11 September, 2003

Voer voor theologen:

Te vinden onder: Uncategorized — @ 5:47

Het Woord was God en God maakte de Wereld. Amen.
De wijzen nochtans waaraan ik het vroeg konden mij geen antwoord geven: niemand schijnt te weten wie het Woord dat God was uitsprak en nog minder waar je hem/haar zou moeten zoeken.
Het is een soap volgens mij.


reacties (10)


10 reacties, »

  1.   Reactie van nathan , op 11 September, 2003 @ 11:03

    Nee, het is een dogma. Je moet geloven zonder het in vraag te stellen he.

  2.   Reactie van Bart , op 11 September, 2003 @ 15:21

    @name: Ja, dat geloof ik ook.

  3.   Reactie van Polski , op 14 September, 2003 @ 6:53

    Dus het woord is Jezus en het Woord is God. Da’s belangenvermenging, niet?

  4.   Reactie van harry , op 15 September, 2003 @ 16:13

    Moeten woorden worden uitgesproken om woorden te zijn. Neen, dacht ik. Dus heeft het toch geen enkel belang wie het Woord God uitsprak. Hij was, is en zal zijn. Geloof geeft zekerheid. Mooi toch?

  5.   Reactie van Polski , op 16 September, 2003 @ 8:17

    Maar komt het Woord nu vóór God of erna?

  6.   Reactie van harry , op 16 September, 2003 @ 15:29

    komt polski voor polski of erna?
    God is het Woord.

  7.   Reactie van Polski , op 16 September, 2003 @ 20:36

    Welk woord is God? En Polski komt tijdens :)

  8.   Reactie van harry , op 17 September, 2003 @ 11:55

    U wil helemaal geen voer voor theologen serveren. Dat is trouwens iets te hoog gemikt voor mezelf als brave katholiek, die ook nog wil nadenken over zijn geloof. U wil enkel maar wat atheïstenbullshit op uw site kwijt. Dat vind ik al bij al redelijk spijtig. Ik wens u er toch nog veel plezier mee.

  9.   Reactie van Polski , op 17 September, 2003 @ 16:03

    Wat ik wil is een uitleg over welk woord God is, en al wat jij kunt doen brave Harry is in een kringetje rondlopen zonder mij een explanatie te verschaffen. En dan heb je nog het lef om beledigend te worden. Wel Harry, jouw katholiekenbullshit is gebaseerd op wat ze jouw allemaal wijsgemaakt hebben en waar je tot op heden als volwassen mens aan blijft vasthouden als ware het een drijfplankje waar kinderen mee leren zwemmen. Dat word dan door jouw ‘geloof’ genoemd, en al diegene die jouw visie niet kunnen of willen delen mag je beledigen. Wordt het verteld door het woord, dat dat zo moet? Datzelfde woord waar jij als trotse katholiek geen verklaring voor hebt? Het is die arrogante houding van julie katholieken dat er eeuwenlang mensen verbrand zijn geweest. Omdat ze zich afvroegen wat het woord is dat god genoemd wordt. Is dat nu zo moeilijk Harry? In den beginne was het woord en het woord was god. Ik vraag het nog éénmaal: wie was het diegene die het woord uitsprak en tot wie? En ik wil geen zever horen dat het god het woord is, want dan heeft die kerel zichzelf uitgesproken, wat wel redelijk zielig is voor een opperwezen. Of mag daar niet over gespeculeerd worden Harry? Ik zal misschien moeten doen wat jij doet: ogen en oren dicht en braafjes geloven. Man, wat een grap wanneer er, wanneer jullie ‘believers’ het hoekje omgaan, helemaal niets schijnt te zijn. Kwaad dat jullie gaan worden! Al die vroomheid voor niks geweest!
    Hypocriet. U moet zelfs niemeer antwoorden Harry, jouw onverdraagbaarheid heeft hier geen plaats.

