"Never Blame the Booster
For What the Sucker Does"

by Sally Detroit

Hello out there in Smoke Signals land.

Lookit. I got a new secretary these days. Lucky for me he can type
because he can't do anything else and I have a story I want to tell you
that he knows better than me.

The other night when I come back to my office what do I see but my
secretary's generosity gone overboard with good hootch towards this bum
I do not know. My secretary says, "Hey Sally, this is Wormer Von
Hackensack" or such, "the famous physicist," and I go like "Ya Ya,"
noticing that this Wormer is putting away 12-year-old J&B like it is
Pabst Blue Ribbon. He is sitting there behind my desk, reading your
rag, the one with the fella saying "SHOW YOUR BLUE LIGHT" out the
middle of his teeth (Ed. note: SS no. 1,2) and was reading out loud
from that piece VISIONS OF A FUNKY GOD. He lays down the magazine, and
without even Greetings or Salutations says that the writer knows
nothing about particle physics and has to tally misconstrued the
uncertainty principle, like most laymen, but somehow has shelled a
small grain of truth. He then made a point of elaborately clarifying
the uncertainty principle, emphasizing that its basis and function is
in the observer's perceptions and the empiric conditions surrounding
the experiment, not the subject of the experiment itself. That our
attention effects changes in the behavior of the subject under scrutiny
is indisputable, but it is necessary to ground that perception in the
awareness of the fact that we may or may not have glimpsed the absolute
nature of the subject. Such is the stuff of Schrodinger's equations. We
observe the hydrogen atom under as many conditions that we can devise,
attempting to discover its nature, and we discover we have learned more
about our own resources and the infinite capacity of matter than any
solid certainty. Our attention is in direct relationship to the results
of our experiment. That's Heisenberg. That God was brought into the
equation by your writer was great inspiration to Wormer, and he told us
this story.

Seems some forty-odd years ago, the original quantum boys took a break
from various stunning revelations to do some climbing in the Bavarian
Alps. The party consisted of Wormer, Niels Bohr, Heisenberg, and two
new young hot ones, now forgotten. Bohr had just discovered traces of
what could be anti-matter, under conditions that had been predicted by
Einstein many years before, and this caused a great deal of excitement
within the crowd. The excitement was more about the fact that this
maybe anti-matter had been fingered by Einstein than that Bohr had come
across it, because Einie had cut them loose and eschewed their realm
and methods of consideration on all levels before he split for the U.S.
of A., and here he was again. "It seems," said Wormer, "that Einie was
always like Banquo's ghost at Bohr's feast of the imagination. All the
time, no matter what they, the quantum boys, were doing, Niels was
arguing with Einie.

So anyway, the story goes that they are all knee-deep halfway up some
snowy Beethoven peak making for the chalet at the ridge, with Wormer
deep in thought about how they all are making like wise formidable
tracks in the absolute consecration of the scientific method when, lo
and behold, all are swept away in an avalanche. It turned out to be the
small size of Alpine avalanche, but it was enough to keep everyone
deeply and suddenly silent for some stunning moments there. Everyone
dug or was dug out relatively intact and relatively quickly, and they
made it to the chalet in relatively no time at all. It turned out that
they had to hole up for a couple of days and so, to pass the time, they
played poker.

Some three days go by and Wormer is losing steadily to Bohr and
Heisenberg. He has to throw his hand in again and again because he just
can't play against such madmen who bluff crazily, nonsensically, and
irrationally while they make jokes about anti-matter and Schrodinger
potentialities when they are looking at three of a kind and more.

On the evening of the fourth night it is just the three of them left.
Wormer is playing on markers and Bohr has taken to talking aloud with
Einstein. Heisenberg deals a hand of seven card stud and Wormer comes
ups with a straight flush, natural, King-high in clubs on the first
five cards; 10, J, K showing. Bohr has a possible straight flush
himself, the J, Q, K of diamonds, and Heisenberg deals himself three
sevens as neat as could be. Wormer is wondering where he can come up
with the scratch to write his markers as the betting goes around again,
and he gets his ace, Niels gets his ten and Heisenberg comes up with
the fourth seven. Bohr is mumbling at Einie and kicking the pot.

"So," he says, "Schrodinger made it distasteful, yes, he did. Too many
uncertainties, yes. Bump that five. Yes. Too much chaos, hey? God does
not play dice with the universe, right? But, again, that is our
anthropomorphic disposition. Is it not possible--bump that ten--that
the element of randomness is so powerful and pervasive that It is in
fact identical with any notion of God we might have? A black God for
sure, but a God nonetheless. We play god, each of us, when we
manipulate the nuclei of atoms, do we not, and we ourselves introduce
elements of chance that had not existed before our intrusion into the
subatomic structure, yes. Ten more. Our ability to construe reality is
as much a fundament of the process as are the atoms we dissect and the
tools we use. I know you do not like that idea, but it is
unquestionably a fact of our existence that belief shapes reality. Yes.

Yes, you're right: that is my own belief, actually, but hasn't it been
proven again and again? It is a verifiable hypothesis.

