increased specialization occurred, and thus the scope of “philosophy” narrowed, and the scope of the “Ph.D” broadened. Ph.D degrees started being awarded in all disciplines, from mathematics to biology to ‘abstract behavioral studies.’ This didn’t change the rigor of the ‘true’ Ph.D path, but it did cause a blow to the degree’s prestige. People of all disciplines started affixing the term “Ph.D” to their identities, implicitly purporting themselves to have the broad intersectional knowledge traditionally associated with a Ph.D but without any of the actual merit.
As a response to the constant griping from ‘real’ Ph.Ds (the recently-graduated Aios being one of them), the Board of Academies decided to affix a label to the end of each of the new Ph.D degrees that were awarded, denoting exactly which domain of study the degree was awarded in. For example, a Ph.D in mathematics would be a “Ph.D.Math” (Doctor of Philosophy of Mathematics) a Ph.D in physics would be a “Ph.D.Phys” (Doctor of Philosophy of Physics).
This delighted the ‘real’ Ph.Ds, until they were hit with their own addendum. The Ph.D would henceforth be referred to as a “Ph.D.Phil,” i.e. “Doctor of Philosophy of Philosophy.”
“Come in,” Aios said after a moment of awkward silence. He moved aside, gesturing for the girl to come into his office. He hastily grabbed a small stool hiding in the corner of the room and positioned it before his desk. “Sit.”
“Thank you.”
“Remind me your name?” he said absently, sitting down in his desk chair.
“Dahlia,” she said. “Dahlia White.” She looked down, her face getting flushed. “I just want to say what an honor it is… I mean… to be taking your class… and to be speaking with you. I’m a big fan of your work.”
“The university work or the real work?” Aios grumbled.
“Um, both, I guess.” Dahlia smiled and forced a chuckle. She shifted in her seat. “I loved your Entire History of Philosophy. It’s what made me want to go into academia.”
In addition to his work at the university, Aios enjoyed some success as a popular author. It was not uncommon for students to have read his books.
“That was a joke, anyway,” Aios said.
“The book?” Dahlia frowned.
“No, the ‘real work,’ comment,” Aios said. “Forget it.”
“Good one,” Dahlia replied, forcing another laugh.
“Well, I’m assuming you’re not here for an autograph?”
“What? No, I… of course not.” Dahlia’s cheeks were beet-red. “I had a question about my final paper, actually.”
The girl was writing her paper on the existence of God. The term she used to introduce the subject was ‘creator deity,’ but it quickly became clear to Aios that she used the two terms interchangeably.
“So,” Aios said. “Are you arguing that there is a divine creator, and that’s why people feel such a strong need to believe in one?”
“Of course not,” Dahlia replied. “I mean, I don’t want to be ridiculous. Basically every scholar in the world has come to the consensus that we can’t prove that. What I’m arguing is that there’s an instinctual human need to believe in some type of god. I’m kind of going off of something you wrote in your book The Domain of the Unseen Master about how everyone has a deity, and that in the modern world we’re just free to choose our own.”
Aios nodded intently but did not say anything.
“Anyway, I think it’s a good idea,” Dahlia continued. “The empirical data is where I’m getting stuck. Historical analysis isn’t sufficient, right? I need to come up with my own data? I just don’t really know how to do that. I was thinking of collecting data about how people who consider themselves ‘spiritual’ are more successful than people who don’t. But it turns out that extremely successful, spiritual people don’t really want to talk to me, and I don’t think citing outside evidence that they called themselves spiritual elsewhere really counts. I’m not sure if it really matters anyway—the whole idea was a stretch to begin with. But I can’t think of anything better, and the paper’s due in a week—“
“Stop,” Aios said. “This is all so stupid.” Dahlia’s face went from beet-red to ghost-white. “I mean, you have an idea, right?” Dahlia nodded. “But these requirements are put in place so you have to change your idea completely just to fit within their parameters. And then the paper you put out will inevitably drone on for pages and pages to fit the arbitrary word count, and numbers and data that have no business being there will clutter every page of it so that all the joy is completely sucked out of it and it’s only readable if you’re a professor and you have no other choice.”
Dahlia was stunned—frozen in her seat.
“You know what?” Aios said. “Forget about the data. Forget about the word count. Just give me something that’s actually worth reading, for a change. Bring some personality into it. Something real.”
“You mean like examples?”
“Yeah! Examples, opinions.”
“I thought it was supposed to be scientific?”
“If you did the reading for my class, you would understand what the word ‘scientific’ was originally supposed to mean.” Aios paused. “There’s nothing scientific about this field anymore. At least if you do this, it’ll mean something.”
“So you’re waiving the data requirement?”
“I’m waiving the data requirement.”
“And you’re waiving the word count?”
“I’m waiving the word count.”
“Are you sure? These are university-wide policies.”
“The University collects data. They don’t read your paper. I do.”
And they’ll be eating out of my hand by the time I even read the thing, Aios thought to himself. He did not say this part out loud.
“Professor Roe, thank you so much! I won’t disappoint. I mean, I hope not. Thank you!”
“There’s one thing I would change,” Aios said. The girl nodded, wide-eyed. Aios felt bad for her. “Refine your word choice,” he continued. “You’re using the words ‘creator’ and ‘god’ interchangeably, but they’re not the same thing. Plenty of civilizations have believed in gods that aren’t creators. You can even create a world without being a god.” This last sentence thrilled Aios, having finally said it aloud.
“Well, I’m talking about an omniscient god, I guess.”
“My advice is to be specific. Define your terms. And don’t switch up your definitions halfway through your paper.”
Dahlia thanked Aios profusely, and, once she confirmed that she didn’t have any more questions, Aios escorted her out of his office, wishing her luck on her thesis. She thanked him a few more times after this and repeated how honored she was that he was interested in her topic. He reminded her that she chose a topic that he had written a book about, but this did not seem to lessen the girl’s enthusiasm.
“Oh, and one more thing,” he said as he escorted the girl out of his office. “Don’t be a coward. People have been arguing for or against the existence of God for centuries. If that’s what you want to write about, write it.”
After Aios closed the door, he wondered what he was thinking. You told her to ignore every single bullet-point in the university’s policy? he asked himself. Idiot.
Deciding that it was no use thinking about it anymore, he closed the door to his office and promptly uncovered the Microcosm, shaking the whole conversation out of his mind.
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Readin' good, Melissa!