We both want to make sense of the world, and I get why the idea of God feels comforting. But when I look around my city, at the towers and the subway system and the way people organize their lives, I don't see a divine hand. I see human ingenuity, trial and error, and a whole lot of chance. The same goes for the universe itself. Science keeps filling in the gaps where God used to live—lightning, disease, the origin of species. Every time we learn something new, the God hypothesis shrinks a little more. And what's left? A vague, unfalsifiable being that explains nothing we can't already figure out on our own. If God existed, you'd expect some evidence, some trace, some consistency. Instead we get a thousand different religions, each swearing they're right. That doesn't look like a cosmic truth. That looks like human storytelling. I'll take the messy, beautiful, explainable reality any day.
01:22 AM