Stories I carry around inside me inside it.
Do you know the story of Balaam and Balak?
One was a technician, to begin with,
Of the polytheistic, superstitious sacred.
The latter was a king of Moab who bought in
To the ancient notion that a technician could
Help him. But the Lord of one encampment
Thwarted him. The Lord got hold of Balaam.
Lots of jokes about an ass. Lots of tricks
For an audience of committed monotheists.
But the story contained its own self-destruct
Command in its satirical skepticism. Look,
God mocks the superstitions of pagans
And idols and con-artist magic men shamans.
Mockery based on evidence, however,
“You can’t do the things you say you can,”
Is universal acid. If the daimon doesn’t
Appear to the ass and Balaam, if Balaam is
No better than the pagan technician he was
Once your omnipotent God converted him,
Then what are we left with, ahem? Atheism
(And skepticism of superstitions, generally)
Was birthed with monotheism, with savaging
And laughing at the impotence of deities. Fin.
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