Posted by Max5s on May 02, 2000 at 17:32:22:
Sam, Here's one for the archives.
THE HAMMER OF GOD
The sun was slowly sinking past the horizon as Petra again lowered her head and tried to make sense of her feelings. It wasn’t so much the equations that bothered her, but rather the research and thoughts that had come about as she developed them. It had all started out as part of an annual exercise that members of the Mathematics Department participated in just for their own amusement. The idea was to take a known function or theorem and misapply it in a humorous way. She was known as a master at this art, and in the previous year, she had done a presentation on the “Seive of Aristophanes” that had left her esteemed colleagues rolling in the aisles.
The papers before her now were her notes for this year’s talk. She’d titled it, “Does God Exist? A Bayesian Analysis”. The idea for the paper found its origins in two books. The first was titled A Probabilistic Analysis of the Sacco and Vanzetti Evidence (by J.B. Kadane and D. A. Schum). The two statisticians had performed their Bayesian analysis using subjectively determined probabilities, and it was this aspect of the Bayesian method that was most vulnerable to abuse.
The second source of inspiration was a piece of ingenious fiction by a sometime bodyguard, sometime chicken coop cleaner and part-time editor by the name of Adams. Although it was never stated outright in Adams’ books, she assumed that Adams must have been thinking of Thomas Bayes when his fictional computer known as “Deep Thought” was calculating “The Answer”. It would only make sense that “second most powerful computer in the Universe” would be able to apply the complex MCMC algorithms necessary to do the ultimate calculation it was charged with.
Most of Petra’s intended audience had some idea what the Bayesian Method was; yet she felt compelled to at least give a cursory description of it for the lay members present. For the sake of this discussion, the probability that God exists (ie. The posterior probability) is equal to the probability of the data, given the hypothesis is correct multiplied by the probability of the hypothesis before obtaining the data divided by the averaged probability of the data. Basically, all this gibberish can be reduced to one simple expression: The probability that God exists can be determined by incorporating information we already know into the equation. And this was the Achilles heel that she had chosen to exploit.
In a time long before Bayes’ birth, the Catholic Church was confronted with the problem of dealing with philosophers that had constructed arguments against the existence of God. The church, therefore, removed this ambiguity in its doctrine by declaring that the existence of God could be proven by unaided reason, and proceeded to establish the arguments to prove it. Some of the better known appellations of these doctrines include the “First Cause Argument”, the “Natural Law Argument” and the “Argument From Design”. Her approach was to take these and numerous others and subjectively assign them a probability that she could misapply using Bayes’ Theorem. The idea was to establish the probability that God existed. And the humorous twist would be that the probability would equal to the value stated by Adams in his book.
But a funny thing happened on the way to the altar. As she examined the first cause argument, she felt herself swayed by Bertrand Russell’s analysis. The argument states that everything we see and observe has a cause, and that if we trace the cause back to its origin, we find the First Cause, which is God. But Russell had observed a statement in the autobiography of John Stuart Mills that heavily influenced him. Mills had stated, “My father taught me that the question, ‘Who made me?’ cannot be answered, since it immediately suggests the further question, ‘Who made God?’” Russell rejected the argument in its entirety and so did Petra. In fact, she found herself rejecting ALL of the arguments for one reason or another, and it left her quite disturbed.
She could feel an uneasy mashing in the pit of her stomach. The logic of mathematics had always been a comfort to her, but now it was shattering the foundation of her spiritual upbringing. As she stared at the numbers, she felt Bayes’ dagger tearing at her soul. Two digits burned their images on her retinas. The answer was (.42)!! The probability that God existed was indeed, ONLY (.42). By coincidence rather than by intended design, her calculations agreed with Adams. No fudging would be necessary. Sure, Adams had said forty-two, not point four two, but she could explain that by implying that Adams meant it was 42 percent!! Was the ultimate question to the ultimate answer (to God, the Universe and Everything) simply reduced to ‘What is the probability that God exists?’!
Petra began to think about the life of Thomas Bayes. He’d been a minister most of his life as had his father, but shortly after developing his theorem, he made an attempt to resign. She wondered if perhaps he’d tried to address this same question and come to a rather startling conclusion that shook his faith. “What if?” she thought. Was that the reason he never tried to publish his work? “What if?”
As she stared back at her work, tears formed in her eyes. The manufacture of truth had been an interesting journey, but finding it and understanding it, was devastating! It left her with a complete understanding of the harshness of natural selection in a world driven only by chance. And NOTHING about this exercise was terribly funny to her anymore. Absolutely nothing.
