Plastic Gods Chapters 8, 9, & 10

"Descartes"; "God"; "Voss"

Table of Contents

[ Chapter 1 ] | [ Chapter 2 ] | [ Chapter 3 ] | [ Chapter 4 ] | [ Chapter 5 ] | [Chapter 6] | [Chapter 7]

8 - Descartes

Aios was not at all in-tune with the ‘God’ that governed his actions. He understood the concept intellectually. In fact, this was the subject of most of his pre-Microcosm research. In practice, though, Aios had yet to tap into ‘the connectedness of all things.’ The greatest evidence of this was the way that he conducted his classes. He never had any clue what his students needed from him, and despite the fact that a lot of them really respected him, he didn’t care, either.

Aios didn’t like teaching. It was just a necessary evil. He really liked thinking, but thinking didn’t pay, so he had to do what he had to do. Of course, the real task of his employment—and one that is not exclusive to academia—was schmoozing. Aios was even worse at this than teaching.

The thing about thinking and talking is that when someone is very good at one, it typically means that they’re not so good at the other. The skills aren’t mutually exclusive, per se, but they generally discourage one another, with very few exceptions. Aios, being a perfect example of what happens when the two skills repel each other like similar poles of a magnet, found himself stuck with the three classes that nobody wanted to teach.

Intro to Philosophy earned its spot at the bottom of the desirability list by being full of students with no interest in philosophy whatsoever. Philosophy and Society was barely even a real class, and Aios only ended up teaching it because of the overwhelming number of students who registered for it each semester. Advanced Metaphysics ended up on Aios’s schedule because of the eight-thousand-word paper required at the end of it that no professor in the school wanted to read.

While Mona was having a deep conversation with Nathan, Simon, and his friends, Aios was having one of his own in front of his Intro to Philosophy class. Aios’s classes were largely a chance for him to put ideas that he was puzzling through into words. He typically had a few dedicated fans in his Ph.D.Phil classes who really enjoyed this. However, Intro to Philosophy was a class for sleepy undergraduates who didn’t really care about the subject at all.

It was the penultimate class of the semester—the last lecture before the students would go on to take their final exams. Review sheets were already distributed and Aios was all out of curriculum to follow, which made this his favorite day of the Intro to Philosophy semester.

“You learned a lot of theories this semester,” Aios began, feeling the tension of a good speech start brewing in his chest.

“Yeah, right,” a student mumbled from the front row. If Aios had heard the comment it might have annoyed him, but to his ears it was just inaudible gibberish from a student he’d already decided not to respect, so he disregarded the noise.

“We mentioned thousands of years’ worth of thinkers,” continued Aios, taking a deep breath and beginning to pace across the front of the lecture hall. “Covered a wide range of topics. Ethics. Economics. Logic. Metaphysics.” One girl in the middle of the lecture hall yawned. Aios missed that, too.

“Today, we’re going to bring it back to epistemology—the thought that governs all thought.” Aios’s eyes shifted for a second, as if he suddenly remembered that he was supposed to be a teacher. “Can someone tell me what epistemology means?” he asked, in a hopeless attempt to garner the class’s interest.

Silence.

“I may be showing my age, but I distinctly remember a time when young men and women went to college because they wanted to learn something.”

Aios looked out at the hundred disinterested faces who seemed not to even notice that he had just insulted them. He heard something drop onto the floor in the back of the lecture hall.

“Anyway,” Aios sighed. “Epistemology is the study of knowledge. Where it comes from, how we categorize it. What we can believe, what we can’t believe. You should remember three thinkers that we studied this semester that have dealt with this topic. But today we’re just going to examine a quote from one: Rene Descartes. The quote: cogito, ergo sum. I think, therefore I am.”

Like Socrates, the quote “I think, therefore I am” and the experiment that inspired it is a constant in semi-intelligent human societies.

Unlike Socrates, the philosopher who utters the quote is typically of little importance, apart from this one stroke of genius. Apart from this one aspect of his philosophy, the Descartes that Aios was referencing here had little in common with the Frenchman named Descartes who resided on planet Earth.