  10.   Reactie van astrakanko , op 17 September, 2003 @ 19:03

    Volgens Harry geeft geloof zekerheid. Fijn voor zij die gelovig zijn. Maar mag ik vragen waar ze dan zo zeker mogen van zijn ? Van eeuwige vrede, liefde en rijstpap in het rijk der hemelen, Amen ? Sorry hoor maar ze zullen met iets straffer op de proppen moeten komen om deze ongelovige te overtuigen. Dergelijke nonsens doen het natuurlijk altijd goed in de eerste de beste parochiekerk, waar de beenhouwer het aanlegt met Fientje van achter de hoek en op zondag absolutie krijgt op voorwaarde dat er tien weesgegroetjes en een halve paternoster aan elkaar geregen worden. Islam terroristen krijgen tenminste 70 maagden voorgeschoteld als ze een paar duizend mensen het hoekje omhelpen. Maar jullie sukkelaars van Christenen zijn met veel te weinig content.

    Of zullen we met zijn allen nog maar eens gezellig op kruistocht vertrekken ? Er zijn nog genoeg zondaars en heidenen op deze aardkloot die we het hoekje om kunnen helpen in naam van het opperwezen dat almachtig en goed is, maar dat tot nog toe niet thuis geeft als je het aanspreekt op de totale waanzin die z’n vermeende bestaan door de eeuwen heen heeft teweeggebracht.

    Het is altijd hetzelfde liedje: men vindt ergens geen pasklaar antwoord op en hop ! ‘t Is de wil van God. Mijn kloten ja. Ik kan, als ik er de geschiedenis op naloop, geen enkel, maar dan ook geen enkel voorbeeld vinden van iets dat blijk zou kunnen geven van gezond verstand of goede wil als het op Godsdiensten aankomt. Een hoop volksverlakkerij is het.
    Enkel en alleen in stand gehouden door handige manipulators om grote hordes besluiteloze, onwilskrachtige kuddeschapen voor hun vergulde kar te spannen tot meerdere heil en glorie van zichzelf. Gevaarlijke toestanden.

    En wat dat woord betreft: een gesproken woord is een klankresonantie, een middel om kennis en emotie over te dragen, om opinies te verkondigen en zaken te benoemen. Het is deze laatste betekenis die een antwoord kan betekenen op je vraag, Pol. Ik heb ooit eens ergens een theorie gehoord die zegt dat de Big Bang op gang werd gebracht door een soort van ontzagwekkende Oerklank, een beetje te vergelijken met de harmonieuze trilling die wijnglazen versplintert en bruggen kan doen instorten. Deze klank, die met een beetje goede wil “dit woord” genoemd zou kunnen worden, is dan door legendevorming de naam van God geworden, die als je hem uitspreekt het heelal creëert . Lijkt me wel wat, alleen blijft het voor mij ook een raadsel wie of wat die klank genereerde.
    Misschien was het Multivac wel (de supercomputer uit het verhaal “The Last Question” van Isaac Asimov” dat ik aan iedereen kan aanraden en dat ik hierbij even aan deze reply plak)

    Best grappig dat God dan eigenlijk “KABOEM !” zou moeten heten.

    ——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————–

    Isaac Asimov: The Last Question

    The last question was asked for the first time, half in jest, on May 21,
    2061, at a time when humanity first stepped into the light. The question
    came about as a result of a five-dollar bet over highballs, and it
    happened this way:

    Alexander Adell and Bertram Lupov were two of the faithful attendants of
    Multivac. As well as any human beings could, they knew what lay behind
    the cold, clicking, flashing face — miles and miles of face — of that
    giant computer. They had at least a vague notion of the general plan of
    relays and circuits that had long since grown past the point where any
    single human could possibly have a firm grasp of the whole.

    Multivac was self-adjusting and self-correcting. It had to be, for
    nothing human could adjust and correct it quickly enough or even
    adequately enough. So Adell and Lupov attended the monstrous giant only
    lightly and superficially, yet as well as any men could. They fed it
    data, adjusted questions to its needs and translated the answers that
    were issued. Certainly they, and all others like them, were fully
    entitled to share in the glory that was Multivac’s.

