بی تانrı

"Hatırladığım kadarıyla evreni yaratmaya karar verdiğimde şekerlememden yeni uyanmıştım." Alan Lightman'ın Tanrı’nın ağzından evrenin oluşumunun anlatıldığı eğlenceli romanı Bay Tanrı bu cümleyle başlıyor. Calvino'nun, Saramago'nun ve Salman Rushdie'nün büyülü dünyasından esintiler taşıyan roman bilimi, felsefeyi ve teolojiyi biraraya getirerek bizi Büyük Patlama'dan başlayıp evrenin hazin sonuna dek süren, yaşamın ortaya çıkışıyla doğan kaçınılmaz sorularla bezeli neşeli bir yolculuğa davet ediyor. "Hatırladığım kadarıyla evreni yaratmaya karar verdiğimde şekerlememden yeni uyanmıştım." Einstein'ın Düşleri'nin yazarı Alan Lightman'ın Tanrı'nın ağzından evrenin oluşumunun anlatıldığı eğlenceli romanı Bay Tanrı bu cümleyle başlıyor. Calvino'nun, Saramago'nun ve Salman Rushdie'nün büyülü dünyasından esintiler taşıyan roman bilimi, felsefeyi ve teolojiyi biraraya getirerek bizi Büyük Patlama'dan başlayıp evrenin hazin sonuna dek süren, yaşamın ortaya çıkışıyla doğan kaçınılmaz sorularla bezeli neşeli bir yolculuğa davet ediyor. "Lightman, zaman, uzay, madde ve hayatın kökenleri üzerine müthiş bir fabl yazarak Yaratılış üzerine ortaya atılan onca zırvaya şahane bir kontra çıkarıyor." Nature "Evrenin doğuşu, sonu ve diğer her şey üzerine dokunaklı bir çalışma. Hümanist Lightman rasyonellik ve gizem uyumuna yol verirken, Biliminsanı Lightman şeytanın avukatı rolüne bürünerek Yaratılış fanatiklerinin gözlerini felsefenin ışığıyla kamaştırıyor." The New York Times "Alan Lightman'ın Einstein'ın Düşleri gibi bir şaheser daha yazması pek olası görünmüyordu ama bunu Bay Tanrı'da nükte ve hayal gücü ile tekrar başardığı açık." Anita Desai "Entelektüel açıdan kışkırtıcı ve dokunaklı ve komik ve çok güzel yazılmış" Salman Rushdie Orijinal,Bilim Kurgu,Felsefe,Fantastik,Din,Mizah,Çağdaş Edebiyat

Time

As I remember, I had just woken up from a nap when I decided to create the universe.

Not much was happening at that time. As a matter of fact, time didn’t exist. Nor space. When you looked out into the Void, you were really looking at nothing more than your own thought. And if you tried to picture wind or stars or water, you could not give form or texture to your notions.

Those things did not exist. Smooth, rough, waxy, sharp, prickly, brittle—even qualities such as these lacked meaning. Practically everything slept in an infinite torpor of potentiality. I knew that I could make whatever I wanted. But that was the problem. Unlimited possibilities bring unlimited indecision. When I thought about this particular creation or that, uncertain about how each thing would turn out, I grew anxious and went back to sleep. But at a particular moment, I managed . . . if not exactly to sweep aside my doubts, at least to take a chance.

Almost immediately, it seemed, my aunt Penelope asked me why I would want to do such a thing. Wasn’t I comfortable with the emptiness just as it was? Yes, yes, I said, of course, but . . . You could mess things up, said my aunt. Leave Him alone, said Uncle Deva. Uncle toddled over and stood beside me in his dear way. Please don’t tell me what to do, retorted my aunt. Then she turned and stared hard at me. Her hair, uncombed and knotted as usual, drooped down to her bulky shoulders. Well? she said, and waited. I never liked it when Aunt Penelope glowered at me. I think I’m going to do it, I finally said. It was the first decision I’d made in eons of unmeasured existence, and it felt good to have decided something. Or rather, to have decided that something had to be done, that a change was in the offing. I had chosen to replace nothingness with something. Something is not nothing. Something could be anything. My imagination reeled. From now on, there would be a future, a present, and a past. A past of nothingness, and then a future of something.

