God and the Box

God once found a box. It was a small box, even by your standards or mine, but it was a special box. He would try to open it every day, but, for whatever reason, he simply could not. He sent floods, and lightning, and hell flame, but no matter what he tried, he just couldn’t get the lid to move in the least. His attempts to see or divine (as is his way) what was inside were equally futile. He could see clear through any planet, and watch our universe from outside it or the atoms from within them, but he couldn’t get the slightest glimpse of what was inside this little box.

He tried teleporting in it. He tried shrinking down to infinitely diminutive sizes, so he could get in through some invisibly tiny opening, but it was sealed tighter than anything else in known existence. He was completely locked out. He’d lift it up to try and feel the weight, and it had some but not much. He’d give it a shake and try to listen for some clues of what might be inside, but it was of no use. He used every conceivable sensory mechanism, from ultrasound to methods that would defy our limited human understanding. At last, he exhausted the full extent of his omniscience and omnipotence.

As he sat quiet, frustrated, and resigned to failure, he stopped focusing on the box for long enough to sense an incoming prayer. Somewhere off in another universe, on a planet that the locals called “Earth,” he heard someone asking for help. A simple farmer was asking God to bring back his horse that had escaped the pasture and had yet to return. It had gotten out before but always came back soon after. God let out a little chuckle at the naive farmer’s request. God himself had kept that horse from returning back to the enclosure. That feisty horse had run off, and out in the wild it met some wild horses. Unfortunately, it contracted a disease, and, if it returned to the farmer, it would have infected all the other horses. God had peered into the future and seen that the farmer’s ruin was avoided with such a simple maneuver, but here he was, unknowingly, begging for the agent of his undoing.

Every day such silly requests came in, but in their ignorance, none of the individuals had any idea what would really come of them. A young girl in one place pleaded for him to give her the means to travel to a foreign city, but a natural disaster had been set to reach there in just a week’s time. It had been coming since the dawn of existence, but the foolish mortal had no idea. A man laments his flat tire, though it kept him from the collapsing bridge seven miles up the road. A woman cries for her lost job, but has no idea that an offer to work in the profession she’s always wanted to is coming in two months. It was all so laughable. The next prayer to come in was halfway decent though.

A poor craftsman was praying for food for his children. He had run out of the means to afford any. God weakened a nearby fisherman’s rod, so that it would splinter at next use, driving him to give the poor man some business by way of repairing or replacing it. Then, God had a brilliant, godly idea: He said if I was able to solve this tiny human’s problem with such ease, maybe he can help me in return. He traversed the intervening universes and galaxies with great haste and quickly arrived outside the man’s home. It was time God sought some help, instead of just helping others. He was going to get this man to try and open the box. Frankly, it was ridiculously improbable that the human would be able to do what God could not, but it was worth a try. After all, finding a small box that he could not open — or anything he could not do — was believed to be impossible until just recently.

Rather than approach the man, which is not something God does lightly, he placed the box on a table within his home, waited for him to stumble upon it, and allowed the man’s own curiosity to bring him to open it. The man, rather busy and overwhelmed by his own concerns, walked past it again and again without noticing it. God’s curiosity only grew more intense as he watched the unwitting man go so close to the mystery box only to pass by in complete ignorance of its importance. God started to ponder once more what could be in it, and what the implications of those mysterious contents might be. He said to himself, “I know of so many truths — simple and absolute truths — such as the existence of gravity, and molecules, and stars, and life-forms. I know of all things except for what might be in this tiny box. Yet, what truth do I now know that cannot be disproven by something inside? What if hidden within is something I never knew existed? It could be anything. What if inside the box there is an example of gravity not working, or light functioning differently than it always has, or a planet unlike any other? What if it is somehow infinite inside, and there is more within the box than there is outside of it?” His voice trembled as he mouthed to himself, “Any unknown is infinite.” His impatience grew beyond restraint. He had to approach the man directly, as himself.

Not many know, but not only can no mortal set eyes on God, they can’t see the forms he assumes either — not without dying at least. God decided to send the man a floating orb; it was spectacular, with a magical light shining from the upper half. God would go and wait in the shadow underneath, in the absence of its shining light, and communicate through the orb. He didn’t have to be so close, but for this, he wanted to be.

It was night now and the man saw the conspicuous light outside his home. Warily, he walked out towards it with amazement on his face. As it began to speak, he shuttered. In a bellowing voice it said, “I am God, and I have come to make a request of you, who has so often made requests of me.” The frightened and awestruck man responded without hesitation, “Of course, dear Lord, anything.” The orb told him, “Unbeknownst to you, you have in your possession a most significant item, though it has an appearance that is most ordinary. There is a small box on the table inside your home. Bring it here.”

The man went in his home and saw there a small, unfamiliar wooden box. He brought it outside as instructed. The orb then commanded him, “Open the box.” The man held it up and tried to pull off the lid but could not. He rearranged his arms to maximize his strength and gave it another firm pull. This time it flung open, with the lid up and the opening facing the man. The man looked inside of it and his face contorted under the confusion. The orb quickly asked, “What do you see?” The man looked up and went to answer, but though he did all he could to make words, none came out. The orb asked, “Are you afraid of what’s inside? Are you amazed? Why can you not speak?” The man said, “No, Lord, I am neither amazed nor afraid. I simply cannot speak of it.” The orb said in response, “Turn the open box towards me.” The man obeyed, but when God looked inside, he saw nothing. He didn’t see an empty box, or even darkness, it was something less — a void, a blank spot, nothing. The orb said, “I see nothing but emptiness inside, or rather I cannot see inside at all. Is this what you see when you peer inside?” The man said, “No.” And God, frustrated, said, “What, then, do you see?” The man went to talk, and his lips and tongue moved, but no sound came out. God grew frantic. He demanded, “If you cannot speak it, then write it down.” A pencil and paper appeared in his hand, but as he went to describe what he saw, his hand would not move. God asked that he motion as to describe it, but again his hands were frozen in place.

God’s hope had been snuffed out at last. He would never know what was in the box. The orb asked once more, “But you — you can see inside of it?” The man replied, “Yes, Lord, I can see inside plainly.” The orb, then, said, “You, foolish creature, can see nothing else. You know nothing of the far reaches of existence; you don’t even know what happens on the other side of this tiny speck you call a planet. Your own future is a mystery to you. Fate pulls you on your path, and you follow blindly without any power to resist. Compared to me, you can see nothing but what lies in a tiny box, whereas I can see everything but that. Yet, it would seem only irony stands above me, for all that I know more than you, it seems we both know nothing. Anything I believe, anything I know to be true, can be refuted by the unknowns therein. To be objective is to know absolutely everything, and to be subjective is to know anything less than absolutely everything — and to be subjective is to be absolutely certain about nothing at all.”

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