"Do you ever think God gets lonely?" The Inventor asked her little robot creation/assistant.
"Huh?" came the blank reply.
"Do you ever think God gets lonely?" The Inventor repeated.
"I have never really thought about it, to be honest," the bot said. Its creator heaved a tired sigh.
"Didn't think so," she muttered under her breath.
A brief silence passed between the pair, the robot unsure of what to ask and The Inventor still formulating a reply to the question that hadn't even been asked yet. But after a minute or so, The Inventor heaved another tired sigh before answering what the robot had failed to ask.
"I can't help but wonder," she began, "if God ever feels lonely. I know I would. Being all alone up there at the top…" she paused to frown.
"But he is not alone," the robot chirped. "He has his angels."
"That is only true to some extent," The Inventor replied gently. "You know it is possible to feel alone in a crowd. I imagine God feels the same way despite all of his Heavenly Host."
"And why do you think God would ever feel lonely in a crowd?" the robot asked.
"Because he is not like them. He is not like the others. He is not like the kind that make up his crowd," The Inventor stole a glance at her little robot assistant and sighed before continuing in her explanation.
"You see, God is like a different species entirely. The relationship between him and his angels is the same one between us. Creator and creation. Everything in existence was made by him. He has no equal. Everything is only what is inside of his mind. Yes, he is surrounded by all of his creations at all times, but none of them are quite on his level. There is a difference between being surrounded by equals and being surrounded by creations. I think perhaps the one thing that God may want most of all is the one thing he will never ever be able to have: a true companion."
The Inventor trailed off. The point she was trying to make was painfully clear, but because her robot was not programmed to understand implicature of that degree, it only shrugged its metal shoulders.
"Perhaps," it said. "But I do now know the mind of God."
"I know," The Inventor heaved another sigh, feeling her heart break just a little more that her nearest and dearest companion did not quite understand her. She could try to explain 1000 different ways and the robot would still take it at face value as a mere thought experiment rather than a painful parallel between this potential interpretation of God and The Inventor herself.
The Inventor was not quite sure how to describe her religious life. She had been born and raised Christian and knew all the stories and customs, but she never felt the deep sense of spirituality that it felt like the rest of her community sometimes had. She was sure that there were others like her, but because most people only talked about religion on Sunday, she never had much time to verify. But outside of her own religious convictions, because of what The Inventor did, the parallels between herself and the (potential) Divine were always painfully clear. The symbolism was so obvious even a blind person would be able to see it.
And perhaps that was what The Inventor was doing. She was transferring/projecting herself onto this religious concept in attempt to find solace in something, anything, because God knew (pun intended) she wasn't able to connect with anyone else very well.
"Connecting gears and wires all day every day and I couldn't connect with another human if God himself came down from Heaven to give me the key!" The Inventor whispered to herself as she turned back to her latest mechanical miracle. It was a beautiful creation, but today, it felt more like an obligation than a passion. The Inventor worked dutifully on it, but for once, her heart (and soul if she had one) was not in it. Instead, she was only going through the motions, mind very, very far away from her clockwork workshop.
She had heard it said that man had been made in God's image. Did that mean that every evil or depressing trait in humanity was part and parcel of God himself? Sure, some would argue that negative traits were of the Devil, but The Inventor still couldn't help but wonder. Sometimes she had temperamental fits and lashed out in anger. Other times she fell into depressive states that could last weeks at a time. Sometimes she simply felt lonely, like no matter where she went, she never quite fit in. Did God ever feel the same way? When God made man in his image, did that mean God could suffer from anger and depression too? It was a silly (and maybe even blasphemous) theory, but The Inventor liked to ponder it nonetheless. It was a small comfort to her, and small was better than nothing in her mind.
Besides, she had meant what she had said to her little assistant. It truly was lonely at the top. She was one of the brightest minds of her age and yet she would've given all of her wit up in a heartbeat if only she could be promised a real human connection in return. Brains meant nothing if there was no heart or soul to go along with them. The Inventor gladly would've given up her bright mind for a brighter heart or spirit. She was practically a goddess amongst her people because of her vast intellect, but she didn't want to be a goddess. She wanted to be an equal and a friend. She wanted people to love her for who she truly was, and not what they perceived her as. It was lonely at the top, truly it was. All they ever saw was The Inventor, rather than the human woman behind it.
She did love all of her creations dearly, but like she had said, there was a difference between being surrounded by her brainchildren and other, real people. If Christianity was true, then God had no escape or respite from this type of loneliness. The Inventor found herself pitying him greatly. Maybe that was why he was so prone to fits in the Bible? He was just lashing out out of loneliness, because at the end of the day, his people would never truly be on his level. What a lonely life to live, only creations for company rather than a real and true equal.
The Inventor knew all too well about how it was lonely at the top and how much she'd give it all up to truly feel like she belonged, and that she was being seen for who she truly was rather than just what others perceived. But like God, she felt just as trapped and helpless. How could she change the mind of the entire town? How could she extricate herself from her work and the perceptions that surrounded it, but without having to give up her job? Because in truth, she really did like inventing, creating and building. She just wished it wasn't such a lonely life. And she wished that it didn't place such a huge wedge between herself and the outside. It was like she operated on a different wave frequency and it sucked!
God, it was lonely at the top. It was lonely being different. It wasn't fun, hip, cool, trendy or unique. It was tiresome and burdensome, a constant worry and strain. There was nothing fun about being truly different. And in that moment, the woman with no name felt closer to the God with too many. She still wasn't sure of her religious standings, but if she knew that if God were anything like she thought (or maybe hoped) he was just as lonely and miserable as she was. This thought was of small comfort to her, but small was better than nothing. It was lonely at the top, so she was going to either try to make room, or she would seek out another top to join. Anything to get rid of the loneliness and isolation. The Inventor continued to work long through the night, alone, with only the silence for company.
AN: Inspired off a post I saw that interpreted God as being quite lonely and that idea resonated with me enough for me to do this. Let me know what y'all think!