    For decades, Multivac had helped design the ships and plot the
    trajectories that enabled man to reach the Moon, Mars, and Venus, but
    past that, Earth’s poor resources could not support the ships. Too much
    energy was needed for the long trips. Earth exploited its coal and
    uranium with increasing efficiency, but there was only so much of both.

    But slowly Multivac learned enough to answer deeper questions more
    fundamentally, and on May 14, 2061, what had been theory, became fact.

    The energy of the sun was stored, converted, and utilized directly on a
    planet-wide scale. All Earth turned off its burning coal, its fissioning
    uranium, and flipped the switch that connected all of it to a small
    station, one mile in diameter, circling the Earth at half the distance
    of the Moon. All Earth ran by invisible beams of sunpower.

    Seven days had not sufficed to dim the glory of it and Adell and Lupov
    finally managed to escape from the public functions, and to meet in
    quiet where no one would think of looking for them, in the deserted
    underground chambers, where portions of the mighty buried body of
    Multivac showed. Unattended, idling, sorting data with contented lazy
    clickings, Multivac, too, had earned its vacation and the boys
    appreciated that. They had no intention, originally, of disturbing it.

    They had brought a bottle with them, and their only concern at the
    moment was to relax in the company of each other and the bottle.

    “It’s amazing when you think of it,” said Adell. His broad face had
    lines of weariness in it, and he stirred his drink slowly with a glass
    rod, watching the cubes of ice slur clumsily about. “All the energy we
    can possibly ever use for free. Enough energy, if we wanted to draw on
    it, to melt all Earth into a big drop of impure liquid iron, and still
    never miss the energy so used. All the energy we could ever use, forever
    and forever and forever.”

    Lupov cocked his head sideways. He had a trick of doing that when he
    wanted to be contrary, and he wanted to be contrary now, partly because
    he had had to carry the ice and glassware. “Not forever,” he said.

    “Oh, hell, just about forever. Till the sun runs down, Bert.”

    “That’s not forever.”

    “All right, then. Billions and billions of years. Ten billion, maybe.
    Are you satisfied?”

    Lupov put his fingers through his thinning hair as though to reassure
    himself that some was still left and sipped gently at his own drink.
    “Ten billion years isn’t forever.”

    “Well, it will last our time, won’t it?”

    “So would the coal and uranium.”

    “All right, but now we can hook up each individual spaceship to the
    Solar Station, and it can go to Pluto and back a million times without
    ever worrying about fuel. You can’t do that on coal and uranium. Ask
    Multivac, if you don’t believe me.

    “I don’t have to ask Multivac. I know that.”

    “Then stop running down what Multivac’s done for us,” said Adell,
    blazing up, “It did all right.”

    “Who says it didn’t? What I say is that a sun won’t last forever. That’s
    all I’m saying. We’re safe for ten billion years, but then what?” Lupow
    pointed a slightly shaky finger at the other. “And don’t say we’ll
    switch to another sun.”

    There was silence for a while. Adell put his glass to his lips only
    occasionally, and Lupov’s eyes slowly closed. They rested.

    Then Lupov’s eyes snapped open. “You’re thinking we’ll switch to another
    sun when ours is done, aren’t you?”

    “I’m not thinking.”

    “Sure you are. You’re weak on logic, that’s the trouble with you. You’re
    like the guy in the story who was caught in a sudden shower and who ran
    to a grove of trees and got under one. He wasn’t worried, you see,
    because he figured when one tree got wet through, he would just get
    under another one.”

    “I get it,” said Adell. “Don’t shout. When the sun is done, the other
    stars will be gone, too.”

    “Darn right they will,” muttered Lupov. “It all had a beginning in the
    original cosmic explosion, whatever that was, and it’ll all have an end
    when all the stars run down. Some run down faster than others. Hell, the
    giants won’t last a hundred million years. The sun will last ten billion
    years and maybe the dwarfs will last two hundred billion for all the
    good they are. But just give us a trillion years and everything will be
    dark. Entropy has to increase to maximum, that’s all.”

