The God Problem

How does a godless universe come to create itself? Tackling the next big question in popular science requires a massive paradigm shift in thinking.


| March 2013



Howard Bloom

Howard Bloom is an author and scientific thinker.

Photo By Nathalie Ruette

God's war crimes, Aristotle's sneaky tricks, Galileo's creationism, Newton's intelligent design, entropy's errors, Einstein's pajamas, John Conway's game of loneliness, Information Theory's blind spot, Stephen Wolfram's New Kind Of Science, and six monkeys at six typewriters getting it wrong. What do these have to do with the birth of a universe and with your need for meaning?  Everything, as Howard Bloom tries to explain in The God Problem (Prometheus Books, 2012). 

Bloom leads a scientific expedition into the secret heart of a cosmos you've never seen: An electrifyingly inventive, obsessive-compulsive cosmos. A cosmos of screaming, stunning surprise.  A cosmos that's the biggest invention engine — the biggest breakthrough maker, the biggest creator — of all time. The following excerpt sets up the journey by posing the ultimate question: How does the cosmos create? 

Imagine this. You are a twelve-year-old in a godforsaken steel town that once helped suture the Great Lakes to the Atlantic coast of North America and Europe. A city that, for you, is a desert—a wasteland without other minds that welcome you. Buffalo, New York.

Your bar mitzvah is coming up. (Congratulations—you are Jewish for a day.) And you are avoiding a huge confession. One that will utterly change your life. A confession about one of the biggest superstars of human history. God.

You are not a popular kid. In fact, other kids either ignore you or try with all their might to keep you from getting anywhere near their backyard play sessions, their baseball diamonds, their clubs, and their parties. When they do pay attention to you, it’s to take aim. They kick soccer balls in your face. They grab your hat and play toss with it over your head while you run back and forth trying to yank it out of the heights above your reach. Or they pry your textbooks from your arms and throw them on a lawn covered with dog droppings.

No one your age wants you in Buffalo, New York.

arthur walter
4/6/2013 12:31:22 PM

Good Writing !