"You are not convinced. Heisenberg is convinced. He folds his hand.
Heisenberg is convinced I have a straight flush. Ah, Wormer is not
convinced. Or rather, Wormer, is convinced that he has a straight flush
himself. But Wormer is on borrowed time and at a disadvantage in his
suit. I am going to call you, Wormer. But not until I have bumped you
again. There."

Wormer knew he was caught. He had to bet, but he was convinced that
Bohr had him beat. They never split the pot--it was all or nothing--and
Wormer had never imagined that he would see the day when an ace-high
straight would look like nothing.

"God does not play dice," Bohr continued, "but in considering the
vastness, and suddenness of potentialities that exist in our own minds,

we must allow for as vast and sudden occurrences in the natural world
outside our minds. If we had a unified field theory, I might be as
disgusted by the notion of a dice-playing Creator as you are, but we do
not have a unified field, not even in our own minds. Yes, you are
right. We may as well consider this poker game a unified field
according to the notion of consensual realities I have suggested. Yes.
In fact, we should.

"In fact, this is a perfect laboratory!"

"Of the five fields, we know the least about gravity. The first four
are sufficiently represented by the cards, our hands, the game, and the
pot. Betting is gravity. Do you agree? Good. So maybe God plays poker.
What do you think? I'll ask: Wormer, does your God play poker?"

Heisenberg leaned back in his chair and strummed his folded hand.
"Y-e-s-s-s," he said, eventually. "Dice is too deterministic for my
God. Human will can't exist unless the possibility of chance, open
space, also exists. My God wants to give human beings a chance."

"And you, Wormer, does your God play dice? Or is poker His game?"

Wormer raised Bohr. Bohr bumped back. Wormer said, "My God acts
according to the time. Impeccably. That is why He is my God. In church
He prays and is worshipped. At home He cooks the food, eats, and is
eaten. In the streets he argues, buys, trades, sells, weeps. Yes. He
plays dice, and the players, and their hopes and their fears, and their
loss and deliverance. My God is very busy, and He is never alone. God
is never alone, and He enjoys poker."

"Wormer's God plays poker," Bohr asked Wormer.

"Yes. God sometimes loses. Nietzsche beat him."

Hearty chuckles and grunts were emitted all around.

"To you," Wormer reminded Bohr.

"Of course," he said. He peeked at the corner of his hole cards,
smiling, jibing Einstein. "Of course. Talk about gravity! what ..."

Wormer looked up to see Bohr's jaw drop.

Bohr looked at Wormer and folded his hand.

Wormer said it took him a long moment for him to collect his thoughts
enough to bring in the pot.

He suddenly realized that he was in sausages for the rest of his
life.

"Did you have it?" Heisenberg asked quietly.

Wormer, caught in a newfound spirit of largesse, flipped over his
hole cards before he finished clearing the table.

He sorted the bills from his markers a while before he noticed that
an unnaturally thick silence was all around him.

He looked up as Heisenberg broke into his unmistakable laugh. It was
always the best laugh the Wormer ever heard. Heartfelt and infectious
it was, and Wormer had to smile to himself though he knew not why.

Heisenberg always enjoyed his laugh like no one Wormer ever knew
before or since. He was howling. Tears came to his eyes. He held his
stomach and gasped. He fell off his chair. He rolled over and staggered
to his feet. He grabbed his chair and fell down again.

Bohr came in loud and clear at that point. He hooted. He yowled and
pointed at Heisenberg. His face collapsed into an accordion of panic
and then blew up from a choking yuk to a
full-throated-leave-me-alone-again-Mother-I'm
losing-it-loving-it-can't-stand-it-here-again near-hysteria before
Wormer could sit up straight and reach across the table to turn over
Bohr's hand.

There he saw the ace of hearts capping that sweet diamond straight.
He half-smiled at the two of them and shrugged apologetically as the two
younger members of their company came sleepy-eyed into the circle of
the overhead lantern.

He looked down again at the cards splayed across the table and
noticed that there was a queen of spades in his own royal club straight.

He smeared all the hands wide open. That was the way it lay. No one
had slipped any cards, the deck was intact.

"God bluffs," I said.

"That's exactly what Heisenberg said!" Wormer looked amazed. "It was
the turning point in my life."

"Heisenberg would have won," I said.

"Ya. He got his laughs."

"What did Bohr say?"

"He said that God bluffs."

"Everyone agreed then?"

"Everyone agreed, yes. Everyone agreed. And everyone won the Nobel
Prize and died in dignity. Yes."

"You made great contributions, Wormer," pipes in my secretary.

"Yes, I did. Among the greatest. I know. I held to my God. Chances
change, anyone loses. Anyone could have won. Heisenberg had the cards;
Niels could have played me out; and so we joke and say God bluffs. As
if we know the difference. As if we know the difference. You need the
wisdom of innocence, all the luck of beginners, you hope you wind up in
a hand you know you are playing, but still, but still, you got to
remember God bluffs."