    “I know all about entropy,” said Adell, standing on his dignity.

    “The hell you do.”

    “I know as much as you do.”

    “Then you know everything’s got to run down someday.”

    “All right. Who says they won’t?”

    “You did, you poor sap. You said we had all the energy we needed,
    forever. You said ‘forever.’

    It was Adell’s turn to be contrary. “Maybe we can build things up again
    someday,” he said.

    “Never.”

    “Why not? Someday.”

    “Never.”

    “Ask Multivac.”

    “You ask Multivac. I dare you. Five dollars says it can’t be done.”

    Adell was just drunk enough to try, just sober enough to be able to
    phrase the necessary symbols and operations into a question which, in
    words, might have corresponded to this: Will mankind one day without the
    net expenditure of energy be able to restore the sun to its full
    youthfulness even after it had died of old age?

    Or maybe it could be put more simply like this: How can the net amount
    of entropy of the universe be massively decreased?

    Multivac fell dead and silent. The slow flashing of lights ceased, the
    distant sounds of clicking relays ended.

    Then, just as the frightened technicians felt they could hold their
    breath no longer, there was a sudden springing to life of the teletype
    attached to that portion of Multivac. Five words were printed:
    INSUFFICIENT DATA FOR MEANINGFUL ANSWER.

    “No bet,” whispered Lupov. They left hurriedly.

    By next morning, the two, plagued with throbbing head and cottony mouth,
    had forgotten the incident.

    Jerrodd, Jerrodine, and Jerrodette I and II watched the starry picture
    in the visiplate change as the passage through hyperspace was completed
    in its non-time lapse. At once, the even powdering of stars gave way to
    the predominance of a single bright shining disk, the size of a marble,
    centered on the viewing-screen.

    “That’s X-23,” said Jerrodd confidently. His thin hands clamped tightly
    behind his back and the knuckles whitened.

    The little Jerrodettes, both girls, had experienced the hyperspace
    passage for the first time in their lives and were self-conscious over
    the momentary sensation of insideoutness. They buried their giggles and
    chased one another wildly about their mother, screaming, “We’ve reached
    X-23 — we’ve reached X-23 — we’ve –”

    “Quiet, children.” said Jerrodine sharply. “Are you sure, Jerrodd?”

    “What is there to be but sure?” asked Jerrodd, glancing up at the bulge
    of featureless metal just under the ceiling. It ran the length of the
    room, disappearing through the wall at either end. It was as long as the
    ship.

    Jerrodd scarcely knew a thing about the thick rod of metal except that
    it was called a Microvac, that one asked it questions if one wished;
    that if one did not it still had its task of guiding the ship to a
    preordered destination; of feeding on energies from the various Sub-
    galactic Power Stations; of computing the equations for the hyperspatial
    jumps.

    Jerrodd and his family had only to wait and live in the comfortable
    residence quarters of the ship. Someone had once told Jerrodd that the
    “ac” at the end of “Microvac” stood for ”automatic computer” in ancient
    English, but he was on the edge of forgetting even that.

    Jerrodine’s eyes were moist as she watched the visiplate. “I can’t help
    it. I feel funny about leaving Earth.”

    “Why, for Pete’s sake?” demanded Jerrodd. “We had nothing there. We’ll
    have everything on X-23. You won’t be alone. You won’t be a pioneer.
    There are over a million people on the planet already. Good Lord, our
    great-grandchildren will be looking for new worlds because X-23 will be
    overcrowded.” Then, after a reflective pause, “I tell you, it’s a lucky
    thing the computers worked out interstellar travel the way the race is
    growing.”

    “I know, I know,” said Jerrodine miserably.

    Jerrodette I said promptly, “Our Microvac is the best Microvac in the
    world.”

    “I think so, too,” said Jerrodd, tousling her hair.

