What is god? When the question first rattled my adolescent mind, I took it to my mom and dad, and received wildly divergent answers. I cracked the beige-in-every-way set of World Book encyclopedias in our attic. And after poking around on the shelves of my anti-clerical father, I found Nietzsche and realized that God was actually dead.
If I were a boy now, we all know exactly where I would turn for an answer. All of us enter our questions, both about where to brunch and the meaning of life, into a box with a magnifying glass at its right edge, next to the multicolored logo of the deity that presides over our informational world. Its name, like the lord of the universe, begins with the letter G.
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