In fact, I had just created time. But unintentionally. It was just that my resolution to act, to make things, to put an end to the unceasing absence of happenings, required time. By deciding to create something, I had pressed an arrow into the shape- less and unending Void, an arrow that pointed in the direction of the future. Henceforth, there would be a before and an after, a continuing stream of successive events, a movement away from the past and towards the future—in other words, a journey through time. Time necessarily came before light and dark, matter and energy, even space. Time was my first creation.

Sometimes, the absence of a thing is not noticed until it is present. With the invention of time, events that had once merged together in one amorphous clot began to take shape. Each event could now be enveloped by a slipcover of time, separating it from all other events. Every motion or thought or the slightest happenstance could be ordered and placed exactly in time. For example, I realized that I had been sleeping for a very long time. And near me—but I couldn’t say how near, because I had not yet created space—Aunt Penelope and Uncle Deva had also been sleeping, their loud snores rising and falling like something or other, their tossings and turnings unfolding in time. And their interminable bickering could now be identified with moments of wakefulness, which in turn could be understood as taking place between periods of sleep. I refused to think how much time I had wasted. In fact, we had all slept in a kind of pleasant amnesia, a swoon, an infinite senselessness. In various ways, had we not luxuriated in the unstructured Void, unaccountable for our actions? Yes, unaccountable. Because without time, there could be no reactions to actions, no consequences. Without time, decisions need not be considered for their implications and effects. We had all been drifting in a comfortable Void without responsibilities.

See, my aunt complained when it became apparent that we were now conscious of time. I told you that you would mess things up. She shot Uncle a look of disapproval, as if he had encouraged me to act as I had, and then she began an unhappy summary of the various things that she had done and not done during the immediate past, then during the past before that, and so on, back and back through the now visible chasms of time, until Uncle begged her to stop. You should never have created the past and the future, she said. We were happy here. See, now I must say were, when before . . . Oh! There it is again. It was nicer when everything happened at once. I can’t stand to think about the future. But don’t you think that we have some responsibility to the future? I suggested. To all the things and beings I might create? Non- sense, shrieked Aunt Penelope. What a foolish argument. You have no responsibility to things that don’t yet exist and won’t ever exist if you could just keep your big thoughts to yourself. But it’s too late now, she went on. I can feel time. I can feel the future. She had gotten herself into one of her states, and the Void twisted and throbbed with her displeasure.

Gently, Uncle caressed her. For the first time ever, she responded to his touch. Her ranting diminished. Soon after, she realized that her hair needed combing, and that was the beginning of something and probably all for the best.

Continues...
Excerpted from Mr g by Alan Lightman Copyright © 2012 by Alan Lightman. Excerpted by permission of Pantheon, a division of Random House, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site. As I remember, I had just woken up from a nap when I decided to create the universe. So begins Alan Lightmans playful and profound new novel, Mr g, the story of Creation as told by God. Barraged by the constant advisements and bickerings of Aunt Penelope and Uncle Deva, who live with their nephew in the shimmering Void, Mr g proceeds to create time, space, and matter. Then come stars, planets, animate matter, consciousness, and, finally, intelligent beings with moral dilemmas. Mr g is all powerful but not all knowing and does much of his invention by trial and error. Even the best-laid plans can go awry, and Mr g discovers that with his creation of space and time come some unforeseen consequencesespecially in the form of the mysterious Belhor, a clever and devious rival. An intellectual equal to Mr g, Belhor delights in provoking Belhor demands an explanation for the inexplicable, requests that the newly created intelligent creatures not be subject to rational laws, and maintains the necessity of evil. As Mr g watches his favorite universe grow into maturity, he begins to understand how the act of creation can change himself, the Creator. With echoes of Calvino, Rushdie, and Saramago, combining science, theology, and moral philosophy, Mr g is a stunningly imaginative work that celebrates the tragic and joyous nature of existence on the grandest possible scale. The internationally bestselling author of Einstein's Dreams presents a celebration of the highs and lows of existence, on the grandest possible scale: the story of Creation, as told by God. Once before time existed, Mr g woke up from a nap and decided to create the universe. In the shimmering Void, where he lives with his Aunt Penelope and Uncle Deva, he creates time, space, and matter. Soon follow stars, planets, animate matter, consciousness,and intelligent beings with moral dilemmas. But the creation of space and time has unintended consequences, including the arrival of Belhor, a clever and devious rival. Belhor delights in needling Mr g, demanding explanations for the inexplicable, offering his own opinions on the fledgling universes, and maintaining the necessity of evil. As Mr g's favorite universe grows, he discovers how an act of creation can change everything in the world—including the creator himself.