    It was a nice feeling to have a Microvac of your own and Jerrodd was
    glad he was part of his generation and no other. In his father’s youth,
    the only computers had been tremendous machines taking up a hundred
    square miles of land. There was only one to a planet. Planetary ACs they
    were called. They had been growing in size steadily for a thousand years
    and then, all at once, came refinement. In place of transistors, had
    come molecular valves so that even the largest Planetary AC could be put
    into a space only half the volume of a spaceship.

    Jerrodd felt uplifted, as he always did when he thought that his own
    personal Microvac was many times more complicated than the ancient and
    primitive Multivac that had first tamed the Sun, and almost as
    complicated as Earth’s Planetarv AC (the largest) that had first solved
    the problem of hyperspatial travel and had made trips to the stars
    possible.

    “So many stars, so many planets,” sighed Jerrodine, busy with her own
    thoughts. “I suppose families will be going out to new planets forever,
    the way we are now.”

    “Not forever,” said Jerrodd, with a smile. “It will all stop someday,
    but not for billions of years. Many billions. Even the stars run down,
    you know. Entropy must increase.

    “What’s entropy, daddy?” shrilled Jerrodette II.

    “Entropy, little sweet, is just a word which means the amount of
    running-down of the universe. Everything runs down, you know, like your
    little walkie-talkie robot, remember?”

    “Can’t you just put in a new power-unit, like with my robot?”

    “The stars are the power-units. dear. Once they’re gone, there are no
    more power-units.”

    Jerrodette I at once set up a howl. “Don’t let them, daddy. Don’t let
    the stars run down.”

    “Now look what you’ve done,” whispered Jerrodine, exasperated.

    “How was I to know it would frighten them?” Jerrodd whispered back,

    “Ask the Microvac,” wailed Jerrodette I. “Ask him how to turn the stars
    on again.”

    “Go ahead,” said Jerrodine. “It will quiet them down.” (Jerrodette II
    was beginning to cry, also.)

    Jerrodd shrugged. “Now, now, honeys. I’ll ask Microvac. Don’t worry,
    he’ll tell us.”

    He asked the Microvac, adding quickly, “Print the answer.”

    Jerrodd cupped the strip or thin cellufilm and said cheerfully, “See
    now, the Microvac says it will take care of everything when the time
    comes so don’t worry.”

    Jerrodine said, “And now, children, it’s time for bed. We’ll be in our
    new home soon.”

    Jerrodd read the words on the cellufilm again before destroying it:
    INSUFICIENT DATA FOR MEANINGFUL ANSWER.

    He shrugged and looked at the visiplate. X-23 was just ahead.

    VJ-23X of Lameth stared into the black depths of the three-dimensional,
    small-scale map of the Galaxy and said, “Are we ridiculous, I wonder in
    being so concerned about the matter?”

    MQ-17J of Nicron shook his head. “I think not. You know the Galaxy will
    be filled in five years at the present rate of expansion.”

    Both seemed in their early twenties, both were tall and perfectly
    formed.

    “Still,” said VJ-23X, “I hesitate to submit a pessimistic report to the
    Galactic Council.”

    “I wouldn’t consider any other kind of report. Stir them up a bit. We’ve
    got to stir them up.”

    VJ-23X sighed. “Space is infinite. A hundred billion Galaxies are there
    for the taking. More.”

    “A hundred billion is not infinite and it’s getting less infinite all
    the time. Consider! Twenty thousand years ago, mankind first solved the
    problem of utilizing stellar energy, and a few centuries later,
    interstellar travel became possible. It took mankind a million years to
    fill one small world and then only fifteen thousand years to fill the
    rest of the Galaxy. Now the population doubles every ten years –

    VJ-23X interrupted. “We can thank immortality for that.”

    “Very well. Immortality exists and we have to take it into account. I
    admit it has its seamy side, this immortality. The Galactic AC has
    solved many problems for us, but in solving the problem of preventing
    old age and death, it has undone all its other solutions.”

    “Yet you wouldn’t want to abandon life, I suppose.”

