Apotheosis

photo by joeball

According to the St. Anselm’s so-called “Ontological Argument,” God’s existence is proven since, as “that which nothing greater can be conceived,” He necessarily exists, point being that if He didn’t, then He wouldn’t be the greatest conceivable thing (lacking the property of existence).

The seminal objection comes from the monk, Gaunilo, who argues that ironically, the Ontological Argument is too powerful.  By the same logic, says Gaunilo, we could prove the existence of the greatest conceivable island, but this is absurd, and so, by a reductio, Anselm’s proof fails.

Contemporary philosopher of religion, Alvin Plantinga, responds on behalf of Anselm and contends that Gaunilo’s analogy is faulty; while “the greatest conceivable thing” is a coherent concept, the “greatest conceivable island” is not; the former is an infinite Being; the latter is something finite to which attributes can be added infinitely; the concept, therefore, is self-contradictory; thus Gaunilo’s objection fails and Anselm’s proof carries the day.

I’m not so sure, though.  Consider a different finite something with the property of being unsurpassable, “the greatest conceivable .83 ride,” for example, “the .83 ride such that no greater ride could be conceived of.”

It would feature an unseasonably dry evening, a fair amount of miles on mostly car-less roads; an endless amount of surprisingly decent marijuana passed out freely by a non-partaking Derrick Ito; not one, but two outdoor drinking spots, the second of which at a fondly-remembered hidden hobo firepit with a conflagration hot enough to give rise to several SOC Pussies; a double-EntAndre in the tree overhead; so much beer that even the Angry Hippy felt compelled to turn unopened leftovers into coal-fired depth-charges; a couple mechanicals, but no broken bones; more than enough trash-scavenged dick pics; whiskey at a favored watering hole for a nightcap; and, to top it off, Daniel Featherhead navigating the whole goddamned trip on his home-built tall bike.

It doesn’t get better; it can’t get better, and yet, remarkably, dear Gaunilo, it exists.