Petra swiveled her chair around and stared out toward the east. The lights of the city were slowly coming on as Friday night came to life. She felt a chill against her neck as a profound sense of loneliness came over her. Her husband, Stanley Blaine, was out of town again. Their marriage of a little over four years was one of time spent apart. She loved Stanley, but he was never there. Sex was a ritual of periodic reunification when he returned from yet another of his speaking engagements. He was a strong and gentle lover, fascinated by her beauty, but redundant in his method. Fantasy explorations, especially the sexual excursions floating through her mind, were something she had to suppress or at least keep locked tightly away.
When they first started sleeping together, she carefully sounded Stanley out, looking for a sense of willingness to indulge her in her desires. But it was not to be. As their relationship matured, she’d come to accept the status quo. Now, four years later, she found herself in love with a man that was never there.
In the darkness, she spotted a shooting star racing across the sky. She closed her eyes and repeated what she could remember of a verse from her childhood
Starlight, star bright
First star I see tonight
Wish I may, wish I might
Have the wish I wish tonight.
She smiled, then leaned back in her chair and thought of time from her past.
She was startled by a knock on the office door. It was unusual at this time of day, but she responded with a welcoming “Come in”.
The door swung open and a tall man of about 40 stepped in. From the light out in the hall, she could see he stood about 6’6” and had short blond hair and a goatee.
“Please hit the wall switch,” she remarked as he stood before her.
The lights came on, and as she watched him cross the room she asked, “How may I help you?”
“Peetra,” he responded. “You no recognize me after all this time?”
The way he pronounced her name sent a shiver down her spine. She stood up, feeling like she’d been kicked in the stomach. “Peetra” rang in her ears.
“Henri?” she whispered. “It can’t be. I thought you were d-dead.”
Petra slowly walked around in front of her desk and faced him. Yes, it really was Henri. She reached out and touched his face. His whiskers tickled her fingertips. His pale blue eyes stared back at her face with a hint of hesitancy. She wrapped her arms around his chest and pulled him tight against her. “Oh, Henri,” she cried softly as he in turn pulled her against him.
Henri had been Petra’s one true love. For two years, they’d been a couple, and Henri understood her completely. And he took great advantage of every opportunity to explore her fantasy world. He had taken her to places no one had taken her before or since. Then one day he just vanished. He’d kissed her good night and told her he was taking a quick business trip to Athens. “I see you Friday,” he said as he left her door, and he never came back.
Suddenly, she broke their embrace and slapped Henri across his jaw. “Why!” she screamed as tears ran down her cheeks. “Why?” She started to slap him again, but her grabbed her arm before she landed the blow.
“It’s a long story,” he replied, almost in a whisper. “I ended up spending over three years locked up in a dirty, Greek prison. I escaped and made it to Potmos, then when I finally made it back to Italy, I discovered that you were already married. I couldn’t bring myself to see you.”
“I don’t believe you, Henri. I contacted the police in Athens. They never heard of you!”
“Do you believe this?” he asked as he slid off his jacked and raised his shirt to show her his back.
She stared at the horrible scars on his back and sides. She could feel that foot crashing into her gut again.
“They hung me up by my wrists and beat me over and over.”
She touched one of the scars on his shoulder. It was rough along the edges and smooth on top. She could feel tears forming again in her eyes as she thought of what they had done to him. She pressed her cheek against him as her fingers gently explored his back. He held her again then took her head gently in his hands and looked deeply into her eyes.
“I was angry for a long time, but while on Potmos, my true path was revealed,” he whispered. “I too, saw the seven golden candles. And my life was given a new purpose.”
As Henri held her, Petra could feel the stirring of her feelings from the past. She was a bit confused by his remark, but she longed for his touch and to feel his muscled chest pressed against hers. Her curiosity faded quickly, and as her left hand pressed against his shoulder blade as she buried her face against his arm. He shifted a bit as he reached into the pocket of his trousers. For a moment, they broke the embrace, and she stared at his hand. He shook it back and forth then tossed a white, bone cube onto her desk. He’d been holding a single die, and after bouncing against her coffee cup and a book, it settled on a blank piece of paper. As she stared at it, a chill of pleasure seized her. It was a three. Petra felt an instant tightness in her sex. She crossed her legs nervously as she took in the three little spots cutting diagonally across the cube in a straight line. It was the symbol of instant death, and husband or not, she couldn’t turn back.