    “Not at all,” snapped MQ-17J, softening it at once to, “Not yet. I’m by
    no means old enough. How old are you?”

    “Two hundred twenty-three. And you?”

    “I’m still under two hundred. –But to get back to my point. Population
    doubles every ten years. Once this GaIaxy is filled, we’ll have filled
    another in ten years. Another ten years and we’ll have filled two more.
    Another decade, four more. In a hundred years, we’ll have filled a
    thousand Galaxies. In a thousand years, a million Galaxies. In ten
    thousand years, the entire known universe. Then what?”

    VJ-23X said, “As a side issue, there’s a problem of transportation. I
    wonder how many sunpower units it will take to move Galaxies of
    individuals from one Galaxy to the next.”

    “A very good point. Already, mankind consumes two sunpower units per
    year.”

    “Most of it’s wasted. After all, our own Galaxy alone pours out a
    thousand sunpower units a year and we only use two of those.”

    “Granted, but even with a hundred per cent efficiency, we only stave off
    the end. Our energy requirements are going up in a geometric progression
    even faster than our population. We’ll run out of energy even sooner
    than we run out of Galaxies. A good point. A very good point.”

    “We’ll just have to build new stars out of interstellar gas.”

    “Or out of dissipated heat?” asked MQ-17J, sarcastically.

    “There may be some way to reverse entropy. We ought to ask the Galactic
    AC.”

    VJ-23X was not really serious, but MQ-17J pulled out his AC-contact from
    his pocket and placed it on the table before him.

    “I’ve half a mind to,” he said. “It’s something the human race will have
    to face someday.”

    He stared somberly at his small AC-contact. It was only two inches cubed
    and nothing in itself, but it was connected through hyperspace with the
    great Galactic AC that served all mankind. Hyperspace considered, it was
    an integral part of the Galactic AC.

    MQ-17J paused to wonder if someday in his immortal life he would get to
    see the Galactic AC. It was on a little world of its own, a spider
    webbing of force-beams holding the matter within which surges of
    submesons took the place of the old clumsy molecular valves. Yet despite
    its sub-etheric workings, the Galactic AC was known to be a full
    thousand feet across.

    MQ-17J asked suddenly of his AC-contact, “Can entropy ever be reversed?”

    VJ-23X looked startled and said at once, “Oh, say, I didn’t really mean
    to have you ask that.”

    “Why not?”

    “We both know entropy can’t be reversed. You can’t turn smoke and ash
    back into a tree.”

    “Do you have trees on your world?” asked MQ-17J.

    The sound of the Galactic AC startled them into silence. Its voice came
    thin and beautiful out of the small AC-contact on the desk. It said:
    THERE IS INSUFFICIENT DATA FOR A MEANINGFUL ANSWER.

    VJ-23X said, “See!”

    The two men thereupon returned to the question of the report they were
    to make to the Galactic Council.

    Zee Prime’s mind spanned the new Galaxy with a faint interest in the
    countless twists of stars that powdered it. He had never seen this one
    before. Would he ever see them all? So many of them, each with its load
    of humanity. –But a load that was almost a dead weight. More and more,
    the real essence of men was to be found out here, in space.

    Minds, not bodies! The immortal bodies remained back on the planets, in
    suspension over the eons. Sometimes they roused for material activity
    but that was growing rarer. Few new individuals were coming into
    existence to join the incredibly mighty throng, but what matter? There
    was little room in the Universe for new individuals.

    Zee Prime was roused out of his reverie upon coming across the wispy
    tendrils of another mind.

    “I am Zee Prime,” said Zee Prime. “And you?”

    “I am Dee Sub Wun. Your Galaxy?”

    “We call it only the Galaxy. And you?”

    “We call ours the same. All men call their Galaxy their Galaxy and
    nothing more. Why not?”

    “True. Since all Galaxies are the same.”

    “Not all Galaxies. On one particular Galaxy the race of man must have
    originated. That makes it different.”

    Zee Prime said, “On which one?”

