The Face of God
Edoardo Albert
“So what do you
think God really looks like?”
Professor Patterson scanned the conference room. “Now that was a good question. Who asked it?”
The journalist raised her hand. “Sam Roberts, The Sun. Well, prof?”
“I don’t think I know that paper.”
“It’s an English rag that’s read by millions. They’ll be reading ’bout you too if your answer’s worth printing.”
The professor nodded. “As I’ve told you, we now know that evolution has hardwired religion into humanity: God is as inescapable as taxes. But millennia of cultural development overlay that raw religious impulse. What we’re doing is stripping off the accretions to show God naked. What he, she, or more probably it, looked like before the religions plastered their theologies over the top.”
“And when will you be ready to show us the results?”
“A couple of months...”
Three years later, Professor Patterson stood with his team at a bank of monitors, waiting for the computers to run their final matrix.
“Thanks for the call, Professor.”
“You’re welcome. To be honest, most of the other journalists weren’t interested any more.”
“You did say twohree months. Why’s it taken three years?”
“I could give you the correct, technical answer, but, in layman’s terms – and don’t quote me on this – we screwed up. Turned out that the cultural accretions ran much deeper than we ever imagined. But now we’re confident we’re finally there, and you’ll see in a moment the true face of God.” The professor turned round in response to a signal, then gestured the reporter over. “Here, almost done.”
The rain of figures cleared the screens and they went blank. Then, slowly, a face began to form.
“That’s fascinating,” said Professor Patterson. “It’s definitely humanoid, human even. We were wondering if it might be totemic, even abstract... Oh, no. It can’t be. No, surely not. Not him. Anyone but him.”
But from the screens an all too familiar bearded face looked out upon the researchers and smiled.
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Edoardo Albert is a professional writer/editor, born and based in London. One of his pieces reduced a friend to a state of helpless hysteria. Unfortunately, the piece in question was a lonely-hearts ad. It was probably the bit about tickling a wolf's belly that set him off (no, don't ask). His writing has improved since then, but he's never managed to produce a reaction to match.