Aios paused again before continuing his lecture. A girl in the second row yawned.

“How many of you have heard this quote before? Show of hands.”

No one moved.

“Well, you should all at least recognize it from your syllabus; it’s printed right at the top. It’s a rather famous quote which a few of you may have heard, even though you’re hesitant to share it now. If you have heard it, you might not know what it means.”

Aios began to pace again. “It doesn’t just mean ‘thinking is the point of existence,’ although some may argue that this is part of it. What happened was this: Descartes became obsessed with the idea that everything he thought he knew might not actually be true.”

Aios looked into the crowd for an interested face. Nothing. He continued anyway.

“It’s a scary thought, when you think about it. Where do our beliefs come from? Other people. School, maybe. What our parents think, what our friends think. What society as a whole thinks. Descartes decided that that wasn’t a good enough source. He wouldn’t believe things just because some authority told him that they were true.”

All the way in the back of the room, too far away for Aios to hear, a girl whispered to the person next to her, “If that’s the case why do we have to sit here listening to this guy?” If Aios could have heard her, the biggest surprise to him might have been that she synthesized enough of his information to deliver a comeback.

“Then he took it a step further,” Aios continued. “Without authority, what was left? Where else did he get his knowledge from? His own senses would be the most obvious answer. However, senses could be deceived. Descartes’ eyes had played tricks on him before.

So, Descartes decided that his senses weren’t to be trusted either. It was kind of like a primitive version of ‘simulation theory.’ If nothing around you was ‘real’ and was only pretending to be, you’d have no way of knowing, right?”

Aios paused and took a drink of water from a water bottle sitting on the desk at the front of the lecture hall. A few other disinterested students mimicked his action.

“After that, he examined his beliefs one by one, having decided that the only knowledge he could trust was that which he could deduce logically from nothing at all. The first thing he decided with absolute certainty was that he existed. He knew this because he was thinking, reasoning, having sensory experiences and having this painstaking discourse with himself. He might not be able to rule out the possibility that his entire life was an illusion, or everyone around him a mere figment of his imagination, but he knew that he existed in some capacity, whatever that capacity may be, because if not, he wouldn’t be able to experience anything at all.”

By Descartes’ logic, I wonder if any of these people really exist, Aios thought, looking out at the crowd of blank faces again.

“So Descartes had three things. He had this idea—this burning obsession that he should conduct this brutal examination. He had his method. Logic alone, thought itself, was the only pathway to true knowledge. From there he intuited something else—a real fact, the only thing he could know for sure once authority and sense perception were disregarded as sources. This was his own existence.” Aios began to pace again. “You might think that this ended here. And it could have. For many people it would have. But not Descartes. From this one, single fact, he deduced a second—the existence of God.”

Aios pivoted on his feet as he switched directions, pacing towards the opposite side of the room. “He decided upon God’s existence in a strange sort of way. A lot of people argue for the existence of God by asserting the necessity of some sort of creator. How did we get here, if God did not make us?”

Aios paused, actually contemplating the question for a moment.

“Descartes did not mention the ‘creation question.’ Instead, he attributed the existence of God to the existence of perfection. He knew that he was imperfect. He also knew that there were things in nature that were more perfect than himself. Therefore, according to Descartes, something had to have created those things, because perfection cannot arise from imperfection.”

Aios stopped suddenly, mid-gait, as if awoken from some kind of trance.

“It is up to you to decide whether you think this is true.”

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9 - God

Mona remained alert. When she sat down that night and opened her first can of beer, she heard a silent ‘no’ reverberating in the top of her skull. When she opened her second, the voice was gone. It was one of those failures that begets success. The next day, she heard the ‘no’ as soon as she thought about the beer, so she didn’t touch it, and after a few minutes of restlessness, she found herself sitting with her guitar, adding a new layer of subtle acoustic fingerpicking atop a recording of one of Nathan’s songs.