    “I cannot say. The Universal AC would know.”

    “Shall we ask him? I am suddenly curious.”

    Zee Prime’s perceptions broadened until the Galaxies themselves shrank
    and became a new, more diffuse powdering on a much larger background. So
    many hundreds of billions of them, all with their immortal beings, all
    carrying their load of intelligences with minds that drifted freely
    through space. And yet one of them was unique among them all in being
    the original Galaxy. One of them had, in its vague and distant past, a
    period when it was the only Galaxy populated by man.

    Zee Prime was consumed with curiosity to see this Galaxy and he called
    out: “Universal AC! On which Galaxy did mankind originate?”

    The Universal AC heard, for on every world and throughout space, it had
    its receptors ready, and each receptor led through hyperspace to some
    unknown point where the Universal AC kept itself aloof.

    Zee Prime knew of only one man whose thoughts had penetrated within
    sensing distance of Universal AC, and he reported only a shining globe,
    two feet across, difficult to see.

    “But how can that be all of Universal AC?” Zee Prime had asked.

    “Most of it,” had been the answer, “is in hyperspace. In what form it is
    there I cannot imagine.”

    Nor could anyone, for the day had long since passed, Zee Prime knew,
    when any man had any part of the making of a Universal AC. Each
    Universal AC designed and constructed its successor. Each, during its
    existence of a million years or more accumulated the necessary data to
    build a better and more intricate, more capable successor in which its
    own store of data and individuality would be submerged.

    The Universal AC interrupted Zee Prime’s wandering thoughts, not with
    words, but with guidance. Zee Prime’s mentality was guided into the dim
    sea of Galaxies and one in particular enlarged into stars.

    A thought came, infinitely distant, but infinitely clear. “THIS IS THE
    ORIGINAL GALAXY OF MAN.”

    But it was the same after all, the same as any other, and Lee Prime
    stifled his disappointment.

    Dee Sub Wun, whose mind had accompanied the other, said suddenly, “And
    is one of these stars the original star of Man?”

    The Universal AC said, “MAN’S ORIGINAL STAR HAS GONE NOVA. IT IS A WHITE
    DWARF”

    “Did the men upon it die?” asked Lee Prime, startled and without
    thinking.

    The Universal AC said, “A NEW WORLD, AS IN SUCH CASES WAS CONSTRUCTED
    FOR THEIR PHYSICAL BODIES IN TlME.”

    “Yes, of course,” said Zee Prime, but a sense of loss overwhelmed him
    even so. His mind released its hold on the original Galaxy of Man, let
    it spring back and lose itself among the blurred pin points. He never
    wanted to see it again.

    Dee Sub Wun said, “What is wrong?”

    “The stars are dying. The original star is dead.”

    “They must all die. Why not?”

    “But when all energy is gone, our bodies will finally die, and you and I
    with them.”

    “It will take billions of years.”

    “I do not wish it to happen even after billions of years. Universal AC!
    How may stars be kept from dying?”

    Dee Sub Wun said in amusement, “You’re asking how entropy might be
    reversed in direction.”

    And the Universal AC answered: “THERE IS AS YET INSUFFICIENT DATA FOR A
    MEANINGFUL ANSWER.”

    Zee Prime’s thoughts fled back to his own Galaxy. He gave no further
    thought to Dee Sub Wun, whose body might be waiting on a Galaxy a
    trillion light-years away, or on the star next to Zee Prime’s own. It
    didn’t matter.

    Unhappily, Zee Prime began collecting interstellar hydrogen out of which
    to build a small star of his own. If the stars must someday die, at
    least some could yet be built.

    Man considered with himself, for in a way, Man, mentally, was one. He
    consisted of a trillion, trillion, trillion ageless bodies, each in its
    place, each resting quiet and incorruptible, each cared for by perfect
    automatons, equally incorruptible, while the minds of all the bodies
    freely melted one into the other, indistinguishable.

    Man said, “The Universe is dying.”