Petra leaned back on her desk as Henri’s hands slid up under her skirt and took hold of her panties. He kissed her firmly on the lips as he pulled her exquisite, Italian La Perla silk undergarment over her knees and down along her long, elegant calves. As she slipped her ankles through the leg openings, she quickly unbuttoned her blouse and pulled it away from her waist. Henri slipped highly polished, dagger pointed blade between her breasts and cut the strained fabric of her bra. The sharp point flipped the white cotton restraint away, revealing a hard, yet delicious nipple, which he took into his mouth and teased gently with his tongue. First she sighed, then as his manhood pressed into her, she trembled. “Yes,” she thought. “Fill me. Touch me. And …”
Henri took the knife and placed the tip against her left breast, just to the inside of her nipple. As he stabbed her repeatedly with his cock, he increased the pressure on the gleaming blade. It sharp point sent her nerve endings into flurry of activity. There was slowly reversing flux as the sensations of both pleasure and pain consumed her. Her skin resisted as a deep dimple formed under the blade, then suddenly it slipped into her flesh and came to rest against a rib. The pain was intense, like a white hot poker, but as Henri nudged the knife to a point between the bony lattice that Nature provided for her protection, she could feel the beginning tingles of a much deeper pleasure. Her body shook! Violently as waves of pleasure surged through her. She looked up into Henri’s eyes as he gave the blade one last, slow push. Her slightly parted lips trembled as she drew in a short breath. Petra felt her heart wrapping around the steel invader as she willingly gave her life to her lover. She moaned lightly, then all went black as her head fell back against the desktop.
Henri paused to gaze at the motionless woman lying beneath him. He kissed her arched neck then softly caressed her breasts then ran his hand over her concave stomach. His finger slid over a rivulet of blood then made small circles around her navel as he though about stabbing her again, only this time, in the belly. Then he began moving inside her again. He let his hands wander along her ribs, his fingers spreading out, filling the shallow groves between each bone. Her skin was smooth and soft, and as his hands massaged her frame, he felt himself getting closer. Henri slid his arms around her and held her tight. One hand slid down and caressed the tender area at the base of her spine, a finger slipping into the crevice of her buttocks while the other cradled her head. The handle of the dagger bounced against his chest as the rhythm of his motion increased. Each push wiggled the blade slightly, and he imagined the ripping and tearing that was occurring as the sharp edge slid past the delicate nerves in her chest. Then the eruption came. The build up had been intense, and as his seed began to flow, he felt his own pubic bone slamming against hers. They both shook, then Henri collapsed atop his lover, his face coming to rest between her breasts. He tasted her with his tongue, then gently kissed each of the soft, golden hemispheres.
After a few minutes, Henri pulled away from Petra. He ran his hand over his beard as he looked down on the nearly naked body his woman. He dropped down on one knee and buried his face in her loins and slid his tongue into the narrow crevice of her sex. With the skill of an accomplished lover, he stroked the sides of her clit, feeling its texture and bathing in the sweet aroma of their union. His hands slid around her hips and then down underneath her. Henri pulled Petra tightly against his face as one would hug another. He then raised up and kissed her lower abdomen as he stroked the soft skin behind her left knee. A small pool of blood had accumulated in her belly button, and he carefully wiped it away with his tongue.
As he began to kiss and massage her breasts, he entered her again. The rhythm of his movement was much slower than before, but the pleasure was twice as nice. When he finally reached his second orgasm, his muscular body was momentarily reduced to nothing more than a shaking leaf. So complete was his pleasure.
Henri carefully adjusted his clothing, then kissed Petra on the forehead. He reached down to remove the knife, but as his fingers slid across the black micarta handle, he changed his mind. It was a part of the fantasy, to see it standing erect in the firm, proud breast of beautiful, naked woman. He gave it a very slight twist then headed for the door. It had been a good evening. He had longed for her, and as he headed down the empty hallway, he could still feel the molecules of her perfume tickling his nose and delighting his senses. Yes, as evenings go, this one had been excellent.
Part 2
The warm sun crept in through the open window and warmed Petra’s face with its radiance. Slowly, one eye opened, then the other. As she stared at the ceiling, memories of the previous night began to form in her head. It had been magnificent, even after she passed out and entered a dreamlike state where she imagined her own murder and the intense sexual interludes during and following her death. The die, the dagger and the touch of a strong, determined lover pulled her out of the real world and sent her into the realm of irresistible fantasy.