The next day, the voice stopped her from taking an unsanctioned second lunch break at Cheap Jerry’s. She was rewarded when Jerry walked through the door, two hours earlier than she was expecting him. She wondered if this was God’s idea of showing off.

Most of the changes were more subtle. In her day-to-day life, she simply felt like she was getting luckier. Her train would arrive on time, or, if she was running a little late, it would be running just a little bit later. She felt more comfortable singing; she willingly took the little risks that she typically suppressed when they popped up in her mind.

Even writing music—that skill that evaded her most—suddenly came naturally. She simply let go, let the notes just come to her the way Nathan promised her they would. And they did. She spent her evenings refining songs and writing them down. She wasn’t as gifted as Nathan instrumentally—all of her songs were simple, quiet acoustic pieces. But she was okay with that. Her solo album didn’t have to sound like Soma’s. Blaming this ‘God’ for her successes and failures freed her from culpability. If something didn’t work out, it wasn’t like it was her bad decision. The uncanny thing was that things generally worked. In fact, Mona soon realized that God was better at making music than she was.

“Stop worrying so much. Just pick something and go with it.”

She heard Nathan’s voice in her mind as she struggled to decide between two awkward-sounding chords.

“Are you a hack? No? Well then you shouldn’t care. Play what sounds right to you.”

It worked. When she found herself judging, or criticizing, or calling her names or telling her that she should just give it all up already, she heard that little voice in her head whisper “Quiet!”

Nathan noticed the change. So did the rest of the band. Whenever they’d comment, she’d play coy, and make up some kind of excuse.

“That was pretty good, right?” she’d say with a sly smile, suddenly confident enough to admit something like this. “I guess we’re getting used to playing together.”

She never told anyone the real origin of her success. Not even Nathan. There was a little part of her that thought she would be shipped off to an asylum if she ever dared mention it.

She couldn’t deny the lucky breaks, though. It seemed like the whole world started to organize itself in her favor. First, Soma was invited to play at Mark’s bar. They performed great in front of an audience of about a dozen people. Word got out, and when they were invited back, the size of the audience doubled, and then doubled again after that.

During one of these performances, they were noticed by an owner of a second bar—a more popular one, known for its live music. At that gig, they were noticed by the talent agent, who set up an appointment with them, and told them that if they recorded an album that was as good as their live shows, he would represent them.

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10 - Voss

By the time Soma had performed at their second gig, Nathan and Mona were virtually inseparable. Nathan spent six nights a week at Mona’s apartment, going home only to do laundry (his building had a washing machine and Mona’s didn’t) and gather his things for the upcoming week. Mona had a drawer with his things in it that was constantly growing, and the time between his trips home grew proportionally. They never ‘defined’ their relationship—in fact, even much later into this story you will see that they never really had a moment where they articulated what it was they were doing with one another. However, their unspoken agreement of loyalty remained, and when they first said ‘I love you’ (initiated by Mona, her mind predictably hazy after a long night), it predated any conversation about what they were doing.

It also predated Aios’s return by about fifteen seconds (of Aios’s time, not theirs). As Nathan was frozen in place, considering the words that Mona had said to him, and finally formulating his answer to it (something more concrete than the “uhhh” that he had first responded with), Aios had one foot in, one foot out of his office door, and had just snapped his neck around in response to a coworker’s call of “Hey, Roe!” This moment occurred at the end of a somewhat lengthier exchange, which went like this:

“Dr. Roe!”

Aios jumped as he heard a voice behind him, just as he was turning the knob of his office door. He turned his body around and his stomach sank.

“Dr. Voss.”

Aios smiled curtly at his colleague, the chairman of the school’s philosophy department. Sensing that Voss wasn’t going anywhere, he let go of the doorknob and immediately crossed his arms. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”

Predictable behavior for a snake, Aios thought to himself.

“I thought you might be coming back now,” Voss said. “I passed your room as your class was ending.”

“Is that so?”

“Mmhm.” Voss’s lips spread into an arrogant smirk. “Heard quite the commotion as they were leaving the room. I would have approached you then, but I didn’t want to intrude, in case you were going to, well, rectify the situation.”