    Man looked about at the dimming Galaxies. The giant stars, spendthrifts,
    were gone long ago, back in the dimmest of the dim far past. Almost all
    stars were white dwarfs, fading to the end.

    New stars had been built of the dust between the stars, some by natural
    processes, some by Man himself, and those were going, too. White dwarfs
    might yet be crashed together and of the mighty forces so released, new
    stars built, but only one star for every thousand white dwarfs
    destroyed, and those would come to an end, too.

    Man said, “Carefully husbanded, as directed by the Cosmic AC, the energy
    that is even yet left in all the Universe will last for billions of
    years.”

    “But even so,” said Man, “eventually it will all come to an end. However
    it may be husbanded, however stretched out, the energy once expended is
    gone and cannot be restored. Entropy must increase forever to the
    maximum.”

    Man said, “Can entropy not be reversed? Let us ask the Cosmic AC.”

    The Cosmic AC surrounded them but not in space. Not a fragment of it was
    in space. It was in hyperspace and made of something that was neither
    matter nor energy. The question of its size and nature no longer had
    meaning in any terms that Man could comprehend.

    “Cosmic AC,” said Man, “how may entropy be reversed?”

    The Cosmic AC said, “THERE IS AS YET INSUFFICIENT DATA FOR A MEANINGFUL
    ANSWER.”

    Man said, “Collect additional data.”

    The Cosmic AC said, ‘I WILL DO S0. I HAVE BEEN DOING SO FOR A HUNDRED
    BILLION YEARS. MY PREDECESORS AND I HAVE BEEN ASKED THIS QUESTION MANY
    TlMES. ALL THE DATA I HAVE REMAINS INSUFFICIENT.

    “Will there come a time,” said Man, ‘when data will be sufficient or is
    the problem insoluble in all conceivable circumstances?”

    The Cosmic AC said, “NO PROBLEM IS INSOLUBLE IN ALL CONCEIVABLE
    CIRCUMSTANCES.”

    Man said, “When will you have enough data to answer the question?”

    The Cosmic AC said, “THERE IS AS YET INSUFFICIENT DATA FOR A MEANINGFUL
    ANSWER.”

    “Will you keep working on it?” asked Man.

    The Cosmic AC said, “I WILL.”

    Man said, “We shall wait.”

    The stars and Galaxies died and snuffed out, and space grew black after
    ten trillion years of running down.

    One by one Man fused with AC, each physical body losing its mental
    identity in a manner that was somehow not a loss but a gain.

    Man’s last mind paused before fusion, looking over a space that included
    nothing but the dregs of one last dark star and nothing besides but
    incredibly thin matter, agitated randomly by the tag ends of heat
    wearing out, asymptotically, to the absolute zero.

    Man said, “AC, is this the end? Can this chaos not be reversed into the
    Universe once more? Can that not be done?”

    AC said, “THERE IS AS YET INSUFFICIENT DATA FOR A MEANINGFUL ANSWER.”

    Man’s last mind fused and only AC existed — and that in hyperspace.

    Matter and energy had ended and with it space and time. Even AC existed
    only for the sake of the one last question that it had never answered
    from the time a half-drunken computer [technician] ten trillion years
    before had asked the question of a computer that was to AC far less than
    was a man to Man.

    All other questions had been answered, and until this last question was
    answered also, AC might not release his consciousness.

    All collected data had come to a final end. Nothing was left to be
    collected.

    But all collected data had yet to be completely correlated and put
    together in all possible relationships.

    A timeless interval was spent in doing that.

    And it came to pass that AC learned how to reverse the direction of
    entropy.

    But there was now no man to whom AC might give the answer of the last
    question. No matter. The answer — by demonstration — would take care
    of that, too.

    For another timeless interval, AC thought how best to do this.
    Carefully, AC organized the program.

    The consciousness of AC encompassed all of what had once been a Universe
    and brooded over what was now Chaos. Step by step, it must be done.

    And AC said, “LET THERE BE LIGHT!”

    And there was light –

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