Suddenly she felt something wet creep across her leg near her groin and she sat up, grabbing for a Kleenex as she did. The sex had been real, but her wound was only a small nick on the breast where Henri had toyed with the dagger. As she blotted her leg, she saw herself in the mirror hanging on the wall across the room. Her long, black hair cascaded over her right shoulder while a stain, reddish in color, ran from her left nipple, across her abdomen and disappeared into her bush. Her thoughts went back to Henri. He’d awakened that part of her being that was hidden away. And oh what pleasure she had felt. As she stared at herself, she held her breast in one hand, toying with the nipple while her other hand slowly slid over her mound. With two fingers, she caressed herself, gently touching her most sensitive point before she pushing her palm against her pubic bone and rubbing herself hard.
As approached climax, she knocked over a photograph sitting on her desk. As her womb exploded with pleasure, she gazed downward to the two images in the picture. Stanley was holding her tightly as they stood on the spiral staircase at Notre Dame de la Guarde. Tears formed in her eyes as the last of orgasmic waves rolled through her body. Guilt slowly overwhelmed her pleasure, and for over an hour, she lay on the rug in front of her desk and cried.
As Petra walked toward her home, the edifice of St. John’s loomed before her. She paused for a moment, debating whether or not to enter. She felt somewhat like Janus as she stood in the doorway. She had one face looking forward for Stanley and one looking out behind her for Henri. But something drew her into the cathedral, and after the customary rituals of Catholicism were done, she found herself entering the confessional.
The booth was small and smelled of old sweat. She sat down and touched the wooden walls with her fingertips. They were smooth, like the unburdened consciences of those that preceded her. The small shutter between her and the priest slid open. She stared at the opening in momentary silence.
“Forgive me, father,” she whispered as she began to cry. “I have committed a terrible sin.”
She waited for a moment. She could see that the priest was there, but he remained silent.
“Father. I have committed adultery, and I find myself doubting the existence of God.”
There was another long pause, and then the priest responded a barely audible whisper. “Do you believe in God or not?” he asked.
Petra’s eyes were fixed on the small window as she thought about the priest’s question. “Do you believe, child?” he asked again.
“Yes,” she replied. The arguments of Russell and Mills seemed to fade away. “Yes, I believe in God,” she uttered with a bit more conviction.
“Then God will forgive you, but it must be face to face.”
The first phrase gave her relief, but as the words settled in her mind, she questioned what the priest had said. “What do you mean by ‘face to face?’” she asked.
The priest began to laugh. “Oh Peetra, my dear. First you deny HIS existence, then you fuck someone other than your husband. Nooo! He wants to see your eyes as you as you ask for forgiveness.”
Her face was suddenly very puzzled as she recognized the voice condemning her. “Henri?” she spoke in a questioning tone. “I …”
Suddenly, she screamed as bits and pieces of wood exploded in front of her. A sharp pain emanated from a point just below her left nipple and deeply penetrated her chest. Something pushed her hard against the wall, and as she tried to move, she felt herself sliding downward toward the floor. As she touched the origin of her pain, she felt a warm, sticky substance coating her breast. Petra pushed against the door, then fell forward, her hands now pressed against the cold, red tile floor. She tried to breathe, but the pain was causing her to gasp. It was then that she realized she’d been shot. Her face turned upward, and she stared into the barrel of Henri’s smoking gun. He bent down and pulled her blouse away from the wound. Her heart had been spared, but she was losing blood rapidly.
Henri’s eyes were glowing like hot coals. Petra tried to crawl away from him, but her arms were to weak sustain her motion. In desperation, she rolled over onto her back and drew her knees up to create a barrier between them. She began to panic as her limbs grew colder. She knew death was near, and her vision was beginning to fail. As she cupped her naked breast with her left hand, a painting hanging on the wall behind Henri caught her attention. It was an image of Moses carrying the tablets bearing the Ten Commandments. His angry forefinger seemed to be pointed at HER, and his face, yes it was his face that took the breath from her lungs. The image bore Stanley’s face. Stanley, inflamed by her treachery, was condemning her for her sins while she lay bleeding; mortally wounded by her illicit lover. Waiting to die. Waiting to meet her God face to face and beg his forgiveness.
Darkness was slowly creeping upon her. With time short, Petra felt the barrel of Henri’s gun slide up under her skirt and press into her still damp mound. The front sight pushed against her clit and she heard a metallic click as Henri spoke in a cold, hard tone. “Those without faith shall feel the hammer of God.”
She gasped one last time, closed her eyes and was overcome with silence.