Howard Bloom may be an atheist, but you may not be one — or remain one, if you already are one — after you finish reading The God Problem: How a Godless Cosmos Creates.
That’s because — if you’re at all like me — you may hear the selfsame words slip through your lips that I heard slip through mine — almost as an impromptu, contemporary, nondenominational prayer — when I finally put down Bloom’s book last night and whispered to no one in particular and everyone in general: “God damn! This guy thinks and writes like a divinely-inspired son of a bitch!”
But talk of theism and atheism aside (for the moment), what is The God Problem? Oh, not much more than a trifle, really: Just an amazingly-thorough (and thoroughly-amazing) distillation, concatenation, and occasional repudiation of the pivotal thinkers and thoughts in human intellectual history.
Although Bloom sometimes seems to love his own rhetoric and narrative voice a little much for my humble taste, his mastery of his subject matter seems nearly as vast as his subject — which includes (almost literally) everything that's ever been observed, hypothesized, or merely imagined to exist in this world and this solar system, galaxy, universe, multiverse and, conceivably, beyond. (Perhaps on the other, other side of the toroidal, anti-material “Big Bagel” universe that Bloom thought up as a child and trots out for our consideration as he nears his conclusion.)
Still, you gotta give the guy credit: He sets himself to a pretty ginormous literary undertaking, one that might easily collapse under a heavier hand or a more unrelievedly dry, academic tone. And that’s what ultimately saves the day in this book: Bloom’s wit and wordplay, which are both entertaining enough and interspersed enough with real insight to render his occasional excesses in verbiage and love-the-sound-of-my-own-voice patter to only occasionally distract from the flood of ideas he can unleash on virtually every topic in his domain.
And just like Bloom so often does, now I’m going to tell you again what I just said — only this time I’ll explain it differently, and tell you that Bloom’s topological turf in this topical tome includes just about everything under, above, and way-way-WAY beyond the sun, from the opening salvo and reiterative reverberations of the Big Bang to the most recent threads of quantum-physical speculation that loops Superstring Theory inside, around, and through the brand-newest brand-new bubbles of Dial-M-for-Membrane Theory. (See what I mean? After only a week with my nose pointed at his pages, I can't even describe the scale and scope of Bloom's book without suddenly writing just like him!)
Rhetorical wrangling aside, though, I have no problem with The God Problem. And neither, I suspect, will you.
Because it is a dazzling ride through time and space, all seamlessly held together with knotted strings from ancient Egypt and an inverted axiom from Albert Einstein.
It’s a fast, flashy ride and a fun, philosophical read made way more fascinating as it trains Bloom’s endlessly fascinated eye on everything that he deems noteworthy — from the great walls of termite turds that those obsessive-compulsive insects employ as colony “recruiting strategies” to the precise composition and nature of subatomic particles and transoceanic waves — both of which turn out to be way, way more and much, much less than they might appear to more-mortal observers.
Non-Spoiler Alert: Even though, Bloom does indeed answer the question inherent in his subtitle, How a Godless Cosmos Creates, by describing the implicate, enfolded, and unfolding properties of the simple, but fundamental, rules underlying this whole godless creation, as it turns out — this time, at least — the devil really is in the details. And getting to know them, on a first-name basis, after being introduced to them personally by Howard Bloom, may turn out to be the best part of your entire existence. Spoil that for you? Not on your life!
Besides, it would probably take more than the 700 or so pages that Bloom took in The God Problem for me to relay it, less cogently and artfully, to you. And just like Aristotle and Euclid and Pythagoras and Copernicus and Newton and Einstein and all the others that Bloom resurrects, inspects, and dissects, I’d be sure to screw up big parts of it, anyway.
And, for that matter, I’m a little curious myself whether you come away from The God Problem with the same thoughts I did. Because it sure seems to me like somebody up there likes Howard Bloom — and a hell of a lot, at that.
Any maybe even vice versa.