“They’re all adults, Dr. Voss. Students of a prestigious university, no less. I trust they know how to handle themsleves.”

“One would hope,” Voss said. Before Aios could turn around, he continued speaking. “I’m looking forward to your presentation next week.” The statement was very unenthusiastic but extraordinarily loud in volume. The man was clearly attempting some type of dominance display. “Advancements in the field of philosophy, told by the most renowned scholar of our generation. Judging by the bestseller lists, at least.”

Aios thought about this for a second. “I think the bestseller lists are a great measure,” he replied. “If people can’t understand your work, have you really succeeded as an educator?”

“I suppose not,” Voss said. “Although I hope your presentation is up to a higher, well, caliber than those books. The makings of a popular author and those of a successful academic are not necessarily the same.” Voss smirked. “You know this, of course. From last year’s Board elections, I mean.”

Last year, after the previous head of the philosophy department resigned, Aios and Voss were both candidates for the position. Despite Aios’s seniority, the position went to Voss.

Aios gave Voss a scathing smile as the man continued. “You’re preparing something inspiring, I assume, judging by your absence from this week’s staff meeting.”

Aios silently cursed to himself. He’d forgotten that that was today.

“You might say that,” Aios said. “It’s remarkable how much time one has for intellectual pursuits when unburdened by the pressures of mingling after work with the heads of other departments.”

A look of embarrassment overcame Voss’s face. “Well, we’ll see, won’t we?” Aios shrugged his shoulders and turned towards his door once more.

“It’s funny you should mention that,” Voss continued, his voice booming arrogantly again. “Because there’s actually a dinner tomorrow that we were all hoping you’d join us for.”

“And spoil your quality time with Dr. Black?”

Voss’s face turned beet red. Melina Black was the niece of the president of the university and the head of the Urban Studies department. Aios had overheard a rumor that she and Voss had left together after an after-work get-together and knew that if he’d heard the rumor, it must have been circulating all over the school. Aios wondered if he was stooping too far down to the petty man’s level by bringing it up. Then he remembered how much he hated Voss and how invincible he’d be once he unveiled his new invention. He decided to continue.

“Aios, there’s no reason to get hostile,” Voss said, trying his best to maintain his cool demeanor.

“I’d prefer it if you called me Dr. Roe,” Aios replied. “And I don’t mean any offense. I’m expressing a legitimate concern.”

“Well.” Voss cleared his throat. “While I’m sure you may need to be reminded of this given your—how should I put this?—self-enforced isolation from your contemporaries, forming friendly relationships with colleagues is generally looked upon as a good thing. It’s how we share ideas, get feedback, stay fresh and relevant.”

“Must be very helpful when you don’t have any ideas of your own.”

Voss paused. “On second thought, perhaps your isolation isn’t self-enforced.”

Aios shrugged.

“In any case, the dinner is at six o’clock at Hammond’s, right across the street,” Voss said. “It’s a new tradition I’m starting as Department Head in order to encourage friendly discourse between colleagues. Be prepared to discuss your presentation. It’s outside of working hours, so of course you’re not required to attend, but attendance is, well, strongly encouraged.”

“I’ll mark it down on my calendar.”

“Wonderful. I’ll see you tomorrow night.” Voss grinned.

“And hopefully no sooner.” The words escaped Aios’s mouth before he could do anything to stop them. “Because you should be working on your project, I mean.”

Voss let out a loud, exaggerated laugh. “Ah, Dr. Roe, you always have something to say!” He took a step towards Aios and slapped him on the shoulder. Aios instinctively pulled away. “Looking forward to it.”

Aios waited with his hand on the doorknob until Voss walked away. As he turned the doorknob he heard Voss’s footsteps coming back towards him.

“Hey, Roe!”

Aios turned back around in response to Voss, who performatively scanned his eyes up and down Aios’s body.

“Wear something… presentable.”

Aios slammed the door behind him.

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